#Light Duty Corrugated Tops

[stakall]

Light Duty Corrugated Tops: The Ultimate Solution for Efficient Packaging

In today's fast-paced industrial environment, the demand for reliable and efficient packaging solutions is greater than ever. Whether you are involved in manufacturing, logistics, or retail, the need for packaging materials that offer durability, cost-effectiveness, and ease of use is crucial. One such solution that has gained significant traction in recent years is the Light Duty Corrugated Top. This versatile packaging material is designed to enhance packaging efficiency, ensuring that your products are securely stored and transported.

In this comprehensive article, we will explore the various aspects of Light-Duty Corrugated Tops, including their benefits, applications, and how they compare to other packaging solutions. By the end, you will have a clear understanding of why Light-Duty Corrugated Tops from Stakall are the go-to choice for businesses looking to optimize their packaging processes.

Understanding Light-Duty Corrugated Tops

Light Duty Corrugated Tops are a type of packaging material made from corrugated cardboard. Unlike traditional cardboard boxes, these tops are specifically designed to be lightweight yet sturdy enough to protect products during shipping and storage. They are typically used as covers for pallets, crates, or boxes, providing an additional layer of protection against dust, moisture, and damage.

Key Features of Light-Duty Corrugated Tops:

Lightweight: As the name suggests, these corrugated tops are light in weight, making them easy to handle and transport. This feature is particularly beneficial for reducing shipping costs and minimizing manual labour during packaging.

Durability: Despite their lightweight nature, Light Duty Corrugated Tops are incredibly durable. They are engineered to withstand external pressures, ensuring that the contents beneath are well-protected.

Eco-Friendly: Made from recyclable materials, corrugated tops are an environmentally friendly option. Businesses that prioritize sustainability can benefit from using them as part of their green initiatives.

Customizable: Light-duty corrugated Tops can be customized to fit various sizes and shapes, making them versatile for different types of packaging needs. This adaptability ensures that your products are securely covered, regardless of their dimensions.

Cost-Effective: Compared to heavier packaging materials, Light Duty Corrugated Tops offer a cost-effective solution without compromising on protection. This makes them an attractive option for businesses looking to optimize their packaging budgets.

The Benefits of Using Light-Duty Corrugated Tops

Enhanced Protection

One of the primary benefits of using Light Duty Corrugated Tops is the enhanced protection they provide. Whether you are shipping fragile items or storing products for an extended period, these tops act as a barrier against environmental factors such as dust, moisture, and physical damage. By adding an extra layer of security, businesses can minimize the risk of product damage, leading to reduced returns and customer complaints.

Improved Efficiency

Efficiency is key in any packaging operation. Light Duty Corrugated Tops contribute to faster packaging times due to their lightweight and easy-to-handle nature. Workers can quickly place these tops on pallets or crates, streamlining the packaging process and increasing overall productivity. Additionally, the lightweight design helps reduce shipping costs, as it contributes less to the overall weight of the packaged goods.

Versatility Across Industries

Another advantage of Light-Duty Corrugated Tops is their versatility. These tops can be used across various industries, including manufacturing, retail, and logistics. Whether you need to protect consumer electronics, food products, or industrial components, Light-Duty Corrugated Tops can be tailored to meet your specific packaging requirements. Their adaptability makes them a valuable asset for businesses with diverse product lines.

Sustainability and Environmental Impact

With increasing awareness of environmental issues, more businesses are seeking sustainable packaging solutions. Light Duty Corrugated Tops are made from recyclable materials, making them an eco-friendly choice. By incorporating these tops into your packaging strategy, you can reduce your carbon footprint and contribute to environmental conservation efforts. This can also enhance your brand's reputation, as consumers are becoming more conscious of the environmental impact of the products they purchase.

Applications of Light-Duty Corrugated Tops

Light Duty Corrugated Tops are widely used in various industries for different applications. Below are some of the common uses:

Pallet Covers

One of the most common applications of Light Duty Corrugated Tops is pallet covers. These tops are placed over products on a pallet to provide a protective barrier against dust and moisture during storage and transportation. They are instrumental in warehouses and distribution centres where products may be stored for extended periods.

Crate and Box Covers

Light Duty Corrugated Tops can also be used as covers for crates and boxes. This application is ideal for businesses that need to protect their products from external elements without using bulky or heavy materials. The tops can be easily placed and removed, providing a convenient and efficient packaging solution.

Layer Pads

In addition to being used as covers, Light Duty Corrugated Tops can also serve as layer pads. These pads are placed between layers of products to prevent shifting during transportation. This helps maintain the integrity of the products and reduces the risk of damage.

Protective Packaging for Fragile Items

For businesses that deal with fragile items such as glassware, electronics, or delicate machinery, Light Duty Corrugated Tops offer an added layer of protection. By placing these tops over the items, businesses can ensure that their products arrive at their destination in pristine condition.

Comparing Light-Duty Corrugated Tops to Other Packaging Solutions

When choosing the proper packaging solution, it's essential to consider the alternatives. Here's how Light Duty Corrugated Tops compare to other packaging materials:

Versus Heavy-Duty Corrugated Tops

While heavy-duty corrugated tops offer superior strength and protection, they are often bulkier and more expensive. For businesses that do not require extreme protection, Light Duty Corrugated Tops offer a more cost-effective and efficient alternative. They provide sufficient protection for most products without the added weight and cost.

Versus Plastic Covers

Plastic covers are another standard packaging solution, but they have several drawbacks. Unlike Light-Duty Corrugated Tops, plastic covers are not as environmentally friendly and can contribute to pollution. Additionally, plastic covers may provide a different level of breathability, leading to potential moisture buildup. In contrast, corrugated tops offer better ventilation and are easier to recycle.

Versus Metal Covers

Metal covers provide robust protection but are often overkill for many packaging needs. They are heavy, expensive, and can be challenging to handle. Light Duty Corrugated Tops offer a lightweight and cost-effective alternative, making them suitable for a wide range of applications.

Why Choose Stakall for Your Light-Duty Corrugated Tops?

When it comes to quality and reliability, Stakall stands out as a leading provider of Light Duty Corrugated Tops. With years of experience in the packaging industry, Stakall is committed to delivering top-notch products that meet the needs of businesses across various sectors.

Unmatched Quality

At Stakall, quality is our top priority. Our Light Duty Corrugated Tops are manufactured using high-grade materials, ensuring durability and long-lasting performance. We adhere to strict quality control standards to ensure that every product meets our customers' expectations.

Custom Solutions

We understand that every business has unique packaging needs. That's why we offer customizable Light Duty Corrugated Tops that can be tailored to your specific requirements. Whether you need a particular size, thickness, or design, Stakall has the expertise to deliver the perfect solution.

Sustainability Focus

As part of our commitment to environmental sustainability, Stakall ensures that all our Light-Duty Corrugated Tops are made from recyclable materials. By choosing our products, you can help reduce waste and promote a greener future.

Exceptional Customer Service

At Stakall, we believe in building long-term relationships with our customers. Our dedicated customer service team is always available to assist you with your inquiries, orders, and after-sales support. We strive to provide a seamless experience from start to finish.

Conclusion

Light Duty Corrugated Tops are a versatile, cost-effective, and eco-friendly packaging solution that can enhance the efficiency of your packaging processes. Whether you need to protect products during storage, transportation, or shipping, these tops offer reliable protection without adding unnecessary weight or cost. By choosing Stakall as your provider, you can rest assured that you are investing in high-quality packaging materials that align with your business goals and sustainability efforts.

Contact Stakall Today!

Ready to optimize your packaging processes with Light Duty Corrugated Tops? Stakall is here to help. Contact us today to learn more about our products and how we can tailor our solutions to meet your specific needs.

[braidedgraphite]

John Updike's 9/11 report:

Suddenly summoned to witness something great and horrendous, we keep fighting not to reduce it to our own smallness. From the viewpoint of a tenth-floor apartment in Brooklyn Heights, where I happened to be visiting some kin, the destruction of the World Trade Center twin towers had the false intimacy of television, on a day of perfect reception. A four-year-old girl and her babysitter called from the library, and pointed out through the window the smoking top of the north tower, not a mile away. It seemed, at that first glance, more curious than horrendous: smoke speckled with bits of paper curled into the cloudless sky, and strange inky rivulets ran down the giant structure’s vertically corrugated surface. The W.T.C. had formed a pale background to our Brooklyn view of lower Manhattan, not beloved, like the stony, spired midtown thirties skyscrapers it had displaced as the city’s tallest, but, with its pre-postmodern combination of unignorable immensity and architectural reticence, in some lights beautiful. As we watched the second tower burst into ballooning flame (an intervening building had hidden the approach of the second airplane), there persisted the notion that, as on television, this was not quite real; it could be fixed; the technocracy the towers symbolized would find a way to put out the fire and reverse the damage.

And then, within an hour, as my wife and I watched from the Brooklyn building’s roof, the south tower dropped from the screen of our viewing; it fell straight down like an elevator, with a tinkling shiver and a groan of concussion distinct across the mile of air. We knew we had just witnessed thousands of deaths; we clung to each other as if we ourselves were falling. Amid the glittering impassivity of the many buildings across the East River, an empty spot had appeared, as if by electronic command, beneath the sky that, but for the sulfurous cloud streaming south toward the ocean, was pure blue, rendered uncannily pristine by the absence of jet trails. A swiftly expanding burst of smoke and dust hid the rest of lower Manhattan; we saw the collapse of the second tower only on television, where the footage of hellbent airplane, exploding jet fuel, and imploding tower was played and replayed, much rehearsed moments from a nightmare ballet.

The nightmare is still on. The bodies are beneath the rubble, the last-minute cell-phone calls—remarkably calm and loving, many of them—are still being reported, the sound of an airplane overhead still bears an unfamiliar menace, the thought of boarding an airplane with our old blasé blitheness keeps receding into the past. Determined men who have transposed their own lives to a martyr’s afterlife can still inflict an amount of destruction that defies belief. War is conducted with a fury that requires abstraction—that turns a planeful of peaceful passengers, children included, into a missile the faceless enemy deserves. The other side has the abstractions; we have only the mundane duties of survivors—to pick up the pieces, to bury the dead, to take more precautions, to go on living.

American freedom of motion, one of our prides, has taken a hit. Can we afford the openness that lets future kamikaze pilots, say, enroll in Florida flying schools? A Florida neighbor of one of the suspects remembers him saying he didn’t like the United States: “He said it was too lax. He said, ‘I can go anywhere I want to, and they can’t stop me.’ ” It is a weird complaint, a begging perhaps to be stopped. Weird, too, the silence of the heavens these days, as flying has ceased across America. But fly again we must; risk is a price of freedom, and walking around Brooklyn Heights that afternoon, as ash drifted in the air and cars were few and open-air lunches continued as usual on Montague Street, renewed the impression that, with all its failings, this is a country worth fighting for. Freedom, reflected in the street’s diversity and daily ease, felt palpable. It is mankind’s elixir, even if a few turn it to poison.

The next morning, I went back to the open vantage from which we had watched the tower so dreadfully slip from sight. The fresh sun shone on the eastward façades, a few boats tentatively moved in the river, the ruins were still sending out smoke, but New York looked glorious.

[primepackindustries]

corrugated packaging box suppliers

Corrugated packaging boxes are shipping containers made of corrugated cardboard. They are commonly used to protect and transport goods, due to their strong and durable design. The corrugated material is composed of an inner liner, a fluted layer, and an outer liner. The fluted layer provides the box with its strength and cushioning, while the inner and outer liners protect the contents of the box. Corrugated packaging boxes are widely used due to their light weight, durability, and low cost.

Corrugated packaging boxes have a wide range of uses, including: Shipping and transportation: They are commonly used to protect and transport products, due to their strength and durability. Storage: Corrugated boxes can be used for short-term or long-term storage of goods. Retail packaging: They are commonly used by retail businesses to package and ship their products to customers. Agriculture: Corrugated boxes are used for packing and shipping fresh produce, such as fruits and vegetables. Industrial packaging: They are used to package and transport heavy-duty industrial products, such as machinery and electrical equipment. Food packaging: Corrugated boxes are used for packing and transporting food items, such as baked goods and dairy products. E-commerce: Online retailers often use corrugated boxes for shipping their products to customers. Moving and packing: Corrugated boxes are often used for packing and moving household items during a move.

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[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven (ao3 only) | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten | chapter eleven | chapter twelve | chapter thirteen (ao3 only, smut) | chapter fourteen

chapter 14 - prince

SFW, around 4.7K words. Heisenberg is a man of absolutely no feelings I guarantee you

Heisenberg has never done this before, not in almost a hundred years of existence, this tangling of limbs and shirking of duties. He has never once given in to such base urges without careful thought and consideration, instead preferring his encounters planned, short and sweet, in and out before anyone could get attached. He racks his brains looking for things to say once she is awake, for ways to tell her that this means nothing and that they will go back to being flirty acquaintances who spoke to each other in riddles. He digs deep into his thoughts to bury his feelings, refuses to acknowledge their existence long before they can rear their ugly heads. He breathes in, eyes closed, to gather his confidence, to build his persona like he did with the dawn of each new day. Whoever Karl Heisenberg truly was, truly wanted to be, he died every morning and was replaced by a driven, heartless monster.

She was a smart woman, she would get the hint. He will unwrap her arms from his torso, put his clothes back on and make some stupid comment about how she had a pair of tits to die for, but he had already been far too generous by gracing her with his presence this long. Then he will smirk and exit stage left, hold the mask until he is out of sight and has entered the forest, and will finally be done with the theatrics. Perfect plan, until his breath catches in his throat when she first stirs, fingers sleepily caressing his chest like she did the night before. He curses her for never making things easy on him.

She seems confused as she pulls away from him, her lazy stretch reminding him of a cat after a long nap. Her face has softened some, the usual furrow of her brow relaxed, deviant smile replaced with one of pure serenity, like a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. “Good morning, my lord,” she greets as she rubs sleep away from her eyes, and he is glad to notice her tone has changed, away from the throes of their passion and back to the casual nonchalance they had become used to treating each other with. “Did you sleep well?” He has no intentions of answering and she does not expect it, either, slides off the couch to gather their clothing scattered about. She hands him his without looking at him, dresses in silence as he does the same. The silence is tense but not awkward, like they were both content to ignore the existence of the other and of everything that had happened between them just hours prior. “Are you staying for breakfast?” The implication that she did not expect him to is crystal clear. If there was any hope of staying longer in his mind, she had quelled it quickly with that question, like she was done with him for the day, perhaps enough to last her a lifetime. It stings, but he is glad for it.

Heisenberg busies himself with putting his clothes back on - whoever’s clothes those were in the first place -, oblivious to her pacing around the house. He believes he is out of the woods and her reserves of kindness have run dry, only to lift his head and find her holding a basket with a loaf of bread in one hand and his trench coat in the other. From afar he can see it looks ten times better than it did when he walked in wearing it, cleaner, for one, holes stitched back together. He doesn’t stay and she sees him off with the same joy she has always shown him, watching him as he grabs the trench coat and food, then his hat from a hook next to the door, waving him away like she has done every time. They sign an unspoken contract that dictates they never speak of it again, though the fine print reads that it is not off the table and might once again come to pass if the opportunity ever presents itself. His journey back to the factory is quiet and uneventful in more ways than one, the forest sleeps away the early hours of the morning and his mind is void of thoughts and worries. He cannot help but notice that the world feels different, brighter, more vibrant even, the wind not hostile and instead a gentle breeze.

Heisenberg seems enveloped in a mist of cheer and placidness for the days that follow, all he has set in motion moving along like clockwork. Sturm awakens unbidden one night, for good this time, both a blessing and a curse upon him. He manages to study its performance and sketch improvements, however finds that he has forgotten to install an off switch on the damn creature. The freak hums and whirs night and day like it is singing him the song of its people, sometimes joyfully, sometimes in mourning, and that he is able to identify when the fucking thing is happy or sad is a clear indication that he has been listening to it for far too long. A stab of guilt hits him every time he yells down towards the bowels of the factory to tell the monster to shut it, he needs to work and the noise is maddening, but he is always reminded that he is the reason for it all, he has bestowed them all with a new lease of life and now has to deal with the consequences. This is all for a good cause, he reassures himself, and once the rebellion is over he will see to it personally that those who remain are given a humane dismantling and burial.

Every now and again he visits his little witch in the woods, when his days could have been better and he needs a pick-me-up. They never speak of the stormy night and the things they had done, not unlike he had planned, but speak of everything else, and they slowly climb the steps to an awkward friendship that is never truly allowed to blossom. It felt as if every time they would give each other a key, an intricately designed, golden key that would open the lock in their hearts. And every time one would try to open it, they would find yet another, stronger lock, closer to the end but not quite, mystery maintained. It was infuriating and addicting all at once, and he had grown quite fond of the back and forth that had become the most exciting part of his life.

Happiness is a drug that he should not indulge on, he decides. Amidst his work he plans something other than rebellion, other than murder. Sketches something other than machines, looks out the window on the top floor of the factory to daydream about the cabin that stood long abandoned at the edge of his land. It was large for a home in this ass-end of the world, two floors and an attic, a cellar that was used for coal storage and doubled as secret entrance to a tunnel connecting the house and the factory. A fenced garden in the backyard, a shed for tools and firewood. The outhouse was awkwardly placed, too close to the edge, but he had always thought it gave it some extra charm. Answer nature’s call while being dangerously close to it, as it were. The masonry oven outside had not been used for at least half a century, and the well had probably dried up by now. It had been his home for many years, before Miranda took away everything that was theirs and his life with it, before he began dedicating his life to rebellion and dreams of freedom. His room was the one at the end of the corridor upstairs, with a view of the river and the forest extending beyond the confines of the village. It was cramped and cold, a single floorboard always rattled during the night when the wind hit it, the window never fully closed and his father never bothered to fix it. Still, it was home, or it had been, and he sometimes found himself thinking of the good memories he’d had before it all went to shit.

Could it be home again, he wondered? It would be one hell of a spring project, between clearing the debris, dusting and fixing everything up. Nails and the corrugated metal roof would not be a problem, naturally, and the stonework of the first floor was still intact. But he hadn’t fixed a fence in many years, hadn’t sawed nor sanded a plank of wood in longer still. He had never been very good at cleaning anything except weapons and machines, and interior decorating was simply something that had never gone through his mind. It could be a home again, he mused as he brought the blowtorch close to his face to light his cigar, and maybe it would do him good to step away from the damp vapors of the factory every once in a while. But then again, would it be worth the effort and upkeep? He doubted the haulers would make good housekeepers, and he was content enough with his independent, bare, unkempt bachelor lifestyle. But those had never been his intentions, had they? A home but not for him, a home for her, right where he could see her, where he could walk a few minutes and knock on her door whenever.

All strictly professional, of course. She would be effectively isolated from the village and the outside world. Effectively isolated from everyone but him, and he could keep tabs on her and call upon her services when necessary. It was a proposal she would be dumb to refuse: a home easily three times bigger than the one she owned, a larger plot of land for her animals and garden, peace and quiet, access to the Duke for supplies, and even some fun every now and again if she played her cards right. There was also the matter that she would be… Safer, living so close to him, but that was of little importance. Naturally. It had only just occurred to him. He had not begun at that, no. He will give it some more thought over the next few weeks - neither of them would be going anywhere, now would they?

Mother calls him later that day to inform of a family meeting two weeks and a half away, to discuss usual business. They will gather at Donna’s this time around, and it should give them all an opportunity to parade themselves to the public. This is important, you see, she begins like she always does, for their worshipers grow restless with their absence. Heisenberg often feels like she has trained the villagers as one would a dog: starve them for long enough and give them a meager treat to keep them going, teach them that their devotion is rewarded with small miracles brought by hellfire and the tearing of flesh by lycans. He has spent far too long away from the public eye and it is always good practice to remind the villagers of his splendor, she continues. He agrees to strut down main street, bless every crafter that he comes across, and kiss the top of the head of every snotty child pushed in his direction by their parents. He even agrees to wear his Sunday best: the same thing he wore every single day, but with a shiny pin in the shape of his house’s crest.

He conceives his greatest idea yet in the meantime, a soldier that combines the combat capabilities of Eins and Zwei with the mobility of an aircraft. He has Sturm to thank for it, the incessant spinning of the blades having given him the spark to try and create a flying machine. No propeller blades, he decides as the very first thing when he begins drawing the schematics. He has had enough of the noise to last him a good couple of decades. Unsurprisingly, he is caught in a trance of working and passing out and waking up to work some more in the weeks that follow, entire days spent combing through the scrap heaps to find the right materials. He is reminded that the goddamn bed had done wonders for his back every time he deadlifts another engine to pick apart, but still refuses to say goodbye to his uncomfortable armchair and the wonderful massage of its loose springs.

He figures the name for it will strike him at the right moment, and for now focuses on adjusting the thrust speed, ensuring the soldier will land adequately and not simply crash while airborne, as funny as that would look. While Sturm required a sturdy specimen, this will need someone lighter, lankier, and he finds the perfect specimen in Miranda’s latest failed experiment, a young boy of some twenty years who had been orphaned long ago and had turned to the Black God for guidance. In truth, he was nothing more than an errand boy for Mother, bringing messages to and fro, collecting tithe and offerings for her. Heisenberg is curious to know what horrible sin has led him to where he is now, dead and open on his operating table, a wound bigger than his fist where the top of his spine should be. Cadou had begun to take hold when he passed, tendrils shooting out of the infection, and he saved the recently dead nematode for further study later.

Removing the organs is always the messiest part, and he drops armfuls of guts into a nearby bucket to discard later. The boy has broken ribs and is missing his heart, a sign that he had greatly felt Mother’s wrath. Heisenberg almost pities him, alone in the world with nothing but his faith to keep him going, but sooner or later he would have to learn that was the way of the world. It had worked just fine for him, painful but invaluable. He had played the cards he had been dealt and come out on top. Perhaps in another life he would have reached out to give the kid a hand, take him in and give him a job, so long as he stayed out of his way and kept his mouth shut. But then again, perhaps in another life circumstances would not have turned him to a ruthless bastard only out for himself.

Setting up the tubing always takes the longest, delicate work that requires his full attention and steady hands. It feels like fighting an octopus at the best of times, and it is a fight he does not always win. He blows away a hair strand that insists on obscuring his vision, but all he succeeds in is having more of it fall onto his face, beads of sweat also finding their way down his forehead to pool on his brow and slide onto his eyelashes. He wishes he had an assistant every time he does this, every time he pulls a corpse open and finds that his body seems to get in the way every time more than the dead one does. He wishes he had an assistant, remembers the offer he never made her, and regrets it an instant later.

Suddenly his mind has wandered away from his subject on the operating table and has wandered off into a fantasy world, where his little witch gently pulls his hair back to tie it securely away from his face, where she dabs away the sweat on his face with a cloth that smells of wildflowers. She stands patiently next to him, takes notes and follows orders, brings him refreshments and even gives his shoulders a good rub when she feels he has been working too hard. A world where she awaits him every night after a long day, where she greets him with the comfort of home and a hearty meal. His focus is lost from that moment onward, for he is taken with the need to see her, to spend time sitting quietly beside her near the fireplace. To hold her and watch her fall asleep in his arms, to hear her laughter and exchange glib lines with her after dinner.

Goddamn witch.

The poor boy suffers the brunt of his annoyance when Heisenberg punches the side of his ribs, the body resists but does not complain and helps none with doing away with his wishes. What was he thinking, losing sight of his goals because he wants his cock sucked? This is why it was always so much better to stay indoors, to kill such annoying roaches on sight. His carefully constructed mental balance has tumbled, his nirvana disturbed. He was doing just fine before she decided to kill some random lycan and forgot to hide the fucking body. Bored, but just fine. Lonely, but fine. Incredibly depressed, but f-i-n-e. He tries in vain to return to his work once, twice, and gives up on the third time, finally accepting that it would be impossible.

Perhaps it is best if he gets it over with, no? This was but a momentary stumble. He had all but forgotten about her for the better part of a fortnight, having instead turned inward towards his work and growing his intel network by skulking around and reading through papers Miranda had ‘lost’ in transport. Just as quickly as he had latched onto her, he had let her go, back to the hum-drum day to day of developing his metal army.

Or so he thought, faced now with a burning need to walk, almost run towards the forest to catch a glimpse of her again.

He looks down at himself, for the first time conscious of how presentable he was, and decides that it is probably best if he wears something that is not covered in rotting chunks of flesh. Somehow he does not think she will mind it; she strikes him as the kind of woman who would think it adds to his charm. He changes into cleaner clothes regardless, the same moss-colored shirt she had given him the day he showed up at her cabin. An idea shines upon him as he tightens his shoelaces, and he is soon giving orders over the comm system to all haulers: clean the damn place up. Throw the garbage up and over the railings onto the scrapheap, hide it under a carpet, it doesn’t matter. He wants the place presentable enough for him to bring his little witch over - he will tell her a little bit of what he intends, he will show her some of his plans, and he will ask her to work for him. The cabin would take a while but she could always drop by for a visit. All that he has decided in the span of less than a minute, and he hopes there will be enough time for everything to be set up when he makes his way back, holding her hand tightly as he shows her all of the wonders he has created. He also hopes he can keep up the momentum and not soil the plan by chickening out a while later, though something in his mind tells him that might be best.

Heisenberg stops in front of a mirror-like metal plate to check out his hair and wipe the blood of his face, at last satisfied with his appearance and ready to make his next move. He almost skips through the factory on his way up and out of the garage. He is getting laid tonight, goddamn it.

He is surprised to find the Duke’s carriage standing just outside. It must be a Tuesday, though he feels like he last saw the man yesterday; the merchant always completed his regular schedule around the village by making a last stop near - and in - his humble abode. He had much to discuss with the Duke, things of both professional and personal nature, but now was not the time, and he walked by briskly and greeted the man with a tip of his hat, intent on simply passing by.

He knows something has gone terribly wrong when the Duke cackles, and he spots the familiar tail wag of a furry hoofed animal beside the carriage. Heisenberg stops dead on his tracks then, a cold tingle running up his spine, his mouth dry. He stares at the man, mouth agape, trying to form his question but failing miserably. Had something happened? Had the Duke known about her all along? Had he done something to her? The Duke is the first to speak, his usual jolly self, oblivious or uncaring for the situation that has begun to unfold in front of him. “Ah, Lord Heisenberg! How’s the day find you?” There is a pregnant pause as Heisenberg looks at the merchant and back at the tiny goat that bleats at him incessantly, and the Duke roars in laughter, his massive frame shaking the entire carriage. “Oh, it seems the little one likes you! Two hundred lei and it is all yours, my lord. Should be quite the tasty dinner.”

Prince seems to understand its predicament, and cries ever louder, until it is all they both can hear and the sound almost drives him insane. “Where the fuck did you get it?” Is all he manages to say, his tone vicious, but the Duke does not seem to mind it. He looks around for any other signs of her, the dog, or the horse, a chicken, anything.

“My friend in the woods has sold it to me, of course. She no longer has any use for it where she is going, and thought it best to rehome it.” The merchant’s hand reaches out to pet the goat on the head and the whole carriage almost topples over with the weight.

“You know her.” It is not a question, and though there is much he needs to ask there is little he is able to process.

“Indeed. We have been friends for many years, her and I. Since she was a malnourished little girl living under Lady Heisenberg’s protection. Since long before you were born, my lord.” The man takes a long drag from his cigar as if to give Heisenberg enough time to go through his words, and he is glad for it, mind racing a thousand miles a minute. A hundred and something years, the mention of his grandmother’s name. “She has always been quite the ravaging beauty, however. Although I’m sure that has not escaped your notice.” He can hardly contain his exasperation, not at all used to the feeling that currently boils within him. If that man had ever touched her- “She is quite a talented healer, you see. For many years now she has supplied me with the most wonderful of concoctions.” As if to prove it, he lifts up a bottle of the antiseptic he has become so famous for, gives it a little shake and flashes Heisenberg a bright smile.

“She’s gone.” Again he doesn’t ask, simply repeats the information he has been given, and wishes he had his hammer close by to crush that smirk off the Duke’s face.

“Why yes, she has left, of course. It would not be the first time,” the merchant says with a shrug. “A free spirit she is, always has been. Off to find herself some excitement and adventure, I’m sure. I have told her many a time that the village life does not suit her,” he puts the bottle down and interlaces his fingers in front of him, resting on his enormous stomach. “Yet she has come back every time. Sweet, idealistic Morganna, always so kind for her own good.” In his confusion, Heisenberg realizes he has forgotten to breathe, and inhales sharply, blow after blow though he tries to recover, and the Duke is relentless. “Ah, that reminds me, she has left something for you.” He is no longer listening after the Duke’s mouth closes, far too stunned to process what is happening. The blond man hands him a small wooden box that smells like her, and Heisenberg does not care that he can see how much his hands are shaking as he pushes off the lid. He does his best to swallow the rage and the tears that well up in his eyes, the bittersweet thought that she had remembered him before she parted. The woolen slippers lay perfectly arranged inside the box. “If you wish to find her, I am sure she has not made it very far.” Heisenberg continues to stare down incredulously, and the Duke continues to yap like nothing has happened. He has tuned out completely by the time he closes the box again and raises his head to face the merchant. He might as well have been a shadow, disoriented as Heisenberg was, his face a misshaped blob in his eyes. There is no space for thoughts and he lets himself go instead, anger bubbling so close to the surface underneath his skin.

He grabs the goat before the Duke can protest, tucks it safely under his arm, box secured in the other as he marches back inside the barn and closes everything behind him. Gone? The way down is hazy and red, one foot after the other, instinct taking him through the halls and down elevators. Gone. He feels the haulers’ gazes upon him, and hopes they won’t dare showing vestiges of humanity now, or he will kill every last one and set fire to the corpses. The door to his quarters is kicked with entirely too much force and flies off its hinges, he places Prince gently on the floor in the last showing of kindness he would ever allow himself. Gone! The box is thrown across the room and shatters against the wall, tears in his eyes, a strangled cry coming out of him before he can stop himself.

“She’s gone.” He repeats and the words feel like sand in his mouth. He knows them to be true and it only serves to hurt him further. Behind his eyelids, she takes him by the hand and skips down the stairs ever onward towards the darkness, and he knows he is far too weak to stop it now. He has no tools to explain any of it, the crying and yelling and the way his body has slid against the wall and onto the floor like a puddle of muddy, gooey, revolting water. One last bit of control tells him that he should not care, that she is not important, that this is good, that he is free from her grasp. But its screeches are drowned in the uproar within him, and all he can think of is that she is gone and he misses her.

He is once again alone in the world and, for the first time, he knows what heartbreak feels like.

[kyber-kisses]

Bone Crushing

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: spn level gore, cursing, Dean being whipped by muscles- you know how it is.

Summary: Sometimes Dean forgets just how strong his best friend is. . . And it may or may not be one of the small factors playing into his crush on you.

A/N: this is me just channeling how I too become whipped by strong women. Please enjoy. The screenshot I based this fic off is at the bottom btw!

This was bad.

This was a huge no no.

It’s a universal truth that you are not supposed to go and catch feelings for your best friend, it’s that simple. You don’t take a joint from a guy named Don, there are no dogs in the car, and you do not develop a dumb crush on your best friend.

What was so hard about following those rules? Specifically the last one?

the answer was easy. You just had to go and be one of the coolest people Dean had ever met didn’t you? You with your dumb jokes and wacky sense of humor, and your kindness and compassion. . . And your dumb muscles.

He felt like a friggin teenage girl that was stunned by some tall hunk. Your muscles weren’t massive by any means but they fit your body well, especially after years of hunting. You were strong as all get out. He had seen you take down demons twice your size and lift up heavy objects with ease.

Dude was almost jealous of your strength if he was gonna be honest.

The moments that really get him though are when you're doing the damn simplest of tasks, like that one morning in the bunker when he watched you open a particularly tight jar in a tank top and your biceps just. . . And then there was that one time up at Jodys place during the Fourth of July when Claire dared you to try and crush a watermelon with your thighs, and that was just an experience within itself. And then there were your hugs, and how you always gave the best ones, sometimes squeezing the air from his lungs. Add that to all the times Dean had let himself be beat by you in sparring and it all equaled one thing:

The man was whipped. and he would be lying if he hadn't thought Please crush me with your biceps more than once.

But you and your muscles were probably the last thing on Deans mind at the moment. . . Seeing as he had been knocked out and chained up by a couple of werewolves in what looked to be a massive storage unit, the massive metal cuffs around his wrists were chained to a bolt in the ceiling, forcing the hunter to stand.

He didn’t know how long he had been out, but when he woke his body jolted, the metal chains rattling slightly as he did. It was dark, the only source of light seeping underneath the heavy duty corrugated door, the type that clearly needed a remote or something to open with how massive the damn thing was.

He had gone out to get food. That was it. He had left you and Sam back at the motel, nose deep in research, saying he would be back in twenty. It had clearly been more than twenty by now. . .but who knew if either of you had realized how long he had been gone.

Yanking on the chains, he turned his gaze upward towards the bolt, squinting in the dark in an attempt to see better, not that it did much good. How he was gonna get out of here, he didn’t have a clue.

God, if he managed to get out of here intact, you were gonna make fun of him for this for years to come. The great Dean Winchester, bested by a couple of werewolves.

Dean spent the next half hour continually pulling on the damn chains, but it was no use. They were bolted in place, the rattling links being his only companion in the dark space. The wolves had yet to come back, no doubt planning all the brilliant ways they could off him, because if you manage to capture a Winchester is something you’re gonna wanna revel in.

Eventually he gave up, instead counting the minutes so he had something to do.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

He was about to hit the fifteen minute mark on his counting when he heard it. A round of gunshots echoing somewhere in the near distance, accompanied by a series of shouts.

Dean watched as a shadow quickly passed by the door and he let out a yell, doing his best to make sure whoever it was heard him through the steel door. A second passed and then the shadow backtracked.

“Dean?”

“Y/N? Oh thank god.”

“I’ll get you out of there, just a sec-“

“Doors pretty damn heavy, I think you need a remote or something to ope—“ Dean was cut off as the wheels squealed in their tracks as you pulled up the door, fingers curling around the bottom as you did. Once open far enough, you ducked and rolled into the room, the metal door slamming against the floor behind you.

“H-how-“

“What?” Groping the walls for a light switch, you finally flicked one, the room lighting up all at once. You spun around, sending him a smile. “There you are.”

“Mmhmmm-“ Dean hummed, doing his best he to not hint at the sudden squeaky high pitched noise that left his throat.. “What the hell took you so long?”

“Well-“ taking a deep breath you squatted down, pulling off your backpack to rifle through it. “Mr. I’ll leave my phone back at the motel. I put a small tracker in your wallet.”

“Oh creepy. You do that to all your friends?”

Popping back up with your lock picking tools you got to work on the massive ones locking his shackles together. “Only the idiot ones that I’m afraid might get themselves captured.”

“Oh how nice of you.”

“I know right?”

A minute later the shackles loosened and slid off his wrists, the hunter stretching as you stepped back and slid the kit back into your pack, slinging it back over your shoulders and cinching the straps.

“You good to go?”

“Yep-“ Dean started, taking a step forward, only to wince as a sharp pain went up his leg, his arm reaching out to brace himself on the wall as he inhaled. So he twisted his ankle, no big deal. He didn't need to make you worry.

Just act fine, Dean, Just act fine.

You were too busy wrestling the massive door back open to notice, your back holding it up as you looked back over. “Dean?”

“I’m fine, all good here-“

Being as subtle as he could, he ducked under the door, you popping up to him a second later as it slammed shut again. “Alright, well then let’s hit the road.”

This time unfortunately you noticed Deans limp as the two of you began to move down the hallway of storage units, the hunter doing a poor job at masking his pain. You stopped quickly in your tracks as your hand went out to grab his arm.

“Dean! I thought you said you were fine?!”

“I am.” He brushed you off, taking another step forward, wincing as his foot hit the floor. “Where’s Sam? Is he okay?”

“Sam’s fine, you big dummy. He took out the wolves-“ rushing forward, you looped Deans arm around your shoulder, supporting his weight, this time the hunter choosing not to protest and just give in. “Now what happened?”

“Probably just twisted my ankle or something when they jumped me. It’s fine.”

And then before he could even register what exactly you were doing, you were quite literally scooping the man up into your arms, carrying him down the remainder of the hallway and out into the brisk night air.

“What are you doing?!”

“Carrying you, what does it look like?”

“Yeah, but why?!”

“Because I can. And because you fucked up your ankle.” You responded, eyes finding Sam leaning against the impala. The younger Winchester raised an eyebrow before Dean sent him a silent middle finger, eyes daring him to bring up what was happening.

“What uh- what happened?” Sam cleared his throat, swinging open the passenger side door so you could slide Dean in.

“Your brother stubbed his toe.”

“Hey, I rolled my ankle!”

“Sure, Jan.” You grinned, sending him a quick wink. The hunter suddenly praying you couldn’t see the pink hue creeping across his face in the dimly lit parking lot.

Sam quickly chose to be the new driver, you sliding into the back as he started the engine and pulled out of the lot.

The drive home was quiet apart from the soft hum of the radio turned down low. You were in the back stitching up a gash you had gotten earlier, Sam had his eyes on the road, and Dean? Dean was trying not to think about the fact that he had a huge fucking crush on you and the fact that you had quiet literally swept him off his feet.

And it was like that all the way home and even when he sunk into one of the many vacant chairs in the library, you excusing yourself so you could go grab a brace for Deans ankle, (Even though he kept insisting he didn’t need one.)

The second you were out of earshot though Sam was turning to his brother, an amused look on his face. Dean frowned, knowing where he was going with this.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything. . . But you having a crush on Y/N is pretty amusing.”

“I don’t not!”

“. . . But you so do.”

“Okay-“ Dean slowly pushed up from his seat, setting down the glass of whiskey you had poured him. “Just because I think about holding her hand and kissing her. . .or whatever, does not mean I have a crush on her.”

Sam’s face slightly pulled up in further amusement, Deans death glare just making the whole thing funnier. “Wow, you are so much dumber than I originally thought, holy shit.”

“Okay, you know what? Your gonna do that thing where you shut up forever, okay? Okay, cool.” Grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair, the older Winchester headed for the hallway, half limping as he did.

And then he turned the corner. . . And froze.

You were standing in the middle of the hallway, your box of braces tucked under your arm, eyebrows raised.

“H-HEy! Didn’t see you there!” His attempt at acting smooth and calm sailing out the window as he talked, giving you an awkward smile.

“Oh, I know you didn’t.”

“H-how- how much did you hear just now? Just curious.”

You took a several steps closer, lightly shrugging. “Not much. Other than the fact that you have a big ol crush on me.”

“W-whaaaaaattttt? No!” Dean shook his head, bumping into the wall as he backed up. “No! I don’t- I don’t have a crush on you!”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He could feel his cheeks heating up again. Damn it.

You dropped the box on the floor, stepping over it slowly as you continued to walk closer. “Are you sure about that? Because your rosy red cheeks are tellin me another story.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Think about something else. Look at something else- No! Not her arms you idiot, that’s just gonna-

Your chest was practically touching Deans now as you stood toe to toe with him, the wall cool against his back as he looked into your eyes.

“You want me to stop?”

“S-stop what?” Dean stuttered, his breath coming out slightly shaky as he did.

Oh my god, why were you so pretty and badass and cool and strong and-

And then you were bending your knees slightly, hooking your arms around Deans thighs and picking him up, successfully pinning him to the damn wall, his arm flying out to brace himself as the sudden action took him by surprise. The hunter letting out a light yell.

“This.”

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

“N-no.”

And then your lips were on Deans and he was suddenly taken back by how gentle you are because he knew how much strength your body held and the feeling of your lips on his was so gentle it was just. . . So surprising.

And so damn nice.

Dean hardly had a moment to react before you pressed your tongue to the seam of his lips and, at his grant of access, delved inside his mouth.

Oh this was so much better than could have thought. So so much better. And he didn’t even give a single damn that you were the one pinning him to the damn wall. If anything he liked it. . . A lot.

As the two of you deepened the kiss the only thing that went running through Deans mind was that he was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours he’d spent with you- watching you talk, laugh and frown - that he would know all there was to know about your lips. But he hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed up against his own.

“Seriously guys?! I mean, not that I’m not thrilled or anything but in the hallway?! C’mon!” Sam’s voice breaking you apart slightly as you looked over your shoulder, Dean flipping him off once again as Sam grimaced and walked down a separate hallway.The younger Winchester shaking his head as he went.

When you looked back around, eyes finding Deans yet again, arms still holding him up he felt the awkwardness return.

“Y-your uh- you’re really strong.”

“Oh why thank you.” You smiled, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “And if you couldn’t tell by now, I got a big ol crush on you too.”

(Interested in which screenshot this fic is based off of?)

SPN Taglist: (Still Open)

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[carlincalzone]

×∆||• Toffee Dear starboy Ah •||∆×

Version by: @skyaoishipper101 (meh)

Original by: @Theniceststrawberry

~∆ Check her/him out in wattpad ∆~

Chapter 3: Safe heaven

Bzzt bzzt.

The forever annoying noise of Cobalt's phone

Buzzed obnoxiously under his pillow.

He let out a husky groan and stretched a limp hand under his pillow.

He clicked his phone on and squinted at the screen, Trying his best to ignore the buzzing crackle at his ears and black spots invading his vision.

'9:20 - math exams today'

Cobalt slammed his face back into the previous dent he'd formed in the pillow before forcefully pushing himself out of the warmth of his bed sheets.

He sluggishly hauled his body over to his drawers, Scanning all his clothes for his school uniform. His hands viciously tore at the different garments before grabbing the proper clothing.

His hands were quick to pull his shirt off and discard it as his fingers nimbly buttoned up his new one. Silk fabric was heavy in his hands as he tightly wrapped the tie around his neck and yanked it into a knot.

It took him less then five minutes to get dressed and style his hair into his everyday normal look, And look intidimadating enough to scare off those who wanting to be social with him, He hoped.

He didn't bother with his breakfast, Not even a snack to munch on. He was too stressed today.

Shajima was by his window as usual. Skillfully flicking up dark ruby colored strawberries and catching them in his mouth. For him this was a luxury. Simply blissful.

His morning schedule was a little like this:

6:30 - Awaken.

7:00 - Watch kittyboy get ready.

7:30 - Watch kittyboy leave.

7:40 - Get dressed.

8:00 - Parents leave house.

8:40 - Nap

9:40 - Eat strawberries.

His next plan was to make some deliciously sweet black forest ice cream cake but his cloud of thoughts was shattered by the splintering sound of a door being slammed.

Shajima turn his head to the window of the neighbouring house, Missing his strawberry which promptly bounced off his button nose.

Cobalt had arrived home and looked... Terrible.

His hair was a complete disaster, It mostly look like it had been grabbed or balled into a fist.

His clothes were entirely creased, His jean sy were very dusted up in the side. His tie was loosely hanging up over his broad shoulder and his top buttons were undone.

Sweat patterned his face, Red cheeks, It rolled in droplets down his neck.

Shajima dreamily gazed at him with a slight blush on his face. The only thing he could think of was how hot Cobalt looked in the whole disheveled style. But he had to push his silly fantasies aside and help his 'friend'.

He plucked of one of the seeds in a strawberry and aimed it at the window panes.

Cobalt lazily looked up at the window but just shook his head. He seemed almost very upset. The faintest trace of fear lingered on his lips.

Shajima lightly pushed open his own window.

"Kittyboy?" Shajima said with a worried tone in his voice. "I'm not in the mood, Shajy."

Cobalt remained quiet as he paced around the room. He kicked at his wooden bed posts and screamed into his pillow.

Shajima patiently sighed. He chewed on a sweet strawberry and blocked out cobalt's whining.

On the one day my outfit is perfect, But Handsomely Hot neighbour ignores me. Shajima said in his thoughts.

"Um. Coby. Quick question." Shajima said breaking the silence. "Shajy, I already told you I'm not in the mood." Cobalt answered, "Why are you home?" Shajima asked. "What?" Coby asked in confusement. "School ends later. Sure I'm homeschooled but It's only common sense."

Cobalt simmered slightly. Shajima knew he was right but he was ready to be Cobalt's problem solver?

"Coby. Why are you home?"

Cobalt inhaled a deep breath before leaning over his window ledge. His hands gripped the windowsill so tightly the the wood cracked off until his knuckles turned white.

"I had an phobia attack because of my classmate pranked me during my exam. Its not that too important, just my nerves fudging me over."

Shajima felt his face and stomach drop. Phobia attacks. He'd had a few and they were god very awful. Who'd have thought the cool, Handsomely hot non-socialable neighbour would have a phobia attack?

"Are you home alone, Coby?" Shajima worriedly asked, "Yes." Cobalt answered, "Do you want to come over?" Shajima asked again. "Thanks but no thanks. I'm unstable right now." Cobalt answered, "Then.. Do you want a strawberry?" Shajima asked again this time hoping his neighbour would agree.

Cobalt nodded as shajima tossed him a strawberry. Cobalt catched it and started gently nibbling the sleek red skin.

"Phobia huh?" Shajima said, "Don't get all smug, Shajy." Cobalt said, "I'm not. I just had an idea for our first voyage." Shajima said while just catching a strawberry with his mouth. "I told you I'm not going on illegal voyages." Cobalt said.

Shajima paused before adjusting his sakura flower crown. Cobalt was still shocked at how there weren't already bees buzzing around it.

"What if I told you it was legal." Shajima claimed, "Nope" Cobalt disagreeing. "Safe." Shajima claimed again, "Nope." Cobalt still disagreeing, "Away from all humanity?" Shajima claimed again hoping this time Cobalt would agree. "...maybe." Cobalt said.

Shajima beamed and clapped his hands joyously. Like a little kid.

"Great! Meet me back at these windows at 9:00." Shajima said. "9:00? Wait at night?!" Cobalt asked worriedly, "Yup! Wear something pretty for me." Shamjima suggested. "I will literally wear a trash bag with holes for my limbs." Cobalt said sarcasticly, "Please don't." Shajima said. "I'm just joking, hehe." Cobalt jokingly answered.

The two boys shook on it and turned to continue their personal duties.

~∆~∆~∆~

9 o' clock.

Cobalt settled on wearing a white polo shirt and black T-shirt underneath, and some black jeans. Nothing special, but he doesn't have a reason to dress extravagantly.

The brunet slid open his window to see a familiar boy pushing open his own.

Shajima was wearing blush pink polo shirt and a white shirt underneath it. His hair was rather considered to be messy and slightly damp. He didn't bothered with jewelry, but did had a single black choker.

He did notice cobalt immediately and waggled his fingers in a typically flirty manner.

"Good evening, kittyboy." Shajima greeted, "Evening, Shajy." Cobalt greeted back. "Ready for an adventure?" Shajima asked, "Sure." Cobalt answered.

Shajima swung his leg over the ledge and half twisted his body.

Cobalt awkwardly knelt by his window ledge. There was no way he'd risk his life to go on a midnight journey with practically a complete stranger.

Shajima swiftly dropped from the window and landed on a thick branch of a tree between there houses. An old chestnut tree that had been there for generations. He rotated his head to see the nervous wreck named Cobalt watching from a distance.

"Are you crazy?!" Cobalt said while his hands rested on his hips as he pulled of a baffled expression.

"Yes." Shajima was for once dead serious, His eyes glinting against the dark starry night atmosphere.

"I'm not jumping!" Cobalt claimed, "Please, Coby." Shajima begged. "Nope." Cobalt answered, "If you fall, I'll catch you." Shajima said.

Cobalt pondered the thought for a second before hesitantly clinging to the window frame.

Do I even trust shajima? Absolutely not. So why am I obeying him? This thoughts run around Cobalt's head.

One foot reached the stony wall of his house.

He looked back at Shajima, Both his eyes locked onto his every movement. Static and half by half. Shajima looked so different from this angle. He looked so-

Slip

Grab

Thud

Cobalt felt his body slam into a solid object. His hands was no longer gripping the window, But found its way to hold something else. Something warm. With fingers.

Wait.

Fingers?

Cobalt pulled himself back to see shajima smiling warmly at him. Both of them on the branch.

Teetering dangerously backwards, shajima wrapped a protective arm Cobalt's waist, Both holding hands with astonished expressions on their faces. Shajima seized the moment to pull Cobalt's waist closer and jump off from the branch, To the ground.

Once on the ground, Cobalt backed away and patted himself down; As if looking for any damage marks.

"Thanks." Cobalt thanked Shajima, "No problem, I had a feeling you'd suck at sneaking around." Shajima said.

Shajima didnt leave a second for his friend to protest in his defense before walking past the tree, And into the lane behind them.

Cobalt jogged to keep up and tugged the sleeves of his polo shirt.

"Where are we going?" Cobalt asked, "A place only I know of." Shajima answered. "Which is? Cobalt asked again, "Near. Now shut your mouth, boy." Shajima said.

Shajima took a sharp right towards a local forest.

A white metal sign scribed with metallic black lettering was nailed into the damp soil bordering the forest.

Blue moon wisteria forest

Cobalt followed like a curious toddler till he heard a distant noise.

A sound of pure serenity. Seems like running water. A nearby stream.

He'd never been in the woods so far before so he wouldn't know if they had a stream, But the woods didn't have a stream.

Shajima pushed aside a large pebbled path they'd been following, His eyes lighting up like a child on Christmas morning.

"We're here!"

Cobalt mimicked the action and pushed the lush foliage. His jaw as his head spun.

It was just like a painted scenery the water reflected the beautiful starry night sky, The water twinkled like the stars, There was a dock where you can tie a boat or catch some fish.

It was a lake.

Cobalt gasped as Shajima began pacing up to it, His hands tracing the corrugated stone prostrusions. Birds cawed from trees overhead.

Shajima eventually sat on near the edge of the dock and looked at the water, Letting his shoulders sink inwards and back onto the wooden dock.

Cobalt perched beside him, Both of his legs laying in the edge if the dock same as Shajima.

"Beautiful, right?" Shajima asked, "Yes, it is." Cobalt agreed. "I noticed this place the day me and my family moved into town." Shajima said, "You found this so soon?" Cobalt asked, "Of course. I thought it'd be a nice stargazing spot." Shajima claimed. "It's always the stars with you." Cobalt said, "Yup. I want to be one." Shajima said. "You are a star." Cobalt said while giving a glance at shajima.

Shajima giggled and hummed to himself. A song Cobalt has never heard.

Cobalt watched the fireflies glowing as they danced among the darkness. Time shifted as the clouds in the sky dissipated into a sheet of black.

"So. This is your new safe heaven?" Cobalt asked, "I guess so. It seems like it could be a new home." Shajima answered, "What about the house beside mine?" Cobalt asked again. "That's a house. Not a home. Home is where the heart is." Shajima said.

Shajima let out a shallow breath as he widely grinned up at the moon. Full and round, Like a pristine white plate.

"How about I share this new heaven?" Shajima said, "What do you mean?" Cobalt asked. "You said... You're unstable and... So am I." Shajima answered, "So?" Cobalt said, "you are the only other person to know about here. Let's make it our place." Shajima said.

Shajima stand up and somehow a scar peeked out from his shirt that Cobalt never noticed, He sooner held his hand and looked at Cobalt. Cobalt took the hand into his own. The Contact was icy but soon comforting.

"Yeah... Our place."

∆{stay tune for the next chapter guys TwT}∆

[scotianostra]

I have a number of posts already scheduled by Tumblr for the coming days, this is an add on as I just discovered it while Rummaging around, I think it's only right to post it and take a few moments to remember all those in the emergency services that work through the festive season, and indeed all year to keep us safe. 

Disaster struck on Christmas Eve 1927 when four firemen were killed during a warehouse fire on Graham Street.

49-year-old James Conn , Morrison Dunbar, 23, 31-year-old Harry W. McKellar and David Jeffrey, 24 died in the Gallowgate blaze.

Heartbroken colleagues worked through Christmas and for the next three days to recover their bodies.

The following is taken from The Glasgow Herald Tuesday, December 27, 1927.

FOUR FIREMEN PERISH

Christmas Eve Tragedy in Glasgow

EAST END WAREHOUSES GUTTED

ESTIMATED LOSS, £50,000

Four members of Glasgow Fire Brigade lost their lives while on duty at a fire in the East end of the city on Saturday night. 

The scene of the fire was a six storey warehouse in Graham Square, and owing to the threatening circumstances many tenants of adjoining dwellings were warned out.Some of the tenants were absent at the time of the outbreak, and on return – carrying with them, in numerous instances, their parcels got in the course of Christmas shopping – were surprised and alarmed when informed that it was unsafe to enter their houses.A touching feature of the fire tragedy is that the men of the Eastern Division were enjoying Christmas festivities with their families in the Fire Station when the call which was to mean death to some of their colleagues in the Central. 

FROM JOY TO SORROW

In the long history of the Fire Brigade of Glasgow many deeds of heroism stand to the credit of the men. In the great majority of cases their bravery has gone unnoticed or been known to a limited few – the instances of calm courage and of grave risks taken to save property and frequently life have come in the ordinary course of duty when no eye was there to see or pen to chronicle. It is only when such a tragedy as that of Christmas Eve shocks the community that full light is thrown on the dangerous nature of the fireman’s calling and recognition is paid to the magnificent manner in which he carries out his trying and difficult work.

While the Fire Brigade in Glasgow has enjoyed a remarkable immunity from loss of life when a period of, say, half a century is scanned, nevertheless death with unwelcome frequency has exacted a grim toll.

Surely never was the toll made under more distressing circumstances than on Saturday evening. The Eastern Division men, with their children and friends, were in the midst of Christmas rejoicings when the call came. The men are used to such breaks in the social round, and cheerfully they responded to the summons to duty, which is taken as a matter of course. With the celerity characteristic of the Brigade, the men from this and other Divisions with their equipment quickly set out for the scene of the fire, and the civilians remained behind to continue the happy entertainment, not dreaming of the dreadful fate that was soon to overtake four members of the Brigade, who, in the face of obvious danger, carried on till death overtook them.

The missing firemen are:–

James Conn (49), married, and with three of a family, who had 23 years’ service with the brigade.

H. W. M’Kellar (31), married.

David Jeffery (24), single.

Morrison Dunbar (23), single.

SCENE OF THE FIRE

The fire was located in Graham Square, a cul-de-sac on the north side of Gallowgate, which leads to an entrance to the Corporation Cattle Market. The east side of the square consists, starting from the Gallowgate end, of a modern tenement and of a brick building of six storeys with a frontage of 135ft, and a depth of 30ft. This building, which was totally destroyed, along with corrugated iron sheds, and a warehouse at the rear, contained business premises, workshops, and an hotel. The tenants of these premises are Messrs P. and R. Fleming, engineers 8-16 Graham Square; David Arthur, auctioneer, 12 Graham Square; Alexander Jack and Son (Limited), implement makers 20 Graham Square; Wilson, Ronald and Co. (Limited), wholesale grocers, 26-30 Graham Square; A. M’Vean and Co., manufacturers, 30 Graham Square; Thomas Dunlop, implement maker, 38 Graham Square; Pringle, Logan and Gallocher, seed merchants, 38 Graham Square; and James Houston, cabinetmaker, 12 Graham Square.

THE ALARM

About 8pm two constables on duty in Graham Square observed that fire had broken out in the premises occupied by James Houston. Further examination revealed that the outbreak had originated in a hoist at 34 Graham Square, which was used by several of the firms in the block. The constables smashed the fire alarm and turned out several detachments of the Fire Brigade. By this time the fire was extending to other parts of the building. On the arrival of the first two detachments of the Fire Brigade from the Central Station great volumes of smoke pouring from the building indicated that the flames had taken a firm hold, and further reinforcements were summoned, along with four pumps and the fire escape, Firemaster Waddell took charge of the operations.

FIREMEN WITHDRAWN

Immediately, the fire was attacked both from the interior of the building and from the street. The intense heat, the density of the smoke, and the general threat to the structure, made it obvious at an early stage of the operations that it was highly perilous for the firemen to remain for long periods inside the building. Therefore, adopting what methods they could, the firemen continued the main attack from the roadway in Graham Square, from the roofs of buildings to the east and south of the endangered premises, and even from the top of the fire escape. It soon became apparent that the entire structure was doomed and that any measures adopted by the Fire Brigade would be futile except to restrict the area of devastation.

TRAM SERVICE STOPPED

The flames were being strongly fanned by a north easterly breeze, and showers of sparks and poisonous clouds of smoke were causing much alarm in Gallowgate towards which they were drifting, and in which large crowds of spectators had gathered. The pungent smoke hung in dense clouds over the streets and sparks floated thickly down. The tramcar service, interrupted owing to the lines of hose across the street, was diverted for a period, and then was ultimately resumed over rail bridges. The tenants of houses, who had been Christmas shopping when the fire occurred, mingled with the crowd, their arms full of parcels. Some of them were unable to reach their homes, and experienced grave anxiety as the flames darted ominously higher and seemed to endanger the tenement.

TENANTS WARNED OUT

This tenement building, which adjoins the ruined warehouses was considered at this time to be within the danger zone, and the tenants were advised to consult with their own ultimate safety and desert their homes. There are nine families in the tenement, and the alarm was raised when most of the children had hung up their stockings and retired early to bed in eager expectation of Christmas morning. Some of the tenants elected to leave, and these assembled in the street to watch the battle with the flames, but others stayed in their homes during the entire course of the fire.

COLLAPSE OF WALLS AND ROOF

A thrill ran through the watching crowd when the roof of the burning building collapsed amid an awesome pyrotechnic display of flame and sparks, to be followed a few minutes later by the thunderous crash of large portions of the walls into the interior of the structure. Dust and smoke arose in suffocating clouds. With this fresh development the career of the fire was checked, however, and half an hour later – that is, two hours after the raising of the first alarm – the outbreak was under control, and the occupiers of the tenement were informed that they might return to their homes. Lines of hose were in use all through the night, however, as a precaution against further outbreak.

FATE OF THE FIREMEN

About ten o’clock the fire was so far extinguished that several detachments of the Fire Brigade were ordered to prepare to return to their stations. The discovery was then made as the motors were about to depart that four firemen from the Central Division were missing. An exhaustive inquiry was at once begun, but it was early feared that the men had been trapped in the building when the walls and flooring had collapsed. So far as can be ascertained the four missing men, along with others, were on the third floor at the south end of the building when the flames were first attacked. At that time the fire was confined largely to the northern end of the building, and it is assumed that with great fortitude the men had pressed some distance through the building towards the seat of the fire so as to be of greater service.

INSTANTANEOUS DEATH

Suddenly, it appears, there was a loud crash and the north end of the structure, towards which the men had gone, tumbled inwards, carrying several floors in a downward rush of destruction. Several of the firemen who were inside managed to get clear, and at that time it was thought that all of the firemen had emerged safely. When the first collapse occurred one of the officers at once dashed into the building and up the stairways right to the top flat to warn out the men. He met one fireman who was under the impression that he was the last to leave. Jeffrey was last observed when he called for more hose, and it is one theory that, furnished with the extra length of hose, he and his colleagues had courageously penetrated towards the seat of the fire unknown to their comrades – numbering 60, and widely dispersed – who were all actively at work. There seems no doubt, at all events, that they were caught in the devastating fall of beams and brickwork and hurled down to be buried in the immense heap of debris. It is certain, whether due to injuries or fire, that their death must have been practically instantaneous.

THE SEARCH BEGINS

As portions of the remaining walls were in an extremely dangerous condition, it was recognised, reluctantly, that it would be unwise to risk the lives of other firemen in an immediate endeavour to extricate the missing men from among the still smoking wreckage during the darkness of the night. Several firemen were posted on duty, and immediately daylight broke on Christmas morning a well equipped rescue party of firemen were dispatched to take up the tragic task of attempting to recover the bodies of their unfortunate comrades. A preliminary search was conducted with the assistance of a ladder and the fire escape, but it was found impossible to interfere to any great extent with the debris until the dangerous tottering and smoke blackened walls which marked the site of the destroyed building had been taken down. Accordingly another unavoidable hitch occurred in the work of retrieving the bodies while a gang of workmen, under the supervision of Mr Thomas Somers, Master of Works, demolished the dangerous walls.

THE DAMAGE

The loss caused by the fire is provisionally estimated at between £40,000 and £50,000.

SOCIAL FUNCTIONS CANCELLED

All of the social functions which usually take place at this time of year at the various fire stations in the city have been cancelled owing to the tragedy at Graham Square.

IN THE RUINS

SEARCHING FOR THE MISSING MEN

Throughout the day on Sunday gangs of firemen, working in relays, continued their tragic task of endeavouring to locate the bodies of their unfortunate comrades. They dug amongst the broken masonry with picks and shovels until darkness descended, but no trace of the bodies could then be found. Flare lamps were obtained in order that the work of the rescue might not be interrupted.

OXY-ACETYLENE BURNERS

Portions of shafting and heavy machinery had become so intertwined when the floors collapsed that it was extremely difficult to separate and remove the twisted metal from the debris. A number of skilled operators armed with oxy-acetylene burners were obtained from the Corporation Tramway Department. Many pieces of metal were cut through, and the task of removal was thus made less difficult. As the broken masonry, charred timber, and twisted machinery were taken from the building these were removed to the street by a large number of workmen. All night long the firemen laboured heroically, but their efforts to reach the entombed men were unsuccessful when daylight broke yesterday.

FRESH RELAYS OF WORKERS

Another batch of firemen took up the search, and were engaged all day in removing the tons of debris which separated them from their unfortunate comrades. By the afternoon they had succeeded in penetrating to a considerable depth in the centre of the ruined building, and they were hopeful of being able to reach the flooring at that point before darkness came on. The search is being continued.

Further articles tell us that the mens "badly ,mutilated" bodies were discovered on the Sunday and only identified by personal affects and remains of their uniforms, their funeral took place on December 30th The second pic is the grave in the city's Necropolis.

It's fair to say Glasgow has been blighted by fire much more than any other Scottish town or city, the Cheapside Street whisky bond fire in Glasgow on 28 March 1960 was Britain's worst peacetime fire services disaster. The fire at a whisky bond killed 14 fire service and 5 salvage corps personnel. The Kilbirnie Street fire, on Friday 25 August 1972, was a warehouse fire in the Port Eglinton area, on the south side of Glasgow cost seven firefighters their lives. 

Thankfully the recent fires at most notably The Glasgow School of Art, even in the past week 40 firefighters were needed to extinguish a fire at Pitt Street in the city centre.

Nearby Paisley has not been immune either with the death toll at Glen Cinema disaster in 1929 being 71, I will post more on this very sad disaster on December 31st.

I sourced this story from this page which details The History of Scottish Fire Brigades http://www.graemekirkwood.co.uk/

I must add a shout out to Jennifer at Random Scottish History, a must read page for anyone interested in Scottish history https://randomscottishhistory.com/

[antiquechampagne]

Antique Champagne -CH32-Gone Fishing

Payne suspected a herd of elephants stomping around might make less noise than whatever was parading past the closed office door. She was content ignore everything and bury her head under the cushions until she heard the voices in the hallway filter through.

“… you see it?..” “What the hell…?” “It’s gotta be huge!”

Payne pulled herself upright, her head pounding. She swore her brain was trying to crawl its way out the back of her skull. Stumbling to the door, she cracked it open. A wall of sound and light buffeted her, forcing her to take a step back to steady herself. A gaggle of people appeared to be cramming into Hancock’s room, while others ran up the stairs to the third floor.. Payne grabbed the shoulder of a Watchman as he passed by.

“What’s going on?”

The ghoul turned to her. “There’s some kind of thing, a ship, in the sky. Damnedest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

Payne’s mind tried to latch onto the new information, to categorize it in some meaningful fashion.

A ship? Like a hot air balloon? Dirigible? It was a harder task than she would have like.

“Where’s Hancock?”

“Up top, I think.” he continued on, trying to push past the throng to crane his neck on the balcony Hancock normally would use to address his adoring fans when he gave public addresses.

She trudged up to the third floor. the room was empty except for the ladder leading up into a blazing bright hole. Payne looked up with dread. She didn’t feel like climbing. Not only was she missing her helmet (she must have misplaced it sometime last night). The ladder looked like it stretched about four stories tall, growing as she stared up at it. She closed her eyes and pressing her temples with her palms. Grabbing a Boston Bugle to shade her eyes and headed up. Keeping to the shadow of the cupula, Payne shifted through the small crowd perched on the roof. Everyone was pointing and gawking. Payne found the afternoon sky nauseatingly bright, but all she managed to steal was a few choice glances at the oblong blot on the horizon.

"You're late." grunted a familiar voice next to her. Payne hadn't noticed she had lumbered up next to Fahrenheit.

Payne managed a grunt and nod. "Any idea what it is?"

Before Fahr could answer, Payne felt a hand on her head, tussling her hair.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" Hancock's smile was nearly as brilliant at the sun. "The Brotherhood of Steel knows how to make a entrance, I'll give'em that."

"Brotherhood?" That wasn't the answer Payne was expecting. "Are you sure?"

Fahr crossed her arms. "That's what they were blaring across the 'Wealth. You could have heard it yourself, if you had gotten your ass up here earlier." Great. Fahr was still pissed.

"Give it a break, Fahr." Hancock squeezed Payne's shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." Payne was pretty sure she looked like shit, too. "If it looks like Goodneighbor isn't going to be immediately invaded by these guys..."

Hancock waved her off. "Go get some rest. I'll get you if a bunch of brothers come-a-knocking."

Payne didn't waste any more time. She excused herself, found her things and returned to her own bed.

After a few days, they once again settled back into their old routines, only it was clear to Payne that Hancock was stewing over the new player in the field. He paid handsomely for intel, even sending out scouts to scope out the areas surrounding the Brotherhood's apparent base of operations; the Boston Airport. So far, it appeared they were sending out exploration parties of their own, mostly to tech heavy locales. Payne didn't have all that much experience with them. If she had happened to come across the odd band of them out west, she avoided them. What annoyed her the most was the drone of their vertibirds as they briskly buzzed past town. Luckily, it seemed like Goodneighbor was low on their list of priorities.

One afternoon, a surprise knock on her hotel door startled Payne as she dressed for the day. A watchman told her curtly that the mayor needed to talk to her.

“The Mayor also said to make sure to bring your rifle and extra… um…. juice boxes?”

Confused, Payne rushed through her afternoon routine to arrive at the Old State House a few hours before her shift officially started. On the step, she ran into Hancock and Fahr quarrelling. A backpack lay on the ground next to Hancock’s feet.

“Come on, Fahr! It’ll be fun! When was the last time you let your hair down?” Hancock was trying hard to spread his exuberant attitude to Fahr. From what Payne saw, it was not working.

“This is stupid, Hancock, and you know it.” Fahr’s face was stone-set.

Payne's presence finally registering, Hancock bounded over to her, his eyes twinkling. “See, Payne’s all ready to go! Aren't ya, Sport?”

“What exactly is going on? Where are we going? And don't call me 'Sport'.”

“Spoilsport!" That got him a look. "You’re in for a real treat! We’re going to go for a nice little walk down by the beach. Got the fixin’s for a mirelurk bake, a little booze…” Fahr huffed. “Quit being a party pooper! Payne’s never seen where I grew up. This’ll be a good chance for her to see it!”

Suddenly, Payne’s helmet suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. Hancock wanted to show her his childhood home?

“You only want to stomp around out there to get a closer look at that flying Brotherhood ship!” Fahr sniped back.

Hancock’s smile grew wider. “You wound me, Fahr,” he sassed back.

“And,” Fahr added, “You don’t need all of us to go to sneak a peek. Someone should stay…”

“The town isn’t gonna burn down if we skip out for a night. We're not going to start a freaking settlement out there. You need to relax.” And with that, Hancock grabbed his bag and headed towards the gate, ending the argument. Fahr grumbled, cursing under her breath as she passed, nodding her head to press Payne to follow. Payne just shrugged and took up the rear.

The trio picked their way through the city, careful to avoid raiders and nests of super mutants. They made pretty good time until the buildings started to thin out. There, they started to follow the crumbling highways, the lack of cover making them cautious. Hancock stopped several times to gauge his bearings, the dank sewage smelling sea breeze blew in from the waterfront.

“5 caps says he never finds the place,” scoffed Fahr during one of the pit stops. The giant metal airship loomed in the distance.

“You’re on.” Payne quipped back.

Hancock cocked his head. “I heard you! And it’s this way!” He pointed farther down the beach, his bodyguards shaking their heads, snickering behind him.

Payne found herself focusing on picking her way around the fetid seaweed and rotting animal carcasses when Fahr’s hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks. Hancock had stopped and was digging through his pack.

“Figured those nasty bastards would move in…” he mumbled as he rummaged around. “They were becoming quite the persistent pests before we moved to the city.”

“What?” asked Payne.

“See that shack over there? Around that little alcove?” Payne squinted, trying to see the structure. “Well, that’s it… but it looks like we are going to have to work up a little sweat to get there.”

Sure enough, several clutches of eggs dotted the sand between them and the shack. Hancock pulled a couple of handfuls of frag grenades from the bag, handing a bunch to each of his companions.

With a wink, he took a few of his own. “Light’em up!” Pulling a pin, he let the first one fly. It landed square in the center of the nearest nest. The eggs splattered spectacularly in flames. Payne readied her rifle, while Fahr took aim with more grenades. Like clockwork, the ground started to vibrate and lurch. In a barrage of shrapnel and bullets, the three of them ended up taking down four mirelurks. They dragged the largest one towards the ramshackle assemblage of sheet metal walls. The single room shack had seen better days. Two of the four walls had collapsed, leaving the roof barely attached.

"I know it's not much to look at, but it was home for the three of us for a long time." Hancock hung his hat on a nearby stray nail on the corrugated metal wall. He grabbed a crowbar he had brought along and smiled. Jamming it in between the joints of the mirelurks' carapace, he strained to crack the creatures shell open.

"Give me that. You're just going to destroy the shell, then we won't have anything to cook it in." Fahrenheit shooed him away. Moving the tool along the seam, she started to deftly split the shell with a satisfying series of snaps.

Payne smiled. "Guess that means we're on fire duty." They quickly found enough drift wood and old bits of lumber to have a sizeable fire going by the time Fahr had opened the beast. Payne watched as Hancock and Fahrenheit worked together to clean and carve up the useable meat. They tasked her with filling the bowl of the shell with some water, flavoring it with some of the wine and salty sea water. After that, she set it over the fire to boil. Soon, they sat down to a ample spread of boiled mirelurk, butter and more wine. Payne made sure to stay under the remainder of the roof as she ate, watching the sunset from the shadows. Hancock talked a little bit about his childhood, his favorite pranks and exploits. Conversation soon turned to the Brotherhood and it's looming implications.

"Seems like they have been picking over tech heavy targets." Fahrenheit said between bites. "They have the muscle to take on just about any nasties they find. Mutants, synths, ferals... you name it."

Payne wiped her mouth. "You think they are here because of the Institute? I mean, they have a shit ton of crazy tech."

"Maybe? Wouldn't it be nice if they just went and took care of each other?" Hancock leaned back on his elbows.

"And who do you think would pay the price in that war? Ordinary people." Payne shook her head. "They always do."

"True enough," agreed Fahr.

The night had started to cool off as dusk turned into nearly clear night. Payne moved out to enjoy the warm fire. The airship lit up the sky, a strangely out of place light show. They watched and talked as vertibirds occasionally buzzed to and fro. It seemed to take up most of the sky. The engine noise brought back prewar memories for Payne, like nostalgic music track backing their conversation. Between the presence of the Brotherhood and their clearing of the beach earlier, the area seemed to be blessedly free of hostiles. Against all odds, it was turning out to be a pleasant excursion. Even Fahr seemed to be relaxing a bit. Maybe this trip wouldn't be such a waste of their time after all.

[stakall]

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[braidedgraphite]

John Updike's 9/11 report:

Suddenly summoned to witness something great and horrendous, we keep fighting not to reduce it to our own smallness. From the viewpoint of a tenth-floor apartment in Brooklyn Heights, where I happened to be visiting some kin, the destruction of the World Trade Center twin towers had the false intimacy of television, on a day of perfect reception. A four-year-old girl and her babysitter called from the library, and pointed out through the window the smoking top of the north tower, not a mile away. It seemed, at that first glance, more curious than horrendous: smoke speckled with bits of paper curled into the cloudless sky, and strange inky rivulets ran down the giant structure’s vertically corrugated surface. The W.T.C. had formed a pale background to our Brooklyn view of lower Manhattan, not beloved, like the stony, spired midtown thirties skyscrapers it had displaced as the city’s tallest, but, with its pre-postmodern combination of unignorable immensity and architectural reticence, in some lights beautiful. As we watched the second tower burst into ballooning flame (an intervening building had hidden the approach of the second airplane), there persisted the notion that, as on television, this was not quite real; it could be fixed; the technocracy the towers symbolized would find a way to put out the fire and reverse the damage.

And then, within an hour, as my wife and I watched from the Brooklyn building’s roof, the south tower dropped from the screen of our viewing; it fell straight down like an elevator, with a tinkling shiver and a groan of concussion distinct across the mile of air. We knew we had just witnessed thousands of deaths; we clung to each other as if we ourselves were falling. Amid the glittering impassivity of the many buildings across the East River, an empty spot had appeared, as if by electronic command, beneath the sky that, but for the sulfurous cloud streaming south toward the ocean, was pure blue, rendered uncannily pristine by the absence of jet trails. A swiftly expanding burst of smoke and dust hid the rest of lower Manhattan; we saw the collapse of the second tower only on television, where the footage of hellbent airplane, exploding jet fuel, and imploding tower was played and replayed, much rehearsed moments from a nightmare ballet.

The nightmare is still on. The bodies are beneath the rubble, the last-minute cell-phone calls—remarkably calm and loving, many of them—are still being reported, the sound of an airplane overhead still bears an unfamiliar menace, the thought of boarding an airplane with our old blasé blitheness keeps receding into the past. Determined men who have transposed their own lives to a martyr’s afterlife can still inflict an amount of destruction that defies belief. War is conducted with a fury that requires abstraction—that turns a planeful of peaceful passengers, children included, into a missile the faceless enemy deserves. The other side has the abstractions; we have only the mundane duties of survivors—to pick up the pieces, to bury the dead, to take more precautions, to go on living.

American freedom of motion, one of our prides, has taken a hit. Can we afford the openness that lets future kamikaze pilots, say, enroll in Florida flying schools? A Florida neighbor of one of the suspects remembers him saying he didn’t like the United States: “He said it was too lax. He said, ‘I can go anywhere I want to, and they can’t stop me.’ ” It is a weird complaint, a begging perhaps to be stopped. Weird, too, the silence of the heavens these days, as flying has ceased across America. But fly again we must; risk is a price of freedom, and walking around Brooklyn Heights that afternoon, as ash drifted in the air and cars were few and open-air lunches continued as usual on Montague Street, renewed the impression that, with all its failings, this is a country worth fighting for. Freedom, reflected in the street’s diversity and daily ease, felt palpable. It is mankind’s elixir, even if a few turn it to poison.

The next morning, I went back to the open vantage from which we had watched the tower so dreadfully slip from sight. The fresh sun shone on the eastward façades, a few boats tentatively moved in the river, the ruins were still sending out smoke, but New York looked glorious.

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[clumsy2intelligent]

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Corrugated metal panels are manufactured from steel that has been covered with synthetic insulation made mostly from petrochemicals that have been combined with clean agents to give them great fireproofing abilities. The material is also treated with a protective coating to prevent oxidation and corrosion, which allows for metal panels to be recycled again and again without losing their integrity.

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A-Frame Sign

Attract potential customers with our insertable Corflute A-Frame signs. A-Frames, also known as lawn, pavement, sandwich board or sidewalk signs are sturdy, light-weight, versatile, portable and affordable. These heavy duty, waterproof and 100% re-usable signs are ideal for a huge range of uses for real estate, cafes, bars, retail, gyms, offices, across both indoor and outdoor applications. What makes our A-Frame sign unique is the stylish black frame that has a top opening on each side to easily insert the corflute print. This allows you to affordably change your signage as needed, and retain the frame for years of use. In addition, corflute AND the frame can be placed inside or outside - allowing for full signage flexibility. Specifications: - 2 prints per A Frame (one on both sides) - Prints are outdoor rated corflute (corrugated plastic), printed full colour - Size: 600 x 900mm (Standard A frame size) - Powder coated black insert frame supplied - Upload your own design using our template Read the full article

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E-Coat Market Worth ,Forecast to 2027 | Global Industry Report

The Global E-Coat Market Research Report offers an in-depth analysis of the E-Coat industry and the economic scenario for business management that offers development and profitability for the key players in the market.

The global E-Coat Market is forecast to reach USD 4.84 Billion by 2027, according to a new report by Reports and Data. The rising electricity usage, mainly in the emerging economies, has led to the extension of power production projects, which will trigger the type demand moreover will succeed in stimulating the overall E-Coats market size by 2027. Growing demand from energy transformation and electronics types is another circumstance affecting the business growth.

A meaningful portion of the application is anticipated to be arising from developed nations. For example, the installed capacity of large transformers in the U.S. is quite frequent. However, those transformers are aging and hence generate the need to restore the current foundation with new connections, which will help drive demand, thereby increasing E-Coats market size by 2027.

To receive a sample copy of the global E-Coat market report, visit @ https://reportsanddata.com/sample-enquiry-form/3324

Top Companies Listed in the E-Coat Market Report:

Axalta Coating Systems, PPG Industries, Inc., BASF, Nippon Paint Holdings Co., Ltd., The Valspar Corporation, Tatung Fine Chemicals Co .Ltd, KCC Corporation, Luvata OY, Hawking Electrotechnology Ltd, Noroo Paint & Coatings Co., Ltd among others.

Key market trends:

The increasing prevalence of biodegradable plastics promises to be a popular trend dominating the industry in the forecast years. The growing environmental awareness and the stringent government-imposed regulations for governing the consumption of plastics are pushing the overall industry towards the use of biodegradable packaging.

Another major packaging market trend that is speedily gaining momentum is the introduction of innovative lightweight glass packaging aimed at improving end-user usability and waste reduction. These packaging designs offer recyclability, easy transportability, and cost-effectiveness, which has urged manufacturers to produce water-resistant and eco-friendly corrugated box packaging solutions.

Another significant packaging market trend quickly gaining momentum is the development of new lightweight glass packaging to improve end-user usability and reduce wastage. These packaging designs are recyclable, economical, and easy-to-transport, urging manufacturers to produce water-resistant, eco-friendly, and smart corrugated packaging technology.

The E-Coat industry analysis report assesses the industry in terms of market size, market share, and revenue. The key regional markets covered in the report include North America, Asia Pacific, Europe, Latin America, and Middle East & Africa. Furthermore, the report sheds light on the presence of the global E-Coat market in the major regions with regards to market share, market size, revenue contribution, sales statistics, distribution channels, and various other key elements.

To know more about the report @ https://www.reportsanddata.com/report-detail/e-coat-market

Type Outlook (Revenue, USD Billion; 2017-2027)

Cathodic Epoxy

Cathodic Acrylic

Anodic

Technology Type Outlook (Revenue, USD Billion; 2017-2027)

Epoxy Coating Technology

Acrylic Coating Technology

Application Outlook (Revenue, USD Billion; 2017-2027)

Passenger Cars

Commercial Vehicles

Automotive Parts

Heavy-Duty Equipment

Request a customized copy of the report @ https://reportsanddata.com/request-customization-form/3324

Thank you for reading our report. To know more about the customization or any query about the report contents, please connect with us and our team will ensure the report is tailored to meet your requirements.

About Reports and Data

Reports and Data is a market research and consulting company that provides syndicated research reports, customized research reports, and consulting services. Our solutions purely focus on your purpose to locate, target and analyze consumer behavior shifts across demographics, across industries and help client’s make a smarter business decision. We offer market intelligence studies ensuring relevant and fact-based research across a multiple industries including Healthcare, Technology, Chemicals, Power and Energy. We consistently update our research offerings to ensure our clients are aware about the latest trends existent in the market. Reports and Data has a strong base of experienced analysts from varied areas of expertise.

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Head of Business Development

Reports and Data | Web: www.reportsanddata.com

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E-mail: sales@reportsanddata.com

Read Our Innovative Blogs @ https://www.reportsanddata.com/blogs

Check our upcoming research reports @ https://www.reportsanddata.com/upcoming-reports

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Custom Cream Box Packaging

For a restorative or cosmetic industry, it is obligatory to gain a more customer base by providing innovations in their products and packaging. Skincare brands trying their best to be at the top in this industry and to become customer’s favorite top pick. Creams are something that is widely used by both men and women due to their multipurpose properties. From treating skin dryness issues to providing necessary hydration and moisturizers, creams serve all these purposes really well. Creams are kept secure and packed in Custom Cream Boxes. These packaging boxes are the best way to protect your creams and to present them in the most presentable way before customers.

Limitless Uses Of Custom Cream Boxes

Creams are multipurpose hence they are also sensitive to certain environmental factors due to their various ingredients. Creams can deteriorate due to high temperatures and increasing light intensity. Cream Boxes are designed in a way to protect creams from all external environmental factors. These are best to maintain the shelf life of cream up to maximum. Custom packaging enables all to them their cream box with them during traveling. Cream packaging is also best in keeping creams in handbags because it provides them protection and keeps them secure from any spill away. Custom packaging also gives the feeling of luxuriousness to ladies especially and they find it really satisfying to keep their favorite creams in a beautiful Cream Box.

Multiple Possibilities Of Customization

Customization of your packaging box means getting your packaging in your desired material, size, shape, print, design, and style. GoToBoxes offers the largest range of customization for its customers. In terms of material, you have options to select among bio-degradable Kraft, corrugated, and cardboard. We love to utilize nature accommodating material because we know our duties towards the climate. Whatever the material you choose among these three, we will convert it into your desired size and shape as per your requirements. Other than the given materials, you may demand another one depending upon your needs and choices. We will make your favorite Custom Cream Box as you want from us. Besides material selection, we also offer customization in coloring and shading, printing patterns. Layouts, designing, and styling of Cosmetic Cream Packaging. 

Advanced Techniques and Methods to Create Cream Boxes

This is the era of advancements and technologies, with each passing day you will get something new and innovative. In the packaging field, you also have to come up with new and innovative packaging Cosmetic Cream Packaging. In an order to do so, we utilize modern techniques and machinery. Our digital printing techniques are matchless. We also offer off-set and screen printing. Lamination facilities which you will get by us are also remarkable and modern. We offer aqueous, matte, and gloss lamination options. You can get your desired one for Cream Box for your business. Our graphic designers are also skilled and are utilizing modern tools to make perfect stylish and trendy designs.

Importance Of Custom Cream Box Packaging

For a brand or industry, a custom packaging solution is just like a savior. It is made and designed by keeping in view the dimensions and requirements of your products. For each product, the packaging box is made accordingly. Cosmetic Cream Packaging in customized form targets a lot more customers than with ordinary packaging. It makes customers especially ladies happy and special. Custom packaging is made with strong and sturdy materials so it provides the best security and protection to the creams. Their size variability makes them more important and adds value to the cream products. You can get them with you anywhere due to their size and easy-to-carry properties. In custom packaging, you can get your brand’s logo and name engraved in Cream Boxes in such a way that they catch the attention of the customers within seconds.

Why Choose GoToBoxes for Cream Boxes

There shouldn’t be any second thoughts for choosing a packaging company other than GoToBoxes. We have gain expertise in the field of packaging for working and dealing with packaging for almost a decade. Our team is highly skilled and professional who know to create an out-of-the-box design for your cosmetic brand. Our Custom Boxes.UK cannot be compared with any other packaging provider’s box due to their high quality and stylish packaging. Choose us to get the best packaging solutions for your cosmetic brands.

Reference:

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Packaging Tapes Market Size, Is Expected To Grow At A Huge CAGR Till 2021

Synopsis

Parcel tapes enjoy high demand in the global packaging tape market, with wide acceptance in verticals like automotive and food and beverages, among others. The parcel tapes that are finding more and more use in various industries are generally translucent and brown, and are mostly used to pack corrugated boxes as well as common enclosing or sealing.

Top Players

Some of the top players in the worldwide market for packaging tapes are H.B. Fuller Company, Franklin International, Henkel AG & Co. KGaA, 3M, Advance Tapes International, Adhesives Research Inc., Bostik SA, Avery Dennison Corporation, Nitto Denko Corporation, Ltd., Intertape Polymer Group and Lord Corporation, Evans Adhesive Corporation, Dow Corning Corporation, and others.

Regional Outlook

APAC dominates the global Packaging Tapes Market Size,, on account of the fast development of the economic status, rising purchasing power, expanding e-commerce industries, and mounting investment in the organized retail sector. Rising purchasing power of customers in developing countries like India and China also fuels the demand for various food products, beverages as well as retail products, which leads to the rapid progress of the Packaging Tapes Market Size in the region.

The thriving manufacturing sector in Europe is boosting the sale of packaging tapes. The evolving market dynamics can be another aspect that is giving birth to new avenues of operation in the region. The rising demand for eco-friendly products boosts the demand for packaging tapes that are made of recyclable and biodegradable materials, also stimulates the market growth in Europe.

Segmentation

Global market for packaging tapes has been extensively covered in the report, with the segmentation including type, material, and application. 

The types of packaging tapes are Double-sided tapes, Filament tapes, Light-duty packaging tapes, Parcel tapes, and others.

The material-dependent segments in the market are Hot Melt, Acrylic, and others.

The applications of packaging tapes are increasing in Consumer Goods, Chemicals, Food & Beverages, and others.

Browse Full Report Details With TOC @  https://www.marketresearchfuture.com/reports/packaging-tapes-market-1406