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[bridgesawlosangeles]

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[klzdiamondtools]

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[monzabee]

a not so meet cute – cl16

paper rings, prologue(?)

masterlist || series masterlist ||

Summary: The one where Charles meets his neighbour, who quickly captures his attention.

Pairing: charles leclerc x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none other than charles being charles, also might have some cursing, google translate french

Request: “Hii if you’re taking requests could you please write a fic for Charles where he’s your best friend and he asks you to fake date him because he think he likes another girl so he wants to make her notice him/make her jealous kind of thing and you agree even though you love him and during the fake dating he realises that he loves you too and yeah angst fluff and all but a happy ending .If you decide to write this tysm and incase you don’t feel like writing this that’s cool too thanks either way ❤️”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! although i am still working on the first chapter of this new series, i wanted to write a little something for you guys to introduce you to the world i had in mind! i know it was not on the wip schedule, but the inspiration struck so i decided to go with it. ever since i saw the wedding pictures of margaret qualley and jack antonoff, the only thing i've been thinking of was the song, and i though it was the perfect song for the characters i had in mind. so, welcome to the new series, inspired by the request above, so thank you for the anon who put the idea in my mind to create this whole series, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

August, 2017

He met Margaret on our rooftop, she was wearing white And he was like, "I might be in trouble"

Charles loves his country, he really does. He’s always been patriotic of some sorts, he supposes. But the one thing he absolutely loathes about Monaco? The heat, no questions asked. The worst part isn’t even the heat itself, per se, it is the fact that his apartment has no elevator and he has to walk up five stories just to make it to his apartment – in the heat. So yeah, even though he is as patriotic of a Monégasque as they come, he definitely wishes he was somewhere else at the moment. When he does make to his floor, however, he’s met with a rather peculiar view, where his new neighbour is yelling at someone on the phone.

“No, I said I wanted the granite counters,” the person specify, fingers clutching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “No!” The man straight up yells, “Ceux en granit, connard, pas ceux en graphite. I don’t think they even come in graphite!”

Deciding to remain silent as he makes his way towards his own apartment, Charles ignores the man standing in front of the apartment opposite of his. Though, he realises that the apartment’s door is open and there is construction going on inside, which explains the drilling sounds he’s been hearing early in the morning and the smell of fresh paint that never seems to leave the shared floor.

Side-eyeing the whole ordeal, he manages to make it to his apartment without attracting the attention of the man – or so he thinks. Just as he’s about to unlock his front door, he feels a pat on his shoulder. As he turns towards the man, there is a curious look on his face, “Hi?”

“Hello,” the man greets, “do you know how i can contact the superintendent?”

For reasons unknown (extreme hangover), Charles’ brain decides to blank out, “Quoi?”

“Le commissaire,” the man clarifies, “savez-vous comment je peux les contacter?” And Charles realises he would have been impressed with the man’s accent if he wasn’t so hangover from the night before. The superintendent, do you know how I can contact them?

“Ah,” Charles nods in understanding, “sure, let me give you his number.”

After the man saves the number he gives to his phone, he extends his hand in a friendly greeting. “I owe you one, I’m Declan, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Charles,” he responds with, what he hopes to be, a friendly smile. Motioning the apartment behind them, he asks, “Are you my new neighbour?”

“Oh, no, no,” Declan laughs, and it’s a warm, almost infectious laugh. It reminds Charles of– well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Declan’s voice draws him back to the conversation, “My sister is, I’m renovating it for her.”

Charles nods in understanding, “Ah, I see. I’ve never seen her around, I don’t think.”

“Well that’d be because she’s as annoying as little sisters come,” Declan laughs again, and this time it manages to get a smile out of Charles. “You know what? We’re actually having a small party at my place tonight, why don’t you come?”

“You’ve just met me,” Charles points out, voicing his confusion, “you really want to invite me to your house?”

“Pish posh,” Declan waves him off, already starting to walk back to his sister’s apartment “I’ll send you the details, bring alcohol!”

Charles tries to come up with excuses to give Declan when he’s a no show at the party, but all the excused he come up with sounding either shitty, entitled or just a mess in general. So he convinces himself to get ready after a much needed shower, and remembers to pick up a bottle of tequila on his way to the address Declan texted him earlier that day. Considering the amount of cars parked in front of the apartment complex, Charles thinks whether it’s going to be a ‘small’ party as Declan put earlier, but he manages to find a place to park his car, nonetheless. Surprisingly, it’s not hard to find which apartment belongs to his new ‘friend’, as the people he seems to keep literally bumping into give him directions which lead him to the top floor – he thinks, like brother like sister, huh?

“Ah, bienvenu, Charles!” Declan greets him as he enters the apartment, filled with more people than he honestly expected; but hey, they are in Monte Carlo after all.

Because he was raised by his mother, Charles replies, “Merci de me recevoir,” but because he is Charles, he finds himself reverting easily to French. Of course, he soon realises that his new friend has no trouble understanding him.

“Of course, ma maison est ta maison.” With a wide smile that reaches his eyes, he takes the bottle Charles offer him and pats his shoulder in a friendly manner, “Good lad, let me put this in the kitchen and we’ll find my sister together. I suppose she’s here somewhere.”

Giving him a firm nod, Charles is suddenly left alone to gaze around the living area. He quickly realises that he’s not the only one who is particularly patriotic as he comes face to face with the Union Jack on the wall, proudly displayed on the wall, seems to tell a story of cultural connections and a home away from home. He’s also, somehow, met with a very eccentric group of people, who seem to be insistent on having him join their various conversation – which he does his best to partake in.

As he chats with a group of fellow partygoers, he notices Declan making his way through the crowd toward him. “Charles,” he says with an apologetic smile, “sorry for that, let’s go.”

As they move through the apartment, Charles catches glimpses of the décor, which can only be described as eclectic, but what he realises that Declan made sure to fill up his walls with all kinds of memories; from photographs of what Charles thinks is his family to his diplomas, to even famous artwork – he’s not sure whether the Warhol he just passed by is real or not, but he supposes it’s probably the first option. They arrive at a corner of the rooftop terrace where a cozy seating area is arranged. A few guests are engaged in animated discussions, while others lounge comfortably, enjoying the ambiance. However, it doesn’t take either him or Declan to realise that his sister is, in fact, not with the group.

Though, it doesn’t take the latter to spot his sister, mumbling with a wince under his breath, and when Charles follows Declan's gaze to find her engaged in a rather animated discussion with a man who looks both frustrated and slightly bewildered by her. “Poor guy.”

“Seems like she's keeping him entertained.” Charles offer, careful with his words, and also quite confused at the man’s reactions to whatever Declan’s sister seems to be saying.

“Eh, sisters.” Declan shrugs, and motions Charles to follow him.

As they approach their corner of the terrace, her voice becomes clearer, and Charles can overhear snippets of the conversation. “I just don’t understand why we can’t print more money,” she says in an airy voice.

The man she's speaking to rubs his temples, clearly grappling with how to respond. “Well, it's not that simple. Printing more money can lead to inflation and devalue the currency.” He takes a moment to think, then, “Think of it like shoes–”

“Okay,” Declan laughs nervously as he places himself between the two, turning to the other man with a kind smile, “I think we’re done here, mate, she’s playing you. She’s an econ major, sorry for that.” Though Charles can’t see the expression on her face, he imagines there’s some sort of a victorious smile as she waves the man away, “Stop emasculating my friends, please.”

“Well choose better friends, and I won’t,” she shrugs, following his brother’s movements as he makes his way back near Charles, she turns towards him as the white dress she’s wearing sways gently in the evening breeze. There’s a surprised look on her face when she realises and they are not alone, “Um, hi.”

With a playful grin, Declan points to Charles and turns to his sister, “This is Charles, your new neighbour, and Charles, this is my sister–”

Bambi.

It’s the only word that comes to Charles’ mind when he sees your eyes and a friendly smile you give to him, “Nice to meet you, Charles.”

His eyes fall down to your extended hand, and he scrambles to regain his composure, taking your hand and shaking it gently. “Uh, yes, nice to meet you too.”

With an unexpected clap from your brother, which has both you and Charles jumping slightly, you turn to him with a glare, “Well, now that you know each other, I’ll leave you to get acquainted. And you,” he points to you which elicits a raised eyebrow from you, “don’t scare him off, and for God’s sake change this music.”

“What’s wrong with ABBA?” You ask with a small pout already forming on your lips.

“We need a change,” Charles watches with a silent chuckle as Declan starts walking back towards the kitchen, “ergo, change it!”

“Well that was an interesting exit,” you mumble, eyes following your brother until he’s out of both your and Charles’ views. Afterwards, you turn your attention back to the man standing in front of you, “What do you think about The Smiths?”

“Who?” Charles asks you, confusion written on his face.

“Not The Who,” you nudge him slightly, chuckling softly, though your laughter dies down once you realise he’s really confused. “I– The Smiths, Charles! To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die,” you softly sing, but he replies with a small shake of his head, and a shrug. “Oh, I love The Smiths! Come on, you have a lot to learn.”

As you grab him by his wrist to guide him back inside the apartment, I might be in trouble, he thinks to himself. And then, you turn around to give him a full smile, with a glint of mischief in your eyes that he can't quite interpret, and say, “I can already feel that we are going to be very good friends.”

And then he knows, he’s definitely in trouble.

[midnightloversmusic]

Hot Cocoa & Love notes

remus lupin x reader

“Your cheeks only turned a darker shade when you looked up. The most gorgeous man you have ever seen was standing right in front of you, well, right behind the counter.”

first day of flufftober!!! I thought this would be perfect for day one, just a cute little coffee shop meet-cute :)) hope you enjoy!

masterlist

————————————————————————

Your fingers felt like they were 2 seconds away from falling off and the bus stop was still a block away and you thought you might as well give up here, drop your groceries and freeze to death, that is until you saw a sign a few store fronts up.

“ moony’s

$1 hot cocoa every sunday!”

The sign was written in pastel chalk and had the moon cycles drawn in a border around it. Seeing this sign saved you from one hell of a breakdown. With a sudden rush of motivation you headed inside the cute cafe. Immediately sighing from the warmth that you felt. It was past noon and there weren't a whole lot of people in the cafe. Just an older woman reading a cheesy romance novel on one of the dark green couches by the front, two teenagers, probably on a date, you think to yourself based on the giggling and awkward movements they made trying to discreetly scooch a little closer to each other. On the other side of the cafe there was a man silently typing on his computer and sipping on a steaming cup of coffee.

You were so busy studying the cozy place in front of you and trying to get the feeling back in your hands that you forgot to make any move to go up to the counter. That is until you heard a soft

“Ehm” coming from the front of the store.

Heat rose to your cheeks and you immediately started walking towards the counter. Your cheeks only turned a darker shade when you looked up. The most gorgeous man you have ever seen was standing right in front of you, well, right behind the counter. He had slightly curly auburn hair, wide hazel eyes, and a scar that went up from the middle of his left cheek all the way over the bridge of his nose to right under his right eye.

You definitely were not feeling cold anymore, in fact you felt like the cafe just got way too hot way too fast and all the sudden you wished you were in a tank top and jeans. The cute, and stunningly handsome, boy cleared his throat again, his lips are now tilted slightly upward. Obviously amused by your flustered state.

“Sorry” you mutter

Slowly coming to the realization if you keep staring at him you won't be able to get a word out without becoming a stuttering mess.

“Sorry” you repeat, shaking your head and redirecting your vision down to the granite counter.

“Can I please have a hot chocolate? No whipped cream please.”

“Mhm, and what will be the name for that?”

God. Even his voice was attractive for fucks sake. It was smooth and deep and just so,

“y/n” you say before you can think anymore.

“Pretty” he says so quietly you almost didn't catch it.

Lucky for you, you did. Or maybe unluckily because now you are sure your cheeks are heating up again. You watch him silently as he takes a foam cup from the stand next to him and gets a sharpie from under the counter. You watch his hands, which are absolutely sinful, your brain adds unhelpfully, as they write on the back of the cup. You track his movements when he walks over to the bar and starts making your cocoa. You're more than aware he can probably feel you staring at him. But you don't have enough energy to care anymore.

He quickly finishes up and slips a cardboard sleeve onto your drink so you don't burn yourself. He walks back over to the register and hands you your drink. Your fingers brush for more time than is necessary and you swear your stomach does backflips.

“Thank you” you said

His eyes are kind and his smile is soft when he says “of course, love”

You suppress a squeal as you pick up your bags from the floor and, begrudgingly, walk back out into the cold and to the bus stop. Once you made it onto the bus and have finally settled down you notice that the cafe boy wrote more than just your name on the back of the cup.

“You are very pretty, let me take you out sometime? :) - Remus” with a phone number written right beneath it.

You really hope no one is looking at you right now because if they were they'd probably think you were psychotic staring at your cup with a huge grin on your face.

Remus, You think. It suits the cafe boy very well.

You spend the rest of the bus ride planning out what to say to him when you call him later.

[hanayori89]

The Place Where Time

Stands Still

* Temple of Time*

It never ceased to amaze Link that beyond these doors lied the past, somehow perfectly petrified in the present. His first visit to the Temple of Time was one of the most unforgettable moments of his travels.

Everything in the Sacred Grove seemed to persist against the elements from when Link last visited. The bridges he had aligned in the gorge with his Gale Boomerang still sat, waiting for his feet to tread across.

Link couldn't help but feel it persisted too well. As if someone had come before him, setting the pace for his entrance.

Zelda. And hopefully only Zelda. Link trembled at Fado's recollection of Ilia hobbling around Ordon on all fours. He saw her head swivel around unnaturally as she crouched on his windowsill. He saw the weeping eyes, devoid of any human spirit that might remain in them. He could still smell the repugnant odor that scathed the inside of his nostrils with each breath he took.

"If you really love Y/N, you'll release her so she may continue to live. Otherwise, I will behead her like her gullible idiot of a father."

Link was nauseated by the memory of the shadow's threat towards Y/N. He willed himself to move forward. He would protect her. On his life, he would protect her.

From the outside, time had claimed what it truly deemed to be its property. The Temple of Time lay desecrated in ruins. Chunks of cinderblock were choked by vines that proudly defiled them, yet the door remained miraculously intact. It was the one piece of the temple that time couldn't touch. Link pressed a hand against the frayed granite doors.

He was about to enter another world.

Hero Shade's world.

"Oh Link, you'll never be forgotten. I can promise you that. Because I'll never forget you."

Y/N was right. He hadn't forgotten Hero Shade. For Link, Hero Shade was very much alive. His once beating heart of fortitude continued to beat on in the vessel that was now Link's own body.

He pushed the doors open with all his might, unaware of what fate awaited him but no longer afraid. Should he perish, his heart would beat within the body of another.

The Triforce of Courage would find him again, at another time or another place. And that person would exist solely for the purpose of defining what a hero was.

"A hero isn't the sword you hold in your hand. It's a trait you display in your heart."

Link walked forward, the luster of the past encompassing him. The last thing he remembered before walking towards the light was how foolishly mortal he was.

There would always be another hero to take his place.

But Link would forever be the one and only hero of Twilight.

And so, Link surrendered to the light. To his mortality.

To the unyielding beating of his heart and who it beat for.

*

You had managed to make your way to the Temple of Time.

Although what stood in front of you wasn't much of a temple, but a city of concrete ruins.

You had made your way to Hyrule Castle, demanding a council with Princess Zelda. The guards harshly turned you away. All but one particular guard, who happened to remember you. 

Fabian. 

He saw you, a sad little sight before him. He walked over, seizing you by the arm and dragging you from the castle stairs.

"Hey!" You hissed. When you were a safe distance from the guards on entry duty, Fabian whispered, "You were with Link and met with the Princess before, correct?" You nodded, trying to drop the temper that was threatening to make a council in your place.

"Why do you seek the princess now? It is rather late."

"I have my reasons. Please, I really need her assistance."

He continued to stare at you, his eyes regarding you with suspicion. "And you are not with Link?"

Before you could respond, Fabian cut in. "Because he is with Zelda. They aren't in the castle. I can give you no other information beyond that." Nothing in the way he spoke led you to believe he was being disingenuous.

"Then may I ask, are they at the Temple of Time? Please, I will go there if they are."

Fabian grunted at your incorrigible persistence. "Do you know how to get there?"

Despite the lack of confirmation, his question was confirmation enough. Link had upheld his promise. Was Ilia with him? Surely, she would be livid if he sneaked away on your behalf. At least with Zelda there, the tear of Midna and its warning didn't seem as critical. How much danger could Link be with Zelda present? You felt your heart begin to pick up its pace at the sheer idea of seeing him. You hated admitting to yourself how bereft you'd been since his absence.

But there was no lying to yourself when the erratic palpitating of your own heart pumped the truth.

"How do I get there?"

Fabian cupped his chin in thought. "From where we stand, you will stay north across Hyrule Field. It lies a bit yonder to the east. In what is known as the 'Sacred Grove.'

You clasped both of his hands in yours, shaking them frantically. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much; I truly appreciate your cooperation."

Fabian relinquished a sigh. "Just do not tell anyone that I gave the information I did. No matter how it was stated, I could be terminated. And make sure the princess is safe." Fabian gave you a gruff salute before briskly walking off.

You were thrilled at the divine timing at play. As you ran into the glittering moonbeams that graced Hyrule Field, you felt yourself convert into your Twili form. This was an ideal time to go. You could bend the shadows to your every whim and wish. You stalked within them, transporting yourself across Hyrule Field in a dizzying whirlwind of camouflaged energy. The other perk was that while you were concealed within the familiar domain of the shadows, you were virtually naked to prying eyes. 

And any possible prey.

Now you stood among the array of smashed granite and slate, bewildered. You had no reason to believe Fabian would lie to you. Why would he put his job on the line to tell you a lie? You studied your surroundings, noting the placement of every vine and crumbling column.

What struck you as most odd was the door. It stood perfectly whole. Immune to the indecent wiles of time. You walked among the rubble, stepping over to the other side of the door.

That's when you noticed something. A footprint was perfectly molded into the mud at the entrance of the door. Whoever was here had physically opened it.

Why would they open the door and not just walk through the rubble? It's not like there are even walls left standing.

You walked around to the front of the door. The sculpted footprint in the mud looked like it belonged to a boot. Its size was a tad too large to belong to a female.

Link? 

You stepped into the footprint with your own boot. You pushed the doors open, amazed at how heavy they were compared to their stature.

What will I say if he is in here?

Just that I love him. Even if it is Ilia whom he loves.

Your thoughts barely seemed to concede when a blinding light beyond the opened door absorbed you within it.

For a moment, you thought this was death.

But if you had died, why did your heart still wildly beat for its owner, who was beyond these doors?

Dying seemed less frightening in the brilliance of this light.

Less frightening than the heartbreak that may await you beyond this door.

Edited: 7/2/2024

A temple in ruins may become the home of a future heart in ruin. The Temple of Time, revered by many yet forgotten by most. How will the Master Sword react to its master coming back to visit?

Danger lies ahead, but the memo has been missed. It's a race through the past to claim the Rod of Dominion. 

Let's just hope an unruly shadow in the form of Ilia doesn't cross the finish line first. 

Check out my other completed OOT Zelda work- No Woman Beyond

[wylldebee]

Ye Olde Magick AU Part II: More Houses

As always: thank @books-n-guns for the existence of this AU :D Basic lore (and the first bunch of houses): X Without further ado, have some more houses~!

The Arryns: Wings, wings, wings. They have the most beautiful feathered wings you'll ever lay eyes on and back muscles because damn their wings are heavy. They need special oils and soaps, and are almost constantly grooming. And they have echo voices (X). If the song Hallelujah existed in ASOIAF they would own it. The skies of the Vale always has at least one Arryn or one of it's cadet houses The Boltons: Like books-n-guns says, they're vampires with an interest in blood magic. Legend says the Boltons actually used to be able to shed their whole skin—and I mean their whole skin—until one Bolton got into blood magic and suddenly vampires. The northern weather is perfect for them. The Mormonts: Werebears! Werebears! Werebears! You think Bear Island was named after the bears that inhabit it? No. It's the werebears of House Mormont. Were as wild looking as the Starks of old just bear themed; claws and teeth and fangs and thicker hair, and were generally bigger and stronger. Now they're just strong. Lady Maege Mormont can still crush a man's head between her hands.

The Tarths: Giants. For some reason the magic has been absent from their bloodline for a few years until Brienne was born. While not as big as her ancestors, Brienne is still big and has great strength. She didn't defeat those who had a bet on her maidenhead so much as she sent them flying. People held score cards. Loras was sweating in his armour and allowed Brienne to grapple him instead shut up you drunken archer of my family I allowed it because I didn't want to fucking die. The Hightowers: Flame hair. Think Hades from Hercules. It's safe to the touch and doesn't set anything on fire...unless the Hightower it's attached to wants it. Just like when they turn the beacon's fire green to call their bannerman, a Hightower's hair can turn green at will. Please imagine Alicent entering the room not only in her green dress, but with flickering green flame hair. The Baelishs: Fiery eyes. Look up Lucifer Morningstar red eyes and you get what I'm imagining, though the pupils are a glowing flame coloured. It's hard to look like a friendly and powerless man to be underestimated by all the high lords with these eyes, but Littlefinger manages it. The Greyjoys: Krackens. Honestly I'm just imagining a kracken version of Davey Jones from Pirates of the Caribbean. But they can only get that form when wet with seawater. Can remain in that form so long as a part of their body is still in seawater. Rare times does it skip a member of the family, so sorry Aeron. The Karstarks: Since they are a cadet branch of the Starks they also benefitted from the same wolf magic—however instead of fangs they've got the claws. Sharp and deadly, the Karstarks are best at being frontline fighters where even if they lose their swords they can still maul a bitch. No, seriously, they will maul someone with their claws. They have mauled people with their claws. Rumors say they use grindstones to keep their claws nice and sharp. The Freys: Trolls, specifically bridge trolls. And not the dependable kind that they used to be back in the day. Still having that weasel look to them, they have granite skin that makes normal swords break against them and above-human strength, thus still making them the most powerful bannermen of House Tully. The Reeds: Lizard-lions or frogs. Actually, nobody really knows what the Reeds are—not now or back in the past. Not even Ned knows what Howland Reed looked like because he kept his entire person covered from the top of his head to his hands to his feet. The only thing he saw was a super long tongue jab hard at Arthur's neck that killed the knight and save him. And that's what I've got for now. Again ideas of other houses are welcome!

[scotianostra]

On June 22nd 1680, exactly on year after The Battle of Bothwell Bridge, we saw Sanquhar Declaration.

Sanquhar, situated in the northwestern part of the county of Dumfriesshire is, from the casual observer, yet another town on the busy A76 commuter route to Kilmarnock. However, if the time is taken to stop and to stretch ones legs, you can find a wealth of history.

Half way along the High Street, just elevated above the road is a monument called the Cameron Monument as seen in the picture.

The grey granite memorial was erected in 1860 on a site not far from it’s present location, marking the the site of the original market cross of Sanquhar.

On the 22nd June 1680, Rev. Richard Cameron and his followers rode on horseback into the town and affixed to the cross their declaration disowning Charles II as King.

This symbolic demonstration, essentially a declaration of war, was among the first of a series of events that led to what is called the Glorious Revolution and the end of the reign of the House of Stuart.

This act of defiance resulted in the battle of Airds Moss and the death of Richard Cameron on the 20th of July 1680.

The second declaration was made at the same place almost five years later by Rev. James Renwick in 1685.

He was executed, by hanging, at the Grassmarket, Edinburgh, 17th February 1688.

The so-called Sanquhar Declaration, naturally, was viewed as an act of treason and the heads of all involved were declared forfeit to the Crown.

The pic is Cameron issuing his declaration from Heroes and Heroines of the Scottish Covenanters

So what of those involved in The Sanquhar Declaration? I pass you on to the capable, and most excellent hands of Mark Jardine, and his Book of Martyrs.

[bridgesawlosangeles]

Maximize Efficiency: Granite Bridge Saw Solutions

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[klzdiamondtools]

The Volcano Quartzite Blade is designed for precision cutting in quartzite. Ideal for Dallas professionals, this blade ensures exceptional durability and performance for all your cutting needs.

[shostakobitchh]

Chapter 54: pandora's box

“You’re talking about Black, aren’t you?” Ariel asked quietly. “Professor Lupin is here to help make sure he doesn’t get inside the castle, isn’t he? But you don’t think so.” 

Snape didn’t answer. He just stared at her, his black eyes startlingly bright, like two dying stars glinting down at her. 

“Why?” Ariel pressed on. “If he was friends with James —” 

"Potter was a fool," Snape snarled, his dark eyes flashing dangerously in the dim light. "A well-meaning fool, perhaps, but a fool nonetheless. His judgment was clouded by — loyalties."

Snape released a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, as if considering how to proceed. The stagnant air seemed to grow thinner as his guard lowered somewhat, revealing something behind the mask again — something Ariel had never seen before. 

She moved closer — partially because she had gotten chilly again — partly as — well, she didn’t really know. 

"Lupin was part of Potter’s band of rule-breaking miscreants who considered themselves above reproach.” Snape looked away — she could see the muscle in his necks straining. “Their history is — was — complicated. They were reckless and often cruel, and Lupin, with his own afflictions to bear, did nothing to curb their behavior."

Ariel frowned. Professor Lupin didn’t seem like someone who would turn a blind eye to cruelty or injustice. Then again, people were rarely what they seemed to be. She had learned that the hard way — multiple times. 

"But that was years ago," Ariel protested, but her heart wasn’t in it — not like it had been. "People change."

"Do they?" Snape replied without missing a beat. His voice held an edge now — a serrated blade of contained bitterness that cut deep. 

She contemplated this, but her brain was starting to hurt. “Why wouldn’t he tell me that they were friends? Why did it?” 

His mouth twitched, almost threateningly. “Why did I not tell you that I knew your mother?” 

She blinked up at him, shocked that he’d mentioned — that. “That was… different.” 

“Is it?” Snape inhaled sharply — if Ariel didn’t know any better, she might’ve thought his breath caught. “To talk about someone you knew — to acknowledge it presently — to know they are nothing more than the past is — agony. Even to a coward like Lupin.” 

Ariel absorbed his words, her mind a whirlpool of confusion and uncertainty. Snape had never been an open book — he was a labyrinth of riddles and sharp edges, but his bitterness, his pain, was palpable and in that moment. His connection to her mother — was it also like this with James and Professor Lupin? 

"Did… did Mum not get along with him, too?" her voice was slow but steady — her hands, however, trembled slightly against the cold stone wall.

Snape's eyes snapped to hers, his gaze piercing through the dim light. "No," he said, after what seemed like an eternity. His voice was soft but firm as granite. "Your mother was... different."

"Different how?" Ariel pushed on, her curiosity fueled by his rare openness. Or maybe this was simply new — she didn’t really know. 

A flash of something passed through his eyes — regret, maybe? "She saw things in varying colors of black and white,” he said finally, his gaze falling away from her. "She was kind where others were cruel. She believed in second chances — to a point.” 

An uncomfortable silence hung between them as Ariel mulled over his words. Snape continued down the hallway, leaving Ariel standing there alone.

"But then —” she began, hurrying to catch up with him. "Shouldn't we give Professor Lupin one as well?"

Wouldn’t you have wanted one? Or did she give you too many?

Snape didn't respond immediately, seeming to weigh her words carefully. He stopped short at a corridor intersection and turned to face her. "Your mother," he said slowly, "was not infallible."

“But you said Professor Lupin — that James is still too painful — that you could understand —” 

"Hatred and understanding are not mutually exclusive," Snape replied, his tone cold. "One can understand a person and their motivations and still despise the choices they make.”

His words hung thick in the air between them, a shroud of bitter reality that Ariel hadn't anticipated. She fell silent as she turned his words over in her mind, toying with their meaning. Professor Lupin had always been kind to her. It was hard to reconcile Snape's portrayal of him as a passive bystander to cruelty with the man she knew — that James could have been that way. That was what Snape was inferring, wasn’t he? 

Take Ariel and run — I’ll hold him off — 

She didn’t want to think about — that — about what they had all been, once. All she cared about were the people she had now — and the people she’d been allowed to know, if only for a short amount of time. 

“You still haven’t told me why he would want to hurt me.” Ariel said quietly. 

Snape paused, his gaze hard and unyielding, framed by the dim light in the corridor. "He would not do so intentionally."

Ariel's heart skipped a beat. "Then why —"

"He would not want to," Snape interrupted firmly. "But sometimes, our desires and our actions do not align — and that is the most dangerous kind of person of all.” 

“That’s what you said about yourself,” she said, with a strength that even took her by surprise. 

Snape's expression froze for a moment; a single heartbeat preserved in ice. His gaze was unreadable, but Ariel could see the subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes lost focus for a split second before snapping back into place — onto her. 

"Indeed," he said, his voice smoother than the silk of a spider's web, "I did."

[acatalystrising]

I have a MILLION ideas running around in my head, but I felt like a softer oneshot for today, so without further ado here is my newest short! This is a SFW TBOBF Boba x reader - just with lotssss of angst and fluff, enjoy!

Oneshot: No Darkness too Great

You heard him coming long before you saw him.

Those spurred footsteps pounding on the walls, followed by a much fainter scurrying as some poor droid frantically skittered out of his way.

The doors to your rooms couldn’t open fast enough. He slid through, helmet in his hands, beskar scraping across the metal with a soft whining shriek. You didn’t move, watching as he strode across the space with deadly speed despite his broad, armored frame, eyes locked on you.

In another life, you’d be afraid.

You’d have the right to be, considering who it was that stood before you - the most renowned bounty hunter, now formidable daimyo. He could kill you in an instant, with his bare hands alone. But you felt nothing but concern as he stopped a foot away, pacing like a caged bull.

You didn’t ask what happened. You merely slid closer to the edge of the bed, eyes following his movements, noting his clenched hands and taut jaw.

“Those fools…I shouldn’t killed them all.” He clenched and unclenched his fists, dark eyes flashing in the dim light - all muscle, sinew, and deadly wrath. “Would’ve deserved it.”

He cursed, anger rolling off him in waves, but you also sensed fear…a much deeper root then the rage on display.

“Boba…” you finally spoke, careful to keep your voice soft.

He spun on his heels to face you, chest heaving, eyes blazing like hellfire, gaze locking on you as if he’d only just noticed you were there. Something violent in his eyes faded, those fangs tucking back away, only for you.

“Ad’ika, I…” he lifted a hand to his scarred face, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. Don’t wanna scare you.”

“You’re not,” you dared to smile at the most notorious bounty hunter alive. “Sit with me?”

“I’m not…they almost…” he sighed, head hanging low, the rage finally starting to loosen its hold. When he spoke again, his voice was strained, tone rasping like granite. “I’m dangerous, little one.”

“I know that,” you firmly met his gaze to make your point. “I love you anyway.”

He watched you, breathing still heavy, eyes warring between violence and softness. You waited patiently, refusing to look away, even as he slowly approached, broad frame overshadowing you.

“I don’t deserve you, mesh’la.” He lowered a hand to caress your jawline, amber eyes shining in the dark, that storm still raging in his gaze. “You could’ve chosen anyone. Anyone other than-“

“Don’t,” you gripped his arm, voice soft - tenderly gripping his gloved hand with yours. “I chose you, just as much as you chose me. You deserve love, Boba, despite your darkness.”

He exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly, and he sat beside you - silent, still lost in his thoughts.

“Hey,” you shifted to face him, daring to place a hand on his cheek, lifting his gaze to meet yours. “You don’t scare me, love. Don’t hide from me, okay?”

Boba hummed, the darkness finally receding, a smirk curving on his lips as he leaned in for a kiss.

“I’d never dream of it, little one,” he kissed you so tenderly, you melted into his strong arms, and he pulled you onto his lap with a smirk, cupping your chin with a gloved hand to lean in for another kiss. “I’d never dream of it.”

[atlurbanist]

The Cotton States and International Exposition was held in Atlanta in 1895. It was designed "to foster trade between southern states and South American nations as well as to show the products and facilities of the region."

800,000 people visited the exhibits. They saw the Liberty Bell and celebrities like Buffalo Bill, as well as John Philip Sousa, who wrote “the King Cotton March” for the occasion.

On opening day, Booker T. Washington delivered his controversial (to say the least) “Atlanta Compromise” speech, which stressed accommodation rather than resistance to the segregated system under which African Americans lived.

An existing pond was expanded to 11.5 acres to become Lake Clara Meer for the event, and it is just about the only thing that remains of the exposition after the buildings were all demolished. @scottdavidmorris reports that there are granite planters and stairs in the park today that date to the expo. I'm not sure if the bridge is the same one built for it -- does anyone know?

(Edit: @takesthecakeblake reports that the bridge was rebuilt multiple times since the expo, and that the buildings were temporary structures made of plaster.)

The City of Atlanta purchased the property when the exposition ended and converted it to Piedmont Park.

[on-noon]

Run Home Through The Forest

Atear sat in the dusty, dark basement of a house he didn’t know was empty, where he tied off and cut a thread. He tugged at the newly sewn pocket; the stitches held. He swung the bag, with its new pocket, over his shoulder. Then he stretched and noticed the stillness. After climbing the ladder upstairs, he found the house empty. Atear didn’t care much. The only person he thought cared about him, his father, died twelve years ago.

With an empty house and no one to see him leave, Atear could enact his decade-old plan to find his father’s village. And so, into his bag, right next to the map, he packed food: a carrot, apple, and sandwich. As he left the house, he grabbed his Uncle Lavric’s coat, the thickest in the house. Atear jogged down the packed dirt paths of the town, past all the buildings that formed the monotonous background of his life.

Despite no one from the town entering the forest since anyone remembered, a faint path led away from the town through the forest. Trees rimmed the path, with the sides of trunks bare of branches to leave the sky above the path clear. 

At the edge of the path, a stark line between the barren ground of the town and the tree roots of the forest, Atear hesitated. He had been planning for years, confident he could make the trip his father had. But everyone said never to enter the forest. 

With a deep breath, Atear shifted his bag and stepped into the forest. Timid steps turned to quick steps turned to running. A thick tree root grew into the path. Atear tripped. His momentum carried him forward; his knee scraped against granite. Blood gathered on the knee, but Atear didn’t notice. He leaned against the oak that had tripped him and pulled himself up. He stared through the brown-edged leaves and scratched a mosquito bite and continued at a careful pace.

At a fork in the path, Atear stopped. He grabbed the map and a carrot from his bag. As he crunched the carrot, he unfolded the map and turned it. Once the town Atear had left was at the bottom, he traced his finger along the route he had taken to the fork, in the map shown next to a drawing of a boulder. Atear pushed aside tree branches to look for the boulder, but he couldn’t find it without leaving the path. The shaky pen line he had drawn nine years ago of his route turned to the left, and so, upon finishing his carrot, Atear headed left.

He worried if he was on the correct route until he saw a stone bridge, the same as on the map. The centuries-old bridge had held up against all erosion. Atear climbed down to the riverbank and slurped water from the diamond-clear river with its pebble bottom.

He sat by the river to eat his sandwich. In the heat of the midday sun, he took off his coat. Across the river, a robin landed on the branches; it called out its song. Atear wanted to find a bug to feed the bird. He turned over what he thought was a rock. After he saw the bottom was dry and absent of bugs, he tossed the rock into the river. A few twigs decomposed into the dry dirt in the rock’s indent. Dirt plumed off the rock, revealing it to be not a rock at all but a piece of wood. Atear fished it out of the river and found that it was a carved wooden duck. He returned to shore and set the wooden duck down to find a meal for the cardinal.

Under where the statue had been, he saw no bugs. After digging down an inch further and finding no bugs, Atear set some chicken from his sandwich down on a rock. He watched from the bridge, where he dried the duck statue with the coat.

  Atear turned the duck around in his hands. He imagined his father leaving the duck behind; maybe he had wanted to leave something behind to attest he had made the journey. Atear smiled.

The cardinal flew down and swallowed the chicken. Atear watched it eat and fly back to its branch. He left an inch of his chicken on the bridge. He continued down the path and snacked on his apple, the last of his food.

At dusk, the wind picked up and blew birch leaves through the tangled, bare branches. Atear shivered and put on the coat. He had expected to reach his father’s village in the evening; He regretted stopping for lunch. Atear continued on, but he watched the sides of the paths for a clearing to sleep the night in.

The stars faded into view before Atear finally saw the village; he jogged despite his sore legs from a full day’s walk. As he crossed the forest’s threshold for the second time that day, he heard a shout. He didn’t know what it was, but the intruder call had been raised. The townspeople were busy collecting their arms, ready for a fight.

As Atear stumbled into the ring of houses, the town’s steel greeted him.

“Answer for why you came, invader,” the mayor said.

Shocked by the response to his arrival, it took Atear a minute and a half to respond, during which the townspeople whispered about him.

“This is the town of my father,” Atear said, stepping into the light cast by lanterns and torches. “And thus I thought it should be my town as well.”

A woman holding a pitchfork stepped towards Atear.

“Your father was exiled. We have no need for his kin. Go back home,” she shouted.

Atear stumbled backwards. He turned towards the forest.

A farmer holding a lantern called out, “Wait! We can’t send him into the forest at night. Even Zayni, we exiled at dawn.”

Atear followed the farmer to his home. The farmer gave Atear some cold soup left from dinner and blankets. Atear slept on the sitting room floor that night.

The farmer shook Atear awake before sunrise.

“It’ll be best if you leave now before anyone against the exile decides twenty years isn’t long enough to put an issue to rest.”

“I’m against exile,” Atear mumbled, collecting his bag and coat in the dark.

“They wanted to execute your father. Even I supported the exile; I was the closest thing Zayni had to a friend. He couldn’t stay in the village.” 

The farmer waited for Atear to stand before leading him out the door.

At the edge of the forest, they stopped.

“After your father left, I found this at his home.” The farmer handed Atear a notebook. “I kept it. I assumed he had died and figured someone should keep it to remember him by. But I suppose that’s you.”

Atear tucked the notebook under his arm and entered the forest. He trudged away, looking back over his shoulder at the village he thought would be his home.

He heard shouting from the village– people angry about him and his father. 

Atear ran.

Out of breath, he stopped at the creek. Out of sight from the village, he allowed himself a drink. He sat on the edge of the bridge and dangled his feet over the water.

He opened the journal to the first page and read about his father’s life and how he had no one to talk to or spend time with. The same as Atear. 

As the journal went on, there were fewer entries and more nature drawings. Four pages in a row were drawings of the same duck, the wooden bird in Atear’s bag. A year before he was exiled, was the last entry.

“I’ll need to find something drastic. I can’t go on like this.”

The next page held an unfinished drawing of a tree. Every page after was empty.

Atear watched the river flow and held the wooden bird. 

Once his stomach grumbled, he left the bridge and continued. As he walked back to town, the midday sun beat down upon his head. The jacket was too warm for even his waist, so he tied it onto his bag.

As Atear passed the fork in the path, he could hear people shouting. Tired as he was, he started jogging so he could find out what the commotion was for.

He ran into his aunt. She helped Atear up and hugged him.

“Where were you? We’ve been looking for you since noon yesterday,” Atear’s aunt led him back into town.

When his uncle saw him, Lavric whistled sharply twice. Townspeople came out of the forest with scratches from the tree branches on their arms and legs.

“I was so worried when I heard you had disappeared,” Atear’s neighbor said.

At home, Atear hid the journal under his bed and put the wooden duck on a shelf next to the scarf his uncle had sewn for him.

[poison-shark]

Gotham Bound

Description: Cece Waldron is moving in with her supervillain aunts after being granted a scholarship to a private high school. Slice of Life kinda stuff ensues. But then she receives more than a couple of surprises. Watch out, Gotham City. (Gods, I suck at descriptions)

Characters: Cece Waldron (OC), Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Delia and Lucy Quinzel (Mentioned), The Quinzel Brothers (Mentioned), Nick and Phyllis Quinzel (Mentioned), Special Guest OC

CW: ADHD/Autistic Character gets mildly overestimated, Needles (On like a flu shot level), Blood (a few drops), Shady Adults are still kinda shady, Two people disagree for like a second, New Jersey, Brooklyn (Mentioned), Florida (Also Mentioned I think)

Word Count: 4299

(A/N: Dunno whether or not to make this a full fix. Comment and lemme know pls and thx <3)

Minors DNI -> Nothing is Explicit I'm just covering my bases for the future

Cece’s head was spinning as she peeled her forehead off of the seat in front of her. She had known it was a bad idea to read on the train, but she just couldn't help herself. The trip was excruciatingly dull when the only thing to do was stare out the window at New Jersey’s landfill-ridden countryside for four hours. She had updated herself on all of her favorite YouTube channels while waiting for the train to arrive, so the way Cece saw it she had no choice but to indulge in some Agatha Christie. The motion sickness must have gotten the better of her and put her to sleep judging by the dribble on her chin.

Affixing her glasses that had fallen into her open palm, she lifted her head to check her trip status on the Amtrak app. The plastic of her phone charm clacked against her charm bracelet as she unplugged it from the charger. Only ten minutes left. Had she really spent two hours taking a nap? As she shook her head back into reality once more, blue eyes glanced down at something nudging her feet. The novel she had been reading had not been as fortunate as her eyewear and landed pages down on her cherry-shaped duffle bag, the paperclip she'd been using as a bookmark had been cast to the floor. She cursed to herself and let out a sigh as she leaned down to grab her things and pop them back in her backpack on the seat next to her.

The remainder of the ride into the city was spent gazing out nervously at the Gotham skyline. Gloom and fog hung thick in the air as the rain beat against the windows of the car. What little light there was seemed to be emanating from the city itself despite the fact that it was nearing six o'clock. Cece didn't know if the AC was cranked up or if it was just the fact that they were above the bay, but the compartment was far too cold for early September. She slipped on her red hoodie and shook off the unnatural chill, hoping it wasn't some infamous ice villain deciding to wreak havoc on the train. Somehow, she figured her aunties wouldn't be too pleased knowing some hooligan with superpowers caused her trouble. As the bright lights and neo-gothic architecture loomed ever nearer in the distance, she hoped her future in Gotham City was more exhilarating than the journey there.

Once her feet hit the platform of Gotham Train Station she immediately stumbled back a little. The smells got to her first; pretzels, sandwiches, cigarettes, and human waste. The fluorescent lights cast everything in an eerie green glow that did nothing but worsen Cece's headache. Not to mention the noise of hundreds of people and the screeching of trains. Eager to exit the platform she beelined it up the concrete stairs, bolted through the main dais (completely ignoring the massive, gorgeous, marble hub), and busted out of the revolving door and onto the granite steps outside the station with her luggage in tow.

Hastily, she threw her hood over her head, hiding her low strawberry-blonde pigtail braids, in an attempt to shield herself from the downpour. She pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and scanned the crowd for one of her aunts, eventually coming up empty, so she shot one of them a text.

Within seconds her aunt replied with a, ‘Be there in a sec,’ and sure enough, a fluorescent, pink helmeted blonde came barreling over the hill on roller skates. In front of her was a shopping cart with a soaked sheet of paper plastered to the front, but as she got closer Cece could begin to read the letters that bled through the disintegrating paper. ‘Welcome Home, Nugget!” it read in bright blue, undoubtedly once scented, marker. Smiley-face stickers flew off in a trail behind her as she dodged pedestrians, hurtling toward her niece at an uncontrollable pace.

The grin on Cece’s face as her aunt pulled over at the bottom of the steps practically split her face in half. The tall woman gazed up the stairs with an equally deranged smile and outstretched her arms toward the child, making a quick flexing motion with her fingers. Excitement buzzed through the small girl’s body, now faced with the reality of being reunited with her aunt. From the top of the steps, she launched her luggage into the cart before backing up and taking a running start, leaping off of the wet stone. Her aunt caught her effortlessly, spinning her around with glee as the two embraced.

“Auntie Harley!”

“Welcome home, Nugget! How was the trip?” her voice cut through the rain like a stray sunbeam, warm and mildly disruptive. She placed her niece back on the ground and nodded to the cart’s main basket. Getting the hint, Cece climbed in.

“It was okay, mostly boring. My head hurts.” the girl complained, adjusting herself against the metal. Her aunt unhooked a neon orange helmet from inside the shopping cart and tossed it to her with a knowing smirk.

“Which book was it?”

“Murder On the Orient Express,”

“Classic! Got to love good old Aggie!” her aunt leaned down and ruffled her hair, “Alright, Nugget, helmet on! This thing doesn't have breaks!”

The pair rocketed uptown to a red-bricked apartment building across the street from the reservoir. Cece knew it was theirs instantly. It looked nearly identical to every other building on the block save for the fact that climbing plants had completely overtaken the sides and roof. They had even surrounded the door, blooming as the Quinzel women approached. The staircases were lined with potted plants that tilted their foliage upwards as the blondes made their way up to the apartment. It almost seemed like they were whispering. The apartment door opened with a slam and out popped her Aunt Ivy. Her red hair was braided to the side draping over an apron that read “What the Fucculent”.

“Hurry up and get inside, you two. Your steaks are gonna get cold.”

The air inside the apartment was a drastic change from the pea soup of the city. It was still humid, but warm, clean, and breathable. The kitchen was especially hot even with the vent fan blasting. On the counter, surrounded by overflowing planters of herbs, was a large plate piled high with steaks. Halfway climbing onto the counter were two massive hyenas, frozen in place as they were caught very obviously trying to snatch up the savory meal. All Auntie Harley did was raise her arms and the giant beasts launched over the counter, scrambled over the tile (knocking into each other rather comically), and tackled the tall blonde woman to the floor. The licking and sniffing didn't let up until Cece shifted the duffel on her shoulder. She was immediately given the same treatment. Bud and Lou hadn't seen her since she was ten so her mother wasn't sure if they would recognize her, but the way the carnivores knocked off her glasses to lick her face more effectively proved otherwise. Soon all four of them were a squirming, giggling mess. Aunt Ivy managed to steal away their attention however by placing the steaks in two dog bowls next to the front door.

Auntie Harley jumped to her feet and hauled the teen up with her and dragged her to the couch. Her aunt patted her head and tossed her the remote before rolling over to the cabinets and producing two plates. The blonde wheeled her way over toward her niece, spinning the plates on her fingertips and humming circus music as she glided. Ivy chuckled in amusement as she set the meat on the coffee table. The redhead removed the apron from her person and hung it on a nearby vine while another root fetched the silverware. Both women plopped down beside the fourteen-year-old and began eating.

“Peanut, skates.” Ivy reminded.

“Oh, right! Thanks, Buttercup!” She started to unlace her roller skates.

“You too, Peaches.”

“Yeah, Nugget! Take a load off!” the blonde demanded. Immediately, the teen kicked off her sneakers. Another root quickly snatched them away down the hall. Whilst her aunts distributed the food, she took it upon herself to flip through the channels on the tv.

“So, Peaches, are you excited about high school?” Aunt Ivy asked, taking a rather late bite of her steak.

“Yeah, it's pretty daunting though. I'm just glad mom thought it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“You should come with us to orientation, Ives! Go on, Trouble, tell her about your class!” Cece put down the bite of steak she was about to take.

“It’s called ‘Art, Science, and Nature’. It's like environmental science mixed with art class. It looked cool so I thought I’d take it next semester to give myself a break from playwriting class.” Ivy’s expression barely shifted, but the room filled with a subtle floral scent, and spindly blue flowers sprouted from her hair.

“That sounds wonderful, Peaches. Let me know if you’ll be needing any help.” Her earnestness took physical form as more flora bloomed throughout the apartment. Cece smiled as she flipped the channel over to the news in her search.

“Will do, Aunt I-”

“- The old Nestler Textile plant is set to be demolished tomorrow morning to make way for the new Wayne Pet Rescue Shelter,” informed the news anchor, “This is immediately following the buyout of Nestler Textiles by Wayne Enterprises after the former’s pollution fiasco last week. We were unable to get a quote from former C.E.O. Richard Nestl-” Cece flipped the channel once more and settled on the classic cartoon reruns. The green woman simply crossed her arms and leaned back with a sneer.

“Of course, that nasty meat suit has nothing to say for himself. Pumping all those pollutants into the bay, poisoning the water, destroying The Green. He’s just lucky the bat was there to keep me from strangling him with my babies.”

“Would you believe it, Munchkin? He poisoned nearly half the city and they're gonna let him off with a slap on the wrist!” Harley exclaimed, “That reminds me, Nugget, don't drink the tap water. At least not until the city filters all that crud out.” She wagged a finger at her niece. “Or until you're up to date on your shots.” The teen cocked her head to the side.

“My shots? I'm up to date. Went to the clinic last week for physicals.” The blonde doctor glanced at the chipped varnish on the floorboards.

“Well, Kiddo, as you know Gotham’s a pretty dangerous place,” her tone was laced with a cautiousness that her aunt hadn't used in years, “and sometimes your Aunt Ivy and I can instigate danger, so while you're staying with us we wanted to make sure you're prepared.”

“We asked your mother and she permitted us to give you an immunity vaccine.” Doctor Pamela Isley was never one to beat around the bush.

“Basically, it'll just keep you from croaking if you bump into Ivy while living here.”

“You'll be insusceptible to most toxins, but it comes with side effects.”

“Like what?” Cece questioned, popping more steak in her mouth.

“Heightened strength and speed, but only slightly. You'll still be mostly normal.”

“Well, as normal as a Quinzel gets, y’know? But we're not gonna force you to take the shot if you don't want t-”

“-If you say it's safe and you think it'll help then I'm sold.”

“Really?” Both of her aunts eyed her with varying degrees of skepticism.

“Of course!” the bespectacled girl reassured them, “If you two think it's necessary and Mom said it was fine then sure. Have at my arteries!” She shrugged and finished off her steak. Swiftly, she snatched up her and Aunt Ivy’s plates and slid on her socks over to the sink, and started washing.

“Remember-” Ivy barely had to remind her.

“Turn the water off while soaping them up. I got it.” Harley grinned at her niece, brimming with pride.

After the clown queenpin finished dinner, Ivy retreated to the bathroom to grab her equipment. Minutes later she emerged with a syringe, some gloves, ethanol, a cotton pad, and a glass medicine vial containing a swirling purple liquid. She handed the materials off to her wife who quickly slapped on the gloves before she grabbed the pad and placed it at the mouth of the alcohol bottle. She tipped it over, sure to saturate cotton enough, and took the pad to her niece's arm, rubbing small circular motions into the flesh. The psychiatrist then removed the plastic cap on the needle and stabbed it into the metal cap of the vial, measuring slightly over the amount. She squeezed the syringe a bit to remove any air and adjust the amount, which caused some of the liquid to squirt out. When the purple liquid was exposed to the air it transmuted into a green vapor.

“Cool,” Cece remarked, eyebrows raised and clearly fascinated. Ivy chuckled at the girl’s wonder. Meanwhile, her other aunt had jabbed her arm with the needle already and was pushing the stopper down evenly. The teen twinged in pain as the solution settled into her bloodstream. “That does not feel great.”

“Tastes worse, trust me,” warned Harley.

“Wait, you mean I could have just drunk it?”

“Believe me, Nugget, this was the least painful option.” Her aunt discarded the used materials in the trash can by the door.

“Bullshit! You just wanted to play doctor,” she smirked. The taller blonde turned dramatically and scoffed.

“Honey,” she mockingly flipped her hair, “I don't gotta play doctor. I am a doctor!” With each word her Brooklyn accent thickened.

“Of course, you are, Peanut.” chimed Ivy, earning a laugh from their younger relative.

“Red!” Harley whined.

The green woman placed a quick peck on her wife’s cheek as she moved back to the couch. She snatched up a book from under the coffee table, flitted through it, identified where she left off and tuned out the world. Harley sauntered over to her niece, swinging an arm around the girl’s shoulders and hugging her close, she walked them both past the breakfast bar. “Wanna see your room?”

“Duh!” the teen responded fervently.

The former supervillain led her niece to a dark wood door beside the kitchen. Moss and lichen sprawled across the paneled surface, coating the door in a glittering green carpet while the orange of the lichens spelled out her name. As the teenager reached for the shoddy doorknob to reveal her home for the next four years, her aunt paused her.

“Before we go in there, I wanna make sure you know that if you don't like it we can always change it. Y’know, move some stuff, repaint, and such? So don't feel like you have to like it just because we set it up and you don't want to hurt our feelings.” Cece’s arms wrapped around her aunt in an instant and Harley patted her hair comfortingly as she squeezed back. “Alrighty! You ready?” Cece nodded her head vigorously. “Okay, okay, okay! Close your eyes, Nugget! Pammy, get the camera!”

Hands quickly shrouded the fourteen-year-old’s vision as she stumbled for the knob. Pushing inwards, she released her grip as she was coaxed forward a few paces into the room. “Okay, Trouble! Open those peepers!”

The first thing Cece noticed was that the quilting on the bed matched the patchwork curtains framing the window it was pushed against. As her fuzzy socks padded across the beige carpet, she took in the wallpaper, obviously new, on her way to the bed. It was cream and bright, unlike the rest of the apartment’s faded and stained yellow, and printed on it were strands of lovely orange flowers. The fresh coat of sage green was smooth atop the frame that encased the mattress. When she drifted her fingers over the iron there was no trace of her great-grandmother's old headboard, save for the shape of the welded metal.

“Is this actually Gee-Bee’s bed?”

“Well, it's a new mattress, but yeah. Your Uncle Barry and Uncle Frankie fixed it up for you before they brought everything up.”

“Everything?” Her aunt motioned to the end table directly beside the girl’s new bed. Cece could hear the roaring of her blood and the beating of her heart.

“This was Zayde’s,” She placed a hand gingerly on the nightstand, the walnut cold against her skin.

“Yep! Now, it's yours!”

“And Buh-Beeps just let you have it?”

“Nope!” popped Harley, “Hell no! She let you have it. Ma doesn't even remotely trust me with this stuff, but, and I quote, ‘Gotham’s a scary place, Harleen! She needs to feel as comfortable as possible! Better just give her the full set.’” The teen’s eyes morphed into dinner plates as she scanned the room for more of her grandfather’s things.

There, adjacent to the door, blocked by the comfiest-looking orange leather armchair, drowning in cardboard boxes, was the matching writing desk. The one she'd adored as a child, sitting in Zayde’s lap as he taught her how to play poker or watch him write his memoirs. On said desk, now in her new room, was her most recent Quinzel family photo, framed in a novelty Harley Quinn picture frame, illuminated by her grandfather's stained glass desk lamp.

Across from the window, on the opposite side of the room, stood the holy grail of Zayde’s possessions. The bookcase. She strode the width of the small room and at once skimmed her fingers along the side, between the wood and the plaster that made up her closet. Her fingers finally brushed a clear piece of tape and began intently pressing her digits into the same area of walnut. Soon she felt it; the divet where two different seams of lumber met. Cece made quick work of the tape and pushed up at the fissure, revealing a small velvet compartment that housed the tiny brass key. Removing the key from its cubby, the teen unlocked the glass-paneled doors of the antique shelving. It was as if the cabinet had let forth a fierce gust of wind, knocking the air out of her lungs. “We wanted you to put the books in yourself. Lucy thinks you're particular and your mom said you didn't like it when people touch your stuff without permission.”

“They're both right,” she confirmed, still gaping at the impressive piece of furniture.

“Same goes for your clothes. They're all in those boxes on the desk. Your hamper and Gee-Bee’s dresser are in the closet too, just to give you some extra storage.”

The teen paused as she went to slide open the closet door, noting the odd texture of the charcoal-colored paint. “Do you like it? It's chalkboard paint! It was your Uncle Ezzie’s idea! He thought that if you're gonna go to fancy art high school, you should have somewhere fancy to put all the big creative brainstorms you're gonna have! Pretty cool, right?” At that, the young blonde started tearing up, grateful to her hood for hiding her expression from her aunt.

“Yeah,” she agreed, sliding the door open, “it's way cool.” Once the wooden panel landed flush behind the other, Cece spotted them. A squeal left her throat before she could stop it.

“Oh, did you finally notice the-”

“The knobs!” Aunt Ivy’s laughter could be heard from the living room. Set into the fragrant chest of drawers were new handles. Green and orange glass flowers had been fitted into the cedar drawers, replacing the outdated cloth-coated wooden ones. “Wait, what do you mean ‘finally’?” She scoped the room once more, this time actively attempting to focus, and realized everything openable had the new glass daisies. “My life is complete!” Her fists pumped into the sky.

“You can thank your baby sister for those. She sent them to Red on Instagram and you know how your aunt is.”

“Lucy can have anything she wants for the rest of forever! These are so sweet!”

“Careful, Peaches, she'll take you up on that.” Ivy cautioned, now standing beside her wife, “and now that we're on the topic of sweetness there's one more surprise.”

“There is?” Harley raised her brow at her spouse. The vines and leaves that covered the ceilings throughout the entire apartment (and had been recording her reaction with Ivy’s phone), began to shutter and shift something they had entangled in their tendrils. Slowly, they extended the rather large item downward, depositing whatever it was in the corner of her room. The foliage soon retreated and revealed… more foliage. Now, enclosed between her bed and desk, there was a sapling in a terracotta pot.

“A tree… thanks.” Ivy simply rolled her green eyes at the teen’s sass, the vibrancy of which increased tenfold as the plant wedged in the corner started to shimmy. A creaking noise emitted from its bark as its branches stretched upwards and outwards, curling around the windows and swallowing the ceiling in twigs and leaves. Rapidly, flowers sprouted and blossomed with reckless abandon, and as quickly as they arrived, they were replaced with plump, fuzzy peaches. “Whoa… Sick!”

Ivy sidled up to her niece with an outstretched palm. Without a second thought, Cece held her aunt’s hand like she'd done a million times before. Snappier than the girl could register, a thorn jutted out of the May Queen’s palm, pricking the blonde. The minuscule droplets of blood beaded along the seam of the nick once the teenager withdrew her palm.

“What the hell, Pammy?” contested Harley, rushing to dress the child’s wound. She was stopped, however, by her spouse. Seeing her aunts about to have a domestic dispute, Cece speedily intervened.

“Auntie Harley, it's ok. Aunt Ivy never does anything without a reason.” At the soothing tone of the fourteen-year-old's voice, the older Quinzel’s shoulders unclenched. Ivy smiled sweetly at her niece, gratitude dripping with every crimson pearl.

“Put your palm to the roots.” Unlike her usual commanding tone, this seemed to be something of a request. Cece obeyed as Harley pouted apprehensively, muttering something about infections. She soon ate her words, however, when the rough bark vibrated and Green ripped through the tree. Suddenly, the peaches ripened, the bark strengthened, and the leaves were more vibrant. “It will respond to you now. Protect you if need be.”

“Cool…” claimed the Quinzels in unison. The younger one plucked a stone fruit from a branch. Sweet juice dribbled out her mouth as she chomped down, the fuzzy skin tickling her nose. She hummed in delight and thanked her aunt once more, this time genuinely.

All it took was one yawn from the child and Harley was ushering herself and Ivy out to let her rest after her long day. Despite that, Cece ignored her drowsiness and decided to organize her clothes. She only brought a few boxes a couple of months prior, and she knew her aunts were taking her back-to-school shopping later in the week, so she decided to put away what she could to avoid the hassle.

Halfway through folding her sweaters something hit her window with a thunk. She paused for a moment before she decided to return to her closet and placed her knitwear in a dresser drawer. Her braids smacked her in the face when she whipped her head around at the second thunk. She waited again. Silence.

‘It was probably a pigeon,’ she justified. The teen then continued to arrange her clothing. Five minutes later, the clanging of metal on the other side of the glass startled her out of flattening the cardboard. Grateful for the cover the thick, patchwork curtains provided, she tiptoed back over to her desk. Sifting through the package heap, she slid out a faded blue duffel with her name on it. From her softball bag, the blonde produced her trusty bat, rubber grip familiar in her grasp. She ducked behind the metal footboard and raised her weapon. Seconds passed as she sat crouching with her bat primed.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

She waited with bated breath. For what? She didn’t know. For someone to break into her room. A random Scarecrow gas attack. A very dedicated Jehovah's Witness. A fiber optic salesman gunning for a promotion. Whatever it was, she was ready. What she hadn’t considered was that the mystery thunker would just leave. Surely enough, the clanging of metal returned, decreasing in volume as the perpetrator climbed down the fire escape. Ten more minutes passed before she hopped to her feet, bat in hand, and quickly whipped the curtain away.

At least it wasn’t a ruse. The metal landing was bare, but as she hopped on her bed to look closer she spotted someone retreating from the pulled down ladder. She couldn’t maneuver herself into a better position to see the thunker, but out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a canary yellow sewing pin sticking a small piece of cream fabric to her window sill. In shiny, navy blue embroidery were the words, ‘Nestler Textiles Plant #9 451 Smelter Place’ in a gorgeous almost handwritten cursive. However, sewn haphazardly over the lovely script was a fraying carmine thread that taunted in sloppy print, ‘COME AND PLAY’.

Never one to turn down an invitation, she laced up her limited-edition Poison Ivy sneakers, slid up her window, and leaped onto the fire escape. As she cautiously closed her window, she snapped up the tag and pin. Then the blonde climbed onto the metal railing and front-flipped, landing gracefully on the asphalt below. Smirking, Cece Waldron strolled out of the alley, head low, red hood up.

Tags: @a-god-in-crime-alley @saturniidz @gegeru @oathofoaks @insideoflit

Message me if you wanna be tagged. I don't really check my inbox.

[igoldenlaser]

3D 5 Axis CNC Stone Cutting Bridge Saw for Quartz, Granite, Marble

5-axis CNC stone cutting bridge saw is a specialized piece of equipment used for cutting and shaping stone materials, such as granite, marble, and other natural stones, with a high degree of precision and flexibility.These machines are a valuable asset for businesses involved in stone fabrication, design, and sculpting, as they offer precision, efficiency, and the ability to create intricate and customized stone products. When considering the purchase of such a machine, it’s crucial to thoroughly research options, assess your specific needs, and budget accordingly.

5 axis CNC bridge saw is an automatic infrared stone cutter to make custom slabs and countertops for kitchen and bath including granites, modular granites, granite tiles, honed granites, engineered stones, laminates, soapstones, marbles, quartzites and other stones.For example, cutting and milling straight and inclined edges, chamfering, cutting arc edges, polygon, edge milling, edge tracking, and other powerful functions. The 5 axis bridge saw is widely used in the stone processing plants, kitchen countertop processing, background wall profiling, and other fields. It is the ideal machine for cutting stone slabs with different shapes and sizes.

5 axis CNC bridge saw adopts a PC-based five-axis linkage numerical control system for stone machining. The tool is controlled by three linear axes and two rotary axes, and the two rotary axes rotate around the X axis and the Z axis respectively. The automatic function of cutting, engraving and milling with complex pentahedral features is mainly used for the processing of high-quality stone decoration with complex surfaces in multi-dimensional space. The stone industry has undergone many product technological changes. The technical characteristics and advantages of the processing equipment whose tool motion trajectory is controlled by 5-axis and 6-axis linkages are becoming more and more obvious. The CNC five-axis bridge stone cutting machine is a professional stone machining equipment with outstanding flexible manufacturing ability and high automation, which uses a diamond disc saw blade as the main cutting tool.

5 axis CNC stone cutting bridge saw adopts an automatic computer control system, which can realize manual programming or CNC programming and other programming methods to automatically complete cutting operations.

5 Axis CNC Stone Cutting Bridge Saw Features

1. It adopts 5 axis bridge cutting head, which is independently researched and developed and adopts the cast rotating bracket. This ensures good stability and flexibility during operation.

2. This bridge saw uses a high-precision RV reducer, ensuring better rotating precision of the cutting head.

3. It has built-in CAM software in the control system for the convenient of drawing designs and programming. Besides, it’s easy to learn the software to make designs.

4. The worktable can flip automatically up to 80 degrees, reducing human labor and facilitating the unloading process.

5. It is capable of cutting lengths of up to 2800mm, widths of 1200mm and thicknesses of 100mm.

6. The table automatically tilts up to 80 degrees. And the spindle is automatically rotated 90° or 360°by hydraulic pressure.

Main Configuration

NameManufacturer/BrandBodyHeavy duty bedGantrySteel structureTableAutomatic copy flip feedingGuide railTaiwan hiwin 35 guide railRackTaiwan YYC 2MScrewTaiwan TBI screw5010MotorVEICHISystemCutcamWater pumpStandardWater pipe12 meters long, 16mm in diameterStandard configuration functionLaser positioning, table flip, cutter, can cut square, round, horse belly side cutting, 45 degree cutting, Taichung basin cutting, Yin Angle drilling and milling, milling cutter openingOptional FunctionsSuction cup displacement, photo layout, inverter, transformer, clean installation and measurement software

5 Axis CNC Stone Cutting Bridge Saw Application

The 5 axis CNC bridge saw can cut any shape of stone lines, arc edges, duckbill edges, straight edges, beveled edges, non-slip grooves, dry hanging grooves, sink processing, and special-shaped edge forming.

1. Countertop cut: blank slab cutting, rear gear cutting, reverse buckle cutting, hanging material, L-shaped table to length, corner cutting reserved, 45-degree chamfered front mouth, pot hole, stove hole, Diagonal line cutting, cutting at any angle of the wall crenel.

2. Automatic cut: Realize the import of CAD drawings, cutting completely according to the drawing style, no need to enter complex data.

3. Bridge cut: It has all the functions of bridge cutting equipment on the market.

4. Roman column cut: Cut the square Roman column main board and both sides at one time, and simultaneously chamfer 45 degrees on both sides to complete the Roman column hole cutting.

5. Arc-shaped line cut: Install the line grinding head to complete the arc-shaped line shape, and cut into a rough arc-shaped line as a whole, which requires manual polishing.

6. Concave-convex cut: According to the arc, grind out the desired convex or concave plate. It is mainly used for grinding and making curved plates of special-shaped background walls or special-shaped decorative panels.

7. Abnormity cut: To solve the problem of uneven walls, cut out asymmetric quadrilaterals or isosceles trapezoids.

FREQUENT ASKED QUESTIONS

What machining processes can this machine complete?

It can complete edge milling, curved edge cutting, countertop cutting and milling, inclined edge cutting, arc edge cutting and milling, wash basin cutting and other processes.

What software and control system does it use?

This 5 axis stone bridge saw is provided with a built-in CAM software with customized control system dedicated for stone CNC machine. The interface is human friendly, so it is easy to learn and operate.

Can the worktable rotate?

Yes, the worktable of this machine can flip up to 80 degrees to facilitate the unloading of stone slabs. It also improves work efficiency and saves human labor.

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4 +1 Axis Stone Bridge Saw for Marble Granite and Quartz

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5 Axis CNC Stone Cutting Bridge Saw for Quartz Granite Marble