#Self Tapping Wood Screws

[clariannt]

Discover the efficiency and durability of Clariannt's self-drilling screws, designed to simplify installation and ensure secure fastening for various construction tasks. Available in multiple sizes, these high-quality self-tapping screws eliminate the need for pre-drilling, making them an ideal choice for professionals and DIY enthusiasts alike.

[steviebunny]

2. Glorified Cult Leader

Dubai

"So Daniel, do you have any questions?"

The reporter stares at Louis in near astonishment, removing his glasses to rub his aching head.

"About the woman with the face full of teeth? Yes, I have fucking questions! You had that one in disguise this whole time" Daniel motions to Armand with his glasses "Should I assume there's a demon lady pretending to dust shelves in a sexy maid uniform somewhere around here?"

Louis crosses an ankle over his knee with a slight laugh, Armand's arm loops over the back of the back of the sofa and rubs his hand. "No. Nothing like that. Patience Daniel and good things will come, let the story take you where it needs you to be."

___

Paris

The Rusalka moves gracefully through the vast library shelves, fingers gently grazing cover after cover. Heeled shoes moving after the other creating an echo off the marble floors. Her head raises, no longer lost in thought- she sniffs the air.

"You can come out, you're not nearly as sneaky as you seem to think you are."

A tapping of leather soles against the floor much like her own sounds from behind her.

The well-dressed leader she met the other evening walks out from behind a shelf, he leans against the wood shifting his weight onto one hip, placing his hand in his coat pocket with well-rehearsed grace. 

Her eyes trace over him and then roll “If you’re trying to kill me I wish you luck, it’s not easy.”

“Who says I wish to end your life?” 

“Your kind is territorial, I haven’t had the best experiences in the past, can you blame me for running? Not to mention your man chased me, not a very good first impression.” 

“Santiago is not my man.” His stoicism falls face curling in disgust at the accusation. 

“Right, you’re paired with the bookworm.” Her eyes shine and something swipes sideways, blinking slowly like an alligator. 

“You’re no longer deemed a threat. Siren. But you’re perspective, we could have a place for one of your kind in the coven. So long as you behave of course.”

“Wrong.” 

“Hmm?” His eyebrows perk up and his head tilts. 

“Not a siren. Similar, but I don’t sing. And I don’t lure unfaithful men to the depths. I just eat the evil ones, it’s a lot less dramatic that way.”

“You get to define what evil is?”

“Yes. You, vampires, are so strange…you love each other so purely, even when you hate. It’s so obvious, but you keep screwing each other over? I can’t tell if it’s a self-preservation instinct or not. I think you’d be a lot happier if your covens were big love fests instead of the whole master-servant dynamic.”

Armand scowls, fangs dipping slightly with a cat-like hiss. “You think yourself omniscient? We need structure, solitary vampires either wither by their lonesome until they meet the flame or sow chaos in their wake. Humans always search for more, money, power, love, knowledge, more. Why hold on to this part of your humanity when you can live content? A part of something better, the coven offers such.”

The rusalka laughs and her melodious voice has a sharp screech-like tinge to it- “Content! Oh, so great coven leader!” She cries clasping her hands together, pressing them against her face. “Who surrounds himself with sycophants, Truly the best representation of a content being, yeah? You vampires want just as much as I do. You’re not built to be lonely, companionship is in your blood. So don���t preach to me about contentment you glorified cult leader.”

Armand steps closer, face inches from the rusalka towering over her, he removes his sunglasses- tucking them into his chest pocket he looks deep into her eyes and calmly with a sneer says “You’re vulnerable. It makes you weak. We are not the only coven in France and you will not be able to run forever. Unless of course, you aim to end your studies so quickly after arriving.”

“How’d you…?”

“I may not be able to read your mind but this place is flooding with your peers. It’s quite the story you’ve concocted for yourself, the best lies are rooted in some truth are the not?” 

“My vulnerability is my power, just as yours could be. Screw your rules and your laws, going behind each others backs to make things end up your way. Just to end in failure. May it be a century or a millennia from now, but still failure.”

“Then let me offer you this. Join the coven. Prove to them why the laws should change.”

—

Dubai

“Is this my cue?” Daniel had been imagining this voice since it was first described to him but the reality was something else altogether. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to pick up a maid’s uniform. I know how much you like the Univision style.” The woman rounds the furniture flashing a smile at the two vampires and perching herself on the arm of the journalist's seat.

“You still smell of him.” Armand’s lip curls and Louis looks to the tempered windows for a distraction.

“I didn’t have time to swim yet either. You’re the two avoiding him. I made no such promise, I’m not involved.”

“Wait! Please tell me she isn’t taking about-”

“Lestat.” Louis interrupts as Daniel looks to the Rusalka with a look that borders on horror. “There’s an agreement in place. When she’s here she doesn’t discuss him, when she’s there she won’t discuss us.”

“It's a horrendous deal, really.”

“HOW DOES SHE EVEN KNOW LESTAT?!”

Louis stands and stretches his arms to his companions, each of them placing a hand in one of his. “This seems like a natural breaking point, you should rest Daniel. We’ll continue tomorrow.” Louis immediately begins to escort his partners out of the room leaving the reporter in shock.

“WHAT KIND OF HORSE-SHIT DO YOU MEAN BY NATURAL BREAKING POINT?!”

---

Thank you for reading. Sorry this isn't very long :(

[shini--chan]

So I be seen you hint at Japan's rage, and I'm so curious, as I am similar when it comes to my anger. Would it be possible to have a piece of what it looks like?

Hope this will satisfy your curiosity. This turned out longer than expected

Trigger warnings: violence

Yandere Japan - The Dying of the Light

It was late when Kiku finally unlocked the door to your shared apartment and entered. It was dark, which was surprising to him, but he quickly consoled himself with the notion that you were asleep. It wouldn't be surprising - you were going through a difficult phase and thus had very irregular sleeping patterns.

The shoes came off quickly and were set on the lower area of the gekan, and the coat was hung up. He tiptoed across the living room to your shared bedroom with the intention of checking on you. While the toes of you weren't as affectionate as usual couples, excluding some flights of fancy on his behalf, he was still very attached to you. Even just seeing you was soothing to him.

However, there was nothing soothing about looking in the bedroom this time.

The tatami mats were bare, the futons rolled up in the closet and everything else carefully tucked away in the closets. Kiku hadn't seen you on the coach when he had passed through the living room. It was disquieting, and the anxiety made his fingers prickle.

Heart palpitating and with his breathing quickened, he had his way over to the bathroom on the off chance that you had fallen asleep in the tub. He ripped the door open, only to be greeted by a dark and dry room. Feeling the reality of the situation sink in, he leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest. You had left him.

His intuition told him there was no use looking for you further in the apartment, and his best option was tracing a route you could have taken. Now that he considered what you had down, he felt the edges of anger creeping up on him. Just when matters had started looking up, when you no longer shied away from him, when you started to accept and comprehend his suggestions - you ruined everything.

Passing through the rooms did nothing to decrease his budding ire. He switched on all the lights on the way to his office; an off-kilter coping mechanism in his case, a tick he couldn't get rid of. Switching on his computer, and sitting down in front of it, he tapped his fingers against the wood impatiently. Here time was essential - you had a head start and he was determined to close the gap.

The inside of the airport was far too cool and far too busy for your tastes. Though, that could just be an effect of having been subject to his whims for so long. A full body shudder rocked through you and you screwed your eyes close as his image popped up in your mind. Having had to play the doting lover for so long to a man like him filled you with self-disgust and even now you could still feel the phantom press of his hands against your hips, against your waist and your neck.

Absent-mindedly, you scratched your arms and pressed yourself against the thin cushioning of the seat. It helped ground you in the here and now. The stereotypical discomfort of airports was proving to be useful in these circumstances. Aside from that, in less than a day, you would be far, far away from Kiku - that fact helped to soothe your nerves a bit.

Yes, in less than a day you would be in London and you'd finally be able to wash yourself from him. You planned to check yourself in a hotel as soon as you landed, and scrub yourself raw during an hour long bath. Every skin cell that had come into contact with him would be washed away. The other places of your body he had come into contact with wouldn't be so quickly cleansened of him, much to your chargin.

Your thoughts were interrupted by an announcement - the gate was opening. With soaring thoughts and light feet, you joined the line, and with how joyous you were, time seemed to pass much faster. It was wonderful how little time it took for you to get through the final stages of bureaucracy and settle down on your seat in the plane. From the moment you made yourself comfortable, you took to staring out the window, and observing the going-ons on the asphalt below.

Meanwhile, you considered what you were going to do once you were in England. Buying new clothes and getting a decent place to stay was on the top of your priority list. Due to the circumstances, you had had no option but to travel light and thus only had clothes for a few days with you. Getting a job wouldn't hurt either - while had money on you and the jewellery you took along for the ride would keep you afloat for a while, it wouldn't last forever.

What you needed was a job that was out of the way. Public positions were too visible, with a high likelihood of him or one of his agents happening upon you. Working for a large company was equally ill advised for similar reasons. It had to be something low profile and out of the way.

You were so engrossed in your musings and observations, that you only registered the person when they tapped your shoulder the second time. Your heart jumped as you whipped around. It was just a stewardess. Red painted lips pulled to a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Uneasiness coiled in your stomach and made breathing harder.

"I'm sorry to disturb you but I must ask you to come with me. There seems to be a mix-up with your booking. We are terribly sorry for the inconvenience", she told you. Plastic smile and hollow words - it made the hair on your neck stand on end.

Still, you got up after a short word of affirmation and collected your hand luggage. Her statement had been specific enough to not require answers or prompting, but too vague to not make you worry. As it was, you couldn't resist without seeming unreasonable or make a scene without getting thrown out. You really needed this flight, so all you could do was follow her and hope for the best.

The bridge and the adjacent hallways seemed all the more sterile now that there weren't bustling with people. The carpeted floor only muffled sounds so much and the distant din of activity was like a tinnitus. Eventually, she opened a door in the wall, one that you had overlooked when you had passed it before. Could you be blamed when a large fresco was directly next to it, and naturally diverted and concentrated attention?

She bade you inside and then left you alone in the spartan room. Shakily, you set your bag down next to the table and made yourself as comfortable as you could on the black plastic chair.

The request of the flight attendant still seemed plausible, given that this was a makeshift office. Not one used all too frequently, judging by the thin layer of dust on the computer set up, and the lack of personal touch to the space. There was even a fingerprint scanning device, so it wasn't like it was an old, forgotten office.

In your nervousness, you wrung your hands and got up from your chair. As you paced back and forth, thoughts and scenarios raced through your head.

What exactly had gone wrong? Would you still make it in time for the flight? If not, would they at least be decent enough to offer an alternative? One that would bring out of here as fast as possible? You needed to leave Japan, and staying a minute longer than was possible meant endangering yourself.

Questions upon questions upon questions, and the lack of meaningful activity was doing nothing to quiet them. Nervousness only made them all the louder, so loud that you couldn’t hear your race heart anymore.

What you did hear, however, was the door opening once again. And in entered the last person you wanted to see now. Kiku regarded you with a passive expression, as if this was just a normal encounter, and he hadn’t caught you running away red-handed. A scream lodged itself in your throat and your hands started to tremble and sweat profusely.

“My darling, you look so out of sorts. So lost without me”, he mused. While the words that were spoken were soft on their own, his tone was cold. It made your heart plunge. He took a step forwards, you took a step backwards. The edge of the table dug into the small of your back, grounding you and showing you that all this was painfully real.

Thin lips tugged upwards in a mockery of a smile - it was more a sneer than anything else - and your alleged lover grasped your chin. He was being rougher than usual, and your skin and muscles were compressed to your jawbone. In an attempt to mitigate the pain, you raised your hands to claw his fingers away.

Before you could do that however, he caught your hands with his free one and pushed them away. The grip on your face loosened, and he shushed you. Fingers brushed your hair back and cupped your face and he whispered in a low voice:

“Why are you so scared and afraid? I’m here, I’ll always be here and I’ll never let you go.”

From somebody else, such gestures would have been romantic and soothing. From him, it was just condescending and made your skin crawl. Tears welled up in your eyes and your nose burned. You forced each breath in and out in an effort not to start sobbing in front of him - he would just relish in that, and it would wound your pride.

He released you and took a step back, eyes trailing up and down your body, eyed your bag. The muscles in his jaw twitched and he stared at you coldly.

In a spur of the moment choice, you threw yourself to the side and rounded him, checking him in the shoulder while you did so. You even managed to get past him. Adrenaline made your perception of time slow down as you reached for the door handle. Which was why it was also so disorientating when the situation abruptly changed.

Just as your fingers brushed over the cool aluminium, you were yanked back. Your tormentor stemmed you up and used the resulting momentum to throw you over his hip. Your breath was knocked out of your lungs when you were slammed down on the cold concrete, and sharp pain shot up and down your spin.

For a few moments you could just lie there, winded and in anguish. Spots swam in your vision and you were in too much discomfort to even attempt to get up. When Kiku spoke, it sounded like you were underwater:

“Did you really think that you would get far like that? It was the airport staff that pulled you from that plane on my order. So who would have helped you? The people that would have counted would have returned you to me, and those that don’t would have just looked away.”

Hands dug into the front of your jacket and yanked you into a sitting position. You groaned as fingers dug in your hair and forced you to look at him. By now, you were beginning to feel nauseous from the pain and the manhandling.

"You lied to me. You played me for a fool and betrayed me. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

At that, you giggled; you just couldn't help yourself. Time and time again you had imagined yourself confronting him, of highlighting his misdemeanours and evoking either guilt or rage in him. Generally, he was difficult to irritate, forget about anger, so seeing him wrathful was a surreal experience.

"No", you stated simply. After all, you had done nothing wrong. "I only regret not leaving sooner."

It was the wrong thing to say, but you were tired of constantly having to say the right thing. Balancing on the tightrope on a daily basis. Though judging from Kiku's expression, he was gaining an appetite for punishing you.

[shesinshambles]

Ghost BC Whump Month: Chronic

For @cirrus-ghoulette's Whump Month!

Super late, but I wrote a really self-indulgent fic for this one while I've been dealing with a flare-up.

You had no idea how many hours had passed since you’d crawled into bed, the deep ache in your back and hips becoming too unbearable to walk, every part of your skin felt like a live wire of searing pain. And you’d lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the sun inched closer and closer to the horizon, casting obscure shadows on the walls of your dorm. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried to ignore the screaming throb and strange pressure in your spine and get at least a couple hours of sleep. But nothing was working. Not that the ibuprofen ever did anything anyway, but you had hoped it would at least take the edge off just a bit. To make matters worse you couldn’t even lie in your comfy position in bed, and that’s really when everything fell apart. So, you found yourself studying the cracks in the ceiling, sobbing, trying to calm yourself; too sore to sleep, too fed up and angry to find a simple distraction.

A loud thump on your door breaks you out of your haze and suddenly you’re aware of the tightness around your swollen eyes, the salt crusted at your inner corners. Your head is pounding and your throat is raw and scratchy.

“You in there, doll?” Dewdrop calls from the other side of the door. For a minute, you think of saying nothing and just waiting it out. You hear his sharp claws tapping on the wood and you groan. Knowing him, he wouldn’t leave; you not answering would just give him all the more reason to barge right in for whatever mischief he had planned.

“What is it?” You croak. You try to mask your pitiful state, but your voice is thick and garbled from pain and tears, and the tapping ceases.

“Hey, you good?” You squeeze your eyes shut against the sting of fresh tears, holding your tongue. The floorboards creak as Dew shifts, hesitating at the door.

“Yeah,” you warble, sniffling. Dew tests the doorknob, clicking, but not opening.

“I’m comin’ in, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper softly. The door creaks open slowly, just enough for the fire ghoul to slip in, shutting it as he steps into your dorm with a heavy sigh.

“You been in here all day?” He asks softly, walking over to you and gingerly sitting down on the side of the bed, careful not to disturb you too much. You nod, face screwed up from the pain and all the anger bubbling up inside you. It’s all too much right now, and you don’t even want to look at the ghoul. A large hand caresses your hair, brushing loose strands off your forehead and your breath hitches.

“I’m so tired,” you choke out, your frame shaking as you try to hold in the sobs, but when Dew slides down next to you and hesitantly takes your hand in his, squeezing gently, the dam completely breaks. Dew doesn’t say anything, just holds your hand, rolling onto his side so you can feel him there, his warmth, amber and toasted marshmallow.

“Fuck, doll. M’sorry,” he mumbles under his breath, raking a hand through his hair.

The ghouls all knew about it. It hadn’t been easy touring with the pain, you needed plenty of rest days and you can never tell when a flare up might just spring on you. They all got suspicious when you’d disappear into your bunk or hotel room for hours on end when you all had free days, when you started passing on outings and dinners.

Mountain had noticed first actually, catching you here and there trying to stretch out the stiffness. He’d offered to show you some stretches he used for his own back after that, and you could always count him to pull on your legs when you needed it.

They were all helpful like that once you’d let them know about your chronic pain. Swiss would hook you up with some of his stash to help you sleep, and the fuzziness that came with it was pretty relaxing. Aether would pull what he could from the void to soothe you. Rain brought you food and made tea. He’d also freeze your ice packs faster for you. The ghoulettes always provided you with a shoulder to cry on and more times than you ever thought you would, you found yourself venting to Cumulus sitting (or lying) in her bed while she just listened. No solutions, no suggestions. Just validation. And Dew; well, Dew would keep to himself, or just be near you, but a comfortable distance. He wasn’t so hands on, like he wanted to stay out of your hair and not pester you with his shenanigans. It was infinitely quieter on the bus when he knew you had a flare up. And your blankets were always extra toasty.

The fact that he had come to seek you out spoke volumes. He was worried. You sniffle wetly, wiping your nose on the back of your hand. And his carefulness does not go unnoticed. Even now, he’s stiff in the bed, keeping space between the two of you, scared to jostle you. You turn your head into him, nuzzling as close as you can to his chest.

“It’s just nothing’s working,” you mumble. Dew hums softly, his hand inching back up to your hair, tangling his long fingers in the waves when you don’t flinch away, massaging the nape of your neck.

“Want me to get Aeth?” You shake your head, the ghoul chirps quietly in confusion.

“Please stay.”

“Okay,” Dew whispers into your hair, inching closer and closer to you. His heat melts you, and you feel stiff muscles easing ever so slightly, enough for you to sigh with some relief.

Dew’s quiet for a while, and with each minute that passes, he lets himself sink further into your mattress, lets his hands run down your arms, rub soothing circles into your hips.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you hum in acknowledgement, empty and exhausted. “Have you tried a hot bath?” You shake your head.

“I didn’t want to get up.” Dew nodded, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against the mattress.

“I’ll be back.” He gets off the bed carefully, stepping into your bathroom. The rush of water hits your ears and you sigh, gingerly rolling to your side, and sitting up slowly. You groan as the deep ache blooms to life in your hips, like it’s grinding away at your bones. When Dew comes back out and to find you trying to stand to slide your pajama pants off, he rushes over. “Hey! You could wait you know, I was gonna help you up,” he scolds, taking hold of your arms to help you to stand. The pain isn’t so bad now, having stretched out for the past few hours, but your muscles are tired, and you’re sure you were crooked.

“It’s fine, Dew,” you sigh. “I’m used to it.” He frowns at you, leaning down to pull your bottoms and underwear off. You’re too achy and tired to be shy, a thick fog clouding your brain. But even then, it wasn’t like Dew had never seen you before. Just never like this.

“So fuckin’ stubborn,” he mutters under his breath, and you roll your eyes, balancing yourself on his shoulders. “Just like Mountain.” You huff. He’s right. But you hated not being able to do basic tasks yourself. Even when it was too much, you’d just push through. And end up not able to stand up straight for the better of a week.

“Arms up,” he murmurs, and you do as he says, letting him pull your sleep shirt over your head. The walk to the bathroom is excruciatingly slow, every step sending an annoying spasm up your back. But Dew holds you steady, silent and patient. In fact, you’d never known him to be so patient, so soft. And right now, as he helps you slide into the tub, that thought makes you feel a little fuzzy. The hot water and Epsom salts feel like heaven right now as you settle into the tub, groaning. It takes a moment for you to find a comfortable position, but when you do the pain subsides quite a bit, and you close your eyes, sighing as you let your head fall back on the neck pillow you keep in the tub.

You haven’t realized Dew’s disappeared until you hear soft footsteps coming back into the bathroom followed by the gentle click of the door shutting closed. You crack an eye open to find the fire ghoul settling himself down on the floor next to you, a glass full of water in hand.

“You doin’ okay in there?” You smile softly and nod, taking the glass from his outstretched hand and taking long, slow, slips from it. You haven’t had anything to drink since lying down, and it definitely wasn’t helping your head one bit.

“Thanks.” Dew simply nods, and stares down at his hands. He’s tangling his fingers together, studying his nails, drumming them anxiously against the porcelain.

“Look, uh,” he starts, hardly meeting your eyes except for a brief flicker, so quick you hardly notice at all. “I’m not too good at the comforting stuff, so uh, I don’t know, let me know how I can help I guess.” You nod, and slide your had over the edge, finding his fingers and offering a squeeze.

“Thanks, Dew.” The ghoul stares down at your hands, huffing, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Of course.” There’s a pause, a moment where he holds your hand, stroking his thumb over your knuckles, letting you calm yourself from the rough day. And you feel all that tension, all the heaviness and hopelessness start to pull away, letting you take full breaths again. You know it won’t last, bur for now it’s enough. “Do you want me to go? I can wait outside and you call me when your done—” But you have another thought. And you think it might be manageable now that you’ve relaxed a little.

“Come in,” you murmur, and Dew frowns.

“It’s not gonna hurt you?” You’re quick to shake your head and the ghoul quirks a quizzical brow at you. You merely shrug back.

“Not more than I already am. I’ll be okay.” After mulling it over a little, several nervous glances shot your way, Dew finally concedes, making quick work of undressing and climbing in carefully, and again, afraid to jostle you around too much. But finally, after deciding it was best for you to rest against his chest so he could hold you steady, you both sank back into the warm water.

“You comfortable?” you nod, letting your eyes slide shut. Dew’s warmth always had that effect on you. It was so soothing, like a hug around your bones, toasting you gently from the inside out.

“Like my living heating pad.” Dew snorts.

“So that’s in then. S’all you want me around for?” He teases, nuzzling the top of your head. You huff softly.

“It’s a perk,” you mumble, sighing heavily as Dew hums into your hair. “Thank you. For being here.”

“No need to thank me, Doll.”

“I know,” you reply, gripping tighter onto his forearm. “But still, I appreciate it. And I know you don’t really like the cuddly stuff—”

“I do,” he murmurs, and his hands melt further into your flesh. “I just don’t want to make it worse.”

“But you don’t. This makes it better.” And really, it did. You felt a lot less lonely since telling the ghouls, since having an actual caring support network. And the afternoon felt like it was miles away since Dew came to check on you. All the times he’d just sit with you quietly, just be in the same space with you so you weren’t completely alone. It meant the world. The ghoul hums thoughtfully.

“Right then, anytime m’lady requires her personal heating ghoul, say the word.” You grin, and nuzzle into his neck.

“Thanks, Dew.” The fire ghoul huffs, then plants a gentle kiss to the top of your head in response.

“Anytime, doll.”

[astxrwar]

blunt force trauma [2/x]

SYNOPSIS: traumatized!Bucky x Brainwashed!supersoldier!reader.

Rating: M

Word Count: 5k

Content Warnings: Canon-typical violence. Check out the tag "fic; blunt force trauma" for Content + ao3 chapter notes for extras if you're interested. <3

Read on AO3

[1] [ 2 ] [3]

It’s the first thing he realizes when he wakes up the next morning; he’s going to have to fix that giant fuck-off hole in the wall.

Bucky only remembers after he’d gone through the convoluted and absolutely unnecessary process of the Home Depot self-checkout— gloves don’t work on the stupid fucking touchscreens they have now, and neither do half of his fingers, which is just such bullshit, god, everything was easier when you could just hand some guy actual money and be done with it— that the government tracks his purchases. The military, technically. Parole condition, again, since they’re paying his rent and also all of his bills, and because, he suspects, him having an actual job would limit the amount of time he’s available as a state-sponsored superweapon of last resort. 

“What’d you get at the hardware store?”

Doc’s tone is light, nonchalant, and painfully fucking contrived. A nail gun, he thinks about saying, and some rope, and duct tape, and, oh— a band saw. Whatever he can think of that sounds the most like he might be planning to commit murder; just to be an asshole. But she already knows exactly what he bought, courtesy of the modern-day surveillance state dystopia that already pretty much existed even with that HYDRA mission falling flat. 

What he bought was a seven-foot oak two-by-four, a C-clamp, wood glue, and twelve 3” galvanized screws.

Nothing villainous, nothing remotely illegal , or whatever the hell these people think. That support in the wall is fucked, but he’d done some amount of woodworking, just as an odd summer job way back when he was fifteen or so, and he knows enough, he thinks, to be able to fix it on his own. Even if he doesn’t, tough shit, he can figure it out— he’s not going to explain to his fucking super why there’s a massive hole in the drywall and the beam’s been split nearly in half. No bullshit excuse he could come up with for any of that even came close to sounding like it’d be believable, and, besides, he kind of likes having something to do. Progress that’s visible. A goal that’s concrete. 

“The TV stand,” he lies. “It— broke.” He’d worked out the details while he was on the subway headed here, decided on exactly when to pause and hesitate like he’s admitting to something, the points where he’d inject some moments of performative vulnerability into it, not too much, just enough, he hopes, to get everyone off his fucking back. 

Doc’s eyebrows raise briefly. She taps her pen against the pad. “Broke how, James,” she prods, on fucking cue.

He hesitates, on purpose, and looks away from her, also on purpose, and then says, pointedly monotone, “I had a nightmare.” 

She leans forwards, just a little bit— she’s probably not even aware of the fact that she had, the way most people tend to be oblivious to their tells— and he knows she’s interested. Thinks this is something. “Walk me through how those are connected.”

The implication is pretty fucking clear, because she already knows he sleeps on the floor in the living room more often than in his own bed, and she knows that he has a temper, a violent one, one that he controls with precision except in circumstances where he doesn’t have to. Like when he’s alone. But she wants to hear him say it; so many appointments end up like this, the both of them already knowing whatever unspoken thing that’s been brought up, and her just— obsessed with the actual speaking. It’s annoying, but at least it’s fucking predictable. “I had a nightmare,” he repeats, not even having to fake the irritation, “And I was in the living room, and I woke up, and I was— in a bad mood. So I broke it.”

She writes something down on the notepad and he has to restrain the urge to roll his eyes. This is not the first time he’s talked about breaking shit when he’s angry. There is fucking– nothing new here. 

“So you’re planning on fixing it, then?” She says when she’s done, studying him. 

He grits his teeth. Again with the fucking obsession with stating the obvious. “It’s new. I don’t want to just— throw it out.”

She stares at him for a moment longer, her expression too relaxed to be vetting the merit of what he’s said; more like she’s contemplating it. Eventually she blinks and shifts in her chair, crossing one leg over another and sets the pad and the pen on the edge of her desk, seemingly satisfied. “That sounds like quite the project,” she remarks, in that tone he can never quite place, whether it’s approving or patronizing or something else altogether. “I think this has the real potential to be a valuable lesson for you, James. Fixing something you've broken instead of discarding it– it can be a therapeutic experience. It might help you work through some of the guilt you’re feeling.”

He doesn’t bother to stop himself from gritting his teeth at that; it would have annoyed him even if he hadn’t been lying.

~

Bucky fixes the beam, hammers the splintered wood back into a vaguely-straight line and seals the cracks with wood glue and attaches the new two-by-four to it with the galvanized screws; it’s called sistering, what he does, and the last time he’d done this shit was something like 1934. It’s what you do when the alternative would be jacking up the wall and tearing down the entire thing, which would be a massive fucking pain and require more tools and more expertise than he has.

He doesn’t see her again between then and his next appointment.

Doc grills him about his ‘project’ the next time he sees her and he says some stupid shit like yeah, it’s going fine, I feel better, I guess, about not throwing it out. And I was thinking I kinda don’t want to break it again, ‘cause I put a lot of work into fixing it. 

Doc looks satisfied with that. It’s not entirely a lie; he knows, now, what this kid is capable of. Next time he really will be more careful.

He makes sure, when he gets around to buying the spackle and the mesh and the paint to patch the drywall, that he pays in cash.

~

The second time she’s a whole lot more sneaky about the breaking-and-entering. 

Bucky wonders, briefly, if this is how it felt for his targets to come home and see him there, straight-backed and still like a statue, just– waiting. Not blinking, hardly even breathing, motionless and so utterly detached that it was hard to tell if he’d been there for hours, or if it had only been minutes. 

This time, he knows better than to try to get close. 

He’d been at the package store, picked up a case of beer, but she’s in the kitchen again and between him and the fridge, so he decides to just set it down by the door. He makes his way into the living room empty-handed, arms raised like last time. He doesn’t go further than the single armchair about halfway, just kind of rotates it around so it’s facing the kitchen, and sits in it. Focuses real hard on looking– safe. Nonthreatening. Whatever the fuck that even means.

“Sorry,” she says, after a while, the word kind of– slurred, like her tongue isn’t moving right in her mouth, thick and clumsy and unused to the dexterity speaking requires. “About your– wall. I didn’t– I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says, after a while. “I fixed it.”

She stares at him, for a long time, not even blinking. He stares back, unfazed.

All of this feels like the weirdest kind of deja vu– like how sometimes in his nightmares he watches himself, in the third person, like he’s an observer in his own memories, or sometimes even from the eyes of victims or bystanders, even though that’s impossible and doesn’t really make sense. That’s what it feels like, now, kind of, except where the nightmares feel visceral and frightening and have him jolting awake drenched in sweat and violently sick, right now he’s– fine.

It’s one of those nightmares, except all of the pieces are cut up and rearranged and the details are all disorganized, like somebody’s telling a story all out of order. Like the cinema, back when he was a kid; he had had this friend before he’d dropped out of high school who worked in the back room at the theater, and he’d gotten to watch, one time, and see how the movies that look like they play out as one cohesive and unbroken event when you’re sitting in the audience are really just a whole bunch of smaller reels, switched out between two different projectors to give the illusion of continuity. Right now, if this were a movie, all of those reels would be all jumbled up, and whoever’s running the show keeps forgetting how to time the switch between the projectors right; things keep overlapping, getting lost. Remixed.

“You want to maybe tell me what’s going on?” he says eventually.

“I–” She finally blinks, then, and tears her eyes away, looks somewhere over his shoulder, glassy and sightless. “I don’t– I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Bucky shifts on the chair as he watches her, leaning back, resting his elbows on the arms, trying to appear casual, relaxed, which is– not how he feels. He’s not stressed out, really, but that same thing is going on with his awareness, like the last time; everything is sharp and bright and detailed, and he’s here, he’s present, he’s not caught up in his own thoughts or in his memories or in the past, separated from everything else in his head like he’s cordoned off from it all by this thick pane of glass. “Okay, well, what do you know?”

Here is what he knows: when he’d gone back through the memory, some of the patterns she’d used when they’d fought were HYDRA, but a lot of them weren’t. He thinks she’s probably been brainwashed, but it’s hard to tell to what extent, and even harder to tell why. She knows him, and he’d bet that’s why she keeps coming back here.

She doesn’t answer the question. She still hasn’t moved, not even to shift her weight, like she can’t feel the way her body must be getting sore from standing in the same place for a while. Normal people, they fidget a fucking lot. Bucky’s not as bad as he used to be, so he moves, now, occasionally, aware of his muscles complaining if he’s stayed still for too long, but it’s infrequent enough to make people uncomfortable. 

He figures it probably doesn’t make her uncomfortable. He figures even if it did, deep down– she probably wouldn’t even know.

“You know me,” he presses, after the silence has drawn out for a long time. “You knew my name.”

She looks back at him again. Even the way her eyes move is strange, unnatural, too sharp and too sudden and too intent. People don’t realize this, either, but when they look at stuff, they never really look at it; the eyes move, back and forth, just a little bit. Compensating for the fact that the human field of vision is actually pretty narrow, filling in the bits in the periphery. When she looks at things, there’s no movement. Just this unwavering precision. That happens to him sometimes, still. 

“Do you know your name?” he asks her, and she flinches. 

That thing that he’d seen the last time, like a spark, or a glint, or something, when she’d been about to do some serious damage to herself in order to escape and he’d let her go, when she’d recognized that– it’s back. 

Absently, Bucky thinks about Romania. This apartment is way fucking nicer than the one he’d had then; a one-bedroom, new, light fixtures that all work and really great water pressure and a kitchen that’d been remodeled just last year. In Bucharest, he’d lived in a studio, with windows that didn’t latch and leaked when it rained and hot water only sometimes. 

“How about you just tell me your name,” he says, more firmly than the first time. “You know it, it’s always the first thing to come back.”

That’s not really true. The first things are feelings, but they’re fleeting and sometimes wrong. A name is a concrete thing. It’s a fact. You can write it down and you can say it aloud and you can hold onto it.

She jerks back like he’d slapped her. “How do you know that,” she replies, still flat, but wavering a little; so little that if he didn’t know , he probably wouldn’t notice.

James Buchanan Barnes. He’d carved it with a pocket-knife into the floorboards of that studio apartment, above where he’d hidden his go-bag underneath, in the spots where water damage had rotted it, made the wood soft, like carving into skin. It was insurance. To make sure he couldn’t forget. He’d stare at it, when his nightmares would keep him awake, and the letters would float out of focus and distort and stop making sense, like when you say the same word over and over, until it means nothing.

Eventually, there were other things, too. 

Your mother’s name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Bucky says. “Tell me your name.”

That spark in her eyes is bigger, flickering, like watching a candle in a windowsill. “I– I don’t–”

“You can tell me,” he repeats, louder, “You know it. You’ve said it, haven’t you? Out loud, to yourself, and I bet you’ve written it down somewhere, you know it, I know you do–”

His voice rises in volume and lowers in pitch without him meaning for it to, and something inside of her flips like a switch, that candle stops being a candle and it flashes bright and wild like a molotov cocktail or a fucking car bomb, like flames licking up the side of a building, the veneer of neutrality cracked open and something vicious and violent and vulnerable underneath and whatever of that is still left inside of him rears up to press at the surface of his skin and he thinks yes, come on, just fucking say it–

Her eyes flash and harden and her mouth presses into this trembling line and she turns and disappears down the hallway.

“Oh– god damn it,” Bucky says, the tension he hadn’t even registered collecting in his body giving out, his back slumping into the chair cushions. 

He sits there for a long time before he finally gets up and goes down the hall to his bedroom, where he stares at the open window, and then pulls it shut.

~

Bucky sleeps in his bed, that night, and not in the living room. He doesn’t have nightmares, and he doesn’t even really wake up on the hour like he’d expected to. Instead, he dreams. In his dream, he comes home to a darkened apartment, case of beer in hand, and he walks the length of the living room and he opens the fridge and sets it inside. When he closes the door, she’s standing behind it, and dream-him jerks like he’s been startled, though he doesn’t feel any actual fear.

She has a gun to his head. She’d been in civilian clothes both times he’d seen her, but in his dream she’s wearing black. Body armor.

“Sorry,” she tells him. Like she’s talking about the hole in the wall.

Her finger tightens around the trigger.

He closes his eyes.

Bucky wakes up before it goes off. His bedroom is flooded with morning light and his heart is beating slow and steady and he feels, strangely, fine. 

~

Doc stops halfway through a back-and-forth about whether or not he’d consider actually picking up woodworking as a hobby– you need hobbies, James, it’s part of being a well-adjusted human being, to which he’d flashed a not-smile and said back, I thought the reason I come here twice a month is because I’m not one, Doc.

She’d looked at him like a parent looks at a child who’s being snarky on purpose, which– fuck that, honestly. He’d been alive probably before her parents were even born.

And then she’d just leaned towards him and tapped her pen against her notebook and stared, the way normal people stare, her eyes fidgeting back and forth, not staying anywhere for long, flicking over his expression and his posture and the way that he’s holding himself in the too-small annoyingly-uncomfortable chair–

“You’re in a good mood,” she says, and then, as an afterthought. “Relatively speaking.”

Bucky scowls at her. “I'm not in a– good mood,” he says. 

She raises an eyebrow at him like she thinks he’s full of shit. “I’d like to discuss it. Your mood. Good or otherwise.”

The scowl deepens. It’s real fucking aggravating, the way that she always prefaces shit with I’d like to and let’s try and if you would as if he has any choice in the matter. As if this isn’t a session he’s forced into attending because the alternative is– many years in prison. Many. So many.

He closes his eyes for a second. He has a headache starting; he always gets fucking headaches, here. “It’s nothing, I don’t know,” he says. She stares some more, the way she does when she’s not going to say shit, the threat of talk or I’m court-ordering you back to sessions more frequently than either of us want to be seeing each other lingering unspoken in the deeply annoying silence.

Bucky makes some vague frustrated noise and then does what he usually does when she gets like this; racks his brain and makes something up. 

“I met someone,” he says finally, which is true. “They’re a veteran,” which is also true. Kind of. “I’ve seen them a lot,” not really, three times isn’t that much, but the context kind of makes it feel like it is. “And I guess I’ve just been thinking about them. We’ve started– talking. Kind of. Not really friends, but– acquaintances. We have–” he shifts on his chair, crosses an ankle over his knee, thinks, again, about how the government could buy furniture that doesn’t suck. “We have a lot in common.”

Doc blinks at him; she’d sat forwards, the way she does when she’s pressing him, and she leans back, now, which he’s sure makes him palpably relax. “A veteran,” she repeats, pensive, “World War 2?”

He scoffs. “No.” 

“Korea?”

“No.” 

She gives him this look, which he figures is something along the lines of would it kill you to just answer the obvious question here?

Bucky sighs, long-suffering. “Recent. I don’t– it hasn’t come up, but they’re pretty young, so.”

Doc makes some approving sound and nods and writes something in her notebook. He hates that fucking notebook. Sometimes he thinks about breaking into the office and setting it on fire, but the risk-to-reward ratio, he figures, just isn’t worth it. He’d probably go to prison. Or worse, he’d be sent all the way back to visits twice a week. 

“If they’re around your age–” he opens his mouth to say something technically probably obnoxious, but she shoots him a sharp look and says, “Your physical age, James,” before he can– “--it’s likely to have been Iraq or Afghanistan.”

She glances up and to the left of him– the clock. Great; they have to be almost done. “Both of those wars were– complex. Most of my clients served in one or the other,” she says. “Quite a large number of soldiers who were simply following orders found themselves responsible for the deaths of innocents; I’m not surprised you have things in common. I think it would be beneficial for you to make friends you can relate to.”

What he thinks: 

I don’t have anything in common with people who chose to follow orders. People who chose to do-- anything.

What he says, instead; “What, you want me to make friends with them?”

She sets the pad and the pen down on the table beside her chair. “This is one of those things that’s more about what you want, James,” she says eventually.

“I don’t know what I want,” he replies.

~

It’s been a week, since he saw her; she’s not there, when Bucky steps into his apartment after taking the subway back from therapy. He wonders for a second if he’d fucked up the last time, scared her off, but he knows, objectively, it’s too early to consider the possibility. Not like he could do anything about it, anyway; he doesn’t have the connections to be able to figure out who she is without a name.

That night he has the dream again. The apartment, darkened and silent. The bright, washed-out white of the open fridge, setting the case of beer on the second shelf, the inside otherwise empty. Spotless. Like a prop. Dreams are weird.

He knows what’s going to happen when he closes the door, this time. For a second it looks like there’s something red on her arm, at the shoulder, but when he looks harder for it there’s nothing, just unbroken black.

“Sorry,” she tells him, again, only this time she keeps going. “I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

“It’s okay,” he says; this is new, too. “I know. It’s going to be okay.”

Her finger tightens around the trigger in slow-motion, and he doesn't close his eyes, this time.

Bucky still wakes up before the gun actually goes off, and he still wakes up feeling weirdly calm. He prefers this, he decides, over the dreams about killing people. Dreaming of being killed– that’s fine. Better, actually.

He sits up and he swings his legs over the side of the bed– he’d been taking advantage of the lack of nightmares and the suspicious ease with which he’s been sleeping, lately, because he’s kind of getting old and his body has started to hate him whenever he doesn’t sleep on an actual mattress– and when he stretches his back doesn’t ache or twinge or crack the way it does when he sleeps on the floor.

He yawns. He rubs at his eyes until splotches of color burst behind his eyelids, and then he opens them, and he waits for his vision to unblur, and–

He zeroes in on something moving on the windowsill with an instinctive and familiar efficiency.

It’s a slip of paper, folded up and trapped between the glass and the mesh screen, fluttering gently with the breeze. It’s from a notebook, ripped out, the kind that comes from one of those slender, flimsy little pocket-sized spiral ones you can get at the dollar store, the pages inside so thin they might as well be tissue paper.

On it, scrawled in shaky, uneven handwriting, is a name.

~

He has the dream a bunch more times after that, and it's mostly the same, and then it isn't.

Stepping through the door to his apartment, stepping into an open mouth; the lights are on, this time, but somehow the room is still dark, just these glittering shards of white on the ceiling that look like sharp, gleaming teeth. He can’t see her as he rounds the counter to the fridge, and though he tries to turn his head and look, the dream body won’t obey. Just opens the door, puts the beer inside– there’s stuff in the fridge, just splotches of color that could be anything– and then closes it again.

Gun to his head. The muzzle is touching his skin, this time, which is weird, and also stupid. You don’t touch people with the gun you’re pointing at them; that’s a really good way to get it taken from you. But it’s a dream, and even though he tries to turn and disarm her, his body stays still.

“Sorry,” she says, “I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

It’s okay. I know. It’s going to be okay. He’s had this dream a lot of times, now, and so he expects–

He says the name from the notebook paper. Her name. She’d given it to him, she’d wanted him to have it. 

Her finger tightens around the trigger all at once, and he doesn't wake up, this time, but the gun doesn’t go off, either. 

It clicks. Jammed. She opens her hand, and it drops, and then it disappears instead of hitting the floor, because– dreams.

“What do I do now,” she says. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

"It's okay,” he hears himself reply. "Just-- let me help you."

[losfacedevil]

Safe Haven //S.F.K

a/n~ So, this was meant to be something short and angsty, per the request of the ever so lovely @writingcold​​  but has unintentionally turned into something so much BIGGER than I had ever even thought it would be. This is just the beginning. IT MAY NOT BE EVERYONES CUP OF TEA ~ but has become a healing journey for me. This is part 1 of 3.

WARNINGS: Mentions and graphics of physical/mental/emotional abuse, self harm, gaslighting, allegations. Possibly more, please let me know if I’ve missed any!

heart·break /ˈhärtˌbrāk/ Noun  Very great sadness and emotional suffering, especially after the end of a love affair or close relationship

They say emotional detachment comes long before the physical break up. People become fully detached from their other half emotionally and slowly realize they’re truly unhappy where they are. She had put a wall up between them months ago, protecting her heart and feelings as best she could as she rode out what could only be the worst to come. 

She was no longer happy; gone was the man she had fallen in love with years prior.

Now replaced with a selfish, manipulative narcissist. But she had initially found peace in the violence, her silence no longer speaking volumes to him as it once did. The constant chatter from him of her going out to ‘meet side guys’ and ‘talking to your other boyfriend, hmm?’ The ‘why’d you swipe that message away so fast?’ and ‘everything you’re doing is sketchy.’ fell on deaf ears as she started to do exactly what she was consistently accused of doing. 

She had met this man in a bar, the highlight of her girls night out as he showered her in compliments and bought her drink after drink - which was more than she could say her partner ever did. Her girlfriend wiggled her eyebrows at her as she took the phone she held so snugly in her grasp as message after accusatory message popped up on her screen. Her friend nudged her in his direction, eyes darting between her and the mystery man who was now engulfed in whatever danced across his phone screen.

Adjusting her top she spun in a circle, watching as the skirt she wore rose up in little ripples around her thighs. A giggle escaped her as she tucked her hair behind her ears, her feet guiding her in his direction of their own accord. She glanced over her shoulder at her friend, eyes wide as she grew closer to him; an encouraging smile dancing across her friends lips. 

A gentle tap to his shoulder had his full attention on her in lightening speed, a shit eating grin dancing across his face as he locked the phone he held so gingerly in his large hand. His hand found her hip and she leaned into him slightly, resting her lips dangerously close to his ear as she spoke. 

“I didn’t catch your name, Sunshine.” He chuckled, eyes of dark coffee finally meeting hers. “Names Samuel, but everyone calls me Sam.”

______________

She awoke with a start, headache blaring across the entirety of her head as she jolted into a seated position. He was banging in the kitchen, making every single noise ten times louder than they had to be. She screwed her eyes shut, hoping to dull the pain in her temples if she could keep the light out of her already sensitive eyes. 

Reaching over she slapped her hand down on the empty wood of the bedside table; it was then she realized her phone was long gone. Her eyes flew open as she scrambled out of bed, throwing on the closest pieces of clothing she could find as she stumbled her way out into the kitchen. There on the table sat her phone, a text thread sat open on the screen, one she realized was incriminating. 

He slammed the door to the cupboard he was looking in causing her to jump as she reached for her phone. His eyes snapped to her, shooting daggers at her as he crossed the kitchen in two long strides and ripped the phone from her grasp. Shock was evident on her face as she recoiled, pulling her hands back and close to her chest holding them in such a way she could maneuver them wherever she needed if she were to need protection. 

“Who the fuck is Sam?” 

A nonchalant shrug pulled her shoulders upwards, holding her hand out for the phone he was now scrolling through. Reaching out he landed a hard smack to the palm of her hand causing her to recoil into herself once more. 

“I said who the fuck is Sam?” She shrugged once more, snatching the phone from his grasp as she took a step back.  “A friend I met with Bree for drinks last night, we went to school with her is that a problem?” 

Lies rolled off her tongue far too easily now a days, so used to his paranoid manipulation that she couldn’t be bothered to play into it anymore. Gone were the days when she’d defend herself, prove to him she wasn’t doing what his mind told him she was and here to stay were the days she let his shit roll right off of her shoulders. He crossed his arms over his chest, standing toe to toe with her thinking that his towering over her would intimidate her. 

“Why have I never heard of her before?” He growled, a snarl pulling at his upper lip as he now leaned in, his face dangerously close to hers.  “Because she’s not a threat to you. She loves me for who I am.” She shrugged, another lie rolling off of her tongue as he uncrossed his arms. Clapping his hands down on her shoulders he shoved her, hard, causing her to stumble backwards and trip over her feet landing hard on the linoleum floor.  “Get your shit and get out.”

The consequences of her own actions didn’t even phase her as she stuffed what little items were actually hers into two little backpacks she would now live out of for who knew how long. A look of disgust graced her features as she collected her things, pulling her copy of the house key off of the key ring that hung on her belt loop and hummed it in his direction knocking him right in the back of the head with it. A groan slipped past his lips as he reached up to rub the now tender spot on the back of his head as he shot a look of absolute hatred her way. 

“Bitch.” He growled, turning his attention back to the television. She rolled her eyes, a simple ‘takes one to know one’ ripping out of her in an ear shattering scream as she slammed the condo door behind her.

________________

She took solace in knowing she was free - for now. Knew the games he played and didn’t really have her hopes up as she drove aimlessly around the city lost in her thoughts. Her subconscious mind brought her back to the bar she had graced with her presence the night before, reminding her of the excellent night she had before he had to ruin it. 

The clock displayed on the dashboard of her car told her it was far too early to start drinking and after not eating all day she knew it would be a bad idea to have even a sip of liquor. She let her head fall back against the seat, eyes fluttering shut as thoughts she didn’t want to deal with plagued her. 

The way his hands gripped down on her shoulders had her wincing in pain, a single nod of her head the only communication to him that she would be compliant. Pulling out of his grasp she shook her head, reaching up to rub at the now tender skin surrounding her neck. 

“I don’t understand how you’re such a slob, this house is always a fucking mess.” He scoffed, throwing his hands around theatrically as he made his way back to his spot on the couch. 

Tears burned the backs of her eyes as she quickly got to work washing the dishes he had created and left in the sink for her to take care of. Hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she closed her hand around a steak knife, contemplating just how much force she would have to use to split the skin of her palm - maybe then he’d be sympathetic and help. 

A loud chuckle sounded from the living room, knew he was back on the headset playing games with whoever still wanted to be his friend. The look of hatred she threw him was spitting daggers through the back of his head, offing him quickly in her minds eye. Without a second thought she squeezed her hand shut around the blade, digging it cleanly into the skin of her palm. 

A hiss of pain escaped her as she dropped the knife, a steady stream of blood running down her palm with the warm water that washed over it. She scrambled, quickly shutting off the water and bringing her palm closer to her face to assess the damage. A sigh of relief slipped past her lips as she realized it was a superficial wound that wouldn’t require special treatment or stitches. 

“You didn’t want to actually do it, dumbass.” She hissed under her breath, quickly wrapping her hand in a paper towel and slipping off to the bathroom. 

_______________

The sound of someone’s knuckles meeting her window shook her out of her thoughts, bringing her back down to earth with a shoulder shaking startle. Her eyes snapped open, looking wild as she turned her head frantically to the left, chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing. 

A semi-familiar set of dark coffee eyes met hers, fear laced in his expression as her reaction had caught him off guard. Her hand flew to her face, covering her mouth as she willed away the tears that threatened to pool in her eyes as her breathing evened out. The boys eyebrows furrowed, motioning for her to roll down the window as he took a step back not wanting to be so up close and personal.

 Pulling a deep, shaky breath in through her nose she cut the engine and pulled her keys out of the ignition; her other hand finding the door handle as she braced herself for whatever was to come. She slowly pulled on the door handle, disengaging the mechanism as she gently pushed on the door giving him ample time to step back further before swinging the door fully open. 

A frown played on Sam’s’ lips as he took in her disheveled appearance, still dressed I  the mismatched clothing she had thrown on earlier. Swinging her legs out of the car she moved to stand, quickly stepping outwards and swinging the car door shut behind her. She leaned back against the car door, wrapping her arms around her midsection to keep herself together; her gaze landing on the dark brown Birkenstocks that hugged his feet. 

He took a step closer to her, hands stuffed in his pockets as he cocked his head to the side trying to find her gaze. Her hand began trailing up her arm, raising goosebumps on her skin as her thoughts enveloped her once again, a wince engulfing her features as her hand danced over a particularly sensitive spot on her shoulder. 

Sam’s eyes danced over her figure, taking in the polka dotted pajama pants that hugged her hips and the wrinkled t-shirt that hung to just below her mid drift, a sliver of pale skin peeking out between the two pieces of fabric. Her hair stuck out wildly, the majority of it piled in a messy bun on the top of her head while loose strands framed her face. His eyes followed the movement of her arm, couldn’t help noticing the look of pain that graced her face every time she’d brush her shoulder. 

He took a deep breath, taking another step forward as he almost closed the distance between them. The girl that stood before him wasn’t the bubbly light hearted girl he had met the night prior, a mere shell of what she had been and he needed to know why. He reached out towards her, gently curling his index finger below her chin and tilted her head slightly. 

A frown tugged at her peony tinted lips, the corners turning downwards as she finally mustered up the courage to meet his gaze. Her eyes fluttered shut as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, an ache settling in her chest as she choked back the sob that threatened to escape her. 

His thumb danced over her cheek - seemingly of its own accord - soothing strokes keeping her somewhat grounded as her body began to shake. Her fingers gripped at the hem of her shirt as her arms tightened around her midsection. Sam cleared his throat, unsure of what to say as she slowly began to fall apart. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He tried, keeping his voice soft, not wanting to startle the girl any further. She shook her head, unable to form any coherent thoughts as she reached up and covered her face with her hands shielding herself from him. A sigh slipped past his lips as he pulled his hand back, running it through his long dark hair as he rocked back onto his heels. 

“I… I’m not okay.” Her voice was barely a whisper as her reserve finally broke, sobs wracking her body as she let herself slide down the side of the car coming to rest on the ground below. A nervous chuckle escaped Sam as he kneeled down in front of her, resting reassuring hands on her knees; the material of her pants soft under his calloused fingertips. A shockwave shot through her body at the unexpected contact, causing her breathing to falter slightly as she pulled her hands down her face. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

She let her hands fall away from her face, eyes bloodshot and lashes stuck together with left over tears. Her shoulders raised in a shrug as she looked everywhere that wasn’t him. He leaned back, readjusting his long legs so he sat cross legged in front of her instead of perching on his knees, letting his hands dance gently along her lower legs. She watched his hands closely, knew if he moved them too far back he’d connect with another sore bruise that he had left on her. 

“I’m just a mess you don’t want to fix.” She groaned, letting her head drop. He shook his head, reaching up to place his index finger against the middle of her forehead tilting her head back so she had to look at him.  “You’re not a mess, just upset. Sometimes an unbiased ear helps to talk to.” 

She glanced upwards, crossing her eyes as she tried so hard to see where his finger met her forehead, a giggle slipped past her lips as a soft smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. A sigh of relief slipped past his lips, wanted nothing more than for her to feel better. He let his finger slide down her forehead and over the bridge of her nose, landing in a soft poke on the tip of her nose. She giggled once more, her eyes following the path of his finger, screwing them shut tightly before shaking the pain out of her eyes.

“There’s that smile.”  A grin spread across his face as she sighed, wrapping her arms around her legs as she rested her chin on her knees. 

She kept her eyes trained on his face, drinking in every little detail about him. How his eyes danced across her face, lids drooped slightly as perfect lashes kissed his cheeks every time he blinked. A dark chestnut brown mustache graced the space between his upper lip and nose, the sides of it falling softly down past his bottom lip nearly meeting the goatee that covered his chin. His bottom lip sat softly between his teeth, turning his gaze from hers as he focused on the skin on the side of his thumb he was picking at. 

“The question still remains,” he started, lifting his hand to his face.  “would you like to talk about it?” The question was muffled, his teeth closing around a small piece of skin he couldn’t seem to break from his thumb. A sigh slipped past her lips, leaning her head back to rest against the car door.  “It’s a long and complicated story. I really don’t think trauma dumping on an almost complete stranger is attractive.” 

Sam chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled his thumb into his mouth using his tongue to soothe over the now irritated and bleeding skin. Pulling he hand back with a pop he inspected his digit, shaking it slightly before wiping it on the side of his pants. 

“I don’t think it’s considered trauma dumping if I’m asking you to talk, love. I think they refer to that as venting.”

She shrugged, eyes dancing around the almost vacant parking lot as he continued his attack on his thumb. He gauged her expression, the pain and upset evident on her face. 

Her brows furrowed together, eyes squinted against the setting sun; worry was etched into her features, the corners of her mouth tugging down into a frown. He placed his hands down on each side of him, lifting his weight of his body up with his arms and he scooted closer to her, resting his hand back on her knee. 

“I mean it doesn’t have to be here. It’s a pretty sketch place.” He laughed, a boisterous sound she had yet to hear; one that shook her fully out of her thoughts as her eyes snapped back to him. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, eyes fixated on him as he used her knee for leverage, standing to his full height and held his hands out in front of him. He raised a brow at her, wiggling his fingers in front of her. She reached up, curling her fingers around his as she allowed him to help pull her up to her feet. 

[dimalink]

Bass music

And about my music exercise a several word. There is nothing special. I am a music listener. And I all he time to have a dream to take in my hands a music instrument and to do something.

This is a smaller size of a jack input

I have a soviet bass guitar Ural. Now I can go back to bass guitar. It is a deal that several month, starting this 2024, it was a repair. I can say I try to make instrument ok about to repair. I need to fix a holes for mount belt with a wood. To screw out those bolts that were there. And screw in a new ones. I take a not expensive Chinese. With a silver color bolts for bass guitar. And already install them. And check them. All is ok. Color is beautiful. Silver. Such white. As metal. It reflects light. Surface of bolts white, metallic, silver and reflecting light. Such a little you can see it like a mirror a little reflects such effect. It is beautiful result!

My brother helps me at all the stages of process. Without him – I cannot to do these things. All complex things were made by my brother. And my part was to keep guitar straight and not to shake a guitar, while brother do the fixes. But bolts I screw by myself. They are self tapping screws. But before to setup them into the place, it is required to take a drill and drill a hole into the wood. This for example was made by brother. Little brother is clever. He can do deal with tech. A head works very good.

These are new silver bolts that hold the belt. They are shining and new!

So, all the things are done, in main, to return to bass music exercises. So I do not played it because of repair about a month duration. But it is not done with guitar itself. But to start a train it is already ok. I play while standing. And do not to plug in instrument. And play with pick.

This is a hole to put here a new jack input

Most close stage – already to plug guitar into sound card by input jack. Standard input. And here in my bass it is installed a smaller size jack. So, I decide to update it with standard jack. It is already goes from China. One moment is that on this guitar it has a flat element for jack output. So flat metal element, this metal thing, it should be flat. So, I select a silver color. So, it is light metal. Iron such as a visual. And square form. So, I wait for delivery.

And in network lots of them rounded. So, a curved rounded elements for jack input. It is American format. It is most common. But in China you can find a flat variation to setup a jack into a guitar. This iron should be flat for bass guitar Ural.

 As I setup. I can to plug in. And a main that I already going back to excises with bass guitar. There are several exercises I do. And with slowed tempo I try to learn something, that I call a cold wave, gothic. So,  about a last year, and this year I already learn it. But in slowed tempo. But I have not played for a month and already forget.

Dima Link is making retro videogames, apps, a little of music, write stories, and some retro more.

WEBSITE: http://www.dimalink.tv-games.ru/home_eng.html ITCHIO: https://dimalink.itch.io/ GAMEJOLT: https://gamejolt.com/@DimaLink/games

BLOGGER: https://dimalinkeng.blogspot.com/

[chaoticgouda]

26. “okay so, can you like stop checking me out?”

   "well, if i can, i would. but nope, i can’t, sorry.“

For Comichi djdbdjs

Uhhhhhh DRABBLE ATTACK [flings this at you and bolts over the horizon]

[Word count: 754]

You were at your fucking limit.

The proverbial last straw had already been bent, mangled, rendered useless by whatever awful malicious hands of fate had decided to mess with you today.

The floorboards were threatening to splinter into a multitude of shards from the sheer force of your hoof as it drove into the wood, tapping an irritated pattern that only hastened every time you felt that smirk settling on your skin again. Their gaze itched like a cheaply-woven tunic, making your every hair bristle to attention.

You folded your arms snugly against your chest, ears pressed flat against your head as your nose sent out a small ripple of wrinkles. Two notes drifted teasingly into the air, whistled with such an air of smugness that you could just see the irritating smirk, even when you screwed your eyes in a vain attempt to shut them out.

"What." It was more of a snarl than a question, though your own nature betrayed any attempts to be intimidating. What was intended to be a threatening growl sounded far closer to a self-pitying bleat.

"What?" Comedee's tone was painstakingly innocent. Their voice was as light and floating as their own feet, hovering a few inches off of the ground. "Something got your horns in a twist, trinket? I'm just whistling, is that such a crime?"

"Whistling??" You whirled around to glower at them, a hand slotted firmly on either hip. "That wasn't- You're blatantly looking me up and down like I'm- Like I'm a slab of meat on the butcher's slab! It's demeaning, it's unnerving, and above all it's... Well." Brain floundering for a moment to come up with the perfect conclusion, you stammered out a weak  "Distracting."

You realised your mistake before the first glint of smug delight had time to bloom in their eyes.

"Distracting, you say? And what is it that you find so terribly distracting about my attention? Is there something you'd like to admit to the audience, Chime?"

The genie spread both of their hands out in a dramatic sweep, as if gesturing to this invisible audience. You could feel your eyes rolling in your skull even as the embarrassed blush took root in either cheek, spreading out until all of your face felt aflame.

It only served to encourage them more. Displaying weakness or embarrassment in front of Comedee was like passing a pinata and a stick to a kid who was hopped up on sugar at their birthday party - They would keep beating at your weak point until you burst, no matter how long it took or how much you protested.

Only with anger. Or humiliation.

Instead of candy.

And you were distracting yourself with metaphors as a way to escape the situation, again. Comedee had briefly paused their most recent monologue, the slow smirk on their half-covered lips indicating that they were fully aware of it too. Pan, you hated how adept they were at reading your expressions. It made you feel less like an open book, and more like a speech that was ready to be crowed out in the town square. Humiliating.

Sensing that your focus was back on them again, they swiftly continued where they had left off.

"Oh my, are you accusing me of some terrible crime? Is it truly so cruel to whistle, whilst committing the grievous sin of looking directly at someone? Is that the crime you're charging me with, trinket? Shall I be hung, drawn and quartered for daring to perform, as is my right and responsibility as the most perfect patron of the arts? Am I destined to b-"

"I just want you to STOP checking me out!"

"Oh, is that it? Well, if I can, I would. But nope, i can’t, sorry."

They shifted almost lazily until they were laying on their front, chin propped on both of their hands as they floated before you. Their head tilted to one side, lips stretching into a darkly curved grin as they watched you furrow your brow, then frown, then frustratedly stamp your hoof once more.

"Seriously?? It's not even that entertaining, you're stuck with me every day! Surely it's gotten boring, staring at the same person every da-"

Your sentence broke off as a finger booped your nose, causing you to snort in surprise and reel back from them. Blinking quickly, meeting their eyes, you felt your stomach flip as they flashed a saccharine-sweet smile at you.

"With reactions like that? How could I ever grow bored of playing with my most  prized possession?"

[movingtothefarm]

Decoding Screw Labels

example:  12-24 X 7/8 Hex Washer Head Self Drilling #3 Drill Bit

12 – Represents the thickness of the shank. Think dress size. The bigger the number, the thicker the shank.

24 – Represents the number TPI, or the number of threads per inch. The higher the number, the finer the threads, which are best used in metal applications. The fewer the threads per inch, the coarser the threads, the faster the screw will drive and are the preferred threading for wood applications or wood studs.

7/8 – measurement from underneath the head to the tip of the screw. In the case of flat headed screws, the length is measured from the top of the screw to the point.

#3 Drill Bit – Drill bit tips range from #2 to #5. They do not represent the size of the hole that they will drill but do represent the thickness of metal they will drive through. Source: All Points Fasteners by MaryLouise Eckman, Head Screw Lady Since 1986  

Self-Drilling Versus Self-Tapping

[algolstare]

terrible terrible furniture assembly experience over and done with at last i wuv you estelle ms brute force i have no idea how the fuck we got through that it was like well if im going to pass out at least i can put more of my weight onto this stupid stupid wood to get it to fit how it is sposed to. "self-tapping screws" my ass so what now are you goign to dress up a cow and present him to the court as a prince

[dasset-engineering]

Dasset Engineering: Leading Manufacturer & Supplier of SS Chipboard Screws (DIN-7505) 

When it comes to high-quality fastening solutions, Dasset Engineering stands as a trusted name in the industry. As a premier manufacturer and supplier of SS Chipboard Screws (DIN-7505), we take pride in delivering durable, precision-engineered products that meet international standards. 

In this blog, we’ll explore what makes Dasset Engineering’s stainless steel chipboard screws exceptional, their applications, benefits, and why you should choose us for your fastening needs. 

What Are SS Chipboard Screws (DIN-7505)? 

Chipboard screws, also known as particle board screws, are specifically designed for fastening chipboard or other types of engineered wood. The DIN-7505 standard ensures that these screws meet stringent quality and dimensional specifications, making them suitable for professional and industrial use. 

At Dasset Engineering, we manufacture stainless steel (SS) chipboard screws that provide exceptional corrosion resistance, strength, and durability. This makes them perfect for indoor and outdoor applications, even in moisture-prone environments. 

Features of Dasset Engineering's SS Chipboard Screws 

Precision Engineering: Manufactured to meet DIN-7505 standards, our screws offer uniform threads and perfect fitting. 

Superior Corrosion Resistance: Made from high-grade stainless steel, they are ideal for environments exposed to humidity or chemicals. 

Easy Installation: The sharp threads and self-tapping design ensure effortless penetration into chipboard and other materials. 

Versatility: Available in a wide range of sizes to cater to diverse needs in woodworking, furniture assembly, and construction. 

Applications of SS Chipboard Screws 

Dasset Engineering’s SS Chipboard Screws are widely used in: 

Furniture Manufacturing: Perfect for assembling wooden furniture with a secure grip. 

Carpentry Projects: Ensures smooth fastening in engineered wood and plywood. 

Construction Industry: Ideal for building cabinets, flooring, and wall paneling. 

DIY Projects: Great for hobbyists looking for reliable screws for home projects. 

Benefits of Choosing SS Chipboard Screws from Dasset Engineering 

Enhanced Durability: Stainless steel construction ensures long-lasting performance. 

Eco-Friendly: Our screws are made from recyclable materials. 

Cost-Effective: Competitive pricing without compromising on quality. 

Global Standards: Adherence to DIN-7505 standards guarantees superior quality. 

Customization Options: We offer customized solutions to meet specific requirements. 

Why Dasset Engineering? 

With years of expertise in manufacturing and supplying fastening solutions, Dasset Engineering is committed to delivering excellence. Here’s what sets us apart: 

State-of-the-Art Technology: We use advanced machinery to ensure precision in every screw we produce. 

Quality Assurance: Every product undergoes rigorous quality checks. 

On-Time Delivery: Our efficient supply chain guarantees timely delivery worldwide. 

Customer-Centric Approach: We prioritize your needs, offering tailored solutions and excellent customer service. 

Conclusion 

When you need reliable, high-quality SS Chipboard Screws (DIN-7505), Dasset Engineering is the name you can trust. Our screws are designed to offer unmatched durability, corrosion resistance, and ease of use, making them the go-to choice for professionals and DIY enthusiasts alike. 

Choose Dasset Engineering for fastening solutions that stand the test of time. For inquiries or to place an order, contact us today and experience the difference in quality and service.

[hobo-rg]

Itsy-bitsy screws are sometimes unavoidable, but you know what's absolutely 100% avoidable is self-tapping screws into plastic. Or self-tapping into anything besides wood, really. Bolts and nuts or GTFO.

Something that I think should be an important part of solarpunk aesthetics is screws.

Look at your smartphone. No screws. You've got to have specialized tools to get inside your phone to repair something. There are certain pieces of tech that are glued in place and glue can't be undone without permanently breaking the bond.

But screws!

You can take apart a broken old radio, repair what's broken, and, if you were careful in taking it apart, you can put it back together and have a fully functioning radio and all you need is a common screwdriver!

It's hard to build screws and other mechanical fasteners because it requires more planning than clamps and glues, but isn't that what solarpunk is all about‽ It's about care and sustainability and and a radio or a computer built carefully with repair in mind is a sustainable computer that stays out of landfills and in use.

[shubhambloggerseo]

Understanding Types and Uses of Stainless Steel Fasteners

Ananka Fasteners is the leading Top-quality Stainless Steel Fasteners Manufacturer in India. Highest quality fasteners are supplied by us to several industries worldwide. A vast array of forms, sizes, and dimensions are available for fasteners. To accommodate specific customer needs, they can also be altered. We are also a leading custom fastener manufacturer in India. 

SS Fasteners are used to connect or secure a range of things. In several industries, such as building, manufacturing, transportation, and home goods, they are essential components. Fasteners prevent pieces from moving or separating and provide mechanical strength and integrity to integrated structures. 

Types of Fasteners:

Screws:

Wood Screws: With a coarse thread and a sharp point for effortless penetration, these screws are made specifically for use in wood applications.

Machine Screws: Available in a range of sizes and materials, machine screws are usually used with nuts or tapped holes.

Self-Tapping Screws: These screws don't require pre-drilling because they have a sharp point and form their own threads as they penetrate the material.

Bolts:

Hex bolts: Easily identified by their full threads and hexagonal heads, these bolts are frequently utilised in structural and building applications.

Bolts for Carriage: Carriage bolts, which have square necks and round heads, are frequently used in wood applications where one side of the wood needs to be smooth.

Nuts:

Hex bolts: These bolts are easily recognized by their hexagonal heads and full threads, and they are widely used in building and structural applications.

Lock Nuts:

 Lock nuts are available in a variety of styles, including serrated and nylon-insert, and are made to withstand loosening from vibrations..

Washers:

Flat Washers: Distributing the load and creating a smooth surface, flat washers are positioned beneath nuts or bolt heads.

Spring washers: These washers are designed like springs and provide tension to stop vibration-induced loosening.

Anchors:

Concrete anchors: These anchors, which come in a variety of designs such as wedge and sleeve anchors, are used to fasten objects to concrete surfaces.

Drywall anchors: Made of lightweight materials, drywall anchors offer support for gypsum board and other similar materials.

Applications:

Aerospace:

Specialised fasteners are necessary for the assembly of aircraft and spacecraft because aerospace applications require accuracy and dependability.

Woodworking:

Fasteners, such as wood screws, are essential to woodworking projects because they provide a stable connection between wooden parts.

Construction:

In order to give buildings and bridges the strength and stability they require, bolts and nuts are widely used in structural applications.

Automotive Industry:

Fasteners, such as bolts and screws, are essential for assuring dependability and safety when assembling different car parts.

Stainless Steel Fasteners Manufacturer are used in heat exchangers, instrumentation, and other applications because of our extensive industry experience in sourcing, manufacturing, and exporting. In difficult environments, they are often employed for delicate functions. All applications, whether they are seawater, nuclear, offshore (petrochemical and buoyancy), pumps, valves, or other, require exceptional service and dependability.

For more details:

Web site : anankafasteners.com

Product Source: SS Fasteners Supplier in India

[coldsongmusic]

Screw Manufacturer in India

India is home to a thriving screw manufacturing industry that supplies a wide range of screws for various applications, from construction to electronics. Known for quality and precision, Indian manufacturers use advanced technology and materials to produce durable, corrosion-resistant screws that meet international standards. These screws are crafted from high-quality metals like stainless steel, carbon steel, and alloys, ensuring long-lasting performance. Indian manufacturers cater to diverse industries, offering customized screws in multiple sizes and types, including machine screws, self-tapping screws, and wood screws. With a focus on innovation, quality control, and competitive pricing, Indian screw manufacturers have established themselves as reliable suppliers, meeting both domestic and global demand with high-quality products.

[ananka-fasteners]

Fasteners Manufacturer, Supplier & Exporter: An Overview

Introduction

Fasteners are the backbone of industries worldwide, enabling the assembly and disassembly of parts and equipment across various sectors. Ananka Fasteners is a leading manufacturer, supplier, and stockist of high-quality fasteners in India, delivering superior fastening solutions to industries both domestically and globally. From automotive and aerospace to construction and electronics, our fasteners play an essential role in ensuring the structural integrity and safety of countless applications. In this article, we’ll explore our comprehensive range of fasteners, their applications, and the global markets we serve.

We adhere to rigorous quality standards to meet the needs of diverse industries. From standard bolts, nuts, and screws to custom-made fasteners in special grades, Ananka Fasteners ensures every product meets stringent specifications for durability, strength, and reliability.

Countries We Export Fasteners 

Ananka Fasteners has established a strong presence worldwide, exporting to numerous countries across continents. As a trusted exporter, we deliver our products to regions including:

Asia: Saudi Arabia, Singapore, Malaysia, South Korea, and Japan.

Europe: Germany, France, Italy, Spain, and the United Kingdom.

North America: United States and Canada.

South America: Brazil, Argentina, and Chile.

Africa: South Africa, Egypt, and Nigeria.

Oceania: Australia and New Zealand.

Our fasteners are preferred globally due to their precision, adherence to international standards, and reliable performance across various climates and conditions.

Applications & Uses of Fasteners

Fasteners are indispensable in many sectors, where they provide the strength and reliability needed to maintain structural integrity. Some common applications include:

Construction: Used for structural connections in steel frames, bridges, buildings, and infrastructure projects.

Automotive: Essential in vehicle assembly, fasteners hold engine parts, body panels, and other components together.

Aerospace: Used in aircraft assembly, fasteners must meet stringent requirements for strength, durability, and corrosion resistance.

Electronics: Required for assembling components in computers, phones, and other electronic devices.

Oil and Gas: Utilized in equipment exposed to extreme conditions, such as offshore rigs and pipelines.

Marine: Fasteners for marine applications are corrosion-resistant, designed to withstand saltwater environments.

Energy and Power Generation: From wind turbines to solar panels, fasteners are critical in renewable energy installations.

Fasteners Dimensions, Grades, and Specifications

Ananka Fasteners offers a wide range of dimensions, grades, and specifications to meet the unique needs of different industries and applications. Below is a general overview of the categories we manufacture and supply:

Bolts: Available in various grades like Grade 2, Grade 5, Grade 8, and Stainless Steel grades like A2 and A4.

Nuts: Common specifications include hex nuts, lock nuts, flange nuts, and slotted nuts in both metric and imperial sizes.

Screws: Types include wood screws, machine screws, self-tapping screws, and sheet metal screws in different head and thread types.

Washers: Available in flat, spring, and lock types, washers prevent loosening and provide even load distribution.

Threaded Rods: Fully or partially threaded rods that support structural applications and heavy loads.

Ananka Fasteners manufactures fasteners in a variety of materials, including carbon steel, stainless steel, alloy steel, brass, titanium, and exotic alloys. Each product is designed to meet both ISO, DIN, ASME, EN and ASTM standards, ensuring high-quality output.

Fasteners Manufacturer, Supplier & Exporter in Israel and Other Countries

In addition to our substantial presence in India, Ananka Fasteners has a growing customer base in Israel, where our fasteners are widely used in industries such as construction, defense, and technology. Israel's expanding industrial sector relies on robust fastening solutions to maintain quality and safety standards. We also export to other countries in the Middle East and Europe, meeting the high demand for reliable fasteners across industries.

Why Choose Ananka Fasteners?

Choosing Ananka Fasteners means investing in quality, durability, and reliability. Here are some reasons to consider us for your fastening needs:

High Quality: Our products are manufactured using advanced technology and stringent quality checks, ensuring reliability.

Customization: We offer customized solutions for specific industrial applications, including tailored grades, sizes, and materials.

Competitive Pricing: Our high-volume production capabilities allow us to offer competitive pricing without compromising on quality.

Timely Delivery: With a robust logistics network, we ensure prompt delivery of products worldwide.

Technical Support: Our experts provide technical guidance to help customers select the most suitable fasteners for their needs.

Conclusion

Fasteners are crucial for the structural stability and functionality of modern infrastructure and machinery. Ananka Fasteners is dedicated to providing high-quality fastening solutions that meet the needs of various industries, from automotive to aerospace, across the globe. Our extensive product range, commitment to quality, and focus on customer satisfaction make us a trusted partner in fastening solutions.

Whether you need standard fasteners or customized solutions, Ananka Fasteners offers reliable products that adhere to the highest industry standards, ensuring exceptional performance in every application.

FAQ

Q1. What materials are used in manufacturing Ananka Fasteners?A: Ananka Fasteners manufactures fasteners using a variety of materials, including carbon steel, stainless steel, alloy steel, brass, titanium, and other exotic alloys, depending on the specific requirements of the application.

Q2. Do you offer customized fasteners?A: Yes, we offer custom manufacturing for unique requirements, including specific dimensions, materials, and grades suited to different industrial needs.

Q3. What standards do your fasteners meet?A: Our fasteners meet international standards, including ISO, ASTM, and DIN, ensuring high quality and reliability for various applications.

Q4. How do you ensure the quality of your fasteners?A: We follow a strict quality control process, including material inspection, dimensional accuracy checks, and load testing, to ensure that each product meets rigorous quality standards.

Q5. Which countries do you export to?A: We export to numerous countries worldwide, including the USA, UK, UAE, Israel, Germany, and Australia, among others.

Q6. How do I choose the right fastener for my application?A: Our technical support team can help you choose the most suitable fastener based on the load requirements, environmental conditions, and application specifications.

[rifo1011]

From Construction To Crafts: Bolts You Can't Live Without

Bolts may seem like a small, inconspicuous part of the construction and crafting world, but their importance is vast. From holding together towering buildings to becoming key components in detailed craft projects, bolts play an indispensable role in many industries. In this article, we’ll dive deep into the world of bolts, exploring their different types, uses, and why they’re crucial across multiple fields.

Bolts

What Are Bolts?

Bolts are threaded fasteners designed to secure materials together, often in conjunction with a nut or pre-tapped hole. They differ from screws primarily in their reliance on nuts for fastening. Whether you're working on construction sites or small-scale DIY projects, bolts provide strong, secure connections. Their ability to bear weight and withstand pressure makes them essential for various structural and craft applications.

History of Bolts

Bolts have been around for centuries, with their earliest versions dating back to ancient times. Early metalworkers used primitive bolts for structural and mechanical applications. Over time, the manufacturing process of bolts has become more sophisticated, enabling the creation of stronger, more reliable fasteners that meet modern engineering and crafting needs.

Why Bolts Are Essential Across Industries

Bolts are used in countless industries, from construction to automotive, aerospace to home improvement. They ensure the structural integrity of buildings, bridges, and other infrastructure. In the craft world, bolts can be used for artistic, decorative, and functional purposes. Their versatility makes them an indispensable tool.

Types of Bolts

Hex Bolts

Hex bolts are among the most commonly used fasteners, thanks to their six-sided head, which makes them easy to grip with wrenches. They’re primarily used in construction, machinery, and steelwork. Their versatility allows them to hold together heavy materials like steel beams and timber.

Carriage Bolts

Carriage bolts have a rounded, domed head with a square neck, making them perfect for wooden applications. They’re used in projects where the bolt head needs to sit flush with the material, providing a clean and polished finish.

Eye Bolts

Eye bolts are designed with a loop at the top, often used in lifting and rigging applications. Their looped head allows for attaching ropes, cables, or chains, making them ideal for hoisting heavy loads safely.

Lag Bolts

Lag bolts are heavy-duty fasteners typically used for securing wood, especially in construction settings like decking, fences, and heavy timber structures. Their coarse threading allows for strong gripping power in softer materials like wood.

Machine Bolts

Machine bolts are often used in metal applications. With a uniform diameter and threading, they’re typically paired with a nut and washer to secure heavy metal components in place.

Choosing the Right Bolt for Your Project

Material Considerations

Bolts come in a variety of materials, including stainless steel, brass, and alloy. Steel is by far the most popular due to its strength and cost-effectiveness. Stainless steel bolts are corrosion-resistant, making them suitable for outdoor or marine environments, while brass bolts offer aesthetic appeal and are often used in decorative applications.

Bolt Size and Strength

Choosing the right bolt size and grade is critical for ensuring the safety and longevity of your project. Bolt grades indicate the strength and durability, with higher grades suitable for heavier loads and more demanding applications. Using the wrong size or grade can compromise the structural integrity of your project.

Bolts vs Screws: What’s the Difference?

Though often confused, bolts and screws serve different purposes. Bolts generally require a nut to secure them, while screws are self-tapping and create their own threads within the material. Bolts are typically used for more heavy-duty fastening, while screws are more suited for light-duty or precision work.

Bolts in Construction

Structural Bolts for Buildings

In construction, bolts are fundamental to creating strong connections between materials like steel, wood, and concrete. Structural bolts are specifically designed for critical connections in load-bearing areas of buildings, bridges, and other large structures. Their precision and strength ensure that these constructions remain stable over time.

Safety Standards in Bolting

Regulatory standards for bolts are strict, especially in construction. International standards such as ISO and ASTM set guidelines for bolt materials, dimensions, and performance characteristics. Bolts used in critical infrastructure undergo rigorous testing to ensure they meet safety requirements and perform reliably under stress.

Crafting and DIY with Bolts

Creative Uses of Bolts in DIY Projects

Bolts are not just for construction; they’re also popular in DIY crafting. From furniture design to wall art, bolts can be a creative way to add industrial flair to your projects. They can be used to build shelving, create custom light fixtures, or add functional accents to home decor.

Tips for Using Bolts in Crafts

When using bolts in crafts, it’s essential to choose the right size and material. For decorative projects, consider using brass or stainless steel bolts for a polished look. Make sure you have the proper tools, such as a drill and wrench, to secure the bolts safely and effectively.

Maintaining and Reusing Bolts

Inspecting for Wear and Tear

Regularly inspecting bolts for signs of wear, rust, or damage is critical to maintaining the safety of your project. Over time, bolts can loosen or corrode, especially in outdoor applications. Routine maintenance can help you spot issues before they become safety hazards.

Eco-Friendly Practices: Reusing and Recycling Bolts

In an effort to reduce waste, many bolts can be reused. If a bolt is still in good condition, you can repurpose it for another project. Additionally, metal bolts can be recycled, making them an eco-friendly choice.

Industry Views On Indian Bolt Manufacturers

Bhansali Fasteners is a leading bolt manufacturer in India. Bolts are polished to the customer's specifications, which include the size and thickness of the wall. Another choice for situations with greater requirements is heat treatment. We manufacture, provide, and stock a wide variety of bolts in different sizes at competitive prices. Additionally, look at the bolt weight chart.

Bolts are crucial components in almost every sector, including automotive and aerospace, building, and infrastructure development. Bolts, despite their modest and basic appearance, serve an important function in maintaining the structural integrity of enormous machinery, buildings, automobiles, and daily objects. Without these little but powerful fasteners, our world would literally come apart.

Over the past few decades, Bhansali Fasteners, an expanding center of industrial production, has witnessed tremendous expansion in its bolt manufacturing industry. In the past, India's manufacturing prowess was frequently linked to textiles and basic commodities, but in more recent times, the nation has emerged as a major supplier of engineered goods, such as bolts, to the world market. 

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Website: bhansalibolt.com

Product: Stainless Steel Bolt Manufacturer

Other Product: Fasteners Manufacturers In India.