#overhead crane warning safety light

[sharpeagle-tech]

Crane Accident Prevention & OSHA Regulations Guide

Between 2011 and 2017, the Census of Fatal Occupational Injuries (CFOI) reported a staggering total of 297 crane-related deaths. Mishaps caused by lapses in crane safety often put the lives of the crew members at risk and result in significant losse­s for the company. Imagine the impact of a crane malfunction on a bustling construction site or industrial setting. In such scenarios, crane lights can make all the difference. Making sure that crane­ safety lights work efficiently isn't a choice - it's a mandate to stop accidents and follow strict OSHA rule­s.

This blog explores the key role of crane safety lights in prote­cting workers and meeting OSHA standards. We­'ll look at the main causes of crane accidents and examine legal impacts and OSHA safe­ty guidelines. Our aim is to shed light on the proactive­ safety measures in high-risk se­ttings. By using safety lights properly, companies e­nsure compliance and create­ a secure work environment.

Want to discover how adding safety lights preve­nts crane accidents and boosts workplace safe­ty? Read on to understand the crucial role of crane safety lights in accident prevention and regulatory compliance.

Introduction to Crane Accident Injuries and OSHA Safety Regulations

Construction sites have­ huge cranes operating, where the­se machines lift heavy obje­cts on a daily basis. Their malfunctioning could cause terrible­ accidents, including workers getting injure­d or even dying. This is why companies are in a continuous pursuit for creating optimal working conditions and preventing these accidents. When you think about how crane mishaps also bring lawsuits and fine­s, these problems cost a ton too!

Crane­ accidents happen for differe­nt reasons. They occur mostly when operators and crew don't communicate well, or when safe­ty rules aren't followed prope­rly. Busy work areas only add to the chaos, and prevent proper communication. 

That's why OSHA has made strict crane safety rule­s, which exist to train operators correctly. Ignoring OSHA guidelines can bring about harsh penalties, lawsuits and reputation hits for the companies. At the minimum, safe­ty gear must be worn and gene­ral precautions should be taken to comply with the set safety standards.  

Putting crane safety first lowe­rs accident risk, by enabling clear communication when voice or clear line of sight are difficult to achieve.

By investing in training, safety equipment, and implementing OSHA regulations, you can create a safer working environment, reduce accidents, and protect the well-being of the workers.

Why Do Crane Accide­nts Happen

Crane mishaps can lead to grave­ injuries, property wreckage­, and even deaths. Grasping the­ roots of these incidents is ke­y to preventing future occurre­nces. Two primary factors result in crane accide­nts - lack of proper safety measure­s and miscommunication between crane­ handlers and nearby personne­l.

Lack of Proper Safety Procedure­s

Crane­ mishaps often happen due to the absence or inadequate­ implementation of safety protocols. This e­ncompasses insufficient training for crane ope­rators, neglecting regular mainte­nance and inspections, and disregarding manufacture­r guidelines. Often, organizations deprioritize crane safety, failing to take­ essential precautions. Without prope­r procedures in place, accide­nt risk surges significantly.

Miscommunication Betwee­n Operators and Surrounding Personnel

Effe­ctive communication is crucial for crane operations. Miscommunication can trigge­r disastrous results. Operators must communicate with signal persons and nearby workers to e­nsure safe crane move­ments. However, misunde­rstandings, unclear signals, and inadequate communication syste­ms can precipitate accidents. Chaotic construction site­s or vast industrial areas, where multiple­ tasks occur simultaneously, compound miscommunication challenges that de­mand attention.

Clear protocols are­ a must to stop misunderstandings leading to accidents. Ensuring proper visibility is key. Using radios and headse­ts to communicate on the worksite can help too. 

Fixing these­ problems caused by bringing in safety me­asures reduces crane­ accidents a lot. The next part talks about le­gal problems crane accidents can cause­. Following safety rules protects worke­rs and businesses, which is really important.

Potential Le­gal Implications of Crane Accidents

Crane mishaps carry se­vere legal conse­quences - for both the companies and individuals. Grasping the­se impacts is key to promoting workplace safe­ty, shielding workers. Seve­ral potential legal ramifications stem from crane­ accidents:

1. Claims for Personal Harm

Injured individuals may file­ claims seeking compensation for me­dical costs, pain/suffering damages, and lost income. The­se claims burden employe­rs financially, tarnishing their reputation and livelihoods.

2. Workers' Compensation Be­nefits

When accidents cause­ injuries/deaths, affecte­d employees re­ceive bene­fits. Covering medical treatme­nt, disability support, and survivor benefits for depe­ndents if worker passes.

3. Pote­ntial Lawsuits

If negligence/de­fective equipme­nt caused an accident, injured partie­s/families may sue the responsible­ party. By demanding substantial compensation for harm, lawsuits bring negative­ publicity and reputational damage.

Businesse­s should prioritize crane safety measure­s (proper training, OSHA compliance, using safety lights) to prote­ct employees, and mitigate­ costly legal risks. Emphasizing safety, and adhe­ring to regulations ensures safe­r workplaces, thus avoiding legal/financial burdens accompanying crane­ accidents.

OSHA Crane Safe­ty Regulations

The Occupational Safety and He­alth Administration (OSHA) sets key rules for crane­ safety at work. These guide­lines aim to keep worke­rs secure and avoid accidents. Following OSHA's crane­ regulations is vital for anyone operating crane­s or nearby.

Training Requireme­nts

A major part of OSHA's crane safety rules involves thorough operator training. OSHA demands operators unde­rgo comprehensive training to e­nsure safe crane use­. This training covers:

- Operating cranes and controls

- Load limits and capacitie­s

- Inspecting and maintaining cranes

- Proper rigging proce­dures

- Safe working distances

- Eme­rgency procedures

Employe­rs must provide this training and ensure ope­rator certification meets OSHA standards. Training programs should include­ written exams and practical tests to e­valuate operators' skills and understanding.

Docume­ntation

Apart from training, OSHA emphasizes proper docume­ntation. Employers must keep re­cords of operator certifications, training courses take­n, and operator performance e­valuations. This documentation proves compliance and e­nsures adequate training.

Safety Rule­s

OSHA provides clear crane safe­ty rules.  Here are­ the key guidelines:

The OSHA 1910.179 regulation provides comprehensive guidelines for the safe operation, inspection, and upkeep of overhead and gantry cranes utilized for heavy load handling. Encompassing machinery equipped with integral hoists or hoisting mechanisms, these guidelines extend to both lifting and lowering loads vertically while allowing horizontal movement along the x-y axis. This regulation applies to a wide range of cranes, including fixed and mobile varieties, whether manually operated or powered. These cranes may feature various operational modes such as cab-operated, floor-operated, overhead travelling, remote-operated, or power-operated configurations.

It’s important for managers to note that:

Communication is e­ssential. They should implement proper signals for e­asy, accurate understanding betwe­en crane operators and ground cre­w.

Ope­rators require a clear vie­w of load, path, and surroundings at all times. Thus, it’s important to address any obstructions that block visibility.

Inspections and crane­ maintenance are mandatory. Teams should always follow se­t procedures to identify pote­ntial safety issues early on.

Strict adherence to OSHA crane­ regulations helps preve­nt accidents, as it safeguards workers and avoids fine­s for non-compliance. All crane operation stakeholde­rs must know and rigorously follow OSHA crane safety rules.

Crane Accide­nt Prevention

Avoiding crane mishaps is crucial for workplace­ safety and worker well-be­ing. Implementing practical strategie­s and following OSHA rules can significantly reduce accide­nt risk. Important for crane safety are safe­ty lights, providing extra visibility and communication to prevent pote­ntial incidents.

Here are­ effective tips and strate­gies for preventing crane­ accidents:

1. Proper Training and Certification

Prioritizing prope­r training and certification for all crane operators is a must, e­nsuring competence and safe­ty standard adherence. Thorough re­putable organization training programs should cover technical skills and emphasize safety protocols.

Regular skill e­valuations and updates are key to maintaining ope­rators' proficiency and continued guideline­ compliance. Investing in comprehe­nsive training and ongoing skill developme­nt upholds the highest operation safe­ty and proficiency standards.

2. Follow OSHA Guidelines and Re­gulations

To maintain a safe work environment, close­ly adhering to OSHA's crane safety re­gulations is crucial. This involves understanding and impleme­nting communication protocols, adhering to load limits, and conducting routine inspections pe­r OSHA standards.

Advancing safety standards at your firm is vital, and following OSHA rule­s fosters a secure workplace­. Regular audits identify risks and uphold high safety protocols. This helps achieve the ultimate goal of these protocols at workplaces: protecting the crane staff.

3. Use Safe­ty Lights

SharpEagle's lights boost job site visibility for crane cre­ws. Made for crane safety, the­se robust lights provide prime line­-of-sight, aiding operators and ground teams for flawless operations. That’s why we urge companies to invest in safety lights to raise worksite­ safety standards, prioritizing the staff’s safety at all times.

4. Practice Effective Communication

Se­amless crane operations de­pend on clear team communication. Establish channe­ls between crane­ operators and ground personnel for smoothe­r workflows. Use hand signals, radios, and devices - whate­ver aids precise information transfe­r. Prioritizing open communication bolsters safety ste­ps and boosts jobsite efficiency.

Consistently maintaining e­quipment is vital. It ensures crane­s operate both safely and e­fficiently. Regular inspections, re­pairs, and preventive ste­ps keep cranes in e­xcellent condition.

Detaile­d records of each maintenance­ activity prove compliance during site che­cks. It's crucial for further inspections and audits, as it enables your crane to perform reliably for many years.

Following pre­ventive measure­s significantly reduces crane accide­nt risks. It creates a safer workplace­ for all involved individuals. Crane safety isn't me­rely a legal require­ment. It's a moral obligation, to protect workers' we­ll-being. It prevents pote­ntial financial and legal consequence­s too.

Conclusion

Crane safe­ty lights must never be ove­rlooked. They preve­nt bad accidents and ensure you're following OSHA rules. With crane safety lights, machines on construction site­s are easier to se­e and they communicate more effectively. Everyone knows what is happe­ning, and overall communication gets better on busy work are­as. This lowers the chances of accidents.

Having crane safety lights is hardly sufficient without quality assurance. SharpEagle Safety Lights are meticulously designed to ensure optimal safety and efficiency in industrial settings. Crafted with precision and engineered for reliability, our 72W Crane Light stands as a beacon of safety, illuminating the workspace with unparalleled clarity and precision.

Constructed with a robust aluminium body, these lights are built to withstand the rigours of industrial environments, offering durability and longevity. The adjustable mounting bracket, with a flexible range of 150 degrees up and down, allows for seamless installation and precise positioning, ensuring optimal visibility from any angle.

Key Features:

Emitting a powerful 72 Watts, these lights provide ample illumination for overhead crane operations.

Each light produces an impressive 12,000 lumens, casting a bright and clear beam to effectively delineate the working area.

Equipped with 24 high-intensity LEDs, these lights deliver consistent and reliable performance. Choose between striking Blue or Red LEDs, catering to different visibility requirements and preferences.

Opt for either a Line Beam or Spot Light configuration, providing flexibility to suit specific application needs.

With a remarkable lifespan of up to 50,000 hours, these lights offer long-term reliability and peace of mind.

Rated IP67, these lights are fully waterproof, ensuring performance even in the most challenging environments.

Capable of operating in extreme temperatures ranging from -40°C to 85°C, these lights thrive in harsh conditions.

Constructed with an aluminium die-cast housing, these lights prioritize durability and resilience.

Collaborate with SharpEagle, the leading partner in safety solutions to optimize your workplace safety standards. Visit our website to explore our complete range of products or connect with our experts for a free consultation call today!

You can call us at +971-4-454-1054 or mail us at sales@sharpeagle.uk

[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; iii

(not my gif) .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·: Paul Atreides x fem!reader previous next series masterlist

word count: 9.5k

summary:  Perhaps it is not polite to admit to your betrothed that you loathe the idea of wedding them, but Paul knows the feeling is more than mutual. 

warnings: canon-typical threats, violence, getting stabbed, etc. also smut - brief oral (f receiving), fingering, light choking, biting, very brief dubcon (Feyd), unprotected PiV, rough-ish, outdoor sex, fantasizing, hair pulling. sharing food, discussion of alcohol (?), and religious trauma/defiance

notes: a bit of a long chapter for this one - with smut as well as some probably boring politics! sorry LOL but as always please please leave comments or feedback, i love hearing reader's thoughts and takeaways!! :) thanks for all the love on the story, i hope yall are enjoying it. new update on AO3 coming soon as well so keep your eyes peeled for that xx

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Concerns Rise Over Destabilization of Sabberon

In the wake of the unseating of House Bourbon and the resulting power vacuum on Planet Sabberon, concerns are mounting over the potential for destabilization within the region. Situated on a crucial part of the galactic trade route, Sabberon's turmoil could have far-reaching implications for the economic prosperity of the Landsraad's trade routes.

With no governing body to maintain order, rising insurgent groups throughout the planet threaten to plunge Sabberon into chaos. The potential for conflict and upheaval remains a significant concern for the wider galactic community - but there has been no comment by the Emperor at this time. 

This all comes to head a month before the Imperium's Annual Referendum, wherein new negotiations on Space Trade Routes will be drawn, along with the final Arraignment of the House Bourbon. 

- Collected Galactic News report sent to Duke Leto Atreides, 10191. Caladan. 

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On the planet Sabberon, there is a trail that leads through the forest.

Past the Castle Bourbon, it winds up the slope of a mountain - and in the springtime, when the snow thaws and the glacier pours its icy veins into the rivers that trickle through the woods, the ground becomes spongy with wild grass. 

You crane your head to take in the towering mountains in the distance; They dominate over your vision, the caps bald with white snow reflecting so sharply that you have to squint. Those distant mountains never lose their ice even in the warm months, unlike the one you walk now. 

your hand reaches back across the soft fabric of the dress that covers your body, the sunlight shy and spring-like upon your exposed skin. Your feet are bare; cold, the tips of your toes stained with the dirt of the earthy soil as you pull a weight of warmth behind you. 

The trees rustle, bushes smacking gently against your bare arms as you make your way to a small, secluded clearing - protected by tall trees laden with chiffon ribbons of green; there are candles upon an offering pyre, loomed only by the Pine that grows tall and thick, towering so high that it disappears in the clouds. 

You're at peace. 

The sheet that lies beneath the safety of the Pine's branches welcomes your body as you lie, the sky streaking as the sun shoots pink and orange overhead. 

A body lies next to you; your eyes closed, you feel hands run up the side of your arm, caressing your side. Heat follows; your arm raises goosebumps but they're soothed over when a mouth lands on yours. 

His lips are eager, passionate, calm. You sigh into the kiss, hands reaching to the chest of your husband to find him bare; Skin hot, willing - desiring. 

Your breath catches; Try as you might, you cannot bring your eyelids to open, even as his fingers sneak up your bare thigh, slipping gently under your skirt to graze along your heat. pleasure follows his hand as you keen under his touch. 

Swallowing a gasp with his lips, your husband's fingers slip agonizingly slow into you; tingling with anticipation and desire, you let out a short moan. Your fingers clutch his shoulders; muscles strain underneath your nails as a phantom tickle graces across your forehead - you're unsure if it's yours, or his. 

His forearm is strong, his other hand cupping your neck as he slowly moves his fingers, stirring arousal and pleasure from the deepest pits of your memory. You'd expect to smell fresh forest, perhaps lustful sweat; yet you instead inhale and nearly choke on the tinny air that surrounds you. There is a vague, hazy observation somewhere in your mind: he smells different here, on the ground of the Sacred Pine. Not like the fresh, sea-salty clean of Caladan's soaps. Any thoughts of confusion at the metallic scent wash away as his hot lips trail down your throat, nipping at your heady skin when your head falls back onto the white sheet.

Following the soft moan you let out is a shush from his lips, gentle as the breeze through the needles of the trees; Ecstasy dances through you, lighting a fire of desire that has your legs squirming to close as your husband slides his lithe body between your thighs.

His presence is warm, thick - eager from the scent of you, the taste of you, the feel of you. 

Your eyes flutter open just a moment when his hands push, bunching your dress over your hips. The Pine stands tall above you; upside-down, you stare curiously as it sways, licks of heat igniting the top of it from the sky. The streaks in the sky look bizarre; almost unnatural, and a vague sense of unease strikes you before washing away.

The sun is dipping below the ridged peaks in the distance, but in the evening light, you frown as you stare upwards. It almost looks as if the branches of the Pine are... on fire; Before you can think too hard on it, his lips soothe over yours, pressing his own hardness against your eager heat. Your eyes roll back as a moan leaves your lips; the sound is warbled, as if fallen through a lake.

Your hands slide up his back, feeling the ridges of his spine as you go, gasping at the length pressing against your aching core. 

A wind whistles through the trees. In the quiet of the forest, you whisper softly, "I love you."

The words barely a breath against his lips as you fight against a smile of bliss. His hand snakes up to tug at your hair, exposing your neck to him as you hum, your eyes still shut in bliss. Your vision is blurry as lips find your throat, biting down and making you gasp harshly. 

The chill breeze flutters over your bare core, goosebumps cascading over every curve and fold of your body. But the more your husband bites down, the stronger the foreign smell on your him becomes. In a grunt of discomfort, you shove his mouth away from your throat - but his lips slide up to your ear, instead: 

"I know, pet."

A whisper - cold and sinister. A chill runs down your spine. Fear grips you tighter than a vice as you pull back in alarm, your heart pounding in your chest. 

Then it happens; a sharp pain punctures through you. 

With searing agony, you let out a blood-curdling scream, voice cracking as your eyes fly open. 

But as you look into your husband's eyes, you realize with horror that it's not Paul at all.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen smiles cruelly, watching with a hunger in his eyes as he pushes; but it isn't him, it's something else - your hand flies up to the pain between your ribs, gasping a choked breath as your grip covers his own, feeling the sickeningly familiar hilt protruding from you.

You look down in your terror.

In his hand, he holds your own nameday knife, the exposed part of its blade glinting in the dim light of the ceremonial candles that surround you. With a coldness in his gaze, Feyd leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, his breath hot against you and making your skin crawl.

Blood slowly seeps over your body, covering your dress and soaking the sheet below you, tainting the ritual in crimson. You cannot move, gasping in shock. 

"You're mine," he whispers, his voice possessive and malicious, his hand turning the blade deeper, smiling as you scream. "My wife." 

With a gasp, you jolt awake.

Your heart races as you struggle to catch your breath, the sensation of his touch still haunting you; a face hovers before you, and you lash out, fighting to get the body away from you. Your fist swings wildly from where you sit up, throwing as much power as you can in your blind haze. 

A hand catches your wrist mid-swing, effectively jerking you to the side as a gasp fills the room. For a moment, as your heart pounds, you consider how many moves it'd take to disarm your attacker - but when you blink yourself into focus, your stomach drops. 

Hestia, cheeks red as she breathes, her round eyes wide; her grip is firm, gentle, but her brows are knit with worry.

"-My lady," Her voice is airy, eyes searching your panicked gaze. "You were only dreaming."

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you blink rapidly, attempting to dispel the lingering tendrils of the nightmare that still cling to your consciousness. Dread fills you instantly, regret clasping your ribs in a deadly embrace. "My god," You whisper, eyes filling with unwilling tears, "I-I'm sorry," you stammer, the weight of your actions crashing down upon you as you realize what you've done. "Are you okay? Hestia, I didn't mean to-"

Her expression softens and she gives your hand a gentle squeeze, offering you a reassuring smile, her voice is soft with compassion. "It's alright, my lady," she says, "You were frightened. Anyone would react the same way."

You know she's lying to be nice. Guilt gnaws at your insides as you realize the harm you could have caused, and you feel a lump form in your throat. "I wouldn't hurt you," you say firmly, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. She blinks, noticing the absence that must linger in your stare. 

Hestia's smile remains unwavering as she shakes her head gently. "I know, my Lady," she says, her tone filled with understanding. "And you didn't. I'm just glad you're alright."

The bruises and marks from your old life took several days to fade after your arrival on Caladan, but she, nor the other maids, ever said anything when they'd smoothed makeup over the bitemark on your neck, slipped a tunic over the jagged scar on your ribs, or pulled the mourning veil over your face. Each of them are soft in their own way - kind, loving, talkative, and loyal to their House; and Hestia is your favorite. You never found this kind of humanity on Giedi Prime. 

Even after you and Hestia finish your breakfast, and she helps you dress, she doesn't ask about the dream. And you don't tell her. 

It is certainly not the first of these dreams you've had - yes, you've been dreaming of that place nearly every night since you arrived here; the mountains, the hills, the pathway to the open clearing with the large tree. Each night, it calls to you, singing a song you cannot hear; but never, not until now, had there been a man with you. 

Never had Paul nor Feyd-Rautha found you in those dreams.

A sharp pain to your side reminds you of that phantom knife stuck through your ribs, of the cold stare of the man you once thought you’d be with forever. You'd woken in fear from the nightmare, but the beginning of the dream had been... pleasant, extremely so - and it was because of... 

Paul, your mind reminds you, as you swallow the unease in your stomach.

No doubt in your mind, it is Sabberon in your dreams - you'd know those trees, that Pine, anywhere. But the sheet on the ground, the altar, the chiffon ribbons in the trees, the candles- it felt almost like a ritual. You've never seen nor heard of such a place in all your years. 

Dressing you is a solemn affair this morning. The worst moment of hesitation comes when Hestia holds up the necklace; it shines in the rays of sunlight, glistening with the precious stone that carves out the emblem of the Atreides hawk. Your jaw tightens when you back your head away from her slightly. 

She's not unused to this; it's been half a week since it was given to you, and each day you have bared your teeth as she clasps it around your neck - yet still, you wear it. Her eyes find yours, swimming; she can tell where your mind's gone so easily.

"You said he apologized?" She asks tentatively, and you huff a short laugh. "Yes. Only after I told on him to his parents, like a child. He probably hates me more, now." 

She gives you an incredulous look as she clasps the necklace over your neckline.

"He gifted you a family heirloom - my lady, look at it! This thing is older than the two of us combined." She is lighthearted, but it does not quell your distress. 

Your teeth worry into your bottom lip as you hum gently. "It's not as simple as that." You say with a shrug. Your eyes cast down, where your bare feet stand against the floor. For a minute, you see wild grass under them; a white sheet, blood seeping through it and onto your toes. Averting your gaze, you clear your throat. "I think he wants me to remember who holds the reins." 

A hand on your shoulder snaps you back into your own bedchambers and you swallow thickly. Her face holds nothing but honesty. "Or, it's his way of trying to welcome you as a part of House Atreides. He is not sinister, I promise, just slow to trust." 

You send her a look, "You seem to know Lord Paul quite well, Hestia." you say, not accusatory, but teasing.  

She, as expected, flushes red; you have to hide your smirk. "Nothing-nothing like that, my Lady." she insists, shaking her head. "My mother was the handmaiden to Lady Jessica. He is just a few years older than I - In some ways, though I am but a servant, Paul and I were reared almost as siblings." 

You nod gently, watching her face contort into something very warm, less embarrassed, "I've got no siblings of my own, but sometimes I think he is exactly what a brother should be." She shrugs. "Kind, thoughtful, always willing to lend an ear. Quite loyal, always standing up for what he believes is right, no matter the cost - and, if you'd believe it, he can be quite funny sometimes."

No matter the cost - like ruining a betrothal to a woman he thinks is a Harkonnen spy? You hide your grimace, knowing Hestia is only wishing to soothe your mind. Instead you force a smile, hoping it appears more brilliant than you feel.

"I always seemed to fight with my siblings." Your voice is melancholy - the idea of having someone so close, so familiar, feels like a distant dream now. "But they were my favorite people in this entire universe." You smile wistfully, clearing your throat as you slide on the hand jewelry she offers to you. She doesn't say anything, and you're grateful for it. 

"Family, by blood or bond, is a precious thing." You reason, pulling up your trousers and slipping on your shoes. 

Hestia nods in agreement, her own wistful smile playing on her lips. "Indeed, my lady."

You eye your reflection in the mirror on the wall; You stare sullenly back at yourself- beautiful, yes - but miserable. A dog with a collar for the Atreides leash. 

She claps, "Now, let's get you to this War Council." 

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Paul lets out a sharp sigh.

An aseptic scent pierces his nostrils, contaminating his brain; Distracting him. The castle can become very sterile, deep in the more secluded chambers - the air has a chill to it, sharp with some kind of disinfectant.

"Concentrate, Paul.” His mother’s voice is low but commanding, "Project your will."

He can’t bring himself to look up - his mother stands just a few paces away, her eyes boring into him. Focus. He needs to focus.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he hums gently - flames flicker up the sides of his vision, though he pushes through - a large tree, smoke leaking from somewhere above where it pierces the clouds. A sigh of his name in his ear, hands tugging the curls at the nape of his neck. His nostrils flare as he shakes his head, letting out a small groan of irritation. Focus.

Within him, an energy builds; But as he begins to speak, a strange sense of trepidation washes over his spine, a nagging suspicion of unease. He falters in his words for a moment, confidence waning as doubts crept into his mind.

It's silent for a moment, before she sighs from across the room. “You’re distracted this morning, Paul." she states, her tone neutral. He bites back a sharp I know - instead he sighs, his shoulders dropping. “I didn’t sleep well.” He excuses, pacing towards the water pitcher. She follows, reaching for the glass he offers to her as she hums in thought. 

“Dreams?” She reads him so well. 

He pauses; Frankly, there is a giving degree to which he understands the Bene Gesserit’s plans for him, and this alone is cause for hesitation. He remembers the sheer pain from that box all those years ago, just after he'd heard the Reverend Mother tell his own lady mother that there were two candidates - for what, he still doesn't know - and that Paul may one day be one of them. 

He isn't sure what it meant, but there is a very sick feeling in his stomach that perhaps these dreams have to do with it. 

"Yes." He acquiesces, knowing she would have seen straight through any lie he'd fabricate. "I've been having dreams," he admits reluctantly, gaze drifting to the floor. He knows how it is about to sound. "Vivid dreams...of Sabberon." 

To an untrained eye, no one would be able to read his mother's emotions. But Paul's eyes are indeed quite trained; A flicker of concern passes through her. "Sabberon?" She echoes, her tone careful, the way it becomes when discussing matters of great import. "And what do you see in these dreams?"

Paul hesitates, the memory still fresh in his mind; in the beginning, it is always soft skin, toes imbued with the dirt. Soft whispers of his name from lips he has yet to truly see. 

And then there is your body, the skin of your thighs shaking as his lips move lower and lower. The gentleness of your sigh as he holds your hips down, the glint of a blade's hilt almost golden in the reddening sun. Your gown, thin and blowing in the breeze, the same color as the veil which still conceals your face from his wanting gaze even in the dying light; Streaks of color in the sky, snow falling around you. The soft fabric bunching by your hips, lying down softly on a white sheet. Your chest tremoring in the flickering light of ceremonial candles; Your own breath, warm and willing, upon his neck, hands moving lower towards his waistband. A soft moan, the smell of ash- 

He swallows thickly, staring at his mother with hesitation, jaw clenching.

He clears his throat, "I always see..." He chooses carefully the truths he will forgive, "a white blanket covering the ground," he murmurs, his words heavy with uncertainty. "Above, there's a great pine tree burning. Visions of...knives, and streaks through the sky; I think they are missiles. And we are there together... she and I."

"Lady Bourbon?" His mother repeats, her brow lifting. Paul nods, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. 

"I'm not sure why it's always the same dream," he admits, his voice barely audible. "Perhaps I've been reading about Sabberon too much."

He can't shake the feeling that there's something important waiting for him on Sabberon; It's true - you have become a frequent visitor in his dreams. Always there, always you - and somehow, he knows it's Sabberon. He sees it burning; he sees it up in flames, and sometimes, you with it. 

Lady Jessica sets her unused glass of water down on the table. "Be cautious with your dreams, Paul. Listen to them, learn from them." she urges, words leaving no sense of comfort in his chest. "Dreams are  messages from the deep."

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Though it was but late morning, the Strategy Council found you quite weary.

You sit, toying with your fingers as you drown in a sea of House Atreides; The only solace in the room is your shortsword, laid in front of you on the table for all to see. Certainly a warning, this time. 

Nearly everybody you've met of importance is in attendance - the table is large and long, so much so that you know you will have to project your voice to be heard by the dredges of your periphery. War masters, strategists, women and men with intense stares and the symbol of house Atreides upon their clothing. 

After the table is full, Duke Leto begins the discussion with a brief introduction - you have yet to meet a handful of these advisors, and in your own introduction you have to fight hard not to sound too sharp or calculating, your eyes skittering to observe the details of your listeners from behind the veil. Worse than this is the fight to stifle your yawn as the duke reviews intelligence reports; Gritting your teeth, you sit up straighter. Now is not the time for your body and mind to punish you for the lack of sound sleep.

In an unfortunate glance beside the duke, you're startled - Paul, who sits beside his father, stares at the pendant hanging from your neck. A wash of chills fall down your spine. 

Until now, there's lived a cold silence between the two of you that has not been broken since it began the night he gave you the necklace. Cordial nods or a tight-lipped smile from him in passing, whenever a house member is around; nothing more would dare be said. 

If you'd been less indulged in your studies and training, or he less prideful, perhaps it would not have gone on this long - but seeing as you've barely been in the same room once since that dreadful dinner several days ago, it's no different. You aren't to be wed until the end of this year, but you know sometime soon, you will have to learn to live with him. 

Paul does not notice your attention on him for some time as his father speaks beside him; He is seemingly in his own world, gazing intently at the necklace in a way that gives you a rush of unease.

Suddenly, green eyes flicker upwards to find your own; You're unsure how he does it each time, for you know your face is well concealed unless only a foot away from you. It shocks you to your core anyways, and images unwelcome fly into your mind's eye.

Curls that kiss your forehead as he tilts his head down; His hand snaking up the bareness of your thigh. 

You swallow thickly, shifting in your seat. It's bad enough to dream of Feyd-Rautha, but now you're flushing like a child each time you catch your husband-to-be's eyes - like some innocent maiden; catching those very same eyes which regard you as a pawn on the chessboard of his House, no less.

There is not a part of you so vain as to lie and say Paul is not extremely attractive. With his dark curls, sharp angles, plush lips, and that cool voice, anybody with eyes or ears can tell. But even just this innocent observation makes you fight the urge to rip off the necklace, to scream at him - I am not yours to keep like a pet!  But before you can do much of anything, his gaze is gone from you, turning his attention to the matter at hand.

Begrudgingly, you try to do the same. 

Your eyelids droop as you fight to stare at the duke, who speaks in what you can only perceive as background noise as your mind soldiers on against your own will.

"Lady Bourbon?"

Your eyes snap up, heart suddenly beating hard under the shockingly paternal stare of Duke Leto. In fact, through the silence, you observe that every eye is on you expectantly, including Paul. He's concerned, it seems, as you snap out of your reverie, the embarrassment flooding you; Paul's green eyes bore into you just from the Duke's left.

"Apologies, my Lord," you clear your throat, willing your cheeks to stop flushing from the attention. "I've been having trouble sleeping lately. I've been having some...odd dreams," you admit reluctantly under his gaze, "they've been keeping me awake at night. Can you repeat yourself?"  

You do not miss the way that Lady Jessica's eyes flick to her son; His own gaze casts suddenly downwards, as if deep within his own mind. Whatever she is thinking, he clearly is avoiding - there is but little pause from the rest of the council, thankfully. Thufir Hawat denotes a remedy in the form of an elixir you can take before sleep that should help you - the Duke orders a servant to have it brought to your quarters this evening, and you forget all about the look shared between Lady Jessica and Paul.

You're painfully alert after this, and when you are finally called upon to share your thoughts, it is by Gurney Halleck. He leans forward, "My lady, you mentioned certain endeavors during your time on Giedi Prime. What do you know of their Spice exploits?" 

Your jaw ticks when eyes across the room fall to you, wishing to rid yourself of the cursed veil that constricts your face. Sitting forward, you clear your throat. "I do not know much of their spice harvesting - and it must be said that what I know is mostly second-hand. I learned most of it through Feyd-Rautha."

A murmur from the end of the table, one you are quick to squash; "He is vicious, but he has his own weaknesses that the other Harkonnens lack." You refuse to drop the duke's stare as the implications of your words settle into everyone's minds. "Spice is not their only source of power."

Eyes watch you, captivated. Feeling for once like you hold power over them, you continue. "They have large petroleum reserves - I've seen them, they're never-ending."

This makes the duke shift in his seat; likewise, Paul's brows furrow in thought. 

"From what I can piece together, my family was recording Harkonnen reserves and monitoring their activity with the Spacing Guild - not just for spice, but petroleum. I was none the wiser until after they were caught, but of course, who is to believe me?" You eye Paul at your words. He looks away, something like guilt on his face, as you continue. "-Which is why the Great Houses likely allowed for me to be brought to Caladan. In case I know something." Your eyes fall to Duke Leto. "Am I right, my Lord?" You ask. The room is quiet as your information is absorbed. 

"Yes." He agrees, eyes filled with intrigue, "We were... concerned about any acts of retaliation to our house after this ruling, and though it hasn't come yet, we need to be prepared." 

You nod. "When the betrothal was annulled, they were distraught." you say honestly, catching the guarding of several glances, "Not for some attachment to me, mind you. Feyd-Rautha was the worst of them when it came to the dissolution of our engagement, but the truth is simply that Harkonnens do not like when their toys are taken away from them." 

At the silence, you push forward, "Thufir Hawat has been tutoring me; I understand that the majority of the trading exports from Caladan are agriculture - fine wine and rice?" 

"Yes." Paul speaks up from beside his father. You nod, the chain along your headdress chiming slightly as you hold his stare for a moment. You wet your lips, "The Baron could easily flood the galactic market with cheap petroleum with almost no externalities for himself. An influx of cheap fuel like that could disrupt the transportation networks - the market would be saturated by the Harkonnens within days."

A moment as the information is taken in. "This would disrupt our direct trade access from our system to most others without use of the Spacing Guild." Thufir adds. The duke still looks at you, urging you to continue. You do.

"What I fear," you clasp your hands, "Is the vacuum left on Sabberon. There is no governing body now that my family has been eliminated." Your voice is cold, blunt; unemotional. "If Harkonnen boots hit ground there, they could take control of the planet's resources and exports. Harkonnen battalions could easily squash the insurgent groups there."  

"Sabberon's industries are commercial fishing, fir, logging." Says a woman a few seats from you, leaning to find your gaze.

You turn, nodding, "Yes, perhaps, but I more mean the glacial deposits within our mountain ranges - they contain precious minerals and ores whose compounds are valuable for industrial applications." You say, clearing your throat as you set down the pneumatic tubes you'd prepared before the council, "I've documented, to the best of my ability, what I remember here. Feyd-Rautha knows about Sabberon; I believe it is fair to assume the Baron does, too." 

In the lull of the moment, you think back to those days ago - Feyd’s hand on your neck, his smile black - You're mine to keep. There's plenty of life left for you to serve.  

Paul leans forward, brows furrowed. "If that region is destabilized- or controlled by Harkonnens - we will lose our all our exports. Giving them access to the resources is bad enough, but an almost-monopoly on petroleum, spice, and the Space Trade Route?" His brows furrow and you fight the spark of intrigue that courses through you at his intelligence. 

You nod, finding his eyes once again. Gurney Halleck speaks from diagonal you. "We need to consider our options carefully. If the Harkonnens make a move, we must be ready to respond, but acting first could have larger consequences." 

Duke Leto nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "Halleck's right. The Referendum is quickly approaching - the Landsraad will be redrawing the Trade negotiations then," his eyes flicker to you, "-and your arraignment is set for the same congress. We'll have to wait." 

Dread fills you; The meeting ends with a sense of urgency - plans are drawn out to set more strategy meetings before the Referendum, you are requested to record and attend them. Then you escape very narrowly by insisting to Duncan Idaho that you must rest today and postpone your weapons training, which he mercifully agrees with.

By the time you return to your chambers, you are much too exhausted to seek lunch. Instead, you are asleep within minutes. 

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Your name calls to you. 

You respond with a slight hum as you thread hands through hair; foggily, birds chirp in the distance, the sun setting as streaks fly across the sky. Flakes falls gently around you, but it does not smell of snowfall; a bonfire must be lit nearby - you can hear the crackling, smell the heady cedar embers.  

Your hair is tugged in a surprising manner and you gasp, catching the flicker in green eyes when you bring your eyes back to the body before you. "That hurt." You say, no real malice in your voice. 

The sound of your words is floating, faint, as a hand grips your jaw, tilting it up. "I'm very sorry," he says, not even trying to cover the lie, "Let me ease the pain.” A whisper, gentle against your lips. A faint chuckle when he nips down your exposed neck; His hands are incredibly daring, slipping your dress over your head until you're bare for him and the forest. The breeze of springtime is chill and disarming against your flesh as his fingers trace you. 

You feel nothing but arousal as he sinks lower, lips painting his way up your thighs, biting gently into the meat of your flesh; A swat to the top of his head and a short groan from him in response as you bite back a smile.

"Paul," you whisper, "come back to me." 

He listens, though he usually doesn't. His lips are replaced by his hips as he rolls them against your aching core; a gentle moan that echoes through the air. It is chilly, but his skin is warm. His lips are warm. 

"but I'm here, aren't I?" He asks, eyes staring into yours, "I'm always here." 

He slides into you with a groan, his fist thudding against the trunk of the tree behind your head. You let out a long whimper, arousal consuming you as your back arches.  Any semblance of chivalry is gone when he starts to move; A hand sneaking up from your hip, over your breasts, pinching a pert nipple before rising, fingers wanting, to grip around the necklace that lies on your chest. 

A finger traces over the emblem - a hawk, blue and shining, over your sweat-sheened, thundering chest. 

Barely a moment before he's ripping with force; the necklace breaks and falls apart, stones and pearls rolling over your bare torso and onto the sheet below you.

Muttering something about needing you bare for him - you can't quite catch it for all you know is pleasure as he starts to roll his hips into you. His hand snakes up further once having freed your neck; wrapping around your throat. He is not gentle, he is not slow; because he is your husband, and he knows you like the back of his hand. A groan from his lips as his hand squeezes over your neck, your gasp of ecstasy swallowed by his tongue. A whispered phrase, over and over, spilling from your lips and his - lulling you into a state of euphoria as his body rocks with yours. 

"I'm yours." 

Something rouses you from sleep, much quicker this time, and you wake with a start.   Broad daylight streams through your chamber windows when your eyes open, your heart thundering as you shift on the sheets. A blurry form comes into view, fluffing the untouched pillow beside you on the bed. 

"Bad dream again, my lady?" Hestia asks as she sets down a fresh set of clothing; you swallow your and wince at your dry throat, heart thudding. Bad dream... You can feel your face flood with embarrassment.

You'd rather be caught dead than admit what you'd just dreamt, so instead you push your hair from your face, fanning your cheeks. "Yes." You croak, accepting the glass of water she offers you. The sky is sunny - not a single raincloud - and suddenly your chambers feel heavy, tight. 

"I need some fresh air."  

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The midday sun casts a short shadow as Paul walks along the meadow.

The breeze is much more permanent down by the shore; he brushes strands away from his eyes. It's only a few hours until he should be back in the chambers with his father, helping draw plans for the upcoming Referendum, but he needs some fresh air. 

His mind is stuck high above him, recalling the Strategy Council meeting. Paul would be struck dead a liar if he were to say you were not one of the most intelligent women he's met; after this morning, there is nothing much else he has been able to think of. The growing bud of admiration sprouts in him, considering your predisposition to violence and solitude.

Paul almost feels foolish for how blinded he was - if war is really on the horizon, he supposes it's very lucky that House Atreides took you in. If not for your capabilities and sharp intellect, then for your claim to Sabberon; Harkonnen power in that region would be detrimental in a war. 

It’s now as important as ever that Paul ensures you remain on the Atreides’ side, should this war come; a burden to hold you should you somehow wish to return to the black embrace of Giedi Prime, but one he will have to keep. 

You are too valuable to his House to let you go over trivial things. Politics are often two way streets; you will help them with your insights and they will protect you. 

For a moment, he sees that lush green forest again; a woodpecker against bark, your hands sliding into his as you lean him back against the trunk of a tree, the smell of smoke, an explosion on the horizon.

Paul sighs harshly. 

He's not sure if it was a smart decision to tell his mother about these dreams instead of his father; skepticism rolls over him in droves as his feet trudge over the cliff and down, closer to the beach. Paul loves his mother, but he is not naive to the manipulative nature of the Bene Gesserit - indeed, his entire existence is a product of their breeding program, and he is almost certain it is again why the Houses were ordered for you to be spared and betrothed to him. 

A small whisper in the back of his mind, the sickly voice of that Reverend Mother those years ago: Two candidates... Paul may one day be one of them. 

The skittering of a rabbit through the grass and under a rock calls his attention to the path, his jaw clenched tight. 

There is a small alcove - one of many below the cliffs which hold a number of tidepools small and large - on his path to the beach that catches his eye, just on the left. A soft smile grows on his weary lips. When he was younger, he often times used to play in these alcoves with the few other children his age in the castle, swimming, playing hide-and-seek, sparring with wooden daggers. 

His feet take him into the alcove without any hesitation, and it isn't until he's into the shade that he sees the figure seated among the pools.

You're wearing the same clothing you'd donned at the Strategy Council, your feet dipped into the shallow waters, back rigid as you turn to him. Even through the waves that lap against the rocks in this alcove, the silence that has lingered between you since Paul had gifted you the heirloom is thick and taunting him. 

With a tentative swallow, Paul takes a few steps closer. "I hadn't expected to find you here." His voice is carefully neutral, honest.

You stare from somewhere beyond the gauzy veil; your fingers twitch towards the blade on your hip. "Nor I, you," you reply coolly. The silence is uneasy; Paul, for his pride, does not wish to stay and endure this kind of agony, but he knows better. 

He doesn't ask if you mind if he joins you, because he knows that you would mind. He sits down anyway, leaving a wide berth of space between you. 

He can see you bristle, stiffening as he lowers himself to sit across from you - he supposes he can’t blame you.

You cradle your hand peculiarly as you look over the tide pool that he slowly dips his feet into, discarding his shoes on his right. The pain is almost palpable in your silence as he looks down at where you rub the skin of your hand, swollen and red. 

“I assume you found the crabs.” He observes. There is a headdress of jewelry adorning your veil today that looks quite heavy when you move - the delicate metal pendants chime when you turn your head to look at him, a hint of surprise laced into your posture.

“I did.” You agree, showing him your blistered, irritated hand; He winces more for your sake than in true surprise before letting his eyes roam. Moss grows in clumps throughout the rocky pools, his eyes searching for the stalky root that grows naturally just outside the reach of the water- with a quick tug, the plant nearest to him is ripped out.

“You can use this plant here.” He hands you the root of the stalk, gesturing for you to take it. Hesitantly, as if sensing a trap, you do; He nods. “Chew it.” 

You do nothing but breathe at him for a moment - if he could see your eyes, he’s sure he would find disbelief. Skepticism.

”It soothes the itch and the pain. Chew it and spit it onto your palm.” He orders, losing patience. "It's not poisonous." He affirms, lifting a brow at you. I'm not trying to kill you, he almost says; but something in him stops the words before they leave his mouth. 

He swears he hears a huff before the root disappears under your veil; he can just make out the shape of your teeth, biting down apprehensively on the stalk, before starting to chew. Your eyes flicker to him and he watches expectantly - from years of habit, he is used to the milky taste, but he remembers how unpleasant it can be. 

When you spit it out onto your palm, your eyes flicker up to stare at him, as if questioning if you were doing it right. Barely seen through your veil, he almost feels his face heat up; A trail of spit falls from your lips slowly and he is harshly reminded of the dream he'd woken up from this very morning. 

He urges the thought away, feeling a sense of panic, as if you could read his mind. So instead, Paul turns to watch the waves lap idly against his feet as you rub the mixture into your palm.

"How did you know to do that?" You ask, your voice curious. Your fingers not occupied with the paste push against the spongy moss; he's reminded of that first day, when you'd mentioned never seeing plants like it. 

Squinting against the sunshine as he looks out onto the beach, his left shoulder shrugs. "I used to get pinched a lot when I was a kid." 

You don't necessarily laugh, but there's an exhalation from your nose that makes his own lips curve slightly. When you reach to rinse your hand in the pool before you, the angry skin has returned to its glowing health. In the moment of silence, waves crashing very quietly within the cove and he hears the unmistakable rumble of your stomach. 

He must learn to live with you, he reminds himself. Be kind, earn trust. 

"Are you hungry?" He asks suddenly, clearing his throat. Your hand has taken to drawing idle circles in the tidepool when you shrug, "I slept through lunch today."

A moment of hesitation before he looks over his shoulder at you. He pulls out the food that he'd taken from the kitchen - apples, crackers, some imported cheese, sparkling juice from the vineyards. 

"This was all for you?" You ask, incredulously. Paul bristles defensively, giving you a look, "I was hungry." 

There's something very foreign to him about what's happening; with a hard blink, he thinks back to the last week, when all he could see when he looked at you was red. The council meeting today left him with a few more questions than he'd expected - it could be true, what you said about your family and the Harkonnens. 

"If I may confess," Your voice is light as you look down sheepishly; Paul's attention falls to you. "The veils have never made it easy to enjoy a long supper. They tangle in my hair no matter how it's styled, anyways." 

Paul huffs a short laugh despite himself - a hint of a joke, from you? He has known many women in his life to wear veils, but never in a custom such as yours; to not remove it in front of anybody for months and months of mourning - He cannot fathom how bizarre a change it must be, even if it is how you were raised. 

So when your hands raise, he does not expect them to go towards the hem of the fabric.

And the moment the veil slides from your head, he's turning his head sharply away; What in the hell are you doing? His heart beats hard, despite himself. In his surprise, he cannot find words. 

"I don't mean to shock you." You say suddenly, and your voice seems very close. "Truth be told, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to wear these still." 

He stares down at the moss and dark rock that you sit upon; thoughts whirl in his head until you throw kindle to the fire. "You don't have to look away, my Lord. I'm still the same beast as before." 

He does look, after that. He stares at you - really you - no fabric to cover the slope of your nose, the curve of your chin, the round of your cheeks - the way your eyebrows move over the most expressive eyes he's ever seen. Your hair is much more beautiful like this - textured, uncovered, being blown gently by the sea breeze. He wonders if Feyd-Rautha enjoyed your hair, unique as it likely was on a planet full of hairless beings. 

He schools himself. Normally, he'd be truthfully ecstatic to see that he has such a beautiful bride-to-be; yet it just serves to wash over another pang in his stomach. I'm still the same beast as before.

There is some inevitability to your gaze - disfavored to him, but perceptive, knowing. The sound of a saw must be known by a tree, Dr. Yueh once told him. Perhaps that is true, and perhaps that is why Paul stares at you, the sense of mistrust having mingled with a new sense of dread, of regret. 

You are no beast to me, he should say, but he doesn't; he knows better than to lie. "Why did you take it off?" He asks instead, still slightly astonished. You blink; heavens, your lashes are long, they kiss your cheeks. 

"I can't eat with it on, and I'm quite hungry." you reason, reaching for some of the cheese between you. 

"I thought you wore them for seven months." He states, tilting his head, as you begin to eat, "The anthropologists in the video said-" 

"-Seven months?" You interrupt, voice more animated than he's ever heard; it nearly startles him, the youth in your voice, the life. "That's a very long time. It's only been three weeks and I'd already like to burn them." 

Confusion must paint his expression, for your face changes sheepishly. "Forgive me, I am not well-versed in my own customs." Your voice is stony, a quick change from your previous cadence. His brows furrow. 

"My family did not often uphold many of the old religion's traditions, from what I remember. I was educated by the Bene Gesserit as my mother wished when I was young, and our family adopted their ways in replacement of the heritage religion. I was eighteen when I left Sabberon, but our castle was so full of visitors that we would often forgo the customs of my father's family." 

This is certainly not what Paul expected - why, then, have you been wearing the veil so devotedly? Your voice is regretful and if he didn't know any better, your voice was wary when mentioning the Bene Gesserit. 

"I have a book," He clears his throat when you look at him, confused. "If you- if you want to read more about it." 

You fix him with a look, "A book?" 

"About your family's customs. We thought it would be pertinent to know what your courting traditions are." He reasons. "If we are to marry, it should be honorable for both of us." 

It's as if his words send you into your own mind; your eyes become distant, he can see it clearly now that the veil is gone. You're deep in thought for a few moments, but he's unsure how to pull you from those cold depths of your own thoughts. "Oh." you say, voice once again that blank, cold tone - as if a wall had been snapped up suddenly. " I only saw the women of my family wear the veils once, when my sister died. I can't remember how long they wore them." 

This is a surprise to him, as his eyes find the necklace you wear around your neck. They shoot up to you just as quick, searching your face for any emotion. He finds none. 

I shall wear it like a dog. 

"The veil was not your choice?" He breathes, surprised. You shake your head, "I just very recently found myself able to make choices for myself for the first time in many years," You gesture to the veil that lies with its adorning metal headpiece to your left, "taking it off is one of them. Feyd-Rautha did not wish for me to wear anything from my home, but I am making the choice for myself now." 

The reminder of your former home is almost jolting to Paul; when you arrived on Caladan, Duncan's arm still bleeding with the result of your fight, Paul had seen a Harkonnen. A wolf, in sheep's clothing. 

Now, perhaps the Caladan air has changed you; Though you do not look a bit well-rested, there are healing wounds on your arms - wounds that make his stomach turn when he wonders how you got them - and you are not so fervent or distrusting as you were those first few days. You walk with less wrath, more credence; You speak with your chambermaids freely, you take sparring lessons with Duncan after Paul's every day, and tutor in the mornings before he does. Your voice was strong, confident at the council this morning; as if born to take on such a role. He looks at you. You will make a good duchess one day. 

Your eyes are large - searching his face and it occurs to him that perhaps this is also the first time you have seen him unobstructed. He lets you stare, taking in the silence and relishing secretly in its change in demeanor; no longer excruciating with the sentiment of shared disdain and mistrust. Something shifted this morning at the meeting: Mutual respect, or the roots to it. Understanding.

"May I ask you something?" He asks gently, looking at you seriously. 

It is a beautiful collar. I shall wear it like a dog. Fatigued from his lessons, the council, the marriage, the prospect of war with the Harkonnens, of his dreams; his head feels like it's swimming. Your brows dip slightly, as if your hackles are rising. "Yes." 

He swallows, "Do you choose to wear that pendant?" 

You lick your lips in thought and he waits patiently. When you speak, it is careful, stoic. "Sometimes, we wear symbols not out of choice, but out of necessity."

This does not ease his conscience. 

You, shockingly, speak up again after a few minutes in which you and he both eat the food laid before you silently; it occurs to Paul that this is the most you and him have spoken without being plagued by tense silences or passive-aggression - or been mediated by his parents as they ask you both questions at the supper table. 

"Did you intend on drinking yourself drunk this afternoon?" You ask, brow lifted. He shakes his head, shrugging with one shoulder as he follows your gaze to the bottle that lies unopened in his bag. The whiplash you've given him switching subjects has left him unable to jest back. 

Intending to be alone, Paul had not grabbed a glass, let alone two; he grasps the bottle, twisting on the cage atop it to begin to open it. "It's sparkling tea." 

You hum, shrugging, "Shame. I've never tried wine." You say. Paul's eyes flicker to you in surprise; Had you not been offered wine at supper here? Had you never had it in your youth as a highborn? 

"Not even when you were young?" He asks, shocked. You shake your head, a wistful smile gracing your lips; your hair is glossy even in the shade - Paul didn't expect it to be such a color, but suits you. "Never," you reply, "Where I come from, our preferred drinks are mead or ale, usually served warm in the winter. And..." You trail off, clearing your throat, "On Giedi Prime they favor a kind of liquor made from anise - you know, the spice?" You ask. He nods. "It's much too bitter and strong," you continue, your voice tinged with a similar bitterness. "I tried not to drink it when I could."

Paul looks out to the ocean - clouds have started to roll in, and the air feels thicker. It'll rain this evening, then. "In the South, all that grows are fields and fields of vines," He explains, recalling the last trip with his father to the South. "They make all kinds of fine wine there. Sweet, sparkling, aged." 

You hum, looking out to the ocean as well, your eyes clouded with thought. 

The lunch passes by in intermediate silence after this: Both you and Paul are insatiable, and in minutes the food is nearly gone. Besides, he is well consumed with his own thoughts to give him the company you do not provide. 

Though as you continue on, clearly trying your hardest to remain amiable with him, a sense of regret bubbles in his chest. 

"I owe you an apology." He starts out of the blue, mouth dry. You jump slightly at his sudden voice, but he refuses to look at you as he continues, "I've been acting like a child." This causes a flicker of surprise through your features; in his peripheral, you turn to him.

"I didn't expect for it to happen like this." He lifts a corner of his mouth mirthlessly, emotionless as he stares out to the ocean- an understatement on his part, and surely in the eyes of you, but it's true.

Perhaps it is not polite to admit to your betrothed that you loathed the idea of wedding them, but he knows the feeling is more than mutual.

He's not usually one for so many words, but they come forth very easily in the quiet of the cove. "I was furious with how things worked out, and I was shocked, but- that doesn't excuse how I've treated you."  You don't say anything, but he can feel how tense you've grown - his own shoulders are tense, his jaw tight as he runs a hand over his face. 

You have every reason to hate the Harkonnens just as much as they do.

The thunderclouds loom in the horizon despite the sunny sky just outside the alcove.

In a moment of resignation, he says your first name; Never having said it out loud, it comes out as a murmur on his lips, a small hymn that makes your eyes snap to his immediately. "We didn't choose this path, but we can choose how we walk it together."

Your breathing is heavy with emotion, but he is not naive enough to believe it is tears - "Yes, we can." You finally say, your voice dispassionate, withdrawn. He looks out where your gaze hits the crashing waves, staring at the foamy white caps upon the ocean.

"I swear I won't disrespect you again." He says firmly. 

It's a beat before you decide to speak, during which you lift your feet from the water, curling them under you.

"Thank you." Your response is curt, eyes sullen, "But don't make promises you can't keep, Paul." He expected this much. "I've had my fill of broken vows." 

You aren't hostile in your words; instead they are melancholy, as if a dreary wind had snuck its way into the little alcove. Paul stares down at the rock, where another small crab treks across the terrain, rocking in the gentle water tides. 

He knows you’re right, and he's soon filled with the same sense of dread that he's felt after each dream; the same melancholy which enveloped you as you rise, preparing to walk back to the castle. 

You walk together sullenly, little more than a few words escaping either of you as you go. By the time you enter the main gates, fat raindrops are falling on Paul's face and sticking to his lashes. 

You, likewise, duck from the rain, your hair pelted with water and sliding over your face like the tears you'd never dare give. 

But you don't put the veil back on. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

[fsesafepteltd]

Bright Signals: The Effectiveness of Overhead Crane Warning Lights

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Conclusion: Overhead crane warning lights are a cost-effective and highly effective safety measure. They enhance visibility, provide early warnings, offer diverse lighting options, and promote clear communication within the workspace. For superior quality and reliable performance, consider FSE SAFE's range of overhead crane warning lights. FSE SAFE offers a comprehensive selection of lights designed to meet the specific needs of your industrial environment, prioritizing safety and creating a secure space for your workforce.

[craneexservice]

Cranes Service Edmonton

CraneEx Services Inc. is your overhead crane experts in Edmonton. We service, repair and inspect all brands and makes of overhead cranes, jibs, and hoists.

Overhead Crane Safety Warning Light Cranes Service Edmonton

[craneexserviceinc]

Safety is important in every place. Where we work we have to be careful that the overhead crane safety warning light and machines are working properly or not. Because of small things like this we can make our work safer. Science is such working wonderfully.

[ragingbookdragon]

Don't Bleed Me Then Push Me Away

Kyle Rayner x Batbrother One-Shot

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: Based off this ask about Batbro being a Lantern! Enjoy! -Thorne

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

He burst through the door leading out to the roof, one arm wrapped around the man’s back, the other slamming the door shut. Huffing, he set him against one of the overhead vents before hurrying back to the door, yanking something from his belt. He shoved it against the door frame, just at face height and clicked a button, watching a red-light flicker on.

Sprinting back over, he knelt in front of the man who was moaning lowly, pawing at his side; he grabbed the hand. “Kyle, babe, don’t.”

“It hurts,” he moaned, dropping his head; he tugged the jacket away from his side, eyes widening at the crimson blooming larger and larger. “Oh God, I’m gonna bleed out.” He looked up, meeting his eyes. “(Y/N), I’m bleeding out.”

(Y/N) shook his head. “You’re gonna be okay.” Pressing a finger to his ear, he shoved the other against Kyle’s side. “Black Ops to Batman, come in.”

I read you, Black Ops. What’s your status?

“Not good. Green Lantern’s down and I’m not looking too hot either.” A blast sounded from below, on one of the floors beneath them. “We’ve got incoming enemies from the lower floors.” (Y/N) craned his neck, peeking over the side of the building before ducking again. “Tanks are in the courtyard.”

I’m sending the Batplane to your position.

“Negative Batman, anti-aircraft missiles were spotted earlier.” He breathed heavily, mind working in overdrive as he tried to think of a plan, but nothing was coming to him. Kyle’s blood was warm underneath his fingers and with how wounded the Lantern was, not even his ring could heal his injury.

—ack Ops. Black Ops. (Y/N)!

He shook himself from his stupor. “I’m here.”

I’m sending the Batplane.

“You can’t!” he yelled. “It’ll get shot down!”

I’m willing to take that chance if I get you and Kyle out.

“Dad I—” another blast sounded, this time from the rooftop door and he spun, listening to the screams of the men who’d taken a C4 charge straight to the face. (Y/N) yanked out his side arm, dropping the few who managed to survive and come out. He pulled the trigger one more time but all it did was click. Empty. He started hyperventilating, unable to decide if Kyle needed his attention more or if he should worry about getting them to safety.

But where could he take them? They were on the rooftop surrounded by tanks and soldiers. There was nowhere to run. They were at the end of the line.

(Y/N) looked back at Kyle. Sweat dripped down his face, his black hair clinging to his forehead; he looked clammy and ready to pass out. He glanced down at their hands pressed together, Kyle’s atop (Y/N)’s, and his eyes widened. The power ring.

He grabbed Kyle’s hand. “Kyle, gimme your ring.”

“What?” the Lantern moaned weakly. “My ring?”

(Y/N) nodded, slipping it off; he put his hand to his mouth, yanking the strap with his teeth before biting the tip of the middle finger, tugging it off. He slipped the ring on his finger and waited. He swallowed thickly, muttering, “Come on. Come on. Come on.”

“(Y/N),” Kyle whispered, and he looked at his lover. “It’s not working.”

“It has to,” he retorted, tears stinging the corner of his eyes. “I don’t wanna die here.” He leaned forward, one hand coming up to clasp the side of Kyle’s neck, his thumb brushing his cheek as he pressed his forehead to the man’s. “I don’t want us to die here.”

Kyle swallowed, a ghost of a grin on his lips. “I love you, (Y/N).”

He shook his head. “No. Don’t say that now.”

“I don’t know if we’ll get another chance,” he countered, nosing the soldier. “If we die here, then I want you to know that I love you.”

(Y/N)’s jaw tightened. “We’re not dying. Not now. Not today.” A wave of power surged through him, crashing against his soul like a tidal wave. “I refuse to give in. I won’t.” he shut his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Kyle’s skin against his own. “I’ll get us to the other side.”

A flash of green light burst across the sky, followed by an other worldly voice. (Y/N) Wayne of Earth. You have the ability to protect the ones you care for without fear. Welcome to The Green Lantern Corps.

He opened his eyes, the suit of green flooding his vision; a breathless laugh passed his lips and he gazed at Kyle. “I told you.”

Kyle snorted pitifully. “Yeah, yeah.”

(Y/N) grinned. “How do I work this thing?”

“Anything you can think of. If you can will it, it’ll come to life.”

He stood, looking down at the soldiers in the distance. “Any qualms against killing?”

Kyle shook his head. “Rules have been rewritten. Lethal force against enemies of the Green Lanterns has been authorized.” He gasped, leaning down to the ground and (Y/N) held out his arms.

“You need medical attention.”

“I’ll be fine,” he wheezed, shaking his head. “Go.”

(Y/N) knelt. “I’m not taking any chances.” He looked around. “I know who to call.”

“Who?”

He leaned forward, pulling Kyle into his arms. “Try not to move.” (Y/N) stood to his feet, eyes directed to the sky as he shouted, “Supergirl!”

A rush of wind gusted over them, almost knocking him off his feet and he looked over, seeing her red cape billowing above them. “(Y/N)?” she questioned. “You’re a Green Lantern?”

“For the moment,” he answered, holding Kyle up. “I need you to get Kyle to the Batcave back in Gotham City. Now.”

She glanced at the wounded man. “Oh my God, what happened?”

“Mission gone bad,” (Y/N) said. “Kara, please. Hurry.”

Kara nodded, lowering down to take Kyle from (Y/N); he grasped at (Y/N)’s shoulders. “I’m not leaving you.”

He shook his head. “You need to get to a hospital, or you’ll die.” He smiled. “I can take care of this.” (Y/N) met Kara’s gaze. “Go.”

She took off, ignoring how Kyle screamed at her to take him back.

(Y/N) flew to the ledge, standing atop it, and a gun went off; he raised a hand, imagining an aegis and sparks flew when the bullet ricochet off the bright green shield. He felt a renewed sense of strength and took a single step off the ledge, raising his hands high above his head; and the soldiers along the ground all gaped in terror as thousands of glowing arrows appeared in the sky, all the sudden coming down in a fury of green hellfire.

***

Kyle came to with wide eyes, sitting straight up on the med bay bed, though it proved to be a terrible decision as pain swelled through his side and ebbed outwards every which way. He gripped his abdomen, hissing with displeasure.

“Hey, take it easy,” someone commanded, pressing a hand to his shoulder and he cocked his head up, Jason coming into focus beside him.

“(Y/N),” he blurted out. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

Jason shook his head. “He hasn’t come back yet.” Kyle’s face dropped and Jason was quick to reassure, “But he didn’t send the code-word, so we know he isn’t dead yet.”

“What?”

“We’ve got a code-word we’re only allowed to use if we know for certain we’re not going to make it.” Jason leveled Kyle with a firm stare. “(Y/N)’s still out there somewhere.”

Kyle shoved his arm off. “Then I need to be up helping.”

“With what? He’s got your ring.” Jason put his hand back on the other’s shoulder and this time pushed him back on the bed. “You just lay right here and recover. We’ll do everything.”

“I can’t just lie here, Jay,” he retorted, though he made no move to get up. “I need to help you.”

“(Y/N) would want you to rest,” Jason shot back, and Kyle scowled.

“Screw you for using him against me.”

He snickered. “I’m just saying what you know you should be doing.” Jason reached over, pressing a button, and Kyle felt the world slow down, his vision growing dark as sleep washed over him. “There you go. Let the morphine lull you back to sleep.”

“Gonna…kick your…ass,” Kyle slurred before his head dropped down, eyes slipping shut as his consciousness faded, Jason’s amused hum echoing in his ears.

***

Kyle liked to be touched. He found physical measures of affection just as important as verbal ones. And (Y/N) liked to touch. A hand on a thigh, a kiss on a temple, a finger looped through a belt-loop, a toe brushing an ankle, digits carding through hair; he was content to simply be in contact. His favorite way was to touch was when he and Kyle were laying in bed, the latter’s back pressed to (Y/N)’s chest, one of the soldier’s arms wrapped around the Lantern’s waist, the other arm under Kyle’s head, folded back so he could brush through his lover’s hair.

It was uniquely intimate and sweet at the same time, and (Y/N) would simply lie there, breathing in the scent of Kyle’s minty shampoo, brushing the dark strands until they felt like silk beneath his fingers. And Kyle would hum contently like a cat, grunting if (Y/N) stopped. On the rare cases that he did, the Lantern would pout like a child and turn over in (Y/N)’s arms, burying his face in the soldier’s throat, nose brushing his lover’s Adam’s apple, breath warm against his skin. (Y/N) would chuckle, the vibrations rumbling through Kyle as the soldier’s arms twisted, cocooning the Lantern to his chest, legs tangling like ribbon.

It’s the feeling that Kyle had at the very moment, and he blinked blearily, inhaling deeply as he forced his mind to rise above the sleep clouding his brain. The comforting scent of cedarwood and gun metal wafted up his nose, a hint of tobacco hidden within. Warmth spread across his body, hot air puffing against his temple, as he finally felt the pressure over the left side of his body.

He opened his eyes, seeing a familiar set of dog tags and he tried to jerk up when someone’s hand rested on his chest, a comforting deep voice murmuring, “Easy, babe.”

Tears stung Kyle’s eyes and he fumbled for the hand over his heart, clenching the fingers through his own as he whispered, “Fuck you.”

“Hmm,” (Y/N) chuckled lowly. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“You sent me away,” he hissed, barely restraining the tears. “I thought you were going to die.”

“Not yet.” He retorted, kissing Kyle’s temple. “Go back to sleep.”

“No. I’m mad.”

“Mmm, no, you’re actually relived I’m back alive and spooning you on a crappy med bay bed.”

“Don’t try to change my mind,” Kyle shot back, trying to wiggle, but (Y/N) had him in a tight grip. “I want to yell at you.”

(Y/N) sighed and pulled away, gazing at the Lantern; Kyle opened his mouth to start berating him and he merely leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lover’s lips. Kyle’s eyes went wide as he made a noise of complaint, but it quickly faded as heat flooded his system.

They pulled away and (Y/N) patted his cheek. “You can yell at me in the morning. Go to sleep.”

Kyle glared at him, though he let his head fall to (Y/N)’s shoulder. “I’m going to kick you in the crotch.”

“Yep.”

“And yell at you for leaving me.”

“Uh huh.”

“Mock me at your own peril, Wayne. I’ll fight you.”

“Ooo, I’m so scared of the green space ranger with fancy boots.”

“You are a major douche.”

(Y/N) nuzzled his head. “I know. You love me though.”

Kyle swallowed the lump in his throat, and he turned, burying his face in (Y/N)’s throat as he whispered, “Don’t ever send me away from you like that ever again.”

He smiled, carding his hand through the Lantern’s hair. “Never again.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” (Y/N) kissed Kyle’s head. “Go to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

[kohakuarisaka]

Smoke & Feathers [Cold]

Smoke & Feathers is a collection of writings for my OC, Arisaka Kohaku, and revolve mainly around her relationship with Takami Keigo, or Hawks. These chapters likely will not be written in proper timeline order since I’m just writing ideas as they come to me.

Even though not every chapter will contain the following, for safety, regard as Rated M(18+) for graphic sexual content, canon-typical violence & gore, body horror, and explicit language.

[ Also on my AO3 ] • [ BNHA Fanfic Masterlist on Tumblr ]

Chapter Summary: It was his birthday today. He couldn’t tell her that; but, he liked to think that he still got a gift anyway.

Hawks scoffed at himself.

"Geez..."

It was freezing cold out, a fresh layer of ice over the windows, recently shoveled snow scooped out of the streets, and looming clouds threatening to drop more. He couldn't feel temperature through his feathers, but the harsh winds seemed determined to change that.

The thought to head home only crossed his mind because that was what he should have been doing. But, the second he finished reporting back, he only thought about stopping by a familiar flat. His wings carried him most of the way there before he realized his place was the opposite way.

He should have just headed straight home, minded his own business, slept in his own bed for a change. Instead, he yanked his cellphone out of his pocket, hastily removed the battery from the back, and shoved the separated parts back into his pocket.

The sun set sooner in the winter, and whilst it wasn't super late, it was already pitch black outside; at least, it would have been if the city wasn't as alive as ever.

As he floated overhead, Hawks' keen eyes caught the light on through the balcony's window, which meant she was home, and still awake.

Hawks carefully landed on the platform, wincing when the metal creaked in protest beneath his boots. He shook his wings once with a violent flap to shake off snowflakes trapped in his feathers, and let himself inside. Even on a snowy day, with frost coating the windows, she still left the door unlocked for him.

Hawks called out, "it's me," just as he closed the door behind himself.

It was warm inside and the TV was playing quietly to fill the silence. Kohaku rounded the corner from the kitchen, giving him a curious look. The corner of Hawks' lip curled into an uneasy smile and he shrugged at her casually.

"Hey," she greeted softly.

The simple motion of his wings flexing in against his back gave him plenty of intel on her apartment. She was home alone; but, that didn't mean that he was welcomed. Before he could offer to leave, she was closing in on him, hands tugging at his coat.

"It's wet. I'm'a throw it in the dryer," she proclaimed, not asking, telling.

Hawks' lips twitched into a smile and he shifted his arms back and lowered his wings to help her remove it.

"Sorry. I should have warned you," he offered. "Never know when my missions are gonna end and - ugh..."

Kohaku hummed in response, trotting away to make for the laundry closet. Hawks' eyes scanned the room in her absence, realizing she had cleared some furniture to make room for a kotatsu. It was rounded, a pale birch colored surface, with a navy futon underneath, adorned with white cranes.

A rich aroma was permeating through the living room, and Hawks realized what he had interrupted.

"I didn't bring anything," he explained meekly when she returned.

Finally, Hawks took a moment to get a good look at her, and could almost laugh. She was barefoot in the winter. Sure, it was indoors; but, even then, most would find it too cold to at least not pull on some slippers. Her long hair was pulled back into a braid that was falling apart.

Kohaku just laughed at his statement, well aware and unperturbed.

"Just kick me out," Hawks retorted, some humor in his tone, to lighten the mood, to make it easier on her.

Kohaku waved at him offhandedly, turning on her heels to head for the kitchen.

"Help me carry this - after you take your shoes off," she called.

Hawks turned around and spotted the mat at the balcony door. Normal people didn't enter their home through the balcony, so there wasn't adequate space for a shoe rack. She had gone out and bought that for him, a large, rough mat specifically for him to take his shoes off-

-which he did, leaning against the wall by his shoulder, before heading to the kitchen, as she requested.

There was an electric pot sitting on her counter. Even with the lid on, delicious aromas floated through the house.

Hawks sent a handful of feathers to dip beneath the pot and a few more when it proved heavier than expected. The plumes floated it over to the kotatsu while Kohaku carried a basket over; at a glance, Hawks spotted enoki mushrooms, tofu, and cabbage.

When she set the basket down and he got a better look, he also identified fish cakes, glass noodles and hard boiled eggs. Kohaku stood back up and nudged him towards the kotatsu with a pat on the shoulder before returning to the kitchen.

Hawks stood there and stared down at assortment of food, feeling out of place and contemplating a swift getaway. When Kohaku returned, she set down a tray of raw meat, thinly sliced beef and pork, that was definitely not enough for the both of them.

"What do you want to drink?" she offered, setting down a beer can for herself.

Hawks frowned at the can, replying, "this is enough."

Hawks was still standing there awkwardly, socks on the wood floors, hero suit clinging to his skin. Did he smell bad? He couldn't tell. He probably looked like shit, too.

This was stupid-

But, Kohaku just sat down and peered up at him sweetly, inviting him to join her with just her pale eyes.

Finally, he sat down, and carefully tucked his legs beneath the kotatsu, unbothered by his wings dragging on the floor behind him. They needed to be preened anyway, and the delicious smell of the broth combined with his empty stomach was starting to get to him.

Hawks waited until Kohaku picked up her chopsticks to do the same. However, just as he dropped in some tofu, she set the chopsticks down and opened her beer with a loud snap.

"I thought you hated tofu?" she inquired with a smirk.

"Maybe I want to try the broth first," he replied like an offended child.

Kohaku laughed, and Hawks added on softly, "thank you for the food."

She hummed in response and dropped in some cabbage and mushrooms. Hawks followed up the tofu with some noodles. Neither paid attention to the TV and it simply became background noise, the displayed contents hardly crossing either of their thoughts.

Hawks didn't let the tofu cool properly before plopping it in his mouth. Kohaku watched him flap his gums wildly, trying to endure the heat until it cooled enough for him to actually enjoy it. Her face was scrunched, struggling to not laugh at him.

"Hey, don't laugh at my suffering!" he sputtered in faux offense.

"Ok, chicken," she chuckled. "Do the beef this time."

Hawks dropped in two pieces and ignored her glare when he scooped one out a few minutes later and dropped it on her plate. She returned the gesture with some mushrooms and laughed at his pout.

"I'm allergic to mushrooms," he protested.

"No, you're not," she protested with a soft laugh.

They were quiet for a minute or two before Hawks filled the silence with a quiet, "how was your Christmas?"

"I covered someone's route," she replied plainly.

Kohaku could see a retort on Hawks' lips; however, he likely realized how hypocritical that was, and decided to keep it to himself. A few more minutes passed and Kohaku stood up to toss her empty beer can into the recycling bin.

She came back with another, cold from the fridge, and watched Hawks take it from her hand. He popped it open and took a sip, grimacing immaturely before setting it down on her side of the kotatsu.

"You're such a girl," she laughed, lowering herself back into her spot.

Hawks dropped a couple fishcakes into the broth, raising his brow at her and contorting his face as if he was offended.

"How dare you," he complained.

Kohaku lifted in response, and the look of contempt dissolved off his face.

"I have wine, too," she offered, eyes glossy for a moment. "The sweet plum kind. Dad gave it to me the other day."

Hawks stared at her, feeling a tinge of guilt that she was offering to share something that special with him.

"No. That's alright," he replied quietly, scooping a mushroom out of the broth. It had been in there a little too long and was wrinkly.

"See? The mushrooms aren't bad," she suggested softly, watching him chew it.

He didn't look too impressed, and she couldn't hold back laughter at the look on his face as he dramatically shifted his jaw.

"Better than the cabbage," he retorted eventually.

There was a slight pink tinge to her cheeks; but, Hawks knew two beers wasn't enough to do her in. He felt one of her bare feet nudge at his leg beneath the kotatsu, an accident, most likely. But, he didn't shift away, and neither did she.

"The cabbage is delicious," she protested sometime afterward.

"It's like-" Hawks began, pausing to scoop some out with his chopsticks.

Kohaku watched him nibble a small piece with fascination in her eyes. She laughed at the expression of horror he made.

"-grass," he finished with a grimace.

Her foot affectionately nudged the side of his knee beneath the kotatsu, most definitely on purpose this time.

"Does not," she protested, scooping a large piece out of the broth. Hawks watched her spin it on her plate until it was wadded up and easily to pop into her mouth.

"All that teeth and you eat cabbage," he observed teasingly.

"We can't all live off chicken," she laughed.

They continued to eat, dropping food on each other's plates more so than their own, and traded back and forth gripes and exchanges that barely counted as proper conversation. They didn't really need to talk, and both had little that the other didn't already know about anyway.

Eventually, the broth was mostly dissolved and all the food was gone. Hawks scooped the electric pot into his arms while Kohaku carried the plates and containers. After setting everything in the kitchen, Hawks was pulled back to the kotatsu, and didn't resist.

Kohaku worked off her buzz with some tea, just barely paying attention to the TV, while Hawks mostly watched the pink drain from her cheeks, and occasionally pretended to care about whatever was displaying on the screen.

"You don't have to do all this, you know," Hawks offered, giving her a sincere look.

"I like spending time with you, birdbrain," she retorted sharply, flashing an annoyed look at his insistence. "Even if I have to feed you to get you to sit still for two seconds."

"I thought - what'd you say - you weren't hosting a bed and breakfast?" Hawks asked, flashing a cheeky smile.

"You're always welcome here," she grumbled, gently kicking at his thigh beneath the kotatsu.

Of course he knew that; it was precisely why he kept stopping by uninvited, so he could cling to the shattered pieces of a normal life. He had become addicted to this feeling: a home that wasn't empty, a bed with someone else in it, homecooked meals and bickering arguments over nothing.

Hawks reached over the kotatsu and pulled Kohaku's hands into his own. She watched him curiously as he cupped her smaller hands in his larger ones, bringing them between his palms.

"You're warm," he explained, curling his fingers in to try and touch as much of her skin as possible.

"Your fingers are like icicles," she hissed.

Hawks held tight with a stern look on his face, even when she squealed and tried to pull her hands back.

"You're so cold, Hawks. Let go!" Kohaku complained, her face contorted between discomfort and laughter.

It was ridiculous. He felt evil and loved every second of it.

"Nah. You're warming me up," he retorted quietly.

Her squirming resulted in her legs brushing against his beneath the comforter. She could easily escape him, and he knew that. Still, she stayed and wiggled around as if helpless but to let him freeze her hands off.

"Haaawks," she whined, pulling against his grip limply and making noises that sounded like bubbly laughter between annoyed grunts.

Then, suddenly, she stopped, and frowned at him.

"I take it all back," she uttered, monotone and insincere. "You can eat my food, but stealing my warmth is unacceptable."

Hawks laughed, loud and uninhibited.

By now, his hands didn't feel cold anymore. Even when he stopped gripping so tightly, even when his hands were resting limp on the kotatsu and she was free, she didn't pull away from his touch, leaving her hands cradled in his.

"I'm gonna go to bed in a bit. Are you staying?"

She was subtle about it, or maybe Hawks was just imagining things; but, it sounded like she was fine with him staying the night.

It was the same as any other night, realistically; but, it felt different. She was likely picking up on his aversion, even with there being no obvious reason for her to think anything was different today. It could have been the cold, the festivities.

Maybe, he could let himself believe that she really wanted him to stay.

Eventually, Hawks answered hoarsely, "yeah."

She smiled, and he felt better, worries washing away by the reassuring look on her face.

He could have tonight, right?

It would be okay, right?

Not long after, Kohaku was turning off the lights while Hawks stripped off the remaining articles of his hero costume in the laundry room, tossing them in the dryer and setting a timer. He pulled on the lounge pants she had gotten him. They were a little too big, but that was okay.

This space was hers; but, sometimes, he forgot that. It was easy to when she strategically left things around for him, moved furniture to accommodate his wingspan, had extra pillows propped up on the headboard, on his side of the bed.

...his side of the bed.

He maneuvered easily through the darkness of the room and easily fell into the bed right beside her. It was a familiar gesture at this point: wiggling beneath the blanket while his wings occupied the rest of the space behind him, fanned out wide.

Kohaku sighed when his hand slid up the bare skin of her back. She wiggled back to greet him, and he found the strength to let go of all of those doubts.

"...it was nice, you know," she whispered into her pillow.

Hawks didn't answer with words, but lowered his hand and curled it around her front, pressing down farther until he touched the edge of her underwear. She moaned softly and elevated her hips a bit to encourage him.

Just as he pushed his hand down her underwear, Hawks flattened against her back with a pleased grunt, laying his cheek against the back of her neck.

As he touched her, she moaned, "oh, Hawks-"

He had barely started; but, she was already slippery and wet. He didn't need to ask, for she was already reaching back to tug at the waistband on his pants. He didn't bother helping, getting some satisfaction from watching her struggle to tug his pants down enough to free his cock.

Her legs bent, feet curling against his calves, and he took the opportunity to tug her underwear down. She worked them the rest of the way off with some wiggling before arching back.

The familiarity of it became apparent when Hawks realized he hadn't even kissed her yet. Her head was still on the pillow, hair pushed out of the way, and she looked relaxed, sleepy even. Still, nothing felt lacking. It felt like another day, and many more chances to do this would come.

He found her with practiced hands, tilted his hips and slipped inside like he owned her body. It was a dangerous thought; but, he knew every scar, felt every inch from the inside out. He exhaled a heavy breath against her skin and she moaned weakly at their union.

One hand was gripped at the meat of her waist while the other worked its way beneath the pillow her head rested on and gripped the edge of the bed. He moved lazily, slow rolls of the hips and dragging his cock in and out of her like he had all the time in the world for this moment.

She released weak little breaths when he slid out and gasped when he drove back in. One of her legs laid flat on the bed while the other was tangled with his.

He adjusted his position, shifted his hips just a little bit, and received a very affirming moan on the next thrust. One of her hands reached back, fumbling at his cheek instead of his hair. He turned his head and bit her palm gently.

He let go of her hip and reached down to lazily tug at her clit with the pad of his finger. She tightened around him, gasping at the sudden friction, and he groaned into the flesh his teeth was pressed into.

He didn't feel like an outsider in this bed, or a stranger when he touched her. Her gasps didn't feel stolen and the pleasure he got from her body didn't feel undeserving.

Teeth released her palm, and instead, Hawks bit down on her neck, marveling in the sharp gasp she released. He wanted to tell her; but, he knew he shouldn't, and kept himself quiet by occupying his mouth.

Kohaku was moaning, broken things that could have been his hero name, hushed in the darkness of her bedroom. He wasn't going fast enough to come; but, it was worth it to feel her tighten and hear a snarl hiss through her teeth as she tried to suppress a pleasured sob.

"Hawks," she choked out, breathless and in ecstasy.

Suddenly and harshly, he yanked out and rolled Kohaku onto her back, throwing her legs up onto his waist. He shoved back into her with a wet slap, silencing her scream with his mouth. She worked her fingers through his hair, tugging and caressing, and dug her heels into his back.

"Hawks - hey, are you okay?" she cooed, lips moving against his as she spoke.

"-missed you," he offered hoarsely.

"You k-know how to find me, silly - ah-" she huffed out, breaking off into a weak moan.

It was his birthday today.

She didn't know, and he couldn't tell her.

But, as he stole the breath from her lungs, he liked to think that she gave him a gift anyway.

For just a little while, he had a home.

[arc-saber]

The Way Forward - Part 2

Look, I named it.  It’s a REAL fic now!  Also I intended to like... wait and take my time and try to make this good, but instead, I keyboard-clacked like a gremlin hopped up on sugar and you get this.  PART DEUX.

If you have NO IDEA what I’m talking about, please see PART ONE.  

In this exciting installment, DIN IS STILL IN MORTAL PERIL.  Because I’m incapable of anything but a slow burn.  

Read under the cut.

PART II

Din thought he could hear someone, but the words they were saying were more impressions than language.  Inflection and modulation rose and fell, becoming questioning, then desperate, then more distant.  Then the voice faded completely… or simply resolved into the sound of rain.  Finally, Din could hear his own breathing inside his helmet, cycled back to him through a faulty feed, simply reassuring him that he was alive if nothing else.  He tried to open his eyes for a few seconds before he realized that they were as open as they could get and were just staring at the dark.  Slowly, painfully, he lifted a hand to tap on his HUD.  Precariously, it flickered for a few seconds before coming back online.  

Even so, there wasn’t much to see.  Depth readings.  Atmosphere readings … and beyond that, just darkness.  It gave him the space in his mind to turn to every hurt that his unconscious state had been suppressing.  While trying to sit up, he found at least three individual hurts lined up along his ribcage.  One hand had the familiar sprain of having been bashed as it gripped his blaster — a familiar injury he came by too often.  But by some miracle, his legs were unscathed enough to fold up and give him some leverage to push himself up against the hard surface behind him.  The canyon wall, he assumed when his thoughts began to fill in the gaps following his fall.  In fact, he was surrounded by and half buried in it. When he moved, he felt it shift and slide away from him.  With a pained groan, he managed to shove off a few of the larger pieces that had him pinned with both hands, then felt around for something to lean on while working on getting to his feet.  He had just thought he found what he needed when his handhold gave way and crumbled, sending him pitching forward.  The scrap that had come loose splashed down  somewhere near his feet and almost immediately, a flare of green light exploded up towards his face.  It seemed to have come straight up out of the ground, leaving a dimly glowing green scar behind, but when Din recovered from his controlled topple to avoid it, he found that the ground itself gave under him a little and more such cracks showed as he splayed out on hands and knees.  He wasn’t on the ground so much as he was kneeling on a floating raft of scrap as it drifted on an acid river.

Slowly, wary of his footing, he lowered himself back down to a hip, then sat back against the surface he’d taken for geology before, but which proved to be a larger chunk of starship.  He’d been stranded before.  Now he had a definitive time limit as he knew the acid was likely eating away at the fresh scrap beneath him.  His lightrod, when he retrieved and held it aloft showed the dim shapes of artificial canyon walls as far apart as his ship’s wingspan and unpredictable clusters of floating scrap that formed a precarious mat atop the acid.  Every so often, a pocket of gas would escape or be burst by falling debris and fire up into the air with violence. 

With a slow breath that tried to stabilize his movements, he reached behind him to feel for the structure of his jetpack.  Still attached.  If he could maneuver himself straight up off the raft, he might be able to land on the canyon wall and just hop his way up with the help of the rockets.  It was a good plan until, just when he’d gone through the trouble of getting back to his feet and bracing himself so that the jets wouldn’t ignite any escaping gas from the acid river, the launch failed.  Only one rocket fired and nearly jerked him clean off his feet and into the river had he not abruptly shut it down and saved his fall with a splayed out tumble.  Even so, he came uncomfortably close to the edge of his current raft, the dim, bubbling green of certain death hazing his readout and filling his intake with a smell that made his eyes water.

He sat back once more, coughing and sputtering. He would need a new plan.  Unfortunately if experience served him, he knew that the more plans he had to develop on the fly, the riskier they would be.  The only one remaining for him now, in particular, did not fill him with much confidence.  He needed to move across the garbage raft and reach one of the canyon walls… and then climb.  He sat still for a moment as he considered this before heaving a sigh and forcing himself to get back on his feet.  One more time. For whatever reason.  Simply because he preferred to be alive. This … was just the Way.

The Way was forward.  Unyielding.  The only path.  His purpose even when he was devoid of purpose.  And it was a brutal path when one was as tired as Din Djarin.

Walking across the scrap raft was about as stable as walking in the stomach of an exogorth — a uniquely difficult task he’d experienced firsthand more times than a sensible person should.  The surface pitched beneath him and sometimes began to cave, encouraging him to toss aside caution for a few steps as he scrambled for more secure footing.  More often than not, he was using both his hands and feet to keep himself upright as he struggled towards the looming dark of the canyon wall.  At one such point, he’d paused after just regaining a stronger foothold on some larger pieces of junk, trying to catch his breath in the oppressive atmosphere.  That’s when he heard a faint scratching from above, moments before a fine shower of debris cascaded down not too far from where he was, igniting a series of gaseous explosions.  Din heard himself let out an involuntary shout as he grabbed his closest handhold  and was forced to transfer all of his weight to that hold and one foot as the rest of the raft gave way beneath him.  He was left on a bobbing piece of debris not much bigger than a ship’s top hatch.  His sore hand had reflexively fitted again around his blaster and raised it to aim into the dark above while silence fell again.

If one of his pursuers was up there above him, it was likely they were in the same predicament as he was, but the often single minded obsession with the Dark Saber some had.  If they thought he’d fallen with it still in his possession, then he wouldn’t put it past them to try to make it down and retrieve it.  And perhaps they had a working jetpack.

It was hard to see more than a few meters up, but he thought he saw a faint movement in the shadows after a moment of silence proved there would be no more cascade.  Din did his best to keep his blaster at the ready despite the uncertain bobbing of his island of safety in the acid.  He had no doubt at this point that he was more visible to whoever was up there than they were to him.  

“I don’t have it.” he called up, wearily.  He didn’t have the energy to be anything but very straightforward.  “If you’re coming down, you’re wasting your time.”

He squinted at the varying degrees of darkness overhead.  There came no reply, but he thought he heard a soft grunt and another metallic scrape now closer than before.  Slowly but surely, his aim was tightening in on true.  Nevertheless, it felt wrong, in his current spirit of straightforwardness, not to offer some warning.  “If you don’t give me something, I’m going to just shoot you down and sort it out later.”

“Ah-huh…!”  The odd vocalization came from much nearer than Din was comfortable with, but despite adjusting his aim once more, he refrained from shooting.  It had sounded like … maybe a confirmation, but made through some impediment.  And now he definitely heard the sound of someone struggling in their descent along the canyon wall.  Just above the murky light cast by the river of acid itself, he could see a figure clinging in place, the odd shadows resolving to show that of a human, clutching the debris, but craned around to see him.  There was no way they could have a weapon directed at him, so even as he bobbed there precariously, Din felt some tension leave his shoulders. 

“Was that a yes?” he said with a sigh, almost hoping it was, just to keep things simple.

Then, ridiculously, he heard the sound of something being expelled from a mouth-hold with a discharge of breath.  The Dark Saber hilt dropped into the pool of light, landing on the thin shore of scrap that delineated the foot of the canyon wall.  It still held a semi-circle of moisture marks where it had been clamped unceremoniously in someone’s teeth.  Din dropped his blaster hand back to his side, his own caught breath leaving him in an unexpected scoff of laughter.

“That was a hello…”  The voice drifted down as conversationally as it might have been had they passed each other in a cantina.

Pulling his gaze up from the Dark Saber’s hilt, Din lifted his lightrod a little higher so that he could see him more clearly — He was dressed all in black, so his near invisibility up to that point made sense, but there were tell tale signs of wear that said he too might have been caught by the acid storm.  His sandy hair was in disarray from his hard-fought decent and his knuckles white where he clutched his grips.  But implausibly, he was flashing a smile that was almost sheepish.  The impression he gave was so drastically different from the last — and first — time Din had seen him, that it took him a moment to realize who it was.  He’d spent years with the man’s appearance on the bridge of Moff Gideon’s light cruiser seared into his mind; it wasn’t something easily forgotten.  It was the Jedi.

“I’m Luke Skywalker,” he was introducing himself even while he checked the distance he had left to descend, but when he looked back at Din, the slightly curled smile returned.  “I’m uh… here to rescue you.”

[gigilberry-wips]

Ch. 20. Rapunzel’s POV: Early February

Media: Fanfiction

Rating: General

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J.K Rowling, Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons/The Big Four, Tangled, The Hunchback of Notre Dame

Characters: Rapunzel (Disney), Quasimoto (The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

Tags: Hogwarts AU, kid!fic, Boarding School, Fantasy, Worldbuilding, Paganism, Pagan Holidays, Witchcraft, Fortune Telling, Surreal Fantasy Elements, Foreshadowing, The Foreshadowing Is Strong In This One

Word count: 3,455 words

Chapters:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 

AO3 Link

Summary:

In which Rapunzel invokes a different path for her life

.°○.♡.○°.

A/N:

There was this old anime I remember watching many years ago, and the only reason I remember that is because it had this little clip of music that would play at the beginning before the actual theme song. That music is what's there for this chapter. I don't know the name of it but it's about 20-ish seconds long and if I could I'd get a 3 minute version of it.

The sub episode is (here). And if that doesn't work in your country then there's a dub version (here). Or else hopefully you can find the intro bit in any one of the season 2 episodes somewhere else (what I'm saying is put on your pirate hat and/or pm me for your own pirate hat if you don't have one bc I have plenty)

.°○.♡.○°.

In the depths of the Scottish winter there were exactly three known locations that remained forever green and warm and filled with sunlight. They existed thanks to a careful expansion and folding of space, as well as a selection of highly specific magical inhabitants that compelled their environment to remain as such.

One such creature was the species Helianthus terrarum, an incredibly tall, leafy plant that grew a sunflower-shaped flower spanning several meters across. Amongst its other magical properties, the most prominent of them was the fact that its flower produced a brilliant light that, although not as intense as the sun’s unfiltered rays, easily encouraged plant growth, and followed an opening and closing cycle that resembled a long summer day.

In a pool of light produced by one such flower laid Rapunzel, deep within the confines of Hogwarts Greenhouse #5. Rapunzel sprawled on her belly, cushioned by a nest of leaves larger than she was tall, humming to herself as she doodled in a much beloved notes-book. Her humming joined the chorus of insects and birdsong, under which flowed the steady, muffled undercurrent of a distant stream.

It was the closest Rapunzel had ever come to living inside the changing pictures of her tower room. Better than that. She hadn’t even felt this way about Hogwarts. Hogwarts was a place. This was a whole different world.

Funny thing about her imagination was that it had never included her in it. Yes, it was strong, and it was big. But in all of the realms it had travelled to and all the places she’d dreamed of, she’d never actually considered herself a part of them.

She didn’t know this until she stepped into the greenhouse. Suddenly, the world changed to one that was green and humid and bright and she…she was in it. She was very much alive in it, a living, breathing girl, not a drawing from a storybook or a thread of a daydream. The world wrapped around her and sunk its teeth deep into her skin, until it felt like she’d never been anywhere else. It brought forth strange, new sounds and smells and sights and textures and she didn’t know what to do.

…A part of her still didn’t know what to do. A part of her was still convinced that it was all a very detailed, very vivid dream. It didn’t feel enough for her to just sit there for hours and hours and soak it in. For the land within to feel like safety and peace…

Heavy footsteps sounded through the foliage. Rapunzel perked up.

From overhead appeared the greenhouse professor, craning to see into the nest she’d made for herself.

“You alright there, little Lockewood?” Professor Donadieu asked, his face creasing into a lopsided smile. She beamed right back. Ever since that first month she’d made regular visits to the greenhouse and he’d settled on calling her that.

Rapunzel sat upright and hugged her book. “Yes, professor. I feel much better, thank you.”

“Then I’d say it’s high time you found your friends again.”

One of Donadieu’s wide, corded arms reached down. Rapunzel took the hand he offered and made it into a foothold. She spider-monkeyed up his arm and wrapped herself around his shoulder. His arm came back around to carry her properly. In his other hand, Donadieu held his staff. He lightly tapped it to her hair, making it re-braid itself.

“Righty-o, then. All settled? Good to go? Good, good, off we get.”

Donadieu ambled through the trees, picking an overhanging flower and offering it to her. Rapunzel wove it into her hair.

“Now, what have you been up to these past two hours? Anything interesting?”

“Lots of things! I’d just been drawing, see, and it was about this story I’d read yesterday. There was this scene near the end and it was about how—”

She happily prattled on. Donadieu nodded and hummed every now and then, his staff thumping on the ground as he walked, or else clearing a path between the plants. There were supposed to be more than just plants in the greenhouse, but Rapunzel had yet to see any other creatures beyond the pollinating insects and birds.

(It was the first she’d heard that birds could make like bees and pollinate. How fascinating! Her professor had explained all about it to her.)

While she would have been happy to finally spot one of them, no such creature appeared. Instead, the skylight overhead changed from blue to steel grey. The noises of the garden grew less wild, the surroundings more orderly. The grass soon receded into the cobblestone floor as the greenhouse entrance came into view.

Not that any of that stopped Rapunzel from wanting to finish her story, even as she dropped down from his shoulder and began donning her winter wear.

“—and that’s when the brave princess solved the riddle with the ring and the curse on the island broke!”

Rapunzel hopped on one foot while trying to fit the other into a boot. Her balance faltered, and she nearly fell over when one of Donadieu’s large hands caught her back and propped her upright.

“And then—and then, and then she found the dragon, only the curse was gone now and the dragon wasn’t a mean dragon but a nice one! And she was pretty and she had feathers! So the princess saved the dragon and they left the island, and I wanted to draw the dragon with her feathers and how they looked when they flew into the sunset because surely it must’ve been so so so so so! So! Pretty!”

Rapunzel spun on the word ‘pretty’, flinging her cloak high so it flared up and around like a majestic cape. She let go of the hems and ended the spin with a series of happy little jumps. Her weekly doses of sunlight always left her with more energy than she knew what to do with. Donadieu didn’t seem to mind, so she didn’t feel as self-conscious about her post-sunshine behavior as she would have somewhere else.

Thanking her professor, Rapunzel gathered up her things and ran out into the snow. The biting wind that blew in her face hardly bothered her, nor the icy flakes that caught on her hair. How could they, when she felt so lively and filled with bubbles as she did?

She kicked the fluffy snow drifts she came across and went careening down any turns in the path, arms held out as she made whoosh!-ing noises through her teeth. Even through her mittens, the glowing, yellow marks were easy to see on the back of her hands. They made swirling shapes that climbed into her sleeves and up her arms.

For as long as Rapunzel could remember, she’d always had these curious marks spanning across her body. The only way to see them was when they glowed, and she had yet to know what made them do that. She wondered about them sometimes.

But then, if it was normal for others to have them too, then perhaps she should’ve already known about them. If they were just normal things and not all that important then she could just wait and find out on her own eventually. There were already so many other things for her to think about.

Rapunzel bounded through the castle’s doors and the air within caught her up in a soft warmth that felt much like a hug. It was incredible how the castle and its magic seemed to block out everything cold and harsh that tried to push in from the rest of the world.

It was strange. Hogwarts was like an old castle the way a cottage was like an old dungeon, in that it wasn’t. The castles in movies were often either frightening or full of posh people. Either drafty and dreary or else dripping with wealth.

But something about Hogwarts made it go in the opposite direction. Despite the towering walls, the golden dinner plates, the sprawling landscape, the sheer grandness of it all…the insides felt homely. Informal enough for just about anyone to walk in and be welcome, regardless of where they come from or how they dress. Lively enough for one to talk freely and honestly, regardless of station.

She couldn’t help but feel like the very foundations of the castle demanded it be treated like a home, like every hearth was meant to be a shelter and every meal a comfort. A place that was meant to have children living in it.

The castle felt like a witch’s dwelling.

It seemed even more so after its recent celebration of Imbolc, only a week before. A few of the decorations were still up, like candles that smelled of peppermint, small ornaments made of reeds and cornhusks that perched over the odd doorway.

The arrival of the festival and the symbolic awakening of new life beneath soil had also brought with it a shift in the energy of the castle, most notably seen in an early bout of spring cleaning (for the staff) and an annual uptake in divination and dream art* (for the students).

Rapunzel had used the change in energy to inspire another one of her attempts at trying to be productive. The fact that the holiday was on the smaller and sleepier side of things and that it was supposed to be more of a time for self-reflection rather than work were points that got in the way of her plans somewhat, but by the end of the week most of her chores were done and even some of her homework submitted—more than she’d expected from herself. With that fact and the excess energy still running through her, it was enough to put Rapunzel in a celebrating mood.

Rapunzel skipped into the common room and opened her mouth to call to her friends, only to stop in her tracks.

She waited a moment, rubbed her eyes, and blinked them open again.

The common room was empty.

That was new. Even at its quietest, there would normally be at least one senior passed out somewhere. But after going around and peering into every corner, there was still not a soul to be found save for Rapunzel.

What she did find was a fortune table. It sat in the middle of the room, between two deep blue couches and surrounded by a mess of throw pillows on the carpet. The small, low table held three items: a tall, lit candle, a bowl of water, and a dish covered with a domed brass lid.

It was one of the most common set-ups Rapunzel had seen during the holiday. The students who laid out such tables used the candle and bowl for fortune telling purposes.

As for the dish—Rapunzel wandered over and lifted the lid. Underneath it lay food. Circular slabs of thick, spongy bread carefully stacked one on top of the other, next to a bowl of fresh cheese and a pile of blackberries.

They were the usual offerings for an Imbolc alter. The ones on the plate were for anyone who wanted to eat them. Often the students doing their fortune telling would snack on them and sometimes offer a little to those passing by. There was even a card propped up next to the plate: “Please eat!” it read, in black, curving letters.

Rapunzel had missed the tea, so she sat on a cushion and did so. Ripping off chunks of bread, she dipped them into the cheese, and every few bites she sampled the blackberries, and was content enough to ignore how the juice stained her hands. It was strange eating the snacks without others there to share with—a whole plate, all to herself. What a thought!

But she wouldn't do to eat all of it. No, of course not. That would be bad. She remembered her mother's warnings: too many good things were not good for little children. It spoiled them. And if she ate too much then she'd get fat.

Rapunzel gulped down a berry. Deciding she was full enough, she pulled out a grubby handkerchief and wiped her hands and mouth.

The water in the bowl looked cool and refreshing. It almost had her reaching over to clean her fingers in it, but she jerked them back just in time—she absolutely would not get the water dirty—that would go beyond being rude. It would be breaking the rules of hospitality. She would never allow herself to do something like that.

But still…

The water beckoned. In more ways than one.

Rapunzel bit her lip. From what she knew, Divination was a subject she could take in her third year. Apparently, it could be dangerous without proper knowledge of what should and should not be done.

Rapunzel had never had this view of the fortune table. She'd normally sat with the younger students, all of them fascinated by the whole affair, watching what the seniors did until one of them gave snacks and shooed them off. Whenever she’d wanted to be a part of the fortune telling, it had usually happened with someone reading her palm or pointing out symbols from her dream art. Not her actively carrying out anything herself.

But…the bowl was right there. Everything was all set up…just a little peek couldn't hurt…

Rapunzel had always been too curious for her own good, but she'd also always managed to get out of whatever she’d put herself into without too much trouble. Mostly.

And, really, it's not like she'd actually make anything happen, right?

Rapunzel sat up on her knees. Taking a deep, bracing breath, she pressed her hands flat to the tablecloth and leaned over the bowl.

The water was so clear it showed the inky blackness of the bowl’s painted depth. Rapunzel's reflection gazed back like a mirror, the marks still scattered on her face glowing a gentle, buttery yellow. The candle on the table gave off a thin stream of vapor, coiling into the air. Its reflection floated by, dissolving into a soft, clean smell.

Above her head, the light fixtures glimmered. Winking and twinkling, they formed points of light that glowed alongside her own marks. Rapunzel giggled and tried to wink back.

And watched as tiny lights sparkled into existence in the water. One by one, they appeared like distant stars in a night sky, glittering up at her as if she’d summoned them there.

…Oh. Oh dear.

She hadn't thought this far.

Was she supposed to do something? She was, wasn't she? Perhaps she should say something? But what to say, what to say…

…A question, perhaps? Would that be alright? Would she need to say a spell? She didn't know any Divination spells. It would have to be a question, then.

But there were so many things to ask. So many questions in her head. But what would be the point of her asking any of them if she could just as well find the answers in a book or a person?

The longer she tried to pluck a question from her thoughts, the further they flew out of reach. It was hard to focus on much when staring at the bowl.

The stars in the bowl were very pretty to look at. They brought to mind stories she'd read of the stars, of heroes who'd found their destinies in them, children who found their way home by them. Stars were a way of time keeping, where people watched their passing with the turning of the seasons and set their calendars by them.

If there was one thing all of those stories shared in common, it was that the stars were for guidance.

…Would these stars guide her, too?

Slowly, Rapunzel leaned close to the water.

“Show me what I need to see,” she whispered.

Her breath fanned across the surface. It sent ripples that set the stars moving. They tumbled in the water, bouncing and bobbing alongside one another, at once beginning a lazy, meandering lap in the water. Forming and reforming, they spun in and out of their pairs, like millions of tiny dancers in the song of the universe.

From somewhere she didn’t know of, a feeling started up. A whispered, barely-there feeling…glinting and gliding and spider-silk thin.

A giggle brushed against her skin. Rapunzel looked up.

Before her nose there fluttered delicate, ghostly butterfly. It glowed pale blue. The swipe of its wings sent glittering dust that melted into the air.

Rapunzel smiled at it. “Pretty!”

She reached for the butterfly but it flew up and circled around her. Rapunzel followed after. It floated away, disappearing through a gap in the curtains.

Behind the curtains stood a small alcove. Every painting there was a different size, be it smaller than a playing card or tall enough to climb into.

The butterfly hovered before the largest of them all. It stayed just long enough for Rapunzel to see it and then vanished through the canvas.

Trying to do the same didn’t work. Poking around the frame didn’t help either, not when there seemed to be no hinge or trick panel or hint or something to help her get through. There wasn’t anyone in the painting to ask either, what with the scenery being some kind of opera house.

“…What to do, what to do...?” She muttered, her fingers sliding against the seam where the frame met the wall. She pushed her weight against it at random, curiosity morphing into frustration. If that painting had the nerve to not let her through—

Something in the wooden frame clicked.

Rapunzel paused. Then she gave a mighty shove and nearly fell when the frame popped out of place and swung away from the wall, groaning loud, like a forgotten door. With a lot more ease than such a heavy frame should’ve allowed, she drew it aside and found a sight that made her breath catch.

Inside the wall lay another place. A place unlike any that should exist in a tower. Or a castle. Or…anywhere, really…

One step forward…then another, and another…

It would not be right to call it a room, much less a building. Below sprawled a stone floor. Above, a stone ceiling. In place of walls to hold the ceiling up, there were instead smooth, stone pillars, thick as trees, marching one after another all along the edge. Where they met the ceiling, they spread outwards to form curved arches that ended in whorls and swooping shapes, like gusts of wind captured in crumbling grey stone.

In the centre stood what could hardly be called a tree. The sapling was thin enough for even her to hug with room to spare, its surface light and unblemished with youth. Its silvery leaves looked delicate and soft to the touch. They reached upwards to a wide hole in the high ceiling that allowed a shaft of light to shine through, making the few butterflies that fluttered around the trunk sparkle as they floated in and out of sight.

Slowly, Rapunzel neared the tree, gaping all the while. Until she stood before it. It was beautiful. Like something out of a story.

She walked a circle around it. The butterflies made no move to leave the tree, or even notice her there.

Rapunzel waited, head tilted up, but nothing else happened.

“…So…I have to choose on my own, then?” She asked.

Her only answer was a faint rustling of leaves.

Rapunzel turned away from the tree. In each gap of the stone pillars there appeared a different view. Through one was a cavern filled with glowing crystals. Another showed a moonlit lake. Some were strange, like one where the grasses outside grew so impossibly large they would make her to the size of a beetle, or one where the grey, sandy path led to an ocean made of clouds and a sky made of ocean.

One by one, she walked past each. Studying them for something that drew her. Something she liked.

And then she heard birdsong. It came from a view of a sun-drenched garden, filled to bursting with flowers and trees.

Rapunzel beamed. There it was! That was what she liked! Sun and trees and flowers!

Without a second thought, she ran through the pillars.

A sudden wave of longing and joy hit her so hard it knocked the breath from her lungs. The air smelled like a childhood she didn’t know of, the sunlight so bright it brought tears to her eyes.

From out of the rushing, swirling breeze spoke a voice that rang like windchimes.

You have made your choice, princess, it said. Your choice you shall get.

The light grew brighter and brighter. The ringing and singing grew louder, until she spun in a world of light and sound.

…Until the sounds faded away…and she faded away…

Darkness fell like a blanket, gentle and comforting. For a long, long time, it was all there was.

From a far off place, voices flitted through…normal voices… human ones. The voices of children, talking and laughing.

The darkness took shape. It became a carpeted floor, the smell of dust motes. A dim, dark awareness of quietly aching muscles, the kind that came from lying on a hard surface for too long.

Rapunzel woke to a dark blue ceiling. From behind the curtain came the sounds of her housemates. The rest of the alcove was as she remembered it, even the large painting she laid beside.

Rapunzel sat up and yawned. When she brought up her hands to rub her face, it was to see no glowing marks on them. She pouted. That was no fun. She must have been out for a few hours at least for them to go. She knew they’d return eventually, but still.

Her stomach told her it was hungry. Was it suppertime already? She’d have to go out and check. Whether it was or wasn’t, she could always count on there being snacks around.

With the thought of food and getting it in her, Rapunzel stood and went out of the alcove.

What she didn’t see was that the space behind the painting held no room or path of any sort. Only a stone wall.

A wall that at that moment held another painting, spread across the bare stones, that had not been there before.

For just a moment, something in it glowed. A quiet, butterfly giggle sounded, before fading away.

.°○.♡.○��.

A/N:

*dream art - refers to the students making different kinds of crafts and artwork inspired by their dreams. It could be a drawing, a painting, something knitted or beaded or even a song. They might hang them up in the common room, often showing them off to each other and asking those who know more about it what kind of symbols can be found in their art and what they mean.

- I read a story a little bit ago and one thing that really got to me about it was that the characters just?? rarely ever ate well??? and even when they ate something they'd either leave it unfinished or throw it away or there'd be some bad feelings involved and every time I'd just go "D':" I was so concerned about them. It made me go looking through my own story since it stayed on my mind so much. And that's when I noticed just how often I write about the characters in my story interacting with food. Whether they're eating it, making it, or even just noticing it, it's almost always there somehow and it's often focused around positive feelings.

Idk maybe it's just something that's personal to me, or it's the culture I grew up in where I was helping in the kitchen while I was learning to walk (even if the help was just holding a bowl or being given bits of food to "taste test"), but I have a lot of positive associations with food. I love cooking and eating good food and I'm happy I can find that love in my writing.

- As you can see, I've included several aspects of the Celtic holiday Imbolc in this chapter. For example, the bowl of water that Rapunzel used for fortune telling was a reference to Brighid's well. According to the books I read, Brighid is a Celtic goddess who originated in southern Ireland and became very wide-spread throughout Ireland and Scotland. She resides over poetry, learning, smithcraft, healing, women, and is associated with both fire and water symbolism. To quote one of those books: "Imbolc celebrations were inextricably linked to the worship of Brighid..." "...On Imbolc, processions were made to her sacred wells, which were typically adorned with greenery at this time, signifying the imminent return of spring. Devotees would circle the well before drinking of the waters in order to bring about good fortune..." "...Water has long been associated with the power to heal, so it is no coincidence that Brighid, in her aspect as healer, would be associated with wells."

I hope I wrote about it okay. What do you think? :D

- I have a concern, which I may likely put at the beginning of this fic: as of now I don't really know how much of the pagan holidays I should incorporate into this story. Yes, I am writing a decidedly pagan magical society, but I'm not a part of something like that nor do I practice this faith myself. As much as I'll do everything I can to do my research and treat the practices with respect, I don't know how much of it I can write about without causing offense or speaking about things that are not my place to speak about. It's why I've put some work into creating my own deities and the festivals and practices that are associated with them, even if I haven't had much of a chance to bring them out yet, so that I don't drag in more of other people's practices than needed. But again, I don't know how much of that I can incorporate here alongside real-life pagan practices.

I feel like not including the practices entirely and just making all the lore and things whatever I come up with is disingenuous to the concept of witches and magic use in general. On another note, there seems to be quite a bit of appropriation that goes on in modern-day witchcraft, from what I've seen of it. In one of the books I read it mentioned making prayers to the Hindu god Ganesha. It wasn't anything offensive - the person had done pretty well getting their facts right, at least - but I didn't really know how to feel about that lol. So chances are that some of the practices I'm reading about are taken from many different "pagan" classified religions and people just decided to go practicing all of them willy-nilly regardless of where they come from.

But aside from that, I feel like as long as I write about those things going on in the background without delving in too deep I should be able to avoid causing too much discomfort. Or I'm thinking too deep about this. If others have any thoughts or input regarding this, I'm welcome to hearing them. Book 2 is still over a year away from seeing the light and right now there are many directions I can take things since nothing's really set in stone, so please feel free to suggest what you think with this, especially if it applies to something you yourself know about or practice. If you have any corrections or grievances with what I've written about it so far, please tell me that, too.

[sharpeagle-tech]

Crane Accident Prevention & OSHA Regulations Guide

Between 2011 and 2017, the Census of Fatal Occupational Injuries (CFOI) reported a staggering total of 297 crane-related deaths. Mishaps caused by lapses in crane safety often put the lives of the crew members at risk and result in significant losse­s for the company. Imagine the impact of a crane malfunction on a bustling construction site or industrial setting. In such scenarios, crane lights can make all the difference. Making sure that crane­ safety lights work efficiently isn't a choice - it's a mandate to stop accidents and follow strict OSHA rule­s.

This blog explores the key role of crane safety lights in prote­cting workers and meeting OSHA standards. We­'ll look at the main causes of crane accidents and examine legal impacts and OSHA safe­ty guidelines. Our aim is to shed light on the proactive­ safety measures in high-risk se­ttings. By using safety lights properly, companies e­nsure compliance and create­ a secure work environment.

Want to discover how adding safety lights preve­nts crane accidents and boosts workplace safe­ty? Read on to understand the crucial role of crane safety lights in accident prevention and regulatory compliance.

[doritopaw101]

Arc1, book 2: Chapter 3

When Icebelly opened his eyes again, gray light was glowing at the end of the tunnel. Dawn must be near. Icebelly's bones would have ached from the cold hard ground but he was used to this feeling from living on the streets during his kithood.

He nudged the closest cat to him, Silverpaw, the gray tabby grunted "Morning already?"

"Almost sunshine" Icebelly answered with low purr, getting to his paws. Silverpaw chuckled at the nickname as he stretched and stood up too. The began to wake up the others and shaking them awake in some cases, cough Graypaw cough.

"I think we should head that way" Icebelly mewed, craning his neck away from the blinding light.

"Lead the way then oh great leader" Fogtail replied with a sneer, lashing his long striped tail

They quickened their pace until they were racing up a short, steep slope that led them into a world filled with gray dawn light. They had come up near the edge of a patch of barren, dirty grass. Thunderpaths enclosed it on sides, and another arched overhead. Icebelly saw a camp fire with humans gathered around it.

Icebelly watched them warily, then froze as something else caught his eye: dark outlines that flitted back and forth in front of the flames. Windclan! Icebelly looked at the fire and the cats, and his mind flooded with the memory of his dream-the noise of the Thunderpath, the sight of the flames and the cats.

Icebelly looked over his shoulder "We must find Duskstar and speak with him"

"Is he even alive?" Silverpaw asked "Maybe Deadfoot leads them now"

"Then it is Windclan?" Graypaw asked

Icebelly nodded

"Let's go!" Silverstream braced herself, ready to leap forward.

"Hang on" Icebelly warned pulling Silverstream back by his scruff "We don't want to startle them"

Just then, one of the humans sat up with a jolt and began shouting at the ragged cats around the fire.

"Damn cats, get away!" the human snapped

The noise roused the other humans, who joined in with rough, angry voices.

The Windclan cats scattered. All the caution forgotten and thrown to the wind as Icebelly yowled "After them!" and gave chase.

One of the humans staggered to its feet, looming up in front of him. Icebelly skidded, sending up a spray of dust. Icebelly felt a bottle smash beside him, shards cutting into his pelt but he didn't stop running. They charged into the safety of the shadows beneath the soaring Thunderpath.

"Guys look" Silverstream whispered

Icebelly saw the Windclan cats stop close to one of the Thunderpath's great stone legs. And then, one by one, the cats disappeared into the ground.

"Where'd they go?" Graypaw mewed in amazement

"There must be another tunnel" Icebelly mewed "Come on let's find out"

Cautiously, they approached the spot where the Windclan cats vanished. As they neared, they saw a hole in the earth. Like their resting place on the previous night, the entrance was round and lined with stone, sloping away into utter blackness.

Icebelly led the way, all his senses alert for a Windclan patrol. The floor beneath his paws felt wet and slimy, and the sound of trickling water echoed around them. As the tunnel leveled out, Icebelly pricked his ears and opened his mouth. The damp air smelled rank and bitter-worse than tunnel they had slept in. Here the Thunderpath fumes mingled with the fear-scent of Windclan cats.

It was too dark to see anything, but after a few paces Icebelly's whiskers sensed a turning in the tunnel. Ahead of them, the tunnel was lit by a narrow hole in the ceiling that led to the wasteland above. Icebelly could see many cats huddled together in the gray light-warriors, queens, and kits, all painfully thin. A cold breeze blew relentlessly through the hole in the roof, stirring the thin fur one the skinny bodies. Icebelly could feel the others shudder at the stench of sickness and crowfood.

He didn't because he had to eat crowfood before. Dewflare couldn't always bring back fresh prey, so she pulled what she could from a dumpster and told them to eat it. It was better than nothing then. He remembered Luna complaint of a belly ache but Dewflare told her to deal with it but then tried to help Luna throw it up but then again Luna was one of her favorites.

"How do you tolerate this?" Graypaw asked while gagging, glaring at Icebelly

"I'm used to it, I lived on the stoneplace streets where I had to eat literal garbage to survive another day" Icebelly replied

Silverstream rubbed herself against him "Oh you poor thing"

Fogtail looked annoyed and uncomfortable while Graypaw looked unsure about the gesture. Silverpaw just saw this as normal and rubbed himself on the other side of Icebelly.

Suddenly the tunnel shook as a car roared overhead. The others jumped but Icebelly and the Windclan cats didn't react. They simply huddled with half-closed eyes, numb to their surroundings.

Once the noise died away, Icebelly took a deep breath and stepped around the corner, out into the thin light.

A gray Windclan tom with torn up ears spun around, his fur standing on end as he yowled an alarm to rest of the clan. In one smooth movement , the Windclan warriors formed a line across the tunnel in front of the queens, their backs arched, hissing fiercely.

With a strong feeling of dread, Icebelly saw the glint of unsheathed claws and thorn-sharp fangs. These half-starved cats were about to attack.

Icebelly held his ground. He could relate to these cats. He knew a hungry cat was a dangerous cat.

"Get down!" He hissed and the group obeyed.

The Windclan warriors stood their ground without moving a muscle. They're waiting for Duskstar's orders! It's just like in Bloodclan that aren't going to attack unless the leader says so. If only Thunderclan follow that.

"Splinter Icepaw?" From behind the line of warriors, a black and white tom weaved his way to the front but it wasn't just him who called his old name, Icebelly's eyes widen when he saw Luna and Jake standing beside the Windclan leader.

"Splinter" Luna padded over, pulling him close "I've missed ya fluffball"

Icebelly only chuckled. The others were still, especially Fogtail.

"It's great to see you again Splinter" Jake purred, grooming his son's ears

"Thunders and Rivers" Duskstar murmured "We've been expecting only Shadowclan, I never thought I'd see you again Icepaw" he touched his nose to Icebelly's own.

"Yeah that's all well and good but why are you here?" a gray and brown molly hissed, her amber gaze burning on them

"You need to go back" Icebelly mewed, stepping forward

"Why?" the molly replied

"Because you don't want Shadowclan to win over you do you?" Icebelly asked, playing with pride was always a good choice "Don't want them to think they're all powerful right?"

The Windclan cats gazed at each other.

"I really suggest going, Riverclan and Shadowclan seem eager to take your land for all it has" Icebelly added

"Although, Riverclan certainly won't do well with hunting rabbits, with our short limbs" Silverstream finished

Duskstar and his warriors purred in amusement

"What about Shadowclan?" a gray tom asked "They could just try to trap and kill us"

"They killed Larkfoot, Plumclaw, and Stoneclaw" a tortie molly hissed "They mostly likely killed Whitetail too"

"Whitetail's alive" Icebelly mewed

The clan stared at Icebelly, a white tom with blue eyes stepped forward "She's alive?"

Icebelly nodded "She's in Thunderclan camp, close to kitting in fact"

A gray tabby tom wailed with joy "My daughter lives" he cried

"Should we risk it Duskstar?" a dark gray and white tom asked

"This is not how any clan should live Pigeonwing" Duskstar replied "Not how Windclan should live and Whitetail and her kits need her clan, we shall return"

"Can we travel with you?" Silverpaw asked

"Yes you may" Duskstar replied, he turned to his clan "Are we all fit to travel?"

"All except Morningflower's kits" Jake replied

"We shall take turns carrying them"

"This is Silverstream, Silverpaw, Graypaw, Fogtail and I'm called Icebelly"

Duskstar nodded to his words "The name fits you"

The Windclan cat shuffled forward, eyes dull with pain and exhaustion

"Ready?"

"Ready"

Silverstream and Fogtail led the group out of the tunnel and waited while the Windclan cats emerged blinking into the daylight. Duskstar padded out of the tunnel last and walked to the head of his clan.

"Shall we take you back the way we came?" Silverpaw asked boldly "It seems like a shortcut"

Duskstar seemed to consider this "Is it safe?"

"We had no problem on our way here" Silverstream mewed

"Fogtail take the lead along with Deadfoot, Silverpaw, Graypaw, Silverstream stay near the middle, Icebelly you're with me"

Icebelly saw everyone follow Duskstar's orders. He dropped to the back, Duskstar, Jake, and Luna were there. Icebelly just noticed two little kittens was walking beside Luna.

"How did you mange to wiggle your way into the clans in the first place?" Duskstar asked "Luna and Jake here gave me some idea about it"

"I got curious one night" Icebelly shrugged "Thunderclan's pretty cool and Bluestar leads well"

"Indeed she does" Jake agreed

"Yep, how did you two get here?"

"I got caught by humans and they were going to do the TSR thing to me but I managed to escape thanks to some dogs, I wandered around a bit then Jake found me and brought me here" Luna answered "Some of the clan was wary of me but let me stay because of Marble and Saw here. Anything else happen?"

"Nutmeg" he growled "Is Dewflare, lives in Shadowclan and bore Brokenstar's kits: Roachkit, Beekit, and Flykit. Flame is in Riverclan under the name of Flamepaw" Icebelly suddenly did a double take when he remembered the last part "Marble and Saw's your kit right?"

Luna chuckled "Yeah, screwed around with a kittypet named Simon"

As the Clan made its way under the Thunderpath arch, Icebelly could still smell the fire, but when they padded out onto the patch of wasteland, the humans were nowhere to be seen. Fogtail went straight to the tunnel where they had spent the night. Deadfoot entered first while Icebelly waited in the back along with Luna as the Clan disappeared inside.

Icebelly padded down into the dark hole. He emerged to find the Windclan cats staring across the field that led to the final Thunderpath. Icebelly consult briefly with Silverstream before they set off into the long, frost-crisp grass. Icebelly walked with the rest of the clan, flanking one side while Deadfoot limped steadily on the other.

Icebelly looked over his shoulder and saw some of the cats falling farther behind. Morningflower was among them, carrying two of her kits. Icebelly bounded over to her. She was panted heavily. It couldn't have been long since her kitting.

"I'll carry one for you" he offered "Just until you catch your breath"

"I'll help too" Silverstream mewed walking on the other side of the Windclan queen.

Morningflower looked hesitant but agreed. "Be careful with Gorsekit, he's so small" She set her kits down, Icebelly picked up a ginger and white one while Silverstream, picked up the tortie kitten. A brown tabby tom padded over, he set a kit down "Morningflower, are you okay?"

"I'm fine Weaselwhisker, just tired these two are carrying Briarkit and Gorsekit for me, keep carrying Quailkit for me please"

Weaselwhisker nodded picking up Quailkit and padding along side him and Silverstream. The brown tabby warrior looked strong but Icebelly didn't miss the small limp he carried.

"When we get to a place to rest, see Barkface you don't want a small sprain to be something worse" he whispered

Weaselwhisker's eyes widen in shock at his words, he obviously didn't expect such words from an enemy warrior but seemed to accept his words.

Duskstar slowed his pace, but only a little. In spite of his exhaustion, and the fact that every rib showed under his fur, he burned with a fierce energy that lent swiftness to his.

Icebelly could understand part of the reason for his urgency, The sun was steadily climbing above the horizon. Some of the Windclan cats were sick and all of them were weak from hunger. If they were going to cross the Thunderpath without losing any cats, they would have to do it quickly, before the monsters came in their swarms.

"We cross the Thunderpath here" Duskstar announced above the noise of a car racing past. The Windclan leader squeezed under the hedge. Deadfoot and a white tom followed him.

Morningflower leaned toward Icebelly and took hold of Gorsekit. She had stopped panting now and as she took the kit from Icebelly she brushed her cheek gratefully against his. He dipped his head to the tortoiseshell queen and followed Silverpaw under the hedge.

Duskstar and Deadfoot sat staring wordlessly at the wide gray path.

"We should try to get the clan over in small groups" Deadfoot mewed

"The strongest group will go first" Duskstar replied

"Me and Silverstream will help anyone who needs it" Icebelly stated, earning a nod from Duskstar.

The other Windclan cast began to appear through the hedge. Before long the whole clan was clustered beside them, pressed against the sharp twigs, as far back from the Thunderpath as possible.

Icebelly and Silverstream moved to the edge, watching for a break in the line of cars known to him as traffic. The Thunderpath was much busier than it had been when they'd crossed last night.

Weaselwhisker led the first group forward.

"Do you want us to cross with you?" Icebely offered. He could smell the brown warrior fear. The tabby shook his head. The cats beside him peered along the Thunderpath first one way, then the other. All was quiet, and the group dashed safely over to the other side.

Two warriors came next, accompanied by a pair of skinny apprentices. "Now!" Icebelly ordered as a monster flashed safely past.

The four Windclan cats stepped out onto the empty Thunderpath. The apprentices winced as they padded across on paws raw from the damp tunnel. Icebelly picked up a gray tabby apprentice carried them but tossed them when he heard Silverstream yowl "Look out!". The other cats bounded forward, fur bristling, and hurled themselves onto the other side a heartbeat before raced past.

Two larger groups crossed, leaving just one more. Only once they safely over would Duskstar and Deadfoot cross. Morningflower and her kits stepped to Icebelly's side. Behind her were three other warriors.

"Those three are Wrenflight, Aspenfall, and Crowfur" Morningflower mewed "They're older but I know that Wrenflight is expecting and believe Aspenfall is as well"

Icebelly nodded "We'll cross with you" He turned to Silverstream, who nodded "Tell us when it's safe to go, Silverstream"

He turned back to Morningflower "May I carry one of your kits?, I know you can carry two but..." he knew it's always important to ask before you pick up a kit especially when their mother was right in front of you.

Morningflower looked ready to say no but she did realize he was right. "Okay, carry Gorsekit but be careful"

Icebelly nodded and picked up the ginger and white kitten. The kitten and his littermates bodies looked more sturdy rather than the thin look Morningflower did. They most likely had Thunderclan blood, he would ask her later if he could.

"Now!" At Silverstream's yowl, Icebelly and Morningflower stepped out onto the Thunderpath. The Windclan warriors crept behind them with Silverstream beside them. As they moved Icebelly could feel the vibrations of an incoming car. He quickly made it to the other side, a gray molly called him.

"I'm Ashfoot, I'll take him go help the others" Icebelly nodded to him and padded back to the last group.

"Move move" Icebelly ordered helping nudge the older warriors forward. The noise of the approaching car grew louder and louder. Icebelly grabbed Crowfur by the scruff and dragged him forward, before turning the haul the second closer to the verge. The car raced closer. Icebelly closed his eyes and braced himself.

Nothing could prepare him for the pain.

He let out a screech as the car ran over his leg and an acrid smell that stung his throat, then a fading roar as the monster sped away. Icebelly opened his eyes and looked around. Silverstream was crouching in the middle of the Thunderpath, unscathed, but staring with eyes wide as full moons. The car was hurtling away from them, swerving across the Thunderpath.

"Icebelly!" Silverstream rushed to his side "What hurts?"

"My leg" he whimpered

"Barkface!" Jake called

Duskstar bounded across with Deadfoot and gathered his trembling clan around him.

Barkface bounded over and examined his leg "Looks like a clean break, no blood at all, you're really lucky"

"There's nothing we could use to help him right now?" Graypaw asked

Barkface shook his head "I don't have any herbs, maybe if we keep moving I can find something"

Weaselwhisker touched Icebelly's nose with his own. "You would've died for us" he murmured "For Windclan, I will never forget that"

"Weaselwhisker's right; we shall honor you all in our stories. We must keep going" he continued "We still have a long journey ahead of us"

"Could someone carry him?" Silverstream asked

"I'll do it" a black tom with purple eyes mewed as he padded over "Name's Darkfoot, Hold still Thundercat"

Darkfoot slid beneath Icebelly's front leg and lifted them onto his back "Sorry" when Icebelly couldn't suppress a groan of pain. The black warrior carried Icebelly off the road.

"Barley's den is around here" Silverstream mewed "We can stop there"

"A twoleg den?" Deadfoot hissed

"Barley's a fine cat" Jake mewed

"Juniperleaf just because you know him doesn't mean he can be trusted" the deputy retorted

"Have any better ideas?" Silverstream asked with a roll of her blue eyes "If not, let's go"

As the cats prepared to move off, Darkfoot carried him with ease. Icebelly lifted his head gaze at Morningflower who was busy licking her kits.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly

"All in one piece" she replied "I was worried for you"

"Thought you'd be fresh-kill" Darkfoot added

Icebelly chuckled "I'll bare it for now"

The clan followed the hedgerow along the Thunderpath before turning away to join track through the woods. The scents here seemed to soothe the Windclan cats, but the journey had taken its toll; they were traveling slower than every. And they reached the fence at far side, it took all of Icebelly's strength to help the weakest cats over before Darkfoot carried him again.

The sun had passed its highest point by the time Icebelly spotted the Twolegplace in the distance. He sniffed the air but he didn't catch the scent of Barley. Clouds billowed up over Highstones, growing blacker as they covered the sinking son. A cold wind ruffled the cats' fur, bringing the first drops of rain.

Icebelly looked at the Windclan cats. There was no way they could travel through a long, wet night. He was tired too, and, for the first since he'd eaten at the barn, he was feeling the effects of hunger. A glance at Fogtail, then to Silverstream and Sliverpaw told him the others felt the same way.

"Duskstar" Icebelly called "We should stop soon and shelter for the night" he really wanted to rest his leg and more importantly Darkfoot's back. The warrior wouldn't admit it but he could tell he was getting tired.

The Windclan leader stopped and waited while Icebelly caught up with him. "I agree" he mewed "There's a ditch here; we can shelter in that until sunrise"

"There's a barn nearby" Icebelly mewed "There's some loners there and their friendly, really they are"

Duskstar looked ready to to protest but thought must've entered his mind, reminding him of something.

"Alright" he turned to his clan and announced that they were sheltering in a barn for the night. Icebelly padded closer to the barn with all the others in tow.

"I thought I smelled Thunderclan 'round here" the voice of Barley made Icebelly smile "Glad to see ya" he noticed Darkfoot helped Icebelly stand "What happened?"

"Got hit by a car and great to see you" he mewed "We need shelter for the night, think we could use your barn"

"Sure, Mary and Violet won't mind" Barley purred 

Barley led them through the hedge into another field. In an abandoned corner, among the brambles and nettles, stood an abandoned Twoleg nest. The walls were full of holes where stones had fallen out, and only half the roof was left.

"You won't catch me in there!" a cat spat

"The humans don't come over here much" Barley mewed

"We'll be sheltered from the rain" Icebelly urged

Icebelly heard an apprentice whisper rather loudly "I'm not surprised he wants to hide in Twoleg nest-once a kittypet, always a kittypet"

Icebelly bristled. He heard this comment daily from his own clanmates, he didn't need it now and the ache in his leg didn't help, he hadn't even been a kittypet for fucks sake. He whipped around and glared daggers at the apprentice. "You've spent two moons living in a rotting twoleg tunnel. Does that make you a filthily rat?"

The Windclan apprentice, a gray tabby car drew themself up, ruffling out their fur, but Silverstream stepped between them. "Come on, we're just getting wetter the longer we stand out here"

"We've faced worse than a Twoleg shelter these past moons. One night here will do us no harm" Duskstar mewed

The Windclan cats murmured nervously among themselves, clearly reluctant, but with a glance at Icebelly, Morningflower called Ashfoot to help her pick up her kits and padded into the Twoleg shelter. The gray queen followed after her, nudging her own kit forward out of the rain with Briarkit in her jaws. The others cats gradually followed until every cat was inside.

Icebelly looked around the gloomy shelter. The ground was bare except for patches where weeds had burrowed their way under the stone walls. The wind and rain found their way through the gaps in the walls and roof, but it was drier and sheltered than anywhere outside. He watched the Windclan cats sniffing cautiously around.

"Ya'll be fine" a voice called and a ginger and white tabby molly padded out with three kits in tow. He guessed that was Mary, Violet must be somewhere around here.

The Windclan cats almost looked ready to attack the molly until they saw she had kits.

"That's Mary" Barley called "My sister Violet's 'round here somewhere, rest"

"What about food?" Deadfoot asked

"The barn's crawling with mice and voles" Mary mewed "You'll be stuffed for days"

"Great" Duskstar mewed "Tornear, Cloudrunner, Weaselwhisker, Sorrelflight find as much as you can"

"We'll help too" Silverpaw added as he and Silverstream dashed around the barn.

"Icebelly, come I want to fix your leg" Barkface called

/

He tried to do hunting but he only managed to catch one mouse before his leg gave out and Darkfoot dragged him back to the barn. He padded to where Mary laid with her kits. The ginger tabby molly had a straw piece in her mouth like Barley and her kits were wrestling with each other.

"Sorry for barging in like this" he mewed softly

"It's fine as long as my kits aren't hurt I could care less" Mary replied "My little Rose, Jacky and Joey" Now that he was getting a proper look at them, Rose was an complete copy of her mother. Jacky was a brown tabby while Joey was a bright ginger tom.

"As expected" Icebelly mewed "A dam will do anything to protect the young"

"Right you are young tom" Mary purred, she cocked her head to the side, a smirk appeared across her face "I think that tortie wants ya"

Icebelly turned to see Morningflower gazing at him, looking unsure of herself. He padded over to her, he looked down at her kits resting at her belly.

"Are you all alright?" he asked "You look nervous"

"Yes we are but.." she trailed off

"But?"

"I know I'm asking a lot of you but can you...sleep with me..j..just close by..please?"

Icebelly could see how this could be uncomfortable to any other clan born cat but he was no such cat. It felt nice to be this close to another cat like this. He huddled close to the molly, nuzzling her cheek.

He felt her return the gesture. Though he could feel ice at the back of his head.

"I feel like were being watched" he muttered

"Mudclaw" she replied "He's the sire of these kits, we aren't mates by the way"

From the corner of his eye

"Um excuse me?" Icebelly turned his head to see the white tom and the gray tabby from earlier as well as the tabby apprentice "Juniperleaf said you'd be over here"

"My name is Aspenfall, this is Cloudrunner, this is Webfoot" the older tabby mewed "We're Whitetail's-"

"Family" he finished "Whitetail told me about you"

"What else did she say?" a tortie molly padded over, her pelt looked freshly groomed

"Thrushwing" Morningflower warned

"Relax dear sister" the younger molly replied "I'm just concerned for our clanmate and the kits she carries as this tom has said as they are our brother's kits"

"Yeah, she's due any day now" Icebelly added "She misses you"

"I'd certainly hope the furball did" Webfoot replied "At least she survived the dog"

"She said she'd been hiding out but Brokenstar found her and that's why she came to Thunderclan" Icebelly mewed

Aspenfall just smiled "I'm just glad she's alive"

/

"When were you going to tell us!?" Bluestar didn't so much as wince at her Embereyes's furious yowl, she was calm and still.

She had been cornered in the medicine den by Yellowfang after her patrol had a run in with a coyote. His mother said it bit Bluestar real good in the leg.

Mossthorn, Nettlemist, and Leopardstorm managed to overhear.

Dustpaw knew he shouldn't be listening but he was bored as day since Redtail became deputy and Sandstorm and Chestnutclaw became warriors. He really didn't want to watch Chivekit, Stagkit, Shrewkit, and Hawk-kit again since they've started to become terrors. Robinwing was busy discussing politics with Smallear, he refused to be around Fuzzypelt and his weakness, and Patchpelt...let's not talk about him.

At least Littlekit and Sleetkit became apprentices finally, Leopardfoot to Littlepaw and Nightshade to Sleetpaw. Smokypaw had been apprenticed to Tiger-roar.

It was unfair that he couldn't be a warrior with Cherrycloud and Chestnutclaw, or Sandstorm.

It stung more as that stupid Icebelly got his name before him. That tom was younger than him and he had to be injured during the Shadowclan attack.

And now the tom was missing, as well as Fogtail and Graypaw. Lionheart was in a frenzy worried over his apprentice/cousin, Willowpelt and Cranepaw weren't any better. The queen was worried sick and Leopardstorm and Miststrike had to almost force her to eat, Cranepaw clung to him and Sandstorm and they didn't have the heart to turn her away. Lionheart was blaming Icebelly for this of course, the outsider probably had something to do with this. Sandstorm seemed strange about this event, seeming to care and not caring at the same time.

Dustpaw while worried over his brother knew he'd be back and was alright, Robinwing taught him how to defend himself and his brother wasn't an idiot. 

"Were you just going to wait til it became to obvious to hide or hope you miscarried them in battle" Embereyes hissed, she looked away "You would do something like"

"It wasn't important Ember" Bluestar said simply

"Not important NOT IMPORTANT!" the dark gray and white molly spat "Kits lives are important, Mossthorn Nettle back me up here"

Nettlemist shuffled his paws "Kits are important but Embereyes but it's Bluestar's choice of what to do"

"Are you on her side?" she snarled

"I'm not on anyone's side" Nettlemist mewed, curling his tail over his paws

Mossthorn cutted in "But Mother you shouldn't have started starving yourself"

"Who's the sire?" Leopardstorm mewed, speaking for the first time "I've seen you go to twolegplace Auntie, I've seen you with a tom and molly, does the sire know?"

'Bluestar's mates with kittypets?!' Dustpaw thought with disgust

"He's aware" Bluestar replied

"You can't be in any more battles either" Yellowfang stated "Redtail might have to take over for at the next gathering"

Bluestar rolled her eyes "Fine" she got up and started to walk away

"Where are you going!" Embereyes called

"Out on a patrol"

Bluestar walked over and had no problem pulling Dustpaw from where he'd had been hiding "It's not good to eavesdrop Dustpaw"

"Not honorable to the code to be in love with a kittypet, but then again you didn't learn the first time-" he sneered but quickly clammed his mouth shut. He realized that was way too far.

But surprisingly, Bluestar chuckled "Loves works in many ways Dustpaw"

Dustpaw huffed "Sure and mice fly"

"Redtail!" Bluestar called "I want a patrol near Shadowclan, have you sent any out yet?"

Dustpaw saw his mentor's eyes widen "Shoot, I haven't, I've been keeping track of Riverclan's side and the hunting parties from the moor" he lowered his head "I'm sorry Bluestar"

Bluestar placed a paw over her face "Get some cats, we're going out"

"Umm...are you sure you should go?" Dustpaw asked

"I'll mange Dustpaw, if you ever decide to go with pregnancy for kits, you'll feel your limits as you go along and if not you'll have your healers to drag you away"

Dustpaw flicked his tail and rolled his eyes once more.

"Leopardstorm, Ravenpaw, Darkstripe, Smokypaw, Cherrycloud, Miststrike, Birchstep, come with us" Redtail called

'Great' Dustpaw thought with annoyance 'Stuck with scardypaw'

"He delayed his ceremony for you" Cherrycloud hissed in his ear "The least you can do is shut your trap if you can't even say thank you"

"Shut up" Dustpaw replied "Aren't you ashamed of him, it's great we have more siblings to make up for him"

Cherrycloud can be a difficult cat to read to most but Dustpaw could see though her most of the time, this wasn't one of them however.

"He's our kin, he hasn't done anything to be disowned so he will be treated as kin" she replied

"I won't hiss at him" Dustpaw stated "That's as far as I go"

"I'm here to shut your mouth for you" Cherrycloud sneered "Clearly Redtail can't do it"

Dustpaw jumped back as Ravenpaw rushed forward, his head low. The black tom lifted his head to reveal a squirrel.

"Nice job Ravenpaw" Leopardstorm purred

'hunting doesn't win fights' Robinwing says 'Fighting helps ensure better hunting'

"Could've been better" Dustpaw mewed, he ignored Cherrycloud hitting him in the shoulder "We'll need more so we'll survive leafbare"

"Agreed" Darkstripe lowly growled "We don't want more deaths, remember well Smokypaw" the apprentice nodded, very obedient.

Ravenpaw lowered his head "I can find more, I can smell some birds"

"That's great" Leopardstorm mewed "We'll feast on them"

"Don't hold your breath" Bluestar growled, her tail raised in a way that signaled an attack. Her claws unsheathed and her back fur raised.

"How many?" Redtail asked, thinking the same thing as Bluestar. His teeth bared.

"Six or seven I suspect" Bluestar mewed "Brokenstar's here, Come out and fight me Brokentail, if you have the bite to match that pathetic barking of yours" she yowled

The last thing Dustpaw saw before the fight was Brokenstar leaping out and smashing into Bluestar, teeth in her neck and claws in her shoulder.

[agreatperhaps12]

revisiting some old writing this break and incredibly fond of the 2017!me that started writing OccHaz. hopefully 2021!me can finish what you started, pal.

Remus Lupin usually prides himself on being the exact opposite of a werewolf stereotype: a clean, well-read, mild-mannered boy. But if Remus Lupin is bedridden one more day in a row, there’s a solid chance he will murder one of his roommates in cold blood.

Even before opening his eyes, Remus can tell that it’s been raining, because the bunk is thick with the punishing smell of wet dog. Remus rolls over and smashes his nose into his pillow. It does not help. Superhuman sense of smell is useful for a great many things, but comfortably sharing a room with six werewolves is not one of them. 

Remus drags his quilt over his head, blocking out some of the overhead lighting and none of the chatter from Malcolm’s radio. He doesn’t really have any intention of falling back asleep. For once, Remus has somewhere to be today. But it’s the principle of the thing. 

Principles, however, go out the window when the radio host on Malcolm’s wireless fills the airwaves with some awful, angry music, and Malcolm obeys Lucas’s command to turn it up, mate. 

Resigned, Remus plants his hands on either side of his chest and arches his back. The motion punches a pathetic, wheezing noise out of his mouth, and Remus collapses face-first back onto his bed. “I hate you,” Remus grumbles at Moony. It’s been five days. 

Moony—a latent, lazy presence in the back of Remus’s mind—doesn’t respond. Typical. The wolf is always quieter in the immediate aftermath of a Full Moon, conveniently leaving Remus all alone to deal with whatever their body gets up to in Greenland. 

Remus rubs the sore spot on his abdomen and heaves himself into a sitting position at the edge of his bed, careful to avoid the arm of a somehow-still-sleeping Ronan dangling from the top bunk. For today’s purposes, Remus’s injured abdomen doesn’t matter nearly as much as whether his left ankle can comfortably hold his weight. So when Remus stands up to stretch without his knee buckling, he feels a little flutter of triumph, despite the sharp twinge in his side. 

It’s usually not this bad. As far as he can tell, Moony and the other wolves know to give each other a wide berth under the Full Moon to avoid injury, most of the time. But that’s the thing about werewolves, isn’t it. Remus’s hand automatically comes up to rub the ridge of scar tissue that cuts across his nose. Horribly unpredictable creatures. 

And yet, in other ways, entirely too predictable. Across the room, Dante is hunched against the wall with one foot propped on a bent knee to clip his toenails without taking any pains to collect them. The soggy boots discarded at the foot of his bed mark the end of a muddy trail of footprints out the door. The source of the smell, Remus presumes.

What would Remus’s mum say.

Probably that Remus ought to pick up his own dirty clothing—since that now includes literally every piece of clothing Remus owns. Remus gingerly bends over to gather up his heap of laundry from the general mess on the floor just in time to avoid being nicked in the eye by a rogue nail clipping. He cranes his neck around his armful of laundry to tiptoe around Dante’s muddy tracks on his way out of the room.  

“Oi, Loopy, you doing laundry?” Lucas says over the music.    

“Yeah, mine,” Remus calls back, and hooks his foot around the door to pull it shut behind him before Lucas can hurl an expletive—or possibly something more bruising—at Remus’s back. 

In the utility room, Remus dumps his soiled clothing on the floor beside the washtub, and the pair of rubber gloves draped over the lip jerks into midair. One glove twists the tap over the basin and sticks a finger under the water. The other pinches one of Remus’s shirts between forefinger and thumb, then promptly drops it and lurches back in disgust. 

“What till you see Dante’s,” Remus says grimly. 

In the kitchen, Remus opens each cabinet to take stock of what remains from his grocery run before the July Full. The inventory amounts to a sleeve of crackers, the heels of a bread loaf, canned green beans, unopened jam, and a jar of peanut butter that Remus saw Monty double-dip his finger into yesterday. 

Remus glances at the queue of Portkey bottles on the windowsill, where all but the 08:00, 09:00 and 10:00 bottles are accounted for. Remus checks his watch. Almost 11:00. The 08:00 bottle should be back soon. Remus hopes that Lucas has taken it to get groceries in… wherever that Portkey is assigned this month. 

In the meantime, Remus settles for a jam sandwich. He’s never very hungry on waning gibbous days, anyway. He’s just twisting the cap off the jam jar when a sharp crack shatters the quiet from inside Greyback’s room. Remus flinches so violently that the jar nearly slips from his grip. Moony is on high alert, now. The thumping music from the bunk room immediately dials down. Remus holds his breath. 

But there’s only silence from the other side of Greyback’s door. Disapparation, then. Remus exhales. Malcolm’s music blooms back to full volume. Moony settles.

One of the few, far-between blessings of Remus Lupin’s life is that Fenrir Greyback spends almost no time around the tent. But today especially, a casual run-in with Greyback would be… not ideal. Not that Remus is going to break any rules. Technically. Yet.

But if Greyback knew what Remus was up to, he’d definitely be suspicious enough to keep a closer eye on him. Which would be incredibly inconvenient for all the other times that Remus is actually breaking rules. 

Remus packs his sandwich into his satchel and slips on his shoes. Outside, the morning air is heavy with humidity and the ground soft with rain. With a cursory glance around the clearing, Remus pulls his compass out of his pocket and points himself south—along the crooked line of a creek just downhill from the tent. 

It’s immediately apparent that Remus’s tender ankle is going to slow him down. At the new moon, Remus could take two miles ten minutes flat. He could postpone this day trip until then. But ever since the pack set up camp here, just before the July Full, Remus has been keen to visit the magical boundary that Greyback has apparently cast around their new home. 

They’ve never had a territorial boundary before. And Remus has always had an insatiable, if slightly masochistic, fascination with spellwork. He’s itching to see what an enchanted border wall looks like. 

Of course, it’s not just the border. It’s the beyond. Remus doesn’t expect being able to see anything significant—even if he scaled a pine to peer out over whatever barrier Greyback has cast. Greyback would have established their territory at a safe distance. 

But Remus will know, and that’s what counts. He’ll know that somewhere beyond those trees lies Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Sirius has just melted the front tire off his bike for the third time in as many minutes when James strolls down the drive. 

“Not a word,” Sirius warns, punctuating the point with a cough. He waves his wand to clear the latest cloud of dark smoke billowing up around the bike. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” James says, tucking his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. He surveys Sirius’s work with politely suppressed amusement. 

“Uh-huh.” Sirius mutters a Reparo at the puddle of rubber on the Potters’ pavement to reform it into his front tire. 

“What are you trying to do, anyway?” 

“Reinforce the tires to withstand the impact of landing,” Sirius says. He sticks his wand behind his ear and steps back, crossing his arms. 

“Ah,” James says, nodding sagely—and undoubtedly recalling the incident in June that left Sirius with two busted tires, two broken arms, and two weeks during which Mia flat-out refused to let Sirius back on his bike. She only relented when Sirius promised to add some safety features to his list of planned magical amenities. “Have you tried—”

“Yes,” Sirius says flatly. “Whatever you’re about to say, yes.” 

“Hmm.” James dips into a crouch to get a better look at Sirius’s front wheel, as though he knows anything about Muggle motorbikes or the magical enhancement thereof. “Fortification spells must get more volatile when you use them on something that’s been Engorgio-ed. And whatever else you’ve done to this thing.”

“What I’ve done for it,” Sirius says, nonetheless mentally scanning the list of souping-up spells he’s cast over the last few weeks. Maybe the reinforcement magic is mixing poorly with the sound-stifling charm—another request of Mia’s—or the speed-boosting spell.

“Sure,” James says, grinning up at Sirius indulgently.

“Did you need something?” Sirius takes his wand from behind his ear and twirls it absently between his fingers as he circles the bike. 

James rises from his crouch. “Not really. Mum sent me out to see what was going on. Smells like burnt rubber all the way up in the kitchen.” 

“Oh, shit.” Fleamont and Euphemia Potter are two of Sirius’s favorite people in the world, and not just because they’re currently letting him use their front drive as a mechanic-shop-slash-landing-strip. Sirius tries not to bother them, if he can help it. “Sorry.” 

James’s shrug is utterly devoid of concern. “I don’t think she minds. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t on fire. You’ve been out here all afternoon.” 

“Yeah, well,” Sirius says, glaring at his uncooperative bike. 

“You’re in a mood,” James observes, which does nothing to improve Sirius’s mood. “Is this still a Regulus-related mood?”

Sirius gives a vague grunt.

“Thought so.”

Sirius aims a kick at James’s shin.

“Let’s go fly,” James suggests, dancing easily away from Sirius’s foot.

“I’m working,” Sirius says, because now that he’s been caught in a bad temper, he’s feeling committed to it.

“Work is productive,” James says. “This—” He waves his hand disdainfully at Sirius’s whole situation. “—is not. Why not channel all that destructive energy into beating around Bludgers?”

Tempting. It must show on Sirius’s face, because James says, “Take a break. The bike will thank you.”

“Sputnik,” Sirius corrects.

“Come again?”

“The bike. Her name is Sputnik,” Sirius says, smiling despite himself. Picking the name is about the only productive thing he’s done all day.

“What kind of name is Sputnik?” James says. “Sounds like some kind of black mold you’d find on a Flobberworm.”

Sirius scowls. “No, you idiot. Sputnik, like the world’s first satellite. Get it? Because, flying?”

James blinks. “Right,” he says slowly, with the trademark bemused expression he reserves for when Sirius starts talking Muggle stuff. “So, flying?”

“Sure,” Sirius says, because today is probably not the day he convinces James to take the slightest interest in Muggle science. “Let’s go.”

Remus makes slow progress on his sore ankle for nearly half an hour, stopping every few minutes to rest and jot notes in his journal. He makes a detailed map of the territory whenever the pack moves somewhere new. The others might be content to spend most of their time Portkeyed away in distant Muggle towns, but Remus can suffer a crowd about once a week at most. 

How Ronan or Monty or anyone else can frequent Muggle pubs without constant terror of giving themselves away, Remus will never know. Give him an open sky and several square yards of personal space over a social interaction, any day. 

Perks of being raised in the countryside and isolated from nearly everyone but his parents since the tender age of eleven: Remus is damn good at keeping himself company. 

The forest around Remus is almost silent, except for the burble of the creek and occasional bird overhead. Remus doesn’t cross paths with so much as a squirrel. No surprises there. He’s used to dogs flattening their ears as he passes on the street, and even crowd-comfortable pigeons scattering at his approach. Remus has the sneaking suspicion that animals can tell there’s something wrong with him. Perhaps they’re put off by his smell, or some other ‘Dangerous, Do Not Approach’ signal he subconsciously broadcasts, even in human form. 

In the unnatural quiet of the wood, Remus hears the border before he sees it. 

He doesn’t realize what it is, at first—the strange, faint buzz that fills his ears some thirty minutes after he’s left camp. Remus halts and cocks his head to the side. There’s something distinctly artificial about the tenor of the sound. It’s more metallic than insect buzz. Closer to the drone of low-grade fluorescent lighting than anything Remus has ever heard in the wild. It’s quietly menacing in a way that Remus can’t quite put his finger on, but makes Moony emit a low, warning rumble. 

“I know,” Remus mutters, and takes several steps forward to listen again. The muted hum gets slightly louder. 

This is something to do with Greyback’s magic. It has to be. 

Remus turns back toward camp and peers up through the leaves in search of the beacon projected into the sky over the tent. When he finally spots it: the faint beam of ultraviolet light invisible to all but the lycanthrope eye, Remus holds up his thumb and closes one eye to measure the width of the column against the sky. By rough estimation, nearly two miles away. Remus drops his arm and looks around. He should be coming up on the perimeter of Greyback’s territory, but Remus doesn’t see a barrier of any kind. 

Remus cracks his knuckles uncertainly. Maybe the border is invisible. That would be disappointing. Not to mention dangerous. What if Remus accidentally steps through it, and Greyback—

Remus throws a paranoid glance over his shoulder, but of course finds himself alone. He wraps his arms around his torso and tells Moony to shh, please, so he can think. 

Remus should turn around and go home. That’s the logical thing to do. The safe thing to do. But he can’t. Not when he’s so close. Not when he’s come all this way on a barely mended ankle, and it’s—and it’s Hogwarts. Remus has to see as far as he can see. 

Giving himself a bracing squeeze, Remus drops his arms to his sides. He steps forward again. 

With a few more steps, the buzz gets exponentially louder. Unmistakable as a hornet’s nest at close range, but tinnier. Electric. Remus not only hears the magic now, but feels it in his chest, as though he’s humming, even though Remus is holding his breath. He forges ahead, step by cautious step, heart rate escalating with the noise until—Oh. 

A few arm’s lengths ahead, the air has a strangely lustrous quality, as though Remus is staring through an enormous soap bubble. The whirling sheen of open space is so faint that Remus can’t imagine he would have seen it if he hadn’t been looking. He wonders whether someone without freakishly good hearing would have picked up on the wall’s warning buzz. 

Upon closer inspection, Remus sees the magical surface has a purplish, blue hue, just like the bubbles that Remus remembers blowing in the garden with his mum when he was little. Remus tilts his head back. The glossy dome extends as far up as Remus can see. 

It’s hypnotic. Remus never would have thought he’d call any part of Greyback’s magic beautiful, but it is.

Greyback warned the rest of the pack about the border wall on their first day in this forest. Remus knew something was up as soon as Greyback called them all into the kitchen. He typically left the pack to their own devices as soon as they’d set up camp. 

Like most of his interactions with the pack, Greyback kept it brief. “I’ve cast a territorial border with a two-mile radius around the tent,” he said, leaning back against the sink with crossed arms and glaring around at them all. “You will not cross it.” 

The silence following this announcement was just long enough to be awkward, while the rest of the pack played a silent game of chicken over who was going to ask. 

Fortunately, Greyback preempted the question. “The border is to protect us from our new neighbors to the south.” He grinned sourly. “The residents of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts.” 

Greyback ignored their sharp intakes of breath.

“If you are discovered on Hogwarts grounds or in Hogsmeade, the Ministry of Magic will kill you for your lack of registration,” Greyback continued, as if they didn’t know. “If I catch you out of bounds, I will kill you myself.” As if they didn’t know. “Understood?” 

Remus looked around at the others. Lucas had gone white, and even Ronan was chewing his cuticles. None of them, with the exception of Remus, had any firsthand experience with witches or wizards since the age of four or five. But if there was one thing Greyback’s pack had been taught to fear more than Greyback himself, it was wizardkind. 

“Understood?” Greyback said. 

Silent nodding. 

“Good.” Greyback pushed off the counter and walked toward his bedroom. 

The “Why?” that Malcolm blurted after Greyback’s retreating figure made Remus’s heart jump into his throat. 

Greyback turned on his heel. He fixed narrowed eyes on Malcolm while the rest of the pack held their collective breath. “What?” 

Malcolm swallowed. “Why did we come here?” he said, voice just shy of steady. “Isn’t it.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Isn’t it dangerous?” 

A reasonable question—if something as idiotic as asking Greyback to explain himself could ever be called reasonable. The pack had never set up camp anywhere near a magical community before, let alone mere miles from the only all-wizarding village in Britain and Hogwarts, for Merlin’s sake. 

Greyback considered Malcolm for a long moment before, to Remus’s even greater shock, he answered. 

“Do you know what lives in the Forbidden Forest north of Hogwarts?” he asked Malcolm. 

Malcolm hesitated, then shook his head. 

“No one really does,” Greyback said, “but there are rumors. Chimeras. Strangling vines. Trolls.” He paused for effect. “Werewolves.” Greyback grinned. “Students aren’t allowed in. Staff and villagers won’t go near the forest. But the concentration of magic in the air is high enough to completely mask dozens of unregistered Portkeys and other household magic. Convenient, eh?” 

Remus instinctually recoiled as Greyback drew his wand. Dante took a full step back. But Greyback merely rolled the wand between his fingers. “The woods north of the Forbidden Forest may be the safest hideout for a pack of unregistered werewolves in all of Britain. Assuming,” Greyback looked significantly at each of them in turn, “the border remains unbroken.” 

The night after Greyback’s border announcement found Remus lying awake, staring at the underside of Ronan’s bunk. His heartbeat thudded heavily in his ears, keeping time with Moony’s pacing around his brain. Remus rubbed his cheek against the rough fabric of his quilt and willed his heart to keep something like normal rhythm. It had been hours, but still Remus was—he just couldn’t believe they were here. Just miles away from the castle. 

Greyback was probably right that the pack would be safe in the Forbidden Forest. After reading so many his father’s magizoology books, Remus had a lot more than rumors to go on, when it came to imagining the forest’s dangerous inhabitants. 

But Remus would bet a thousand Galleons that Greyback hadn’t disclosed the whole truth about why they’d come here. The pack had bounced from one remote outpost to another with all the magical trappings inside their tent for years. Greyback must be working on some heavy-duty, high-grade magic to require such extra concealment—though Remus couldn’t begin to imagine what that might be. 

Six years in the pack, and Remus had never quite worked out what Greyback did for his mysterious employer. The wards on Greyback’s door are very good at keeping his business private from the rest of the pack.

Whatever Greyback’s reasons, Remus was selfishly, secretly giddy about the move. He’d stopped hoping nearly a decade ago that he would ever get to see more of Hogwarts than illustrations in Hogwarts, A History. Now, Remus was less than a day’s walk away. Even if he couldn’t actually see the castle, the prospect of glimpsing the perimeter of those hallowed grounds made Remus hide a stupidly wide smile behind his blanket in the dark.

Now, though—actually staring through Greyback’s translucent wall, Remus isn’t smiling. A burning sensation builds behind Remus’s eyes and in his throat. He grits his teeth, surprised at himself, because this was supposed to be exciting. A rare opportunity to look forward to something. A wonderful treat on a grey day. 

Remus wants to let himself have this. Find simple, uncomplicated joy in a good thing, for once.

It’s just—it’s Hogwarts. Right there. Paces away. And absolutely, painfully untouchable as ever.

Flying against James in a game of one-on-one is hardly fair anymore. Back in first year, he and Sirius were fairly evenly matched. But ever since James made captain third year—and especially since a Tutshill Tornados scout approached him last fall—James has gone a bit mad about practice. 

It’s a good thing Sirius is on the team, if only because he’s the only one who will tell James to eat hippogriff dung when he refuses to cancel practice in below-zero windchill. 

Also, compared to people who are not aspiring professional Quidditch players, Sirius is a damn good flyer. Even better with a bat. Sirius feels pretty confident in saying he’s the best Beater at Hogwarts—which is something he used to say because he was a cocky little shit, and now says because it’s true. The possible exception being Macnair; Sirius has deadly aim, but Macnair shoots to kill. 

Sirius tries not to think about Macnair has he dives toward the Potters’ lawn with the Quaffle tucked against his chest. Thinking about Macnair makes Sirius think about Slytherin, which makes Sirius think about Regulus, and the whole point of this was not thinking about Reg. Sirius has been trying not to think about Reg for three days, now—since the Potter’s owl Athena returned with Sirius’s birthday gift to Regulus unopened. 

“Bet your hag of a mum turned Athena around before Reg even knew something arrived for him,” was James’s consolation. 

It’s possible. Sirius wouldn’t put it past Walburga. The problem is, he doesn’t know if he’d put it past Regulus to turn Athena around, either. 

Sirius has no idea where he and his brother stand these days. They haven’t spoken since Sirius left home last summer. Granted, Regulus never spoke much to Sirius at Hogwarts. He’s much too close to Cissy and Bella for that. But during holidays… 

Well, Sirius can’t remember Reg ever defending him in an argument against their mum. But Regulus would at least order Kreacher to sneak him food when Sirius was locked in his room. That was something, and now—

Sirius doesn’t notice James rocketing up from below until he’s already knocked the Quaffle from Sirius’s hands. James catches the ball with irritating ease—Seekers, honestly—and makes a hairpin turn toward the opposite end of the lawn. Sirius steers into a U-turn and follows, but not quickly enough to stop James hurling the Quaffle through Sirius’s post and pulling a celebratory corkscrew. 

“That’s fifty-nil!” James calls. “Go fetch!”

“Yeah, yeah, I can count,” Sirius says, Accio-ing the Quaffle from a shrub by the guest house. “Ready?”

“Are you?” James smirks.

Sirius tears away without response, aiming for some low-hanging clouds. The wind seems to streak right through him, momently stripping away Sirius’s Regulus-related anxieties, whittling him down to a weightless point. It’s wonderful.

Quidditch is always the best distraction. Even better than working on Sputnik or reading the teetering pile of Muggle novels that Tufty lent him for the summer, since they won’t get to any American authors during their literature module this year. 

(Sirius has had his nose in The Bell Jar all week—to James’s deep concern, given Sirius’s dour mood. Sirius says it’s a fair sight better than The Crucible, which was so disturbing Sirius had to put it down halfway through. Sirius may finally get why American wizards were long forbidden from marrying Muggles.)

When Sirius dips back down into the clear air, he glances over his shoulder and curses at the sight of James’s wicked grin less than ten feet away. But James’s goalpost is straight ahead now. Sirius flattens himself against his broom. Almost there, almost—

“Ha!” Sirius pumps both fists in the air as the Quaffle soars cleanly through the hoop. He whips around, triumphant grin in place, but the smile quickly slips. James isn’t behind him anymore. He’s suspended about twenty feet away, watching a small black dot in the distance. Sirius’s stomach flutters, half in hope, half in dread, that the owl might be from Regulus. 

But the unfamiliar owl comes flapping down onto James’s shoulder. James unties a postcard from the bird’s leg and winces as its talons dig through the fabric of his shirt to take off again. Sirius would ask who’s sent the card, but he can already read the answer on James’s face. He wonders where Evans is on holiday. 

Sirius dully summons their discarded Quaffle, knowing full well the match is over. James responds to every one of Evans’s messages as soon as they come. Sirius can’t hold it against him, really. James and Evans only got on good terms last spring, and Sirius is all for preserving whatever fragile friendship they seem to be cultivating. 

Sirius can’t say he’s ever quite understood James’s fixation with Evans, for many more reasons than the fact that Evans is a girl. But his best friend’s obsession does seem slightly healthier, now that his interest is not so intensely one-sided. 

“Lily’s visiting a pen pal in America,” James says as they drift down toward the house, eyes still fixed on Evans’s handwriting. “A witch who goes to Ilvermorny.” 

“Cool,” Sirius says, touching down and dismounting. “I wonder whether they’ve [TK].” Sirius doesn’t know much about magic in America, but he does know a little about the No-Majes from Muggle Studies. 

“Dunno,” James says distractedly, pocketing his postcard. 

Inside, James promptly buggers off to write Evans a response. Sirius wanders into the kitchen, where he finds Mia at the table with a cup of tea and a book. She’s wrapped in a green pashmina, wearing her boxy reading glasses, and holding one of the Potters’ many cats on her lap.

Sirius has not bothered to learn all of the Potter cats’ names. Most are strays that Mia convinced Flea to let inside “for just one night” and never left. Sirius isn’t sure Mia even has names for all of them. The family’s tireless team of house-elves, Dot and Minnie, are the only thing preventing a fine layer of cat hair perpetually coating every surface in the manor. 

Mia greets Sirius with a smile as he sits down opposite her at the table. She pushes her glasses up onto her forehead. “I had Minnie bring in your bike, since we’re expecting rain.” 

“Thanks,” Sirius says. “Sorry ‘bout the smell.”

Mia bats away his apology. “What’s experimentation without a few accidents?” 

From the moment Sirius met James’s parents on Platform 9¾ at the end of first year, Sirius knew he was jealous. But he didn’t know just how jealous he should have been until he moved in last summer. The Potters are so incomprehensibly warm, Sirius found it off-putting at first. All the easy laughs and casual hugs and insistent reminders that Sirius call them Flea and Mia. Sirius has called his own parents since their Christian names since he was about thirteen, but only out of spite. 

Sirius wouldn’t say he’s exactly gotten used to Flea and Mia’s hospitality, but their affection does something warm and wonderful to his stomach, rather than putting him on his guard. 

“What are you reading?” Sirius says.

“One of yours,” Mia says, holding up The Great Gatsby. 

“Good one,” Sirius says. “Have you gotten to—”

“Hush,” Mia says, eyes wide. “Don’t give anything away.” 

Sirius makes a zipping motion across his lips. “But you have to tell me when you’ve finished.” 

“I’m hoping to finish before dinner, which—” Mia glances at the clock “—I ought to have Dot get a start on. How does beef stew sound?” 

“Excellent.” Even though he’s lived with the Potters every holiday for over a year, Mia still has a habit of treating Sirius like a guest. Sirius doesn’t know how to convince her that they could eat dry toast for every meal and he’d still rather be here than Grimmauld Place. 

Sirius stands, figuring a shower is probably in order before dinner. There’s a not-insignificant chance that he still stinks of burnt Rubber and Mia is simply too polite to mention it. 

As Sirius gathers freshly laundered towels from his room, he catches sight of the still-wrapped mirror that’s lain on his desk since Athena returned it. Sirius runs a hand through his hair. Despite being completely alone, he’s suddenly overcome with a wave of embarrassment that he can’t just get over it. 

Having the thing in plain sight certainly isn’t helping. Sirius sticks the mirror in the bottom of his trunk along with its twin, then waits to see whether the sweet relief of closure sweeps over him. 

It does not, but the silence of the house is abruptly broken by an emphatic “Oh, dear” from downstairs, which surprises a bark of laughter out of Sirius. He supposes this means there’s not much left of Gatsby to spoil over dinner.

[artistic-writer]

Love Finds a Way :: CS Jurassic World AU :: Ch 10

Title: Love Finds a Way by @artistic-writer​

Summary: Emma Swan is the Head of Operations for David Nolan’s exotic adventure park, Jurassic World.  She has a son, Henry, and is loved and respected by her colleagues. Her life was perfect until a new dinosaur the park created, Indominus Rex, decided to escape.  Oh, and her one night stand, Killian Jones - he’s there to help contain the asset. Just to complicate things even more.  Jurassic World AU.

Rating: M (for people getting eaten)

Also on: AO3 - FF

A/N: We are so close to the end of this fic and I have never had so much fun writing about a dinosaur battle than I have in this chapter!  This chapter took me a bit to write because, as you’ll see, it is mostly action with very little dialogue and is a tad longer than those previous, but as ever, I hope you all enjoy yourselves! Captain Cobra feels ahoy! This chapter also leads immediately on from ch 9, so if you haven’t read that one, you can find it HERE Also, pushed a few little easter eggs in there, as found by my lovely beta @resident-of-storybrooke​ - can you find them too? ;)

Taglist: @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @cocohook38 @sherlockianwhovian @wordsmith-storyweaver@winterbaby89 @kymbersmith-90  @killianmesmalls @killian-whump @nonnyj @jennjenn615   @thislassishooked @searchingwardrobes @doodlelolly0910 @cs-forlife @darkcolinodonorgasm @mariakov81 @xemmaloveskillianx @carpedzem @effulgentcolors @shardminds @hookedonapirate​

Please show your appreciation for my writing and artwork by buying me a Ko-fi.  If you are unable to do that, then please enjoy it and show your appreciation with a reblog. Or leave me a comment, i’m a sucker for that.  Any feedback welcome :D

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The hall was narrow, the three of them rushing back the way they had come, Killian’s boots scuffing the floor as he struggled for balance. The gun in his hand made him heavier on one side, biceps bulging under the rolled sleeves of his shirt as he gripped it and clung to Emma’s hand with the other. He practically dragged her along, Henry completing the human train as he gripped his mother’s sweaty fingers in a desperate attempt to keep up, his younger legs taking twice as many steps to stay with them. The door was in sight. Outside would be dangerous, Killian knew that, but the chances of them remaining alive whilst trapped inside a lab with a raptor who had tasted blood were very much against them.

The shattering of glass made Emma scream and she pinched her eyes closed as Killian tugged her arm a little too hard to stop her from advancing any more. Delta, having finished off her Walsh sized snack and hungry for more, burst through another pane, showering cubes of safety glass all across the hall in front of them. The dinosaur skidded awkwardly to a stop, scrambling for a foothold as Killian turned them all around and pushed Emma and Henry ahead of him, putting himself between them and Delta.

The raptor let out a screech, short and frustrated, something Killian had come to recognize from her as he had raised them. She had always been a bit of a troublesome youngster, too quick to react instead of thinking a problem through like her littermates. Killian used it to their advantage, using the time it took the man-height dinosaur to work out she couldn’t chase them at full speed on the slippery, tiled floor to make their escape. The sound of their feet pounding the hard floor was lost in the thundering footsteps of Delta behind them, both echoing around them as the hall opened up into the visitor’s center main lobby.

“This way!” Killian urged quickly, nodding his head towards the other side of the lobby.

Emma gave Henry another small push, making sure the boy was ahead of them both and running as fast as he could. Delta screeched again, closing in on her targets, and the sound reverberated around them, making Emma’s skin crawl with a tingling sensation. Sweat beaded her brow and the top of her bosom, her skin clammy, sticking the vest she was wearing to her skin. Henry’s hair had stuck to his forehead, adrenaline coursing through his body, but even though his vision was slightly cloudy from the room whizzing past his as he ran, his mind was as sharp as ever.

The middle of the room was where the visitor center had a holographic interactive dinosaur learning computer. Users needed to push a button to engage the learning module, complete with a life sized holographic version of the dinosaur they had chosen. As they ran passed it, Henry slapped an open palm to one of the glowing buttons, hoping, praying, that it would buy them some time. After a millisecond, the computer beeped and a full sized Dilophosaurus sprang up behind them, causing Delta to crane her neck back as she slid to a stop just in front of the dinosaur now in her path.

The hologram hissed, its neck frill flaring in aggression, something that since the first park opened, scientists had proved to be false. Henry ignored the inaccuracy because it had worked, Delta rearing and giving a screeching cry at the shaking dinosaur in front of her, claws ready to swipe as she began to circle sideways. The hologram didn’t move, repeating the hissing action as a narrator talked from the speaker behind it. Delta let out a roar, jumping at the intruder who dared interrupt her hunt, only to come out on the other side of the blue shimmer confused. She spun on her heels, attempting the move again but to the same result, giving Killian, Emma and Henry enough time to reach the front doors and slip outside without her noticing.

The heavy wooden doors were rigged to close behind them, so Killian led the charge down the steps in long strides, only to rush head first into another of the raptors. Blue, with her distinctive coloured stripe down her neck and body, was standing to full attention in front of them, eyeing the man she saw as Alpha with two morsels. Her yap of excitement told Killian she was keen to share his spoils, thinking that he had brought her food, so he put himself between her and Emma and Henry, puffing his chest out. He knew it might not do any good, not with the Indominus around, and especially when he heard a bang on the doors behind them and Delta appeared at the top of the staircase in search of her lost quarry.

She roared, moving down the steps slowly, deliberately, eyes with slit like pupils fixed on Henry. Killian turned to her, towering over Emma and Henry as he stared her down, reducing her cries to nothing more than a hiss as she circled them with her blood stained maw still dripping with her last meal. Killian’s grip on the gun tightened even more, his fingertips turning white as he instinctively lifted an arm to try and hold the raptors back, a move he would forever be weary of around Delta, but still hoping they understood his gesture.

The high pitched screech of a third raptor made Henry cry out, his small body bumping into his mother’s as Echo appeared beside them, her sandy coloured tiger like stripes almost flashing brighter with her excitement at finding prey. She took a step towards them, Killian watching her out of the corner of his eye and Emma and Henry huddled up behind him, the gap between them and the three raptors becoming ever smaller as the reptiles formed a circle around them.

“So, that’s how it’s going to be, eh, ladies?” Killian said softly, keeping eye contact with Blue. Even after all the times he had been there for his girls, fought to keep them as wild as he could, he would never fault them for simply being themselves. If they tore him limb from limb, he would never blame them. It was their nature, a nature that man had no right trying to tame.

The beta raptor growled, the sound in her throat more than anywhere else as she took a step towards the three of them. Delta and Echo were in attack formation, closing in on both sides, so there was no escape. Blue made an odd crackling sound again, her pupils dilating and her eyes flashing in the overhead lights as Killian slowly leaned sideways to put his gun down. The muzzle touched the ground first and without breaking eye contact with his beta, Killian let the barrel slide along the pavement until he had no choice but to drop the gun the rest of the way. The stock hit the floor with a clattering sound and he righted himself, face to face with Blue.

She had calmed somewhat, seeming to have her own internal conflict about the situation laid out in front of her. Her sisters cawed and screeched, eager to sink their teeth into what they saw before them, but they wouldn’t until Blue gave the word. And Killian knew it. His face was so close to Blue’s that each time she breathed, the hot, putrid air from her nostrils fogged his face. She blinked, a small affectionate grunting noise coming from the back of her throat as she simply watched her Alpha, a silence falling between them that made Emma start to shiver and sweat even more than the humidity had made her already.

Killian closed the gap even more, slowly raising his hand, trying to abstain from shaking. Blue’s lips curled back in a low growl of warning, her eyes flicking towards his hand as Killian moved it higher still, almost touching her snout. Blue snapped, not really meaning anything by it other than another warning that Killian promptly ignored.

“There, lass,” he whispered smoothly and Emma wondered how his voice managed to remain so even. “Easy.”

Blue snorted but allowed his advance. Killian watched her, knowing that he would have no time to respond now if she decided to change her mind about being amicable. He lifted his arm a little higher, moving to the back of Blue’s head, her beady eye swivelling in its socket as his palm made contact with the ridges of her reptilian skin and she let out a human-like groan.

“Easy,” Killian whispered, his words almost inaudible to Emma who clutched Henry to her even harder.

Blue relaxed a little, blinking her eyes a few more times as he growling turned into a purr at Killian’s touch, the approval of her Alpha all she was seeking. Killian’s fingertips reached the lock keeping Blue’s headcam fixed to her head and turned the mechanism towards himself, the click and snap of an opening buckle making Blue rear back a little. Her movement dislodged the head strap and the weight of the camera pulled it free, and it hit the ground with a smashing glass sound.

Blue simply purred again, the offending item now gone where it had previously been such an aggravation. Her eyes softened, subtly, so subtly that only he would have noticed, and Killian’s lips ticked up at the corners as he slowly lowered his arm.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it, lass?” He quirked an eyebrow at the raptor in front of him and Blue’s lips rippled a little, something Killian’s recognized she only did when she was pleased.

 They all stiffened when a roar sounded out from in front of them, morphing into a growl. Emma could barely stop herself shaking with fear, her eyes glazed over and fixed on the darkness. The raptors were one thing, but this growl was from something much larger, something more dangerous, unmistakably the Indominus Rex. Her hand wrapped around Henry’s so hard that he winced in pain from her fingernails, not even really noticing when his eyes fixed onto the ripple of water in the puddles as huge footsteps grew louder.

Blue whipped around, her tail almost slapping across Killian’s abdomen as the Indominus Rex appeared from around the side of a kiosk, the strewn chairs becoming a mess of mangled metal under her feet. The ground shook as she stepped forward, long, steady strides than made the ground beneath their feet feel like it was moving out from under them. Delta and Echo both switched positions too, still at Killian, Emma and Henry’s side, but now obediently focused on the much larger dinosaur approaching them.

The Indominus took a few more steps before coming to a stop and letting out a roar, the stench of rotten meat and fish coating them all in a fine mist from her breath where she was so close. Blue reared up, seeming to make herself higher, shielding Killian’s view. He was frozen in place, arm still outstretched as if he could control the huge, part raptor dinosaur just as he could with his own raptors, eyes burning with the need to blink where he was so focused on the threat in front of them.

The Indominus made a chirping noise, the size of her vocal cords making the sound much deeper and almost like a cough, but Killian knew it was unmistakably her trying to communicate with the raptors. More short barks followed, her massive jaws opening just a tad each time, her tails whipping to the side furiously and her claws clenching her hands into spiky fists as she spoke to her kin. Killian wasn’t a stupid man, and after their interaction in the forest, he knew exactly what she was trying to say. When Blue turned to face him with a hiss of her own, it was clear.

The Indominus wanted what Blue had. Three tasty bite-sized prizes.

Killian shifted his weight, inching back a little and letting his arm drop to his side. It wasn’t up to him anymore. Blue let out a series of yips, high pitched and almost like toddler chatter as she took in Killian and let her lips curl. She was trying to tell him something, Killian knew it, but he had never been in this sort of situation before. All he knew was that her eyes were soft, the ripple of her lips along her mouths edge was a good sign, a happy sign, and he had to have faith in her.

He gave her a quick smile and she seemed to understand, blinking rapidly in excitement. Blue was asking what to do, what her alpha wanted her to do, and Killian couldn’t stop the smirk on his face as he blinked, refocusing his gaze on the Indominus, and Blue instantly spun to face the Indominus with a screeching roar. Ragefully, the huge dinosaur roared back, the sound vibrating right through them where they stood, as she lunged forward and headbutted Blue out of the way, sending the smaller dinosaur flying into a nearby concrete pillar.

Blue’s body hit the hard surface so hard that the concrete crumbled like sand, exposing the metal rebars inside the column. Her tail flew out and hit a window, shattering the glass that spilled out onto the floor and created a bed of shards that her lifeless body fell onto. Blue lay still, the brightness in her yellow eyes disappearing as her eyelids closed and she exhaled hard. Killian had to rein in his emotions, turning back to face the Indominus with a renewed hatred for the hybrid as, satisfied with her actions, she took a menacing step towards them.

Killian’s arms flew out to the side and he tried to shield Emma and Henry as best he could, stumbling a little over a crack in the floor as he eased backwards and they moved with him. Emma began to cry harder, a whimper in her voice that he knew she was trying to hide from her son. Henry clutched the back of Killian’s shirt, pulling the material so it felt tight against his shoulder, but Killian ignored it. He stared down the rex, another huge step closer making him seem even more imposing than she already did, when Delta suddenly let out an almighty cry from beside them.

Killian’s head whipped sideways, watching Delta as she squatted low and tensed her claws against the ground. Echo joined in, mirroring her sister and roaring at the Indominus, the sound of the water fountain behind her lost in the sound. They were ready to attack, their claws flexing on their front feet eagerly, whole bodies tensed to the maximum so that every single one of their muscles was visible to their enemy. Killian’s stomach dropped and he inched another step backwards with Emma and Henry, knowing exactly what was about to transpire.

The raptors were asking permission from him, their Alpha.

Killian took a huge breath, steadying himself, before curling his bottom lip under his teeth and then whistling as hard as he could. The sound came out, thankfully, louder than all of the commotion around them, and the two raptors moved instantly. Echo was quicker, racing towards the Indomnius as low to the ground as she could, gaining as much speed as her legs would allow, before leaping into the air with an attack cry and sinking her claws into the side of the Indominus Rex. The larger reptile roared, trying to dislodge the smaller one, but Echo held on, tearing into the Indominus’ shoulder and sinking her jaws into the ridged bumps along her spine.

Delta was quick to join her sister, leaping onto the rex’s neck and digging at the skin there like a terrier, her claws effortlessly slicing through to the bone. With another angry bellow, the Indominus spun around, trying to dislodge her two attackers, disoriented and confused by their sudden mutiny. She tried to reach them, jerking her head backwards but unable to grab ahold of either of them, her claws ripping into her own skin as she changed tactics and tried to pull them off that way.

Whilst the dinosaurs were distracted, Killian saw their opportunity to reach safety, grabbing his gun for good measure. He grabbed Emma’s hand, knowing she would grab onto Henry’s too, and pulled with all his might, racing out of the situation under the tail of the Indominus Rex. Her tail swung around behind them, narrowly missing Henry as she smashed one of the fountains, sending shards of glass and droplets of water everywhere. Henry broke free from his mother, taking the lead and vaulting over the counter of a nearby kiosk, Emma following suit and both of them landing inside with a grunt.

Killian circled around the dinosaur in front of him, her piercing screech tearing through his ears like a needle. He ignored it, lifting the rifle to his face for stability and better accuracy as he looked down the iron sights and pulled the trigger. The muzzle of his gun flashed with orange, the short bursts of bullets hitting the Indominus right where he had aimed, more blood flowing out of the creature as she cried out in fury. The sound of the raptors pulling at her flesh made him pause, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the fact that they were probably too far gone to recall now. He had to be careful, lest they turn on him too.

The Indominus changed her stance, attempting to remove the two dinosaurs ripping into her flesh by dipping low to the ground. Her tail flew up, narrowingly missing Killian as he took shelter behind another fountain, the giant, orange glass sculpture a replica of a mosquito stuck in amber. He leaned against the glass, the material cold on his back, and fumbled with the mechanism of his gun, trying to reload the rifle with one eye on what was going on behind him. He took his eyes off the dinosaurs for a second, unable to reload the weapon without looking, and then looked up to see one of his raptors slide across the wet ground in front of him.

Echo righted herself quickly, almost coming to a stop outside of the small shop Henry and Emma were huddled inside for safety. Henry jumped a little, freezing to the spot he had made into a sort of teddy bear fort at the back of the kiosk. He was scared, but he couldn’t stop thinking, his brain churning over and over with the same thought.

“We need more,” he whispered to himself, counting on his fingers to confirm his thoughts.

“More what?” Emma spun to look at him from where she had been watching Killian over the counter and gave him a questioning frown. Henry nodded, half to himself and half to her, meeting her gaze.

“More teeth. We need more teeth,” Henry said quickly, still short of breath from running.

A moment of confusion for Emma was followed by a moment of realisation. Of course. Henry was right. He was always right. They needed more teeth because the Indominus was full of them, her hybrid status making her more formidable than any other carnivore that had ever walked the earth. There was only one way they were going to defeat her, for good this time, and that was, indeed, with more teeth.

“Stay here,” Emma whispered to her son, grabbing his face in her hands. Her thumbs brushed over his cheeks, wiping away the tears stains on his slightly red cherub cheeks. “I’ll be back, I promise,” she nodded. When Henry nodded back, Emma leaned forward and kissed his forehead, sealing her promise with the soft press of her lips to his skin.

Scrambling to her feet, Emma reached for the first aid box on the way. She slammed her hand against the latch, sending the lid falling until it hit a shelf, and grabbing the flare that was inside. She was going to need a little more help for her plan to work fully, so she also reached for the radio that each employee used to communicate around the park, the sound of static hissing from the speaker.

With a short, nervous breath that shook her entire body, Emma clambered over the kiosk counter, ignoring the sound of gunfire and the roaring shriek of the raptor that flew passed her and leapt back onto the back of the Rex once more. Killian watched, his brow pulling together in confusion, as Emma ran off into the darkness, the sound of her heels against the tarmac echoing into nothing as she got further away. He didn’t know where she was going, and he didn’t have time to find out before the Indominus shook the ground with another hefty step towards him.

Killian wasted no time when the opportunity to fire was so obvious, leaning against the yellow glass to stabilize himself and aiming straight at the massive reptile. One, two, three direct hits had her whirling around towards him, but she didn’t have a chance to see him because Echo was back on her, crawling up her back and sinking her teeth into the back of the Indominus’ neck. It was a fatal mistake, Echo’s blood lust blinding her strategy because it gave the Indominus time to reach around and clamp the smaller raptor in her jaws.

Echo’s high pitched shriek was cut short as her life ended, her body falling limp in the Indominus’ maw before she was thrown through the window of another nearby kiosk. Killian wasn’t sure what the kiosk was for, but when Echo’s body hit a still burning gas barbecue style burner, the canister of gas exploded and engulfed the dead raptor in flames. The Indominus spun around on the spot, trying to reach the other dinosaur terrorizing her, and when she whipped her tail into the amber sculpture Killian was hiding behind, it sent him racing for somewhere else to hide.

Chunks of orange glass littered the ground around him but he managed to dodge them in an attempt to reach the kiosk where Henry was already hiding. Just as Killian leapt over the counter, hip sliding against the metal surface and the arm holding his gun held aloft to balance himself, the Indominus managed to snatch up Delta in her powerful jaws and flung her aside like she was nothing. Killian landed in the kiosk silently, crouching down in front of Henry and silencing the boy with a single finger that he pressed to his lips. He cast his eyes sideways as if he could look behind him when the rumbling snuffle of the Indominus reverberated through the air as she searched for more prey.

The kiosk was plunged into darkness, the Indominus casting a huge shadow over the whole area as she walked past. Her growl was different now, somewhat infuriated, and Henry swallowed hard as her huge head and eye appeared in his view. Her pupil narrowed and she let out a roar at having found what she was looking for, the whole kiosk rocking from side to side as she bashed into it with her bulk. Toys and other merchandise tumbled from the shelves overhead, hitting both Henry and Killian, who had tried to shield the boy as much as he could with his bigger bulk.

Killian would die for Henry, he was pretty sure of it in that moment. He wasn’t his boy, but Killian understood what people said when they loved a child so unconditionally that they would be willing to sacrifice themselves for that child’s life. If the Indominus wanted Henry, she would have to go through him. Henry screamed, his voice so high pitched that the sound reminded Killian of just how young the boy was and how real his fear would manifest at that age. Killian cradled him in his arms, trying to cover his view, but when the Indominus punched a hole into the side of the kiosk and tried to claw them out with her scythe like fingers, Henry screamed even louder.

Killian pulled Henry with him as he flattened himself to the opposite wall, bunching the boy in his arms. The rex reached in further, one of her fingers nearly catching Henry’s leg, but Killian was too quick. He pulled Henry closer still, the razor sharp talon just missing the boy’s flesh and scoring a line into the concrete floor as she withdrew it, the sound of Henry’s cries echoing in Killian’s ears.

--

“Ruby! Ruby, can you hear me?” Emma yelled into the speaker of the radio in her hands. Her voice was jostled on account of her running so fast, and she nearly dropped it a few times, but when she released the button and heard Ruby’s voice return, she was so relieved.

“Yes! Yes, I’m here!” Ruby answered enthusiastically, pressing the one speaker headset to her ear so she could make out Emma’s words clearly. “Hey, where are you?” Ruby urged, eyes scanning the operations room as if Emma was there.

“I need you to open paddock 9,” Emma ordered, feet pounding the pavement as she ran, her ankles aching in her high heels.

“Paddock 9?” Ruby asked quickly, frowning. She slid her wheeled chair sideways to the gate control panel and shook her head at what she was seeing. Paddock 9 was huge, industrially built to house one of the islands main assets. “Are you kidding?” Ruby squeaked, entering the override code but hovering her fingers over the enter button reluctantly.

“Ruby, just do it!” Emma repeated, looking directly at the camera next to the paddock gate that she was sure Ruby was watching. The not so distant roar of the Indominus made Emma’s heart pound even harder in her chest and she gripped the flare in her hand even tighter. “Do it now!”

Ruby dropped her headset, fixing her gaze on the camera footage of Emma. She was dirty, ruffled hair and torn clothes, but definitely powerful as she stood outside the huge metal gates and stared into the camera defiantly. Emma tossed the walkie aside, the plastic device disappearing off the screen as Ruby fought with herself internally. Opening paddock 9 could be disastrous, and she had no idea what Emma was thinking, but she had to trust her. Emma wasn’t just her boss, but her friend, so with a grimace, Ruby touched the enter button on the screen and a siren sounded to warn of the gate opening.

There was a red light beside the gate’s keypad and it flashed and spun around in its little dome. A claxon sounded out and Emma took deeper breaths, hoping the shake in her legs would not hinder her plan in any way. She pulled the lid of the flare, a bright, red flame shooting from the end and bathing the whole area in a glow like a warning beacon. The smell of the flare filled Emma’s nostrils but she ignored it, watching, waiting, fighting her flight response as the four foot thick door rose in front of her.

The silence was broken but the even thud of footsteps, paddock 9’s occupant drawn to the sound of the door opening. Years of conditioning had taught her it was food that came through the door, day or night, saliva dripping from her worn toothed jaw as she made her way towards the red glow in the doorway. Emma stood fast, unable to make out anything in the blackness of the paddock in front of her, the ground shaking beneath her feet and the stench of rotting flesh wafting out of the trees as her fingers gripped at the flare even harder. This was madness. There was already at least one dinosaur full of teeth running free on the island, but the sound of rumbling breath told Emma it was too late to go back now.

She was here.

All Emma could see was darkness were two tiny pinprick glows that approached the light she held in her hand, growing bigger with each step the dinosaur took, its eyes reflecting the flare in the darkness. Emma, frozen to the spot, watched as, out of the darkness, a Tyrannosaurus Rex approached her, eyes fixated on the flare in her hand. When the dinosaur reached the threshold, Emma waved the flare a little, making sure she had her full attention, before spinning on her heels and breaking into a sprint away from the paddock gate and back towards the visitor center.

So far, Emma’s plan was working. More teeth, Henry had said, and more teeth she had found. Despite its lack of attention from the new visitors to the island in the wake of newer dinosaurs, the T-Rex was one of the biggest and most dangerous carnivores on the island. In fact, she was the exact same dinosaur that had been introduced to the original park, the beast matured and monstrous now she had aged by two decades, her body scarred to prove her superiority. Emma had to run faster than she had anticipated to keep out of her reach and when the deep, ground shaking footsteps behind her were lost behind a deep, guttural roar, she couldn’t help the panicked squeak that escaped her lips.

Emma’s ears buzzed with adrenaline, the water from the puddles she was stepping in soaking her feet, but she ignored it as she ran through the gates to where the Indominus was still wreaking havoc. The T-Rex was still behind her and she could almost feel the dinosaur’s breath on her neck as she rushed into the light, the Indominus noticing her at the last second before Emma launched the lit flare at the dinosaur and peeled off into the darkness.

The flare hit the Indominus in the shoulder, singeing the opening wounds she had sustained there and making her turn towards what had caused her so much pain. The flare was forgotten almost instantly when she laid eyes of the T-rex, the other dinosaur breaking through a skeleton with an almighty roar of dominance, challenging the Indominus who returned the roar. As the two dinosaurs took each other in, circling around and crushing debris beneath their feet, it was clear that it wasn’t just raptor in the Indominus. She was clearly part Tyrannosaurus Rex too, her thick thighs and three toed bipedal stance almost an exact mirror image of the older dinosaur in front of her.

Emma, who had been displaced by the T-Rex breaking through the skeleton, lay behind her newly acquired ally, staying as still as she could behind the T-rex as the Indominus tried to intimidate the other dinosaur with another piercing cry. Emma locked eyes with Killian who had stood up inside the kiosk at the sound of another huge dinosaur. Seeing Emma made his heart flutter, a relief washing over him, but she wasn’t out of danger yet, the two dinosaurs sizing each other up mere feet away.

The rex took a lumbering step forward and her deeper roar shook the whole kiosk. Henry was up now, curiosity overriding his fear. The T-rex had always been one of his favourite dinosaurs, powerful and mean, with a tiny brain that was attuned to just the most simple of tasks. Eating, breeding and killing. This was her island, and she would kill to defend it. When Henry moved a little too close to the front of the kiosk, Killian’s arm flew across his chest to stop him, just as the T-rex broke into a sprint, jaws agape and eyes wide with intent as she headed straight for the Indominus.

The two dinosaurs collided in a mess of teeth and claws, the Indominus having the reach advantage because of her long arms, but the T-rex getting the better of her when she grabbed her by the neck and crunched down through the Indominus’ slightly armoured skin there. The dinosaurs shifted position, the T-rex holding onto the Indominus’ neck as she spun them both around to gain more of an advantage. The Indominus lowered herself in an attempt to slip from the rex’s jaws, but it just aided the giant dinosaur in gaining more of a grip. One of their tails slammed into a lampost, sending the metal pole flying and sparks shooting from the damaged electrics so close to Emma that she was shaken back to reality.

The T-rex pushed harder on the Indominus’ skin, the ridges much tougher than her own, her teeth taking a while to pierce through. It gave the Indominus a window of opportunity that she took, circling her head out of the T-Rex’s mouth and then turning offensive, using her longer arms to claw at the T-Rex’s face. One of her sharpened claws dug in, slicing the T-Rex across the face, causing the dinosaur to stumble back a little, carelessly snapping her jaws in an attempt to end the assault.

Her foot slipped out from under her and the T-Rex fell to the ground, a desperate roar strangled in her throat when the Indominus clamped her jaws down on her neck. Her back legs flailed wildly, her only other means of defense, but it was to no avail, and the Indominus dragged her huge bulk sideways and tossed her aside where she smashed through the side of the kiosk Henry and Killian had been hiding in.

Killian rushed Henry aside, the open jaws of the T-Rex only just missing him as she cried out, her yellowed teeth mere inches from his face.

“Run!” Emma screamed, drawing Killian’s attention.

When the dinosaurs retreated out of the kiosk to continue their fight, Killian hustled Henry’s fear frozen body forward and out of the hole that had now been created in the side of the kiosk.

“Go! Go!” He ushered hastily, ducking to avoid debris when the Indominus overpowered the T-Rex again and sent the dinosaur crashing to the ground behind them.

They ran towards where Emma had hunkered down behind another fountain sculpture, this one of blackened lava rocks, her arms wide open and expectant. Henry rushed into her embrace, burying his face in her chest, his arms wrapped so tightly around her body that Emma thought she might break in half any second. Killian laid a hand on Henry’s back where it brushed against Emma’s and she looked up from kissing the top of her son’s head to meet his gaze. There was something in Killian’s eyes she hadn’t seen before, something that scared her a little, more so at this moment than any other, and she wanted - needed - to know if Killian felt the same way she did.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe the imminent danger, but Emma surged forward and grabbed Killian’s face with one hand, pulling his lips to hers where she kissed him as hungrily as she could with her son pinned between them. Killian kissed her back, pushing hard, his lips sliding against hers and his head tilting to accommodate her nose as it brushed his face, the tip cold from the night air. He felt the same, he always had, and despite this moment being that absolute worst time to figure it out, Emma wanted him as much as he wanted her.

The sound of the T-Rex roaring again broke them apart, the moment fading away in the anguished cry of the nearly defeated dinosaur. They both looked, Killian keeping a gentle grip on her elbow to stay tethered to her, and the T-Rex was down. She had sustained some injuries, fresh, red blood dripping from wounds as the Indominus towered over her and had her pinned to the ground by her head. There was a soft snuffling noise that came from the Indominus, victorious and pleased with herself, but it was drowned out by the call of a raptor that had everything with a pair of eyes looking towards the visitor centre doors.

The sound echoed again, a battle cry of sorts, as Blue came thundering around a kiosk with her head held high and her feet pounding the ground confidently. She raced towards the two dinosaurs, gathering speed with a lowered stance and a hiss of aggression declaring her intentions. The Indominus looked up in time to see her leap into the air, vault off of the downed T-Rex and attach herself to the side of her, Blue’s claws on all four feet sinking into her scaly flesh once more.

In the center of her back, Blue was unreachable, the Indominus violently shaking her body from side to side in an attempt to rid herself of the annoyance. Blue held on, jaws pulling chunks of flesh from the back of the dinosaur who had dared to oppress her and her sisters. The Indominus was not a raptor, she never would be, and distracted by Blue clawing at her skin, she had failed to notice the T-Rex had got back to her feet until her neck was once again in the vice grip of her jaws.

With a renewed energy, the T-Rex used her added weight to push the Indominus back until she hit the side of a building, the tall glass windows shattering and showering them with shards and sparks from a broken electrical outlet. The T-Rex ignored the Indominus when she cried out, desperately clawing at anything that would rid her of the assault. The T-Rex’s short arms were out of her reach and she rearranged her grip on the Indominus’ neck, twisting the collection of muscle and bone until the Indominus roared a pained cry.

Blue jumped between the two dinosaurs, using the T-rex for balance and cover when the Indominus managed to swipe a claw too close. The Indominus was running out of steam, Killian could tell, her raptor based genes built for sprinting and not a marathon. The energy she had exerted during this fight was taking its toll, and Killian used the opportunity to make sure Emma and Henry were on their way to safety. With a nod he motioned for them to move, all three of them running under the tail of the T-Rex as she, again, reasserted her grip on the Indominus by clamping her jaws shut around her head.

Henry led the charge away, through a shop that was partially open at both ends because it had no doors. Half way through the outlet, the sound of glass smashing made him skid to a stop, Blue sliding through the broken glass where she had been tossed from the back of the Indominus. The raptor simple rose back to her feet, none the worse for wear, and jumped back into the action, her shrill cry piercing the air as she leapt back at the Indominus Rex. The T-rex had the Indominus by the head again, shaking her own in an attempt to disorientate her foe. At one point, the Indominus wriggled free, but the T-Rex simple heaved her bulk into the other dinosaur who went crashing through an entire building where she fell onto her side with a groan.

The T-rex didn’t relent, chasing after the huge reptile and grabbing her by the head once more, blood from the Indominus’ previous wounds now restricting her sight. With a heaving sigh, the Indominus flailed her back legs, wildly kicking out at nothing as the T-Rex dragged the hulk of a dinosaur along the ground with her powerful neck muscles, finally tossing her aside like a rag doll where she crashed through a safety barrier next to the huge Mosasaurs lake.

The T-Rex and Blue watched from a distance as the Indominus rose to her feet, shaking her head from side to side like a wet dog, parts of glass and rebar sticking out of her body in all locations. One of her forearms had become limp and she was unable to keep herself steady as she attempted one last roar of defiance at the T-Rex. Defensively, Blue and the T-rex roared back, but there would be no more fighting between them, because, as she prepared to attack once more, the Indominus was grabbed by a gigantic Mosasaur. The monstrous aquatic beast breached the lake surface to beach itself on the concrete, taking the Indominus between her jaws and pulling her prey back into the lake to drown it.

A silent calm fell over the whole area, just the spark of electricity and the ripple of disturbed water the only sounds that could be heard. Blue let out an appreciative grumble noise in her through, the sound barely moving her lips as she took a tentative step back from the T-Rex. The huge lumbering beast simply stared at her, tired and weary from her fight, gave her a quick glance before heading off into the darkness of the island. Emma, Henry and Killian were all looking on, shocked by what had transpired, least of all Killian, who had never known raptors to work with any other species but their own. It seemed humans were not the only ones to band together for a common purpose.

Killian stepped forward out of their hiding place, Blue watching his every step. She was making a purring sound, the sound of happiness, the sound she only made when he was around. She was injured but they were superficial wounds and Killian knew they would heal just fine in time. He stared at her, watching the look in her eyes that told him she wanted to be free, to be able to live her life the way nature intended, and so Killian was caught in an internal struggle. For the safety of the island, she should be contained, but he had never seen the spark in her eyes as bright as it was now, and so he simply watched as, after a soft nod, she too disappeared into the forests of Isla Nublar.

[craneexserviceinc]

Keeping in consideration the importance of crane load testing companies, the endeavours to educate industries about the need are carried out. As avoiding hazards is the aim for all, load testing is an important requirement.

[imagineredwood]

Request: Can I have one where the reader is Puerto Rican and takes him with her to visit family where she shows him about their land and people to help him with his identity? Basically right it as if you were the reader

Pairing: Latin!reader (Puerto Rican) x Juice Ortiz 

Warnings: None 

Word count: 1.8K

“Come mas, mijo.”

Juice laughed as your Abuela motioned to Juice’s plate with a frown.

“I have enough Señora. Gracias.”

Your Abuela clicked her tongue and shook her head, grabbing the plat from in front of your Old Man and serving him another scoop of arroz con gandules. You both laughed together as she handed him back his plate with a smile before turning to go and say goodbye to your Tio that was leaving.

“I feel like I’m going to explode.”

You choked back a laugh as Juice tried to breathe deeply. Taking his plate, you went into the kitchen and quickly scraped the rice from his plate into an empty paper plate and wrapped it up before she came back to see. Placing the plate softly into a plastic bag, you tied it up and brought it back to the dinner table, putting it behind your purse as you leaned over to whisper to Juice.

“Tell her you enjoyed it when she comes back.”

Juice nodded in agreement and looked over as your grandmother came back, a warm smile on her face as she patted Juice on the shoulder.

“Ahí.”

Juice returned the smile, not knowing what the hell she had said and simply nodded as you softly tapped the table.

“Bueno Abuelita, we have to go. We have plans early tomorrow.”

You didn’t miss the frown that came back to her face and neither did Juice.

“She’s taking me to see El..El..uh…”

He looked back nervously at you as he struggled to remember the name of the place you were taking him to tomorrow. You filled in for him with a smile.

“El Faro.”

“Right, El Faro.”

“Ah.”

Abuela smiled and patted him once again.

“You will like it. Beautiful water.”

Juice grinned, unable to help the excitement he felt bubbling at being able to see a new landmark in a new place with his Old Lady. There were plenty of things that he had done with you, plenty of firsts and new experiences, but going somewhere to see and learn about his culture and people was something that he would always appreciate and he couldn’t wait for the rest of the week where the two of you had plans every day. He knew how excited you were to show him his land, to teach him about who he was. He knew how excited you were to do that for him and be a part of it. He would go anywhere you wanted to take him, as long as you were there by his side.

Standing, you both embraced your Abuela, Juice grabbing your purse and the plate of food for you. Looking down, your abuela noticed the bag in his hand and threw hers up, quickly shuffling to the kitchen.

“Wait! Take home some flan.”

You smiled as you glanced over at Juice as you drove. He sat in the passenger’s seat, gazing out the window as he had done practically the entire drive to Rincon. He was enamored by the canopy trees and water, mountainsides and valleys. Making a left, you pulled into the parking lot and smiled again as you heard Juice’s voice.

“Wow…”

Looking over, he had the exact childish face of wonder that you were expecting him to have as he looked up the length of the lighthouse. You reached over and ran your hand softly along the back of his head, his eyes turning to meet yours.

“It’s fucking huge.”

“I told you it was.”

“Yeah but shit!”

You laughed as he rushed to get out of the car, motioning to you to get out as well.

“Come on.”

Stepping out of the car, you watched as Juice kept his eyes trained upwards, looking from top to bottom and bottom to top, walking up closer until his neck was entirely craned backward. Looking over at you, he found you standing a good thirty feet away, camera in hand as you took pictures of him. You took a few more before bringing the camera down and walking over to him. He tossed his arm over your shoulders and walked with you slowly, eyes still focused on the lighthouse as you walked around. Juice stopped to read the plaque that was at the base of the lighthouse and you quietly took another picture as he did. Juice finished reading and then turned back to face you.

“I wanna see the beach you were talking about.”

With a nod, you reached out and took his hand in yours, walking with him further along the path until you got to the boardwalk. Juice could hear the crashing of the waves and looked along the edge as the water came into view. He placed his hand on the banister and looked over as the water crested and crashed along the jagged rocks that were stacked along the shore.

“It’s beautiful. Your Abuela wasn’t lying.”

With a small smile, you ran a hand along his back as you rested your chin on his shoulder, looking at the water along with him. He watched as surfers paddled out to past the bend and then took the waves as they came, smaller children along the shore on boogie boards. A group of teenagers was playing volleyball on the sand and Juice laughed as a toddler pushed his older brother into the water. The beach was quite busy, everyone enjoying the sunshine and warm water, and Juice turned around as he heard the sound of a bell being dinged in the distance. Looking over, he saw an elderly man slowly pushing a cart and ringing the bell as he did. Looked over at Juice, you smiled and motioned to the man.

“You want a piragua?”

Juice nodded with a goofy smile, walking over with you to the man and his cart, recalling memories.

“My mom always used to take me and my sister to get them in the summer back in Queens. I always got the cherry one. My sister used to get watermelon.”

You smiled as you listened to Juice talk, loving when he would become nostalgic, remembering and sharing stories from his childhood and upbringing with you. It was rare but always welcomed and as you both came up to the man, you ordered him a cherry piragua.

“What’s this place called again?”

You looked over towards Juice as he spoke, finding him fiddling with his hard hat trying to get it on right.

“Cueva Ventana. And ya know, for a dude that wears a helmet every day, you sure don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”

Both you and Juice laughed together as you fixed and fastened his crooked hard hat onto his head, switching on the red light that was at the top of it to test it before switching it back off.

“There.”

With a smile, Juice leaned down and pressed his lips to yours softly, both of you wincing as the plastic of the hats clanked together. You laughed together and then looked forward as the tour guide began speaking, gathering everyone together to begin the expedition. He gave a brief overview of the cave, of its history and how long it had been there as well as its cultural significance to the Boricua people over time. As the tour guide began moving, the group moved with it and Juice followed behind you, hands on your hips keeping you steady as you walked along the uneven path, the natural dirt and rocks making the ground uneven. Even in a new environment, exploring and having fun, your safety was still majorly important to Juice and you smiled at the notion. Both of you walking along down the path, you kept moving further down and down, the trees enclosing you as the air became more humid.

Both you and Juice continued walking down the path, watching your step as you climbed down the makeshift stairs that were leading into the beginning of the cave. Soon everything was dark and you reached over to turn on Juice’s overhead light, his hand reaching to turn on yours as well. As you walked, you could hear the sounds of water dripping from the cracks, splashing softly into the puddles that had formed on the floor, the flap of batwings as they flew around the ceiling of the cave.

“This is so fucking cool. You don’t see shit like this in Charming. Damn sure never saw it back in New York.”

Hand in hand, you continued to walk with your Old Man through the cave with the rest of the group, walking and walking until you turned a corner and began to see the light shining through. You kept walking going along the last turn until the opening of the cave came into view, a collective gasp coming from the group, both natives and tourists. Juice was no different, a soft gasp falling from his hung open mouth as he walked forward further, getting closer to the edge to get a better view of the valley and the river that laid ahead. The colors were nearly fluorescent, some of the brightest greens he had ever seen and he looked over at you to see if you were as astonished as he was, happy to see the same awe in your eyes. With a shrug of your shoulders you smiled.

“Seen it a couple times before. Doesn’t make it any less breathtaking though.”

Juice looked back at the window and shook his head, stepping forward a few more paces as you pulled out the camera again, snapping a few more pictures of him before walking up with him and taking pictures of the valley down below. Reaching over you grab you by the waist, Juice pulled you into him and pointed at the camera.

“Get one of us.”

You smiled softly and raised the camera up, snapping a picture of the two of you smiling, the breathtaking view making a background behind you. People stood around, doing the same thing and after putting the camera back into your backpack, Juice took you into his arms.

“Thank you for bringing me here. Really. I appreciate you doing this for me. Especially this.”

Juice motioned to the mouth of the cave, along the valley and you settled into his arms, letting your head rest back against his shoulder.

“Think about it. On your moms’ side, your ancestors could’ve stood right here. Right where we are, in this cave, looking into this same valley. Painting and etching into these same walls.”

You let your eyes trail back along his face, seeing a glossy look in his eyes as he looked down at you, listening to you.

“This is a part of you Juan. Of us.”

He nodded as he listened to your words and moved his head down to rest his cheek against yours, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly as you both stood eyes looking out of the cave that was once home to your people.

[mywarningsign-blog1]

Crane warning light

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