#copper strip price

[kalpatarupiping]

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[your-averagewriter]

"Only for you, darlin'"

Summary: Cooper heads into town in search for some RadAway for you when he stumbles upon a cute gift (Cooper Howard x fem!reader).

Word count: 1.0K

Warnings: needles, kissing (slightly ig)

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Stalking through the desert, he heads towards the town in search of some RadAway for you, the radiation reaching too high of a level for Cooper to be comfortable with, especially in his presence.

His boots echo through the makeshift tunnel made of old tubing before sunlight peaks out of the other end, exposing the market on the other side, countless signs decorating the stalls. He pulls his hat down slightly in order to cover his irradiated face more, less because some people find it unsettling and more so people don’t recognise he’s a ghoul.

He walks along the stalls, searching for any RadAway and some other supplies that need topping up. 

Signs stick out to him yet none offer what he needs until he reaches a store with various niche medical supplies as well as bandages and the like. Walking up to the store, he looks over the small bottles and pills decorating the side but doesn't see anything Stimpaks or RadAway.

“Ay,” He gets the attention of the store owner. “You got any RadAway?” He asks, looking up at the man covered in shredded clothes. He shakes his head before looking down at what looks like an old graphic novel. “You sure? I got plenty of caps.”

“How many?” He asks, accent showing he’s not from around here.

“Plenty.” He reinterrates, shaking his bag causing the rattling of the caps and the man puts the graphic novel down, heading further into the shop before returning with a pouch of liquid with a strip of duct tape on, scraggly writing on it.

“I keep it in the back, people nick this stuff the most. 50 caps.” 

Cooper scoffs. “50?” He asks, confusion mixed with annoyance in his voice. “30.”

“45.” He counters. “And I’ll throw in a Stimpak.”

“Fine” Cooper counters and the seller sighs before pushing it towards him whilst Copper pushes the caps on the side. “And you got the good deal there, you should feel lucky I’m willing to pay for this.” He snatches it from the side, rolling his eyes before moving on to finding other items but glad he’s got what he came for.

Strolling through the town, he looks in the store windows, something catching his eye in a junk store. He pushes open the door, a bell ringing making him wonder if it’s a trap but why would there be a trap when someone is trying to sell junk?

“Hey darlin’, feel free to take a look around.” An old woman says, crazy hair covering most of her face making him feel uneasy that he can barely see her eyes. He nods before heading towards the window display, boots hitting the wooden planks underfoot noisily as they creak.

A toy rabbit sits in the window, no more than a foot tall with fluffy ears and a cute nose. He swipes at it, examining it and dusting it off before looking for some sort of price label.

“How much for this?” He turns to face the woman who pushes her glasses up, scrunching her nose as she squints at the item.

“8 caps, but for you 4. Who’s this for?” He pulls out another five caps and drops them on the table before carefully putting the bunny in his bag, making sure it’s tucked in and the clasp is shut properly. He pulls on the latch, checking its security. Secure. 

“My girl, she loves bunnies. Thanks.” He grumbles, walking out the store and off to the base again.

He walks back through the desert, kicking the sand as he goes, mumbling to himself and even whistling slightly. He lifts his hand to keep the sun out of his face as the base appears in his field of vision. Base is a strong word for a couple of broken down buildings just by the trees that are more secure than you would think. It provides cover and hides flames when it gets cold.

He can’t help the edges of his lips quirking up at the sight of the base and his girl.

Under an hour later, he returns to the base, stepping through the ‘door’. “Sweetheart?” He yells through the base.

“Cooper, that you?” You ask, sweet voice ringing through the walls.

“‘Course it’s me.” He grins to himself, following your voice.

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me come with you.” You say before being interrupted by a cough. After moments of coughing, Cooper rubs your back and once you start speaking, he reaches into his bag.

“Did you get a Stim-” You start but he passes it to you with a brief kiss to the cheek. “Thanks.” You smile before looking down at the Stimpak wrapped in a cloth. Taking it out, your eyes are immediately on the needle, you take a pause and deep breath before injecting it into your thigh.

Letting out a breath, you drop the used Stimpak and look back to Cooper who wears a smirk, holding back a laugh.

“What are you laughing about?” You cock an eyebrow.

“You ain’t scared of no mutants, no raiders, nothing but needles.” He chuckles, his accent prominent. “It’s cute.” He says before remembering the bunny toy in his bag. “I got you something in town.” He says, rootling through his bag.

“More RadAway?” You ask, knowing his paranoia about you getting too much radiation when being around him. 

“Yeah, but I got you something else too.” He pulls the bunny out of his bag. “Now I know it ain’t much, but I saw it and thought you’d like it…” He presents the bunny, quickly brushing off some of the sand from the journey.

“Aww.” You can help but coo at the cute bunny, taking it off of him and holding it gently, picking up one of the ears and letting it flop back down. “You didn’t spend too much on it, did you?” You look back over to him.

“Y’know it’s rude to ask about someone’s finances, sweetheart.” He teases. “Besides, the lady gave it to me for cheap, probably knew I was getting it for my girl.”

“Probably knew you were a softie.” You tease.

“Only for you, darlin’.” He picks up your hand and leans down, kissing it playfully.

-

AN: I can't believe I haven't posted anything for over three months… sorry I've had exams and extra and it's just been stressful so hopefully I can get a bit more on track.

I hope you enjoyed reading!

[the-californicationist]

Hello Cali ❤️. Por alguna razón no te había visto más en mi muro de tumblr y me preguntaba si no estabas aquí, por eso busqué tu perfil y me di cuenta que tumblr me estaba jugando una mala pasada.

How are you??? I'm so busy because I have a loooot of work, pero me tomaré el tiempo de leer todo lo que me perdí de ti ✨✨✨

YOU ARE THE BEST, OK? I LOVE YOU ❤️💍

Quisiera que escribieras un smut de John Price CEO/Mafia con un Reader inteligente y astuto, que queda cautivado cuando John comienza a seducirla, porfis ✨

Anything for you, my friend!! I love you so much <3 <3

Wonderland

John Price is a famous mob boss... but you don't know that. All you know is that you've got a crush on a mysterious, handsome man, and you're willing to go all the way to find out if his bite is as bad as his bark.

The parking garage was dark, and the concrete seemed to hold in the cold like a freezer. It felt like ice on his cheekbone, and not even the blood from his eye socket was enough to warm the skin. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, that odd whooshing sound, and in a distant memory he could recall the first time he had ever gotten a black eye. But, all that was gone now. He had ratted out the one man that no one had dared fuck with in the past five years: John Fucking Price.

Those fucking coppers had said they’d protect him. He even had his people outside his house every hour of every day. How could this happen? He had to admit, he wasn’t even scared, he was just pissed off. Fucking bastards. They’d get what was coming to them. Maybe he’d tell them so. Not like they'd give him any more chances.

“Fuck you, Price. I hope those pigs skin you alive,” he spit out the blood that had began to pool in his mouth, and hoped it hit those stupid boots John was always wearing.

John Price slid his shoe away from the red stain that had began to swell on the ground, keeping his kangaroo leather Berlutis from ruin. The fool beneath his feet had no idea what was about to happen to him, and John almost felt sorry about it, if only for a moment. He and Vinson had been friends once. Hell, he’d even stood up at his wedding. 

“Vince, what did I tell you about that bloody mouth of yours? Said it'd get you into trouble, didn't I? Wish there was something I could do for you now, cause you and me, we used to be mates. But, I can't afford friends like you. Not anymore," Price gave the rat a quick shove with his heel and watched as the stain smeared in a thin streak across the cement. He turned to his men,

"Well, lads, I've got a party to get to. You wouldn't mind cleaning things up here for me, would’ya?"

"No, boss," was their quiet reply.

"You'll be sorry, you goddamn pussy!" Vinson was screaming now, "I hope they hang you from the fuckin’-”

Bang! The loud gunshot echoed through the hollow space.

Vinson didn't say anything after that.

"Let's get outta here, Gaz."

"Right away, boss," Gaz opened the door to the limo and prepared to drive John back into the city. There was a big gala at the Genting Casino tonight, and Mr. John T. Price was never late.

He was never early either. In fact, he was perfection incarnate. When he was younger, that wasn't always the case, but after his father died, he had needed to change. No one was fit to rule Liverpool in his stead, and he was thankful that no one had been foolish enough to try. His father had made this town what it is. Liverpool was built by his family, and even though everyone thought the Price regime had grown tired of their reign on the old docks, they couldn't have been farther from the truth.

John had his cut from all of the major casinos, and he traded security in exchange. He owned two of them himself, along with four shopping malls, five bars, three neighborhoods, two apartment complexes, and a golf course - not to mention the property that wasn't in his name. He made sure to give his men plenty of reign over their own enterprises, even if most of them were strip clubs. But, he didn't care. As long as tribute came in every quarter, he never messed around in their business.

He thought Vinson was one he could trust. He'd even given him a car dealership just last month. 

"Don't run it into the ground, Vince," he had said.

But, no. What had the little bastard gone and done? Put a tracker on his car and dropped bugs in his office. After everything he'd done for him, that's how he was repaid? To tell the truth, John never liked violence. It was awkward. But, his father had given him fists and showed him how to use them, so there was really no going against it. Violence and fear were vital pieces of the only language that men like Vince could understand. Now, with another family coming to Liverpool, John had to be on his best behavior. Even if 'best' was a little more loosely defined.

As he lit the tip of his last cigar, he reminded Gaz to grab him another few sticks on the way home. Gaz would've never turned coat on him like Vince did. He'd give him the car lot.

"You want the dealership on Sefton street, Kyle?" He offered.

"Sure, boss. Thanks a lot," Gaz smiled, knowing exactly which business he was talking about, "You want me to pull around back?"

They had arrived at the main entrance. Throngs of people were craning around the limo, trying to see who was inside. John thought about it for a second, smushed his cigar tip into the ashtray, and adjusted his tie.

"Nah," he said, "We'll give them the show tonight."

"Sure thing, boss."

Gaz parked the car and leapt out of the cab. His hand was on the door before John could take another breath, and on either side of the door, some of Price’s own foot soldiers took up their posts as bodyguards. When he emerged from the muffled quiet of the limo, it shocked John for a moment to be in such a whirl of chaos.

"Mr. Price, can I get a photo?"

"Over here, please, Mr. Price," a cute reporter was frantic enough to step in front of his men. They picked her up and put her back in the crowd.

John made sure to smile and wave, shake hands with those he had seen before, but he knew it was safer inside. 

The manager greeted him warmly and, he noted, by first name,

"John! Good to see you again, mate. We've got just the table for you, tonight. Wait til you see the legs on these girls! It'll be a night to remember."

"I'm sure it will."

"Ah, sorry, but we don't allow weapons past the main floor," the manager's face fell. So did Kyle’s. 

Gaz cleared his throat,

"I'm sure you can make an exception for Mr. Price. We'll be very discreet."

It was more of a threat than a promise, and John smiled at his friend's heavy tone. Kyle was anything if not polite.

"Uh, yes, we can certainly make arrangements. Right this way, gentlemen," and now the manager was nothing if not nervous. Perfect.

The night continued as well as it could, but he had never really enjoyed gambling. Why make all this money if he was just going to throw it into the wind? But, he could mingle with the right people here. Except that these weren't his people. He had come as a favor to his long time friend, Alex Keller, but Alex was nowhere to be found. 

"Passed out on his missus’ tits, probably!" One of the strangers guffawed at the other end of the Blackjack table. 

"He’ll show, don't you worry," another replied.

Well, John didn't have all night to wait on a man to get to his own party. He needed a drink. When he rose to head to the bar, Gaz stopped him,

"I'll get it, boss. No need to bother yourself with it."

The table was silent. The strangers who had been so brassy before were now silent and transfixed on the pair of men at their table, one of whom was important enough to have his slightest whim catered to at a moment's notice.

"It's alright, Garrick. Play my hand, yeah? I'm headed out for a smoke."

"Yes, sir."

John retreated. The awkward stares and weird glances were too much for him to bear. Surely there was a patio around here, somewhere.

By the time he found one, he was disappointed to see it was occupied.

"Oh, beg your pardon. Thought I was alone out here," he said.

To his shock, it was a woman's voice that responded from the shadows. Your voice. 

"You're fine. You got a light? Fuckin’ matches are all wet..." You fumbled with the book, striking to no avail.

He smirked,

"I have the fire if you've got an extra smoke."

"Fair trade," you smiled back jokingly. 

You were dressed in a clean chef's coat, your hair was pulled up, and you might have been going without makeup, but it was almost too dark to tell. It certainly wasn't casino makeup, that was for sure. John watched as you tugged two cigarettes free from the box, put them to your soft lips, and covered his flame with your hand. Your fingernail paint was pink and chipped. You pulled in the fire of both cigarettes and offered one to him. He took it,

"Thanks."

You grunted in a minimal response.

"So, you're a chef?" He asked.

You raised an eyebrow at him, giving him the glare he deserved for such an obvious question.

He back pedaled, 

"I mean, you work here as a chef. I just thought, with the coat...I mean, where's your big bloody hat? You need the hat."

You laughed. It was wonderful to hear, and he liked the way your mouth moved when you started to speak,

"Yeah, I work here. Have for the past three years or so. Bill signed me on as head chef, and I've been slaving away for him ever since."

"Bill?"

"Oh, he's the culinary manager. Runs all the restaurants in the casino and the hotel. When the last guy disappeared into thin air, they had to scramble to find someone, I guess. What about you? Where's your fancy hat? Based on that Hermes tie, I'm gonna assume you're here with the party."

He mindlessly adjusted his tie, noticing its feel on his neck as she called it out,

"Well, I might be."

"Yeah? You some kind of big-shot?" You eyed him again, challenging him to answer with something more than a yes or a no. You had heard yes and no plenty of times.

"I might be," he wouldn't give in.

"If we keep going like this all night, you might end up being the Queen, for all I know."

You both laughed, but then, you sighed, 

"Oh well, Mr. Mystery. Keep your secrets then," you shrugged and turned away from him.

He couldn't have that.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Sarah," you spun back around, "Rachel. Tiffany. Willamina. Might be anything."

You had the audacity to wink at him.

"Alright, you got me, love," he moved a little closer to you, "I'm John. John Price."

He extended his hand and waited for the bad news to sink in. No one who knew his name in this town would be dumb enough to be on a patio alone with him at night. He had dodged the media for a long time, but his trials always managed to get leaked. Twelve accounts of assault and battery, two separate accounts of theft, three murder charges - all acquitted of course. But, still, he was no stranger to ducking the law.

"John? Of all the names," you shook your head and smiled, taking his hand firmly, "Pleasure to meet you."

"You as well. You've never heard of me?"

"Oh, Jesus," you lamented, "Are you famous or something? Look, if I'm not in the kitchen, I'm at home asleep. Sorry. I don't even watch TV."

"No, nothing like that, I just - " He thought about it for a moment before you saw him decide to take a different trajectory, “Not famous.”

“Why is it that I feel a little bit like Alice tonight?” You took a long drag and let the smoke fall from your lips, “Like I’m following a white rabbit down a deep, dark hole.”

He chuckled, and you enjoyed seeing his eyes shine with his laughter,

“If you follow me down,” he sidled up to you, his face close enough to yours so you could smell the balsam in his aftershave, “I’ll show you just how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

A man’s voice cleared his throat behind you, and you both turned to look at who it was. 

“Garrick?” John asked, clearly annoyed. 

“Yes, sir. Johnny and Simon made it up. They said they know why Keller hasn’t shown.”

John didn’t answer. He simply turned back to look into your eyes, trying to divine some sort of future from them. He must’ve liked what he saw because the next thing you knew, you were being given a golden key card. Top floor. 

Not famous, my arse, you thought to yourself. 

“Why don’t you take the night off, love. Come see Wonderland, yeah? I’ll be right behind you.”

“My, my,” you said, palming the card from him, “No one ever tells you no.”

Another smile, a little colder than the first,

“No, they don’t.”

“Maybe I will,” you pulled the tiger’s tail.

“You won’t,” the tiger growled back.

As you watched him leave the small patio, his broad back stretching that expensive suit, his thick fingers flicking his half-smoked cigarette off the balcony’s edge, you were kicking yourself. You knew you were going up to his room, even though something inside of you really wanted to yank this guy’s chain. But, his dark, purring voice had made Wonderland sound so inviting… maybe just one little peek wouldn’t hurt?

You waited a whole five minutes before slinking off to the service elevator, cutting out for the night. No one was making dinner anyway; it was the bar that was slammed. You’d already cleaned and prepped your station, so no one would miss you. 

You ducked into the bathroom just before the top floor, getting off on the service side in an empty hallway, checking your face for stray flour or coffee stained teeth. You smelled like a pizza oven, but maybe you could sneak a shower before he showed up?.

What a slut, you heard the angel on your shoulder chastise you. 

So, what? The devil’s side replied, indignant. 

You peeled the chef’s coat off of your body. All you had underneath was a black tee. It was cropped a bit too high for work, but you wore it anyway. Your black work pants were covered in flour and dried food. You brushed them off as best you could. It would have to do. You shoved your coat into your bag and headed back to the hallway. 

Luckily, the main elevator was vacant, as was the hallway, so you wouldn’t run into any other guests on your way to Wonderland. 

The angel rolled his eyes. The devil glared at him. 

The elevator dinged, and you inserted the gold card, clicking the very topmost button to the penthouse. 

You’d been up here before. Sometimes, you picked up cleaning shifts on your off days for the extra cash, so you knew the layout. But, that had been in the cold, hygienic light of day. At night, this floor was a sparkling vision. When the elevator doors opened, huge clear windows reached all the way into the ceiling, framing Liverpool’s city center, looking more beautiful than it ever seemed from the ground. 

You took quiet, uncertain steps out of the lift, checking for any signs of life. There were none, so you made your way to the bathroom. Huge black marble monolith slabs were carved in a semicircle, a nautilus that curled around the four separate shower heads, all ready to pour their steaming water down your naked body. 

You stripped, stepping into the stream, letting yourself pretend that you lived in this sort of luxury for a moment. A soft lather of soap and a little shampoo later and you were clean. The single-use toothbrush and paste was in the hidden drawer that no guest would ever notice, so you stole an extra set, scrubbing yourself to a minty shine. 

A pair of black satin robes hung in the closet, so you stole one, tying it around your waist, fully aware that one stiff breeze and the loose-fitting garment would fly right off of you. The soft fabric lay against your skin in the most sensual way, barely touching you and yet making you feel touched. 

You explored the hotel room a bit, avoiding Mr. Price’s suitcase like it would bite you. The kitchen came stocked with ice buckets of champagne, so you helped yourself to one, pouring a glass and lounging by the window, wondering how long you’d have to wait for your date. 

Fortunately for you, only an hour had passed and you heard the elevator ding. Out from the dark lift came the man himself… bleeding from his lip.

“John! What happened?” You put down your wine and rushed over to him. 

He held you back, waving you off like it was nothing,

“Don’t worry, love. Just a bit of a scuffle, tha’s all.”

“But —”

“Seriously,” he grabbed you by your arms and looked you up and down, enjoying the wide opening of the robe as it revealed your body to him, “You should see the other bloke. Let me get cleaned up. Pour me one of those, would’ya?”

Before you could protest, he ducked into the bathroom, out of your reach. You were left standing there, worried and a little concerned for your own wellbeing. You didn’t actually know this man at all, and here you were, lamb to the slaughter, eager and bleating happily. 

While he was in the bath, you decided to do a little research. You searched up his name, and you were finding almost no hits, until you stumbled upon a mugshot.

There he was… the notorious mob boss, ruler of the English underground arms dealing circuit, enforcer and racketeering extraordinaire. And here you were, nearly naked in his room with not so much as a penknife within reach. This guy had been in the armed forces, special forces, black ops — the works. He retired and fell into the armed security world, making a name for himself by pushing out the competition by any means necessary. His father had maintained ties to the dark underground, and now John had taken over the family business, doing shady deals for the government and crime organizations alike. All of it was hearsay, of course, and none of the charges had ever landed a single hit… but you knew the truth. 

John Price was the most dangerous man in the world; Liverpool’s crime arena was just a quiet little hobby for a man like him. If he wanted to, he could make you disappear like a magician behind a mirror. Gone without a trace.

What would you do? Would you run? Where would you go? How would you explain your sudden exit? Food poisoning?

Before you could even begin to formulate a plan, John was out of the shower. He looked incredible. His hulking, heavy form was steaming from the hot water, and his hairy chest was uncovered. He’d slipped into a pair of running shorts and nothing else, so his brutal body was on display for you. He was covered in scars, and he was heavyset, but his largeness was from his strength. His core was bulky and strong, and when he moved, you could see the tight muscles rolling around beneath the skin like a snake ready to strike. 

He turned to you, but even though he wore a smile at first, the moment he made eye contact, his face fell. Somehow, he knew that you knew.

He sighed,

“What did you see?”

He rushed over to his suitcase but found it still locked, looking back to you quizzically. You didn’t move, you didn’t dare. John stepped over to you slowly, deliberately, almost as if he was ready for another fight. 

You turned your phone towards him and showed him his own mugshot.

“Thought you said you weren’t famous,” you whispered. Your voice sounded so small and far away, you almost felt like you hadn’t spoken the words. 

He smiled bitterly, tossing his towel on a nearby chair and sat beside you on the bed,

“Cat’s out of the bag, then?”

“Yeah,” you looked down at your phone, unable to look him in the eye. 

“Go on,” he waved his hand at you, motioning toward the door, “Get out.”

You didn’t move. You should have. Every fiber in your being was telling you to make a break for it. Now was your chance. And yet… you stayed. It was silent for a long while. You could feel his gaze raking over you, hot and heavy. His breaths rumbled in his chest. 

“Go!” He spat, “No one’s keeping you prisoner here, girl. That’s me, alright, and the newspapers don’t even know the bloody half of it. Just go.” 

You reacted to his volume, shirking back a bit, but you still didn’t stand. You looked at him then, searching for the kindness you thought you saw on the patio just hours before, checking to see if it was still there, if it was even real.

When you met his eyes, his fury was masking a very real pain. He was angry, sure, but the ache of being cast out was apparent, even though you were the one doing the leaving, and you just wanted that bit of brightness back again. 

John studied you, watching your every movement, trying to determine what you were thinking but coming up short. He stood right in front of you, his hips inches from your face, and he asked,

“What are you waitin’ on, love?”

A strong thumb lifted your chin, raising your jaw up to look at him again, and he used his enormous hand to grab your face, keeping you there under his will. 

“I know you’re afraid of me,” he commented softly, “I can feel it.”

“So?” You replied, trying to keep your tone steady. 

His voice was bitter and mocking, and as he leaned forward, you could smell his clean, warm skin, 

“You wanna play with the big bad wolf, hm? See if I bite?” 

He grabbed you a little too tightly, trying to scare you. It worked, but you tried not to show it. Instead, you decided to place both of your hands at his hips, your palms flat against his warm belly, feeling the dark hair that formed a faithful trail, guiding your eyes down to his waistband. 

It was his turn to be surprised. You felt his breathing catch as you moved your hands up along his ribcage, rubbing gentle circles into his skin, petting him like a skittish hound, expecting him to snap. 

Letting go of your face, he grabbed your wrist, and just as you thought he was going to stop you, he took your hand and placed it on his chest, stretching your arm all the way up from where you were sat, making you extend your spine as you reached up to him. Your fingers traced the fur that lay flat against his pectorals, and finally, you plucked at his nipples, not allowing there to be any question as to your intentions. 

The tip of his wide finger dipped into the silken collar of your robe, swirling around your neck and following it down to the swell of your breast. He didn’t find your peak, but he didn’t seem to care to. He was just exploring. 

Suddenly, John moved faster than you could even begin to understand what was happening. He had reached under you, lifting you, and then tossed you back down on the bed. You lay, sprawled, trying to catch your bearings, and then you were covered by his huge form, his wide body casting shadows over your vision, cloaking you in his own private darkness.

His mouth was on you like a hot flame, licking and burning and biting and sucking wherever he wanted to, eager to taste every inch of your skin, the imperfections of a wrinkle or a freckle seemed to go fully unnoticed as he devoured you, sucking you down like his last meal. 

You were overwhelmed by the pleasure he was stoking inside of you, and you let a small mewling sound escape from your lips that caught his attention. 

“Mm,” he climbed up your body so that you were face to face, “Enjoying your walk on the dark side, love? Think you’re tainted by me now? Or maybe that’s what you wanted, is it? Something naughty, just for a night?”

You didn’t understand his negativity, nor the self-deprecation, so you tried to protest, 

“No, I —”

“It’s alright. I’ll show you how to be a bad girl. I’ll teach you, love. C’mere.”

His voice was smoldering and sticky, clinging to your ears with some of that same bitterness from before. But, you didn’t have time to worry about that. He was standing by the bedside again, and he grabbed your arms, making your head and shoulders hang part way off of the mattress. You were left staring at his thick thighs and scarred knees, worried about what he was up to.

Then, all became clear. He had dropped his running shorts, and the fattest cock you’d ever seen hung down, shining with drool, ready to be fed into your mouth. 

Your eyes went wide, and although you reached your hand out to try and brace against his legs, it was no use. He supported your head from underneath and bent himself over until the tip of his swollen cockhead touched your lips, the gleaming precome sticking to you like gloss. 

Unwilling to be frightened by his aggression, you opened your mouth for him, laving your tongue across his turgid flesh, allowing him to press himself inside of you. 

His cock was slick on the head but dry on his shaft, so you did your best to wet him, licking and sucking as he pumped himself in and out, already nearing the back of your throat and not even halfway sheathed. 

When he nudged your soft palate, making you gag a bit, you made a noise. You tried steadying him with your hand, and he grunted, grabbing both of your arms by the wrist, holding them above your face, clutched to his hip. Then, he continued to fuck your face, ignoring your writhing gasps for breath. 

Your throat tightened around him, but you tried to stay calm. You’d never taken anyone this deep before, but you stilled yourself, ignoring the urge to panic, and you made a point to swallow, feeling your throat squeeze around his head. You could taste him as he painted the back of your throat, salty and sweet at the same time. 

That made him moan, and you felt like you’d won some sort of battle. If he was trying to frighten you, it was going to take more than just a little rough sex. 

“Mm, fuck… Maybe you are a naughty little girl, aye?”

You hummed, making sure you could feel the vibrations travel through his girth. 

He removed himself fully, taking a trail of your own drool with him, gasping from the pleasure of your mouth. 

“Fuck, I need to taste you,” he muttered darkly, crawling over you and settling himself between your legs. 

You tried to lift yourself back onto the bed, but he kept you hanging there, pinning you down with his strong arm, pressing into your belly with his hand to prevent you from sitting up. Finally, after feeling him kiss and nip at your thighs, teasing you mercilessly, you felt the warm, wet slip of his tongue as it fell between your lips, tasting your throbbing pussy for the first time. 

The robe was half-off, and only the tie around your waist was even providing any coverage, and you realized that as he began to eat you, he was yanking off your clothes as well, ripping through the knot of the robe to free you from the fabric. 

Now, his mouth moved deeper, and you felt him seal his lips to your pussy, messily drinking you in. As he fucked you with his tongue, his mouth and jaw were strong enough to rock your body up and down on the soft bed, making it seem as if he were actually using his smooth wet muscle as a writhing cock, thrusting it up into you and reaching deep into your hole.

The scruff of his beard was enough to make you want to come, much less the power that he ate you with. Every deep, curling lick sent sparks into your core, making your pussy drip with eager stickiness. It was hungry for that fat, uncut cock, forcing you to imagine how delightful it would be when he popped his giant head into your pink flesh. 

You were keening for him. Well, it wasn’t exactly for him, per se. The noises you were making were coming from your throat against your will. If you didn’t scream, you’d pass the hell out, you were sure of it. 

“Fuck, that’s it, love. Get loud for me. Ungh… you taste… mmfh… so damn sweet,” he was ruthless, speaking between long suckles from his mouth, commanding you from below. 

You wished you could see him, but all you could see from your hanging position was the giant window, looking out across the sparkling city. So, you called out to him, your voice thick with want, with need,

“John…”

That was all it took. He tugged your hips down until he was above you again, prowling over you like some sort of beast, all snarling unbridled lust and appetite. As soon as he was in position — and your body knew he was in position — everything stopped. He stopped. 

John looked down at you and became… different. The flirty bloke from the patio was back, and he smiled at you. You smiled back, out of breath and already drunk with hunger, but that was all he needed. He kissed you deeply, making you taste your own musk, and as his soft lips slid over yours, you felt the pressure of his huge cock at your hole, pressing through your folds to reach your hot, soaked center. 

You gasped through his kiss, both of you moaning in the same timbre as you felt his heavy dick fit into you for the first time, a sparkling desire swirling within you as every delicious inch of him buried itself in you. He began to thrust himself up into your aching slit, fucking you on half of his length, and then using your own sticky fluid to slip himself the rest of the way in. 

“Bloody hell, this fuckin’ pussy… fuck me,” he groaned, wrenching his eyes shut from the pleasure. 

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

“Yeah?” He asked, seeking your praise. 

“You’re fucking huge,” you didn’t mean to sound so concerned, but there was a part of you that was. 

He sat back on his heels, taking some of the pressure away, staring down at your body lecherously, savoring your tits and fondling them in his hands,

“Alright, love?”

“You feel so good,” you insisted, wrapping your hands around his arms as he enjoyed your body. 

“Tell me again,” he said, grunting again as he fucked his cock deeper inside of you, reaching a new end before dragging himself all the way back out just so he could start the journey again. He upped his tempo, pounding into you with his weight, the loud smack of his body against yours beating into you like a drum. 

“Tell. Me. Again,” he growled his warning, snarling down at you, pinching your nipple to punish you for your silence. 

You were gasping for breath. He was so deep now, you could feel the pressure of it in your belly. Between sharp intakes of air, you hissed, 

“You… feel.. so… fucking… good…”

“That’s my girl,” he bent over you again and that familiar pressure returned. His cock was too big, and yet you took it anyway. Your body was panic and pleasure all at the same time, and he had you pinned down for the ride of your life. 

You weren’t sure how many hours passed that night. He seemed to have the stamina of a much younger man, and every time you dozed off, you’d wake up again to fingers or tongue or cock playing inside of your folds, coaxing you to open yourself up to him. You were happy to oblige, but you were properly fuck drunk. If someone asked you for the alphabet, you weren’t positive you trusted your answer. But, when John Price asked you to open your mouth or your legs for him, you were the top scholar. 

A golden, creamy dawn was rising up over the docks as you stared out the window. John’s hand was rubbing your bare back in long, relaxing strokes, and he was leaving soft, lazy kisses down your spine. You knew you were a mess. Your hair was tangled; you’d thrown it up into a messy bun on the second runthrough, done with trying to pretend to be a pristine hot girl. Your body was covered in his marks. Bruises from his teeth and red welts from a delightful slap on the ass or two were painted across you like little tattoos to commemorate your coupling. 

“You alright, love?” He checked in on you. 

He’d been checking in all night. For all his ruthlessness, he never crossed a line, and he never forgot to make sure you were safe. Sometime in the wee hours, he’d even made you drink a bottle of water and eat some fruit to hydrate, teasing you with grapes like some sort of earthly Baccus. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Looks like it’s time for me to get out of your hair. Not sure I should be seen by the public in my current state.”

“You have work, or…” John looked confused. 

You thought about lying to him for a moment. It would hurt so much less for you to just break it off now in the soft dawn glow rather than a painful goodbye over cold breakfast. But, you didn’t.

“No, just… don’t wanna fool myself into thinking this was something that it wasn’t.”

Your truth hung there in the air for a moment, but before he could open his mouth to reply, you heard the elevator ding.

You turned to look at it, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled you off the bed and forced you to the floor. It was so fast that you didn’t even realize what he’d done until your nose was in the carpet. Then, you heard a sharp, snapping pop of something hitting the bed.

You watched in horror as John’s hand reached under the mattress and pulled out a small pistol. He held it like a professional, calm and trained, and shot twice. Then, it was quiet again. 

He helped you to your feet, and he was telling you something, but your brain wasn’t registering his words. What had happened? Why were there bullet holes in the mattress? Who had he shot?

Then, you saw it. A man’s body was laying across the door of the elevator. Wanting to descend, the elevator’s alarm wailed, beeping and beeping. 

John grabbed your jaw and made you listen to him,

“We have to go. Now. Get your clothes on. Now. Now.”

“Okay…” You couldn’t move. It was so hard to even lift your arms. They felt like solid lead. You just wanted to sink back to the floor. Maybe if you could just…

“Hey! Now!”

He shoved your clothes into your hands and you started to put them on, doing your best not to look at the elevator. John was packing a black bag, half-dressed himself, and checking the windows over and over, looking for something in the streets below. 

“There’s no time, c’mon, love.”

You felt his hand cover yours as he led you to the elevator. You watched him ruthlessly kick the body away from the doors and push you inside. Once you were in, the doors closed and you rode in silence with him. You could only hear your heart in your ears. 

“...to my car. Stay close to me.”

“Okay…” It was all you could say. No other words even dared to come to mind.

“Hey,” he held your face in his as the floor numbers dropped to the teens, “You’re alright. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Okay.”

The doors opened, and you found it extremely weird that the lobby was empty. There were no workers, no guests, not even a custodian. It was just a big, silent cavern in what was usually a lively casino. 

He was leading you out to the parking garage, and just as you stepped into the concrete enclave, you heard the screech of tires round the corner. John stood in front of you and gripped the gun in his hand, but he didn’t move away. 

The car stopped in front of you, and you braced yourself, hiding behind your lover as much as you could. 

“Get in, boss! They’re right bloody behind us. Soap, shove over,” a man’s voice came from the car. He was in the driver’s seat, and he was wearing a ballcap with the Union Jack emblazoned on the top. In his passenger seat was a man in a black balaclava, and in the back was a bright-eyed man with a mohawk who you guessed had to be Soap.

“C’mon, love,” John shoved you inside just as a black SUV rounded the same corner, the engine roaring when it saw Price’s car. 

Gunshots rang out, and you knew some of them had hit the car. You worried for John, but he stood straight up, aiming carefully for the driver, and fired his gun. As if you were in some sort of action movie, the SUV careened off-course and slammed into several parked cars. Men began to pour from it, armed to the teeth. 

John jumped in beside you and made you kneel in the floorboards, holding his body over yours protectively. 

“How’d they find out? Gaz!” John yelled at the driver, shouting his name when he saw another SUV approaching from the side. 

Gaz swerved, narrowly missing being rammed, and sped off down the highway, trying to run from his pursuers. 

“No idea, mate, but they think it was us who tore up the warf. Banno’s man must’ve turned snitch. Only explanation.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” the masked man sighed, rolling down his window to fire shots at the SUV chasing you down. 

“Who’s the bonnie hen, boss?” Soap peered down at you before turning his attention back on the car chase. 

“Uh… she’s…” John tried to explain, but you realized that you never even told him your real name, “I dunno.”

“You dinnae ken?” Soap’s brows knitted together.

“Soap! Shut up and shoot, mate,” Gaz turned his attention back on the fight.

“Well,” the masked man grumbled loudly, “She’s stuck with us all the way to Hadrian’s Wall. Heading to Katie’s house. No place else is safe.”

“Aye, good call,” John agreed. 

Finally, after leaving the city, your pursuers turned back around and left you to your escape. John helped you back into the seat and checked you for injuries. 

“John… I’m…” Your voice shook with fear, and you felt all of that stress tumbling down into your chest, turning into shock and tears. 

“Shh, it’s alright, love. I’ve gotcha. I’m… I’m sorry. Should’ve known better.”

“Better?” You whispered as he held you to his chest.

“Aye. Thought I could be a normal man for a night. Hit on the hot bird at the bar, go to a fuckin’ party. But, nothing’s normal right now. I’ve put you in this mess, and I’m sorry.”

You didn’t have a reply, not one that made any sense, and as he held you, you watched the English countryside come into view. Rolling green hills still wet with their dew made everything that had just happened to you seem so far away, but you could smell the gunpowder on his hands as he pet your cheek, and you knew that nothing could be further from the truth.

[eldritcmor]

IDEA!! You know how in most legends and myths involving dragons there’s often a hoard the dragon is protecting? What if the 141 was the hoard of someone (or something) not entirely human. They masquerade as a human and fight alongside the 141 but they’re insanely protective of them and have dragon like abilities. Heat and smoke never seem to bother them. Sometimes the 141 can see the shimmer of scales out of the corner of their eye but when they turn to check it out all they see is their “human” teammate. Maybe they have reptile like tendencies and prefer to have meals alone because they’re “insecure” about their eating habits (they’re actually eating nonhuman food like raw meat or something). Idk, I just really like the idea of the 141 being oblivious to a monster in their midst. Also I really REALLY like dragons

Gaz looked up as the sharp screech of twisting metal met his ears. The guard at his door poked his head out to see what was happening only to jerk and slump, a rather large piece of rebar right between his eyes. Gaz did not want to meet whatever the fuck did that and so scooted the chair he was tied to as far back into the shadows as he could. He tried to keep his breathing even but as the steady clomp of boots on metal grew closer, he couldn't cut it. A hand curled around the door frame and for a second, Gaz would forever swear he saw gleaming copper claws. He blinked and suddenly you were in front of him. Kneeling low as you confidently cut through the rope around his ankles.

"Breathe Sergeant. I got you." Gaz practically melted at the familiar rumble of your voice. He let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding as you moved to the bindings on his chest. Then he was confused.

"It's good to see you lieutenant, but how did you get here?"

You hummed as you finished cutting through his bindings and hauled Gaz to his feet. While there wasn't really any major damage that you could see, you still didn't like finding him like this.

"I called in a favor from an old friend. For all intents and purposes, this was never sanctioned. Now before you go thinking too hard, the others did try to come as well. Unfortunately, they got placed under the equivalent of house arrest by Shepherd. Now come on, our ride is waiting."

Gaz rolled the information over in his mind as you led him through the little facility. Everywhere he looked was some form of evidence of a fight. It looked like something had absolutely ripped through their defences.

--

Ghost startled as he entered the little kitchen of their current base. It was incredibly late at night and he hadn't expected anyone to be awake. You were sitting on the counter, ripped open package of red meat in one hand and a piece of meat midway to your mouth. Ghost raised an eyebrow and you slowly lowered the little chunk back into the tray.

"is this why you never eat with us?" Your fellow lieutenant asked as he grabbed a mug from one of the cupboards. You have a little noncommittal shrug as you set aside your dinner. Ghost popped the mug into the microwave and pulled out a few teabags.

"No need to stop on my account, lieutenant." The microwave beeped and ghost retrieved his mug before plopping the teabags in and promptly exiting the kitchen.

--

Soap raised an eyebrow as you stripped off your jacket and bundled it into your pack. The team was visiting Farah and the desert heat was harsh on all of them. Even Price had taken refuge under the nearest shade cloth. You however just seemed to be perfectly fine in the heat. He thought the heat was finally getting to you. That is until you climbed up on huge flat rock, laid in direct sunlight and promptly fell asleep. You were fucking basking while the rest of the team was baking in the sun. Soap stomped over, sun be damned, and climbed right up beside you. He purposely blocked the sun as he kneeled next to you and raised his hand to slap down in the dead center of your back. That is until your hand shot out and easily caught his wrist. You two briefly wrestled for a minute or two before soap yelped as you scooped him up over your shoulder and carried his ass back over to the others. Farah laughed as you deposited Soap right at Price's feet. A simple no left your mouth in a sort of grumbling growl as you went back to your rock. Soap pouted in the shade but didn't move to try again, as Price handed him a canteen of water.

--

Price watched from the door as you wrestled against Ghost, with Soap and Gaz sitting on the side. You two were dirty fucking fighters. Anytime Ghost flipped you on your back, you'd yank him by his mask or shirt to the side. Anytime you'd flip him on his back, he'd take his nails down any piece of exposed flesh in order to get you to rear back and topple. Price thought it was like watching two feral ass badgers fighting. He decided to intervene when Ghost pinned you and his fingers were just a hair too close to your mouth. Your fangs were on display.

"That's enough boys!" He watched in amusement as You and Ghost scrambled to your feet. "Go clean up, all of you. We got a briefing in twenty. Except you, Drake. I need to talk to you." The rest of the squad exited the training room. Price could practically feel the gossip spinning in their heads.

Price turned to you once the team was down the hall and out of earshot. "We need to talk about that little trip you took."

You tilted your head to the side in confusion. "Little trip, sir?"

"The one you took while the rest of us were under house arrest. The one where you somehow returned with the single missing member of this task force."

You simply hummed, a noncommittal sound, as you tapped your wrist. Price shook his head at your silent question. "Ah my most recent leave. What's the issue?"

Price sighed. "Unfortunately, the higher up want to know how Gaz returned." Price grabbed your shoulder and pulleed you down to his height. "You were not involved in anyway, clear?"

You groaned as the grip on your shoulder tightened. "Loud and clear, sir."

"Good man, now get. I'm sure the others are wondering what kind of ass chewing you just got." Price watched as you walked out the room, defeat lining your shoulders. Good, no need to trouble anyone else with your little rescue mission. Price glanced down at his hand. He hadn't meant to grab you that hard but he had to get the point across. There was a red lined imprint of scales in the center of his palm.

[burberrycanary]

For the fic commentary game...I want to ask about so many lines, but ok. I've narrowed it down to three from Lost Vocabularies..., so you can pick—I'd be so interested to get your author's commentary on any (or all) of them! 💛

He will never forget nine months of stock prices from 1950.

(this is the one I'm probably least likely to get an answer to, which is fine, but I'm so very curious about what Steve did during those months in the past, and a girl's gotta try! 😜)

2. But he sure as hell doesn’t want them back, not so long as Bucky is willing to carry them, whatever they mean to him now—though Steve doesn’t like to think how Bucky must have found them and when.

(Basically, I just like to make myself sad about Bucky Barnes, so hey: talk to me about the dog tags!)

3.

“Why were you always signed up for something? You already took more vocational classes than about anybody.”

[…]

“Trying to impress my dad,” Bucky admits on a slow breath out. “But not in the way he wanted. ‘One of the laborin’ Barnes with a proper education,’ he liked to say. ‘Bastards won’t know what hit ‘em.’ He wanted me to live out that better American life he was chasing. Be respectable.” Bucky gives a faint dry laugh. “Sorry Pops.”

(I know this is more than one sentence...but I'm just endlessly fascinated by Bucky's (and Steve's) pre-war life and especially Bucky's relationship with his parents and how he feels about them now, after everything. So, if you'd be willing to elaborate on that snippet up there (I'm particularly intrigued by But not in the way he wanted), I'd be ecstatic!

(📦&🧼&◼&⬜-🔪)

2. But he sure as hell doesn’t want them back, not so long as Bucky is willing to carry them, whatever they mean to him now—though Steve doesn’t like to think how Bucky must have found them and when.

Crying into our beers over Bucky Barnes should be the name of our band. 😭🍻😭

The dog tags were such a distinctive element in TFATWS that I knew I wanted to use them in this post-Endgame fix-it series that ended up sprawling out to a bigger scope than I originally intended. But the first question from canon to consider is: whose dog tags are they, anyway?

In the surgery flashback from CATWS, we see that Bucky is no longer wearing his dog tags, which means they were taken away by Hydra. And this makes sense since Hydra was starting the process of completely stripping away Bucky’s identity. What Hydra does with Bucky’s dog tags depends on what kind of organization Hydra is, culturally and administratively. While you could write any number of stories here, especially since Bucky, as a specific known recovered asset, isn’t what the Japanese scientists in Unit 731 called “maruta” (“wooden logs”) or what the CIA-run black sites in West Germany under Project Bluebird called “expendables,” you could argue that Zola might keep Bucky’s dog tags for any number of reasons: spite, gloating, pride, or a perverse attachment to his greatest success. But the most rational course of action would be to destroy anything that could identify Bucky as a well-known American soldier—because this era of American history shows you could get away with not just murder but crimes against humanity as long as you played by certain bureaucratic rules. And this is the organization that Peggy Carter built, canonically, and the era that Steve returns to in Endgame—"the dark and bloody heart of the twentieth century [that] beat and maimed all the unsteadiness out of Bucky’s hands long ago." 

I’d argue these aren’t the dog tags that we see Steve wearing when he wakes up in the fake recovery room, which would have been replaced as part of the attempted deception, but instead the ones that he was wearing when he went into the ice, which would’ve been returned once the jig was up: 

Hanging around Bucky’s neck on a bright beaded chain are tarnished dog tags with the raised text turned, here and there, the pale green of copper eaten away by time.

I’ll admit I did look up the composition of WWII dog tags and scanned through some research papers on the corrosion levels in metal equipment used in the Arctic before deciding that I could just take a little literary license here and have Steve’s old dog tags be thematically “tarnished,” which in the text is explicitly tied to the theme of things being transformed over time, but the word also carries the connotation of something that’s sullied. For the dog tags, both meanings hold. 

My backstory headcanon is that Sam, who was the executor of Steve’s will and his chosen next of kin, invited Bucky to go through Steve’s surprisingly few personal effects for anything he wanted to keep before Sam donated the rest to museums. All Bucky took was the last, unfinished, mostly empty, little notebook and Steve’s old dog tags, which he restrung on a new chain. That’s it. That’s what Bucky is left with as a stranger in this strange land of the present. 

In the first glimpse Steve gets near the end of Still Left with the River, he interprets Bucky wearing his old dog tags as indicating that Bucky never stopped caring about him, which is true—Bucky kept on caring a whole hell of a lot. This is Steve’s “it taught me to hope” moment in the text that helps push him toward being honest with Bucky about how he feels after several decades of alternating between pining and grieving, pining and grieving. How many times has the worst already happened between them?

There is always an end to the line where the same big black pit is waiting. And eventually Bucky won’t crawl back out.

But the dog tags are deliberately ambiguous as a symbol, since they equally represent the grief that we see Bucky struggle with in TFATWS. They are Bucky’s chosen gesture of mourning when Steve buries himself in the past. It’s telling that even after Steve returns, Bucky doesn’t take the dog tags off or offer to give them back to Steve again. Whatever they mean, they’re Bucky’s now. And Bucky on some level continues to mourn a faith between them—ineffable and up to that point mutually committed to despite the worst the world could do—that Steve broke when he decided to go back to the past and which returning doesn’t unbreak. Because that’s the problem: “Time only moves in one direction.”

(“There’s a creepy stone somewhere that says otherwise.”

“Exactly.”)

Significantly, over and over, these fraught identification tags are described as occupying the space between Steve and Bucky:

Tipping Steve’s chin up with his thumb, Bucky kisses the blazes out of him while the old dog tags swing a little on their glinting new chain in the space between them.

How Steve left is still very much between them throughout this whole series. 

The scene where the dog tags are revealed as Steve’s is significant:

...Steve’s old dog tags swinging in the space between their bodies; then the warm tender weight of Bucky’s forehead, pressed just off-center against his chest, overlapping with the light touch of metal and the pooling chain; [...] Bucky pressed close, and his face hidden.

The contrary actions of Bucky pressing close but still hiding is how Bucky has chosen to deal with the complicated emotional situation Steve has put him in—the combination of intimacy and distance that shades through most of this series. Bucky is trying to both protect himself and give Steve a good-faith chance to do better. Bucky’s strength and generosity win out in the end, because that’s who Bucky is at heart: the bigger person in a way that has nothing to do with being tall or strong or healthy. But part of the problem of any post-Endgame fix-it is that no one fight or confession or “being shoved in a closet together” shortcut could solve these emotional sticking points. 

Steve really did that. Whatever his reasons or motivations, which this series digs into a lot in the subtext, in the moment Steve meant it. And there’s no way to undo the choices that have been made, not without recourse to an ethically flawed concept that’s the opposite of living: because trying to undo past losses is exactly what Endgame gets wrong by attempting.

Fuck Endgame: the only way out is through. And by “through” I don’t mean Steve passively playing white-picket-fence house with Peggy through the ugly back half of the 20th century and then getting some sort of science-fiction second chance for a life with Bucky, once all that’s over. That’s doubling down on the flawed ethics of Endgame.

Life is a process of making choices, over and over. And living with the consequences. How you live with them is another ethical choice you get to make, over and over. That’s the constant and inescapable ethical action inherent in being alive.

This series is deliberately full of minor characters with losses just as profound as Steve’s: loved ones gone, former ways of life lost, all the small gathered-together pieces that we each painstakingly build into a life vanishing, whether bit by bit or calamitously all at once:

Her face lights up. “Thanks, I make them myself. I’m thinking of going to fashion school, maybe. Textile design. I’ve already died—fuck being scared, right?”

Between war, the Blip and the Return, she has lost every member of what was once a huge family. And life just keeps going on.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Fuck being scared.”

Or:

“Been walking since Greenwood Cemetery. I can’t get to where any of my people are buried so you know what I’ve decided?”

Steve gives a hum, meaning what’s that?  

“I’ve decided to collectivize. Every grave on earth with the first name George is my boy’s. I’ve claimed every Elizabeth—in all forms—and Rachael, Robert and Joseph. Never cared for my husband’s people so I don’t bother with them. But I’ve got some favorites down in Greenwood picked out for my boy. ”

“I’m sorry for your losses,” Steve says, quiet, and thinking briefly of his own most recent dead. He doesn’t add, I know what it’s like to let grief triumph over reality. “So you visit.”

“Every day that I can. Lots of graveyards in this city. But Greenwood is nice. All the flowers and so forth.”

This is a story about grief.

Steve is trusted with great power to help set right wrongs the Avengers did during Endgame, setting all these other timelines on roads to destruction to save their own. And in the face of the temptation of that great fantastical power: the possibility of easy facile answers to unsolvably hard problems about change and loss so many people equally have to confront and hurt over and struggle with—all the time, right now, forever, constantly—Steve Rogers falters:

Preemptive—that idea is never going to seem right to him. But isn’t that what he’d tried to do when he’d stayed in the past? Get the preemptive good life by side-stepping the possibility of more loss? Because, for him at least, one way or another everything that mattered would have already happened.

And still the same old story at the bottom of whatever idealized notions got papered over top: trading other people’s lives for your own security.

He’ll never know whether, if his plan had worked, he would have stayed in the past for good.

And now he’s got to live with that.

If the dog tags in this story stand for anything, it’s living with the consequences.

You can make mistakes. We all do, individually and collectively. But there’s no undoing the past—not even in the MCU’s confused theory of the multiverse. All you can try is to do better: to make right what’s been put wrong as much as you can; or find things that are good and help them be better for more people.

There are deliberately four apologies offered in Lost Vocabularies: two from Bucky and two from Steve. But this is the climactic and closing apology that echoes the same language used to introduce the dog tags into the narrative: 

Pushing Bucky back, he touches the tarnished dog tags where the raised text has turned, here and there, the pale green of copper eaten away by time.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, meaning a whole lot.

Bucky’s response, “We got here,” deliberately sidesteps the question of forgiveness and is designed to be read in two ways. The first reading challenges the relative significance of the past—we reached here however that happened—while the second rejects the past more completely: all we actually ever have is right now.

The thing is, Steve has been angry his whole life and he’s trying so hard to be a little more grateful for a change. 

He’s been doing better and he’ll keep on trying.

But there’s still just so much to be angry about everywhere he looks, from the past all the way through to this moment, burning up in front of him right now: this crawling-forward world that should be better, and isn’t, and won’t be unless people step forward to shoulder the hard slow work with no one to punch and no climactic battle you win or you lose.

This sort of work requires the splendid terrible patience of the tide eating away at a face of rock: mighty and irresistible, but wearisomely slow.

You gotta do the work. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.

A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River (The Consolation of Philosophy)

[tecnoloy]

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[oh-he-grows]

After two weeks of stressing and planning and screwing around in chief architect, I came to the obvious conclusion that I should just make raised beds out of basic-ass pine boards. Here's all the research I did so you don't have to agonize over your potential project. All prices are from Lowes. Below is a cost analysis of my project, which would be for 512' long of raised beds (for a growing area of 1,000 sq ft). I had in-ground beds last year but a massive influx of bunny rabbits ate everything that they could, so I'm looking to lift my plants off the ground a bit.

I was originally planning on using pressure treated 2x8s, but soon got sidetracked into cedar fenceposts and pressure treated landscape timbers, so here's what I eventually found:

Cedar fenceposts are great for a small scale garden. If you need 1 or 2 raised beds, I would recommend cedar fenceposts for cost and longevity purposes. If one piece gets damaged somehow, it's cheap and easy to throw in a replacement. They're incredibly cheap relative to other options, resistant to rot and moisture, beautiful, and can easily fit in almost any vehicle which can't be said for the dimensional lumber. Here's a build video for the most elegant fencepost raised bed I found. Downsides: the fenceposts are very thin, barely half an inch thick-- you can't sit on them or put too much pressure on them. They also require more bracing on the corners and in the middle, as well as a top-strip, as shown below. This is factored into the "Specialty Hardware Cost", and is calculated with pressure treated pine- using cedar for these pieces would look nicer (as below), but are much more expensive and some dimensions are out of stock. They're also a lot of work at scale. For my plan (to look good), I would have to cut off the dogear notch at the top for 280 boards individually, and put four screws each into 280 boards individually, which is an obscene amount of labor and hardware.

Next up are Pressure Treated Landscape Timbers, which I first saw from a Millennial Gardner video where the tagline was "lumber dealers HATE this trick!". Which may be true, but screw manufacturers LOVE this trick. They look really pretty and the wood is extremely cheap, but they're short individually, so you would need to stack 3-4 on top of each other to get the look I'm going for. Most importantly though, these need long screws (50 cents to a dollar each) to connect two boards to each other every 24-48 inches PER layer, and additional rebar if it's being used as a retaining wall, which would be another $4 on every side. The wood is cheap and rot resistant, but the hardware costs creep in.

Cedar boards are too expensive. Flat-out, they cost so much money it's insane. nearly $50 for a single 8' 2"x8" is inordinately expensive for a project like this. For the price of one miniature cedar bed, you could get multiple metal beds that will last decades instead. The final deliberation was between Yellow Pine and Pressure Treated Yellow Pine, and I'm deciding to go with regular untreated pine. The price is an extra 30% - 50% cost, and untreated pine should last (outside of the pacific northwest or florida) for 3-5 years without issues, while pressure-treated could last 10 or more depending on the conditions. Pressure treated boards leaching their chemicals into your food is mostly overstated, as arsenic hasn't been used in the process for 20 years now; although, I understand the reservations about using any chemical so close to food supply. The modern process apparently uses copper-based solutions and various fungicide for copper-resistant strains. I've included two cans of boiled linseed oil in the hardware costs for this to help protect them further, and I might find some kind of plastic or other barrier to protect the wood from direct soil contact to keep them going longer. I think I'm going with the 2x12s as well over the 2x8s, just because I like the idea of a taller bed if I'm just using one board. It's more expensive for sure, and the only thing I'm still deciding on. For the most part it's purely aesthetic, but some plants would prefer a bed larger than 8 inches, so that's why I'm leaning towards 12". It turns out that with the bulk discount that comes with 50 boards, 68 2"x8"s are the same price as 34 2"x12"s, but 4 inches taller. I might have to get some additional 2x4s for corner bracing, but this might be the way. I hope this info helps someone build a raised bed and start gardening, or help their garden become more successful (for cheaper). If I got anything wrong or if there are alternatives let me know, I'd love to hear anybody's thoughts.

[high-and-away]

Let's see some fluff between Victoria and her dad! :D

[Late evening on Starlight Day, in a battered industrial town to the east of the Imperial capital, where the mills have moved on but the residents have lingered.] Titus hasn't put up decorations in the last few years. It's just such a production, you see. You wrangle the tree into the house. You dig the boxes out of whatever crammed-full closet you've stashed them in. You dig through the boxes, through a great Gordian knot of tangled string lights and shedding tinsel. You carefully extricate the ornaments and drape the tree full of glittery baubles and cheerful snowmen and kindergarten popsicle-stick snowflakes and a miraculously intact glass pickle, given as a bachelor-party joke before your short and abortive marriage. You sit down to wrap, run out of tape, nick yourself somehow on the kitchen scissors, and scramble not to bleed on what you're wrapping, like a fantasy anthology, or goofy fluffy slippers shaped like dogs, or two tickets to Madama Butterfly since pricing gave you one of two choices and you figured Tosca was slightly more inappropriate for a ten-year-old, maybe. Titus cen Castellus hasn't put up decorations since the letter from the XIIth that said they regret to inform him. Titus cen Castellus hasn't bothered wrapping gifts since then either. His daughter will never come home to open them. So he puts on a smile and goes to work and makes sure the equipment is in good condition and the broadcast is loud and clear and no one's been stripping copper for scrap and all day through his mind screams and screams and screams behind the charm and wit and bonhomie. And then he goes home and drinks and the smoking, melting, hurting-whimpering-broken-animal parts of his brain gutter out for as long as he can keep up the buzz, and that makes it a little bit better, if he doesn't go up in her room or look at the pictures on the mantel or the handful of trophies on a shelf nearby. Much better then. Starlights and birthdays and deathdays he has to work a little harder, but that's what his sick days are for. He makes it work, or he did before the war. Now he just sits and waits, bottles empty and shotgun close at hand, clawing panic just barely beaten down, because just because everything hurts doesn't mean he wants to die yet. He can't handle looking at the idea of dying, or twisting broken-jointed into a beast of despair, or losing himself in blind service to their monstrous, rotting emperor-eikon. Titus has to be around. Titus has to remember her. No one else will. Titus just sits and waits and rigs the cans and wires and bottle rockets and bear mace and pipe bombs. No matter how perverse and pointless, no one will be his end except himself. The taut twing of a broken wire and clatter of cans interrupts his slow circling of the mental drain. Too close to the house. There are at least four layers of tripwires or alarms or potentially lethal booby traps between their his house and the nearest little cluster of two-beds-and-1.5-baths and one of them has just been dealt with. Twing-clatter. Who broke it? Or what? What is out there waiting for him? Man or monster or worse or-- Titus is calmly (not calm he's never calm you spineless trembling fuck so bloody useless) loading the second shell into his grandfather's 12-gauge when the thing that broke the wire knocks hesitantly on his door. Hesitantly. Adverb. In a manner suggesting shut up brain shut up shut up shut UP-- Knock knock. He racks the shotgun. Silence at the door. Maybe it's gone. Maybe he wasn't worth it (he was never worth it ha ha ha) maybe he's fucking alone again with the windows boarded and the house dark dark too dark. Knock... ...knock. "Fuck off," hisses Titus, his voice small and raspy-reedy from isolation and the thin spiny skin of anger that he drapes sloppily over fear. Nothing but the smell of gun oil and his own ragged panic-breathing and the creak of wood under shifting boots on the porch outside before the mind-rotted telofilth on his doorstep knocks again oh-so-gently.

Nothing but the gun and the fear and the beast and the little wisps of smoke he swears he's been seeing in all the rooms he won't smoke in (smoking in the house is gross, Dad) and it doesn't matter. Not a fucking bit. Not now with the sky on fire and the Empire shattered and his daughter gonegonegonegone so he cradles the shotgun in one arm and yanks the door open. Maybe it's Jules, he thinks at first, with the strong nose and jawline and sort of honed steeliness he lacks. Or maybe a tempered, with the half-gone ear and the scars and the too-dead haunted look. Or maybe it's his own face he's seeing, with the trembling lip and too-bright blue-grey eyes and the slouch in the shoulders that means that the tears will come, they just need a nudge that doesn't care if it's cruelty or compassion. "Dad," says the monster on his porch, in a halting voice he knows - five years dead, now five years deeper. Grown. Not sixteen and cracking with anxiety at every moment of attention.Still right, still her-- Titus lets the shotgun's barrel drift down to point floorwards, his finger slipping off the trigger, and his lips part to form a name-- "Dad," says Victoria again, pained and guilty, and whatever careful explanation for her alleged death she might make crumples with her self-control at whatever she sees in his face. "Dad, I'm sorry--" Titus cen Castellus sets his gun on the side table and wraps his daughter in a hug as she breaks down in tears. The questions, he decides as the wave of relief crushes him into racking sobs, can come later. Right now, everything else can wait.

[aerialsquid]

FFXIVWrite Day 10: Extra Credit

Old man yaoi continues.

Large bay windows at the back of the room and a crystal lamp hanging from the ceiling were the only sources of light for the captain's cabin. Its earlier owner had been presumably dragged off the brig after he'd signed his ship over to Novv - there was a tiny splotch of blood on the floor, just enough that would make a man rethink his principles. In the middle of the cabin sat a large mahogany table, finely carved at its legs, and several books of accounts were strewn across it. Off to one side, a bed built into the ship's wall was covered in bright silk pillows and a quilt.

The only other occupant of the room stood silhouetted by the light from the windows. He was wearing what were probably the captain's spare clothes, since he'd come aboard in his underthings - linen trousers were cinched tight to his waist and ballooned outward from his legs, and the shirt hung large and loose enough to be a maiden's frock. The glinting topaz of his eyes said 'cornered animal waiting to strike'.

"Novv says y'wanted to thank me, or some shite like that?" The Limsan drawl was strong in his voice. Almost too strong.

"Yes–"

"Well, it weren't done for your sake. It was just good business practice."

Edmont's eyes darted down the man's body, across the copper skin marred by scars and tattoos. The sun, the thirst, the fear, all of it seemed to be falling on him at once and he was struggling to make his brain work.

"That tattoo of yours," he said, seizing upon the first matter to hand. "The one with the circle surrounded by flames. There was a gentleman at the resort who had that same marking, he said he'd earned it fighting during the Calamity. You were there?"

The man snorted. "Aye, I was there. I fought at Carteneau Flats, holding the line until the last moment. Even had to carry off one of my fellow pirates because she couldn't take the time to stop slitting throats even after Merlweyb called for a retreat. Our people fought harder than any other there. Your people on the other hand, couldn't be arsed."

"True. And we paid the price for it, did we not? The icy hand of Halone clamping down upon the whole of Coerthas, crushing it in her grip in eternal winter as punishment for our cowardice."

"As if I give a damn what Halone thinks." The man looked down to rummage in the desk's drawer, pulling forth a green glass bottle and a loose tin cup. He poured a glass of dark liquid for himself, offering nothing to Edmont.

"While we're on the subject of tattoos, I'd like to have you cast your eyes over this one." He pulled up the loose sleeve as he raised the cup up to his lips, showing a dark image on the underside of his forearm. The faded ink was crude and Edmont had to squint to realize it was a clumsy imitation of a Sahagin head.

"Got that one for the first time I spilled fishback blood, long before I made captain. This strip of skin was one of the prices Novv requested for his services - not that I'm much attached to it, but once we're finished here I'll be much less attached to it." He raised his cup in a mocking salute and downed it in two gulps. "In case you were thinking old Novv was a soft touch."

"All the more reason to thank you personally, for such a sacrifice," Edmont said quietly, his eyes watching the weathered tattoo.

The cup slammed down on the tabletop. "Let's stop playing games, Edmont. You know who I am, and I know you know it."

Edmont's hand found the armrest of a nearby chair, and carefully settled himself into it. He could feel exhaustion coming up at him like a wave up the shore, and battled it back down. "Carvellain de Durendaire," he said quietly. "Heir by blood to the head of House Durendaire, and lost these past twenty summers."

"It's 'de Gorgagne', now," Carvellain said, pouring himself another shot from the bottle. 

"Gorgagne?"

Carvellain chuckled. "My old bodyguard. The one who was supposed to be nannying me the day I jumped ship. I was fourteen, it was the first name I could think of."

"You know your father stripped him of his position for losing you. He left the knighthood entirely."

"Perhaps he should have kept a better watch on his charges, then." Carvellain stared into the contents of the cup, swirling it about. He was clenching the sides so hard they were nearly starting to dent.

"I'm not going back. I want that known from the start, you hear? You can keep your Fury and your inheritance and your bloody cold, drafty church. I've worked too swiving hard and built too damn much to let some stuffy old man I've got the bad luck to be kin to drag me away from it. And if he's getting ideas about it I'll put him over the side and see how Halone fares against every sea monster the Navigator has in her bestiary."

[bargainshouse]

#UKDEALS CREWORKS Manual Wire Stripping Machine, Drill Powered Wire Stripper Machine with Adjustable Feed Hole, Portable Cable Stripper Tool with Hand Crank for 1.5-23 mm Scrap Copper Metal Cable Recycling https://www.bargainshouse.co.uk/?p=119173 https://www.bargainshouse.co.uk/?p=119173

[koprexmti]

Why Koprex Stands Out as a Leading Copper Manufacturer in India

In today’s fast-paced industrial landscape, the demand for high-quality copper products is more significant than ever. From electrical wiring and plumbing to industrial machinery and renewable energy solutions, copper plays a crucial role in various sectors. Amidst a competitive market, Koprex has emerged as a distinguished copper manufacturer in India, setting itself apart through innovation, quality, and customer-centricity.

A Legacy of Excellence

Koprex’s journey as a premier copper manufacturer in India is built on a foundation of expertise and dedication. With years of experience in the industry, the company has honed its manufacturing processes to deliver top-notch copper products that meet the stringent demands of modern applications. Whether it’s copper strips, wires, or sheets, Koprex consistently produces materials that adhere to the highest quality standards.

Unmatched Quality Standards

Quality is the cornerstone of Koprex’s manufacturing philosophy. The company recognizes that in industries where precision and reliability are paramount, subpar materials are not an option. Koprex’s commitment to quality begins with the selection of raw materials. By sourcing the finest copper, the company ensures that the end products are of superior quality, boasting excellent conductivity, durability, and resistance to corrosion.

Koprex’s state-of-the-art manufacturing facilities are equipped with advanced technology that allows for precise control over the production process. This ensures that every product that leaves the factory meets the exact specifications required by customers. Regular quality checks and stringent testing protocols further reinforce Koprex’s reputation for delivering excellence.

Innovation at the Core

In an industry that is constantly evolving, innovation is key to staying ahead. Koprex understands this and has made significant investments in research and development. By embracing the latest technologies and production techniques, the company has not only improved the efficiency of its operations but also enhanced the quality of its products.

One of the areas where Koprex truly excels is in the development of custom solutions. The company works closely with its clients to understand their unique needs and offers tailor-made copper products that perfectly align with their specific requirements. This flexibility and willingness to innovate have earned Koprex a loyal customer base across diverse industries.

Sustainability Practices

As global awareness of environmental issues grows, the manufacturing sector faces increasing pressure to adopt sustainable practices. Koprex is at the forefront of this movement, implementing eco-friendly processes that minimize waste and reduce the carbon footprint of its operations. The company’s dedication to sustainability is reflected in its efficient use of resources, recycling initiatives, and energy-saving measures.

By prioritizing sustainability, Koprex not only contributes to environmental conservation but also meets the growing demand for green products. Clients who choose Koprex can rest assured that they are partnering with a manufacturer that values responsible production and is committed to creating a better future.

Customer-Centric Approach

At Koprex, customer satisfaction is more than just a goal; it’s a driving force behind every decision the company makes. From the initial consultation to after-sales support, Koprex places the needs of its clients at the forefront. This customer-centric approach is evident in the company’s dedication to timely deliveries, competitive pricing, and personalized service.

Koprex’s team of experts works closely with customers to ensure that every product meets their exact specifications. The company’s willingness to go the extra mile has cemented its reputation as a reliable partner in the copper manufacturing industry. By fostering strong relationships with its clients, Koprex has established itself as a trusted name in the market.

The Koprex Advantage

Several factors contribute to Koprex’s standing as a leading copper manufacturer in India. These include:

Expertise and Experience: With a rich history in copper manufacturing, Koprex brings a wealth of knowledge and experience to every project.

High-Quality Products: Koprex’s stringent quality control processes ensure that every product meets the highest standards of excellence.

Innovation and Customization: The company’s commitment to innovation allows it to offer customized solutions that cater to the unique needs of its clients.

Sustainability: Koprex’s eco-friendly practices make it a responsible choice for businesses looking to reduce their environmental impact.

Customer Focus: Koprex’s dedication to customer satisfaction ensures that clients receive the best possible service and support.

Conclusion

Koprex’s rise as a leading copper manufacturer in India is no accident. It’s the result of a relentless pursuit of quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction. By staying true to its core values and continuously adapting to the changing needs of the industry, Koprex has carved out a unique position in the market.

Whether you need high-quality copper products for electrical, industrial, or construction applications, Koprex stands ready to deliver. With a focus on excellence and a commitment to sustainability, Koprex is not just a manufacturer; it’s a partner you can trust to meet your copper needs.

This Blog Was Originally Published At: https://koprexmti.blogspot.com/2024/08/why-koprex-stands-out-as-leading-copper.html

[shelisultana]

Unveiling the VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine: Revolutionizing Scrap Copper Recycling

VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine Cable Stripper 1.5-38mm 11 Channels Acrylic + Aluminum W/ Blade for Scrap Copper Recycling

👉👉Buy now: https://youtu.be/6OHeOihp1CE

🔥🔥 Discount: 51% 🔥🔥

In today's world, sustainability and efficiency are at the forefront of industrial operations. With the increasing demand for recycling and resource recovery, tools that aid in the efficient processing of scrap materials have become more important than ever. Among these, the VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine stands out as a game-changer in the realm of scrap copper recycling. This blog post explores the features, benefits, and applications of this versatile machine, designed to make copper wire stripping faster, safer, and more efficient.

Understanding the Importance of Wire Stripping in Copper Recycling Copper is a highly valuable metal due to its excellent conductivity, durability, and versatility. It is widely used in electrical wiring, plumbing, and industrial machinery. As copper prices soar, recycling has become a lucrative endeavor for both small-scale operations and large recycling centers. However, the process of extracting copper from old wires and cables is labor-intensive and time-consuming without the right equipment.

Wire stripping machines, like the VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine, are essential in this process. These machines are designed to efficiently remove the insulation from copper wires, allowing for easy recovery of the metal. By automating the stripping process, these machines increase productivity, reduce labor costs, and minimize waste, making them indispensable tools for anyone involved in copper recycling.

Overview of the VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine The VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine is a powerful and versatile tool engineered for professionals and hobbyists alike. Built with high-quality materials, including acrylic and aluminum, this machine is designed for durability and longevity. One of its standout features is its ability to handle a wide range of wire sizes, from 1.5 mm to 38 mm, making it suitable for various applications.

Key Features Wide Compatibility with Wire Sizes:

The VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine is equipped with 11 different channels, allowing it to accommodate wires ranging from 1.5 mm to 38 mm in diameter. This wide compatibility makes it an excellent choice for handling a variety of wire types, from small cables to thick industrial wires. High-Quality Construction:

Constructed with a combination of acrylic and aluminum, this machine is both lightweight and durable. The acrylic component provides transparency, making it easy to monitor the stripping process, while the aluminum frame ensures the machine can withstand the rigors of continuous use. Adjustable Blade for Precision Stripping:

The machine comes with an adjustable blade that can be fine-tuned to the specific diameter of the wire being stripped. This feature ensures precise stripping without damaging the copper inside, maximizing the recovery rate and reducing wastage. Electric Operation for Enhanced Efficiency:

Unlike manual wire strippers, the VEVOR machine is electrically powered, significantly increasing the speed and efficiency of the stripping process. This feature is particularly beneficial for those dealing with large volumes of scrap wire, as it reduces the time and effort required for stripping. Safety Features:

Safety is paramount when working with machinery. The VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine is designed with multiple safety features, including a protective cover over the blade and an emergency stop button, ensuring that users can operate the machine confidently and safely. Benefits of Using the VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine Increased Productivity:

The electric operation of the VEVOR Wire Stripping Machine allows users to process large quantities of wire quickly. This increased productivity translates to higher profits, especially for businesses focused on copper recycling. Cost-Effective Operation:

By automating the wire stripping process, the machine reduces the need for manual labor, cutting down on labor costs. Additionally, its precision ensures minimal copper loss, further enhancing profitability. Versatility:

The machine’s ability to handle a wide range of wire sizes makes it suitable for various applications. Whether you’re dealing with small electronic wires or large industrial cables, this machine can handle the job efficiently. Environmental Impact:

Recycling copper reduces the need for mining new copper, which is both costly and environmentally damaging. By making the recycling process more efficient, the VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine contributes to a more sustainable and eco-friendly industry. User-Friendly Design:

Despite its industrial-grade capabilities, the VEVOR Wire Stripping Machine is designed with ease of use in mind. The intuitive controls and clear design make it accessible to both professionals and beginners. Applications of the VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine The VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine is a versatile tool with applications across various industries. Here are some of the primary sectors where this machine proves invaluable:

Scrap Metal Recycling Centers:

In large-scale recycling operations, efficiency is key. The VEVOR machine allows recycling centers to process vast amounts of scrap wire quickly, ensuring a steady supply of clean copper for resale. Electrical Contractors:

Electrical contractors often have to deal with leftover wiring from installations and repairs. With this machine, they can strip and recycle these wires, turning waste into profit. DIY Enthusiasts and Hobbyists:

For those involved in DIY electronics or small-scale recycling projects, the VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine offers a practical solution for processing scrap wire. Its user-friendly design and versatile capabilities make it an excellent addition to any workshop. Manufacturing Plants:

In manufacturing environments where wiring is used extensively, the ability to recycle leftover or faulty wires can lead to significant cost savings. The VEVOR machine ensures that these wires can be efficiently stripped and reused. Conclusion: A Wise Investment for the Future The VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine is more than just a tool; it is an investment in efficiency, sustainability, and profitability. By automating the labor-intensive process of wire stripping, this machine enables businesses and individuals to maximize the value of their scrap copper while minimizing waste and environmental impact. Its robust construction, versatile capabilities, and user-friendly design make it a top choice for anyone involved in copper recycling.

Whether you’re running a large recycling operation or simply looking to make the most of your leftover wires, the VEVOR Electric Wire Stripping Machine offers the performance and reliability you need. In an industry where every ounce of copper counts, having the right equipment can make all the difference. With this machine, you’re not just stripping wire—you’re unlocking the potential for profit and contributing to a more sustainable future.

[runaboutmetals]

When you are specifically choosing copper recycling in Perth, you must understand that a huge amount of electrical wires are made with copper. Therefore, it is better if you strip the plastic substances surrounding the copper wire in order to help them understand the actual value.

[sydneyscrapmetalau]

9 Tricks that Can Help Improve the Value of Your Scrap Metals 

Scrap metal recycling is not only an environmentally friendly practice but also a profitable one; the effort you put into recycling these scraps don’t only help us build a more sustainable world but could also help you earn some more money. However, to maximize the value of your scrap metal price in Sydney, it’s essential to know a few key tricks. In this article, we'll share nine (9) effective strategies to help you get the most out of your scrap metal recycling efforts. 

Sort Your Metals by Type 

Sorting your scrap metals into categories such as aluminium, copper, steel, and brass can significantly increase their value. Recycling centres pay more for metals that are pre-sorted because it saves them time and effort. Learn to identify different types of metals to make the sorting process easier and more efficient. 

Clean Your Scrap Metals 

Removing any non-metal materials from your scrap metals, such as plastic, rubber, or paint, can improve their value. Clean metals are more desirable to buyers and can be processed more easily. Use wire brushes or chemical cleaners to remove contaminants and ensure your metals are as pure as possible. 

Strip Insulated Wires 

Stripping the insulation off copper wires can increase their value. While it can be a time-consuming task, the extra effort pays off with a higher price per pound. Use wire strippers or a utility knife to carefully remove the insulation without damaging the copper. 

Remove Non-Metal Attachments 

Ensure that your scrap metals are free from non-metal attachments like screws, bolts, and other hardware. The cleaner the scrap, the higher its value. Disassembling items and removing non-metal parts ensures you get the best possible price for your metals. 

Know the Market Prices 

Stay informed about current scrap metal prices. Market prices fluctuate based on supply and demand, so knowing when to sell can make a big difference in your earnings. Check online resources or contact local scrap yards for the latest price updates. 

Build Relationships with Scrap Yards 

Establishing a good relationship with local scrap yards can lead to better prices and more favourable terms. Repeat customers are often valued, and you might receive tips on the best times to sell or special rates for your loyalty. 

Use a Magnet to Test Metals 

A simple magnet test can help you quickly identify ferrous (magnetic) and non-ferrous (non-magnetic) metals. Non-ferrous metals like copper, aluminium, and brass are generally more valuable than ferrous metals. This quick test can help you sort and prioritize your scrap. 

Weigh Your Scrap Accurately 

Ensure you have a reliable scale to accurately weigh your scrap metals. Knowing the exact weight of your metals helps you negotiate better prices and ensures you’re getting paid for the full amount you bring in. 

Choose the Right Buyer 

When it comes to selling scrap metals, finding the right buyer is crucial for maximizing your profits. Not all buyers are created equal, and selecting the best one can make a significant difference in the amount of money you receive. We recommend that you do some scouting to find which buyers offer better deals so as not to make the wrong choice. 

Conclusion 

Maximizing the value of your scrap metals involves a combination of organization, cleanliness, market awareness, and building good relationships with scrap yards. By sorting and cleaning your metals, stripping insulated wires, and staying informed about market prices, you can significantly increase your profits. Remember, the more effort you put into preparing your scrap, the better the return you’ll get. Use these tricks to make the most of your scrap metal recycling in Windsor and watch your earnings grow. 

Disclaimer: This is generic Information & post; content about the services can be changed from time to time as per your requirements and contract. To get the latest and updated information, contact us today or visit our website.  

[riverwoodcapital1]

Sunlite Recycling IPO GMP, Review, Price, Allotment

Sunlite Recycling IPO description – Sunlite Recycling Industries manufactures copper rods, wires, earthing wires, earthing strips, conductors, and wire bars by recycling copper scrap. These products have electrical and mechanical properties suitable for power generation, transmission, distribution, and electronic industries. Their manufacturing unit in Gujarat spans approximately 12,152 sq.…

[sydneywaterfilters]

The Essential Guide to Shower Filters: Why Every Home Needs One

Introduction

A shower filter might seem like a small addition to your bathroom, but its impact on your health and well-being can be significant. From improving water quality to enhancing skin and hair health, a shower filter is a valuable investment. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the benefits of shower filters, common challenges, and provide a step-by-step guide to choosing and installing one. Additionally, we'll present a case study that highlights the transformative effects of using a shower filter.

Why You Need a Shower Filter: The Hidden Benefits

Cleaner, Healthier Water

One of the primary benefits of a shower filter is its ability to remove impurities from water. Municipal water supplies often contain chlorine, heavy metals, and other contaminants that can be harmful to your skin and hair. A shower filter helps eliminate these substances, ensuring you shower with cleaner, healthier water.

Improved Skin Health

Many people experience dry, irritated skin without realizing that the culprit could be their shower water. Chlorine and other chemicals can strip your skin of its natural oils, leading to dryness and irritation. Using a shower filter can significantly improve your skin's condition, making it softer and less prone to dryness.

Enhanced Hair Condition

Just as chlorine can damage your skin, it can also wreak havoc on your hair. Chlorine and other impurities can make your hair dry, brittle, and more prone to breakage. A shower filter helps preserve your hair's natural moisture, resulting in shinier, healthier locks.

Common Challenges with Shower Filters

Finding the Right Fit

One of the most common challenges people face when choosing a shower filter is finding one that fits their showerhead. There are various types and sizes of showerheads, and not all filters are compatible with every model. It's essential to check the specifications and ensure the filter you choose is suitable for your shower setup.

Maintenance and Filter Replacement

Another challenge is maintaining the shower filter and knowing when to replace the filter cartridge. Most filters need to be replaced every six months, but this can vary depending on water quality and usage. Forgetting to replace the filter can result in reduced effectiveness and continued exposure to contaminants.

Initial Cost

The initial cost of a shower filter can be a deterrent for some people. While shower filters are generally affordable, the price can vary based on the type and brand. It's important to consider the long-term benefits and potential health improvements when evaluating the cost.

Step-by-Step Guide to Choosing and Installing a Shower Filter

Step 1: Assess Your Water Quality

Before purchasing a shower filter, it's crucial to understand the quality of your water. You can request a water quality report from your local water supplier or use a home testing kit to identify specific contaminants in your water.

Step 2: Research Different Types of Shower Filters

There are several types of shower filters available, each with unique features and filtration methods. Some common types include:

Carbon Filters: Effective at removing chlorine and organic compounds.

KDF Filters: Use a copper-zinc alloy to remove chlorine, heavy metals, and bacteria.

Vitamin C Filters: Neutralize chlorine and chloramines, making them suitable for sensitive skin.

Step 3: Check Compatibility

Ensure the shower filter you choose is compatible with your showerhead. Most filters are designed to fit standard showerheads, but it's always best to verify the specifications to avoid any compatibility issues.

Step 4: Purchase the Shower Filter

Once you've chosen the right filter for your needs, purchase it from a reputable retailer. You can find shower filters in hardware stores, home improvement centers, or online.

Step 5: Install the Shower Filter

Installation is typically straightforward and can be done without professional help. Follow these steps to install your shower filter:

Turn Off the Water: Ensure the water supply to your shower is turned off.

Remove the Existing Showerhead: Unscrew the showerhead from the shower arm.

Attach the Filter: Screw the filter onto the shower arm, ensuring a secure fit.

Reattach the Showerhead: Attach your showerhead to the other end of the filter.

Turn On the Water: Turn the water back on and check for any leaks.

Step 6: Maintain and Replace the Filter

Regularly check the condition of your shower filter and replace the cartridge as recommended by the manufacturer. This will ensure the filter continues to provide clean, healthy water.

Case Study: Transforming Health and Wellness with a Shower Filter

Background

Sarah, a 35-year-old professional, had been struggling with dry skin and brittle hair for years. Despite trying various skincare and haircare products, her condition did not improve. After researching potential causes, she discovered that her shower water might be the culprit.

Implementation

Sarah decided to invest in a high-quality shower filter that specifically targeted chlorine and heavy metals. She chose a KDF filter for its comprehensive filtration capabilities and easy installation process. After receiving the filter, she followed the step-by-step installation guide and had it up and running within minutes.

Results

Within a few weeks of using the shower filter, Sarah noticed a significant improvement in her skin and hair. Her skin felt softer and less irritated, and her hair became shinier and more manageable. Sarah was thrilled with the results and continued to use the shower filter, making it a permanent addition to her bathroom.

Conclusion

Sarah's experience highlights the transformative effects a shower filter can have on health and well-being. By addressing the contaminants in her water, she was able to achieve healthier skin and hair, improving her overall quality of life.

Conclusion

Investing in a shower filter is a simple yet effective way to improve your health and well-being. By removing harmful contaminants from your water, you can enjoy cleaner, healthier showers that benefit your skin, hair, and overall health. While there are challenges in finding the right fit and maintaining the filter, the long-term benefits far outweigh the initial effort and cost. Whether you're dealing with dry skin, brittle hair, or simply want to ensure your water is as clean as possible, a shower filter is a valuable addition to any home.

Remember to research and choose the right filter for your needs, install it correctly, and maintain it regularly to enjoy the full benefits. With the right shower filter, you can transform your daily shower into a refreshing and health-boosting experience.