#today i offer you all a legend sketch

[nightyraven-art]

I'm getting back to traditional art and I was practicing drawing and I suddenly draw Legend

Forgive me the huge artstyle gap on traditional it's been awhile that i drew on paper

[centrally-unplanned]

California Crisis: Gun Salvo

I watched the 1986 OVA California Crisis, and it was really good! This anime, if you have heard of it all (which is unlikely), is famous for two things. One is its look:

Which in anime form did not exist before, and has not existed since. When you research “California Crisis” in English the source everyone pulls from is this essay by longtime industry man Fred Patten, and he describes it as “the over-solarized art style most commonly associated with the commercial artist Patrick Nagel, who was very ‘in’ at the time.” I believe him on that being an influence - he worked with the creators after all - and my primary documents from said creators are quite limited; but those that I have never mention him. They certainly were aiming for Americana - but what is causing this unique look is the use of thick, black outlines on the inner shading of the characters (something Nagel doesn’t really do), which producer Yoshikazu Tochihira mentions as a common technique used on vehicles in anime at the time. Given how heavily cars and ‘copters feature in this, I think the look was also sort of its own idea to create stylistic cohesion between the key parts.

I am not going to say it always works - on our main girl Marcia it is sketch, those eyes man:

But for our boy Noera it comes out a lot nicer:

He has less demand to be “typical anime”; bishoujo can’t blend here but surfer bum absolutely can.

You get used to it over time though, and it excels at capturing the idealized West Coast aesthetic. In particular, by being “not anime” it really helps you feel like it is somewhere else than Japan. The OVA is filled with long panning shots of detailed Los Angeles streets and beaches, named restaurants and garbled English menu items aplenty. Our friend Fred Patton - who isn’t a fan - comments that “Animation fans at the time said, only half-humorously, that it looked like the main purpose of the video was for a handful of Japanese animators to come to California and take a road trip from San Diego to Los Angeles for location shots.” But that never happened - this was made on a shoestring budget, and according to the same source as before no such site visit occurred. Instead, reference material was gathered by “searching bookstores, travel agencies, libraries, and even the American Cultural Center”, and it was a lot of work to get the details even half-right from that. Stop spreading lies, Fred Patton! Wait until you get my strongly worded comment on your blog, I don’t care if you passed away 6 years ago (RIP an absolute legend), get your facts straight!

Aided in this sense of immersion is the OVA's second source of notoriety: the absolutely banging city pop soundtrack by pop star Miho Fujiwara. The OP, Streets Are Hot, lives up to the name, straight fire:

And while not as peak, the rest of the OST doesn’t disappoint. Anime Youtuber STEVEM has a video on California Crisis that digs into the music side, as the history of city pop is absolutely his jam; for me I will just comment that it is a little lost now how western city pop was in Japan. Today it is of course “peak Japan” after its 2010’s retro internet boom, but if you listen to pop music from 1970’s Japan you still hear a lot of blending of western musical sensibilities and more traditional Japanese vocal stylings and instrumentation. City pop was one of the earlier genres to fully shed the past and embrace synth instrumentation and modern vocal approaches. And the aesthetic often pulled specifically from California - these are not album covers that scream Tokyo:

All of this is to say that this OVA is not only of its time, but it also embodies its time - a paean to the California Dream of the 80’s Tokyo youth:

Fucking vibes, man, for this alone the OVA really hits for me. Though of course, for all the Americana it is still an anime:

(Which by the way, Marcia rides a motorcycle on the highway and is clearly like 17, so Noera's rejection of an offer of sex here is more linguistic evidence for the bifurcated meaning of the word “lolicon” to refer to both actual prepubescent eroticization but also any preference for “youth” over “maturity” in typologies of femininity, intersecting with the bishoujo boom of th- okay okay, put the gun down, I’ll move on, geez…)

Sadly for California Crisis, its contemporary audience disagreed quite strongly with this being a symbol of the era; it was a huge flop. The OVA was the flagship project of a new anime venture by producer Hiromasa Shibazaki called Hiro Media Associates, and that shoestring budget was some very thin string. Shibazaki was launching his own anime+ magazine at the time, Globian (as seen in the links above), which was used to advertise their works - but towards that goal California Crisis only ever produced a single promotional image, which you see utilized everywhere it is mentioned:

So it just didn’t have the resources behind it to draw in a crowd. And the crowd it did draw in, best I can tell, wasn’t enthused; the art style was off-putting, the plot itself is a bit of a meandering mess, the long panning shots are ~vibes~ yes but also ~budget~ and obviously so, and the ending is a bit of a vague question mark. It was supposedly going to have a sequel, but Hiro Media, and Globian alongside it, closed shop soon after it was released, leaving audiences feeling that it was unfinished.

I won’t begrudge anyone their taste, or pretend it is not a very uneven work. However, I want to redeem the OVA’s core narrative from its reputation; I think it is honestly great, and it absolutely does not need a sequel. So let’s get into the plot - this is a story of a 20-something bar hand Noera, who runs into motorcycle-riding teen Marcia alongside a quasi-sentient UFO orb that just crash landed on earth. It beckons telepathically to be taken to Death Valley, a call which Noera resists but Marcia commits to heart-and-soul. Along the way the military, the CIA, the Soviets, every deep state boogeyman you can think of, all try to stop them, car chases and gunfire akimbo. Our duo bond, eventually they succeed, and the alien gives off a Kubrickian abstract flash of light and then vanishes - roll credits.

Ignore all the details, the mechanics, the CIA, all that shit. Puzzling and unsatisfying when you are watching it as a 17 year old, sure, but you are smarter now, you can separate the wheat from the chaff. Instead, why does Marcia want to follow a random alien orb into Death Valley?

Hilarious levels of on-the-nose buzzword dropping, oh sure. But behind that? Marcia is a teen, looking for meaning. She watches TV, reads books, dreams of being a hero, a protagonist, and this is it - the call of adventure! She is being offered the slot of main character and she isn’t going to turn it down. She literally name-drops Close Encounters of the Third Kind as part of her motivation, she is story-brained. When you first hear this line, you are like Noera, you eye roll it. But on reflection there is nothing more American than being the center of the universe - it truly is the American Dream.

But Marcia is not the main character of this story - the singular promotional image is lying to you. Noera is as well, and he has wisdom she doesn’t. Noera lives in the city fringe on a low wage service job, driving a beat-up Chrysler he presumably maintains himself. A blue collar man of habit, a himbo before it was hip. He follows Marcia to protect her, he casually rejects her post-car-chase adrenaline-rush-induced sexual advances. And, while they are escaping the military by hiding in a bar, he runs into an old high school friend Jack - who happens to be one of those military agents!

We have been seeing this guy the whole OVA, running the entire alien hunt operation. Top of the class, super genius, going places. Noera is unphased, and he and Jack reminisce about gags and girls from the old days. Noera congratulates his friend for “getting out” of his hometown, as it were, and then plot-duty calls, Jack’s real life calls, and he has to leave. As he does, Noera calls out to him, “Come visit me!":

And Jack leaves without saying anything:

Because it isn’t highschool anymore, right? This guy is in the Big Leagues, he isn’t gonna schlep out to some podunk bar in Long Beach because a dude he used to help do his geometry homework offers him a dri-

Oh, nevermind! Because none of that shit matters, right? We are all just dudes, let’s share a beer.

Marcia stares unaware through the entire scene by the way:

This is Noera’s “culminating moment” for his story, and she doesn’t track it.

Chasey chasey fighty fighty Death Valley journey and Marcia delivers the orb, she wins, with Noera’s help she saves the alien. And so it pulses out a sparkly rainbow, something that could maybe be interpreted as a thank you, and then leaves - giving them absolutely nothing to show for their efforts. Marcia is left on a panning shot, shocked and disappointed, holding a now broken piece of useless glass. She was never the main character of anything. She just ran an errand.

This is such good American Dream commentary! It ends the way all stories about the American Dream end - with it being a sham. Because it is. It’s all narrative, all marketing, all the outside trappings of something disconnected from the inner reality. Since this isn’t a midcentury novel but an anime OVA, the trappings of success aren’t a detached suburban home and 2.5 kids - it's being the hero of an action adventure epic. But fiction is fiction no matter the genre. Marcia doesn’t get that yet - but Noera already did before the VHS tape began to play. And Marcia’s budding realization is paralleled with Noera's own showcase of the socio-economic dilemmas that more typically define the genre - success doesn’t change who you are or what you need.

Once you step back from the sci fi spycraft stuff - which admittedly trails off - and see the themes, the ending is perfect, a sequel would totally ruin this. This is the best 80’s anime OVA commentary on the American Dream done through an otaku lens around. Definitely beats all the others in that category, for sure. Totally.

Anyway if you wanna fight me about my hot take meet me at the Waffen SS bar in 1980’s LA where I will be getting the shit kicked out of me for yelling my center-left political opinions while tipsily standing on the bartop:

All that research and I still have no explanation for this shot.

[coffeeanddonutscafe]

BG3 Chronicles of Misadventures

I was a bit sad today so had to use the best therapy in the world :D FANFIC WRITING THERAPY. *it's a joke* I'm working on a fic where Tav is the main caretaker of the group and she is so used to being the one - providing the emotional care to others - that she doesn't notice the subtle ways everyone is showing that she is appreciated and loved too. I haven't finished writing THAT fic - but I want to make something funny too. If you wanna check out some of my fluffy Astarion fics, CLICK here.

My RANDOM BG3 Headcanons for my fanfictions. (I'm thining of turning them into some funny BG3 chronicles - what do you think?)

Gale's Hidden Talents: One day, just as the sun was setting, Tav stumbled upon a scene that defied all expectations. There stood Gale, his usually ink-stained fingers now wielding brushes with a grace that would put any artist to shame. Before her eyes, he unveiled a landscape so vivid, it was as if the canvas held a piece of the world itself. And then, in the corner, an unexpected touch of humor: Astarion depicted as a bewildered goose, WITH SHARP TEETH - a stolen sandwich firmly in beak. GOOSTARION - was the name of that sketch. The sight left Karlach in peals of laughter, while Astarion's affronted expression was a masterpiece in its own right. (I really think that GALE WOULD DO IT - little passive-aggressive little comics on EVERYONE)

Shadowheart's Vulnerability and Cheese addiction: In a rare moment of candor, Shadowheart unveiled a piece of her past to Tav. It was a tale shrouded in mystery, starring a little mouse who once shared her world. Details were scant, but the mischief they got up to in Shaar's academy kitchen floor made for a tale that painted a smile on Tav's face, imagining a young Shadowheart orchestrating daring cheese heists. However, Shadowheart never told what happened to the mouse.

Lae'zel's Grudging Praise: Lae'zel's rare compliment was like a unicorn sighting - everyone heard about it, but few actually witnessed it. They were also legendary for their awkwardness. It was like watching a bull in a china shop trying to do ballet. One time, she attempted to compliment Tav's weapon-wielding skills by saying, "You would wield a chair with the deadliest dignity." Tav had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. It was like getting a compliment in a foreign language that had no direct translation into compliments as we know them.

Astarion's Confusing Support: In the midst of battle, Astarion's protective instincts kicked in, but it seemed like his emotional well had run as dry as a desert. He swooped in, attempting to shield Tav from an incoming blow, but his battle cry came out more like a dramatic sigh. He shot the attacker a look that was equal parts "I will end you" and "I need a nap," as if he was auditioning for a melodramatic play. "Touch my bloodbag, and you'll... maybe regret it, or not, whatever." Tav wasn't sure whether to be grateful or slightly miffed, but she decided to roll with it. After all, having a suave vampire who was one step away from a mid-battle siesta watching your back had its unique set of perks. Maybe Astarion just needed a double espresso and a quick catnap between skirmishes.

Wyll's Tap Dance Sacrifice: Wyll, the warlock extraordinaire, decided to offer himself up as bait to a gang of hobgoblins. Tav could hardly believe her ears. Ina moment of bravado mixed up with panick Wyll started dancing. It was like a one-man tap dancing show in front of an audience of sword-wielding hobgoblins. She half-expected them to start clapping along. Who knew that warlocks had such a flair for the dramatic? The hobgoblins were too stunned to speak. So they disengaged from the battle. Tav could swear, she heard Mizora laughing somewhere in the distance.

Halsin's Honey Escapades: Halsin, the wise druid, had a not-so-secret passion for honey. His quiet escapades into the forest to find his golden treasure were the stuff of legends. And the fact that he preferred to enjoy it in his birthday suit just added an extra layer of hilarity. It was like a scene straight out of a comedy play - "Halsin and the Honey Chronicles." Tav couldn't help but wonder if he had a secret stash of bear-themed underwear.

Withers Sassy Chronicles: Whenever Tav approached Withers, it was like stepping into a tabloid's editorial office. The gossip flowed freely, each insight served with a side of catty commentary and sassy flair. With a twinkle in his eye, Wither became Tav's very own gossip columnist, regaling Tav with tidbits that painted a vivid portrait of their companions, quirks and all. (they gossiped the most, even more than Astarion)

These uproarious moments turned their perilous journey into a laugh-out-loud adventure. Who knew that adventuring could be this side-splittingly entertaining? Would you like to hear more - in-depth stories about each of the gang members?

[clarktooncrossing]

DUDELZ of the Damned | Pizza Fairies and Ice Cream Pirates

HEY THERE PEOPLE OF TODAY AND ROBOTS OF TOMORROW! IT'S ME, CLARK!

A chill is in the air. You can feel it can't you? Perhaps you even recognize it. That same chill arrives every year right on the dot. With it comes a frightful howl in the moonlight, the only other sound to be heard. Otherwise there is a strange calmness settling around you, like the point of ease before the storm. By now the howling has stopped. It has been replaced by a different sound. Footsteps. Big, heavy, dragging, as if the figure didn't quite know how to use their legs. Perhaps it's a random passerby. Perhaps it's a rotting, frightful feature freshly risen from the grave. Perhaps it's some other, unspeakable horror waiting to pounce! Whatever it is, you're not waiting around to find out! Yet no matter how far you run, it can't be escaped. The chill in the air, the howling of the wind, the heavy footsteps, it all leads back to one thing: October is here! And with it comes the return of the DUDELZ of the Damned!

Yes weirdos, like last year, my approximation of Sketchtober has returned. I call it an proxy because there was no list of prompts. Nah, that'd be too limiting. This is yet another case where I compiled my own list of ideas, sketched them out, then used one color per picture. With all that said, let's see what spoopy scribblings await us today!

When speaking of the deadliest pirates plundering across the Seven Seas, Captain Neapolitan ranks high amongst the rest. Don't be fooled by her seemingly sweet demeanor, one wrong word and she'd throw your carcass overboard. Or at least she would before she stumbled across a peculiar island. For this was the Isle of the Fairies, home to one Pizza Fairy. Upon meeting the pirate he offered her fame and fortune surpassing even her wildest dreams. In exchange he only asked for one thing: flesh. Specifically the flesh of people, cooked to temperature and piled atop melty cheese. He was oddly specific like that. Not that the buccaneer minded. She agreed to the terms, the oceans soon running red with blood. The fairy was kept well fed. And true to his word, Neo's hull was filled with gold! Many tried to take her down over the decades, but none prevailed. Legend says she still roams the high seas to this very day in search of more food for her friend.

Either that or Pizza Monster and Villa wanted to switch things up from last year.

Let it be known that I never sketch these DUDELZ with these dark, twisted, sinister backstories in mind. Nah, I make these all up when typing these descriptions. I figured it'd fit the spooky month and give me a chance to show off my more macabre storytelling skills. Either way, yeah, this pic was meant to contrast with last year's Pizzabeard and Ice Cream Fairy sketches. Pizza Monster you all should know, but Villa the Ice Cream monster was created by my friend Fantasynarium, who sadly no longer posts art online. Villa was meant to be a love interest for Pizza, since what pairs better with ice cream than pizza? Admittedly I haven't used the character as much as I should over the years, but I plan on fixing that! For now though, I hope you all enjoy this silly little sketch. And remember: be considerate to those with differing diets. Unless they eat people.

BONUS QUESTION: Do you prefer pirates or fairies?

MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!

[gurlgallade]

Thoughts on trying to make these darn sprites:

Legend is just going to be a little bit eyebleed, no matter what I do. That's just how his color scheme is. My man just has so many colors and hardly any of them repeat or match and I simply cannot judge him for it.

Sky. So much about you is lovely. But why is your adventure pouch so janky??? Literally the rest of your equipment is beautiful. Why???

I think I'm going to break down a little and just offer both Wind with a tan and without a tan instead of choosing. This kid should have a tan, but he's only drawn that way in fanon? : (

Also forgot that Legend actually gets a specific adventure pouch in ALBW that I could have referenced all along. Whoops.

The Captain is still getting the Ravio branded pouch that we made up on the spot though. He knows Ravi, it makes sense.

Time and Twilight are staring me down from their ugly sketches with such disappointed eyes. Eventually I will make them proud. Today is not that day, though.

Rulie's cute as a button, though. He got little potions now : D

Still haven't drawn anyone arms except Four. Special arm privileges to he.

[storecowboys]

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[shotorozu]

without actual confirmation

— how their friends know they’re no longer single, without much verbal confirmation

character(s) : sano “mikey” manjiro, sano shinichiro, mitsuya takashi, tachibana naoto (tokyo revengers)

bnha version.

legend : [Y/N = your name] gender neutral, you guys are in your late teens (uhh, pretend toman didn’t disband in their last year of middle school)

possible ooc because this is my second tokrev post 🧎‍♀️

note(s) : my second tokrev post 🤩 i did 4 characters i has inspo for i was gonna do fuyu but nothing came up?!?!?? damn it all might make a second part for this?? idk. but what i AM certain of, is that there’s gonna be a bnha version 😼

»»————-　♡　————-««

toman! mikey, who doesn’t exhibit any drastic changes when he’s no longer a single, and significant other-less guy.

toman! mikey— who’s really still him, and considering that mikey overall, was in the top 3 worst boyfriend/husband contest, his friends wouldn’t have guessed.

toman! mikey’s friends just aren’t sure how his behavior would change, or if it would even change at all. 💀

that was until mikey was spot leaving an adjourned toman meeting alone— and, with a helmet in his clutches. but wait, mikey normally doesn’t wear his helmet.

toman! mikey— who has his friends speculating on who’s helmet that belonged to. their second guess was that this helmet belonged to takemichi— but wait (again), this helmet was a different color, and takemichi doesn’t recognize it.

and it all makes sense, when they see their leader patting a spot on his bike, when they see you hop on his bike with his assistance— lifting you onto his bike. and, when they— for a split second —see mikey press his lips against yours, checking the security of your helmet’s buckle over and over again.

it then, dawns onto them all, that mikey’s someone’s boyfriend now— your boyfriend, to be specific. (they have lots of questions)

because toman! mikey, cannot afford for you to fall off, and get hurt on his watch— knowing how fast he likes to go on his bike.

shinichiro— who normally has his hair slicked up to the heavens, and coated in ten tons of gel, shows up one day with his hair down.

shinichiro— who gets a lot of concerned questions from his fellow gang members, asking if something bad happened today, as he shows up to a meeting with his hair down, AND with a red face.

shinichiro— with a sheepish chuckle, just says that he simply “ran out of gel, and woke up on the wrong side of the bed” but, no one exactly buys this answer, especially takeomi

shinichiro— who receives even more questions, this time from his little brothers plus friends, after they notice the lack of that silly hairstyle for two whole weeks.

shinichiro— who shouts “no!” when he’s offered to go on a shopping trip for more hair gel. the reason behind this reaction is unknown to all of them for now.

after a while— they decided to put aside all of these burning questions, and just accept that shinichiro’s a “changed man” that had a “change of style”

but shinichiro— who’s behavior all makes sense now, when his little brother and sister catches him happily talking to himself, about how you like it when his hair’s down, and in it’s rawest form more.

and that’s when it all clicks inside of his little siblings’ heads— remembering that shinichiro said some time ago, that he’d change his hair “if my significant other told me to.” and if that significant other is in fact, you.

—

mitsuya— who, never struggled in making clothes and finalizing design drafts— struggles for the first time ever.

mitsuya— who has his friends staring at the scene in awe, as they see his usually on-set, and decisive friend, being the exact opposite.

mitsuya— who erases pencil markings upon pencil markings in his sketch book, groaning about how “it doesn’t look quite right.”

mitsuya— who starts staying overtime instead of going home, mind set on finishing whatever needed to be finished in his sketchbook.

mitsuya— who struggles at using his laptop, asks hakkai to help him figure something out, which ends up in hakkai accidentally see his gallery filled with your pictures, along with his search history of aesthetics you so happen to like (but the purpose of these? hakkai doesn’t know.)

mitsuya— that has his sisters peeking over his shoulder, curious as to why he’s been smiling at his sketchbook like a lovesick fool.

but lovesick fool indeed is he— when mitsuya’s friends all realize that he’s been making a customized outfit just for you, which explains why he’s been stricter on himself by tenfolds

mitsuya’s friends then realize that their friend is indeed no longer the single man they once knew, when they realize that you haven’t asked him to make you an outfit, which means he did this on his own accord. and, when they see him spinning you around happily— while you wore the outfit he made just for you.

—

naoto— who went from paying little to no mind about romance, to being subtly interested in it, all seemingly overnight.

naoto— who came to realize how much he didn’t KNOW about romance when he became certain of his own feelings for his long time friend (you). sure, there was his sister, and takemichi. but, he was always the official third wheel, and never the second party in a relationship.

naoto— who’s smart enough decide that he needs help, and is also smart enough to rule out the concept of seeking help from the internet. he’s seen corny, and he knows what corny sounds like.

naoto— who reluctantly, starts asking lots and lots of ‘what if’ questions to his older sister. “how do you know if you want to date someone long term or short term?” “how did you ask hanagaki out?” “what was it like when you asked him out?” all of these questions were awfully vague, but hina still answered all of them.

naoto— who decides to take a step even further, by asking his sister’s boyfriend for help. he honestly didn’t want to, but considering how his older sister appears to be on cloud nine with takemichi, it’s his only option.

naoto— who is asked by takemichi, if he has a crush, and if he’s planning on asking someone out. naoto, who says that he “doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” (but doesn’t flat out deny the crush part) and, says nothing to the advice he had to offer, because it made some sense.

naoto— who finally starts to pull the moves on you, but in his own revised way. who isn’t great with grand romantic gestures that are ripped out of a romcom, but is amazing with words, and making his intentions clear.

naoto— who comes home one day, and is jokingly asked by hina and takemichi, if he “asked you out already” the shock that rushes over takemichi, and hina’s faces— when naoto only replies with a smile.

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own tokyo revengers and it’s characters. tokyo revengers/tokrev does not belong to me, it belongs to wakui ken. i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby.

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission :))

[linktheacehero]

Day 6 of Zelink Week let's go! @zelinkweekofficial

Ao3 link:

Let my voice be your compass to the land of dreams

Link tossed and turned for a while now, but could just not attain the sleep he desperately wanted. It had been hours since he and Zelda had gone to sleep but it seemed that tonight would be one of those nights. Sighing in frustration, he got up and walked over to the grand window and looked out to the sky. There was no moon shining tonight, but rather a vast amount of stars adorning the night sky, with large gray clouds riding on the northern wind. It was a beautiful sight, he wondered perhaps if he could sketch it since he wasn’t going to rest anytime soon when he heard his wife stir from behind. 

“Darling?” he heard Zelda question, her voice soft from waking up. “Are you okay, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, my love,” he reassured her. “I just couldn’t sleep.” She gave him a loving expression, and gestured for him to come back. He returned to bed and settled himself within her arms, a smile forming on his face knowing of what was to come. 

Zelda kissed her beloved’s head and began to softly sing her lullaby. Link could remember the first night they had done this, it was only after a few days he had returned from Termina and the nightmares had begun to prove too much for him that he couldn’t rest properly. So Zelda had decided to take matters into her own hands and stayed the night with him. She had cradled him and sung her song just like she was now, and after a few moments he’d fallen asleep. 

She held him closer to her as she continued to lull him to sleep. He would never grow tired of hearing her voice, her honey glazed voice that made him feel so at home and safe. Her hands gingerly intertwined in his hair, her fingers brushing his scalp in a soothing motion. 

“I love you,” Link whispered to her as he felt his eyelids grow heavier and heavier by the second. Just before he fell out of consciousness, he felt a pair of lips kiss his nose and heard his princess say, “Sleep well my dearest.”

I’m your faithful hero, my queen

As the early morning sun rose, so did her glorious Majesty. But as one rose with great, powerful, and warm rays the other wanted nothing but to just lay in bed for another 3 hours. Zelda had slept late again last night, overlooking important documents and papers that couldn’t wait til’ morning (at least that’s what her past self thought) and had to now prepare for an entire day of boring meetings. 

Debating whether or not to just call in sick and claim that she was too ill to attend the meetings, she begrudgingly  arose from the bed and mentally prepared herself for the long day.

“Morning sleepyhead,” she heard Link say. She turned to look at her husband and saw him holding a mug of what smelled strongly of

“Coffee!” she exclaimed.

 Link chuckled as he handed her the mug, “I noticed you stayed up late again last night, did you wrap up everything you need?” 

“Yeah,” she answered, taking a long sip from her drink. “I might need to revise a few things but I don’t know if I’ll be able to with all these meetings today.” She rested her head on his shoulder, it was only the morning and she already started to feel exhausted.

“Let me revise the papers,” Link offered, “You worry about the meetings.”

“You’re the absolute best thank you so much,” she said. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Just being you was enough to catch my attention, love,” he commented and kissed her.

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Crowley introducing Aziraphale to Bigfoot?🥺

Oh my gosh.

Yes!

On with the fic!

--

"Now, I'm going to need you to not... scream, or whatever humans do when encountering supernatural creatures." Crowley stated, then paused. "Well, considering previous experiences, please don't offer him any nibbles or whatever."

"I still thought it was the right thing to do, dear." Aziraphale sniffed, would Crowley ever let him live it down that he offered a dropbear a tart?

Probably not.

It was a better reaction than when he had first seen Crowley's true form, goodness, he was still embarrassed about that, but luckily they were sweet and didn't bring it up. Often.

Crowley made a face and removed their shades, giving Aziraphale a pointed look, before slipping the arm of the glasses onto the collar of their shirt. "Whatever. Anyway, are you ready to meet him?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Aziraphale said, wringing the handle of the picnic basket he was carrying. After this meeting, they were going on a date.

It was one thing to meet a dropbear (which really should be in Australia, and shouldn't even exist, considering it was just a prank on tourists) or one of those strange Walker things that looks like ghost legs, but to be meeting a legendary Bigfoot? That was something else!

Crowley approached a cavern, hidden rather well, and made the strangest sound into it. It was like a cross between an orangutan and a bear!

Then a similar sound came from within the cavern, and there was shuffling, and the slapping of bare feet on stone.

Aziraphale's eyes widened as his mouth dropped at the sight of the creature that emerged from the cavern.

Standing at, at least, ten feet tall, covered in thick, dark brown and red hair, was a beast of legend. Goodness, he really did look a lot like the blurry photos and artist sketches! He was also very clearly naked and Aziraphale kept his eyes upwards.

Crowley was grinning, showing fangs. "Angel! This is Fritz! Fritz, this is Aziraphale, my boyfriend!" They always sounded so proud about this fact, it made Aziraphale blush.

"G-good afternoon, it is a pleasure to meet you." Aziraphale said, holding out his free hand to the cryptid.

The Bigfoot, Fritz, looked between the two of them, and raised a bushy eyebrow. He seemed to say something to Crowley, clearly in a language Aziraphale would never be able to understand.

But Crowley understood it clearly, because their expression looked offended. "Excuse you, I think he dresses well! Even if it isn't fit for the woods."

There was more grumbling and grunting.

"I'm not a fan of tartan either, but he makes it look good."

Aziraphale huffed, straightening his bow tie. "Excuse you, tartan is stylish!"

"Whatever you say, angel." Crowley replied before muttering something to Fritz, who replied back. Whatever he said made Crowley's face turn red, nearly as red as their scales.

"S-shut up...!" They hissed.

This was a surreal experience, to be this close to a Bigfoot, something most humans have never done before, and to be insulted about his sense of fashion by him as well! How fascinating, but dreadfully rude! Well, for that, he wasn't going to get any of the delicious turkey sandwiches that Aziraphale had prepared for his and Crowley's picnic today! Fritz could have an egg salad one instead.

And none of Crowley's delicious apple fritters either!

...

Okay, maybe one, since Aziraphale was trying to be the adult here and make a good first impression. After all, someone had to.

--

I almost, ALMOST named Fritz after the Bigfoot that was mooching off the Ducks in Ducktales (the one that Scrooge was trying to hunt down and kept missing), but I decided that was dumb.

[cal-kestis]

You Will Never Be Alone Again | Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

(Epilogue of The Aftermath of Losing Everything)

moodboard/sketch/gifs made by me, please don’t repost :)

Summary: Each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest.  (Set after S2) Rating: M   Word Count: 3018 Warnings/Tags: Soft!Din, FLUFF, no use of ‘Y/N’, suggestive content

[PART I] // [PART II] // [PART III] // [Read on AO3] // [Series Masterlist]

xi. 

It’s strange not waking up by yourself, strange to feel blanketed in a kind of warmth and comfort, not even the early morning suns could radiate.

Sometimes, you think this must be some wild fantasy, a sweet sublime dream that could evaporate into smoke if you dare open your eyes.

But each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest. It’s no secret you love him, it’s written all across your face even with a peripheral glance. Falling for him happened fast and a long, long time ago. Yet in these quiet moments when you’re in the place between wakefulness and sleep, you think you’re still cascading over the crest — falling for the tiniest pieces of him that others would need a magnifying glass to see.

Like those delicate wrinkles that frame the corners of his brown eyes when he looks at you, the way they deepen as he smiles. It’s hard to describe how beautiful those lines are… what they mean. Wrinkles don’t develop overnight. No, he’s smiled enough times for those creases to permanently etch themselves into his skin. It makes your heart soar knowing that, despite all he’s been through, he’d allowed himself those sparse moments of happiness. You’ve hopelessly fallen in love with the lines beside his eyes, evidence that a bright side can exist even in the darkest of hours. 

And still, perhaps something you love even more is the way he kisses you until you forget every night you’d ever lay awake feeling alone in the universe.

It’s all so strange in the best, most beautiful way.

Din has given you so much and you only hope he can see your heart, the words carved on it — poems about him, his eyes, the charming lines that tug at the corners. You hope he can see how you’ve kept every word he’s every whispered against your skin, how you’ve inscribed them onto your beating soul: secrets and promises only the two of you will ever get to know, your own name scribbled by his lips a thousand times. You’ll treasure the invisible markings forever. Your heart’s covered in him and you just hope he can see.

With Din, life seems more meaningful, peaceful, beautiful… full. And though frightening shadows still lurk, you know you don’t have to face them alone.

Of course, there are times you worry, moments when he still seems trapped in his head, sinking into deep waters with that silver ball clutched in his hand. But he has you now, his liferaft, one with patched up holes and dents that will always come to pull him back up to the surface.

On those nights when he gets lost in the treacherous tsunami of his mind, you try to give back to him everything he’s so generously offered you. And even as you draw rasped sighs and choked cries and broken moans from his lips, your fingers painting patterns across his body… you know what heals him most are the moments after: the way your breath slows down to match his, how your lips press so gently over his eyelids until they close and project dreams of you as he sleeps.

Meant for me, he’d once said. Or maybe, meant for you.

—

xii.

In the sacred moments you and Din have to yourselves — no quarry to chase, no demons to face — you find yourselves on beautiful secluded planets like this one, surrounded by towering trees and lush rolling hills and long blades of grass and calm creek cadences. Somehow, each new system is more stunning than the last, and every time he opens the ramp to his ship, he intently watches your wonderstruck reaction as your eyes take in a fantastical new planet and gorgeous environment.

Visiting new planets off-duty comes with its own routine. He walks with you as you explore with wide eyes, sits beside you when you find a colorful plant to draw, lifts his helmet ever so slightly when the desire to kiss you — your cheek, your temple, your shoulder — becomes too overwhelming. And when night falls, you both retire to his ship, where he can freely remove every piece of armor and kiss every inch of your skin until it’s all you can dream of.

Since the confrontation at the Imperial base, Din’s also taken it upon himself to train you. Not in the ways of the Jedi, of course. That, you’re learning to study on your own. Din trains you like a Mandalorian — a zealous approach to weapons and warriorship. He’s a patient and compassionate teacher, and it only ties your heart to his in a tighter knot. With his gentle guidance, handling a blaster is hardly an obstacle and it only takes a month or two before you become well-acquainted with the darksaber he’d hidden in his storage cabinet for so long.

When he’d finally told you the story of the ancient weapon of legend, gravity had seemed to press harder against his back, making his shoulders slope and his head hang even lower. Because, on the day he’d parted with his son, he’d not only removed the mask of his Creed, he’d also acquired the crown of a cursed planet. And he still doesn’t know which one weighs heavier atop his head.

After that, you’d dedicated yourself to training with renewed vigor — wanting to be prepared if ever the target on his back brought upon old Imperial enemies or new ones who sought to usurp him from the throne he never wanted.

Today, much like the other times you’d trained with him, it’s mostly just chopping at trees and bushes. You can’t deny how much stronger you feel just holding the Mandalorian weapon and knowing you can defend yourself even without the Force.

There’s a part of you, however, that feels like Din’s holding back. Whenever you’d asked when you’d be ready to spar with him, eager to test your newfound skills against something that can actually fight back, he’d simply readjusted your stance with gentle hands and asked you to show him the different sword strokes he’d taught you.

“Very good,” Din praises as you step forward and swing the darksaber through the air, slicing clean through a thin branch.

“Well, that tree had it coming,” you scoff, crossing your arms with over-exaggerated toughness. “I’ve had enough of your bark, tree. It’s about time you leaf.”

“Puns. You’re upset,” he says, not a question.

“I’m not upset,” you lie, trying to put on your best sabacc face. But his helmet tilts in a way that’s far too knowing for a darkened, T-shaped visor, and you sigh in defeat under his scrutinizing stare. “Fine. I just… I just think I’m ready to up the ante here. And I feel like you’re holding back.”

He stares at you for a moment, studiously looking you up and down.

“Your posture is too slouched,” he explains, changing the subject again. “Go back to ready position.”

“Don’t do that,” you heave out another exasperated sigh.

“Ner kar’ta...”

“No, don’t ‘ner kar’ta’ me. Just because you’ve got this shiny sword,” you argue, the glowing saber humming in your hand as you brandish it back and forth, “and you’re technically a king or whatever—”

“Mand’alor,” he interrupts. “And I’m not.”

“—doesn’t mean everything you say is law. I want you to fight me. I’m ready,” your voice softens, stepping closer to him as your pleading hands wrap around the back of his neck. “I want to really learn from you.”

“We’re not doing this,” he answers, despite willingly staying trapped in the cage of your arms.

But you don’t back down. Instead, you lean forward, lips barely a hair's breadth from his helmet before you boldly kiss the spot where his mouth would be, lingering and watching how the tinted panel fogs up. The print of your mouth marks the dark visor and it makes you grin. 

“Fight me, Mando,” you whisper, all sultry bravado laced with a tease that prickles the skin beneath Din’s armor.

“Ready position,” he rasps like he’s annoyed at himself. 

A metallic, musical sound rings in the empty forest as he unsheathes the beskar spear behind his back. And like a giddy child, you bounce on your feet and step backward, swinging the darksaber in your hands before taking your stance. 

Din stands sturdy just a few feet away, spear gripped tightly in his gloves. He slowly lowers himself, knees bent just slightly, an air of strength and confidence surrounding him. Then, hardly perceptible, he nods.

You dig your heels into the soil, your boots squashing the grass below your feet. With your legs spread wide, you draw the darksaber up to the side of your head, the blinding glow casting a white halo on your cheek. Narrowing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you charge forward at lightning speed, zeroing in on the shiny armor in front of you.

At the last second, Din dodges your attack, stepping to the side and watching as you rush past him. You somehow manage not to trip over your own feet and hastily twirl around to face him again. But Din’s already got the point of his spear aimed at the side of your throat.

“You’re relying too much on your speed,” he explains, spear hovering just below your ear. “Size up your opponent first. Figuring out their weakness is more valuable than using up all your strength. Go again.”

You huff at him but get back into ready position, breathing deep in through your nose and out through your mouth. This time, you take a moment to assess him for weak spots. There aren’t many of course, not visible at least. But you decide the side of his stomach is your best bet.

The moment he nods his head, you take a leap forward and twist your wrist, swinging the blade toward his waist. His spear spins swiftly to block the strike, your weapons meeting in a clash of sparks and high-pitched whistles. You summon all your strength to push the saber against his spear, watching as the silver metal turns orange under the intense laser’s heat. And just when you feel like you’re gaining the high ground as Din’s body bends under your advance, he sweeps his boot beneath you and you fall backward, losing grip of the darksaber.

“That was better,” he says with approval, scanning your body as you lay on the ground and groan loudly. “You okay?” He gently wonders, coming closer and extending a gloved hand toward you.

With shaking fingers, you reach for him. And the moment you feel his grip tighten around your hand, an idea sparks. Without another thought, you yank him forward onto the ground beside you. He lets out a surprised grunt when he hits the dirt and you take full advantage of his shock, straddling his hips and trapping his arms beneath your legs. You extend your hand out to the side and, within seconds, the darksaber comes flying back into your fist. With a bright flash, you ignite the laser blade near his throat.

“That’s cheating,” he says, but you can hear the proud smile in his voice.

“I simply assessed my opponent’s weakness,” you grin, retracting the saber into its hilt and leaning down until you’re nose-to-nose with his helmet. “Just so happens, his weakness is me.”

“Good girl,” he says, and you can’t fight the way his praise sends a fluttering warmth to your belly.

You kiss his helmet again with an exaggerated smacking sound before getting off of him and saying, “Let’s go again.”

Din spars with you for nearly two hours, offering gentle advice each time he bests you (which is most of the time) and showering you with praises whenever you find a way to get the upper hand. It fills you with unmatchable strength and confidence.

“That’s enough for today, verd’ika,” he says, slightly breathless as he brushes dirt off your clothes. “It’s getting dark. Let’s head inside.”

You smile at him, filled with an intense urge to kiss him. So, you reach for his helmet, slowly, just in case. His head turns left and right, checking if the coast is clear, before nodding. You lift the beskar slightly, just enough to reveal his mouth and his neatly-trimmed mustache, and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Thank you, Din,” you whisper as you set his helmet back in its place. You can almost see the bemused look on his face as he stares at you.

And as you walk back to the ship, a re-energized bounce in your step, you decide to tease him one last time, turn around, and smirk. “Meet you in the fresher.”

— 

xiii.

Din’s hair hangs in waves over his forehead as he gazes down at you, leaning on his left forearm to stay suspended over your body. 

He smells delicious, like his herb-scented soap and the delicious meal he’d cooked for you tonight. His skin is glazed in a radiant sheen and his eyes somehow glow in the dim lighting of your shared quarters.

You’ve learned to appreciate rare nights like this, when there are no jobs to keep him away from you for days at a time. When your eyes get to unabashedly roam over the golden expanse of his skin, without heavy armor or layers of cloth in your way. When you get to listen to his voice for hours on end as his hand traces lines and circles into your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask him, noticing how his entranced stare focuses on your lips when you speak.

He strokes a calloused finger over your cheekbone, then under the curve of your lips, until his thumb finds a resting place over your chin and gently swipes back and forth.

“You,” he answers honestly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting your smile on his tongue. He lingers there for a long moment, hanging from your lips like a man on the edge of falling though he’s already fallen countless times before.

“That’s all?” You whisper, feeling his hot breath brush against your mouth.

He rests his forehead against yours, his nose rubbing along the side of your own.

“And how much the kid would have loved this planet,” he continues wistfully. “Running through the grass and catching frogs or whatever he could eat.” 

Your soft laugh is bittersweet as he reminisces over his son, the corners of his eyes wrinkling mere centimeters from your face.

“Thinking about how he would have liked watching us train together. He’d probably cheer for you to win,” Din chuckles when you scrunch your nose and shake your head doubtfully. Then, his face softens and his eyes glisten. “Grogu would have loved you.”

An errant tear falls from Din’s lashes and drops onto your cheek, and there's little you can do to keep your own from getting mixed in — a tiny melancholy river forming atop your skin. Your hands cup either side of his face, and you lean forward to kiss the spot where the tear had left a small trail right below his eye.

“In some ways, it’s like I know him now,” you murmur against Din’s cheekbone. “Because I know you. I can feel it — the pieces of you that will be part of him forever. I would love him too. I already do.”

He whispers your name again and again, and each time, it’s like he’s making a wish on a star. 

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” you whisper, kissing his lips sweetly.

When you draw backward against your pillow, he latches onto your mouth once more and kisses you until you’re breathless.

“There aren’t words, ner kar’ta, ” he says quietly, fingers brushing gently over your hair. “Nothing can explain what you mean to me.”

When Din makes love, you can feel nothing else but him — his body, his soul, his heart. Every touch and movement is energized by a deep intention to let you know what he sometimes struggles expressing in words. But you’ve become fluent in him, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt how each kiss translates to: I love you.

Each thrust of his hips means: I want you.

Each ragged moan reveals: I need you.

Each soft caress says: I’d do anything for you.

And each time his forehead meets yours, he declares: I have found my family.

As you both try to catch your breath, he flops back down onto the bed beside you. He hums happily when he feels you hold tight to him, squeezing his middle with your arms and placing a kiss over his heart.

“Good night, Din,” you mumble, yawning as you nuzzle your face against his chest and bury yourself deep beneath the covers.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, pressing his lips into your hair.

You tilt your chin up just slightly, wanting the last image you see before you drift off to be his beautiful face. But his stare is far away, lost in thought once again. You follow his line of sight, beginning at his shining eyes and landing on the collection of drawings hung beside his door. And the pictures that reflect in his glossy irises are the finished portrait of him beside the sketch of you and Grogu displayed proudly in the center.

Someday, you swear to yourself, those images will be more than just pencil scratches on parchment. Someday, your small chosen family will be whole.

When you close your eyes — your head resting over the warm skin of his chest, his heart marching steadily under your cheek — you dream of the day Din and his son finally reunite, with you standing by his side. And even if that’s still a far-off fantasy, you can rest easily knowing two things for sure:

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up wrapped in Din’s arms. And, for as long as you live, neither of you will ever be alone again.

End Note: Thank you to anyone who's read this story. It's been a labor of love for me and I'm especially grateful to readers who left encouraging feedback. As for me, I'll be around. I'm working on another Javi x Reader story (inspired by yet another TS song — off evermore this time). If you haven't read my other one, please check it out! It's called "If I Could Never Give You Peace." Talk soon! Mando’a Glossary: Ner kar’ta = My heart (kar’ta = heart [kah-ROH-ta]; ner = my [nair]) Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. = I know you forever [nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom] ⎿ “It's the same word as 'to know,' 'to hold in the heart,' kar'taylir. But you add darasuum, ‘forever,’ and it becomes something rather different.” — Republic Commando: Triple Zero Verd' ika = Little Warrior (affectionately) [vair-DEE-kah]

Please reblog & comment to show your support! I’d love to hear your thoughts!!

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[jackalgirl]

Completing the Square

I have been trying to really comprehend how we (as a species) got to the quadratic formula.  I know what it is, and why it’s useful; what I’m interested in is the story of its development.

I understand that an Indian mathematician by the name of Brahmagupta wrote out an algebraic version of a geometric process called “completing the square”, and his version is (more or less) the quadratic formula we use today.

Okay, cool.  But here’s the problem: the Interwebs is great at explaining how to “complete the square” and even how to derive the quadratic formula from the process, but it’s not so strong on explaining what it was that people were originally doing with this pre-algebraic, “completing the square” math -- why they were doing it.  Most of what I could find seemed pretty breezy -- variations on “people did it for <waving hands> engineering and parceling land and stuff like that.”

What I really needed was an actual, practical examples of a problem that a person -- pre-algebra -- would be figuring out by completing the square.  I couldn’t find anything specific, so I kludged one up for myself.  And this is what I eventually came up with: the story of an architect and her apprentice.

SCENE: Babylonia, sometime in or around 1750 BCE...

[ Warning: what follows, under the cut, is long, and contains gruesome mathematics.]

Merchant: <enters an architect’s office> I would like to commission you to expand my warehouse.  My business is growing and I need more storage space. Architect: By how much would you like to expand it? Merchant: I would like to double my storage space. Architect: What is the current size and shape of your warehouse? Merchant: It is rectangular — one side is 12 rods in length and the other is 5 rods. Architect: Are there any constraints on the available land? Merchant: Not really. Architect: Very good.  We should have an estimate ready for you after noon.  Will you stay and take tea while we work? Merchant: I appreciate the offer, but I have other business in the city.  I will return after noon. <leaves> Architect: <turns to apprentice> Now, young apprentice, take you some clay and show me how you will work out the problem.  Do you see what we need to do? Apprentice: Yes, Mom — I mean, Boss.  I think the easiest thing is to extend each wall by some amount, so that the area of the new rectangle is now twice as before.

[ Image description: sketch of a rectangle.  Within the rectangle and aligned to its lower left-hand corner is another rectangle, labeled “old warehouse (60)”, with sides annotated with “12″ and “5″.  The edges of the smaller rectangle are carried out across the larger rectangle by dotted lines, showing that the larger rectangle has a side of “5″ and “?” and another side of “12″ and “?”.  The “L-shaped” extra area of the larger rectangle is hatched out, and a legend indicates that this is “new warehouse: +60″.  End ID. ]

Apprentice: the old warehouse: a rectangle of 60 square rods.  The new warehouse: a rectangle of 120 square rods. Architect: Very good.  We know the area that currently exists — this is the old warehouse.  What is the area we need to build? Apprentice: The same again: 60 square rods, in this new area. Architect: If we only concentrate on the new area, what shapes do you see? Apprentice: I see a square, and a rectangle, and another rectangle, whose area when all added together needs to be the same as 60.  But if I rearrange those rectangles in this way…

[ Image description: a square, its sides labeled “?”, a plus sign, a rectangle, its sides labeled “12″ and “?”, another plus sign, another rectangle, its sides labeled “5″ and “?”, an equal sign, and then “60″ enclosed within a dotted square frame.  End ID. ]

Apprentice: …I have a square and since I can add those other two rectangles together, that would be a square and a single rectangle…hey!  Wait a minute — this looks like an igi/igi.bi problem!  The value of igi is what we need to add to the walls!

[ Image description: a rectangle that has been divided into a square, its sides labelled “igi”, and a smaller rectangle, one side of which is marked “17″.  There is a division within the smaller rectangle to show that it is “12″ and “5″.  There is a long line along the bottom of the entire larger rectangular figure labeled “igi.bi”, and to the right of it, there is an equal sign, and “60″ enclosed within a dotted square frame. End ID. ]

[ Author’s note: an igi/igi.bi problem is basically a problem in which you work out the sides of a rectangle knowing only its area and the difference between the long side (igi.bi) and the short side (igi).  It is essentially the process of “completing the square” condensed into a series of mathematical operations. ]

[ In the “completing the square” geometric (that is, drawn) solution, the “hack” is to split off the rectangle from the unknown square, divide it in half along the known side (that is, the side that has an actual value), then rearrange those two smaller rectangles around the unknown square so that you can make (that is, “complete”) an even larger square.  The value that you would use to do this, you then add to the other side of the equation.  Then you can continue to solve for x using algebra, as follows… ]

[ Image description: A series of drawings showing the steps of “completing the square”: the original rectangle, divided into a square, its side now labelled “x” and its area “x^2″ and a smaller rectangle with sides “17″ and “x”, equal to “60″ with a dashed line around it.  A dashed line splits the 17x rectangle into two rectangles of 8 1/2x each.  Lines show how these rectangles can be moved and attached to the x^2 square to form a larger square, its sides now “x + 8 1/2″.  To complete this square, the empty area (which is conveniently square) is labeled “72 1/4″ (because its sides are 8 1/2 each).  Text reads: “Adding this square completes the bigger, total square.  So you have to add it to the other side of the equation too”.  The “60″ in its dashed line is now followed by a plus sign and a square with an area of 71 1/4.  Next, the whole square is redrawn to show the larger square, its sides “x + 8 1/2″, an equal sign, and 132 1/4.  Text indicates that this resolves to “x + 8 1/2″ times “x + 8 1/2″ equal 132 1/4, and then writes out the rest of the algebraic solution: (x + 8 1/2)^2 = 132 1/4 becomes x + 8 1/2 = (square root of) 132 1/4 which itself is plus or minus 11 1/2; so x either equals -8 1/2 + 11 1/2 or =8 1/2 - 11 1/2.  Therefore: x equal 3 or x equals -20.  End ID. ]

[ …but let’s do it in the igi/igi.bi style, as per Yale Babylonian Collection tablet #6967.  The following text is modified from Jøran Friberg’s translation of YBC 6967 in A Remarkable Collection of Babylonian Mathematical Texts (Springer, New York, 2007):]

Architect: <smiling> That’s my girl.   So: the igi.bi over the igi 17 is beyond.  The igi and igi.bi are what? Apprentice:    17 the igi.bi over the igi is beyond,  [ y - x = 17 (the remainder) ]   to two break, then 8 ½.  [ 17 / 2 = 8 1/2 ]   8 ½ with 8 ½ let them eat each other, then 72 ¼. [ 8 1/2^2 = 72 1/4 ]   To the 72 ¼ that came up for you, 60, the field, add, then 132 ¼        [ 72 1/4 + 60 (the total area) = 132 1/4 ]   The equalside of 132 ¼ is what?  11 ½. [ the square root of 132 1/4 is 11 1/2 ]   11 ½ and 11 ½, its equal, lay down [ write down 11 1/2 twice ]   8 ½, the holder, from one tear out, [ subtract the half remainder (8 1/2) from one]   to one add [ and add it to the other ]   one is 20, the second 3.   20 is the igi.bi, 3 the igi. Apprentice: The igi is 3.  So we lengthen the walls by 3 rods each, then build the other two walls to finish the warehouse. Or we could push out the current walls by 1 ½ rods each in every direction.

[ Image description: sketch of the two solutions: in the first, the walls of the original warehouse have each been extended by 3 for a new size of 15 by 8, with text “8 x 15 = 120″.  In the second, the walls of the new warehouse are centered around those of the old; arrows indicated that the space between them is now 1 1/2 on the outer sides of the old walls.  Again, the total side lengths are “15″ and “8″ respectively, and text reads “9 x 15 = 120″.  End ID. ]

Architect: Excellent.  Let’s work out the estimate, now. <later> Merchant: Well met — is the estimate ready? Architect: <pushes a clay-filled frame over to the merchant with calculated information> Here it is. Merchant: <looks it over> This seems reasonable.  Ah!  I see you are proposing to reuse the bricks from the inside once the roof is supported.  Very frugal. Architect: It will save the cost of using all-new bricks, and also save us some time. A win-win, yes? Merchant: Very good.  I accept your proposal.  Please begin immediately. Architect: How will you pay? Merchant: I primarily trade in copper —the finest kind.  I believe that 18 talents’ worth of my most excellent copper ingots should be enough to cover the cost. Architect: This is very generous.  I accept. <merchant leaves> Apprentice: That seemed like a really good deal, Mom — I mean, Boss. Architect: Yes, apparently he recognizes and rewards quality work. Apprentice: Um.  I mean, it was a really, really good deal.  Too good, maybe. Architect: I’m sure it will be fine. <sometime later>

[ Image description: a photograph of the complaint tablet to Ea-Nasir in the British Museum, a rectangular baked-clay tablet covered in cuneiform writing, courtesy Wikimedia Commons user Zukir (CC BY-SA 4.0).  This is just a personal observation, but it seems to me that the writing at the bottom is more deeply and sloppily impressed, which possibly says something about the original author’s state of mind.  End ID. ]

[clarktooncrossing]

DUDELZ of the Damned | Rosie of the Jungle, Pt. 2

HEY THERE PEOPLE OF TODAY AND ROBOTS OF TOMORROW! IT'S ME, CLARK!

A chill is in the air. You can feel it can't you? Perhaps you even recognize it. That same chill arrives every year right on the dot. With it comes a frightful howl in the moonlight, the only other sound to be heard. Otherwise there is a strange calmness settling around you, like the point of ease before the storm. By now the howling has stopped. It has been replaced by a different sound. Footsteps. Big, heavy, dragging, as if the figure didn't quite know how to use their legs. Perhaps it's a random passerby. Perhaps it's a rotting, frightful feature freshly risen from the grave. Perhaps it's some other, unspeakable horror waiting to pounce! Whatever it is, you're not waiting around to find out! Yet no matter how far you run, it can't be escaped. The chill in the air, the howling of the wind, the heavy footsteps, it all leads back to one thing: October is here! And with it comes the return of the DUDELZ of the Damned!

Yes weirdos, like last year, my approximation of Sketchtober has returned. I call it an proxy because there was no list of prompts. Nah, that'd be too limiting. This is yet another case where I compiled my own list of ideas, sketched them out, then used one color per picture. With all that said, let's see what spoopy scribblings await us today!

Legend says there is an ancient city hidden deep within the jungle of Africa. Many have ventured deep into the wilderness to find it, but seldom have come back successful. Or alive. This fabled city and all of its riches is at risk of becoming lost to time. At least it was until Rosie Stardust found it. Weeks of trekking through the dense jungle and she finally made it onto the ruins of the once grand civilization of Opar. By now it seemed the only things living here were leopards, which probably explained why so few adventurers made it back alive. Luckily this wasn't a problem for the Cosmic Cutie. Yet again her power to befriend any creature came into play proved most valuable as she ventured towards one lonely leopard and offered it some jerky. From then on out she named the lovely beast 'Raul', after the name it made when it snarled. Venturing further into the city, Rosie discovered what appeared to be a ceremonial temple with a large throne in the center. Sitting atop that throne was a scepter with the head of a leopard holding a red sphere in its jaws. One that was calling out to the sentient space-anomaly. Like a voice compelling her forward. Rosie couldn't resist. Wrapping her digits around the staff, her traditional English clothes disappeared in a flash of red light, replaced by a bikini, sarong, bracelets, and a cape! Not only that, but her attitude suddenly felt more wicked. The Spirit of the city's queen had taken hold of the Cosmic Cutie. Who could stop her now?

Eh, I'm sure it'll wear off eventually.

When drawing Rosie as Jane Porter, my initial plan was to sketch a collage of Rosie in the explorer's most iconic outfits. This would include the fancy yellow dress, the tank top and red skirt along with a bunch of Fischer's Lovebird, and finally the sinister styles of Queen La. Sadly that didn't pan out as expected. However, I knew I still wanted to sketch Rosie as the vile ruler of Opar. For those of you who are confused who that even is, she's a villain introduced in the short-lived and underappreciated sequel series, The Legend of Tarzan. In the original book she's a survivor of Atlantis's sinking that escaped to torment Tarzan in Africa. On the show she's a feme fatale who simps for Tarzan, can magically turn leopards into humanoid men under her command, and can become a wandering spirit that possesses people via physical touch. Her most memorable episode is when she does this to Jane, using her as a vessel to resurrect her destroyed oasis. Now this episode is memorable for two reasons: 1) it's a legit great story where Tarzan is pitted against his one true love, and 2) Jane looks stunning in that outfit. Just like I knew Rosie would. Plus the idea of her acting evil is just funny to me. Essentially she'd act like Evil Luz from that AU comic made by @moringmark. Not so much 'evil' as she is 'vaguely anarchistic'. In any case, I am amazed by the final result, as I hoped the rest of you are! And remember: never touch a mystical staff that doesn't belong to you. It could host the soul of a vengeful jungle monarch.

BONUS QUESTION: If you befriended a leopard, what would you name it?

MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!

(thanks to @burningthrucelluloid for the music suggestion, BTW)

[gwenbrightly]

Redwall Falls Chapter 2

“He’s looking at me...” Brome heard his sister whisper to herself. She was not so inconspicuously watching Martin, one of the Mystery Shack’s teenaged employees, while she cleaned bobbleheads made in the image of their Great Aunt (or Graunt) Polly. The siblings had been put to work helping out around the tourist trap as soon as they’d had some time to settle in.

“Why don’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him?” he suggested with an eye roll. Rose stared at him.

“After what happened last time?” she cringed. Yesterday, when they’d met him (and the handy-squirrel known as Feldoh), the mouse had introduced himself before saying something about a “rosty nose”, which had taken several minutes to decipher. Brome still wasn’t sure what that was about, but it had definitely been awkward.

“Well, he’s proven that he can speak coherently,” Brome observed, nodding his head at the customer Martin was currently ringing up, “so maybe this time you guys can make it through an entire conversation without crashing.”

“I... Don’t be so pushy, Brome. These things take time. And besides-” Rose’s protests were cut off by Graunt Polly’s appearance from the back room.

“All right, all right, look alive, everybeast. I need someone to go hang up these signs in the spooky part of the forest,” the mole announced, displaying several signs that had advertisements with question marks and directions to the Mystery Shack on them. Rose, Brome, Feldoh, and Martin all glanced at each other.

“Not it,” Rose said quickly.

“Not it,” Brome followed suit.

“Also not it. You needed me to switch out the lightbulbs upstairs, remember?” It was Feldoh, this time. Graunt Polly looked annoyed.

“Martin, go hang these signs.” She ordered. “Oh, I would, but it’s so far. And I just realized I never had my lunch break so...”

“I’d fire all of you if I could,” Polly complained, frowning at Martin’s lame excuse. Her statement didn’t seem to have the desired effect, for she looked rather disappointed when no one took the hint and volunteered as tribute.

“Fine, then. Guess we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way,” she said, “let’s make it.. Eanie, meanie, minie… you,” she pointed a paw at Brome. He groaned in dismay.

“What? No. Graunt Polly, there’s something off about these woods… they’re creepy and I always feel like I’m being watched.”

“Noonvale doesn’t have much in the way of real forests, Brome. It’s gonna take some time for you to adjust to, well, the great outdoors,” Polly told him, giving his headfur a ruffle. He looked to Rose for backup, but she didn’t offer anything.

“I’m telling you – there’s something weird going on in this town. Homesickness can’t explain why the mosquito bites on my arm spell out ‘beware’.” Brome pointed out, rolling up his sleeve to show the others. Feldoh made a gagging noise. Rose raised an eyebrow and said,

“It looks more like ‘bewarb’ to me, and that’s really only if you squint.”

“Look, kid, that whole ‘monsters in the woods’ thing is just a local legend drummed up to attract more tourists,” Polly tried to assure him, but Brome wasn’t convinced. He had only been in Gravity falls for a day and he’d already seen bizarre glowing lights, heard strange noises, and been accosted by possibly radioactive mosquitos.

“But...” he protested as Graunt Polly plopped the signs into his reluctantly waiting arms.

“Stop being so paranoid and try to have some fun with this, eh, Brome?”

_______________

“No one believes anything I say,” Brome muttered to himself as he nailed a sign to a tree. It felt like he had been out in the forest for hours. All by himself. With no one to talk (complain) to. Was it even legal to send children out into the forest to perform manual labor without supervision? He’d have to check the local child labor laws once he got access to wifi – yet another thing the Mystery Shack seemed to be lacking in.

“Ugh!” he cried. “Stupid Mystery Shack! Stupid signs!”

Kathunk! Brome kicked the next tree he came to and immediately recoiled. He yelped in pain, then cocked his head. Trees didn’t make weird echoey noises… did they?

“Weird…” he commented, dropping the remaining sign on the ground so he could investigate further. Rapping gently on the tree – he didn’t want to hurt himself – Brome listened to the oddly metallic sound the tree made on impact. Something was definitely off about it. He took the sleeve of his sweatshirt and rubbed away at the trunk. Textured brown paint and a healthy coating of dirt and grime gave way to old metal. Ahah! The entire tree was fake. In full detective mode, now, Brome examined the tree until he spotted a small handle.

With slight apprehension, for there was always a chance his actions would activate an army of laser equipped robots, he grasped the lever with both paws and yanked it down. Nothing happened. No grand reveal. No explosion. Just the sound of birds chirping in the distance.

The young mouse huffed in disappointment and turned to leave, wishing he hadn’t gotten his hopes up. All his Sci-Fi TV shows and books had lied to him. Cool things never happened in real life. The world just didn’t work that way. But then, the creaking of a rusty hatch forcing its way open somewhere nearby caused him to stop in his tracks.

Brome circled the area, searching for the source of the sound. The switch must have done something, after all. He checked every nook and cranny, below each bush and on top of every rock and stump. His query remained elusive. Whatever the lever had opened was clearly well hidden.  Brome took a step backwards, hoping the action would give him a different view of this patch of forest.

In a way, he got exactly what he wanted; the fallen tree he tripped over certainly forced him to see the area from a different angle. But the unexpected fall wasn’t very pleasant and Brome couldn’t help but wonder how badly he’d have to hurt himself before his parents would let him come home. He lay on the ground for a moment, half tempted to sink into the dirt and become one with nature. Thankfully, such drastic actions did not end up being necessary.

It was no wonder Brome hadn’t noticed the bizarre hole the switch had uncovered. Half buried by the log and built from camouflaged materials, he would have missed it completely if not for the fact that he’d practically fallen right on top of it. He sat up, thoughtfully. Whoever had installed this hidden treasure trove obviously hadn’t wanted anyone to find it. How long had it been since someone sat where he now sat? Since somebeast had peered into the hole to examine its secrets? Brome gently removed an object wrapped in old newspapers, bursting into a fit of sneezes at the resulting cloud of dust that had floated into the air.

It was old. Old-old, as in more than just a few years old. The newspapers were from several decades ago. Their edges had curled with age, and some of the lettering was too faded to be legible. Fortunately, Brome had little interest in the newspaper; the item it protected was far more intriguing. A journal. And journals always had juicy secrets written in them – he’d learned that from snooping in Rose’s bedroom (though this journal would inevitably be much more interesting than his sister’s diary).

The journal’s design was simple enough. It was made of thick brown leather with the insignia of a paw print on the front cover. Brome wasn’t sure what kind of creature would have an entire extra toe. He also wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. What if the journal contained something bad? Something he wasn’t supposed to see?

It must have been hidden for a reason, after all. The young mouse sat for a moment, pondering his options. He could, of course, bury the journal and get back to work hanging Graunt Polly’s signs. He could also take his chances and open the book regardless of ancient curses or government Intel. It was a difficult choice.

“Alright, mystery beast. Let’s see what you’ve been hiding,” Brome muttered when his curiosity finally got the better of him. He hummed thoughtfully and flipped through the first few pages. They were covered with sketches of creatures he had never seen before. Detailed notes and memos accompanied many of the sketches.

“It's hard to believe it's been six years since I began studying the strange and wondrous secrets of Gravity Falls,” he read aloud from the page that had the most writing. Six years was a long time to be stuck in this place. The author must have had an awful lot of spare time on their paws to create such an elaborate journal. Flipping through the journal some more, Brome found himself growing more intrigued with each page he read.

Eventually, the writing and sketches grew increasingly erratic and less caretakingly organized. Notes that made no sense lined the margins in some places. One page in particular had the words Trust No One scrawled across its top in large lettering. Brome read the rest of the entry with bated breath, “Unfortunately, my suspicions have been confirmed. I'm being watched. I must hide this book before he finds it. Remember: in Gravity Falls there is no one you can trust." He paused, confused. That seemed… harsh. But if Gravity Falls really did have a dark side-

“Watcha doin?” someone said, sending Brome into a frenzied attempt to hide the journal behind his back. He groaned when he realized who it was. His sister gave him an awkward wave.

“Rose! Thanks for that. I really needed a heart attack today,” he stated flatly.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Rose told him, sitting down on the fallen tree, “Graunt Polly sent me to check on you.”

“Oh,” he said. He felt a little foolish for being so easily shaken. The journal’s tone was clearly getting to him.

“So… what were you reading that you didn’t notice me coming your way?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” Brome said quickly. Rose hummed in response, clearly skeptical.

“Seems like pretty interesting nothingness. You were really invested in it.”

“Well… it’s not nothing nothing,” he admitted, “Just not something I should show you out here where anyone could happen to walk by. Let’s go somewhere more… private.”

“Alright. But now I’m curious. This better not be evidence of aliens, or I’m going to be very insulted that you didn’t show me right away,” Rose teased, ruffling his head fur. Brome winked at her and stood up. He waved the journal at her before taking off in the direction of the Mystery Shack as he said,

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

After all, surely the book journal hadn’t meant sisters when it said trust no one… right?

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Don’t Forget Me

Art in banner done by me.

College Life / Mermaid / Kimi no Na wa (Your Name) inspired AU

It’s all nothing but a dream. A series of dreams that are all too real. That’s all it is. Your soul - or whatever it was - couldn’t possibly be swapping places with a Merman. One, mermaids aren’t real. Two, that’s not even possible! Is it? 

Mermaid!Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Human Reader

Want to start from be beginning? Check the Don’t Forget Me tag. 

Genre: Romance / Angst Story 

Rating: Explicit | Adult Themes, Interspecies Sex (merman / human), Masturbation, Alcohol, Animal death / hunting (whales, fish, sharks, etc), Cursing, Descriptions of Injuries and Blood 

A/N: This is my part for the @bnhabookclub weekly collab event Just Add Water for MerMay! I know there isn’t much going on in this, but it’s just the first chapter to a new multichapter fic. Per the rules of the collab, I used the prompt “That’s just an urban legend”. I’m excited, because I’ve wanted to do a Mer!Bakugou x reader for a LONG time and could never think of anything. But when this theme was announced, I was watching Kimi no Na wa and immediately had this idea. So, full disclosure, the theme of switching bodies in their sleep / forgetting each other is inspired by that movie, but that is all that I take away from it. 

Prologue: Stone

Chapter Rating: Teen | Cursing

Words:  1,855

You were doing it again. 

How many times had you caught yourself staring at the delicate necklace in your hands? More than you could probably count on all your fingers and toes, and you were sure that number had nearly doubled just in the last week. You really weren’t sure why you were drawn to it so intensely, nor why it gave you such a deep sense of loss and loneliness. 

Where had you gotten it from? 

You couldn’t remember. In truth, you couldn’t remember getting it at all. As far as you could recollect, it had been around your neck when you woke up one morning, about two months ago. Since then, you refused to go a day without it, even if it didn’t necessarily match your outfit or any particular occasion. You felt so lost without it around your neck, like a part of you was away, off in some distant land or deep within the sea. 

Why did you think that? 

Of all things, why would you assume that this missing part of you was in the ocean? Was it because of the necklace? Probably. The silver clam shaped pendant that rested in your palm was most likely the culprit to make you think of the sea. But that particular piece of the jewelry wasn’t what kept you so entranced. Set in the middle was a small, perfectly round stone, and its brilliance is what you couldn’t help but stare into. To anyone else, it would just appear to be a small marble, with brilliant deep indigo, swirling turquoise and hints of radiant purples. There were sparkles of twinkling white, like light reflecting off a water's surface, and if you gazed into it long enough, you could have sworn that the colors were mixing and twisting, as if there truly was water inside the stone. 

It was so beautiful. Had someone given it to you? Whoever did must have cared about you so deeply to give you something so special. You had asked all your friends and family if they knew anything about how you got it, but no one knew anything. You received some weird looks and uncomfortable responses when you tried to ask them, but that didn’t bother you much, not when you had been dealing with people finding you strange for almost half a year now, anyway. 

Why did they find you weird again? You couldn’t remember.

All you knew was that it had to do with this necklace. You had tried to find out what it was made of to try and get any hints on where it may have come from, but each jewelry store or stone expert you took it to, they all had the same response. They just didn’t know. Many offered to buy it from you at varying prices, their interest peaked and their hopes of being the first person to discover a new stone pushing them forward. But you resisted, as just even letting it out of your hands so they could look at it enough to make you nearly burst into tears. You couldn’t let it go and you wouldn’t, either. Not ever. Not for anything. 

Because it was precious. It was the only thing that you had that could help to calm this nearly unending sense of longing. 

But what was it you were longing for? 

Or who? 

Why did that always pop up in your mind? There were so many pieces of scattered thoughts that you just couldn’t put together. A person. The sea. Feeling like a piece of you was missing. You wanted these feelings to end, but you knew that they wouldn’t, not until you found what you were searching for. 

With a frustrated sigh, you put the necklace back on around your neck, clasping it in place with skilled fingers. Standing from your bed, you shuffled your way towards your desk, lightly running your fingers down along the slender metal chain. Your mind was still in a hazy grip of sleep, barely registering that the electronic clock mostly hidden by books and other stationary read 5:49 AM, though that didn’t really matter. Your mind was racing with the overbearing thoughts, and as you sat down in your squeaky office chair, you were already near breaking out into tears.

The necklace wasn’t the only clue you had. Scattered among the desk were notebooks and papers, though you had refused to touch them for the last few weeks. At first, you had meticulously looked over every page and every written note, trying to do everything you could to learn about who this person was that you were missing. But now they sat on your desk, abandoned in defeat. There were many things in the notes that didn’t make sense to you now, though according to what you had written, you had understood it all at one point. 

What you had written. 

That was what was the most odd. There were two very distinct handwritings within the notebooks and scribbled on the scrap pieces of paper or sticky notes. Yours was so proper and easy to read, clean and steady. The other was rough with some of the characters almost completely illegible, requiring you to assume what the person writing must have been trying to say. Large and scratchy, it almost resembled the handwriting of a child or what you assume would be someone new to writing on paper. The phrases. The choice of words. All of it was completely different from yours. 

It had been another person. Someone sat in your chair, in your room, and wrote these messages to you. At first, you thought that it just had to be a prank. One of your friends was fucking with you. That was the only realistic solution. But none of them talked this way, and if you were honest, they weren’t exactly clever enough to pull off such a big ordeal over months and months. 

The way they talked… It was so strange. You just couldn’t wrap your head around it, and if you were honest, you thought that they must have been a little crazy. Yet, you weren’t all that rattled in most of your responses, like you knew what they had been saying to be the truth. 

The conversations were so… natural. In fact, most of it was like a diary, with the scratchy handwriting cataloging what had happened that day, how they felt about it, and what they had done. 

This school shit that you humans do is so stupid and pointless. Who the fuck needs to know about… what is it called? Calculus? You’re never going to use that shit, I’m not bothering with keeping up with it, fuck that. You always catch up on your own anyway. That bitch Midoriya or whatever gave you some fucking flowers today. I thought about stomping on them and telling him to fuck off, but I just took them and left. You need to tell that prick you’re not into him or this shit will never stop. Also, the way you humans handle courtship is fucked. I didn’t do shit today otherwise. Just stayed in the room. I did find your sketchbook though. You’re getting better, but you still can’t remember us for shit. 

Pulling your eyes up from the paper, they immediately landed on the mentioned sketchbook, which was tucked up beneath some schoolbooks. Carefully, you pulled it out, setting it down on the pile of papers to thumb through it. 

It had been so long since you had even opened this thing. The feeling of the coarse paper beneath your fingertips brought a small smile to your face, as did seeing all your old sketches and doodles. Though, the smile faded as you reached near the middle of the sketchbook, your eyes tearing up immediately at the contents of the page. The page was completely covered in drawings of what looked to be mermaids, or mermen, to be more accurate. They were mostly faceless and unidentifiable, the sketches geared more towards poses and anatomy. The only thing mostly consistent was the tail. It seemed to be the same over all the drawings, with matching fins and scribbled patterns. 

“Mermaids… I’ve never cared to draw them before, why did I…?” 

After another turn of the page, you were met with similar things, only this time they had heads and hair, jewelry, pieces of clothing, and even weapons. Only one of the sketches resembled the previous drawings, and his particular features called to you. The feeling of recognition and longing grew fiercer with another turn of the page, which was all nothing but sketches of that particular merman’s head with varying expressions and positions. He was particularly attractive, with slanted piercing eyes and a mass of fluffy spiked hair on his head. He had fin-like ears that were mostly drooped, but flared out on the drawings with a more intense expression, where his mouth was open in a yell or intense fanged snarl. 

A small gasp left your lips as a drop of liquid suddenly landed onto the paper, pulling you out of your daze. Crying? Why were you crying? Why did your heart feel like it was about to be ripped from your chest? It wasn’t possible for this to be the man that you had been longing for. You had drawn him as a mermaid! They weren’t real, and there was no way that was possible. He couldn’t even get into your room, let alone sit in your chair and write you letters. 

“I’m so ridiculous…” You whispered quietly to yourself, wiping the tears from your flushed cheeks. Had you been blushing? You didn’t even notice. “Mermaids… That’s just an urban legend. A myth. I must have just been in a phase… Maybe I saw a movie or an anime with them, and I got super invested? But then… they’re so…” 

Page after page, more sketches followed, some making you giggle while others made your chest ache so badly you thought you would pass out. But then, there was something scribbled onto a page that made your entire body grow cold, stomach twisting into such a tight knot you were sure that you’d vomit. 

Save me. 

“Save… Save you?” You choked out into the silent room with a trembling voice, more tears cascading down your cheeks as you reached up to grip the pendant around your neck tightly. It was in the familiar scratchy handwriting, though it was more frantic and messy than you had ever seen. Hiccupping, you brought the pendant up to your lips, pressing the stone against them as you struggled to calm yourself. 

Save you from what? What the hell happened? Did I save you? Why the hell can’t I remember!

It was then that you felt an odd pulsing against your lips, and as you pulled away in shock, your teary gaze was locked onto the pendant in your hands, which was pulsing slowly with a pale green glow. And with it came a thought, like a soft voice whispering in your ear that you couldn’t ignore. 

He’s calling to me… 

[popcrone818]

Fate - Alec Lightwood

Let me just say before I start, yes I am aware that Alec is gay! I have read the first book, (getting the rest for my birthday) and I am so in love with Malec it is so not even funny anymore, but at the same time I read fanfiction and fiction in general to escape to put myself in the shoes of the reader. So when I write that is also what I do. I don’t know how to write in a male’s perspective and I’m not about to write a full story about it. 

so in short, I am sorry to whoever I offend by posting this story. But I have been Brewing it over in my head since October 2019. So all I can say is I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think. <3

I never knew who my mother was. She left me on the doorstep of the Lightwood’s when I was just a baby. Alexander Lightwood and I grew up together, wreaking havoc on Maryse and Robert since before we could talk. The Lightwood’s were exiled from Idris before my first birthday and with Alec and I in tow Maryse and Robert moved to New York, where they proceeded to have Isabelle, and where they adopted Jace Wayland. The Four of us were never seen without each other as we grew up. Alec became Jace’s Parabatai and Izzy and I were close to it ourselves, we just never got around to doing the ritual while we were growing up.

When Clary joined the institute, Jace and Alec seemed to be in a disagreement constantly. I started to worry for my family, I wasn’t sure how parabatai’s actually worked but I was almost sure that Jace and Alec’s might start to disappear if they kept at it.

I had followed Clary, Jace and Izzy to help free Meliorn from Lydia. We were surprised to say the least when Alec was the one leading Meliorn to the silent brothers. Clary, Jace and I snuck up behind Alec and Meliorn.

“Alec.” Clary yelled jogging ahead and gaining his attention. Jace stepped in between Alec and Meliorn and the entrance to the City of Bones. I stayed back out of the way. I noticed Alec’s eyes shift for a spilt second to me before turning his attention back to Jace and Clary like I wasn’t even there.

“You told me you were taking Clary back to the Institute. You lied to me.” He growled his hands closing into fists.

“I did what needed to be done.”  Jace fired back as Clary walked up to Meliorn and I took a couple of steps forward, in case I was needed to break up a parabatai fight.

“Alec, the Clave has gone too far. You have to see that. Please, just let Meliorn go.” I said calmly to him. His eyes flicked to me yet again before he looked down, not making eye contact.

“I have my orders.” His hand twitched slightly, getting ready for a fight. I saw Clary flare up.

“You and your damn orders. Who cares about orders?” Clary shouted at him. I squeezed my eyes shut, she has no idea about this world. I opened my eyes as Alec took a step closer to Clary.

“See?” he almost laughed while he gestured to Clary. “That’s how little you know about being a Shadowhunter. You couldn’t possibly understand–.”

“It’s you that doesn’t understand, Alec. Not this time.” Jace started as Alec started to move closer to the entrance. “I’m really sorry.” Jace’s head motions for me to go. I jump on Alec’s back, easier than I expected honestly, still not as easy as you might think.

“Clary, Meliorn, go, now!” Jace yells, Clary and Meliorn make a run for it as Alec flips me off his back and kneels gently on my chest. Jace knocks Alec off me and quickly jump up into a fighting stance.

“You always broke the rules, but never the law, not until she showed up.” Alec accused.

“You’ve had it out for Clary from the start. And now you’re getting married, Alec? We both know what this is about.” Jace yelled, I stood back and watched boys fight it out.

“Oh, do we? Okay. Why doesn’t the legend, Jace Wayland, tell us what’s it about?” Alec counters pushing Jace up against the cave wall.

“It’s about Mia! It’s about your feelings. It’s because you’re–.” Jace yells at him as my jaw goes slack looking at the two of them. Alec has pulled out his blade and now has Jace on the ground with it placed against his neck. “Do it. Do it! I don’t wanna be alive if we’re on different sides, Alec.” I watch as Alec gets off Jace.

“Come with us. We’ll fight Valentine the right way: together.” I told Alec stepping closer to him as Jace gets to his feet.

“If we do that, we’ll be considered traitors like Mom and Dad.” Alec said, I knew he was worried about what they had done as circle members, but I didn’t think it was this bad. This must be why he is getting married.

“I’m begging you, my parabatai, my brother. Please, Alec, come with us.” Jace pleaded with him as he and I both stepped forward again. Alec slid down the wall of the cave shaking his head.

“No.” with that one word I felt my heart break. I made sure Alec could see it as Jace and I walked away, he pulled me into his side as a tear rolled down my cheek.

We met back up with Meliorn and Clary outside of the Hotel Dumort. Izzy was locked in a passionate kiss with Meliorn before Jace clears his throat to break them up.

“I hate to break up this reunion, Izzy, but we have to go.” Jace reminded her of the rest of the mission; get Meliorn back to the Seelie realm.

“You’re in good hands.” Izzy says to Meliorn before turning to Clary, Jace and I. “I need to get back to the Institute, see what hell has broken loose. Try and talk some sense into Alec.” She gives me a sad look before she places a hand on my arm gently. “Take care of him.”

“We will.” Clary and I saw in unison.

“Kick Alec’s ass for me.” I told her. She and Meliorn share another kiss before she pulls away and walks her way to the institute.

Isabelle told me it was your idea to rally the Downworlders. That you spearheaded my rescue.” Meliorn said to Clary, “She also told me that you would have to go up against Alec, someone you love,” he turned his attention to me. I felt my cheeks blush before the memory of Alec saying ‘no’ to Jace and I resurfaced and all I did was nod my head towards Meliorn.

“Don’t give me too much credit. Isabelle made this happen. We just helped.” Clary stated as we started walking.

“She’s being modest. You’re a Shadowhunter now.” Jace said.

“I have been surprised by more than one Shadowhunter tonight. You risked everything to unite us.” Meliorn thanked Clary once again.

“Right after you tried to sell her out.” Jace reminded Meliorn. I looked away as we continued to walk towards a park I had never seen before.

“Not my finest moment. Which is why I’m offering you both a gift, for your sacrifice. If you’re ready, I can help you find your father.” Meliorn said addressing both Clary and I. I looked behind me to Jace, giving him a questioning look. I didn’t know who my father was.

 Clary and I stepped through the portal to the alternate dimension, where she and I were standing in a kitchen together. She turns around and grasps a butter knife holding it up in front of her.

“Where’s my mother?!” she shouts accusingly.

 “Whoa. Is this from one of your cosplay skits?” I heard Valentine ask as I turn around. “Uh, honey? Come in here. You gotta see this.” He turns to call into the living room. “No, seriously, you have to let me come with you, just once, okay? I wanna see what you do at these things, all right?” he turns to face the two of us again. Jocelyn enters the kitchen and takes in the scene in front of her, Clary slightly in front of me holding up a knife.

“Val, you’re not allowed to do cosplay. You’d stick out like a sore thumb.” Jocelyn says coming up to Valentine. At the sight of her mother Clary drops the knife and moves over to her.

 “Mom.” She pulls her in for a tight hug. I just stand there unsure of what to do.

 “Wow. Wow, if you miss us this much, you should really leave the dorm room more often.” Jocelyn jokes as Clary pulls away.

 “Right. Sorry.” Clary moves back over to me.

“Oh Amelia, honey, your mum said she wouldn’t be able to see you for breakfast this morning, so you’ve got us instead.” Jocelyn says to me before she moves to sit down at the kitchen table. I notice one of the sketches is signed by Jocelyn Morgenstern. I nudge Clary discreetly who then looks at the painting also. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket as Clary sits down hesitantly.

 “Clary…” Jocelyn holds up a cup of tea in a toast as I sit down opposite Clary at the table pulling out my phone. “In honour of your father’s Mad Hatter party tonight.” She takes a sip and I look at the message that lit up my screen.

From: Alec

Can’t wait to see you today, looking forward to that coffee :)

“Your mom made waffles for you. Come on, kiddo, you gotta eat something, right. So, Clarissa… when do I get to meet this new man in your life, hmm?” Valentine asks as he also sits down. It felt like I was intruding on family bonding time and I wasn’t even sure why I was here in the first place anyway. Valentine wasn’t my father.

 “Val.” Jocelyn chastised

 “What? I have to give my stamp of approval, right? For both of you by the way, you may not be blood related but we still think of you as our daughter Amelia.” Valentine said looking towards me. So that’s why I'm here. I'm basically family.

 “Oh, Clary, look at this commercial, it’s hilarious. It’s so bad, it’s good.” Jocelyn states and we all swivel on our chairs to look towards the tv sitting in the dining room. I see Magnus, Hodge and Luke on the tv in the commercial, apparently in this dimension Magnus is a psychic, I guess a warlock never changes his mark. I notice Clary starts to space out slightly and I drop my fork to bring her back. She gasps before standing up abruptly.

“I have to go.” She says as she gathers up her things.

“Uh, so do I, thank you for breakfast.” I say politely as I grab my phone and stand up too.

 “What?” Jocelyn asks Clary and I.

 “I thought you were spending the morning with us.” Valentine asks looking up at the two of us also.

“I, uh, have a last-minute assignment due that I haven’t even started yet, so I gotta go.” Clary states before rushing out of the door.

“I uh, have a date.” I say before following Clary out.

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XXII

January 5, 2278.

Percy tosses aside her wrench and huffs, putting her hands on her waist and admiring her work. “Looks like you’re finally ready,” she says to the motorbike that she has been tinkering with for weeks.

“Now let’s see if you work.”

My partner hums as she leads the cruiser through Megaton’s gate, ignoring gawkers and onlookers. We wear our helmets, which Percy picked up from Moira this afternoon.

She sits on the motorbike seat, exclaims a triumphant “Yes!” when the engine roars to life… and screams when the damn thing went careening around in circles.

I caught her before she could crash, and the bike fell to its side as she got off of it, legs shaking.

“Dammit,” she curses, clinging on to me, breathing hard. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

“If it’s too dangerous to use, we can still travel on foot, but it may delay our plans,” I tell her, steadying her to her feet.

“Delaying is not an option we have the luxury to choose now,” Percy sighs, pulling the bike back into position.

“Then I suggest that you navigate with your PipBoy. I’ll drive.”

My partner looks at me curiously. “You know how to ride a bike?”

“Yes. I am proficient in driving pre-war vehicles.”

Percy clears her throat. “Was that a part of your training?”

I run my ruined hands through the driver’s seat’s worn leather, and get on.

“Yes.”

I start the engine, and Percy gets on the passenger seat behind me.

“Now, hold on tight.”

She did as I said, wrapping her arms around my waist, and letting out a surprised scream when we zipped away from the gate.

As we sprinted past jet-addled raiders and freaked-out mole rats, Percy was whooping and laughing, her body warm against by back despite the winter air blowing.

“Holy shit! This is fun!” Percy yells, and I feel her heart pounding through her chest.

I’m glad she’s behind me, or she would’ve seen the smile I had when she held me tighter and leaned on me.

I could get used to this.

As we rode our way to our destination, my mind wandered back to the conversation we had with Doc Church earlier today.

Percy got inside the clinic first, and I followed suit, looming over Church, who was sitting on his desk, looking over a medical clipboard.

“Unless you’re dying I- Oh. It’s you.”

“Doc Church. Do you have any patients with you today?”

“None. I’m not sure how that is any of your concern, though.”

“Charon, guard the door,” Percy instructed me, and Church was about to get up when Percy pressed on his shoulder, forcing him to sit. I lean against the metal and watch the two intently.

“We know about Paradise Falls.”

All the color from the doctor’s face drains.

“You’re training to be a doctor too, am I right? The oath requires me to offer my services to whoever is in need. Slavers included. Even so, I’ve put that all behind me when I opened this clinic in Megaton. Please, don’t hurt me,” Church blurts out, defensive.

“I understand your intention to follow the oath. Don’t worry, we’re not planning to hurt you. In fact, we need your help.”

“Aside from offering my services as a doctor, I have nothing else to offer. I’m sorry.”

My partner turns to me, and nods.

I come forward, cracking my knuckles in a show of intimidation. The old man shrank in his seat even further.

“I know you remember me,” I tell him, and he gulps. “And I know you remember the people you worked for.”

“We need information about Paradise Falls. Names, a layout of the location, and anything that could help us take down the slaver operations there,” Percy continues.

Church’s eyes widen, and he gives us an incredulous look. “Even if I give you the information you need, you can’t take down Paradise Falls, kid. Those slavers have contacts everywhere. You’ll have a target on your back for the rest of your lives.”

Percy shakes her head. She drags a chair and sits in front of the doctor.

“I’ve gotten used to looking over my shoulder and sleeping with one eye open, doc. That doesn’t concern me anymore. What concerns me is there are innocent kids who were snatched from their home by bastards who think that people are a commodity to be sold. I know you think that’s fucked. Why else would you pack up and leave? This is your chance to make things right.”

“Make things right? Kid...”

I felt the urge to speak up. I look at Percy, asking for silent permission, and she seems to understand, taking a step back and allowing me to take the helm.

“Percy is right. Why else would you leave that life behind and start a clinic here, where people needed your help the most? You feel guilty,” I tell him.

He was as still as a stone.

“You still think about the horrible things you saw in Paradise. You regret being instrumental in keeping those slavers healthy and alive as they hunted down more people to sell as slaves. This is an opportunity to let go of that guilt. You don’t get that chance every day. Don’t waste it.”

“What, do you have psych training now too?” he asks me, mockingly, disbelievingly.

“No,” I tell him. “It’s an observation, from a ghoul who’s in the same boat.”

Tense silence fills the room. Finally, Church relents, taking a pencil from his desk drawer.

“I’ll look for a piece of paper.”

I let out a breath that I was holding. Percy sighs in relief too.

“Thank you,” she says to the doctor.

The old man sketches the layout of Paradise Falls on a yellowed piece of paper, and tells us all he knows about Paradise Falls before his departure.

As he went on, my memories of the place started becoming clearer, but I have no desire to dwell on them.

When we got back to the house, Percy looped her arm around mine. Percy looks at me with those eyes again, filled with trust, devotion, and now… admiration.

“I’m proud of you, big guy.”

I stroked her hair and went on with our preparations.

My mind snapped back to the present as we reached Tenpenny Tower, and I parked the bike as Percy rings the intercom. Taking off my helmet, I look up at the tower, which sticks out like a sore thumb in the Wasteland. The people who lived inside were obsessed with the finer days from before the war. Worse, Tenpenny was a landgrabber, their chief of security, Gustavo, was a gung-ho bigoted bastard, and their doctor made assumptions about ghouls without even looking at one up close.

They reminded me of the people I used to serve, the ones responsible for my indoctrination.

Percy hated them so much.

However, we need all the ammunition we can find, and Gustavo trades them.

“Huh, no one’s answering,” Percy mumbles. She touches the gate lightly, and gasps when it opens on its own.

“Did you think something happened?” she asks me, and I retrieve my shotgun, loading it with bullets.

“I thought you hated those people.”

“Yeah, but, after helping the Warrington station ghouls get in I thought I’d give them a chance to change their mind about ghouls…”

Percy trails off as her eyes scan the courtyard. There were no more human residents present, only the ghouls she helped get in the tower.

“Don’t tell me...”

Gasping, Percy pushes the gate and rushes inside, pushing the heavy double doors open. She runs up to a ghoulette, the one called Bessie Lynn.

“Bessie, where’s the rest of the residents?”

The ghoulette squirms in place, nervous. “Oh, I don’t know where they are. But everything is fine! Roy said not to worry about the other residents.”

I could tell she was lying, and Percy could too, so she moves on, running past the timid woman. Michael Masters, another one of the Warrington ghouls, sits in the lobby.

“Michael!” Percy exclaims. “Where are all the humans?”

The ghoul laughs. “Roy took out the trash. You better steer clear of the basement storage room. I’m glad I lost my sense of smell.”

“He did fucking what?”

Percy brushes past Masters, footsteps heavy as she stomps her way to the basement. As she opened the door, her hands flew to her nose at the stench of rotting bodies.

Most of the corpses were unrecognizable. They were brutalized. The only one I could recognize was the old man’s. Herbert Dashwood. That one was the only human resident who didn’t insult me when we first visited this place.

His face was bloated and decaying. I looked away.

Percy retches, eyes wet and shiny with tears, and I grab her, pulling her out of the room and slamming the door shut behind us.

She was shaking. I pressed her against my chest as she trembled and sobbed.

Then, I heard a mocking laugh. I looked up, and the leader of the Warrington ghouls was strolling towards us. Roy Phillips.

“Hey kid. Thanks again for helping us get in.”

Wiping her tears away, Percy faces him. She wore that expression she had when she talked to Ahzrukhal, when she confronted Wally Mack, and when those Talon mercs ambushed us.

That look on this angel’s face is one of the few things in this world that frightens me.

“Nice pile of bodies in the storage room, Roy,” Percy spits, shoulders tense. “You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Assholes had it coming,” Phillips spat back. “But I don’t answer to you, or any other smoothskin. In fact, you’d best piss off before you join them.”

Muscle memory kicking in, I shield Percy with my body at the bastard’s threat. He looks at me, disgusted.

“What the hell are you even doing, defending this smoothskin? You should be with your fellow ghouls.”

“Charon, this is hopeless. Let’s get out of here,” Percy tells me, touching my arm.

“You get out of here,” Phillips interrupts. “I’m not done talking to him yet.”

The asshole turns to me, looking at me from head to toe.

“Not man enough to ditch this little girl and stick with us? How much is she paying you for you to betray your own kind?”

Phillips gave me a hard shove when I didn’t give him an answer.

“Huh. ‘Not man enough?’ Wow, sounds like someone is projecting his insecurities about his masculinity,” Percy interrupts, hand flying to the spot on my chest where the other ghoul shoved me. Phillips’ eyes flick to my partner’s hand, and he gives us a mocking smirk.

“Oh, I get it now. This kid gives you a taste of smoothskin pussy and now you’d tail her ass around like that stupid dog of hers? You’re her fucking gigolo?”

“God, you’re disgusting. How could someone as nice as Bessie stay with someone as horrible as you?”

“Keep your mouth shut, smoothskin bitch.”

Percy grabs him by the collar, knocks him off-balance with her footwork, and slams him against the wall, like she did with Wally Mack.

“No! You listen, you piece of shit! I helped you get into this fucking tower in hopes of a non-violent solution to everyone’s problems. I guess that was a fucking mistake, huh? I’m not going to shed tears for Gustavo and the other bigots who wanted you dead. But Dashwood? Does it make you feel like a bigger man, killing a senile retiree? You killed the only person in the tower who viewed you as people, too.”

“That asshole was gloating about having a ghoul manservant. I’d fucking do it again. Of course you’d defend him. You have one too, you two-faced bitch.”

Percy falters, but then slams Phillips against the wall again, his head hitting it with a dull thud.

“Charon is not my manservant. He is my friend. You don’t know a single fucking thing about us. Forget it. You can rot in this tower for all I care.” She lets him go. Then, she turns to me.

“Charon, let’s get-”

As Percy turns around, Phillips lunges for her neck, but I move her out of the way and grab the other ghoul’s arm, twisting it and shoving him to the ground.

“Traitor,” Phillips spits at me. “Goddamn smoothskin titsucker! You’ll pay for that!”

“Percy is my contract holder,” I start, towering over him. “And my friend. I don’t care what she is. I am loyal to her.”

“Is that it? That’s all you ever want to be? You’re fucking hopeless, kid. She’ll use you and throw you away once she’s done with you.”

The mere suggestion of Percy abandoning me coming from his mouth made me want to shut him up.

“Big guy, don’t listen to him. C’mon, let’s just go.”

“Once she finds a human who can protect and fuck her better, you best bet she’ll put you down like the dog you are.”

He should shut up.

Shut up. Shut the hell up!

I’ll fucking shut him up!

“Charon, enough! Stop! I order you to stop!”

Small hands were pulling me away, and Percy’s orders went in my ears as sharp barks.

Conditioning kicking in, I freeze. I look down, and my hands are bloody.

I smeared Roy Phillips to the ground.

Fuck.

Around us the other ghouls, his followers, were too shocked to even fire their weapons. Lynn runs over, looks at me, then her boyfriend’s brains on the ground, and lets out a frightened wail.

Percy grabs my arm and pulls me towards the entrance. “Charon, we need to get out of here!”

Behind us, they were firing their guns like crazy. One of the bullets grazed my thigh, but I kept going, the pain numbed by holding Percy’s hand.

We rode our way out of there.

It’s getting dark and unsafe to drive.

Making camp on the side of the road, Percy treats the bullet graze on my thigh in silence. Then, she stares into the fire, eyes glazed over.

“Charon, what have I done?”

I scoot closer to her, and she begins to cry.

“You couldn’t have predicted that Phillips would turn against his word.”

“No. I trusted him and now people died because of me.”

Doing my best to soothe her, I stroke her hair. “Can I make a suggestion?”

She nods.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for things you have no control over, angel.”

Percy sniffles, and looks up to me.

“You know, I hate it when people call me that. I’m just a kid who’s also imperfect and makes mistakes… not some Wasteland Avenger, and definitely not an Angel.”

“I can stop, if that’s what you wish of me, Percy.”

“If it’s you? It’s fine. Consider it my thanks for allowing me to call you ‘big guy’.”

Pulling her closer, I chuckled.

Percy kisses my cheek, yawns, and settles in my arms.

I smile.