Number One: “The skirt is supposed to be this short.”
“I can’t believe this is your dirty secret.”
Boyd raised his eyebrows, adjusting his belt. “What did you think it was?”
“I don’t know, scrapbooking? Ballroom dance? Secret piccolo prodigy?” Stiles tried to shimmy the massive wedgie out of his buttcrack, but it just slipped in further. God damn it. He was wearing way too many layers to go after it, at least two of them chainmail.
“Piccolo?” Boyd’s tone itself wasn’t threatening, but picking up a broadsword and sheathing it on his belt certainly was. It was much bigger than Stiles’ sword, that was for sure.
“Come on, dude. Do you really not see the irony of a literal werewolf LARPing? And not as a werewolf? You wouldn’t even need prosthetics!”
“It’s not roleplaying if you’re just being yourself.”
“Okay, but why roleplay when you’re already a badass? Let’s face it, if anyone here should be roleplaying, it’s the pack human who doesn’t have superpowers.”
“They aren’t superpowers!” Derek’s usual reflex response came from behind the curtain, and then he added, “Are you sure you didn’t give me Kira’s outfit?”
Boyd rolled his eyes like they were the ones being unreasonable here. “Yes, I’m still sure. Come out.”
Stiles couldn’t actually hear it, but it was like a sixth sense by now; he knew Derek sighed before yanking back the crookedly hanging sheet that served as a dressing room in a corner of their massive canvas pack tent.
Zeus drinks himself half to death at the bar. He makes bedroom eyes at every pretty girl to walk in the room. They will clutch their cans of mace a little tighter as they walk home tonight.
Aphrodite helps a beaten girl to her feet, holding her tight as her young body is racked with sobs. Artemis stands nearby, preparing to hunt the thief of this young girl’s innocence. These are the only hunts she participates in anymore.
Athena glares at Ares as bloody knuckles and booted feet connect with battered bodies between them. The fight clubs are their temples now.
Dionysus stands behind a bar, serving drinks to rowdy men and pretty girls. Later, he will be found holding back the hair of girls, too young for the drinks they swallowed, as they vomit the concoctions they drank to forget the pain in the world. Dionysus understands and so he drinks more than anyone, if only to forget the suffering that has filled his immortal life.
Hestia mourns the numerous broken homes. She puts extra effort in protecting the scant few happy families left. So Hestia has created a home for those lost and abandoned, for she too knows how it feels to be cast out by the family who should have loved you unconditionally. She understands what it feels like to be adrift and homeless.
Apollo sits on a busy, crowded street, strumming his guitar and singing a song of loss and pain. He uses poetry and music to mourn the pain in the world. He berates himself constantly, because for every life he saves, ten more are extinguished. He has stopped visiting hospitals because he can’t help but feel his efforts are futile. He hasn’t seen his sister in years, and he misses her most at night, when he can see her beloved stars and moon.
Hermes slumps in a chair, exhausted from the horror gracing the human news. He decides he is no longer deserving of the title “messenger of the gods,” since he hasn’t delivered a message in centuries. Not when the gods no longer keep in touch. So he reverts to his favorite pastime: stealing. But what use is mortal money to a god?
Hera sits in the shadows of a bar and struggles to summon the dredges of the vindictive, jealous anger that used to come so easily to her when she saw her husband with another woman. Hera thinks that perhaps in this modern world, she would do better as the goddess of divorce. Because, really, how can she profess that marriage is the best gift the world has to offer when she can’t even keep her husband in her bed? When he doesn’t even bother pretending that he loves her? Yes, goddess of failed marriages has such a lovely, miserable ring to it.
Poseidon wanders the beach, picking up the scattered trash that poisons his domain. His tears mix with the salt water on his cheeks and he weeps for the suffering of his oceans. He feels the pollution like a phantom pain, and he scoffs at himself, full of loathing for the god of the sea who could not protect his oceans from mortals.
Hades lounges in his extravagant mansion, smiling at his lovely wife curled at his side. Blessed is he, for there will always be death, and mortals will always worship his riches. Of all his siblings, Hades, the scorned brother, cursed to rule the underworld, is the only one to still enjoy immortality.
Persephone is as beautiful as ever and she is happy with her loving husband who always joins her in her protests, right alongside her as she weeps for for the dying of this earth, as she cries herself to sleep at night when she thinks of all the loss of nature’s beauty and life. This world is suffering and she is the only one to hear its cries. They haunt her dreams.
Hecate flips the sign on the window to say closed. She longs for days gone by when people knew the truth. Magic is very real. Instead, she has to smile politely while customers come to her store to purchase items they know not how to use and religious men preach about how witchcraft is a sin, and she will burn in hell. Hecate does not care. She is as immortal as magic.
Cupid narrows his eyes with scorn every time he hears the word love fly from the lips of people who do not understand the meaning of the word. Though who is he to judge them when all his matchmaking attempts end in failure. Perhaps the mortals simple do not want him to decide who they love. Perhaps it is their turn to choose.
Athena prowls through college campuses, holding signs high in protect with the students around her. These fearless children are her people. She scoffs at the professors who are simply going through the motions, who fail to appreciate the brilliant minds all around them. She never fails to notice.
Ares picks his way across a battlefield and finds himself at the ruins of what used to be an elementary school. He no longer understands war, hasn’t for centuries. This was not brave, this was not heroic. This was senseless bloodshed. He sees nothing holy in this ruined world.
Aphrodite swallows the bile in her throat as she hears another rapist has been left free. She glares daggers at boys yelling obscene things at women. She’s long stopped romanticizing love. However, sometimes she sees a young girl handing over her baby to an older couple who tried for years, and she remembers what she once represented. Sometimes she sees Ares across the room of soldiers returning from the horrors of war, and as they embrace the loved ones they left behind, she smiles at him.
Artemis takes her role as protector of young women seriously. There’s a gun tucked into her waistband and a switchblade in her pocket. She can’t save them all, so she has also become an avenging goddess. She can be found in the streets or at battered women’s shelters, preparing for the next hunt.
The gods are dying. The gods wish they were dead. Is immortality a blessing or a curse?
The gods were always too human for their divinity (inspired by the writings of @crossroadsbela )
Puella Mango Madoka Meduka. Gen Urobuchi, woke feminist icon and writer of hit series like fate/whatever and that one guro hentai vn, shows us that
wanting things is bad and girls who do that deserve to die if you time travel enough times, your girlfriend might become a goddess uwu.
keijo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. Body diversity galore! these girls are sexy and they own their body! If you’ve ever wanted a sports anime for girls look no further! Your ass and tits are strong and powerful in this feminist masterpiece.
that one NTR yuri. This recent anime shows us that women own their sexuality and dont need men to be happy! This work is feminist and progressive because it shows us that even gay girls can NTR. you can watch it simulcasted on crumchmunch every week
dragon maid a slice of life yuri anime of which we have never seen before, breaking down barriers with its romance between a dragon maid and a human office worker as they raise a gremlin together. also shows more sexy sexy ladies owning their bodies and not being shamed of it, the way their titties jiggle im pretty sure none of them wear bras so they probably burned them im so proud.
Hey there everyone! WHOO! Finally got a reprieve, as I’m done with my drawings for my final project, now I have to continue typing the written parts.
Done largely in part because I love the lore, practice drawing human characters, and to pass the time whenever I need a breather from from college.
While researching for the lore of Dark Souls for my In-progress AU Comic, I noticed how LARGE the mythology of Dark Souls and the deities that reside, along with the fan speculation of which god corresponds with whom and etc. In spite of all this, from what I can tell, outside of Gwyn’s family, there has never been a, for lack of a better term, “compendium piece” of the gods and goddesses of dark souls, so I made my own :D
Because some gods are not represented in imagery, I decided to design how they might look if they ever showed up amongst mortals. I owe a lot to Tumblr, Reddit and the DS fandom as a whole, the amount of theory and lore discussions are always gold, and of course, the lore-lords like @vaatividya and @silver-mont, their vids are always interesting to watch :)
From the Top Row: The Bearers of the Lord Souls
Gravelord Nito: No need for an explanation here xD
Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight: Drawing him was easy, but here I wanted portray a very stern, no-nonsense god king who really, REALLY is someone you don’t want to piss off, and someone who is almost NEVER happy and/or satisfied.
The Witch of Izalith: I’m honestly surprised there’s not much fanart of how her face might look like, so I pitched in. She basically resembles her daughters, but with a more matriarchal vibe, with a stronger jawline and sharper eyes to reflect that. She’s also very tall, towering over Gwyn and just slightly edging out NK in height.
The Furtive Pygmies, featuring Manus and a Pygmy Lord: With the Ringed City revealing that there were SEVERAL pygmies, I had quite some fun with the speculation and possibilities of how the Pygmies as a whole looked like.
Personally? I simply interpret them as humans but more, with more power over the dark soul, but otherwise having different roles in society like regular folk, the Ringed Knights are Warriors, the Lords are the rulers, etc.
I put Manus amongst them, why? Because no way should ONE man be able to have THAT much abyss power just because he’s a human. Since the dark soul is divided amongst humans, I interpret him having a huge chunk of the Dark Soul(as per these twothreads), and thus was simply a mighty sorceror who happened to be really, REALLY old, even by Pygmy standards. Plus I always wondered… How does one torture a dead man? The Mad King was described as undying, so according to my own logic, he wasn’t totally “dead” when he was buried. His grave could signify him wanting a modicum of peace, after all, his entire race was basically put in a glorified prison by Gwyn… Sensing the growing madness within him (probably due to sheer isolation), he probably decided to “die” on his own terms in Oolacile… then future idiots proceeded to listen to TOTALLY NOT SUSPICIOUS AT ALL SERPENT and dug up his grave.
The random Pygmy Lord is basically representing one of the first Pygmy Lords.
Second Row: The Children of the Gods
The Nameless King, Firstborn of Gwyn, God of War: In a short period of time, has become my favorite character amongst the gods… There’s so much of a story to tell from him, his relationship with his family, the reasons as to WHY he betrayed the dragons, and thanks to lore threads a-plenty, I interpret him as one of the most honorable and dedicated of the gods. He watches over his warriors of sunlight even if they ARE humans (whom Gwyn HATES) AND he protects Dragons. Despite meI head-canoning him bigger than Gwyn and is in general a wall of muscle and armor, he’s STILL shorter than his sisters.
Gwynevere, Goddess of Fertility: Gwynevere here I interpret as one of the nicer gods, so I made her expression to reflect such. Because Gwyndolin’s illusion of her may be simply him projecting what he remembers most of her and thuspotentially exaggerating certain aspects, I toned down a lot the “Aphrodite-esque” glamor, in favor of a more personable look, though still decked out.
Filianore: The daughter we know even less of than Gwynevere, but thanks to a certain reddit thread that discussed how dedicated NK was to her via the floral carvings that is present in Archdragon peak… She must have been someone who NK was VERY close with, so I interpret her as the “Always trying to bring life to the family” kind of sister, though closest to her eldest brother.
Gwyndolin: The Dark Sun himself. Not much else to say here, I just wanted to draw him happy for once… Because WHY FROM? He really, really needs it.
The Daughters of Chaos
Quelana, Mother of Pyromancy: Due to her own title, I interpret her as the Studious Daughter, incredibly dedicated to her craft and always finding out ways to further her pyromancy… Until the Chaos Flame incident happened of course… Then she became wracked with survivor’s guilt…
I also interpret her as being the responsible one looking out to make sure her sisters don’t do anything too brash… Though in hindsight, that would make her suvivor’s guilt worse.
Quelaag: The most well known Chaos Daughter, and whom I interpret as The Aggressive Daughter, hence why she’s the only one of the sisters with a melee weapon. As the most in-your-face daughter I head-canon that she is the one who lowers down her hood the most, especially when she feels like challenging someone. Also VERY protective of her family.
Quelaan, The Fair Lady: Last but not least, I interpret Quelaan as always having been the shyest and nicest of the daughters. Her hood is more drooped down compared to Quelana, to highlight her shyness.
Fun fact, while trying to find her real name, turns out the name Quelaan was the name the community gave to her, and just became established fanon, so I just opted to name her just that.
Third Row: Other Members of the Larger Pantheon
All-Father Lloyd: Gwyn’s uncle, founder of the Way of White. Now there IS speculation that he’s not real, but here I interpret as the real deal, and thus looks like a wimpier, older version of Gwyn, yet still has an aura of authority. I used a bit of Paladin Leeroy for his crown, because I interpret that, when he REALLY needs to get his hands dirty, he too wields a mace, setting an example to all paladin-esque worshipers after him.
His clothes are tattered despite being the godly equivalent of a pontiff, to highlight two things:
One, despite him being a “lord”, his tattered look is to signify he is not “above” the rabble/his followers.
Two, I head-canon him becoming slowly more insane and full of hate toward the undead,as more and more of his family and friends either dies off or leaving home… He eventually disappears for unknown reasons and becomes forgotten.
Fina, Goddess of Love: The most popular candidate for Gwyn’s wife, or at least his first, I wanted to design her with the Embraced Set in mind, just modified to look more queenly rather than armor. Going by the general fanon, I interpret her as the mother of both NK and Gwynevere, but due to unknown circumstances, just up-and-left. Why? I dunno I haven’t thought that deep :(
Also wanted to try out and giving her a different look, skin-tone and facial wise compared to all the other gods and goddesses out there.
Velka, Goddess of Sin: My favorite goddess, her lore and weaponry associated with her is cool, but even with DS3 and all its DLC, I wish we got to know more of her and how she even became the one to hold the title of “goddess of sin” and how she absolves it. She is also, I noticed in fan-art and fanfic, the other most popular candidate for Gwyn’s wife.
Due to the fact that both Gwyndolin and Filianore are associated with illusions and magic, I interpret her as the mother of Filianore and Gwyndolin. She has sharp features and very pale skin, and share’s Filianore’s dark hair.
For her design, I compared aspects of the Statue of Velka from DS3, and both Oswald of Carim and Cromwell the pardoner. I didn’t want her to strictly dress like Oswald and Cromwell, so I incorporated more feathers to her outfit to give her a more “regal” look, as befitting a goddess, and not just pardoner. Funnily enough, with her book of sins and outfit, she also gives the aura of a medieval judge.
Caitha, Goddess of Tears: The third goddess associated with Carim, and one that I intentionally kept her eyes hidden. Mentioned in both 2 and 3, I want to reflect her constant “mourning” nature, and since ‘Gentle Prayer’ is associated with her chime in DS3, I thought her being in a position of prayer would be most appropriate.
Nahr Alma, God of Blood and Murder: Take Titchy Gren, make him more beast-like in proportion, now make him the size of Father Ariandel with the animalistic agility of the Orphan of Kos or Slave Knight Gael, and you have the God of Blood himself. I interpret him as a kind of god that is shunned by the rest, and is mostly treated as an attack dog, and nothing more. REALLY resents the other gods.
1. Joon Hyung is not a guy you have to change for. He likes you, as you are. Pimples on nose and all. It always irked me that dramas like She Was Beautiful or 200 Pound Beauty or every other teeny bopper romcom in the States - looking at you She’s All That - always has this makeover scene where the frumpy heroine becomes a bombshell goddess.
Bok Joo doesn’t have that moment. She doesn’t have a montage where her hair becomes all silky and she’s wearing heels and she takes off her glasses and why she’s a goddess.
Joon Hyung saw a Bok Joo that was in sweats, a weightlifter, with calluses on her hands. And he liked her for it, because what happened to Joon Hyung was not that Bok Joo became pretty and bam he liked her.
What happened to Joon Hyung was that he got to know Bok Joo. How she was a kind daughter, a loyal friend and a good person. He got to know a Bok Joo who made his heart warm and that was what made her beautiful to him.
Not her physical appearance.
And I don’t know about you, but that’s just really lovely for me.
2. Jealous Joon Hyung is not asshole Joon Hyung. Most K-drama guys become macho-men I’ll pee over you like a dog because you’re mine when they get jealous. Jealousy, by itself is not bad per se. But jealousy that leads you to treat characters as objects (see Lee Min Ho in BoF, Heirs and now LotBS) it crosses a line from awwww so cute to ewwww I’ll get a restraining order on you.
This is why jealous Joon Hyung is my favorite guy. Joon Hyung gets jealous because he likes Bok Joo and some other guy is chummy with her. But his response is:
a. To ASK Bok Joo, not to DEMAND Bok Joo not to see this guy again.
b. And when he realized his jealousy stemmed from loving feelings for Bok Joo instead of cooking up a sick reason to keep other guy away, he tells her straight. I’m jealous because I like you. Give me a chance. It’s all up to you. Do with me as you please.
This is what’s good about them. Even jealousy is healthy for them, it’s a driver for them to address how they feel.
3. Joon Hyung is not a knight in shining armor. He thinks Bok Joo is strong enough to fight her battles, but that doesn’t mean he can’t support her.
He looked after her dad.
He did not kick up a shit storm when they had to be apart because she’s training for the national team. Instead he understood that to Bok Joo being an athlete comes first, and her family second and he’s happy to be there to help her with it. That’s what makes Joon Hyung such a loveable guy. He doesn’t demand that he be the center of your universe. He just wants to share the world with you.
And after all the macho men who think it’s romantic to tell a girl to ignore her family and dreams and responsibilities and look at me, only look at me, Joon Hyung is a refreshing reminder that love is not selfish, love is not an or but an and. And that when you truly love someone your life opens up to include them in it.
kory, in my mind, is a just a 7ft tall, shredded, bright orange alien with glowing neon green eyes that’ll just walk on down the street in 5 inch heels and a crop top and smile and laugh with her friends and shop and be a normal girl but as soon as she’s fighting she becomes a snarling blood spattered goddess that literally shoots lasers out ha hand and blows shit up and giggles when criminals get their ass beat and feels joy when beating the shit out of people lolllll
She was sitting across from him, picking idly at a plate of scones, her tea untouched at her side as she flipped through a book. Her knees were crossed beneath her pale blue dress, her hair pulled into its usual tight bun. She looked unfairly beautiful, he admitted as he gazed at her, palms resting flat against the table.
Nesta Archeron did not even deign to look up at him as she said, “If you want something to stare at, you could try a window or a mirror any manner of glass surfaces—I’m sure you’ve become good at it by now.”
His jaw ticked.
This was a waiting game.
Cassian knew he was going to lose—the question was how was he going to lose. Would he break by baiting her, by calling for back up in the form of Azriel or Feyre, or by leaving altogether?
Each time he found himself alone with Nesta, he fought the same battle—and each time, he lost. Connecting with Nesta was like fighting an uphill battle, knee-deep in mud, with a toothpick in his hands rather than a sword. But at the top of the rise, he could see it…not a brilliant, shining gold, because that would never be Nesta. But perhaps the cool, serene blue glow of a woman who loved her sister so fiercely she’d have charged into battle armed with a toothpick herself if it meant Elain was safe. And not only safe, but happy.
In this world, and the next. The words echoed through his head. He’d thought about them constantly from the moment he’d said them—and there was no part of him that could chalk those words up to remorse at the thought of his death, or the fire of battle addling his mind. He’d spoken those words and meant each and every syllable that had fallen from his tongue that day and landed between them.
But Nesta hadn’t kicked aside that declaration, or stonily ignored it…she’d picked up those words and held them to her as she’d crawled toward him—crawled, she had crawled to his body that day, it had to have meant something, far within the walls that she’d erected around her heart.
“Train with me.”
“You realize that you say ‘no’ every time I ask,” he said, “and I continue to badger you. Why do you think that is?”
“Because you’re an irritating, arrogant male who lets his sword do his thinking for him.”
“Which one?” Cassian cocked her a grin, ignoring the side-eye glare that she shot at him. But then her expression—well, it didn’t soften, so much as fall, and her face became an icy, blank wall once more. “Train with me.”
“I’ll keep asking until you say yes.”
“Is that how you seek to spend an immortal life?” Her stormy eyes were flat and cold as she gave him a deliberate look, her mouth twisted into a familiar frown. “By pestering me and receiving the same answer each time you ask the same question?”
Cassian leaned forward. “I’d gladly spend the rest of my immortal life with you, Nesta Archeron. Pestering is, perhaps, not the activity I’d most enjoy, but if it meant using the time I’ve been given with you, I’ll accept it as a gift. In whatever form that comes in.”
Nesta narrowed her eyes, and he knew that she was mulling over those words. Time. Time, time. The time I’ve been given. I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.
“Why?” she demanded, finally setting down her books. “Why me, Cassian, five hundred years and you chose to obsess over me—“
“I do not think it was necessarily a choice,” he cut in quietly. “But I am damn grateful that it—whatever it is—picked you. And I only wish that you could see just how strong I believe that you are, because I don’t think that you truly know how deep that strength goes.”
There was a long, drawn out silence. She was utterly still, motionless and quiet and as immovable and graceful and cold as a statue. And when Cassian began to chalk up his latest defeat, his knees sinking deeper into the mud, that toothpick snapping, Nesta said finally, “Show me.”
He flew her to the mountains surrounding Velaris—the House of Wind was beginning to feel too cluttered, with Feyre, Rhys, Mor, and the quiet, unspoken drama between Elain, Lucien, and Azriel.
Nesta’s body was warm and soft in his arms, and as much as he tried to think about which areas of her body she would need to build with muscle, which areas she would need to strengthen, his mind persistently wandered back to the feel of his hands against her thighs, her back, the sensation of her arms around him.
She was silent as he flew, and he wondered—just a little—if she was thinking of his body, too. So he shoved back that hesitant question and grinned at her, “Enjoying your ride?”
Nesta Archeron did not dignify his comment with a response, but the withering glare she shot him coaxed a chuckle from his lips.
Cassian banked then, aiming for a small clearing that was isolated enough to discourage interruptions, but easily defendable, should they encounter any unwanted surprises. He doubted they would, but it was too soon after Hybern, too soon after watching the Cauldron vaporize half of his soldiers, to begin taking any sorts of risk—at least, not with Nesta.
Never with Nesta.
Maybe that was why he was so desperate to train her—so that he would never again have to see her crawling for him, even when he couldn’t save her…maybe it was because he needed to know that if that time ever came again, she would be able to defend herself and wouldn’t have to rely on him, wouldn’t have to see him fail her as he almost had that day—
He landed with perhaps a bit too much moment, savoring the feeling of Nesta’s arms tightening around him as she bit back a gasp—a sound that he might have missed, were it not for their proximity, the way her chest was pressed against his. “Was that too hard for you?” Cassian asked, thoroughly enjoying the way her head snapped toward him like a viper preparing to strike.
But she only disentangled herself from his arms and took a single step away, crossing her arms as he gazed at her. She’d slipped on the Illyrian leathers she’d worn during the final leg of that war, and he couldn’t help but admire the way they fit her perfectly, how she was slender and small compared to his bulk—
Cassian smirked and procured two pads that he slipped his hands into. “Hit me.”
For the first time since he’d met her, Nesta almost smirked. And then she lunged, her fist slamming into those pads over and over again. Her form was off, her technique sloppy and untested, but Cassian didn’t dare interrupt her as those punches ceased being taunts, and became…necessary.
He didn’t know whose faces she saw when she threw her entire body weight into those punches, when the slim, cool sword of her strength became brutal and untested wrath. But Cassian said nothing. He let her strike the pads with blow after blow, until her face gleamed with sweat in the late afternoon light, the sound of her grunts and flesh meeting leather filling the air between them.
Only when she’d uttered a quiet roar of pure rage and taken a step back, did Cassian lower his hands. His palms ached somewhat from where her punches had hit hard and the impact had rippled from the pads to his skin.
In those Illyrian leathers, her face drawn with anger and violence, her normally-severe bun fraying where hairs had become unstuck, Nesta was a goddess of death. Witch, they’d called her. They didn’t know the half of it, he realized, staring at the queen before him. In that instant, Cassian wished to get on his knees before her, to bow and revel in her presence, and then ravish her in the way that queens ought to be ravished. His throat felt thick as he began to comprehend all of the layers that hid the female before him—how high she had built those walls, how thick she’d made them, so that no one, not even her sisters, could get through them.
But Cassian was an Illyrian, and Illyrians had wings—and he would not go through those walls, or force her to bring them down. No, he would soar up and over them, and land in the courtyard of fire or blood or water that she had created for herself. And there he would stand, beside her. And there he would stay.
Cassian said none of these things as he gazed at her. Instead, he murmured, “Do you see it?”
Nesta offered the barest dip of her chin. Her voice did not waver as she replied, “I think that I am beginning to.”
They remained in that small meadow for the remainder of the afternoon, until the sun slipped beyond the sea and cast its glimmering orange rays over the shadow-stained grasses they stood in.
“Keep your weight balanced,” Cassian had ordered through the hours. “Straighten your back. Bend your knees. Don’t curl your thumb beneath your knuckles!”
Nesta hadn’t obeyed so much as weighed his commands, decided that she agreed with them, and then followed the instruction. But she was still here, fighting to see the raw strength that ebbed and flowed from her like waves in a pool of stars, and for Cassian that was good enough. It was as if someone had plucked the toothpick from his fingers, replaced it with a sword, replaced the mud with flat, even ground, and wiped away half of his enemies. And rather than fighting for her, it was as if he were fighting with her, and she was on the other side of that field, slaughtering her way through her own demons to get to him—
He didn’t dare let himself hope to soundly, even as she huffed a short breath when he said, “That’s enough for this evening.”
Crickets were singing in the bushes, and a single glance at the sky told Cassian that they would have none but the stars and each other for company if they stayed here for much longer. So he held out his arms, and Nesta did not bother to shoot him a waspish glance as she allowed herself to be scooped into his grasp.
He tried to stifle the growl of approval rising within him as he smelled her warm, sweat-tinged scent—he couldn’t say what it was about it that drove him out of his mind, but he wanted…gods, he wanted her. In all of her sharp-tongued, glaring glory. He kept this to himself as well as he lifted his wings and shot into the sky, the cool, jasmine-scented breeze coaxing him into a smooth glide as they soared over the treetops.
“Cassian,” began Nesta over the faint hum of the wind. His name on her lips, Cauldron boil him, he nearly fell from the sky. “Tomorrow. We’re going back tomorrow.”
For an instant, Cassian debated saying back, I’m the General Commander, I can’t simply drop my duties for the sake of one viper-like female, now can I? But the words wouldn’t come, because he was a jester and a comedian and a warrior, but Cassian wasn’t a liar. For Nesta Archeron, he’d fight that uphill battle, even if meant having only a toothpick to guard him.
And this, that gesture—
Cassian didn’t hide his smile as he replied, “Of course, Nes.” And realized that maybe, just maybe, he had flown over another wall.
This one shot was requested to me a while ago, and I am so sorry I didn’t manage to finish it until now. Worse still, I don’t even remember who requested it, I am so sorry lovely, this is what happens when you are scrolling through Tumblr and trying to listen to your mom. But to whomever requested this, here it is; I hope you like it, and I’m sorry it took so long. This was difficult to write because I am one of the rares who doesn’t ship Nessian (I know, I know, I’m soulless), but I hope you like it anyway :)
Madoka Kaname is my favourite anime character, and she’s right up there on my list of favourite fictional characters of all time. And for everything that this magical girl embodies and all the lessons that her story teaches, it’s really quite saddening to constantly see complaints from Puella Magi Madoka Magica fans who seem to have a problem with the series’ protagonist.
~Legend says a Goddess watches over each clan. The Healing Goddess, Sakura, in charge of the Hatake clan was once disguised as the koi the Hatake clan has taken care of way back when Konoha was founded. Being the last of the Hatake, Sakura must take care of Kakashi in order to make sure his line continues [wink wonk]. But he has to prove himself worthy of her presence; else she becomes another clan’s Goddess.~
I also don’t know why a Goddess would hold a scalpel but I love the idea of her threatening people (Kakashi) with it when she’s pissed