#baling press machine

[kelvinwatertech]

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

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 Businesses are learning how to recycle outdated equipment by utilizing modern technology.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

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

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

The Amount of Raw Material to be Baled

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

The lifespan of the Equipment

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

Raw Material to be Processed

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

Safe Operation of Equipment by Staff

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

Benefits of Hydraulic Baling Press Machine:

Reduces the cost of garbage disposal.

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

Facilitates the transit or storage of items

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

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

[fullyautomaticcomposter]

Kelvin Water Technologies Pvt. Ltd. is manufacturer or supplier of baling press machines For More Details: Visit us: https://www.kelvinindia.in/ Email Id: info@kelvinindia.in Contact Us: +91 9812241001. . .

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[balingmachine]

Why A Hydraulic Baler is Necessary For Plastic Recycling

Plastic pollution has become a global environmental crisis, prompting a growing need for effective plastic recycling solutions. As the demand for sustainable practices increases, the role of specialized equipment like Plastic Baling Machine becomes crucial in streamlining the recycling process. In this blog post, we'll delve into the significance of plastic balers in plastic recycling, exploring how they contribute to environmental sustainability and efficient waste management.

Volume Reduction:

One of the primary reasons Plastic Baler is necessary for plastic recycling is their ability to significantly reduce the volume of plastic waste. Plastics are lightweight and voluminous, making transportation and storage a logistical challenge. Plastic balers compress and compact plastic materials into manageable and space-efficient bales. This not only optimizes storage space but also facilitates cost-effective transportation of recycled plastics to processing facilities.

Cost Efficiency:

Plastic recycling is a resource-intensive process, and minimizing costs is essential for its widespread adoption. Automatic Baler plays a key role in achieving cost efficiency by reducing the number of trips required for transportation and the overall handling of plastic waste. With compacted bales, transportation costs are lowered, and the recycling process becomes more economically viable, making it an attractive option for businesses and municipalities.

Enhanced Sorting and Segregation:

Efficient recycling begins with proper sorting and segregation of materials. Plastic balers aid in this process by allowing for the segregation of different types of plastics. The compacted bales can be more easily sorted based on their composition, ensuring that recycling facilities receive a homogeneous feedstock. This improves the overall quality of recycled plastics and enhances the efficiency of downstream processing.

Space Optimization at Recycling Facilities:

Recycling facilities often deal with vast quantities of plastic waste, necessitating effective space management. Hydraulic Baler contributes to this by compacting plastics into manageable bales, allowing recycling facilities to optimize their storage space. This not only increases the overall efficiency of the recycling process but also enables facilities to handle larger volumes of plastic waste.

Environmental Impact:

Plastic pollution poses a severe threat to the environment, and recycling is a key strategy in mitigating its impact. Plastic balers aid in environmental conservation by promoting the recycling of plastics rather than their disposal in landfills or incineration. By reducing the volume of plastic waste and facilitating its transport to recycling facilities, plastic balers play a pivotal role in minimizing the environmental footprint associated with plastic disposal.

Encouraging Sustainable Practices:

The use of plastic balers promotes sustainable practices by making plastic recycling more accessible and economically viable. Businesses and industries are more likely to adopt recycling initiatives when they can do so in a cost-effective manner. Plastic balers contribute to creating a circular economy for plastics, where materials are recycled, reused, and repurposed, reducing the demand for new plastic production and decreasing the overall environmental impact.

Compliance with Regulations:

As environmental regulations become more stringent, businesses are compelled to adopt sustainable waste management practices. Plastic balers help organizations comply with these regulations by providing an efficient and compliant method for handling plastic waste. By investing in the right equipment, businesses can ensure that they meet environmental standards and contribute to a cleaner, healthier planet.

Conclusion:

In the quest for a more sustainable future, plastic balers emerge as indispensable tools in the realm of plastic recycling. Their ability to reduce volume, enhance sorting, optimize space, and promote cost efficiency makes them essential components of a well-rounded waste management strategy. As the world continues to grapple with the challenges of plastic pollution, the adoption of technologies like plastic balers becomes paramount in paving the way for a greener and more sustainable tomorrow.

[rolcontechonologies]

Scrap Baling Press Machines Manufacturer — Rolcon Technologies Private Limited

Rolcon Technologies Private Limited, based in Sampla, Haryana, is a premier manufacturer of high-quality scrap baling press machines. Known for their robust engineering and innovative designs, Rolcon Technologies specializes in manufacturing machines that streamline the waste management process across industries. With years of expertise and commitment to sustainability, the company provides advanced baling solutions that cater to diverse industries, ensuring efficient recycling and reduced environmental impact.

Rolcon Technologies Private Limited,, is a premier manufacturer of high-quality scrap baling press machines. Known for their robust engineering and innovative designs, Rolcon Technologies specializes in manufacturing machines that streamline the waste management process across industries. With years of expertise and commitment to sustainability, the company provides advanced baling solutions that cater to diverse industries, ensuring efficient recycling and reduced environmental impact.

What Are Scrap Baling Press Machines?

Scrap baling press machines compress recyclable materials like waste paper, metals, and plastics into compact bales. These machines are essential for waste management industries as they simplify transportation, storage, and recycling.

At Rolcon Technologies, the focus is on creating high-performance baling machines that:

Reduce waste volume. Save space and transportation costs. Ensure user-friendly operations. Offer durability and long-term reliability.

Key Products by Rolcon Technologies

Rolcon Technologies offers a diverse range of scrap baling press machines designed to meet the varying needs of industries. Here are their top products:

Auto Tie Horizontal Paper Baler This advanced auto tie horizontal paper baler is ideal for large-scale operations in industries dealing with waste paper and cardboard. Its automated tie system reduces manual effort, increases efficiency, and ensures tightly compacted bales for easy handling and transportation.

Fodder Baler Specially designed for the agricultural sector, this machine efficiently compresses fodder into compact bales. It helps save storage space, reduces transportation costs, and ensures better handling of animal feed and agricultural by-products.

Triple Compression Baling Press Built for heavy-duty operations, this baling press is perfect for industries managing large quantities of ferrous and non-ferrous metal scraps. Its triple compression baling press mechanism ensures maximum density, making it an essential tool for metal recycling plants.

Double Compression Baling Press A versatile and cost-effective solution, this baling press is designed for medium to heavy-duty operations. It is ideal for compressing metal scraps, offering excellent efficiency and durability for recycling operations.

Waste Paper Baler This baler is tailored for recycling waste paper, cardboard, and similar materials. It provides efficient compression and is widely used in paper mills and packaging industries to streamline the recycling process. With their cutting-edge designs and focus on efficiency, Rolcon Technologies’ baling machines are setting new standards in the waste management and recycling industry. Whether you’re dealing with paper, metals, or agricultural waste, their solutions are reliable and eco-friendly.

Why Choose Rolcon Technologies?

State-of-the-Art Manufacturing: Every machine is crafted with precision using cutting-edge technology to ensure high performance and durability.

Customization: Rolcon Technologies understands that every business has unique needs. They offer tailored solutions to match specific requirements.

Eco-Friendly Approach: The company emphasizes sustainable waste management and aims to contribute to a greener future.

Customer Support: A dedicated team provides seamless after-sales service and technical support.

Applications of Rolcon’s Machines

Rolcon Technologies’ baling press machines are versatile and widely used across industries, including:

Paper and Packaging: For recycling waste paper and cardboard. Metal Recycling: Compressing metal scraps into manageable sizes. Plastic Recycling: Managing plastic waste for easier storage and transportation.

About Rolcon Technologies Private Limited

With a mission to innovate and lead the waste management sector, Rolcon Technologies has become a trusted name in the industry. Their focus on quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction has earned them a strong reputation among manufacturers and recyclers.

If you’re looking for efficient and reliable scrap baling press machines, Rolcon Technologies Private Limited is the name you can trust. For more information, feel free to contact their team and explore how they can help you optimize your waste management processes.

[xtpack]

XTY-300LE11070 Paper/ Carton Balers

XTY-300LE11070 is specially designed for cardboard, carton, newspaper, soft plastic film etc. with wide feed opening door. The wide feed opening door will lift upwards automatically when the platen goes up. The operation is very convenient.

Pressure: 30tons

Feed Opening Size (L*H): 1100*500mm

Baling Chamber Height: 1400mm

Bale Size (L*W*H, H is adjustable): 1100*700*(500-900)mm

Bale Weight: 150-250kgs

Power: 5.5kw

Machine Weight: 1900kgs

Machine Overall Dimension: 1500*1050*2900mm

[vodika-vibes]

Cowboy Casanova

Summary: When you decided to move to the middle of nowhere to get some perspective in your life, you expect to be bored out of your mind. You definitely don’t expect Bacara.

Pairing: Commander Bacara x F!Reader

Word Count: 4123

Warnings: Smut, dom/sub dynamics, biting, hints of a breeding kink

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @dukeoftheblackstar @kimiheartblade @mire-draws-things

A/N: This started out at one thing, turned into another, which turned into a third thing, and anyway it's now what it was supposed to be so I had to change the name, which makes me sad. The Original name was Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy. Anyway! I hope you like my sin. Also, this is a western au because...I don't have a reason other than Bacara with a cowboy hat. I'm sorry. Anyway, no requests got done today because of this. Note, this isn't edited - so if you see any errors, no you didn't.

“You’re staring,”

“Am not.” You reply absently as you drag your gaze across Bacara’s bare chest, your eyes lingering first on his dog tags and then on the nipple piercings that he got when he lost a bet.

He chuckles, low and deep, “You’re still staring.”

“If you don’t want to be stared at, then you should put on a shirt.” You counter, unrepentant.

Bacara arches a brow and flings a rag at your face, making you sputter and scrunch up your nose, “You wouldn’t say that if I was staring at you.”

“Of course not. Double standards are a thing after all.”

He rolls his eyes and walks over to you, leaning into your personal space as he picks up his rag again, a smug smirk crossing his face when your gaze drops to his chest and then his waist, before snapping back to his face, “See something you like, city mouse?”

Your face heats, but you keep your gaze locked with his, “Just worried that your pants are going to fall down since they’re hanging so low.”

“Fashion choice,” Bacara replies with a shrug, as he walks away from you and back over to the machine he’s trying to make work, “Besides, it’s hot as balls out here, and I hate the feel of my shirt sticking to my skin.”

Well, he’s not wrong about that.

Bacara leans back into the engine block and reaches in, “Why don’t you just pay someone to come and fix it?” You ask.

“You have the money for some repair man from the city to drive out here and fix this? Cause I sure as hell don’t.”

“You own, like, a dozen cows.”

“There are three dozen of them, actually.”

“That’s not the point that you think it is.”

He laughs and pulls back, “Yeah, yeah. I know. Come here, I need a small hand.”

“I don’t fix things, Bacara.” You warn, though you do hop off the bale of hay that you’ve been sitting on and walk over to him.

“You need to learn, city mouse. What happens if something breaks in your home?”

“Uh, I’ll call you.”

“What if I’m not available?”

“Why wouldn’t you be available?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t exist to come running at your beck and call.” Bacara replies dryly.

“What? Wow! Really?” You marvel sarcastically, and then you yelp when he pinches your side. “Rude!”

“Alright, Little Miss Sass, I need you to reach into there and feel around for any loose wires.” Bacara explains as he presses his chest against your back and points where he needs your help.

“Wires? I’m not going to get electrocuted, am I?” You ask as you try, really, really hard to not get distracted at the feel of him pressed against you.

He shoots you a look, “Of course not. It’s totally safe.”

“Fiiine.” You sigh out as you reach into the opening and feel around blindly, “Um...okay, I found a wire.”

“Excellent work,” His voice is low against your ear, and you can’t help but shiver. Embarrassingly, he notices and a quiet chuckle falls from him, “I need you to follow the wire and tell me if it’s connected on both ends.”

You ignore him, as best as you can, and feel around for a moment, “I...think so? It doesn’t feel loose at least.”

“Damn, I was hoping you’d say the opposite. Alright, pretty girl. You’re done. This is now, officially, someone elses problem.”

You pull your hand out and make a face at the oil on your fingers, “I thought you didn’t want to pay-”

“I don’t, which is why I’ll have Neyo come and fix it.”

“Ripping off your own brothers, shame-”

“What are brothers for if not a little unpaid labor every now and then?” Bacara asks rhetorically, “Come on, you can come inside and get that stuff off your hand.” He picks his hat up off his work table, and pauses before setting it on his head.

He shoots you a small smirk, and drops his hat on your head, it immediately tilts over your eyes, and you use the back of your hand to tilt the rim back so you can look at him, “Well, how do I look?” You ask with a small grin.

Bacara lazily drags his gaze across your body, his smirk growing, “Hot as hell,” He drawls.

Your face heats again. Still, you’re not able to stop the delight from sliding across your face, “Well, thank you~”

He stares at you for a moment longer, and then motions for you to follow him. It’s kind of unnecessary, you could navigate Bacara’s ranch blindfolded and drunk, but you do appreciate being able to walk with him.

After you get yourself cleaned up, which takes a lot longer than you anticipated since the oil just did not want to come off your hands, you meander from the guest bedroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

He’s still not wearing a shirt, and you’re beginning to think that he’s walking around like that intentionally. “Did you manage to get the oil off?” Bacara asks as he turns to face you.

“Yeah, eventually. The bottle of special soap was empty, so I had to make some more real quick.” You shrug easily as you sink into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. You don’t mind, you normally make it for him anyway.

Your parents would be so proud. Thousands of credits spent on a fancy Chem degree...and you use it mixing oil removing soap.

“Sorry about that, I should have checked earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You fold your legs under you, and your attention lands on something interesting on the table.

Now. Bacara is a rancher, there’s always new and interesting things laying around his house that he needs to explain to you. Over the year that you’ve been friends with him, you’ve learned a lot about ranching and about the things that he needs to do his job well.

This, however, is new.

“Bacara?” You sound slightly bemused as you reach across the table and hook a finger under, surprisingly silky, maroon rope, “What’s this for?” You ask as you turn your gaze to him.

Unless your eyes are deceiving you, there’s a hint of a blush on his face.

“It’s a joke gift. From Cody.” Bacara replies as he walks over to the table and picks up the rope, only to hesitate for a moment, “Although-” he murmurs quietly, as if to himself, as he pulls some of the rope out and lays it across your wrist, “It would look amazing wrapped around your wrists.”

You tilt your head and your mouth is slightly dry, you’re pretty sure that his comment was meant to be an inside thought, not an outside one, but it’s not like you can unring that bell.

“I think it’d look better wrapped around yours.” You blurt, and his gaze snaps to meet yours, “The color would look amazing against your skin tone.” You add, sheepishly.

He stares at you, and you stare right back at him.

And just as you’re about to apologize, Bacara smirks.

“Alright.”

You blink at him, “Alright?”

“Alright. Lets see what you’re capable of.”

You blink at him again. And then a third time as his words process, “Wait! Really?”

“Really. Unless you think you can’t handle it.”

“I can handle it,” You shoot back, “The question is can you?”

He folds his arms across his broad chest, “Let’s make this a little more fun-”

“-more fun then you getting tied up?”

His grin is predatory and sharp, “I don’t beg. Ever. For anyone.” He advances on you, “However, if you can make me beg in say...an hour, you win this little challenge and I’ll do whatever you want for a week.”

“You already do whatever I want, Bacara.” You point out.

“Unimportant.” He replies, “But when you lose-”

“-if. If I lose-”

His gaze locks with yours and his grin becomes even more predatory, “When you lose,” Bacara repeats, “I get two hours to make you beg for me, and when I win you’ll do whatever I want for a week.”

“Hold on now! How come you get two hours and I only get one?” You demand.

“Because I’m going to spend the first hour with my face buried in your pussy, that’s why.”

Your entire thought process screeches to a halt as your train of thought derails. “...oh.”

“So what do you say, city mouse? Do we have a deal?”

And, really, there’s only one thing you can say to that, “Deal.”

Bacara advances on you again, essentially crowding you, as he walks you through his home and into his bedroom. His eyes a glittering with arousal, but he doesn’t touch you, as much as you can tell that he wants to.

He kicks the bedroom door shut and turns on the lamp so there’s some light in the room, and then he folds his arms and waits.

You gaze at him thoughtfully, a small smile on your lips, “You’re wearing too much. Strip.”

His gaze is hot as it lingers on your face, “Yes ma’am,”

You consider watching him strip for a moment, but instead turn to the bed and start setting up the rope, while pulling out your phone to look up safe ways to tie him up.

“Alright,” You murmur to yourself as you make sure the ropes are secure around the bed frame, and you climb off the bed to focus your attention on him, “Pick a position that’s comfortable for you, Bacara.” You say as you carefully don’t take your eyes off his face.

“Not even gonna steal a peek, kitten?” Bacara asks, as he moves passed you and settles on the bed, with his back pressed against the headboard.

“I lady doesn’t peek, Bacara,” You sniff.

“Oh? Do they tie up their friends.”

“I can leave you know.”

He laughs and grabs your wrist to tug you onto the bed, you tumble against him, your hands settling on his shoulders, as he reaches around you to settle his hand on the back of your neck, “I want you to look, kitten. After all, I need to know if I meet your approval.” You have to shift to get more comfortable, eventually straddling his thigh so you’re not twisted uncomfortably.

You roll your eyes, but slowly drag your gaze down his chest, a nearly silent sigh of delight falling from you when you see that he’s still wearing his dog tags. Bacara chuckles lowly, and you hurriedly continue your visual perusal of the man beneath you.

He’s solid, your Bacara. Oh sure, he has a belly, but you’re pretty sure that he’s solid muscle, like the professional weight lifters you used to know in college. Big, beefy, and could lift you with one arm if he was so inclined.

Absently you trail your fingers down his chest, teasingly skirting around the nipple piercings, and down his stomach, and then your gaze lands on his cock.

Already erect and with precum leaking from the head.

He’s gorgeous.

But that’s not what catches your attention. No. What catches your attention is the golden piercings.

You blink at the piercings dumbly for a moment. “Holy shit Bacara.” You blurt, “Why didn’t you say that you had cock piercings?”

“Not really something that comes up in polite conversations,” He counters with a grin.

“But...If I had know then my-” You cut yourself off before you finish the thought, and you snap your gaze to his face, “Never mind.”

“Oh no, you definitely need to finish that thought, kitten.” Bacara practically purrs, “Come on, your what?”

“Nope. Not going there.” You shift your weight slightly, and reach down to grab his wrist, but Bacara doesn’t let you move it. “Really?”

He smirks, “Tell me, and I’ll let you tie me up.”

“Don’t you automatically lose if you don’t let me even try?” You try to bargain.

His smirk widens, “No, because I saw that look on your face. You want my face in your pussy.”

Damn him for being right.

“Fine,” You drag the word out, “I might have fantasized about you before. Maybe.”

He smirks smugly, “Knew it. Alright, you may continue.”

“I’m pretty sure that I’m supposed to be the one in control right now.” You counter, even as you bring his hand to the headboard and carefully loop the rope around his wrist.

Bacara hums and his still free hand comes up to caress your hip, “Oh, kitten. I need you to understand that I’m letting you do this. But I need you to know that I’m the one in control here, not you.”

Your fingers slip on the rope, “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t say that for the sake of the challenge.” You finally say once you finish with your knot, “How’s that? Too tight?”

Bacara tugs at the rope experimentally, “Good enough.” He finally says, as he lifts his other hand to the headboard.

You’re a lot faster this time, now that you know what you’re doing, and you sit back on your heels as you look at him. “I was right,” You finally say as you climb off of him so you’re able to peel your own clothes off.

“Bout what?” Bacara asks as he watches you strip with hungry eyes.

“That color does look amazing against your skin.”

He hums his understanding, tilting his head so he’s able to watch you push your shorts and panties down your legs. “I can just about guarantee that it’s going to look much better against yours.”

You set your clothes on a chair and climb on the end of the bed, settling yourself between his feet.

Bacara looks completely relaxed, and you’re beginning to accept that he was right, he is the one in control here, as much as it might seem like you are. “Just gonna sit there and stare at me, kitten?” He drawls.

“I’m thinking.”

“Do you need some direction?” He offers, “Because I can do that.”

“I’m not giving up yet, Bacara.” You counter as you slide up so that you’re better able to reach him, your fingers feather light as you glide them across his thigh.

His muscle twitches under your touch, “Yet, huh.” Bacara says with a small smirk, “Good to know.”

Finally fed up with his comments, you surge up and crash your lips against his. Your hands wander across his chest, lightly flicking his piercings, as you trail your tongue across his lower lip.

You’re almost surprised when he takes control of the kiss.

Almost.

He catches your lower lip between his teeth, and nips you roughly enough that a squeak falls from you. Bacara then soothes the sore spot with a lazy swipe of his tongue, and the moment you part your lips for him, his tongue slides against your own.

He maps out your mouth with a single minded intensity that leaves you moaning, and encourages you to straddle him again. When you break the kiss, you’re slightly breathless, and his gaze is dark as is slides across your face.

“You should give up, kitten.” Bacara purrs.

You shake your head, “I can still win.”

He laughs, “You’re already straddling me, and we haven’t done much more than kissing.”

“That-”

“I’ll make you feel so good, kitten.” He purrs as he tugs his wrist once, causing the knot to unravel. He presses his hand against the small of your back, and pulls you closer, and you shiver when you feel his hard erection pressed against you.

Unthinkingly, you grind against him, the head of his cock pressing deliciously against your clit and a moan fall from your lips as you do so.

His arm hooks tightly around your waist, and he pulls you closer so that he’s able to trail his lips against your throat, “Say you give up, kitten. And I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

Your lips turn down into a small pout.

“We can try this again later,” He promises, very temptingly, “After you’ve had some time to prepare properly.”

You peer at him, and then release a heavy sigh, and reach up to untie his other hand, “This isn’t me giving up.”

“Of course not.” Bacara agrees, suspiciously easily, “But, it is you forfeiting, which means it’s my turn.”

You squeak as he flips you so that you’re under him, smoothly using one hand to pin your hand over your head and tying them together and to the headboard.

Bemused, you tug on the ropes, but there’s no give whatsoever, “How-”

“Practice. I’ll teach you properly for next time.”

“...this game was designed for me to lose from the get go, wasn’t it.”

He grins and leans over you, his lips hovering just over yours, “Good girl, I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Not gonna deny that.” He replies before he kisses you deeply, but quickly.

And then he’s moving down your body, biting marks into the soft skin of your neck and throat, across your collar, and down your chest. You squirm and writhe under his attention, biting your lower lip to keep yourself quiet.

He takes a quick moment to lavish your nipples with attention, before he’s moving again. At this, you’re unable to keep yourself from gasping out his name, and you feel his lips curl up into a smile against your breast.

Bacara litters your stomach and sides with possessive marks and then he leaves a trail of bite marks from your hip to your thighs. By this point, you’re a moaning mess, you don’t care if this means that he wins, you just don’t want him to stop.

And only then, when he’s sure that you’re covered in his marks, and when you’re whining for him, does he spread your legs to make room for himself between your thighs.

“Look at you,” Bacara praises lightly as he drags a single finger between your folds, a pleased smirk crossing his face as your hips twitch towards him, “You’re already wet. Do you have a biting kink, kitten?”

Your face burns at his words, and you stubbornly press your lips together to not say anything.

Bacara clicks his tongue, and his hand lands, heavily, on your outer thigh. It surprises you more than it hurts you, and you blink at him wide eyed, “I asked you a question.”

You know what he wants to hear. Even though you’re so horny that you almost can’t stand it. Even though his large, calloused finger is circling your clit in a way that is kind of driving you insane. You still know what he wants to hear.

What he’s expecting to hear.

Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you plaster on your most innocent expression, “Did you?” You ask, slightly breathlessly as you clench around nothing from his teasing, “I wasn’t listening.”

Bacara stops. His fingers stop moving, and his hand, which was caressing your thigh and the red mark blooming there, stops moving as well. He searches your face for something, and then a slow smirk crosses his lips.

“Safe word or color?”

Your heart racing with excitement, you breath out, “Color.”

He hums, “What color are you?”

“Green.” You blurt, “Very green.”

For a moment, there’s a glimmer of something warm and soft on his handsome face, before it’s gone. “So, it sounds like you are able to listen.”

“When I want to.”

“Then it sounds like I just need to teach you that you need to listen to me, doesn’t it?”

You feel a thrill of delight, “If you ever said anything worth listening to-” You words get cut off with a ragged moan as he suddenly thrusts a finger into your pussy and curls it, almost instinctively finding the spot deep inside you that makes you see stars.

“I’m going to tell you how this is going to go,” Bacara says, a hint of promise in his voice, “I’m going to give you as many orgasms as I want, you are only allowed to cum when I allow it.” He eases his finger out of your pussy, and licks it clean with an appreciative hum, “And, if you don’t obey me, I’ll have to punish you.”

“Punish?” You ask.

He just smirks, “Do you understand? Answer verbally.”

“I understand,”

“Good girl,” He gives himself a couple of lazy strokes as he examines your splayed out body appreciatively. “I did say that I was going to bury my face in your pussy, didn’t I.” He muses, loud enough that you’re able to hear him, “But I don’t think you’ve earned that.”

That pulls an unhappy noise from your lips, and he chuckles, “Only good girls get to have their pussy eaten, and you haven’t been a good girl.” He releases your legs, letting them fall back to the bed, before he reaches up to check the ropes one more time, and then flips you, making sure that the ropes didn’t twist in such a way to hurt you. “There we go,” Bacara murmurs as he smooths his hand over your ass and then squeezes roughly

You squirm under him, but settle when you feel his hand press against your lower back. He quickly eases a pillow under your hips and adjusts your legs so that you’re spread wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you for a moment, though you can feel his heavy gaze dragging against you body. Just as you start to squirm, a little self conscious about being so exposed, his hands are on you again.

His hands are calloused and heavy on your body, and you’re sure you’re going to have bruises from his hands covering your body, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care as his hands press into you.

And then you don’t care about anything as the blunt head of his cock presses against you. Slowly he eases inch after inch inside you, and you’re squirming and whining before he’s even halfway sheathed.

The piercing feels amazing inside you, and you find yourself clenching around him.

Bacara groans and bites down on the back of your neck, “No cumming, kitten.” He warns as he slowly pushes the rest of the way in. As soon as he’s bottomed out, he presses a light kiss to the mark on the back of your neck.

He doesn’t move for a moment, and then he slowly eases out, until only the head of his cock is inside you. Bacara waits a beat, until you squirm to try and get him to move again, and then he thrusts in hard and fast.

He keeps the rapid pace, his breath hot against your ear, his hand fisted in your hair to keep your head down.

The sensations of his hand in your hair, and low groans in your ear, adding to the amazing feeling of his piercings dragging against your walls and the delicious stretch of his cock, are too much to handle.

And try as you might, you’re not able to keep yourself from cumming with a cry of his name.

You feel him laugh, “That’s punishment 1, kitten.”

“Not my fault-” You gasp, “Feels too good.”

“Oh? What’s that? Harder you said?” Bacara asks, as he adjusts himself slightly, before he leans in and catches your earlobe between his teeth. Before he does exactly as he warned, thrusting hard enough that you release a noise that is something between a moan and a sob of sheer pleasure.

“Good girl,” Bacara purrs, “You’re taking me so well.” He smooths his hand up your spine, “Such a willing little thing,” He coos in your ear, “I’m going to ruin you, kitten.” He catches your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue sliding against yours.

“Please,” You whisper, “Please ruin me.”

For half a moment, Bacara’s hips stutter, and he releases a deep groan. “Oh, princess. Gladly.” He pulls out completely, pulling a disapproving whine from your lips and then he flips you back onto your back, before he thrusts back into you hard and fast. “I’m going to stuff you full of my cum, princess.” He promises, “Over and over and over, until I’m good and done.”

“Cara-” You whine his name as you arch against him as best as you can.

“So, be my good girl and take all of me,” He orders as he leans in and catches your lips in a passionate kiss, “Be my good girl, and I’ll ruin you.” He promises, his gaze dark.

And, really, how can you do anything other than obey him after that promise.

[logankisseswade]

Deadpool Fixes Every Cinematic Universe(That He Wants To) aka Deadpool 4: Electric Boogaloo(My Deadpool Fanfic) by Me(Jimmy "Cobra" Ronan)

Disclaimer-enjoy the magic

Rating: PG-13

Couple: Logan and Wade

Movies that will be referenced: The Terminator, other Marvel Heroes and so on

Chapter One: The Kyle Reese To My Sarah Connor

*Logan walks into the bedroom, looking all hot and shirtless, he sits on the bed next to Wade, Wade dims the lights and tries to make the bedroom look like that hotel room where Sarah and Kyle were in in Terminator 1*

Wade: *trembling* God look at me *laughs nervously* I'm shaking....*sniffles* some great leader huh?...you must be so disappointed....

Logan: I'm not...

Wade: *presses record on his phone and starts filming himself and Logan* ....Logan?....what were the other versions of me like, in other universes?

Logan: good fighters *smirks*

Wade: no, not like that...I mean...was there anyone special? like a boy?

Logan: no...just you...*sighs deeply, lost in thought* Babypool Connor gave me a picture of you once...you looked so tense...I always wondered what you were thinking about in that moment...

Wade: *Logan trails on as Wade looks into the camera on his phone, he whispers to us the audience* Isn't Hugh just as sexy and talented as Michael Biehn? *snickers* God look at that body...God I'm lucky

Logan: Wade...stop breaking the forth wall and finish this scene with me

Wade: alright babe *pays full attention to Logan*

Logan: I came across time for you Wade...I Love you...I always have...

Wade: *tears up* Kyle *snorts, giggles* oops...Logan...

Logan: I shouldn't have said that

Wade: no, Logan, wait...

*The Love theme from Terminator 1 plays in the background, Wade grabs Logan and kisses him intensely, Logan kisses back, heavy, passionate kissing, soft moans, the record scratches and stops playing, loud abrupt noises outside*

Wade: oh God damn it! every time we try to recreate the Love scene something interrupts us!

Logan: it's okay bub *holds Wade's face and kisses him deeply* we have all the time in the world *smirks*

*loud banging and explosions and screaming outside*

Logan: Wade...what the hell is that?

Wade: you should go out and check you big sexy strong man you *giggles*

*Logan opens the door, it looks like a wasteland full of movie studio logos everywhere, this time it's not desert with Cassandra Nova, it's more like the streets of Detroit, Michigan, Terminator endoskeletons shooting at people, the real Kyle Reese shooting at them and the T-800 protecting him, Adult Edward Furlong arrives with a machine gun*

Wade: *gasps loudly* Mother of God!! John Connor??

*Christian Bale shows up looking like he did as John Connor from Terminator Salvation as well*

Logan: I think we just entered the Terminator franchise for real Wade

Arnold/T-800: *puts his hand out to Wade and Logan* come with me if you want to live, laugh and love

Wade: whoa, Uncle Bob does self help now?

Edward/JC: yeah he actually sells books now

T-800: I only shoot people now when they deserve it

Logan: *raises his eyebrow* I think I like this guy

Kyle Reese: whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, you guys can't go back into that hotel room!

Wade: why not?

Kyle: just trust me, these hotel rooms are cursed

Logan: where are we exactly? Wade...baby...what did you do?

Wade: I stuck us in a timeline generator

Edward: oh my God!! why would you do that?? we are so fucked right now Spiderman!!

Wade: what do you mean?

*Linda Hamilton shows up with a group of military men*

Linda: Wade Wilson, give me that time watch!

Logan: time watch? baby you said that was only a watch!

Wade: I may have lied a little

Logan: why would you do that?!

Wade: I wanted to take us on an adventure for our honeymoon sugar pie honey bunch

Arnold: give us the watch Paul Dead

Wade: no! I wanna play with Lana!*twists the watch on his wrist, a huge explosion goes off, everything turns white*

*pure silence, Wade wakes up in the middle of a beach, somewhere in California*

Wade: *looks around, panicking* Logan, baby...Wolfie!!

*Logan wakes up in another place without Wade, looks like a forest*

Logan: Wade...Wade?!!

Wade: *whimpers, sniffles* I take it all back Linda Hamilton, I don't like this!!...I want my husband back...ahh fuck...why do I do these things? first I fix my timeline and then I fuck it up because I wanna blend every other timeline *whimpers* Logan I'm sorry baby...I just wanted to play...I lost my Wolfie again...I wish, I wish upon a star, to not be a jackass so I could have my Wolfie back...aahh fuck!!

*kicks sand and screams, he falls to his knees and sobs, a picture falls out of his pocket*

Wade: *grabs the picture and looks at it, he and Logan are kissing on their wedding day, Logan's in a tux, Wade has a white wedding gown on top of his Deadpool suit, he touches the picture, he looks at us/the audience* I lost the Kyle Reese to my Sarah Connor...well...I'm gonna need all the help that I can get...and Logan, Baby, if you can somehow hear this...I pray to God you'll forgive me for fucking up our honeymoon...God I must be one of those donkeys from pleasure island...

*Baywatch theme starts playing, Wade turns to look*

Wade: oh my God...

*Pamela Anderson starts running down the beach in slow-motion, Wade gasps*

Wade: I used to have dreams like this!!... but not anymore Pammy, this Deadpool promised his Wolfie to go the monogamous route and I have to keep my mans happy

Pamela: hey you, Spiderman! who are you talking to?

Wade: the people reading this of course

Pamela: hey is that a time watch? those are illegal you know that?

Wade: yeah I kind of do stupid things sometimes...but hear me out, I have to get back home to my husband...only, there's a problem...

Pamela: you broke the space time continuoum?

Wade: kind of?

Pamela: oh fuck, Spiderman...

Wade: *wails loudly* I miss my husband!!

*Logan keeps going through the forest, he seems lost and stuck inside an endless forest, he stops walking*

Logan: fucking hell Logan!! *his voice echoes, he sniffles, he nods his head and sighs* we should've just stayed home for our honeymoon...but you always have to have crazy ideas don't you? ...that's what I love and hate about you...if you can hear me baby, I'm not mad at you...I love you...I know you can't help yourself...God did I marry a donkey from pleasure island?

*Logan notices in the distance is a 7-11*

Logan: oh God...a 7-11...our favorite place to make out in public

+ to be continued in Chapter 2+

[scotianostra]

James Allan Mollison was born on April 19th 1905 in Glasgow.

Graeme Obree, Chris Hoy and a certain steam train have all bee called The Flying Scotsman in their time, but the original title goes to a man who actually did fly, Jim Mollison.

Jim would go on to become a pioneering aviator, breaking records for long distance flights. His marriage to fellow aviator Amy Johnson also saw them lauded as the golden couple during their time together.

Born the only child of Hector Alexander Mollison, a consultant engineer, and Thomasina Macnee Addie. He was educated at The Glasgow Academy and Edinburgh Academy and took an early interest in flying and obtaining his Royal Air Force (RAF) Short Service Commission at 18, he was the youngest officer in the service, and upon completion of training was posted to India, flying on active service in Waziristan.

At the age of 22, Mollison became a flying instructor at Central Flying School (CFS), again setting the record for being the youngest in this role. Shortly after, he transferred to the RAF Reserve and devoted his time to civil aviation. In 1928-29, he served as an instructor with the South Australian Aero Club in Adelaide, leaving that position to become a pilot with Eyre Peninsular Airways and Australian National Airways.

In July-August 1931, Mollison set a record time of eight days, 19 hours for a flight from Australia to England, and in March 1932, a record for flying from England to South Africa in 4 days, 17 hours flying a de Havilland Puss Moth.

Mollison eventually served in the ATA Air Transport Auxiliary in the Second World War. In June 1941 Mollison and an ATA crew delivered Cunliffe-Owen OA-1 G-AFMB to Fort Lamy, Chad. The aircraft was fitted out as a personal transport for General De Gaulle.

Mollison was feted in London and New York, and could lead the life he had always wanted. “I am a night bird,” he once said. “Life and enjoyment begin when daylight fades. Cocktail bars and clubs, music, beautiful women— that’s living. Daylight comes to me as an interval for sleeping until an afternoon drink helps to bring on another evening.” His autobiography was called “Playboy of the Air”.

When Mollison and Amy Jonson married in 1932 the press were delighted, they were dubbed The Flying Sweethearts by the press and public. . The match was was perfect for the publicity machine, and the two of them set about devising new aviation records: in 1933 they flew together from Wales to New York and had a ticker-tape reception in Wall Street. But marriage did not last long or end well. It has sometimes been assumed that the match was a simple career move on Mollison's part: certainly he did not halt his relationships with other women. Nor did it limit his drinking. As I said earlier, he got the tag “ the Flying Scotsman” but those close to him called him “Brandy Jim”.

As well as his Playboy lifestyle and heavy drinking Jim Mollison was also quick with his fists, and a manager from the Grosvenor House Hotel was reported as saying ” We've had the most awful night here. Jim Mollison and Amy Johnson had a fearful row and he's beaten her up. The bathroom looks like a slaughterhouse.” The marriage officially ended in 1938.

Mollison kept flying, and – like Johnson – flew in a non-combat role in WWII. Both of them flew in the Air Transport Auxiliary. Johnson died in 1941 after baling out of aircraft. Mollison had at least one close escape, when his plane was shot up, but survived the war.

Mollison later settled in London and ran a public house. He married Maria Clasina E. Kamphuis in 1949 at the Maidenhead Register Office. Mollison continued to abused alcohol and in 1953, the Civil Aviation Authority Medical Board revoked his pilot's licence. The couple separated but Maria bought the Carisbrooke Hotel in Surbiton for him – a temperance hotel.

Suffering from acute alcoholism, he was admitted to The Priory, Roehampton, southwest London, where he died on 30 October 1959, the official cause of death was pneumonia, but unofficially it was thought to be alcoholic epilepsy.

[kelvinwatertech]

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[balingmachine]

A baling press machine, also known as a baler, is a piece of industrial equipment used to compress and bundle materials, typically into compact, manageable, and easily transportable forms known as bales. These machines are commonly used in recycling facilities, agricultural operations, manufacturing plants, and other industries that generate large quantities of waste or materials that need to be stored or transported efficiently. The primary purpose of a baling press machine is to reduce the volume of materials, making them more cost-effective to handle and transport. https://kelvinwatertreatment.com/baling-press-machine.html

[rolcontechonologies]

Manufacturer of MS Cable Drums/Spools/Bobbins for Cable Companies and also doing steel fabrication as per requirement by clients.

[dathen]

“‘What are you doing there?’ he asked.

“I felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story as that which he had told me. ‘I was admiring your fuller's-earth,’ said I; ‘I think that I should be better able to advise you as to your machine if I knew what the exact purpose was for which it was used.’

“The instant that I uttered the words I regretted the rashness of my speech. His face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in his grey eyes.

“‘Very well,’ said he, ‘you shall know all about the machine.’ He took a step backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key in the lock.

And this is where the similarities to Jonathan Harker cease: Hatherley openly shows his suspicion, and immediately gets locked inside a hydraulic press to be crushed to death for it.

I’m not going to victim-blame him over it, but it’s interesting to see a character do the exact thing that everyone yells at Jonathan for not doing, and immediately regret it as it backfires.

(also I’m remembering why I didn’t like this story as a kid bc this is EXACTLY MY PHOBIA. thanks star wars: a new hope for traumatizing me from the tender age of three!!)

[aphroditestummyrolls]

I’d love the wylan/Matthias one shot pls? I just read ur first part and want more.

🥹☺️❤️ I’m so glad you enjoyed the first section! Here’s a little bit from earlier in the scene.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t think to wait and knock. With a bowl of steaming stew and bread in one hand, Matthias used the other to find the door unlocked, and simply let himself in.

“Wy—“ he felt rather stupid once he heard the sniffling cries, and saw his friend jump, “—lan? Are you alright?”

After the day he’s had? A voice in his head chided him— it sounded like Nina. I’d say we’re well past asking if he’s alright. Blinking placidly at the room, Matthias felt like a bull trampling a field of wildflowers— unwieldy and far too large for the delicate machinations needed.

Wylan was sat on the bed, swamped in what was likely Jesper’s hasty attempts at care before Brekker swept him away. The pillows were propped behind his back, against the headboard. There was a scarf wrapped up in his hands as if he’d been pressing it to his face. He had not one, but two thick woolly jumpers pulled over his head, making his arms and torso look soft and padded in a way Wylan had probably never managed to actually obtain in his life. It made him look like he was part of the blankets.

It would be terribly endearing, if it wasn’t for the splotchy red flush across his cheeks and the way he ducked his head immediately from Matthias’s eyes.

“‘M fine.” He swiped roughly at his face, and Matthias had never believed anybody less.

He knew, though, if he wanted Wylan to look him in the eye anytime soon, he’d have to take fine for an answer. At least, for now.

“I brought you something to eat…” he changed the subject, hastily closing the door behind him and rounding the bed. He sat at the edge, near to his friend’s absolutely indistinguishable knees. “Nina said to eat it slowly.”

The merchling fixed him with a baleful look. “I don’t need instructions on how to eat.” Matthias wasn’t cowed in the slightest. Wylan’s dark eyelashes were clumped with tears, his eyes glassy. He was pale as a Fjerdan winter, the only colour in his skin being from the drying tracks on his cheeks.

He wasn’t exactly intimidating. “Her precise words were if he skipped lunch again, make sure he doesn’t make himself ill— his body’s been through enough today. But, if you’d like to piss off the woman who held your heart in her hands today, I can only advise against it.”

Regardless, Matthias set the bowl in his lap, and Wylan hummed when he wrapped his hands around it. The spoon shook slightly— he was still shivering. He managed a couple slow bites, swirling the bread into the broth as he chewed.

“I, I’m sorry— Thank you, Matthias.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled.

Wylan took another slow bite. “Has Mr. Fahey, um, has he eaten?”

“Yes, I brought it to him a moment ago.”

“How did…” he cleared his throat, “was he okay? When you saw him?”

Thank you for playing! ❤️❤️❤️

[all-the-things-2020]

No Better Place - Chapter 19

Summary: Cassidy breaks up with Javi and he throws himself into his work.

Word count: 3700

Cassidy woke late the next morning, Linus pawing at her face to tell her that his breakfast was late. She’d forgotten to switch on her alarm and it was nearly seven. She jumped up, shoved her feet into her boots and dumped a can of cat food into Linus’ dish before running out to the barn.

“Sorry, kids,” she said, as the horses all snorted at her. Even Cricket was impatient, kicking a hoof against the door of her stall. Cassidy tore open a bale of hay and started stuffing hay nets. Once she’d hung the fresh hay up in the stalls, she carefully measured out each horse’s grain and supplements. Cricket just got a few pellets to supplement her hay, since she was an easy keeper, but Buster and the mares needed to put on some weight, and they got pellets, grain and some supplements. Nugget was still on stall rest, so she fed him lightly, but he did get some grain mixed with his medications.

Once she’d hung the feed buckets in the stalls, she pulled, dumped, washed and refilled the water buckets. Only then did she head back to the house to pee and brush her teeth. As she entered the bathroom, she saw the pregnancy test sitting on the counter and the emotions of the night before came crashing down on her. She picked it up and threw it angrily into the trash can. She used the toilet, brushed her teeth and then decided to take a shower. She looked horrible. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her hair was a tangled mess.

The shower revived her a bit, and she managed a cup of coffee and a slice of toast before her throat threatened to close up again. “What am I going to do?” she asked Linus, who was sitting in the chair beside her, very helpfully cleaning his back legs.

It was clear that it was over between her and Javi but how to end it? Should she confront him about the woman in his apartment? Or just break things off? One thing was certain, she did not want to see him again. It would be too painful, and there was always the chance she’d lose her nerve once she was face to face with him. She’d had many opportunities to leave Travis that she left untaken just because he’d given her that grin. She wouldn’t give Javi the chance.

She could wait until he called, probably that night or the next, but what if he didn’t call and just drove down on Friday night or Saturday morning, showing up unannounced? “I’ll call him,” she told Linus. “After I know he’s left for work. I’ll leave a message on his answering machine and that’ll be that.” Linus looked up from his grooming, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth, bright pink and ridiculous. Cassidy sighed. “Then I’ll just have to deal with Chucho, but he should be easy enough to avoid.”

**************************************************************************

The next day was better, but Javi was still subdued as he went about his work. He would have worked through lunch again, except Monica forced him to walk to the deli down the street with her and a few other people. He ate half his roast beef sandwich and promised her he’d have the rest for dinner.

When he got home, he tossed the sandwich into the fridge and took off his jacket and tie. He flipped through the mail (all junk or bills, nothing interesting) and noticed the blinking red light on his answering machine. It was probably a telemarketer, trying to sell him insurance or a timeshare or some such nonsense. He pressed the play button, fully expecting to erase the message within the first few seconds.

“Hey, Javi, it’s Cassidy,” the tinny voice said. The speaker on this machine is crap, Javi thought. I need to get a better one. “Um, I don’t really know how to say this other than to just say it. I … I can’t do this anymore. It’s over, Javi. It’s not working and I feel like you need to focus on your life there in San Antonio. And I need to focus on my life here. I’ve been letting too much slide and I’m sure you have too and … well, I just think it’s best we end it now before things get out of hand. Goodbye, Javi. And good luck.”

He was stunned. He’d thought things were going well. True, he’d missed the last two weekends, but he’d been swamped at work and Cassidy had seemed to understand. He picked up the phone and dialed her number. After five rings, her machine picked up.

“It’s Javi,” he said. “Cassidy, pick up if you’re there.” He paused for several seconds, then went on. “Okay, I guess you’re out in the barn. Call me when you get back in. Please, Cassidy. Let’s talk about this.”

He hung up and fetched a beer from the fridge. He drank it and opened another one. Halfway through the second beer, he pulled the sandwich out of the fridge and ate a few bites. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore and he called her again.

“Hey, Cassidy,” he said when the machine picked up. “Come on, baby, talk to me. I don’t know what happened. Did I do something? Did I not do something? Tell me how I can make things right. I don’t want to lose you, Cassidy. I love you. So, call me back. Please.”

He turned on the television and watched some ridiculous sitcoms until ten, when a police procedural came on. He switched channels to a medical drama. Still no call from Cassidy. Before he went to bed, he called one last time.

“Cassidy, sweetheart, please, please, call me back. I don’t want it to be over. We can make this work. I’ll make sure I get home every goddamned weekend, baby, I’ll call you every night. Whatever you need to know that I’m one hundred percent committed to this relationship.” He sighed. “Okay, it’s late, I’m going to bed. I’ll call you again when I get home tomorrow, if you don’t call me first. I love you, hermosa.”

He got undressed and crawled into bed, but sleep eluded him for hours as he wracked his brain trying to figure out what could have triggered Cassidy’s decision to end their relationship. It just didn’t make sense.

********************************************************************

“You look like hell,” Monica said the next morning as soon as she saw him. “I know this thing with Andre is …”

He cut her off. “Cassidy broke up with me,” he said curtly as he dug in his desk drawer for a new pen. The one he’d been using kept skipping.

“What?” Monica plopped down in the chair he kept in the corner. “No way.”

He nodded wearily. “Yes,” he said. “There was a message on my answering machine when I got home yesterday. I called her back several times, but she’s screening her calls or something. I left messages …” He closed his eyes. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I have a shitload of work to do and I’m sure you do, too. If I need to talk, you’re the first person I’ll come to, I promise.”

Monica bit her lower lip, clearly wanting to say more, but respecting his wishes. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “But I’m making sure you take your lunch again today. Nobody starves on my watch, no matter how bad life gets.” She stood up and tilted her head. “I know this week has been a clusterfuck, Javi, but you’ll get through it.” She smiled at him and left, pulling his office door halfway closed, giving him at least a modicum of privacy.

Javi opened the file on his desk and stared at the page. It was going to be a very long day.

**********************************************************************

There was another message on his answering machine when he got home. It was short and to the point. “Javier, please, stop calling. There’s nothing you can do. I’ve made my decision. It’s over between us. I’m sorry.”

The click at the end of her message had a finality about it that made Javi’s stomach clench. He took a few deep breaths and then dialed his father.

“She what?” Chucho shouted as soon as Javi had told him about Cassidy’s messages.

“She broke up with me,” Javi repeated. “Can you talk to her for me, Dad? She won’t pick up when I call and she asked me to stop calling. I don’t know what happened, but maybe she’ll tell you, or you can figure it out. I don’t know what to do, Dad.” He choked back a sob. He’d be damned if he’d cry in front of his father, even if it was over the phone.

“Of course,” Chucho said. “I’ll go over there tomorrow and ask her what the hell’s going on.” He snorted. “I’ll knock some sense into that girl’s head.”

“Don’t yell at her,” Javi pleaded. “Just … just talk to her, see if she’ll talk to me.” He sighed. “I knew she had misgivings about trying to make a long distance relationship work but I thought she was over it. I guess not.” He shook his head. “I’ll let you go, but thanks in advance for anything you can do.”

“You hang in there, mijo,” Chucho said. “I’ll try to fix this.”

******************************************************

“No,” Cassidy said firmly. Chucho was in the barn aisle and she was inside the tack room, the half closed door making a sort of barrier between then. “I don’t have anything to say to him. I thought about things and I realized that it’s not going to work. End of story.” She hoped Chucho couldn’t tell that her voice was about to crack. She turned away to fiddle with the bridles that were already hanging neatly on their rack.

“Cassidy,” Chucho sighed. “I don’t know why you have such a crazy idea stuck in your head, but please, promise me you’ll at least consider talking to Javi. He’s broken hearted.”

I’ll bet, she thought, unable to get the image of that woman leading him back inside his apartment out of her head. “If I change my mind, I certainly will call him,” she said, “but I don’t see that happening. I’m sorry, Chucho, but I can’t handle this long distance thing. And before you even think about it, I can’t move to San Antonio. I’m not a city girl and you know it.” She looked up at him. “Javi belongs in the city and I belong out here. Those are the facts. It sucks but it’s true.”

Chucho shook his head. “I still think you’re making a huge mistake, mija, but it’s your decision. I’ll tell Javi what you said and he won’t bother you again. And neither will I.” He turned and walked out of the barn, his shoulders slumped.

It broke Cassidy’s heart to see how this had affected Chucho, but she wasn’t about to tell him the truth, that she’d caught his son cheating on her. Let him think Javi was a decent man as long as possible. She was sure that once Javi had accepted that things were over between them, he’d tell his dad about this other woman. Unless she was just another one night stand, in which case, Chucho need never know.

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Javi hung up the phone. He’d hoped his dad could get through to Cassidy, but she’d proven just as stubborn with him as she’d been with Javi. He glanced at his watch. It was only eight thirty; plenty of time for a run to the liquor store for more whiskey and cigarettes. There was no reason to stop smoking now. If he was honest with himself, the only thing keeping him from getting stinking drunk was the need to be in the office the next day, the need to do everything he could to make sure none of the other kids in the program ended up like Andre.

Monica wisely avoided him the next morning, even though he was sure she wanted to lecture him on his rumpled clothes and the pack of cigarettes displayed prominently on his desk. She merely shook her head a little as he headed outside for a smoke break before their weekly meeting with the chief of police. He knew she was disappointed in him, but Javi didn’t give a damn. He was going to wallow in his misery as long as he could, knowing that if he went off the deep end, Monica would haul his butt back to shore.

He threw himself into his work, getting to the office at seven and often staying until eight o’clock or even later. He took work home on the weekends and started carrying a pager, letting everyone know he was only a phone call away. He even gave his number to some of the higher risk kids, telling them they could call any time of the day or night if they needed to talk. He spent more than one long night on the phone with Carlos or Leticia or Martin, doing his best to listen and not judge. If they made it to the next morning without using or running with their crew, he counted it a win. He worked with their schools to arrange for extra tutoring hours to keep them off the streets. He even forked over money for baby formula when Mom’s child support payment was late or gas money so a dad could make it to a job interview. He loaned out several of his ties for job interviews and taught a dozen boys how to tie a Windsor knot.

Every night, when he finally made it home, he poured a few fingers of whiskey, smoked far too many cigarettes, and ate junk that would make Monica cringe. The apartment was just a place to catch a few hours of sleep, take a shower, and maybe watch a movie on the VCR to escape reality for a while. Work was his life and it was all that kept him going.

Thanksgiving came and Javi told Chucho he had to work the day before and the day after, so there was no point in driving all the way to Laredo. While the police department never shut down, his department had been given Friday as a paid holiday as well as Thanksgiving Day, but Javi declined to tell Chucho this. He reluctantly joined Monica and her family at Rob’s mother’s place for Thanksgiving Dinner, but left as soon as he politely could.

“Stay for a while,” Rob pleaded. “Watch the game with us.”

“Thanks, man, but this is your family,” Javi replied. “You don’t need me bringing you all down. I’ll be okay.”

Monica pressed a paper plate of leftovers wrapped in foil into his hands. “Do not work tomorrow,” she said firmly. Javi couldn’t lie to her, so he didn’t answer. They both knew full well he’d taken home a stack of paperwork to keep himself occupied over the long weekend.

It was harder to avoid going home for Christmas, but Javi was saved at the last minute by a torrential storm that brought rain and hail and even brief flurries of sleet, leading to the closure of many highways and a flash flood outside Laredo that washed out the road that led to Chucho’s ranch.

“You might as well stay put, son,” he said on the phone. “By the time they get the roads cleared, you’ll be due back at work. You can come down and pick up your present later.” Javi promised to do just that, even though he and Chucho both knew he was lying. He hadn’t been home in months.

They did talk on the phone, though. Their conversations were stilted as they carefully avoided talking about Cassidy. Chucho mentioned seeing her around town now and then, but he was casual about it, mixing news of her in with the usual gossip about other people that Javi knew. She was working part time at the feed store, having taken over for Jenny the cashier, who was on maternity leave. Chucho also mentioned that someone had seen Cassidy working as a bagger at the grocery store, but he couldn’t confirm since it wasn’t the store he frequented. Dr. Hamblin mentioned in passing that Nugget was still not sound enough to ride, but Cassidy refused to sell him, for fear he’d end up at the slaughterhouse.

Hamblin had been on the ranch to treat Buster for a small abscess in his hind foot, the result of a stone bruise sustained while chasing a particularly obstinate cow through a gully. Cassidy had trailered him over to Chucho’s a couple of days after the breakup and sent Javi a formal letter stating that he should start paying his boarding fees to his father instead of her. Luis was riding him every few days and sang his praises every time he slid out of the saddle. Chucho joked that he was going to give him to Luis if Javi didn’t get his butt down there, but even though he missed the horse, Javi knew he couldn’t look at him without thinking of Cassidy, so he stayed away.

A few days after New Year’s, Monica dragged herself into Javi’s office. “You look horrible,” he said without thinking. It was true. Despite having a three year old and a five year old at home, she was always put together. On this day, she had no makeup on and looked pale.

“Hold that thought,” she said, dashing out of the room. When she came back a few minutes later, it was clear she’d thrown up.

“Hungover?” Javi asked. He’d never seen her drink more than one beer or glass of wine, so he was surprised.

“Morning sickness,” she mumbled, folding herself into the chair in the corner. “I told Rob to get a vasectomy, since the insurance company wouldn’t let me get my tubes tied, but he wouldn’t listen. So, we’re having number three.” She smiled weakly. “And I’m not letting him touch me again until he does get the snip-snip. Three kids is more than enough.”

“Congratulations, I guess,” Javi said, suppressing a laugh. “Is Rob freaking out?”

“Oh, at first he was all Mister Macho,” she said. “Then I reminded him he gets to take care of the little rug rat on top of the other two and that sobered him up quickly enough.” She leaned forward. “I didn’t come here to throw up on you, I promise. I wanted to show you something.”

She handed him a brochure. The cover featured a photo of a small boy with Down Syndrome on the back of a horse, smiling broadly. The words Blue Ridge Equine Therapy and Horse Rescue were at the top of the page.

“Nice,” Javi said. “But I don’t understand.”

Monica nodded at the brochure. “They mostly do kids with disabilities, developmental and physical issues, but the woman who runs it said she’d be open to doing some psychological therapy, too. I know you said working with your horse helped you with your depression after you quit the DEA. I was wondering if you think something like this could fit into our program.”

Javi flipped the brochure open. Photos of smiling children riding horses and brushing horses were scattered among paragraphs describing how the charity rescued horses from abusive homes and auctions where they were vulnerable to being sold to slaughterhouses. They retrained the horses and either adopted them out or used them in their therapy program in conjunction with a local hospital’s pediatric department.

Monica got out of her chair and came to stand beside him. She laid her hand on his shoulder. “I know it probably reminds you of Cassidy,” she said quietly, “which is why I didn’t bring it up sooner, but I think it might help our kids. Mary Sue -- yeah, that’s her real name -- said they could help with the new intake horses, get them used to being groomed and handled without being afraid, and then they could assist with the therapy sessions. They have volunteers who lead the horses around, others who help the kids get on and off the horses, stuff like that. There are physical therapists who are in charge of the actual therapy but they concentrate on the kids. Our kids could focus on the horses.”

Javi nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I think it’s worth looking into,” he said. “Set up a meeting with her and I’ll find out what kind of funding we might be able to get.” He leaned back in his chair. “If we can get some of these kids out of the city, even one day a week, show them there’s more to the world than their neighborhood and the mall, it’ll help us help them.”

Monica squeezed his shoulder. “Good,” she said. “I was afraid you’d be resistant … that it might remind you too much of …”

He laid his hand on top of hers, cutting her off. “I’m fine,” he lied. “And you’re right, I know first hand how helpful working with horses can be for mental health. I’d like to get a list of the kids in the program who have the most severe psychological issues, offer this to them first.”

“You got it, boss,” she said. “I’ll set up a meeting with Mary Sue and get that list to you as soon as I can. If I can get back to my office without barfing again.” She laid her hand against her stomach. “Don’t take this personally, Javi, but men suck.”

After she left, Javi took a few minutes to stare at the brochure again. He carefully traced the horse’s head in the cover photo. It was a dark bay, very much like Buster. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then shoved the brochure into his desk drawer and went back to the report he was typing up on the computer.