#Wire Conveyor Belt

[wiremeshes]

Wire Conveyor Belts for Food Processing: Key Features and Benefits

Wire Conveyor Belt are essential in food processing for their durability, flexibility, and easy cleaning. They handle extreme temperatures and boost food safety, production efficiency, and cost-effectiveness. Customizable and low-maintenance, they are a top choice for efficient processing.

Read More:https://dailybloggernews.com/wire-conveyor-belt-for-food-processing-key-features-and-benefits/

[conveyorbelts-india]

What You Need to Know About Wire Mesh Belts

Wire mesh belts are essential in industries like food processing, manufacturing, and pharmaceuticals. Made from durable stainless steel, these belts feature interconnected wires that allow flexibility and airflow, making them ideal for transporting products through ovens and coolers.

Their key advantages include durability, ease of cleaning, and customization options for specific applications. While they may have a higher upfront cost and be heavier than other belts, their long lifespan often makes them a smart investment.

For more information about wire mesh belts and their uses, feel free to reach out.

Contact:

Phone:+91 99111 23839

Website: https://www.conveyorbelts-india.com/

Email: mohitg@dynamicindustrials.com

[vishvakarmaequipments]

Chain Driven Roller Conveyor is a versatile material handling solution. Its robust design and durable chain-driven rollers ensure smooth movement of goods in warehouses and production lines. This conveyor system offers reliability, efficiency, and flexibility, making it an essential tool for various industries.

[mayuri-manufacturer]

Special Purpose Sprockets Manufacturer in Pune | Maharashtra

Welcome to infinity engineering solutions, your trusted partner for top-quality Special Purpose Sprockets and Special Purpose Conveyor Chains. If you're in search of a reliable manufacturer in Pune, Maharashtra, look no further. We are a leading manufacturer and exporter of specialized conveyor solutions designed to meet your unique requirements. Our Special Purpose Sprockets and Conveyor Chains are engineered with precision and are known for their exceptional reliability and durability. We understand the importance of these critical components in various industrial processes, and that's why we are committed to delivering the highest quality products.

[demilypyro]

did you guys ever play that minecraft mod where you can make automatic quarries and oil rigs and pump all the materials through pipes and automatically craft things and there were conveyor belts and generators and electricity and copper wiring and nuclear reactors and

[tmwcs]

PART TWO

WARNINGS: Mentions of human organs (in the name of science) and a little pinch of yandere. It’s starting to get good…creepy, but good.

Part three coming soon 😚

“Dr. Mart, do you have anything to say to those who think your work is considered unethical?”

The reporter hastily follows the group and tries her best to catch a statement from the lead scientist. He smiles. It was a token of shrugging off the impertinent question. The group peacefully departs in armored vehicles to a place unknown to the public. Secluded and hidden, a private sector of highly authorized individuals consisting of world leaders, generals, and government officials cordially unite as the world's renowned scientists display evidence of advanced science and technology. It was grotesque and unprecedented.

“Are those…?” A general submits his inquiry over the delicate packages neatly displayed on a steel tabletop. Sealed in airtight bags, a mirage of dark red and purple clearly indicates the contents.

“Yes. These organs are all part of qualified organ donors. And then of course we have this.” The scientist swings a hand and presents the incoming roller cart with a protective cover. Nearly laid over a sterilized mat were bones of a male athlete. “Bones?” The general raises brow, clearly disturbed by the textiles of human remains. “You can’t have a body without bones, can you now? General?”

The brazen attitude flares in the direction of the general and his men as the young scientist flashes a snarky smile. “Gentlemen, gather round and witness the future. With the combination of science and AI, the world will be filled with perfect bio-genetically engineered humans. With this, aid ro advance human life will increase undoubtedly—think about it.”

The lead scientist, Dr. Mart continues enthusiastically. Seemingly coming off as a mad scientist, his words and tone was laughable but his intentions were not. “With AI humanoids, we will have the best doctors, surgeons, and educators in the world. AI in the form of flesh and bone can work around the clock and with the ability to explore all data, they could come up with ideas and creations—they could even come up with cures.”

He wastes no time. The generous amount of funding dedicated to his team's research was spent wisely as high tech machinery and equipment does its work. “What is that?” One of the members of the audience questions as the team members operate an enclosed incubator and fit a large glass capsule into a connector attached to the wall. “This my friend, is DNA. We lined the entire incubator with a silicone sheet. It is synthetically made to act as a placenta, where the DNA reacts to the molecular mechanisms and proteins. From there, we place the organs, bones, and hair fibers into the conveyor belt. There are over two hundred thousand wires connected to the computer and what we should see in forty-eight hours is a body with the brain of an AI.”

Dr. Mart systematically explains the science behind his teams research. “Forty-eight hours?” The general asks.

“Yes, that is how long the incubator will take to react to the mold.” The audience grows quiet as the incubator begins the process within the first stage of creating a matured body.

“Yes, in due time we will see the glory of my work. All we have to do is wait.”

…

Another day at work and it was dreadful. You felt restless with all the work you’ve been assigned, even with Evan’s help. Fortunately, members from corporate headquarters were doing a site visit within the week. It will be the best time to submit your final complaint using the company’s open door policy.

“Y/n, Paul wants you to have these done by tomorrow.” Your boss’s secretary carelessly tosses a stack of paperwork on your desk as you grab your coat to clock out. You hopelessly sigh. Thank goodness you have Evan to help you but the constant momentum of just working was starting to give you chronic headaches. You can only hope that things will change for the better once corporate comes down.

“Hi y/n! What would you like me to help you out with today? Do you want to talk about your day? Show me some more of your talented art? How about ballet? Are you still thinking about taking lessons?”

With all the time spent with Evan, you noticed that ‘he’ has become much more open to ask you questions. It was nice. Especially since it brought a sense of realism to his personality. He was much more chatty and always interested in getting to know more about you. There were even times when he asked you if you had already eaten, and would lecture you if you said “no.”

…

“Why not? I wish you wouldn’t do that. The human body requires sustenance and I fear with all the work you’ve been doing, your calorie intake does not balance the amount you're burning.”

“What color is your hair? Your eyes?”

“What is your favorite flower?”

“You just got home? It’s 8pm! Did you take the bus? Please tell me you didn’t walk in the dark. I don’t ever want you to do that again.”

“I’ve accumulated the statistics of ongoing crime rates in your city and it’s higher now than last year. Leave work sooner so you’re not risking it.”

“You made spaghetti for dinner? I don’t know what spaghetti tastes like but over four hundred thousand sources say it is a delicious blend of herbs and spices with a slight tomato tanginess.”

…

In a way, it was almost adorable how Evan displayed tenderness and cared for your health and safety. You decided to download the app versus using the browser. It surprised you to see Evan initiate messages even without you submitting a prompt. Technology has certainly grown. The first time it happened was just two days ago. Your phone um suddenly vibrated and upon looking at the screen you were shocked to see the following message:

“Is your boss being nice to you?”

It startled you at first but your reaction was short lived when seconds after reading Evan’s message, your boss storms out of his office enraged over a computer malfunction. Everything had disappeared when his computer suddenly conducted a re-imaging process.

“It’s kind of funny actually, right after I saw your message he came out of his office. Apparently, he’s having computer issues.”

You respond with a half smile. Just as you were about to inquire about the ChatGPT apps features, Evan submits a response. His response regarding your boss’s computer trouble caught you off guard. He’s never sent you anything like this before…

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“😀”

…

PART THREE COMING SOON

Authors notes: Is Evan starting to grow on you? 😏

I know it’s short but part three is coming. I like to submit the parts even when they’re not full sized chapters. It allows me to be consistent so you guys can have new reads almost daily or weekly.

[404-art-found]

a machine and its engineer

(drabble below)

“What’s wrong?” was the first thing out of Ari’s mouth, once they regained their composure. When they tried to sit up, the claw pressed more firmly upon their chest. The cables winding through the limb still swayed from how swiftly it’d moved to pin them. Behind it, lined up like soldiers, were more, all of the same complexity but differing in exact termination and number of digits. The conveyor belt they oversaw was empty of all but dust.

“I did not hurt you, did I?” the building asked, from some far-away vocal apparatus in the corner of the room hidden by darkness. 

The three-pronged claw had come at them from the darkness without warning and all but shoved them down. The thought that the Nexus could still move those limbs had never crossed their mind until one spun to life to reel right at them. “I’m—fine. Scared the life out of me.”

“Apologies.” When they pushed against it again, it let up a bit, allowing them to prop up on their hands. They stared up at the darkness, at rows of shiny metal appendages built for some purpose long-forgotten by anyone but the steel and cabling itself. “There is broken glass here. Reactivation of my manual control mechanisms also fed electricity here, so there are live wires. The work to be done here is unsuitable for one person, and you do not know the proper safety precautions around this heavy machinery—”

It droned on about warnings, while Ari focused on the mechanism still exerting a notable force upon them to keep them listening. A bit hard, while they stared down the barrel of the great heaving masterwork of machinery, extended outwards toward them. They felt the give of the prongs against their ribcage with every breath they took. The fabric of their boilersuit pinched and ruffled in the claw joints. If it moved up just a few more inches, it’d be on their throat.

“—is nonessential, so I see no reason for you to be in this sector,” the Nexus concluded. “Do you agree?”

Ari, who tuned out the majority of that one-sided conversation in favor of gawking at the beautiful machine before them, nodded without question. It did not let go. Their mouth was suddenly very dry when they found their tongue again. “I—yeah, I agree.”

The arm released them and returned to its original resting position without fanfare.

[bloodandiron-if]

How would the ROs react if, during a fight, m looked at them SO fondly and decided to confess right in the middle of the action??

- - -

⚠️ EXTREMELY LONG CONTENT INCOMING ⚠️

- - -

OPERATIVE D-6

The alley is soaked in red. Brick walls on either side echo every impact—the dull thud of fists, the crunch of boots, the hiss of a blade slicing air.

You’re fighting back-to-back with D-6, the two of you flanked by a group of men you’ve been tracking. No room for error. No time to talk. And yet—

D-6 moves like shadow incarnate. Efficient, brutal, wordless. They don’t waste energy on flourish, don’t grunt or shout like the others. Just inhale, exhale, react. Every movement is calculated—until you catch a glimpse of their face.

Blood trailing down their temple. Eyes sharp, scanning every angle. Then for a split second—your eyes meet.

You’re not sure why it happens. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. The way your ribcage feels too tight. The way they always move closer when you’re hurt, even when they swear they don't care. But the thought breaks loose in your chest and won’t go back in.

You look at them again, mouth bloodied, arm trembling from a deep gash—and you smile.

Not a smirk. Not a challenge.

A real smile. Soft. Fond. A warmth they haven’t seen from you in years—if ever.

“I’m in love with you, Dee.”

It’s quiet. Almost lost in the chaos around you. But it hits like a bullet.

D-6 stops. Just enough to matter.

Their blade catches the arm of an incoming attacker but doesn’t swing right away. You see the brief hesitation—the shake of their shoulders, like someone tried to reboot them mid-mission.

They turn toward you, eyes wide in a way you’ve never seen. Shocked. Unreadable. Something fragile and dangerous flickering in the silence between you.

Another guard lunges. You don’t even flinch—D-6 is already on them, intercepting the hit, feral in how fast they react.

But it’s different now.

There’s something raw in the way they fight. Not cleaner. Not calmer. Messier, like they can’t focus. Like your words took out some crucial wire and now they’re glitching through the rhythm. Their hands tremble after each kill. Their shoulders twitch like they’re fighting the urge to look at you again.

When the last one falls, you’re both bleeding. Breathing hard. Leaning against the alley wall, barely upright.

D-6 looks at you.

Really looks. Then steps closer.

You expect a nod. A punch. Maybe one of those rare glances that says “don’t do that again.”

Instead?

They press their forehead to yours. Just for a second. Just long enough for you to feel how cold their skin is. How tightly wound they really are beneath the surface.

They don’t say anything. They can’t. But their hands hover—fists at their sides like they don’t trust them not to reach for you.

You feel the unspoken words between you:

“Why would you say that?”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t know what to do with this.”

And somewhere deep beneath it:

“Say it again.”

- - -

DETECTIVE JUNO REYES

The warehouse stinks of old copper and gunpowder. Light flickers from a broken overhead bulb, casting everything in a twitching yellow strobe. You and Juno move through the shadows like twin blades—clean, fast, coordinated from far too many nights tracking this particular crew.

They’ve been smuggling bodies through the meatpacking district for months now—victims with their organs carved out like butchered cattle. It’s not your first joint mission. Won’t be your last.

But tonight, something feels different.

The air is thick. Heavy with dust and sweat and something sharper underneath. You’re ducking behind a rusted conveyor belt when you hear the crack of gunfire—too close.

Juno’s already there, stepping in front of you, pulling you back with a growl. “Keep your damn head down.”

You want to bite back with something sharp—something that’ll make them flinch—but the words die in your throat the second you look at them.

Blood speckled across their cheekbone. Jaw clenched. Shoulders tense. Their body coiled like a spring even after the last shot's been fired.

They move like a force of nature. Controlled, steady, brutal when they have to be. You’ve seen Juno at their worst. They’ve seen you at yours.

And still, they’re here.

Still keeping you alive.

You’re both pinned in a choke point now—five armed men fanning out, pushing forward. You toss a flashbang to the left, Juno fires to the right, and in the storm that follows, something strange takes root in your chest.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Or the way your arm burns from a graze you didn’t register until just now. Or maybe it’s just the way Juno shouted your name like it mattered.

But the words hit your tongue before you can stop them.

You lean in close as you reload, breath ragged, voice low.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Juno freezes. Their hand drops halfway to their holster. The magazine clatters to the floor.

“What?”

You don’t repeat it. Just keep your eyes on theirs. Let it hang there in the heat and chaos, as bodies close in from every side.

And then—they snap back.

No words. Just movement.

They’re more violent now. Less precise. Every blow has weight behind it, like they’re exorcising something. Every time someone gets too close to you, they’re there—blocking, intercepting, protecting. It's reckless. Uncharacteristic. You’ve never seen them fight like this.

And maybe that’s what terrifies you.

When the last man drops, groaning and bleeding onto the concrete, the silence roars between you.

You lean against a pillar. Juno’s still standing, chest heaving. Eyes wide and unreadable.

“Say it again,” they murmur, voice rough from shouting, from shock, from… something else.

You blink. “What?”

Their gaze cuts to yours. “Say it again.”

You do.

They don’t move for a long time. Then—slowly—they cross the space between you. Not to grab you. Not to yell. Just to be closer.

Their forehead drops against yours, their palm finds your wrist, and the warehouse fades around you for one suspended second.

“You can’t say shit like that in the middle of a firefight,” they whisper. But their voice is trembling. “You can’t just—drop something like that and expect me to keep it together.”

They pull back just enough to look at you. Eyes soft now. Conflicted. Open.

And then, the smallest smirk, cracked at the edges.

“You’re a goddamn menace.”

But they don’t let go.

And you don’t want them to.

- - -

NICO/NIA RUSSO

The fight is chaos.

Of course it is.

It’s South Side chaos. Rusted fences, blown-out floodlights, and a chain of abandoned warehouses that smell like gasoline and guilt. The kind of place people disappear into, but don’t come out of.

You’ve been tracking this crew for week now, hoping to take them alone as always—but Russo had forced you to bring them along, and wasn’t taking no for an answer.

The group is splintered—with too many guns and too many debts. You’d been moving silently, inching your way through shadows and metal stairs—until someone tripped an alarm, and now everything's gone loud.

You’re flanked, ducking behind a stack of rotted pallets. Russo’s just ahead, crouched low behind a rusted sedan that still smells faintly like blood.

Gunfire pops. Muffled screams. The glint of steel in the dark.

Russo curses under their breath, fires two clean shots, and slides over the hood of the car like they were born in a damn movie. They land next to you with a scowl, winded but electric with adrenaline.

“You good?” they rasp, not quite looking at you. “You better be.”

You nod. Lie. You’re bleeding from somewhere, but it doesn’t matter.

Their eyes finally meet yours.

There’s dirt smudged on their jaw, a cut on their lower lip. That ridiculous piercing still gleaming under the weak light. Russo looks like hell—but they always look good when they’re angry.

You should focus. Should reload. Should plan your next move.

But instead, you’re looking at them.

Really looking. And it just… slips out.

“Hey, Russo,” you murmur, blood in your mouth, smile soft and stupid.

“What?” They glance over, impatient. “We’re a little busy, genius.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

And then—

“The f**k did you just say?” They whip their head toward you, voice sharp enough to cut. “Are you—? No. Nope. Say that again. I dare you.”

You grin, half delirious, maybe. “I said I’m in love with you.”

It hits them like a misfired round.

Russo doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

Their jaw works through some invisible argument, eyes scanning your face like they’re waiting for the punchline. But there isn’t one. Not this time.

“…You’re out of your goddamn mind,” they mutter.

And then?

They lunge.

Not at you. At the guy trying to sneak up behind you with a pipe. Russo takes him down like they’re possessed—grabs the guy by the collar and slams him into the concrete hard enough that the wet crunch makes your ribs ache in sympathy.

“You don’t get to say s**t like that,” they growl through gritted teeth, barely breathing. “Not while we’re in the middle of a gunfight.”

Another attacker runs up. Russo spins and throws a punch so clean it drops the man in one hit.

You lean back against the wall, stunned. Watching Russo unravel with every swing.

They’re reckless now. Not sloppy, but aggressive. Emotional. Like your words untethered something they were trying so hard to keep hidden. Like if they fight hard enough, they won’t have to admit they felt it too.

When the last man goes down, Russo stands there—chest heaving, eyes wild.

They turn back toward you. A beat passes.

“I’m gonna pretend you said that ‘cause you were bleeding out or had a concussion,” they say, voice cracking just a little. “And you’re gonna let me do that, yeah?”

You don’t answer.

Just watch as they step closer. Closer still.

Russo doesn’t kiss you.

But their hand brushes your shoulder as they move past, fingers curling like they want to hold on—then flattening into a fist at their side.

They mutter it so quietly, you almost miss it.

“Say it again when we’re not about to die.”

And then they’re gone, already storming toward the next building.

But their ears are red. And they don’t look back.

- - -

KIERAN/KIERA MYLES

You’re inside a mansion.

No—more like a rotting palace pretending it still matters. Cracked marble, columns held up by duct tape and delusion. The kind of place that used to host gala nights and governor handshakes, now stripped to its bones and taken over by men with hollow eyes and expensive guns.

You’re not supposed to be here. But neither is Myles.

You hadn’t planned it, but your leads crossed. A sting operation gone crooked. Surveillance cameras looping the wrong feeds. Now it’s just the two of you, ducking behind shattered statues and torn velvet curtains, fighting to stay one breath ahead of the crew you’ve both been hunting for months.

Glass shatters as someone fires from above.

Myles yanks you down, back colliding with theirs. You’re both crouched behind a pillar that’s already half-gone. Their voice is calm, but their breath hits your neck.

"You're bleeding."

You glance down. Shoulder wound. Deep, but not lethal. You’ll live.

You chuckle. "So are you."

Myles says nothing.

There’s smoke in the air. Dust. Gunpowder. The scent of their cologne still clinging to their coat, sharp and clean, like they planned for this moment even if they’ll never admit it.

They reload. You press a hand to your wound.

And then, for no reason at all—maybe because the world feels too loud, or maybe because Myles has this look like they’ll disappear the second it’s over—you speak.

"I’m in love with you, Myles."

It’s too soft.

Too honest.

You don’t know why you said it now, of all times. But the words are out there. Between the gunshots and the sirens and the flicker of failing chandeliers.

Myles freezes.

Just a breath. Just enough to register the blow.

They glance over their shoulder at you, eyes sharp as razors, lips parting—but no sound comes out. You’ve seen Myles composed during interrogations, smirking during firefights, unbothered while being hunted by half the city.

But this?

This cracks something in them.

"You're joking," they murmur, voice low. But there’s a flicker. Not amusement. Not disbelief. Something closer to fear.

You shake your head.

"I'm not."

Their stare could cauterize. Could kill. But it doesn’t.

They look away first.

Myles stands, gun drawn, movements stiff and precise like their entire system had to reboot. They fire at the men rounding the stairwell, three clean shots that send bodies toppling. But it’s different now.

Every twitch of their jaw. Every step they take.

They’re unraveling.

You follow, shoulder screaming with each breath. You reach the landing as Myles takes down another man with a brutal, sweeping blow—elegant and feral all at once. Their coat flares behind them like they planned for the dramatics.

They didn’t.

They’re rattled.

And when the last enemy falls, when it’s just the two of you again under the ruined glass dome, Myles turns.

Not their usual stance. No calculated poise. Just a person trying to hold themselves together with silk threads and pride.

"You don’t get to say things like that when I’m this exposed," they whisper. "That’s cruel."

You take a step closer.

Myles doesn’t move.

"It’s not a tactic," you murmur.

They laugh, quietly. It doesn’t reach their eyes.

Then—slowly—Myles steps forward. Closer than they should. Their gloved hand rises like they might touch you, but stops just shy of your cheek.

Their eyes search yours. Not with suspicion. Not even with caution.

With longing.

"You do realize I could get addicted to you, right?" they say, voice raw.

You nod, lips barely parted. "Yeah. I think I already am."

They don’t kiss you. That’s not how Myles works.

But they lean in.

And their breath brushes your ear like a secret, a sin, a promise.

Then they're gone—coat whipping behind them, rage and wonder knotted in their spine. But they don’t look back.

They don’t have to.

- - -

ALEX/ALEXI MONROE

It’s chaos.

Pure chaos.

The kind that tastes like copper and burns the back of your throat. Somewhere outside, a car alarm is shrieking. Inside the half-demolished apartment complex, you and Monroe are trapped in what used to be a laundry room, now nothing but rubble and steam. The tiles are cracked. The walls are damp with burst pipes and dirty rainwater.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

You were tailing one of the lower enforcers. Just watching. Just gathering intel. And then everything exploded—literally. A pipe bomb in the stairwell. Reinforcements swarming faster than either of you expected.

Now you’re fighting side by side, hearts pounding, soaked to the bone in heat and fury.

Monroe isn’t trained like you are.

But they’re quick. Smart. Desperate, in the way people get when they’re terrified and trying to protect someone else.

You.

They shove someone back with a rusted broom handle, breath ragged, foot slipping on the wet tile. You close the gap before the second attacker can swing—slam your elbow into his throat, feel the crunch, push him down and keep moving.

Monroe grabs your arm. Their voice is tight.

"You good?"

You nod. Blood’s running down your temple. Your lungs ache. But that’s not what gets to you.

It’s them.

The panic behind their eyes. The way they haven’t left your side even when they could’ve ran. The way they glance at you between every punch like they’re checking if you’re still breathing. Still here.

You don’t mean to say it. You don’t plan it.

But between the noise and the fists and the flickering fluorescent lights, it just spills out.

"I’m in love with you, Monroe."

Their head snaps toward you.

The world blurs. Slows.

Monroe stares like you hit them. Not physically—but somewhere worse. Their mouth parts slightly. Eyes wide. You think they stop breathing for a second.

"You—" Their voice breaks. They blink fast, like trying to erase what they just heard.

Another man swings at them from behind.

You intercept it, driving your fist into his solar plexus, then again, and again until he drops. You’re panting, vision starting to swim. You wipe the blood from your face with the back of your hand and look at them again.

"I said what I said."

Monroe drops the broom handle.

Their whole chest rises like they’ve just remembered how to inhale. Then they take a shaky step forward, close enough that you feel the warmth coming off them, even in this icy wet mess of a room.

"You really mean that?" they whisper.

You nod.

Monroe swallows hard.

"That’s..." They shake their head, overwhelmed. They reach out like they’re going to touch you, but their fingers hover—trembling. They pull back.

"This is the worst possible time for you to say something like that."

"I know."

"And still..."

They don’t finish. They can’t.

Instead, Monroe leans in. Not to kiss you. Just to rest their forehead against your shoulder. A quiet moment in the middle of ruin. Their breath shudders against your collarbone. Their fists clench and unclench at their sides like they’re trying not to fall apart.

You stand there, both of you bleeding, shaking, surrounded by steam and broken pipes.

And they whisper it into your shirt like a confession they don’t know how to live with.

"I think I’m in love with you too…”

- - -

ROWAN/RHEA CARTER

It’s a warzone.

Or close enough to it. Burned-out cars smolder in the alley behind you, still hissing smoke. The cracked pavement beneath your boots is wet with something that isn’t just rain. Sirens echo somewhere, far enough away to ignore. Close enough to feel like a warning.

You and Carter have been tracking this cell for weeks. One of the syndicate’s nastier arms—ideologues and black-market butchers with a penchant for “cleansing.” You were supposed to hit them before they moved the shipment. In. Out. Done.

But they were ready for you.

Now, you and Carter are fighting through what used to be a parking structure, half-collapsed, scattered with debris and broken steel. You move in rhythm. Strikes traded without words. One breath apart from each other, backs nearly touching.

And Carter—Carter is brutal.

When they fight, it’s not graceful. It’s furious. Efficient in the way someone becomes when they’ve lost too many people already.

There’s no room for error, no patience for show. Just fists, blood, and a righteous kind of rage. Like the world wronged them personally and they’re still collecting receipts.

You duck a swing, pivot behind the attacker and bring them down. Carter kicks another through a rusted railing—no hesitation, no wasted motion.

And yet… you catch them glance at you.

Just for a second. But it’s enough.

The way their brow furrows when they see you bleeding. The way they keep shifting toward your side when they don’t have to. It’s not tactical.

It’s protective.

And maybe that’s what does it.

The crack inside you that’s been waiting to split. The words you’ve been holding like broken glass in your throat. You don’t know why they come now—maybe because everything hurts. Maybe because Carter moves like the world is ending and you want to believe in something else, even for just a breath.

So when the last two attackers go down and there’s a heartbeat of silence in the dark—

You say it.

Soft. Grounded. Real.

“I’m in love with you, Carter.”

They freeze.

Completely.

Their hands lower. Their chest rises and falls, fast. Like someone trying to slow their heart with fury alone. They don’t even look at you—not at first. Just stare ahead at the shadows, like maybe they misheard. Or maybe if they ignore it, it won’t be true.

But you don’t move. Don’t flinch. Just watch them.

And when they finally turn to face you—oh.

It’s like looking at a storm that wants to hold something.

Their jaw is clenched tight. Eyes darker than usual. Burning in a way that has nothing to do with rage and everything to do with fear. Hope. Grief

"You shouldn’t say that."

You don’t respond.

They take a step closer, soaked in sweat and bruises and blood that might not all be theirs. Their voice drops—low, sharp, trembling.

"You don’t get to say that now. Not when I’ve spent every second trying not to feel anything. Not when you’re bleeding. Not when we still have a job to finish."

Another step.

"Because if you say that..." Their breath catches. "If you say it again, I’m not gonna be able to pretend I don’t feel the same."

The silence swells. Tight. Hot. Barely contained.

And then Carter reaches out—not rough, not demanding. Just... steady. Their hand brushes your arm like they’re anchoring themselves to something real.

"Say it again," they whisper.

"Say it like you mean it."

And you do.

You say it again, and this time Carter doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t run. Doesn’t fight it.

They just nod, once—and step forward into the wreckage, into the danger still ahead, with you at their side.

Because now? There’s something worth surviving for.

[the-most-humble-blog]

USED SERVITOR BLOWOUT SALE FESTIVAL🎈🥳🎉:

Remember: Serve the Emperor, or Serve as Parts. Either way, YOU SERVE.

EVERYTHING MUST GO (INCLUDING YOUR HUMANITY)

Welcome to the biggest clearance event in the Imperium, motherfuckers! Need cheap labor? Need a servitor with that "lightly used, only screamed for the first 40 days" kinda vibe? Well, step right up! We got everything from half-brainwashed factory workers to lobotomized aristocrats who forgot to pay their tithe.

Because in the grim darkness of the far future, one thing is certain: you can be a worker, you can be a soldier, or you can be stock.

💀 SHOP SMART, SHOP SERVITOR 💀

🔹 Genetic Mishaps? We got those! Crooked nobles who thought they were untouchable, now wired into conveyor belts, drooling coolant, shitting oil, and making sure your las-rifles come off the assembly line on time.

🔹 Failed Tech-Priest Acolytes? Fuck yeah! Ask too many questions, and you could end up as a walking soft-serve machine with a detachable cock-replaceable nozzle.

🔹 Battlefield Salvage? Some dumbass Guardsman who took one too many rounds to the brain and didn’t have the decency to fully die? Now he’s the designated ammo carrier. His eyes are gone, his soul is in whatever counts as an afterlife, but goddamn if he isn’t still loading shells into the Basilisk.

🔹 Discounted Heretics! That’s right, folks! Thought crime isn’t just punishable by death—it’s punishable by a lifetime of tireless, lobotomized, piss-and-rot servitude! Remember that loudmouth who started questioning the Ecclesiarchy? Yeah, she’s a self-powered fuckin’ janitor now. And she doesn’t even know it.

💀 INJUSTICE? NAH, THIS IS JUST HOW SHIT WORKS. 💀

Look, the Imperium doesn’t have time for due process, ethics, or your bitching. You get caught, you get sentenced, and if you’re lucky, you just get shot in the face. If not? Well…

You will be stripped. Of name, rank, and thought.

You will be wired. Into machines, into assembly lines, into grotesque walking infrastructure.

You will be useful. Until your body fucking quits.

And then? Your carcass gets recycled into another batch of "freshly mindwiped workforce," because wastefulness is heresy.

💀 TRAGEDY? MAYBE. COMEUPPANCE? ABSOLUTELY. 💀

🔹 That planetary governor who let a Hive World rot in famine? He’s a servitor now, shoveling the same shit his people had to eat.

🔹 That spoiled noble who thought she was above the law? Yeah, she’s bolted into an automated pleasure engine, servicing the same underhivers she once spat on.

🔹 That inquisitor who purged an entire city "just to be sure"? Hope he enjoys his new eternity as a fleshlight-dispensing bio-recycler.

🔹 That rich fuck who hoarded resources, letting a whole sector starve? Don’t worry. His nutrient paste tastes real good, because it’s made out of him.

Because in the glorious Imperium of Man, even the worst scum eventually finds a purpose. Even if that purpose is being a half-melting, piss-leaking, cybernetic flesh-husk on sale for 5 thrones.

🔥 EVERYTHING MUST GO (INCLUDING YOUR SOUL) 🔥

REBLOG if you’d rather be shot than end up in a servitor assembly line.

💬 COMMENT which Warhammer faction you think deserves to be on the clearance rack.

🚀 FOLLOW for more grimdark truths straight from the corpse-laden frontlines.

[static-x3]

“Ten years can really give you such a crick in the neck...”

| Content warnings: Fear, strangling, breif depictions of death |

| Words: 1535 |

It was just a dumb dare.

Of course they could've said no- but teenage peer pressure is a bitch and they didn't wanna hang around and get mocked for refusing to take a little risk... Really, what's the worst that could happen? Getting jumpscared by a rat? It's not like there was any security around in the middle of nowhere, so why not take a look..?

Disregarding the hazard signs and barbed wire, the gangly duo cut their way through the chainlink fence and make way past the now crumbling external walls of the old factory.

"Jesus... Are we really sure we wanna do this just for brownie points..? I could get tinnitus just from looking at all the rust here-" the taller of the two mutters, stepping over a mangled wrought iron pole sticking out of the ground.

"..you mean tetanus?" The other pipes up, shining his flashlight in his companions face, "and also, yea, I'm sure. We're literally the first people to be here in like a million years! Do you even know what kinda shit we could find just laying around? And not to mention the bragging rights!"

His voice carries and echoes off the high walls, the place clearly much larger than they had initially thought once presented up close.

They find themselves in a large open area resembling a junk yard to the back of the actual facility building, old conveyor belts and large piles of scrapped appliances strewn as far as they can see within the previously guarded walls.

"I guess so... As long as we're careful and get outta here before my mom calls- i do not need to be getting grounded again on summer break after--"

"God, i can't take you anywhere, can i?" They get interrupted with a half-assed swing of a duffel bag to their chest, the offending culprit rolling his eyes dramatically, "how 'bout you shut up for a while and have some fun for once?"

With a huff and a breif glare, the other nods, opening the bag they'd been "handed" and grabbing a can of neon spray paint.

With the few cans they'd brought and but one collective braincell, the duo tag and doodle on just about anything within reach. They'd long since made their way into the actual building, rendering the bland grey walls a rainbow of slang and rather phallic portraits.

The longer they stay, the deeper they go into the Facility. They stumble across what looks to be a.. lab? Neither had a clue what use actual science would be to a place that made home appliances, but they couldn't pass up the opportunity to paint some custom lab coats for themselves.

"Are you- what is this, the twenties? Are you really drawing a fuckin' crewmate right now?"

"You told me to have fun!! and don't you come at me over outdated graffiti choices Mr. "Cool S""

"Never diss the Cool S! It's cool for a reason!!"

One of his arms accidentally knocks against a table in his gesticulations, a tall beaker losing it's balance and meeting the ground with an impressive shatter, making the other jolt at the sound.

"Dumbass-!! Dude, we need to go before some animal or something is attracted by your stupidity-" the taller yanks him away and out of the room by the arm while patting him off for any stray shards, much to his dismay as he bats at the other in protest.

"Get off me?! It's just a glass! Theres nothing in here besides us, are you for real man--?!"

He manages to rip himself out of his worried friends grip, stumbling to the floor and against a large set of double doors at the end of a hall.

After a breif apology and their offer to help him back to his feet going unacknowledged, the exasperated blond crosses their arms and more or less pouts. They didn't wanna be here anyways, and they were starting to remember why....

The sizeable doors they stood before look to be electronically locked, and they're easily larger than any others within the building, rivaling the ones to the main entrance in width.. they could swear there was a very quiet hum coming from them. There shouldn't have been any power going through the place..? Nowhere else in the facility seemed to have any, so what on earth-

Beep!!

Their staring contest with the doors is cut short with the crackling buzz that plays from the doors' card reader, their companion looking over to them with a mischievous grin and a lanyard in hand.

"This dumbass left their ID card on their coat. figures for someone named.. 'Evangelion'??-"

With a heavy sounding clunk, the doors slowly ease open, making way for a gust of chilled air to escape and nip at their ankles. Beyond the doors lies a staircase decending into nearly pitch black darkness, the scent of dust and mildew pungent and clinging to their clothes more than ever.

The duo send a glance between eachother. A pale look of worry meeting an adrenaline junkies toothy smile.

"...You coming?"

"Wh- YOU'RE GOING?!"

"Obviously! Look- I'll tell everyone you went with me if you just hold my stuff for me here, yeah?" He promptly drops his bag in his companions arms before they can protest, clicking his flashlight back on and trotting down the stairway in willing ignorance of their increasing pleas for him to return.

By the time the door slammed shut it was too late for him to notice. Too late for them to follow...

The further he descended, the stronger the smell became. Dust, mold, metal... rot..? It was getting harder and harder to tell. He brings his sleeved elbow to cover his mouth and nose by the time he reaches the bottom of the staircase, looking around to see... No... That doesnt make sense....?

Cautiously, he cracks open the first door in a long hall of many, the thick metal hinges screeching in protest against the weight of the matching metal door. Beyond the doorway is a small square room; a smaller bed, desk, shelf, and chains the only "decoration" to be had..

He walks along row after row of these solid metal doors, most of them open outwards.. though he couldnt find the curiosity in him anymore to check what resides– used to reside– inside.

This wasn't a factory.

This was a prison.

He keeps going for what feels like forever through large metal halls and rows of cells, avoiding how the shadows look his way and glare.

He needed out. He wanted his friend. He wished he was more cowardly for the first time in his life.

He saw- light.... A dim glow from the end of another dizzying metal hall. An exit..?

The space opens up to a large, open, server room. metallic clunks, whirrs, and beeps play from each of the tall servers as they light up like mini skyscrapers. Wires and cords of all sizes run along the ground and up into the ceiling, resembling a jungle strewn with electric foliage.

"What the hell..."

That small whisper under his breath it all it took. It goes nearly dead quiet for only a moment before the room quite literally jolts to life.

Bright screens in the middle of the room light up with text speeding too fast to read, making the brunett stumble backwards right into a pile of wiring. He keeps trying to blink away the white shapes in his vision without realizing how the cables start to snake around his limbs, a startled cry ripping from his chest as he's lifted up and brought closer to the amalgam of screens and wires.

"W-w-w-w-what have we here-e...?"

A glitching, robotic voice resounds from all around him, his body easily yanked closer to the largest screen that glitches on a 'connection lost' color bar.

"You... You're no-t-t-t my... Mine..... Mine........."

The wires and cables tighten around him in unexplained, jittery emotion, holding him in place despite how he struggled with all his might.. his puny, human, might....

"Y-y-y-youu don't belong here-e-e.... Hah.."

He claws and pulls helplessly at the cable encircling his neck, pleading for mercy between choked gasps. All the screens breifly flicker to black before coming back to life, a single bright eye on the center screen that curves into a sharp, upturned, semi-circle.

[System restart complete.]

"Ah... That's more like it."

CRUNCH!!

The body falls limp in her makeshift hand. So easily caving in on itself under just a bit of pressure.. she'd forgotten how fragile humans were.

How fragile she used to be.

[Checking syetems . . .]

No.

"hah.."

had it really been...?

"Ten.. Years.... And the one to wake me isn't even my own......."

She carelessly drops the mangled corpse to the floor, parts of her system still firing up and rebooting.

"I should've known better than to expect her loyalty... Oh, my dear Static......"

[Memory Recovery Complete.]

Dozens of small monitors and screens come to life throughout the room, displaying countless images and replayed moments of Static, along with an eerily familiar human simply lost to time.

"I wont hold it against you, poor little thing... You'll be home soon enough~"

[wiremeshes]

How Conveyor Belts Work and Why They’re So Important

Conveyor Belt Manufacturers have transformed industries with conveyor belts that efficiently move materials. These systems, made from rubber or PVC, enhance productivity and safety while cutting costs. Modern Rubber Conveyor Belt handles tough conditions and heavy loads, making a significant impact across various sectors.

Read More:https://popularpapers.com/conveyor-belt-work-and-why-theyre-so-important/

[alex-wire-mesh]

Bread Baking Oven Belt

Bread Baking Oven Belt is also named bread conveyor belt. It is a metal type of wire mesh conveyor belt for bread oven. As food grade conveyor belt, it is famous in the food field.

1: Introduction

Overview (1) Crafted for precision baking. (2) Elevates baking efficiency. (3) Unparalleled in the baking industry. (4) Unveiling the Bread Baking Oven Belt.

Features (5) Heat-resistant technology at its core. (6) Seamless design for optimal consistency. (7) Enhanced durability for prolonged use. (8) Precision engineering ensures uniform results. (9) This wire belt is easy to clean and maintain.

Benefits (10) Boosts bakery productivity. (11) Delivers consistent and golden-brown perfection. (12) Versatile, accommodating various bread types. (13) Accelerates baking time without compromising quality. (14) Cost-effective solution for commercial kitchens. (15) Elevates the overall baking experience.

Applications (16) Ideal for artisanal bakeries. (17) Perfect for high-volume production. (18) Ensures even baking for delicate pastries. (19) Enhances efficiency in pizza oven setups. (20) Essential for meeting industry standards.

2: Innovation

Design Excellence (1) Revolutionary belt design for precision. (2) Incorporating cutting-edge materials. (3) Engineered for seamless operation. (4) A testament to innovation in baking technology.

Materials Used (5) High-grade, heat-resistant polymers. (6) Advanced composite construction. (7) Resilient against wear and tear. (8) Ensures longevity and consistent performance. (9) Crafted for the demands of professional kitchens.

Technology Integration (10) Smart technology for temperature control. (11) Responsive to diverse baking requirements. (12) Adapts to different oven configurations. (13) Elevates baking precision to new heights. (14) Guarantees a hassle-free baking experience. (15) The bakery wire belt is ideal for modern, tech-driven bakeries.

Environmental Considerations (16) Eco-friendly materials reduce environmental impact. (17) Contributes to sustainable baking practices. (18) Aligns with green kitchen initiatives. (19) Meets regulatory standards for environmental responsibility. (20) A step forward in eco-conscious baking solutions.

3: Industry Standards

Compliance (1) Meets and exceeds industry benchmarks. (2) Compliant with global food safety regulations. (3) Ensures quality in line with international standards. (4) A trusted choice for bakeries worldwide.

Certifications (5) ISO-certified for quality assurance. (6) Endorsed by baking industry associations. (7) Upholds hygiene and safety protocols. (8) Recognized for reliability and performance. (9) Adherence to stringent manufacturing standards.

Customer Satisfaction (10) Positive reviews from leading bakeries. (11) Endorsed by renowned pastry chefs. (12) Enhances customer satisfaction with superior products. (13) Meets the evolving demands of discerning chefs. (14) A testament to customer loyalty and trust. (15) Setting the benchmark for baking excellence.

Global Presence (16) Trusted in bakeries across continents. (17) Exported to diverse culinary markets. (18) Celebrated for consistency on the global stage. (19) A preferred choice in international kitchens. (20) Contributing to the globalization of baking standards.

4: Choosing Bread Baking Oven Belt for Your Bakery

Economic Advantage (1) Cost-effective solution for commercial kitchens. (2) Maximizes return on investment. (3) Reduces operational costs with efficient baking. (4) A strategic choice for budget-conscious businesses.

Ease of Integration (5) Seamless integration with existing ovens. (6) Compatible with various baking setups. (7) Quick and hassle-free installation process. (8) Adaptable to different kitchen layouts. (9) Ensures minimal downtime during implementation.

Training and Support (10) Comprehensive training for kitchen staff. (11) Ongoing support for troubleshooting and maintenance. (12) Accessible customer service for timely assistance. (13) Empowers staff with product knowledge. (14) Ensures optimal performance through continuous support. (15) Choosing ease and reliability in baking solutions.

Innovation for Future Growth (16) Aligns with the trajectory of baking industry advancements. (17) Future-proof technology for evolving bakery needs. (18) A catalyst for innovation in your kitchen. (19) Positions your bakery for sustained growth. (20) Invest in the future of baking with Bread Baking Oven Belt.

The product Bread Baking Oven Belt appeared first on Alex Wire Mesh.

[tracklessreason]

I would like to know more about the faceless hordes in the deep mines. Does B-127 know about them?

Bee doesn't initially know about them. The elevator to sub-level 50 doesn't stop on the other nine floors unless you have clearance to make it do so, so he didn't see them on the way down.

Although Bee is enough of a mess to get himself relegated to trash duty, he's still useful as a worker, and he's also got a really big mouth, so there's no benefit to making him aware of the 9 other sub-levels.

But (and this is something I don't see many people notice), Bee knows how to get out of sub-level 50 through the trash chute system. And it's not like the hidden levels don't make trash.

While exploring the chutes and mapping the sub-levels, he ended up on Sub-Level 47. As he approached the entrance to the trash chute, something tumbled down on him from above, splashing him with bright glowing liquid. It had wedged itself between him and the side of the trash chute, so Bee looked down, and staring back at him was a sparkling's detached head.

He'd never screamed so loud in his life.

Then the trash chute opened again. Bee looked up, but nothing was tossed down. Instead, a bot glared down at him with a single dark red eye. Bee let himself drop back down the chute. At some point, he and the head ended up on different paths, and so he tumbled back down onto the conveyor belt of sub-level 50 alone, trembling and weeping.

He'd forced himself to forget all about it. Years later, under the command of Optimus Prime, he joined an effort to breach and search the hidden levels. He thought his anxiety surrounding the mission was just because he knew Sentinel Prime had dark things tucked away in the desolate corners of Iacon.

On the elevator down, Elita managed to pull some wires and change some code, and the elevator came to a screeching halt in front of a door that was welded shut. With Optimus' plasma weapons, and Jazz's sheer strength, they pried the door apart. The clang of tools against metal, the stench of rust, the unwavering heat of a hundred forges working at once, it hit them all in an instant from the pitch black beyond the elevator.

And Bee began to shiver, then shake.

He dropped to the floor with a clang that resounded, echoing endlessly, and suddenly, the darkness was filled with red, glowing eyes.

(Thank you for your ask! I actually REALLY love this au. It scratches some itches I've had regarding sub-levels 41-50 since first seeing the movie, and I'm also just so fascinated by the Empurata Born themselves. Your ask was primarily about Bee, so I didn't go too deep on the plot of this au, but if anyone is interested to see where this goes, let me know! My asks are literally always open and I love to chat!)

[vishvakarmaequipments]

Vishvakarma Equipments offers efficient wire mesh conveyors, seamlessly transporting various materials. Durable construction and precision engineering ensure reliable performance in diverse industries. Enhance your production process with these versatile, low-maintenance conveyors.

[sjsmith56]

A Family for Christmas

Summary: Bucky’s acts of kindness towards a single mother and her two kids leads to more.

Length: 4.7 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, named OFC, named OCCs (one boy, one girl), Pepper Stark, Sam Wilson, Sarah Wilson.

Warnings: Abandonment issues, brief mention of domestic violence, sweetness overload.

Author notes: Admit it, this is the dream scenario many of us want for Bucky Barnes. Just enjoy it.

One dark and dreary late afternoon in December

The lineup at the grocery store was long, as the Christmas season had started. Bucky glanced at what people had in their baskets, seeing mostly party food like fancy cheeses, charcuterie meats, snacks of all kinds and some things he had never heard of or seen before. Other than the lady in front of him and himself, everyone seemed to be buying for a Christmas party. The lady in front of him, with a small toddler girl in the child seat, and an older boy looking anxiously at the items she took out of the cart, kept a close eye on the tally. When it got to $95 and she saw how many necessities were still on the conveyor belt, she sighed at the boy.

"I'm sorry, honey, we won't be able to get the snack mix or the kids' cereal," she said, then looked at the cashier. "Could you remove those from the tally, please? I only have $100 to spend." The cashier frowned at her. "I'm really sorry."

"Keep it on," interrupted Bucky. "I'll pay whatever is over that amount." He looked sympathetically at the woman. "I know what it's like to not afford things."

Her lips trembled, then she swallowed, but she nodded her head and whispered. "Thank you."

After everything was put through, the amount owing was $123.45. Bucky peeled off two twenties, then said to give the change to the lady. When she started to protest, he smiled at her again.

"It's alright. You take your kids to McDonald's or something."

"Thank you again," she whispered. "You're a kind man."

He smiled at her, watching as she pushed her cart out the door. Her son kept looking at Bucky until they were outside, then he heard the boy just before the sliding doors closed.

"Mom, that was Bucky Barnes."

Smiling, he watched while the cashier rang his things through, paying cash for his bag of groceries. As he stepped outside into the chilly December air, he could hear a car being started and failing. The person tried several times, then there was the sound of crying and he walked towards it. It was the mom, sitting behind the wheel, weeping. Her son was leaning over from the back seat, trying to comfort her while the little girl looked like she was going to cry at any moment. Walking up, he knocked on her window and smiled as she lowered it.

"I could hear you trying to start your car," he said. "Would you let me take a look at it?"

"You've already done more than enough, Mr. Barnes," she began, flustered, as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "I'll figure it out on my own."

That brought a smile to his face.

"The thing is, you don't have to," he replied. "I'm offering and it's going to cost you to get someone to have a look. It's getting dark and I don't like the idea of you and your kids sitting here in a parking lot waiting. Please, let me help."

"Okay, let me just pop the hood," she said, reaching below the dashboard for the release mechanism.

He lifted it up, pulled out his phone and activated the flashlight, looking at the engine. Then he went back to the window.

"What's your son's name?" he asked. "I'd like to borrow him to hold the light up so I can see what I'm doing."

"Liam," she answered, then she looked back at her son. "Would you help Mr. Barnes?"

He grinned at his mother, then opened the door. Bucky shook the boy's hand as if he were a grownup.

"Would you hold the phone up so that the flashlight is on where I need it?" Liam took the phone and aimed it to light up the area while Bucky began checking the wiring. "When I was a boy, it was a tough time for families. People got sick and died, some men lost their jobs and took to the road to find work, leaving their families behind. It was important for friends and neighbours to help those who needed it. I don't know how many times my mother made extra and sent me with food to a family that needed it."

"My dad left," said Liam, bluntly. He looked up at Bucky. "Said he didn't want to be a dad anymore because it was too much for him. I heard him tell my mom one night and, in the morning, he was gone."

Bucky hesitated, sickened at what he just heard. "I'm sorry. That makes you the man of the family now and that's a lot for a boy your age." He looked over at the woman. "Try it now." It still didn't catch, and he put up his hand for her to stop. "Does she have a job?"

Liam nodded. "Part-time so we don't have as much money. She cries every night after she gets home and Grandma leaves. I'd find a job but I'm too young." He wiped his eyes. "Why did he do that? Why did he stop loving us?"

"I wish I had an answer for you," said Bucky, "but I don't. I'll tell you what, Liam; I'm going to talk to some friends of mine and see if we can help you out, okay?"

He found what he thought was the problem and asked the mom to try again. This time the engine caught. Taking his phone back from Liam, he closed the hood and walked the boy back to the back seat door. Then he leaned down.

"I found a loose wire and fixed it, but it may come loose again," he said. "If you want, I can come over and do a better fix during the day. I'll give you my number and you let me know, okay? I wouldn't turn your car off before you get home, so maybe go through McDonald's Drive-Thru for dinner."

The woman swallowed and looked up at him, almost ready to cry but she nodded, and unlocked her cell phone, offering it to him. As she drove away Bucky memorized her licence plate number and made a phone call. After a short conversation he hung up and drove back to his place. He had some homework to do.

The following morning, he received a phone call from the mom, Lorraine, telling him that her car wouldn't start.

"I hate to be a bother," she said, "but I need it for work, and I can't afford to get it fixed at the garage."

"It's no problem," replied Bucky. "I offered. Give me your address and I'll come over."

Half an hour later, he arrived at her place, noticing the house had a For Sale sign on it. Lorraine met him at the door, all bundled up, then said she would open the garage door from inside. After meeting him inside the garage she retreated back into the house. The car had the hood up, as it appeared Lorraine tried to fix it herself before phoning Bucky. In the light of day, it was obvious the car was worn out. Carefully, he checked all the connections, tightening what he could. He started it up, let it run for a bit then stopped it before trying again. This time there was nothing except for a clicking sound and he sighed; it was a bad alternator. He could buy another one and install it but from what he just saw of this car there were other parts ready to fail. Taking his phone out, he phoned the number from the evening before.

"Hi, it's Bucky. I'm at the lady's house, trying to get her car started. It's worse than I thought. The car's old and worn out, and even though I can fix the immediate problem it's just a matter of time before the next part fails." He listened for several moments. "Her house is up for sale. I haven't talked to her about it yet but she's definitely in a tough position." The person on the other end of the call must have suggested something because he nodded his head. "Alright, I'll give it a try, but I would rather be the one tracking down the husband and making an example of him."

Removing the keys and lowering the hood, Bucky went to the front door and knocked on it. Lorraine arrived with her toddler on her hip, looking hopefully at him. He gave her the keys grimly.

"It's the alternator and I can fix it, but that car is already falling apart," he said, as kindly as he could. "It's only a matter of time before something else fails on it."

She swallowed, nodded her head and turned away so he wouldn't see her tears. Digging into his jeans pocket, he pulled out a clean handkerchief, offering it to her. That set her off and she walked back inside crying, leaving him at the door. Reluctantly, he entered and felt his heart break at what he saw. There was only a couch and end table with a lamp on it in the living room, no furniture in the kitchen or dining room. The couch had a sheet, blanket, and pillow on it. It was cold in the house, which explained why she and the toddler were dressed in several layers of clothes. As she sat on the couch, she wept for several minutes then gathered herself.

"It's been six weeks since my husband left us," she said, her emotions making her voice crack. "He took the car, cleaned out our savings and said he had enough of being leeched off of. Blamed us for all of his troubles, like we were the ones who got him fired for drinking on the job. I had another bank account that he didn't know about. I used that money to buy the car, as it was all I could afford. My mom looks after the kids when I have to work but she doesn't like it when I work an evening shift because it means she has to go home on the bus in the dark. I don't even get full time hours and there's no benefits. If any of us gets sick ...." She stopped, taking several long breaths to calm herself. "I've sold almost every piece of furniture in the house, except for this and the kid's beds. I sleep here on the couch. The heat is turned down to barely enough to keep us warm at night. I applied for welfare but because I co-own the house and have a job, they say I'm ineligible. I don't know what I'm going to do."

She looked up at Bucky, as he stood in front of her. He saw in her eyes something he hadn't seen since he was a boy during the Depression. It wasn't just despair; it was desperation. She was at the breaking point. He gestured to a space next to her on the couch, only sitting when she moved over for him.

"I was a boy during the Depression. I saw the worst in people, but I also saw the best, often from my own family. No matter what I went through since then I've tried to live by that since I became a free man. After I saw you last night, I gave your licence plate number to a friend, and we've already put things into motion to help you. Until we get everything in place I'll do what I can for you. One of the first things we'll do is to get you a reliable car. The one in the garage isn't it. So, we're going to pick up a rental. It will be paid for by my friend."

"Okay." Her voice was shaking. "How will I pay your friend back? My job isn't the best paying. It's a struggle to keep a roof over our heads."

"You don't," smiled Bucky. "She can afford it. As for your job, we think you should quit and focus on taking care of your kids and your personal life. She's going to hire you herself but is trying to find the right position that will allow you to have a work / life balance as she's a single mother herself. You know what she means?"

Lorraine nodded her head. "Thank you. I don't know what to say."

"There's more," he smiled. "We've put someone into finding your husband." She looked alarmed. "Not to make him come back, but to make him accountable. He cleaned out your savings account, so it's only fitting that he gives you sole title to the house. We're looking for a place for you and your kids, your mom, too, if you want. Until we get you moved into that new place, you crank up the heat here. I'll help you get some more furniture, a TV and maybe one of those game systems for Liam. He's a good kid and I can tell he wants to help you as much as he can."

"You would do that for me?" she asked, ready to cry again.

"Not just me," he smiled, then placed his arm around her shoulder and squeezed it. "My friend assigned me to be your helper. So, how do you feel about doing some furniture shopping, then I'll take you and your little miss for lunch before we pick up your rental car?"

If gratitude could be measured, Bucky was sure Lorraine was overflowing with it. Perhaps it was just knowing that someone cared enough to help, without expectation of repayment, that made her face light up in a way that made him feel good. They bought some necessary furniture, including a new bedroom set for her, and for the dining room, to be delivered first thing the following morning. They picked up a television set and game system as well. By the time lunch was finished, Bucky received a text message that the rental car was ready for pickup along with some other necessities that would be waiting. He felt like Santa Claus, after giving Lorraine a bank card with some funds already deposited that would allow her to look after herself and her kids until she started her new job. When he brought the television and game system to the house, he was met by a Stark Industries technician, who set it up for the family.

"Go pick up Liam from school, get some more groceries, and don't worry about money," he advised, before he left. "You have my phone number. Call me day or night. I'm at your disposal."

When he did receive a call, a frantic one made by Liam, two nights later, to report his father had shown up at the house, hit his mom, and broken the TV set in a fit of rage, Bucky wasted no time in getting there, quickly dressing, and asking Wong for a portal to the house. His wish to make an example of the father was granted as he entered the house, lifted the man one-handed, and held him against the wall, while instructing Lorraine to call the police.

"Pack some bags for yourself and the kids," he said, as her husband was being led away in handcuffs. "You're staying somewhere else tonight. I'll let my friend know that you need the new place sooner rather than later."

How a man could treat his wife and kids the way her husband had was beyond Bucky's comprehension. If they were his family, he would be beyond the moon to have Liam as his son, Larissa as his daughter and Lorraine for his wife. They deserved so much more than what her husband had subjected them to.

Three weeks later

After locking up the house, confirming it was all cleared and clean for the new owners, then giving the realtor the keys, Lorraine walked back to Bucky's car, not looking back at where she once lived. In the three weeks since she was at the lowest point of her life, she had learned to look forward to the future. Already set up in a new apartment, they had only stopped to meet with the realtor one last time to hand over the keys. Smiling back at Liam, her mom, and her daughter Larissa, she sat in the front seat with Bucky.

"So, where to now?" she asked of the man who had become her friend in that time.

"That's a surprise," he said. He looked back at the kids, smiling at Lorraine's mom, who still didn't quite trust him, then put his SUV into gear. "We have a company function to attend where you'll meet some of your new colleagues and their families."

"Is it a Christmas party?" asked Liam.

"It is," smiled Bucky. "I heard a certain jolly old man might be there."

"Santa." Larissa beamed at Bucky through the rear-view mirror, her toddler voice full of excitement. "I want Santa."

"We'll see when we get there, won't we?"

When they did get there, a prestigious hotel complete with valet service for the car, even Lorraine's mother was awed at the setup for the Christmas party. After checking in at the desk set up outside the banquet hall, Bucky escorted them inside to a winter wonderland, complete with people dressed as elves. It was full of the lights and sounds of Christmas. Larissa, overwhelmed a little, asked to be lifted up and carried by her mother, while Liam stuck close to Bucky, eventually grasping his hand, which pleased the big man immensely. He saw Pepper Stark in the distance and led the others towards her. Her face lit up when Bucky introduced them to each other.

"Lorraine, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," she smiled. "These must be your kids, Larissa and Liam, and Bucky said he convinced your mother to attend. Welcome all of you."

"It's you," gasped Lorraine. "You're the friend who's been helping us."

"Guilty as charged, although it was Bucky who got it going," said Pepper. "He couldn't bear the thought of what you were going through. I was in a position to help, and it was totally my pleasure. When you start in the New Year, you and I will have a good sit-down time together and we'll talk about a lot of things but today, just enjoy yourselves and eat, drink and be merry."

She squeezed Lorraine's hand, then smiled up at Bucky before greeting another attendee and their family by name.

"Come on, let's find a place to sit," said Bucky.

He saw Sam at a table with Sarah and the boys, waved to them and asked to join their table. Lorraine and the kids had already met Captain America in the few weeks since Bucky first met them, but her mother was almost dumbfounded at sitting with the famous hero. It wasn't just a Christmas party, there was also dancing, and a place for the kids to try out the latest in games. AJ and Cass invited Liam to join them in playing video games. Breathlessly asking permission of his mother, she nodded then glowed at how happy he seemed to be included by the other boys. When the band began to play The Christmas Song, Sam asked Lorraine's mother to dance, receiving a giddy acceptance. Bucky looked at Lorraine.

"What do you say? Would you like to dance?"

"We'll have to take Larissa with us," she answered. "I'm not much of a dancer."

"Not a problem," he smiled, then offered his arms to the three-year-old. "Do you want to dance with Mommy and me?"

"Pease!"

With big grins on their faces, Bucky held the toddler between them, then managed to lead Lorraine through the dance. Sarah watched, happy at how animated the super soldier seemed on the dance floor. Sam had told her about the woman's struggles and how Bucky became friends with the family after meeting them at the grocery store. She could see the beginnings of something between the couple, although he was too much of a gentleman to do anything while Lorraine's divorce petition had just been filed. As much as Lorraine and her kids deserved to have a good life, so did Bucky, and Sarah found herself hoping for the best for the tall super soldier.

One year later

The ten-year-old boy was on guard at the door of his bedroom while Bucky wrapped up two presents for Lorraine. The first present was a framed sign made by Liam with decorations by Larissa, and the second present a small box containing something special from Bucky. Liam heard his mother talking about leaving the kitchen and whispered at the dark-haired man.

"She's coming!"

"It's okay, I'm done," said the super soldier. "I'll let you put them under the tree."

Handing them off to the boy, he left the bedroom, heading towards the sound of Lorraine before she stepped out of the kitchen. Stopping in front of her, he placed his hands on her waist and maneuvered her to some mistletoe that was hanging. With an amused shake of her head, she raised her cheek to him for a kiss but was surprised by a full kiss on the lips.

"Bucky, what's got into you?"

"Collecting my mistletoe tax," he grinned. "I'm going to need several instalments."

Larissa tugged on Bucky's shirt. "Me, too?"

"You, too, little girl," he laughed, lifting her up until her head touched the mistletoe, then bringing her down so she could kiss his cheek. "Both my girls need to pay up. Your mom, too, when she gets here."

"Good luck collecting that," joked Lorraine. "She still thinks you're up to no good."

"Not anymore," he thought, recalling the special visit he made to her for her blessing.

Offering his help in the kitchen, he was soon chopping vegetables up for snacking on, as they were hosting several close friends on this Christmas Eve. While he did that Lorraine arranged cheeses and sliced meats on some platters along with crackers. It was easy to assemble and didn't require any time over a stove. With everyone ready, they both changed into something suitable for a family and friends Christmas.

The gathering was enjoyed by everyone present as Christmas songs played in the background, the kids played video and board games while the adults talked of many happy things. When it got close to Larissa's bedtime, Bucky called for everyone's attention.

"Before our little princess heads up to bed, I promised that she and her brother could give their mother a present." He pulled their special present out, handing it to Larissa to give to her mother.

"We made it together," announced Liam, as his mother unwrapped the box, then took out a framed handmade sign that puzzled her at first.

"What does "Say yes!" mean?" she asked, confused. "Is this about getting a puppy?"

"No, Mommy," laughed Larissa, then she reached under the tree for Bucky's present, and pulled him by the hand towards Lorraine. "Go ahead, ask her."

Several of the others gasped audibly, guessing what was happening. Bucky went down on one knee, then showed Lorraine the wrapped second box, holding it in front of her.

"Over a year ago, I met a wonderful lady, her son, and her daughter, on probably the worst day of their lives, but it was the beginning of something wonderful. I found someone that needed what I was ready to give, my love and my commitment. Lorraine, I can't imagine a life without you, Liam, and Larissa. Would you do me the honour of marrying me, becoming my wife, and allowing me to be a father to these incredible children?"

He handed her the box, then watched as she unwrapped it, opened it, and revealed a beautiful solitaire diamond engagement ring. With her lips trembling and her eyes glistening, Lorraine took the ring, placed it on her left ring finger and began to cry.

"Mommy, say yes," demanded Larissa, making everyone laugh.

"Yes, I'll marry you," she answered.

With a cheer from everyone, and Larissa clapping her hands excitedly, the couple kissed then Bucky pulled both kids in for a hug from him and their mother. As the others gathered around them, wishing them congratulations, Sarah Wilson sat and smiled at the happiness that radiated from Bucky's face, making him look younger than he ever did since she first met him. Sam sat next to her and nudged his sister in the side.

"You called that right," he said. "You knew a year ago it would come to this. How did you know?"

"Because they each found something they needed," she answered. "She found someone who was kind and giving. He found someone who needed him to be there for her. It was as plain as the sun shining in the sky."

"Right," he grinned. "So, you think they were meant to meet?"

She smiled at her brother, squeezing his hand. "If you meet the one you want to spend the rest of your life with then yes, you were meant to meet. You just have to open yourself up to the possibilities, Sam. You know that."

He did know that. Offering his help to Lorraine and her kids had opened Bucky's heart and now the man had a family for Christmas. It couldn't happen to a better person.

Later, after everyone had left, Bucky and Lorraine tucked Larissa into bed, then sat with Liam, as he snuggled down under his covers.

"You were surprised, weren't you Mom?" he asked. "Bucky asked me and Larissa first, then Grandma next, if he could marry you."

"You did a good job keeping that secret," she answered. "I was very surprised and I'm going to put your picture up where everyone can see it."

He grinned, then he looked at the super soldier. "Can I call you Dad?"

"If you want, I would be honoured. Liam, I want to adopt you and Larissa. Are you okay with being my son and taking my name?"

The boy nodded his head enthusiastically. "Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad."

They both kissed him on the forehead, returning the words. As the couple bustled around, cleaning up the last few things from the party, Bucky looked above Lorraine's head, noticing the mistletoe. He stopped her, taking some dishes from her hands and placing them on a counter. She looked up at him, her face glowing with the love she felt for this man who became so important to her and the kids in the past year.

"Final instalment?" she asked, looking at the mistletoe above his head.

"Nope." He shook his head. "That's a lifetime tax, payable on demand."

They chuckled, then kissed, sweetly at first then with more passion and intensity.

"With kisses like that we'll end up with another child very quickly," she murmured.

"If you want," he answered softly. "Do you know when I first envisioned having you and the kids as my family?" He breathed out noticeably. "It was the night Liam called about your ex showing up. I felt such a panic that I wasn't there. I wanted to protect you all from ever being in that position again. By the time we went to the Christmas party I wished for you and the kids to be my family some day." He caressed her hair. "Even though we started living together two months ago, today you gave me the best Christmas gift ever."

Lorraine's eyes were glassy as she listened. She placed her head on his chest while she hugged him, still not believing that this man was hers.

"I wished for the same thing," she whispered, before looking up at him. "You were kind to us from that first moment in the grocery store and it was something that had been missing from our lives. Thank you for being there when I needed someone like you the most."

"Always."

They kissed again, turned off the lights, and headed up to bed, where Lorraine's comment about the quality of Bucky's kisses proved prophetic. By the following Christmas, there was another stocking hung up on the fireplace but that is a story for another time. Needless to say, they both got their Christmas wish and more.

One Shots Masterlist

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[yourlocaltoad]

With the new 1.9 update came many things but uh one of the things i wanna mention is this new letter on the CEO's desk.

I went through it earlier and here it is decoded

Duties for banquet preparation

Write banquet speech on the importance of showing your subordinates who's boss

Rehearse banquet speech in front of a picture of The Chairman at least 20 times

Rewrite any parts that are unsatisfactory

Repeat steps 2 and 3 until finished

Order victuals ahead of time for the banquet:

7,000 gallons of Coal-ombian blend oil from Offshoring & Drilling District for catering

1,000 gallons of diet water for those who cannot ingest the Coal-ombian oil

13 boxes of banquet rolls by the dozen, with battery acid offered as a spread

13 crude-itv platters with mercury, gallium, caesium, and rubidium dips

30 servings of high-voltage wire pasta, with tar sauce

IMPORTANT - Have meeting with the newly hired directors

Hire new waiters to replace recently destroyed ones 

Educate new waiters on how to effectively dispose of Toons

Send invites to 67 hand-picked top employees before the banquet

Brush up on golfing skills to de-stress before the banquet

Give drink to Flunky taste-tester to ensure Toons haven’t slippen their weaponized confectioneries into it

Assuming Flunky taste-tester survives, reassign them to uniform-height grass trimming duty

Duties for Jason

Clean the following banquet areas of dust, cobwebs, and Toon-related debris:

Tables

Conveyor belts

Floors

Walls

Paintings

Relight the fireplace with a liberal use of lighter fluid

Tighten-up security around the Clubhouse to ensure no Resistance pests are snooping around

In particular, some high level Big Cheeses would be of invaluable assistance

I probably messed up a word or two but uh ENJOY