#and if you look really closely i changed his armor to be much sturdier and gave him more of a water theme

[peasant-player]

Elrond with dramborleg WIP ! !

Inspired by @polutrope that elrond should use a battle axe.

I agree.

[ardbar]

Do you think Evbo ever gets cravings?

Sometimes I wonder if a diet of only raw meat mixed with the natural magic that would come from being so close to The Void 24/7 could change the Noobs biologically. Not a lot, but it makes it easier for them to digest meat than other foods. Raw food becomes easier and easier on their stomach with each passing day. Over weeks their teeth turn sharp to help them rip apart the tough food they are given. They don't have the armor that the pros do, so the magic makes their legs sturdier. They can jump as fast as others without special training but the claws that can only be used through Leather Boots due to the flexibility of the material helps them grip the blocks better. Evbo has almost fallen many times because he tried to grip the edge of a block with his Talons and lean outward for a better view of something, only for his Talons to strike the metal of the soles of his boots instead of the soft grass and dirt. Their eyes shine back light due to the fact there are no light sources other than the sun.

Perhaps their arms are much stronger than any other layer as well, because they're the only ones who will sometimes slip and grabbing onto the side of a block they haul themselves back up. Never when a Pro is around to see them of course, but in secret they teach eachother how to Grip.

These changes only really effect those who have lived there for weeks or months, with Evbo and The Old Man being the Most Changed of all of them due to being the only ones who have survived there for Years. Evbo doesn't know why he makes everyone on the higher levels nervous when they look at him. He doesn't know that he literally registers as Other to them with proportions that are Slightly Off. Arms to thick, claws to long, teeth to sharp, eyes that reflect Golden.

Mmm, this started off as reasons why Evbo would crave raw meat and spiraled into him being Uncanny Valley to the Masters and Pros. But speaking of meat! I wonder if his transformation over the years left him craving the taste and texture of raw meat. I wonder if he ever goes to the Pro Level as champion to "inspect" the farms and take 3 or four raw stake and chicken and run all the way to his throne with them. I wonder if he has a chest next to it, packed with ice. A chest stocked with raw meat that he can tear into and taste Home. I wonder if he ever cries into his hidden meat stash.

I wonder what EMF thought when he became champion and found a chest packed with ice and raw meat sitting in a place only Evbo could reach before that moment. I wonder if he asked. I wonder if Evbo would have answered.

OOOOO THIS IS SUPER COOL! I really love the way you wrote it, body horror is just so much fun. This honestly reminded me of the Magnus archives a tad, so if you are into that sort of stuff I would check it out. In other minecraft related propertys I've played around with ideas of the void warping and twisting creatures into something that Isn't quite human, I think I have a grian fic about that floating around on a03. While it's not an idea I've given more thought to for Parkciv I still think it's really cool! I think it would also be kinda interesting to combined with another idea. I think it would be really interesting if becoming a god slowly starts to change Evbo, I've always thought it would be interesting if after becoming a god evbo starts to lose some of his human traits physically showing how different he was now than what he once was and the people he cares about. If this is combined with your idea about Evbo being different than everyone else because of the void, his godhood could slowly remove these traits and thus remove the last few connections he has to his life before. One day there would be nothing left to show of the time he spent everyday struggling it would be like it never happened, no one but him even remembered what it was like. He was scarred in more ways than one but they showed that he had overcame it, now it was nothing but a distant memory. He might even start to ask himself after enough time has past, did it even happen? It wouldn't be the first time his memories lied to him.

(btw sorry for being slow with the replies kinda had a hectic day and I didn't want to just reply to it on my phone)

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Starry Ceilings

Author’s note: More of Hura in Husbandry.

Summary: You give your wonderful, lovely hardworking Astartes Bonded a full Body Massage.

Warnings: Chaos Nurglite Death Guard. Hiding a pregnancy from your partner. Let me know if I need to add anything else.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis, @undeaddream

"Wear protection, stay safe, be smart about sex," Your mom had told you bluntly, "Your body, your choice, but if someone tries to force you into it. Yell. Make noise and get the fuck out of there. Unfortunately, our family is really fertile so, if you have sex and aren't safe about it you are likely to get pregnant fast."

You learned as you got older, that your mom had gotten pregnant with you and your twin sister young. And that man hadn't been the man who'd raised you and your younger brother and sister and sibling.

Your Grandmother, a lovely if sometimes bitchy old woman had grumbled about a Him and a That Bastard. And then glared at you and your twin sister and would be snide about how 'you and your sister are bastards, due to being made out of wedlock.'

Your mom had been upfront about how your biological father, whoever the fuck he was. Was not in your lives. And she was glad to be rid of him. You and your sister had seen the way that even talking about this mysterious Him would upset her.

How she'd blink back tears and look away. How she admitted to the two of you that the pair of you reminded her of him in different ways. Your twin sister has his temper. While you have his more... manipulative tendencies.

Which you weren't sure was a good thing. Also, your mom really didn't want to talk about Him. And that although she would, if you really wanted to know about Him. She would talk about Him. But only if you told her why you wanted to know about the Mysterious Him.

Honestly, you weren't surpised that you and your twin sister weren't bio kids of your stepdad. Your younger siblings looked a lot like him. Blonde haired, blue eyed, tall and much fairer skinned.

Also, your stepdad treated you and your sister differently, than he does your other siblings. He gives them more time, more attention, more money, more resources.

You shake your head, wondering why you are even thinking about all of this when, all you want to do is pamper Hura a little bit. Perhaps it's because of the baby swelling in your belly that the thoughts of parents and parenthood have such shit coming into your head.

Quite frankly, all that your mom was willing to tell you about Him was enough. And you didn't really care to know about more. Occasionally you wondered if you might have half siblings somewhere out in the world due to the Him that your mom had been with.

"I want to give you a massage." You tell Hura, after dinner today.

He blinks at you a little surprised, but his crooked grin fills your heart with warmth, "if that's what you want to do dear hear, then go ahead. How naked do you want me to be, darling~"

You blush up at him, "As naked as you are comfortable with. Mr. Hura."

You pout up at him, while sex is fun, and massage can lead into sexy fun times. You had felt the sudden urge to... well. Not be nest-y behavior. But to be close to your Bonded.

You have yet to tell him about the pregnancy. But- from what Cedric warned you, the hormonal change will be noticeable in your scent to your Bonded very soon.

And you are going to tell Hura. You really will. It's just. You thought you had been careful with taking your birth control, and other forms of protection.

Hura followed you up to his bedroom, it has the larger, sturdier bed and bed frame and he undresses as much as he can, with his armor partially fused to himself.

Also, you hadn't realized what with how... unusual Hura looked that he was fertile. You had heard from some others and through careful searching online that mostly Chaos Marines don't beget children on their humans that could carry babies usually.

Especially Death Guard. You keep your face the same as you ruefully remember what your mom had warned you about when you'd first gotten your period.

You grab some unscented lotion, partly because most scents seem to bother Hura, and also make your skin itch and sneeze. And start to warm up the lotion a little bit as you start working on rubbing the stress out of his armor.

He's so big, and so strong, helping you move his arms and legs this way and that as you continue to massage him. Making sure not to make your hands sore from rubbing too hard. Hura had said that you didn't have enough strength to hurt him. In a rather amused way when you'd asked about putting too much pressure on certain joints.

Once you finished rubbing him down with your hands, you ask Hura to flip over on his belly again. Which he does. part of your mind twinges and almost feels like breaking when you see certain parts of his body. You look away to make sure that your eyes don't glaze over and your head doesn't go fuzzy.

You start carefully stepping on his shoulders and back. Hearing cracking popping sounds. Hura groans in pleasure and lets you know where to continue to walk. He has started to purr, the deep, rumbling noise vibrates up from your feet all the way up to the crown of your head.

Once you finish the massage, you see the way Hura is all limp and relaxed and it makes you smile and giggle. You let out a play shriek when he moves faster than you can see and pulls you into a hug.

"I love you," Hura says to you adoringly.

"I love you two Hura," You say pressing a kiss to his face, which he eagerly responds to.

[blackkatmagic]

Hi Kat, thanks for doing prompts!

Agen takes the hit on Geonosis that was meant for Tan. Zabraks may be sturdier than humans but its looking bad. Tan does his best to protect his master but they only survive thanks to the intervention of the clones.

There are hundred of reasons why Tan should turn around and keep fighting right now but he can't bring himself to leave his Master.

“You're okay,” he says desperately, clutching familiar dark hands even though he knows the words are wrong, a lie. “You're going to be fine, Master, it’s okay, Master Allie will be here soon, okay?”

Agen's fingers close tight around his, even as he takes another bubbling breath, and Tan can't remember ever being so scared in his life. He leans over Agen, eyes burning from something other than the dust, the echo of Jedi dying that ripples through the Force. He should get up and go and help fight, because one more lightsaber and one more body might save someone, but—

The person Tan wants most to save is right in front of him.

Agen turns his head, fingers loosening just a little, and the flicker of emotion Tan gets from him is a warning, sharp and alert. Instantly, Tan throws himself to his feet, spins with his lightsaber already lit, and blocks a shot from the advancing ranks of droids. There are other Jedi behind them, Master Windu and Master Secura fighting back to back, but they're not close enough. All the Jedi are being pushed back, surrounded, and Tan managed to drag Agen out of the worst of the fighting but now that means they're alone.

Jango Fett is above them, on the balcony with Dooku's body, and he’s watching like this is fun. Tan’s never hated anyone before, but—he thinks this might be able to make him.

With a cry, he ducks a blaster bolt, lunges. Cuts through the first droid, then the second, but the third one almost hits him, and there’s one passing him. Agen could stop them, even with just a lightsaber, all on his own, but Tan has only been a padawan for two years, isn't nearly as good a swordsman. He only just deflects a flurry of shots, staggers at the impact, and his heel is right against Agen's side. There's nowhere to retreat to, and he can't—

A transport drops from the sky, right between the circle of the remaining Jedi and the droids advancing on Tan, and bodies in white and blue armor spill out. There's a cry, blaster-fire, and the droids turn to face the new enemy, abandoning Tan and Agen in a rush to regroup.

Tan staggers, feels the stinging in his arm where a bolt grazed him, but doesn’t pause. Throws himself down, grabbing for Agen again, but he’s still, he’s terrifyingly still, and Tan’s breath catches. He fumbles for Agen's wrist, searching desperately for a pulse, and for a horrifying moment he can't find one.

“Master,” he says, choked, not able to breathe. Agen took that bolt for him, and Tan knows how sturdy Zabraks are, knows that something that left Agen this hurt would have killed him outright, but if Agen dies for him, if Agen dies and he doesn’t—

“Sir!” a voice cries, unfamiliar, and a soldier, this one in blue and white with a white pack on his back and red medic symbols on his armor, throws himself against the last rank of droids, blasts one, drops low and slams his shoulder into another. Tan sees the droid behind him raising its blaster and throws a hand up, gets a hold of the droid and jerks, and it tears into pieces. The soldier doesn’t even glance back; he covers the remaining distance between them at a dead run, hits the ground on his knees with his pack already halfway off.

“Are you hurt?” he demands, even as he grabs for a hypo, for a dermal mender. Tan’s breath shudders out of him with relief, and he nods quickly, rising to his feet again and stepping forward to guard the medic. There's no need, though; the soldiers are pushing the droids back, overwhelming them, and the space around them has opened up. The Jedi are pushing forward, and the soldiers are advancing to meet them, and the constant, steady press of death in the Force is pausing as the Jedi stop dying.

“No,” he manages, and hates how it still shakes. Someday he’ll be as steady under pressure as Agen, but—not today. Not when his Master almost died for him. “Master Kolar took the shot because he was protecting me.”

The trooper raises his head for just an instant, then refocuses. “Can you help me?” he asks. “Over here, hold this.”

Tan hurries around to Agen's other side, takes the dermal mender that the man passes him. “Who are you?” he asks, because there are hundredsof soldiers landing, filling the arena.

The man reaches up, pulls off his helmet and sets it aside, and casts Tan a smile. It’s Jango Fett's face, but—different. Tan’s never seen him smile before, and this man has his hair clipped short, lightning bolts shaved into the sides. “We’re clones,” he says, and then leans forward, putting a hand on Agen's chest as he jerks. “Sorry, sir. I'm sorry. Just a minute, I’ve almost got your lung back in one piece.”

Agen's hand gropes, finds Tan’s knee, grips hard, and his dark eyes slide open. “Tan,” he manages, and the clone makes a soothing noise in his throat.

“I'm here, Master,” Tan says, though he doesn’t move. “And so is—”

“Kix,” the man finishes for him, after a brief hesitation.

“Kix,” Tan repeats, and leans forward a little, watching Agen's gaze flicker to him. He smiles as best he can, and says, “Kix is helping you, Master. You're really going to be okay.”

“You are,” Kix agrees, and there's something soft in his voice. After another minute, he sets his device aside, then takes the mender Tan is holding. “Can you get me some bacta patches? He’s going to need some time in a tank, but this should hold until he can get there.”

Tan hurries to get the patches, pulling out two of them. Jango, he notices, is gone from the balcony, though Dooku's body is still there.

“Thank you,” he says, and kneels down next to Kix, offering the patches. “I thought—”

Kix grips his shoulder for just a moment, then presses the patches down and seals them to Agen's skin. “There you are, sir,” he says, sitting back, and Agen raises a hand, touches the patches, then reaches out. Instantly, Tan grabs him, lets himself be pulled down, and all but collapses on Agen's chest, clutching at him desperately. Feels the relief, the regret, the love, and has to close his eyes so that he doesn’t cry.

“You're well, Tan,” Agen murmurs against his hair, a little rough, a little ragged, but there. “You're well. Thank you. You’ve been brave.”

“Don’t ever do that again,” Tan demands, though he already knows it won't matter. Nothing can change Agen's mind when he decides to do something, and Tan already knows just how much Agen loves him. Enough to die for him, if he thinks it’s necessary, and Tan hopes it never is again. He’ll make sure it never is again.

Agen huffs softly, then tips his head, offering Kix a nod. “Thank you as well,” he says, and reaches out.

Kix hesitates for a fraction of a second, then catches Agen's hand. His face looks a little flushed, but he smiles. “My pleasure, sir. You're—I'm glad I could help.”

Agen closes his eyes again, clearly exhausted, clearly still in pain, but he tips his head. “Find me,” he says, quiet. “Later. After. So I can thank you properly.”

Tan smiles, pressing his face into the pale, blood-stained cloth of Agen's robes. He’ll make sure Kix does. It seems like the least he can do.

[On AO3]

[reversemoon255]

SSSS.DYNAZENON Max Combine DX Dynazenon

I don’t know how I’ve ended up with so much Gridman merch. I’ve somehow got two different Full Power Gridman, a tiny Gridknight, a tiny “episode 1 color scheme” Gridman, and now this guy. And here’s the thing: up until this release they’ve typically been a bit overpriced and ok at best, yet I’ve kept buying them. Glad this one turned better than the rest...or maybe not because it might convince me to buy more...

The Good: I hinted at it, but this is a significant step up in comparison to the previous SSSS toys, especially Good Smile’s FP Gridman which was its direct predecessor. Dyna Soldier is just about as posable as Gridman, having most of the same joints, though lacking a waist. Dyna Wing’s wings are very articulate, able to ratchet into a lot of different positions. Dyna Striker and Diver don’t have any real articulation as vehicles, but Diver has this great gimmick where all of its missile ports spring motor release in order like an actual submarine. It’s really cool to see, and not intrusive at all. BTW, most of the major joints on this release are ratcheted.

Then it has all it’s combinations: 5 instructed, 1 double combo, and 2 secret ones. Soldier can combine with Wing, Striker, or Diver individually (or Wing and Striker together), and all four can come together to form either Dynazenon or DynaRex. Dynazenon is also quite posable. Not as posable as a typical figure, but has good range in the arms, hips, knees, and head to achieve a large number of poses. DynaRex isn’t as so, but has a lot of range in the arms, and enough in the legs, jaw, and tail to change it up.

Oh, and, yes, that is what Dyna Soldier Diver Combine looks like.

Then there’re the two secret combos. As I was swapping between modes, I noticed a few odd pieces on Wing and Diver that weren’t used for any of the modes, even after combing through the instructions:

At first I thought they might be for a future Gridknight release so he could don the armor as well, but as I was messing with FP Gridman, I noticed how some of the screw-holes in the back lined up to match the pegs on Diver, so I tried plugging Striker into him like Max, and, well...

Max Combine’s Gridman is fully compatible with Dynazenon in place of Dyna Soldier (apart from the helmet). His arms aren’t as solid as Soldier’s since they don’t slide into Wing, but he can still pose fairly well. In fact, it was around this time I noticed a few things about Dyna Soldier on its own, like how its forehead gem ends up right inside the dragon’s throat, or how its tail it shaped like a handle with a trigger, so just like in the original Gridman, he can be wielded like the Dragonic Cannon (though I’m unsure of what it would canonically look like; I just went with a pose that kept his claws away from any paint):

The way it handles its accessories is also an improvement. FP had a standard stand and all its accessories and adapters were loose. Dynazenon’s stand is much sturdier, with a ton of ports to accommodate a lot of poses, plus all of its accessories, optional hands, and stand parts have storage points either on the back edge of the stand, or underneath it.

The Bad: Biggest flaw is the waist connection. Dyna Soldier and Diver hold together perfectly fine when standing still or in any pose, but if you go to pick it up, they will immediately separate. This can be annoying when you’re putting Dynazenon or DynaRex together, too. While I think the missiles are awesome, they can be hard to close without significant force, especially the second to bottom ports. On the side of posability, while I don’t mind it lacking certain joints, like a waist, the fact that the shoulders bump into the wings frequently is a bit disappointing, and I wish there was a bit of rotation up in the hips so it could achieve a more natural A-stance as its legs are always pointed forward.

Overall, this release is probably actually worth your money. It’s significantly large, better built, better posing, and just more fun. If you were holding out on getting this one because you were disappointed in Full Power Gridman, or if you think it looks cool, then I’d say check it out. You won’t be disappointed.

[bugaboosandbees]

The Unintended Consequences of a Desperate Wish ~ Part 1

So. I have to take a polymer chemistry final tomorrow and I should really be studying as it's my hardest exam this semester, but this plot bunny would not let me CONCENTRATE lmao. I blame everyone for writing awesome mlb x dc crossovers and maribat stuff for this. Now, have a freaking gigantic prolouge to a maribat story of my own. Fair warning, this starts with the final battle between Hawkmoth and our heroes and will invlove a fair amount of blood and danger. Please tell me what you think!

After five years of fighting, five years of lying to her friends and her family, of sacrificing her dreams, her time, her grades and her sleep, the final battle had come. It wasn’t planned -- despite their best efforts, she and Chat hadn’t managed to determine the identities of Hawkmoth and Mayura. No -- it had been a seemingly random day when the two villains and the ever-loyal Volpina come out in force, raining havoc down upon the city and leaving Marinette no time to get away from the battle to call for their allies. Blood from a gash to her forehead dripped into her eyes as she curled her arms protectively around her partner.

Her heart had stopped when she’d heard his scream. She’d been grappling with Mayura, close to grasping the older woman’s miraculous when she’d turned to see Hawkmoth withdrawing his weapon from her partner’s chest with a wet squelching sound. Nonononononono. Her lucky charm had given her some strange red and black spheres -- when she’d broken them against the ground, they’d filled the gardens at the Trocadero with enough noxious smoke that she’d been able to force her body to move, snatching up Chat who had fallen to his knees and was making the most awful wet gasping sounds. She sprung away from the fight as fast as she could -- the only thought in her mind to get her Chaton, her faithful partner somewhere safe. She couldn’t bring him to a hospital -- without detransforming doctors wouldn’t be able to treat him and if he detransformed Plagg wouldn’t be able to stabilize him. And she couldn’t just leave him somewhere -- it was one on three now, and no matter how hard she fought she couldn’t possibly keep an eye on Hawkmoth, Mayura AND Volpina at the same time -- if one of them were to find him when he couldn’t defend himself -- No. There was only one option.

She glanced back over her shoulder as she changed directions to make sure she hadn’t been followed. Thank Kwami that Tikki had managed to give her enough time to get away. Several minutes and too few of her partner’s gasping breaths later, she dropped down through the trap door of her room. She laid Chat down on her bed as gently as she could, seeing his eyes widen as he realized where he was. “M….M’lady?”

She had already jumped down from the loft, tearing apart a pile of boxes by her sewing machine and pressing the code into the lockbox she’d designed to free the miraculous box within. Pressing two spots on the egg-shaped box, she grabbed the jewelry that they revealed, racing back to her partner as the kwamis materialized. She could feel the two small being’s confusion at being summoned turn to worry and spiking fear as they saw her own wounds and Chat’s. Her bloody fingers fumbled to secure Orikko’s necklace around Chat’s neck and then Wayzz’s bracelet around her own wrist.

“Guardian --”

“Orikko.” She cut Wayzz off. “Can you stabilize him while I finish the fight?”

The motherly kwami looked shaken but nodded, and Ladybug returned her focus to her partner.

“Kitty? Can you hear me?” Her hands were shaking.

“Marinette?” He questioned, face contorted in pain and confusion.

“That doesn’t matter right now. I just need to make sure that you’re okay. I need you to merge Orikko with Plagg, can you do that? She’s the kwami of restoration and she’s going to help you.” She tried to make her voice as soothing as possible.

He nodded, grasping her hand like a lifeline. “Orikko, Plagg, merge!” An orange light covered him and faded to reveal orange accents running up and down his suit.

Ladybug nodded and began to stand. “Good. I’m going to go take care of things. You just stay here until I can cast the cure, okay? You’re going to be okay Chaton.” She didn’t know if she was trying to reassure him or herself. Before she could move, he grabbed her hand with surprising strength.

“Wait,” he gasped. “Plagg, divide.” Green light faded to leave her partner in an orange and red jumpsuit that looked almost like a sunrise if it wasn’t for the blood still staining his torso and her sheets. “If… if they were to find me… I couldn’t protect him. Just in case… you were followed… you need to take him, Bug.”

Tears blurred her eyes as she looked at the perfect trust in her partner’s face. Plagg himself was crying, quiet tears running down his small cheeks as he hugged Chat’s chin as best as he was able. “He’s right Bug.”  Her hand trembled as she slipped the ring onto her middle finger.

“I’ll be back soon, okay? Stay safe Kitty.” She leaped for the balcony before he could see her own tears. She ran away from her home, focused only on gaining as much distance as she could as fast as possible. The three villains likely hadn’t stayed at the Trocadero and they could jump out at her from anywhere. Pausing on a rooftop halfway across the city, she took a deep breath and looked down at the green kwami on her shoulder.

“I’m… I’m going to need to be my own shield this time. Can I rely on you Wayzz?” Her voice was soft, knowing that she was asking him to effectively relive the battle where they’d lost Fu nearly three years ago.

His eyes firmed with resolve despite a wet sheen. “You can count on me, Master.”

She nodded. “Tikki, Wayzz, merge!” When the light of the transformation left her, her suit felt much sturdier. She looked down to see interlocking armored plates extending across her body. She bent, testing her movement, and was relieved when the plates appeared to be as flexible as they were sturdy. Reaching for a new weight on her back revealed a shield patterned like the carapace of a ladybug.

“Milady!”

She heard the shout from behind her and stiffened, whipping around as Plagg darted to hide in one of her pigtails. An illusion of Chat Noir limped towards her across the roof, bloody and battered, clutching a hand to his chest.

“I’m so glad that I found you! I --” She didn’t wait for it to finish, sending her yoyo shooting through it with more force than strictly necessary, leaving a cloud of orange smoke drifting in the air.

“How dare you?!” She shrieked, voice vibrating with barely contained rage. “Why don’t you come out here and fight me yourself you coward?!” A high pitched whistling sound was her only warning, and she twirled to block the strike that Volpina had aimed at her head.

“Did I touch a nerve?” The fox villainess smirked. “I have to wonder, how did you know it was an illusion so quickly? Is your mangy sidekick already dead?” She punctuated her words with a sharp blow on her flute, conjuring a large orange beacon above them.

Ladybug flew at her with a roar, knocking the flute out of Volpina’s hands and tackling her to the ground. She could hear the breath whoosh out of the other girl and drew back her right fist to punch the akuma in the face. The blow connected with more force than she was used to -- she normally relied on her agility to fight as Ladybug -- adding Wayzz to the equation had given her more strength than she usually had.

Volpina dazedly lifted a hand to her face, her glove coming away red against her newly split lip. Her eyes focused on Ladybug’s hand and the bloody silver ring glinting in the sunlight. “Hmm,” she smirked around red teeth, “Looks like I wasn’t wrong. Poor Ladybug, can’t even save the life of your dumb partner. What a failure.”

Marinette had barely registered the words when she felt a sharp pain in her ear. Plagg. She closed her eyes and took a second to breathe, grateful for the kwami’s interference. Opening her eyes, she reached down and was about to snap the foxtail pendant on the akuma’s chest when something slammed into her from the side, knocking her across the roof. She pushed herself to her feet. Hawkmoth and Mayura had arrived.

“Hawkmoth!” Volpina shouted as she jumped to her feet. “She’s wearing the ring!”

An ugly smirk twisted the supervillain’s face as he leaped towards her, alongside the sentimonster moth that Mayura had summoned for him. “Your miraculous will be mine!”

Marinette dodged and twisted desperately, fending off attacks from three sides. She managed to score a lucky hit on Mayura, knocking the older woman back, but not a second later she felt the blade of Hawkmoth’s cane pierce her side. She faltered, looking down at the purple blade protruding from her side. No. She would not give up now. Steeling herself, she moved backward, forcing the blade out of her and threw herself towards an empty area of the rooftop, calling for Shellter. She sunk to her knees inside the green shield, hand pressed against her side and breath coming in quick pants.

“--Bug! Bug!” She looked up to see Plagg hovering in front of her.

She gave him a shaky smile and winced as she threw her yoyo into the air. “Lucky Charm!” The object fell into her hands and she prayed that somehow it would be able to fix everything. Fix her mistakes, her failures, her inability to protect Chat -- to protect herself -- her city. She very nearly broke into tears when she looked down at her hands and found only a simple hand mirror, showing her battered and blood-stained reflection.  “What can I do with this?!” She cried in despair.

Plagg looked with her, appearing first confused, and then resigned. “Think about it Bug,” he said softly, gesturing at the three supervillains battering her weakening shield. “There’s only one way to get out of this.”

It took her a moment to figure out what he was implying. “I can’t!” Her shout was semi-hysteric. “No one can be trusted with that power! If I think the wrong thing I could start world war three, or another plague, or --”

Plagg lightly scratched her cheek with one claw, bringing her back to herself. “Look, Bug. I’m not going to pretend that this is an ideal situation. Heck, I’m not ecstatic about this either. But… there really isn’t another way out. And…” He paused. “Tikki wouldn’t have told you to do this if she didn’t trust you Bug. And that’s enough for me. You know the words.”

She stared at him a moment longer, eyes swirling with indecision. Then, as her shield collapsed, she gave a shaky nod and shouted -- “Wayzz, divide. Tikki, Plagg, MERGE!”

___________________________________________________

Everything was white. Hawkmoth, Mayura, Volpina, Paris, all gone. Marinette looked down at herself. She wasn’t wearing her Ladybug suit -- just the normal clothes she’d had on that morning when she’d gone out to sketch in the gardens. She pressed a hand against her side, exhaling in relief when there was no pain, before inhaling in panic. “Am I dead?” She wondered aloud. She’d been injured, maybe combining the miraculous had killed her, and even now Hawkmoth was making his wish --

“You are not dead, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Ladybug Warrior and Great Guardian of the Miraculous.”

Marinette looked up to see what appeared to be a kwami floating in the void in front of her. It was black in color, somehow darker than Plagg as if it was a pocket of negative space. Three white eyes stared at her in unison. “Tikki? Plagg?”

“Yes, and no. We are Null, the kwami of reality.”

“So you’re…” “We are here to grant your wish.”

Marinette took an unconscious step backward as the being regarded her impassively. Her mind was racing. It was one thing to know what the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculouses could do, but this… this was something else entirely. A wish. Anything she desired, regardless of its effect on the reality which she knew. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t immediately thought of Chat. Except, wishes had brought about the sinking of Atlantis, the black plague, drought and famine, and unknown suffering. If she wished for Chat’s life, someone else could die and there would be no miraculous cure to bring them back. No -- she had to trust her partner, and she had to trust her ability to somehow make it out of this and cast the cure.

She wished Tikki was there. Tikki. The kwamis. For thousands of years, they’d suffered in a world that battled over them, causing them pain as they fought evil and lost those they cared about over and over. That was it -- she could do this for them. She looked up at Null who hadn’t moved, seemingly content to wait for her to make up her mind.

“I…” She started. “I wish that the kwamis of the miracle box under my protection could have the power of the wish and that any price exacted would affect me alone.”

Null gave her a considering look. Although the kwami had no mouth that she could see, she somehow got the impression that Null was smirking. “You are an interesting one Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Very Well. Your wish is granted.”

And Marinette saw white again.

___________________________________________________

Within Marinette’s transformation and the kwami Null, Tikki and Plagg stirred, realizing what she had done. Using one paw to shield his eyes from the blinding light emanating from Ladybug, Wayzz felt a sense of power fill him and connect him to the other kwamis. Orikko paused in her single-minded focus on healing the boy that her Master had left with her. The kwamis that had remained in the miracle box felt the compassion of their Guardian surround them as they too realized what had happened. Even trapped within the transformations of Hawkmoth and Mayura, Noroo and Dusuu felt a strange and alien kindness, both shocked at what the Ladybug holder was willing to do for the kwamis -- for them. Across their different locations, their minds reached together. Each felt as though this was a decision meant to be discussed, but the magic of the wish latched onto one common desire that had lanced through every single one of them when Marinette had made her wish.

“We wish to have a Guardian as kind as you always.”

___________________________________________________

When Marinette came to, she was back on the rooftop, Hawkmoth, Mayura, and Volpina leaping at her in what seemed to be slow motion. She held out a hand and they stopped.

“Wayzz, are you alright?” Her voice sounded strange -- it echoed in on itself and reminded her of baying hounds. The small green kwami nodded, seemingly shocked speechless. “I’m glad,” she smiled and turned her attention back to the three villains floating in the air in front of her. “Your crimes against this world, and against the kwamis of transmission and emotion will not go unpunished.” She walked forward, first crushing the foxtail pendant that hung around Volpina’s neck, grabbing the freed akuma in one hand. Her fist shone, and a purified butterfly was released. “Miraculous Cure!” A swarm of golden ladybugs trailing purple energy swept through the city, reversing the damage of the battle that had taken place. Lila Rossi dropped to the ground as Marinette stepped forward, one hand grasping Mayura’s pin and the other Hawkmoth’s broach. In one quick motion, she ripped off both miraculouses, leaving Gabriel Agreste and Nathalie Sancouer standing frozen on the roof. She reached into thin air and pulled out a rope, tying the immobile and powerless villains together. She looked for her yoyo to call the police, but couldn’t find it anywhere amidst the purple and gold swirls of the ethereal dress this transformation had given her. “Ah.” Her lips quirked in a smile. “Plagg, divide.”

She nearly collapsed herself when the powerful energy rush of being… whatever she had been for a few short moments there left her.

“Bug.” Plagg was staring at her. “When we told you to make a wish, we never thought…”

Marinette, back in her familiar red and black spots drew the kwami of destruction close, hugging him against her cheek. “I know.” Then, she straightened and called 112 from her yoyo.

“What is your emergency?” The voice on the other end of the line asked.

“This is Ladybug. Code Polyphemus. I have apprehended Hawkmoth, Mayura, and their willing accomplice Volpina.” She looked down at the street sign below her and choked back a sardonic laugh. “I’m on the Rue des Martyrs, near Sacre Coeur. I’ll hold them until you arrive.”

There was a pause before the woman on the other end of the line let out a loud cheer. “We’ll have people there as soon as we can Ladybug. Congratulations, and thank you. Thank you so much.”

No sooner than Marinette had smiled and ended the call did her yoyo begin shaking again. She flipped open the screen to reveal a call notification from Orikko’s mirror. Her heart stopped as she picked up. “Chat?” She questioned, voice shaking.

“Ladybug! The cure -- it worked! Where are you? Do you need help?!”

She blinked back tears and let out a joyful whoop. “It’s okay Chaton. It’s… it’s going to be a long story, but it’s okay now. I have Hawkmoth and Mayura here. I have their miraculouses Chat. They’re not going to hurt anyone ever again.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line as her partner processed what she’d said before he let out a whoop of his own. “I’m on my way Milady! I’ll be there as fast as the rooster flies.”

She rolled her eyes but laughed. “Good Kitty. I’m going to need some help to get these three down to the street. I could carry them all at once, but it wouldn’t look incredibly heroic if I jostled them too much.” Pausing, she continued, voice softer. “Besides, you should be here too. This bug is nothing without her partner.” She could tell that she’d made him blush from halfway across the city.

Just as she began to hear sirens approaching, she saw her partner gliding over the rooftops on wings like sunlight, smiling brightly at her. Then his eyes traveled to the three people bound at her feet and widened, his smile cracking like broken glass. He lost altitude, hitting the roof faster than he must have planned, rolling to arrest his momentum.

“Ladybug,” His voice shook more than when he’d been dying in her arms. “Please tell me that isn’t Hawkmoth.”

For the first time since she’d come back to herself, she looked down, really registering the fact that it was Gabriel Agreste -- Adrien’s father -- angrily bound at her feet. Her eyes hardened. “I’m sorry Chaton, this is him.” She knelt down, forcing him to look into her eyes. “For what you did to this city I will make sure that you are prosecuted to the full extent of the law. What I really can’t forgive you for is what this is going to do to your son. Did you think about him at all when you decided to throw your life away like this? Despite the crumbs of attention that you give him and the multitude of things you force him to do, he loves you. And you just threw that away. You are the worst type of human being that I have ever seen.”

Gabriel had begun to look angrier the more she spoke. “I was doing this all for him!” He shouted. “For our family!”

“Bullshit!”

Marinette looked behind her at her partner’s shout, eyes widening as she saw the tears streaming down his face.

“What would you know?” Gabriel scoffed.

“More than you think. Orikko, sundown.” And a flash of golden light revealed Adrien Agreste standing where her partner had been. Gabriel looked like he had been poleaxed, but Marinette was already moving, slipping Adrien’s ring back on his finger and wrapping him in her arms. She pulled back, kissing his cheek before turning to face his father with him, their hands entwined.

“Claws out.” The hand in hers was wrapped in familiar black leather.

“Adrien.” Gabriel gasped. Nathalie was crying.

“You tried to kill me.” Adrien looked like he almost didn’t believe what he was saying. “If Ladybug hadn’t won, I would have died.” “I didn’t know!” Gabriel screamed in anguish. Then he looked up at Adrien, desperation on his face. “Now that you know, you can help me! I was going to use the wish to bring back your mother Adrien, to reunite our family!”

Marinette tightened her grip on her partner’s hand as he recoiled.

“What?” The word was filled with empty horror. “Mother is dead. She died years ago. And instead of moving on, of spending time with the FAMILY THAT YOU HAD LEFT you became a terrorist that killed countless people and made an entire city afraid of feeling. You… I can’t believe you.” He stepped forward, looking at Gabriel with deadly intent. “You are NOT my father.” He spat.

Fortunately, none of the rooftop confrontations had been witnessed by the police. Ladybug carried Gabriel and Nathalie to the waiting squad cars while Chat Noir handled Lila. The two heroes gave their statements, establishing Adrien as an unknowing and innocent victim of Gabriel’s plans and ensuring that the elder Agreste, as well as Nathalie and Lila, would all be in prison for a very long time. By the time they were able to get away, the city had begun to realize what had happened, and they swung across the rooftops to the sounds of cheering and laughing and crying below. Without even discussing it, they ended up back at Marinette’s house, dropping through the skylight and into her room. Adrien called for his detransformation as soon as they landed on her bed, collapsing into her arms with a wail.

“Shh, Chaton.” She soothed. “You were so, SO strong out there. You don’t have to be strong anymore.” Gently stroking his hair, she continued. “You’ll stay here. With Ladybug throwing her weight around, we should be able to get the custody papers drawn up soon. You’ll never have to go back there again Chaton. I’m your family now, and no one is ever going to hurt you again.”

He looked up at her in awe. “R-- Really?”

She smiled. “Of course. It’s you and me against the world, remember? Now, we should probably go talk to my parents. Tikki spots off!”

No sooner than she had released her transformation than a searing pain arched across her entire body. She heard herself screaming, and Adrien’s panicked shouts and her world went black.

[chubbyheroesworthyheroes]

I don't know if you're still doing these, but if you are: 🐮Ephraim, transformation courtesy of Lyon? Pretty please?

It wasn’t unusual for Lyon to ask for the Renais twins help with something. They’d all been friends since they were quite young, and though neither of them were as well versed in the sciences and magics that Lyon was, they would offer whatever assistance they could give their friend. As it so happened, Eirika was away – off visiting Tana – so when Lyon came asking for help with an experiment, Ephraim was the only one available to head over to Grado. 

Ephraim wasn’t any good with magic, and science was similarly not a strong point of his. However, when given the general gist of whatever his friend was attempting to accomplish, he was always eager to give his opinion and help out – often by gathering ingredients and other things that Lyon needed.

When arriving, Ephraim was quick to ask what this new focus was – Lyon explaining in his soft manner about how he wanted to help the farmlands of Grado. The year had been particularly dry so far, and as such, some areas were struggling to maintain their livestock. Less food to go around meant that cattle were taking longer and were more expensive to raise, and dairy cows weren’t producing as much milk either. He didn’t want any of his people to suffer on account of the bad rash of weather, so Lyon was devising a spell that he could use to infuse the livestock with heartier stature. If they could just put on weight easier with less food, it would go a long way to helping the Grado farmlands. 

“So, this will make it easier to raise cows?” Ephraim asks, looking intently at the tome Lyon was skimming through.

“More or less…I haven’t tried something like this before, so it’s going to be a bit of trial and error. I’m hoping to get through it all quickly, however…People are really starting to feel the pinch,” Lyon spoke, excitement and worry mingling in his voice as he flips through aged pages. “You have the pitcher of milk ready?”

Grinning, Ephraim hefts up the jug, the cool liquid sloshing inside as he does so. “Right here!”

Taking a steadying breath, Lyon nods. “Okay…here we go.”

Index finger hovering underneath the text, the Grado prince begins to speak the incantation written within the tome, his other hand outstretched toward the pitcher that Ephraim was holding. Magical energy builds up in his outstretched palm, a familiar tingle, and a soft, lavender light beams from the built up magic out toward the pitcher of milk. Ephraim has to squint his eyes a bit against the light, watching curiously as the milk within the pitcher seems to sparkle and shimmer, before it suddenly vanishes.

“Uh…huh?”

The two young men blink, baffled at what had just happened. 

“Was that…supposed to evaporate into nothing?” Ephraim laughs, holding the now empty pitcher upside down in good natured amusement.

Lyon shakes his head, humming softly in confusion as he brings his attention back to the text in the book. “I don’t understand…It was supposed to bolster the milk – which, when given to the cows, would make the healthier and sturdier. It wasn’t a teleportation spell…” Now focused on puzzling out what went wrong – had he misspoken a line of the enchantment? – Lyon is oblivious to the speedy changes that are starting to effect his friend.

“Well, we can always try again, right?” Ephraim encourages, setting the pitcher down and shrugging. He feels a little funny all of a sudden, a strange tingle along his skin that immediately puts him in mind of the way the spell had caused the milk to sparkle. A faint sense of worry of struck him at the thought, wondering if he should have been so close when Lyon used the spell. Of course, this worry is punted to the back of his brain when he starts to feel flushed and feverish, the tingle in his skin only seeming to sink in deeper to permeate the entirety of his body.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, face red as he feels his chest buzz with that odd tingling sensation, trying to ignore it for a moment, but the feeling only increasing as the seconds tick by. With Lyon buried in his tome, muttering to himself, Ephraim seizes the chance to – with some embarrassment, mind you – paw at his chest, stifling a moan when his hand presses against his almost painfully stiff nipples. He’s glad that he’d not donned his armor, as it would have been hellish to deal with this tingling feeling and not be able to touch where it was. However, on the flip side of that boon, it was easier to tell that something wasn’t quite right.

Fingers pressed against his nipple, Ephraim bit down on a gasp when he felt his chest…well, grow. Turning around quickly, just in case his friend decided to get his nose out of that old book, Ephraim brought both hands up to cup at his chest, flabbergasted when he felt his pecs swell out against his palms. He whimpered at the way his already form fitting shirt chafed against his hard nipples as his chest puffed out – toned pecs blooming into perky man boobs. 

A quick look over his shoulder reassures him that Lyon is still lost in his own world, trying to puzzle everything out about what went wrong.

Maybe it would stop – maybe it wouldn’t be too noticeable?

Those optimistic thoughts are quickly squashed when Ephraim feels the tingle increase in other areas of his body, too. His abdomen goes uncomfortably warm, and it doesn’t take long for him to see it begin to bulk up against his shirt just the same as his chest had. His lean and well maintained abs bloat out into a hard, round gut, straining his shirt so terribly that it gives up without much fight at all, hitching up to rest under his breasts; his newly formed belly is now fully on display, and the tightness of his shirt against his now plush chest makes it embarrassingly easy to see his nipples under the material. His thighs and ass are quick to follow the rest of him, plumping up to fill out his pants and then begin to strain them – they hold up better than his shirt, for the moment, at least.

Ephraim squirms and groans, slapping a hand to his mouth just a little too late, whipping his head around to look over his shoulder again. Lyon is still engrossed with his book, taking a moment only to murmur something that could have been, “Ephraim, please, I’ve almost figured it out.”

Breathing a short sigh of relief, Ephraim’s attention is brought back to his bloating body. The bigger he gets, the worse it seems to become – his weight increasing faster and faster. He feels so heavy and so warm, it’s getting difficult to stay standing. Glancing around for a moment, fingers idly playing with his enlarged tits, Ephraim spots a chair set up near the long table he’d put the pitcher down on and makes a waddling beeline towards it. He plops down onto it weightily, breasts and belly jiggling with the movement, a grunt escaping him as he settles into the chair. It creaks as he adjusts himself on it, the Renais royal resting his hands on his stomach as he tries to catch his breath.

Ugh, why did this feel so weirdly good to him? He should be utterly appalled, watching himself blow up like a pig, but he’s never felt more aroused than right now. It was getting harder and harder to keep his mouth shut, keep his hands from exploring and groping his expanding form. He was so damn hot! It was getting unbearable! Weight climbing higher, chair complaining underneath him as it bore the brunt of his fat backside, Ephraim shuddered as he felt his thighs grow fat enough to split his pants’ seams down the legs, varying sizes of holes springing up and oozing chubby flesh. The sleeves of his shirt weren’t faring any better, struggling to contain the fleshy rolls of his arms until they simply couldn’t stretch any further, rips tearing free and easing up some of the stress on his fat arms. 

He muffled a groan with his hand, round cheeks scarlet as he felt his ass begin to overtake the chair, bulbous cheeks and thighs flowing over the sides of the seat. Of course, this wasn’t helped any by the fact that his expanding gut was getting so large and cumbersome that it was forcing his blubbery legs apart. Thick love handles protruded from his sides, creating a crease as they fought for space with his ballooning stomach. Ephraim felt so amazingly bloated, his fattening belly lacking the rolls he had seen on some of the older, fat nobles of the court, but making up for it in sheer, weighty roundness. His belly was no longer hard, as it had been at the beginning; the fat having turned soft and squishy as it became more abundant on his frame. His breasts were so large and heavy, they now rested atop the curve of his gut, even spilling over the sides and forcing his fat arms to hang awkwardly at his sides.

A sudden cracking sound rent the air, and all Ephraim had time to do was yelp as his round body came crashing down to the floor. His fat body wobbles furiously as he lands hard on his plush ass, the force of it all finally causing his horribly tight shirt to split right down the middle, his soft moobs bouncing out free – the sudden movement causing something to leak from his puffy nipples. Ephraim can’t take it anymore, a loud, moaning moo bellowing out from his mouth as he lays there on his back. 

All this racket finally breaks Lyon away from his tome, a surprised squeak escaping his lips as he clutches the book to his chest, eyes wide as he takes in the enormously fattened form of his friend. “…E…Ephraim?”

The Renais prince, however, is too far gone now to even hear his friend. He’s so enraptured with his own body, with the way he continues to get bigger, and how damned fucking hot it all makes him, that he can do little more than grope at his fat belly and lactating teats and moan. He can feel how hard he is, but his erection is fully outside of the reach of his sausage-like fingers, buried under the incredible weight of his gut, the weeping tip of it pressing and throbbing uselessly into his own softness. Instead, fat fingers are tugging jerkily at his tits, prompting generous rivulets of milk to erupt from the engorged nipples as he moans and moos wildly.

Lyon is bewildered – first of all, at how this all happened so quickly without him noticing, and second…at how he finds himself reacting to this transformation of his close friend. It had always been Ephraim to protect him, look after him, and something in his chest fluttered at being able to take care of the other young man for a change. It was obvious that Ephraim wouldn’t be able to move from Lyon’s chambers here, he could barely do much more than use his arms stuntedly and shimmy back and forth in a movement that was easy to guess at – he was too massive and fat to get at his own dick, so Ephraim was trying to create as much delicious friction for himself as possible. 

Still a bit shy, at first, Lyon sets his book down and approaches Ephraim in halting steps. He sees cute, nubby little horns pop up out of his friend’s teal hair, and swears he’s starting to see faint spots like that of a cow’s coming in on the other’s skin. Milk is dribbling down Ephraim’s chest, full and overflowing, like two small, white waterfalls trickling down the crest of his globular belly; some of the liquid getting caught in his cavernous belly button as it makes its descent. Getting closer now, close enough to reach out a nervous but excited hand to his friend’s heaving gut – heavens above, he can even feel the way he’s expanding, getting fatter and fatter as he lays there – Lyon can see the silvery sheen of stretch marks all over Ephraim’s soft body. They’re almost pearlescent, and Lyon can’t help but find them beautiful as he traces slim, pianist fingers along their growing paths. 

And to his eyes, they are like paths – a map of stars to the wondrous, ever expanding galaxy that was his best friend.

Ephraim is lowing at him desperately, eyes far away and feverish, begging to be touched…to be loved and cared for, and worshiped.

“…Oh, Ephraim…You will take care of my people in their time of need, and I…? I will take care of you,” Lyon whispers reverently, his slim form pressing daintily into Ephraim’s giving bulk, lips touching ever so gently against the swelling curve of the prince-turned-cow’s belly as the other bellows in climax, inflated breasts becoming heavier with rich milk. 

[sartorialadventure]

"At the core of it, we wanted the film to be a celebration of Arabic culture," says Michael Wilkinson, who's designed costumes for an expansive range of films, from two decades of suburban chic in Jennifer Lawrence's "Joy" to iconic superheroes in "Justice League" and "Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice."

For authenticity, the Oscar-nominee heavily researched clothing, art and sculpture of the Middle East region and imagery throughout the centuries from The Book of One Thousand and One Nights (The Arabian Nights), which includes the original printed tale of the titular character. Since — quick Disney geography lesson — the fictional port city of Agrabah is located on the Silk Road, where the East and West meet to trade, the costume designer also studied references from Africa, Turkey and Pakistan.

Of course, Wilkinson, who worked closely with production designer (and "Game of Thrones" vet) Gemma Jackson, also wanted to honor the fantasy and magic of the beloved cartoon, too. Luckily, the goal allowed for even more creative license. "When you take animation into live action, you can really add so much more detail," he explains. "It's a chance to literally give them more depth, so you can use the costumes to really tell the audience more about the characters and their backgrounds, backstory and inner world."

So, the empowered, but sheltered Princess Jasmine enjoys the privilege of over 10 outfit changes this time around. Slightly different from the more Arabesque-influenced women in court (and town), her silks, silhouettes, paisley prints and ornate gold beading and embroidery are inspired by South Asia to honor her mother's heritage from the also-fictional kingdom of Shehrabad (and speak to Scott, herself, who's of Indian descent).

"We wanted to express this real sense of strength and intelligence and self-determination," explains Wilkinson. "We gave her very strong colors and a bold personal style to reflect her confidence and her forthright nature." After all, Jasmine is more than capable and qualified to run Agrabah, but is held back by the men in power: her overprotective Sultan dad (Navid Negahban) and his top adviser "Hot Jafar" (Marwan Kenzari).

"Her character is trapped and she wants to break free," he continues. "We wanted to get this sense of formality and traditional world that she's fighting against, so she has her own little quirks." Wilkinson points to the iconic blue silk trousers, which peek out from her long formal gowns and allow her to physically demonstrate her determination when she walks. "She wants to move through the world and be more effective than just a royal ornament of the court," Wilkinson says.

A consistent "peacock motif" is seen throughout her jewelry and clothing, notably, elaborate beadwork on her veil accenting the update of her blue (and more modest) top and trousers. "A good metaphor [for Jasmine] is a peacock [trapped] in a royal garden — a beautiful rarefied world — that wants to be a free spirit," Wilkinson explains. The majestic bird is also symbolic in the Middle East and South Asia, plus the color palette coincidentally match Jasmine's signature hues.

Aladdin, however, mainly wears just two outfits, similar to the animated version. But Wilkinson infused his initial "street rat" look with some street style "swagger" to subconsciously resonate with today's audiences. (Unlike his cartoon counterpart, this Aladdin does wear a shirt: an embroidered and Arabesque band-collared linen design, with linear prints inspired by a contemporary pinstripe fabric that caught Wilkinson's eye.)

Director Guy Ritchie wanted a "modern" take on Aladdin's sirwal pants, so Wilkinson looked to current menswear trends to design the drop-crotch linen trousers with a slimmer cut in the lower leg and oversize double-pleats (which actually look similar to ones just debuted by Rihanna's debut Fenty collection. Nice.). He also added a hood to Aladdin's now-red vest, garnished with Moroccan-style embroidery, for a slight streetwear vibe. To accommodate Aladdin's parkour-ing around the bazaar and running along rooftops, the designer turned traditional upturned and pointy toe slippers into sturdier custom-designed ankle boots with wrap-around laces.

"It's a mashup of the two worlds," says Wilkinson.

Of course, Aladdin eventually has his Prince Ali makeover, thanks to the Genie. He enters the gates of Agrabah wearing copious layers of ivory and gold, including a magnificent long cape with screen-printed and embroidered ornamentation and an almost oversized turban complete with a massive brooch of fluttering ostrich feathers — all which feel a bit extra for a reason.

"There was the moment of Aladdin looking very over the top and uncomfortable in his new finery," says Wilkinson. As he connects with Jasmine, he loses the awkward layers and pares down to a streamlined silk shirt and longline vest intricately detailed with "beautiful metal hardware" and gilded embroidery.

"He ends up looking very dashing by the time he's on the magic carpet," adds Wilkinson.

As for the Genie, he actually spends a chunk of the movie in human form and enjoys experimenting with his lewks, as humans are wont to do. "He's such a mercurial and whimsical character," explains Wilkinson, who sourced fabrics from India, the Middle East, Turkey and Morocco for the character's "magical" wardrobe evolution. "Each time we see him, he's worked on his look and adjusted it a little bit and made it more over the top." Hence, different turbans, new shirts, an extra vest with various levels of bedazzling or more voluminous genie pants that are "outlandish than the last."

Scheming, power hungry Jafar's silhouettes and "sumptuous" red, black and gold palette come straight from the animated movie. But the armor-like plates and chainmail detail in his imposing robes speak to his nefarious ambitions for Agrabah. "What we wanted to do with him is hint at a military background," explains Wilkinson, about the hardware. "He has military ambitions and wants to turn Agrabah into a military state."

Unsurprisingly, designing the plethora of costumes for the spectacular "Prince Ali" musical sequence, which includes 250 dancers and 200 extras, was more than an endeavor — especially since the director's notes left, erm, a bit to interpretation. "In the script, it just says one line: 'Prince Ali's procession enters the town,'" laughs Wilkinson. "So that's what we were given as our starting point."

The designer and his team custom designed over 200 original costumes for the extras alone. "It was like designing Carnival in Rio de Janeiro or the Notting Hill Festival here in London," he says. "We sourced fabric from all over the world, we created fabrics, we had a huge team of costumers to make the costumes, make the headwear, make the jewelry, make the shoes. It was really a mammoth effort."

But, completing that feat wasn't Wilkinson's favorite part of the job. "I have to say, a career highlight was designing and making a monkey costume," he laughs, about dressing Aladdin's trusty (but very kleptomaniac) sidekick Abu (above), who's actually all CGI. Like Judianna Makovsky did for Baby Groot in "Guardians of the Galaxy: Vol. 2," Wilkinson and his team worked off a maquette, with the same dimensions of the diminutive Capuchin monkey, to later be inserted by special effects into the film.

"We created a tiny little fez and tiny little waistcoat and that we put all sorts of braids, sequins and hand-embroideries onto," Wilkinson continues. "It's actually one of my favorite pieces we created for the film."

[xtolovers]

Wild Ember

Wild EmberCompanion fic to The Anvil Pairing: Aloy x Erend Rating: M ( albeit in later chapters) Warnings: Graphic Mentions of Violence Summary: Aloy is used to the look in people’s eyes when they regard her. Hatred.Mistrust. Disgust. Sometimes, careful curiosity. Even rarer, cautious friendliness. An unreprehended smile, almost never. The looks have changed since she became a brave, and again after she left the Sacred Lands, but they are never that different. She has a mountain of problems more pressing than helping a drunk Oseram find the murderers of his sister. The search for answers and revenge has driven her out of the Sacred Lands and a sense of urgency she can’t explain yet spurns her on. But there’s something about the grief and fury in his eyes that feels so close to her own, that Aloy can’t turn her back on. There is something else in his eyes she can’t turn away from either. Red stains cover her fingers as she’s ripping out another stalk of wild ember. The sun is just cresting over the mesa, casting a golden shine and the deep, long and soft shadows only found at dawn. The sounds from the waking city have started to drift down from the upper rings, but down here at the village set at the foot of Meridian people have been bustling about for the last half an hour. None of them have payed her much mind while she’s wandered the river shore, gathering herbs and passing the time, and Aloy is glad for it.

Back in the Sacred Lands, nobody had ignored her the way these people do. Back there, people acted like she wasn’t there by claiming loudly that they were not in any way acknowledging or accepting her presence. In her mind, she hears Rost’s voice, telling here they were only abiding the law and protecting themselves from even looking like they were breaking taboo, but the words were barely a comfort back then, and now, the grief and anger feel like Metalburn in her stomach. In Meridian all the attention she got was simply because she was a stranger, maybe a novelty as a traveling Nora, but to most of them she was just… part of the crowd. In a way, it’s like she’s not even here, and she can see how that could be lonely too, but to her it feels like a blessing, like sinking into a cool pond. The image makes her groan a little and she uses her free hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. Even though it is barely dawning, Meridian is already almost too hot for her. Admittedly the Blazon Armor helps, although her bare midriff is still something to get used to. It makes her feel unnecessarily vulnerable, but whenever a cool breeze grazes her skin, she knows it is worth it. The thought of spending the next days in the blazing heat of the desert is less than thrilling her, but she supposes it doesn’t make a difference. Even if she had turned down Erend’s plea, she’d still be baking in the sun for a while. Before she can head to Makers End, she has to make a detour to the Spurflints. She wants to curse her compassion, because she needs answers, but Rost’s last lesson has sunk too deep into her bones. To serve a purpose greater than yourself. Because of Rost, she wanted to kill Olin. Because of Rost, she didn’t. And now, this. Of course she had agreed to find Ersa, once she’d found out there was a chance she might still be alive.

A loud guffaw of laughter echoes down from the Eastern Gate, and Aloy taps her focus. Sure enough, she can see Erend’s familiar broad, purple silhouette flare to life, accompanied by five other people. She watches one of them rub his head as she starts to make her way up the ridge. The slightest bit of unease is buzzing in her stomach. This will be the first time she’s travelling with more than one person, and the fact that she is the outsider, again, is not exactly helping. Not like I’m not used to it. And Erend’s there. The thought gives her a little ease. As blunt and exasperating as he can be, Aloy knows his heart is in the right place, which is the reason she is hear after all. “A guy can remember that Aloy is the only reason we even know Ersa could still be alive, so a guy would do better to shut up!” Erend bellows somewhere on the ridge, and as Aloy’s head rifles through what this might have been the reply to, the unease crawls back. “I thought we were leaving at dawn. Where is she?” Another voice asks. The tone is more casual than exasperated, but Aloy clenches the herbs in her hand harder anyhow. She was here on time. She’d done everything right. She tries for sarcastic instead of angry, but her voice doesn’t completely comply. “At first light is what we agreed upon, I believe. She was here then, but because the rest of you weren’t here, I went down to the river and gathered some herbs in preparation.” At her words, Erend turns around, a look of … relief, she decides, on his face, while the other man, who has apparently spoken, clambers to stand up straight at her sight. A blush spreads across his cheek as another Vanguardsmen steps out between Erend and him, older than both of them, with a seasoned but kind face. At the right moment, he twists just so, and his hammer hits the younger man in the head. Aloy thinks of seeing him rub his head moments ago, and has to suppress a grin. The man bows his head to her, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see Erend watching him. “Apologies, m’am. We ought to have been here sooner, there is no time to lose.” Aloy corrects him and offers up her name. She has no business with titles and politeness, and there is no point in wasting time with them, not when the have a life to save.

Karan, she learns is his name, complies without protest, something that doesn’t happen nearly as much as she’d like, and Aloy decides that she likes him. With him and Erend along, she can do this. She sees him send a look to Erend, who clears his throat awkwardly and starts introducing his men. The one who had asked where she was is called Andrik, he’s one of the slimmer ones of the troop, even though that means little. Apparently all Oseram are sturdier in built, and even Andrik is as broad as the stronger Nora men she has met. She supposes he is good looking, in an obvious way, with dark hair falling around his dark eyes, a small beard at his chin, but Aloy can see a cockiness about him that hides insecurity. Two brothers, Beren and Enoch, both young, dark-skinned and the smallest of the group, one with short cropped curls, the other with a shaved head but both with full beards braided in different styles. Oren, a giant towering above the group with a reddish tint to his skin, a light brown bushy beard and a leather cord wrapped around his bald head. She returns their nods curtly, and turns to look at Erend. This time there is no hesitation as he meets her gaze with clear eyes. He is sober, and she is glad. The need for alcohol seems to be replaced by purpose, and she thinks it’s a good sign that he’s able to quit it when he needs to. With a nod she pushes through them, unsure of what to do other than get on the road. As she passes Andrik she makes a point of pushing the wild ember against his chest, hoping it’s enough to assert her presence, before she leads the group through the gates and up the trail. She forces herself not to look if they follow. As Avad’s Vanguard they have to be good fighters she supposes, but drunks or assassins are different opponents than a herd of machines in the wild. Erend can hold his own, she knows, but he is not exactly quiet either, and if they are going to run into machines— and they will— then Aloy would rather be at the tip of the group, dictating the conditions on which they will fight. The sound of several pairs of heavy steps are encouragement enough for her. She half expects Erend to catch up to her, but no one slips in next to her. It’s a quiet procession due north, and the silence behind her unnerves her. Erend alone usually makes more noise than all of them together right now. She would’ve expected a group of them to be loud, talking, joking, a  drunken road-song or two bellowed across the desert. Maybe she has it wrong, or they suppress their Oseram nature. She wonders if that is because of their positions as Vanguard or because of their dire quest. Aloy’s held out for nearly an hour when she glances over her shoulder in curiosity, wondering what had suddenly managed to stop Erend out of all people from talking. He’s watching his steps, and doesn’t notice her looking at him, apparently lost in thought. Erend seems tense, but she supposes that is to be expected given the purpose of their mission. A mission she hadn’t wanted to be part of, at first. Why should you have justice and not me? With a huff she turns back to the road. It wasn’t like she was really going to deny him her help. It was her own need for revenge and answers that needed fulfillment, that made her turn him down at first, not disregard for him. Erend had been one of the first people to treat her without suspicion or apprehensiveness, even if his personality took some getting used to. Back then, in Mother’s Heart, he’d been brazen and confident, clearly enjoying his status as emissary in such a savage tribe, and maybe she’d have found him off-putting, had it not been for the ease with which he’d calmed the crowd and the easy acceptance with which he’d answered her two dozen questions. Two minutes talking to him and it was easy to see that while his bravado wasn’t as real as he put on, his friendliness was. Only later she’d realized that he’d been flirting a little, too, embarrassed at her own obliviousness. Not that she’d wanted to reciprocate, but it made her keenly aware that where she was sure and experienced in the wilds, she was lost and unpracticed in  society. That was the first time anyone had ever expressed interest in her other than a harsh and rude remark made by a drunk hunter somewhere on the edge of some small village, but she still felt stupid for not understanding what he meant. At first, when she had headed to Meridian, she’d thought that maybe he could mistake her appearing there as an acceptance of his invitation, but Ersa’s seeming murder had  put an end to that before it could begin. He’d been happy to see her, but since then he’d made no further attempt to flirt with her— at least she thought so. The Oseram where so blunt and open, Aloy felt like half the time they were flirting with the whole world for no other purpose than simply because they could. But even completely drunk he hadn’t flirted with her once when she arrived in  Meridian, and nor any other time since then, so maybe he’d lost interest. Or maybe he was not drunk enough to miss the look on her face when he’d greeted her, and knew better than to try.

If she was honest, half of the reason why she didn’t accept his plea at first had been the state she’d found him in. Aloy had tried some liquor she’d wrangled from Karst three summers back, and after a few sips and the following problems with walking straight, decided she didn’t like it. Out in the wilds there was no room for inebriation if you wanted to survive, and the few incidents where she’d met drunken Nora— usually men— had been extremely uncomfortable. A part of her could understand him. There’d been a small part, or rather, there is a small part of her still, that wishes she could just diffuse all the pain, all the anger, all the questions. But it wasn’t an option. Rost never drank.

Your mind is a blade, Aloy, useless if not kept sharp at all times. The weird thing was, despite seeing through his bravado, she’d also thought Erend was capable, and when she’d found him at the gate, she was relieved for a moment, expecting his help. That had turned on its head pretty quickly,  and she’d been disappointed in more than one way. Helping him investigate a battlefield wouldn’t just cost her time, if he was going to be drunk and loud and slow to understand, it would cost her twice, and Aloy couldn’t risk it. Don’t act like this isn’t personal. Don’t make me beg. He didn’t have to. In the end, concerns and causes aside, it hadn’t really been in question. She’d spent hours on her way from the embrace to Meridian helping others, Rost’s last lesson still branded into her mind. Erend was right, and turning him down would’ve been cruel. And the pain and fury in his eyes, not disguised or hidden as if they were a weakness, felt all to familiar to her own. So she’d agreed, albeit reluctantly, but told him that he needed to pull it together if he wanted her help. Aloy had vowed to herself that she’d go to Red Ridge Pass and help him only if he was sober. And he was. His mind wasn’t clear, but this time it was only grief and anger, nothing else that occupied his thoughts, and that was something Aloy understood all too well. He’d surprised her that day, following her step by step, trusting her conclusions, closing the gaps next to her in battle. And then she’d looked around and felt the familiar rush of answers to be found, the thrill of the hunt. It didn’t take her long to piece the signs together, and the moment she realized that Ersa had been abducted, not killed, she’d expected to feel envy, but there was none. There was a rush of victory and satisfaction that she’d been useful, because she knew that without her help, Erend would still be grieving someone who was out there, waiting for him. The look on his face when she’d laid out her theory had erased all her doubts about whether or not she’d wasted time. The thought hurt, but she was only chasing revenge. Erend was chasing someone who could still be saved. So when she came back to Meridian and had her theory confirmed, Avad didn’t need to ask her. She was going anyway. But last night Aloy had slept poorly, ill at ease at the upcoming trip, not knowing what to expect of her companions. Now it looked like there hadn’t been any need to worry, because nobody had spoken to her in the last four hours. Aloy tries to shake the thoughts from her mind, but like flies they keep coming back, settling, itching. She focuses on her feet, on their surroundings, enaging her focus now and then, but they’re still close enough to Meridian that the machines are scattered sparsely before them. Above them the sun bears down on them, and she can feel the sweat in the small of her back and gathering in her hair at the base of her neck. They’ve been walking for hours, and it’s almost noon. They’re slow. With a flinch she thinks back to the basement. I’m faster alone. It was true, but maybe a little cruel too. She hasn’t been to Pitchcliff, but by Erends description it is to the north way past Red Ridge Pass, up in the mountains past the desert. If they keep this pace, it’ll take them a week to get there. A week Ersa might not have. They had passed a herd of Striders earlier, and Aloy had considered to get all of them mounts, but the silence weighed heavy on the back of her mind. If they didn’t talk to her because they thought she was strange and a savage, walking up to them with a bunch of tame machine in her wake would probably not help her image. Maybe that’s why Erend isn’t talking to me. The thought makes her angry and for half a dozen reasons, and she starts to walk faster to blow off some steam. Within minutes she’s out of earshot of the group, hand up on her focus, pretending to scout ahead. It takes half an hour of solid effort to let the anger go. It takes half an hour more to swallow her pride and let herself fall back to Erend, but she knows they need the rest. At the last moment she remembers that he is supposed to lead them, and the way he doubted himself, so she leaves the choice to him. “There’s a small valley between those mountains up ahead where we can rest for a bit. Unless you want to push ahead.” “Something you never do, I’m sure. Do you ever eat?” It’s the first real laugh she’s heard of him all day, and a little of her unease slips away. The way he teases her is no different than usual, so it’s probably just the stress of chasing his sister that keeps him silent. Erend turns around and watches his men for a second, all  of them avoiding her eyes.

Or maybe it’s his men’s opinion of me.

The dread comes back a little. Aloy pushes it down. It’s nothing she hasn’t handled before. “Let’s rest.” With a nod, she turns away, and hurries to the front of the group, where she doesn’t have to see the looks. Just as she’s pondering whether or not she should tell Erend that she will hurry to Pitchcliff alone and scout ahead, she can hear steps picking up behind her.

[kurogabae]

Ryssa, it's been a bad day. Do you think we could get some sad exhausted Fai and caring husband Kuro? Hope you've had a wonderful day ^-^

This took longer than I told you it was and I’m really sorry! I hope you managed to have a better day

Most of Fai’s life had taken place in the high courts. Even when he was traveling between the worlds they had found themselves in the company of the socially elite just as often as the humble and toiling. The world of royalty and nobility was a place Fai was familiar with, and no matter the dimension one found themselves in, some things never changed. In Nihon, those certain things held just as true - double meanings everywhere, backhanded compliments, more rules than you could wag your finger at if you had all day. It was tiring for anyone, and down right exhausting for Fai, who was still learning the ropes of his new home and life. 

Tomoyo was kind enough to stick close, but he couldn’t keep himself glued to the princess’ side forever, not if he wanted to garner any sort of respect from the other nobles (or himself, to be honest) but taking the plunge into this mostly alien culture was daunting and it wore on Fai each day he helped play host to the dignitaries that stopped by to meet with Tomoyo and Kendappa. 

He only felt himself relax when he flopped messily onto his and Kurogane’s futon at night after freeing himself from the many layers of his... hakama? kimono? yukata?

Of whatever it was that Tomoyo had graciously sent for him to be dressed in that day. Stars above knew he always forgot what it was called midway through the day anyhow, though he could see it in Tomoyo’s eyes that this was going to be corrected soon, one way or another. 

Kurogane always came back to their suite later than Fai, busy prowling the grounds and rooftops like the good and loyal guard dog he was. It never failed that Fai fell asleep before he got back, waking only enough to roll over and snuggle up close once his delightful furnace of a husband slipped under the covers later in the night. It was only for a few weeks until all of the nobles had had their chances to speak with the Empress about their provinces, but a few weeks of only seeing Kurogane here and there was just about the worst thing in Fai’s opinion. Sure, he could dig deep and sense his prey at any time anywhere on the palace grounds, or see him watching silently from shadows, unseen by the common blueblood, but that was practically nothing. 

Fai was getting ready to push himself to his feet and finish readying himself for bed when he heard the door to the room slide open. Even after so long living in safety and peace, surrounded by men and women trained and trusted by Kurogane and Souma to protect those who lived in the palace, his first instinct was to defend himself against this foolish would-be intruder, but he was hardly to his knees when he recognized Kurogane, handsome and amused and already closing the thin door behind him.

A little embarrassed, Fai let himself fall onto his rear end and watch Kurogane strip off his armor in the gentle candlelight. “You’re back early tonight,” Fai said, stifling a yawn and giving up on remaining upright.

“Hn,” he answered, and didn’t elaborate until everything had found its place and Kurogane was standing above Fai, looking down at him with a mix of fond exasperation and subtle concern. “Tomoyo’s idea no doubt, Souma all but chased me off, telling me I needed a break. I get the feeling I’m not the one she was talking about.”

Fai waved one limp wristed hand at Kurogane. “Pfft, I’m fine, just tired.”

“I noticed,” Kurogane said, taking a seat beside Fai. “You’ve been fast asleep every night well before I came back, and before dinner was served.”

Fai had had no idea there had been dinners delivered to their room and he felt his cheeks heating a little at the fact that he managed to sleep through the servants no doubt knocking and announcing the arrival of his meals. 

Kurogane sighed and rolled his eyes, but there was no real irritation there. “If I didn’t know how much they fed everyone at these things I’d be worried about you starving to death, but you need to start at least staying awake for dinner from now on,” Kurogane said as he prodded at Fai’s ribs. “You’re already skinny enough to lose in a stiff wind.”

They both knew that wasn’t true and that Fai was far sturdier than he might look at first glance, but Kurogane did have a point about skipping meals every day. 

“Okay okay, Kuro-worry,” Fai yawned, rolling on to his stomach. “I’ll be sure to eat my dinner like a respectable young man.”

Behind him he heard Kurogane snort, and then there were two large, warm hands on his back and it was mere seconds before Fai was melting into the futon. “More like eat your dinner like the creaking boned old man you are,” he said.

Normally, Fai had a come back of some sort for Kurogane calling him an old man, but with the heavenly way those wingers were working out the tension in his shoulders and neck at the moment Fai was lucky to be able to remember how to breathe, let alone come up with a snappy retort. He simply sighed happily and let Kurogane do with him as he pleased, dozing in the haze of candlelight and attention. 

Eventually, Kurogane stopped and Fai couldn’t help but whine pitifully, not even opening his eyes or turn his head to pout at Kurogane to continue. Above him, Kurogane tsked, true to his mother hen-like nature that extended from their children all the way to his husband. 

“Tomoyo had been saying you were looking tense, but for the gods’ sakes, mage.” There was a blanket tossed over Fai and in the next few seconds darkness swallowed the room. “Tomorrow I’ll stop by the medical wing and get something to help and I’ll give you a proper back rub.”

For a moment Fai opened his mouth to insist that Kurogane didn’t need to do any of that, to say that he was fine and that going out of his was for Fai was silly, but Kurogane really did know him all too well. He was silenced with a quick tug of his hair and a kiss to the top of his head. Huffing in good natured defeat, Fai burrowed in closer to Kurogane’s warmth and slept the best night’s sleep he had had in quite a while. 

[ramajmedia]

Disney: 10 Official Concept Art Pictures Of Tangled You Have To See

Tangled is Disney's fun retelling of Rapunzel that hit theaters in 2010. The story stars a cute golden hair heroine, a swash-buckling thief, a sassy chameleon, a dog-like horse, and a manipulative villain. Their adventure is backdropped by a vibrant kingdom and a whole bunch of floating lanterns.

Related: Sorting Disney Heroes Into Their Proper Hogwarts Houses

While this is the Tangled we know and love, lots of early illustrations show the characters wearing different outfits, exploring varied locations, and altogether taking on different forms. We're here to look at a selection of this concept art so you can see just how far Tangled has come.

It's time to journey to Rapunzel's kingdom; Here is just a small collection of illustrations that show what Tangled could have looked like.

10 Mother Gothel And Rapunzel

This illustration shows a very different version of Mother Gothel. While this Rapunzel appears close to her final form, Mother Gothel has a completely different look. Here, she has light brown hair pulled into a bun instead of springy black curls. She's also wearing a green outfit rather than her medieval maroon dress. Her facial features, most noticeably her eyes, are much smaller.

Despite the differences in looks, you'll notice that Gothel is just as devious here as she is in her final design. Her facial expression along with Rapunzel's trusting smile represents these characters true intentions.

9 Flynn Riding Maximus

The illustration depicts Flynn surrounded by guards who are holding spears toward him. While no scene is exactly like this, he is constantly on the run, so the scene comes as no surprise.

RELATED: 10 Fun Gifts For Fans Of Disney Princesses

Right away, you'll notice that this Flynn looks quite similar to the Flynn we know. However, Maximus is a completely different color and wears a large, medal-like object on the front of his chest. The colors used here are also a lot dimmer than the ones in the film.

8 Pascal

While Pascal is naturally green, he changes colors throughout Tangled to blend in with his environment. These drawings have the artists testing that out.

Both Pascal and Rapunzel look a lot like their actual selves here, just in 2D. You will notice, however, that all of Pascal's color-changes contain a yellow pattern. Though parts of Pascal turn yellow during the film, it is not a trait that consistently stays with him.

7 Rapunzel's Hair

This dreamy illustration shows Rapunzel looking out to the kingdom from the top of her tower. Her long blonde hair flows through the wind as she hangs on the edge.

While Rapunzel does end up looking toward the kingdom to watch the floating lanterns in Tangled, she doesn't do so from the tip of her tower. She instead longs for the lights from the edge of her window. This seems like a much safer idea.

6 Flynn And Rapunzel

If you're wondering what happened to Flynn here, you're not alone.

This early version of the charismatic thief shows him to have a much sturdier build. You might even think he resembles Kristoff from Frozen more than he does Flynn in this illustration. Which is correct! This original concept for Flynn was saved for the script that would later become Frozen! His shoulders are broad, his hair is shaggy... yup, not the Flynn we know.

Rapunzel appears to be painting on Flynn's hand in this depiction. It's a really cute drawing, but it's not the image we usually think of when Tangled comes to mind.

5 The Kingdom

Guys, I want a castle.

This image shows Rapunzel looking out at the beautiful castle she should be able to call home. The cascading arrangement of buildings is accurate, but the actual buildings turned out a bit differently in the real film.

RELATED: The 10 Best Disney Princess Sidekicks, Ranked

Rapunzel's actual kingdom doesn't contain a neat swirly pathway that leads to the castle. Though the bridge is pretty accurate, the lack of ships in the surrounding harbor is noticeable.

4 Mother Gothel

Compared to the first Mother Gothel illustration we looked at, these sketches are much closer to the one we know. Here, she's ditched the neatly arranged brown hair for her iconic curls, large eyes, and perfectly shaped lips.

Her dress is also much more similar to its final form with long, draping sleeves and a square-cut neckline. You should additionally notice her body language. Her movements are as boisterous and her expressions are as manipulative as they are in the film.

3 The Snuggly Duckling

Rapunzel joins the ruffians and thugs for the singing of "I've Got a Dream" in this charming illustration of the Snuggly Duckling, though the final depiction of the pub went through a few changes.

First off, Rapunzel's dress is shorter here. It's also entirely different. Her final dress is a lavender, though here, it is green, magenta, and white in color.

You'll also notice that the ruffians are indistinct, not really representing any actual character that appears in the film. The piano player isn't some huge bald guy with a hook. Instead, he's a smaller blonde dude.

2 Rapunzel's Clothes

The dress you saw in the previous entry isn't the only one Rapunzel tried on. This collection of paintings shows various outfits animators tried out on Tangled's heroine. You'll notice that in all of these, she is wearing dresses that are in the general green-blue color pallette. Quite opposite of purple, huh?

Though her dresses are the main focus of these illustrations, you can also see various hairstyles Rapunzel cycled through. On the left, her long hair looks clipped back. The two illustrations in the top right corner, on the other hand, show various flowers in her hair that match the detail on her dress.

1 Flynn's Escape

This depiction of Flynn running away from the castle's guards mirrors a scene that actually ended up in the movie. You can see the speed the kingdom's most handsome thief is running with as he clutches a satchel to his chest and sprints away.

Maximus' owner has a blonde beard in this depiction, whereas in the movie he sports a brown mustache. You'll also notice that his sleeves and gloves are blue and his armor is silver. In the real movie, the guards' gloves are white, their sleeves are red, and their breastplates are gold.

NEXT: Every Disney Princess Movie, Ranked

source https://screenrant.com/disney-official-concept-art-tangled/

[albusofecclesia]

Drabble -  The Things We Do For a Bit of Coin

((Notes: 

An attempt at a hurt/comfort piece with a touch of fluff, while trying to keep it relatively ambiguous. I solemnly do not swear this.

Crossover Mission with Diablo III’s Reaper of Souls expansion content.

Also part of a post-game AU where everything is the same except Shanoa was able to release Dominus' hold on Albus.

95% of Shanoa's dialogue and actions were written by @shanoaofecclesia in past thread we attempted. Permission was given to touch-up and re-purpose her content for this drabble. What a stellar BFF I'm blessed with.<3))

Dark smoke from the lower district wafted into the heavens, choking out the night sky and any solace the stars may have brought to the Westmarch survivors; watching as flaming cascades of shooting hellfire crashed into what little remained of the burning streets. A cacophony of anguished cries and death rattles screeched into the night as every last human alive was silenced by the angel of death's fury.

From inside the chapel on the overlooking terrace, foreign aid contractors worked hurriedly to mend those brought in during the initial wave of darkness, and expected another onslaught of wounded. It was soon to be found that there would not be as many as they expected, for the city was all but reduced to rubble in the last attack. Anything left alive had been turned into a thrall to roam the streets with fallen angels and demonic brethren alike.

The main band of local heroes referred to as the Nephilim, were looked to by the panicking survivors and suddenly overwhelmed with hysterical pleas and cries, questions asking after what hope was left and what could be done against such a powerful adversary.

After serious council with countrymen and comrades alike, the Nephilim departed again to continue their quest to find and stop the wayward angel of death. But not before they outfitted some of the stronger volunteers with powerful items they had found on their journeys, bequeathing such protections to the brave few who would defend the last survivors in their absence.

Haggard and battle worn from a near-sleepless seven days of combat with demons and crazed angels, a rather relieved-looking Albus passed through the front gate of Ecclesia’s grounds.   He sported light pieces of previously-owned ornate plate armor that had been given to him by his demon hunter comrades, the copper and steel glinting faintly as it was moderately tarnished due to excessive use and wear. The tarnish was mostly from his own excursion in Westmarch - and the remnants of demon blood, slimy ichor, and fates only knew what other manner of fowl juices, were plastered all over his armor and clothing.

Something had changed within him; newly raw and powerful, as if his guard had dropped completely away and the usual scholar persona was no more - the hunter side of him having taken over: primal, animalistic, unrestrained. 

Rubbing at his chin that bore a few days worth of stubble on his exhausted face, he let out a sigh of relief at his return home. Crossing the grounds towards the dormitories, he threw open the front doors with more force than intended, a loud bang sounding as he entered the common room foyer.

Shanoa had been busy writing in a leather covered tome - a hobby she has developed during her combat partner’s absence, keeping records of everything she remembered so far and learned, a biography of sort. After her dealings with Dominus and Castle Dracula, Albus - in all his gratitude for her saving him - would not take no for an answer and had insisted that she had earned time off after saving the world. He would take on missions for a while to ensure they had enough money between them to continue to live comfortably. It was an insufferable pride thing for him, but she did welcome the respite that came with not having to fight every single hour of her waking life. 

Thoughts lost in her tome, she’d raised her head and tilted it back as she heard the front doors slam open, summoning a crimson rapier into her grasp on instinct. While she could feel the other aura wasn’t that of an intruder, she did still jump in her seat when Albus warped from the doorway to appear across from her, and was even more surprised to see how different he looked.

“I’m home,” Albus announced unnecessarily after watching her jump a bit in her seat. The grey hood that covered his head did little to tame his even-more-so mussed hair, especially not after he pulled it down. The light was still in his eyes, for he hadn’t quite been broken by the horrors of the mission, but the icy blue had somehow darkened, aging him slightly. His voice was low, a touch on gruff side; matching his otherwise worn-out self. “… And after what I’ve witnessed, I cannot even begin to tell you how good it is to be here."

Shanoa closed her book quickly before getting up. “…Welcome home. I’m glad you’re back and safe.” She stated quietly, dispelling her rapier and setting the book on the coffee table. There was something off about him that gave her reason to pause. “I see you have a new outfit and armors? I thought you preferred your leathers.”

Nodding dubiously at her armor comment, Albus looked down at the light plate that he wore on his arms, legs and chest. "Quite, but look at this little glamour," he replied, then focused for a moment before fiery energy-tendriled 'wings' materialized behind him, giving off no heat from their soft orange light as they further accentuated the wing-shaped adornments on his shoulder armor. "My benefactors insisted that I would need sturdier armor…" A sigh as he focused on his armored hands as he flexed them a few times under his tired gaze. “Were they ever right. I might not be here otherwise. …The things we do for a bit of coin.”  

Concern overtook Shanoa at that comment and she started to round the coffee table towards him. Albus held up a hand to silence any sound or movement she went to make in response, his gaze became serious with intent. 

”-Nevermind that, I have something for you,“ Dropping his travel sack, it made a horrible impact sound as if a couple of huge rocks had hit the wooden flooring. Wincing as he knelt and undid the bag’s drawstring, he rooted around the contents of the bag with taloned hands, a dull ‘clink’ sounding as he grasped at something solid.

Shanoa blinked while looking down at her partner’s travel bag - it looked heavy at first glance, but the sound made it seem heavier. “What on earth do you have in there, rocks?” She teased, folding her arms and tapping her heel lightly on the floor.

Silent, Albus paused for the briefest of moments, glancing at her with light mischief in his eyes before looking off into distance as he focused on feeling between the objects in the dark bag.

“Come on, Albus, answer–"

After finding what he sought, he had turned and practically slammed down a huge chunk of rock on the table and stood, crossing his arms.

"-Oh. You did bring a rock with you.”

"Apparently that whole thing is a type of rare, unrefined ore.” Tired as all hell, he managed a triumphant smile and tone, glancing at the stone a moment, then back to her and giving a bit of a shrug. “Think your blacksmith would give us a decent finders fee for it?”

Shanoa chuckled faintly and flicked her hair off her shoulder. “I think Eugen could help you with that, just bring the ore with you when we’ll visit Wygol again.” She replied and closed her eyes.

“Then, might I formally request you escort me to Wygol soon? I have other things to trade with the villagers."

One of their two cats, Mister Thomas, mewed quietly as he skittered over, moving to brush against Albus’s legs in greeting. The simple act prompted a genuine smile, and the researcher gently reached down to pet the cat with the palm of one hand. However, one of the scents that permeated his armor must have been too much for the feline’s sensitive nose, for Thomas made a low warning mewl shortly after and turned his back on him. Watching the cat strut off, Albus shook his head and chuckled quietly.

“Perhaps it would be better to bathe first before we go to Wygol - it seems like Thomas is not pleased with your clothes’ scent at all.” Shanoa joked with a faint smile. "So, what tales do you have for me to listen to about your great quest?”

Albus sighed a bit, making a ‘hmph’ noise. “While I don’t blame you wanting to hear tales of my ‘adventures’,  it was far from a joyous romp through the countryside. And it certainly put a lot of things into perspective. …My contacts had previously defeated a powerful demon lord some time ago, but the item that they had sealed their foe into had been stolen… and soon there were rumors of ‘rogue’ angels killing and ‘cleansing’ people in the larger cities in my contact‘s homeland. Very unsettling. In those lands, it is theorized that the people there carry both demon and angel blood in their veins. Really, it is an intriguing concept to consider…”

He tried not to become melancholy as he spoke, but it was obvious that as his thoughts wandered back to his mission he couldn’t help the darkness that flooded over his expression.

“As it were, I was requested to provide support in defending one of the strongholds where remaining survivors had fled to. …The carnage was terrible, I hope to never have to see something so vehemently disturbing ever again. …Legions of the dead littered the streets, there were angels and demons everywhere, battling each other as they fought a three way fight - all sides taking heavy casualties. No place was reported to be safe, and so for tireless nights I lent my aid to stand vigil over and work to secure the city’s trembling and fearful survivors.”

A long pause followed as he let out another sigh, closing his eyes and wincing slightly as he rubbed at one of his temples.

“And then there was the rain of fire on the second night… instantly destroying everything in the lower quarter." Another pause, and he forced himself to look her in the eyes as he spoke of some reassurance. “Thankfully, some very powerful warriors laboured just as tirelessly to transcend even death to set things right again. - I wasn’t needed to help with rebuilding, so here I am, and I think I’ll be staying home for quite some time… until we need money again, but I think we‘ll be set for a while.“ Again he glanced away briefly, then back at her. ”… I think that will suffice for story time for now. Have things been okay here in my absence? Any news worth sharing?“

Shanoa nodded occasionally while listening to his story, thinking that perhaps him not telling her about the mission until afterwards probably was the best idea - just listening to the story made her heart beat faster than usual. “Nothing to report here. I’m glad to see you here safe and without any physical scars, unless you hide them from me.”

“Well, I seriously doubt you're about to help me out of this armor and examine me for scars…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he stopped himself from making his ill attempt at humor sound any more crass than he had intended. It had sounded more innocent in his head. "Really, I'm fine in the bodily sense."

Shanoa stared at Albus as he joked, her eyes narrowing in concern. She did not understand at all what made him joke of what she said, but she was serious about what she said about the scars, just the thought he might be literally hiding something under his sleeve like a scar or a wound made her flinch. Without warning, she reached over and took a firm hold of his chin with one hand, tilting his head from one side to the other as she examined his neck and jawline for any new injuries. Though compliant with her examination, Albus observed her curiously, another weary smile worming its way across his mouth. She wouldn't find anything new to fuss over in his current state of dress.

Satisfied with her examination, Shanoa folded her arms lightly as she relaxed her stance a half-step away from him. “Rest as much as you need. I still receive the odd mission from the villagers, so we won’t be short on money for quite a while. …Wygol can wait for now, you should rest for a while. Even after my journey to the castle, I didn’t rush to the village straight after. But you already know that,”

With a nod, Albus rubbed at his temples again, becoming quite serious as he did so. “Perhaps… perhaps I should rest… there’s something I need to discuss with you, and I’d rather be 'all there’ when I do so. I mean… I’m covered in demon blood, slimy ichor, and goodness knows what other manner of fowl juices. Perhaps you're right, I need a bath and something to eat… before I go completely insane… "

“That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

Though Albus knew he wasn’t in the most pleasant of states to be around, he reached out to rest his hands on her shoulders, aware that the armor somewhat cold to the touch and though the ‘talons’ were blunted they were still capable of doing damage if he wasn’t careful. Taking in the sight of her, alive and well, savoring the relief that her presence brought him.

"…There were a few moments where I feared that I wouldn’t return - and all I could think of was that I might never see home, or, you again."

With such a sentiment uttered, Shanoa took it upon herself to reach over and wrap her arms around her partner to comfort and reassure him. "You're here now, and you're safe. Go and take a bath, wear something comfortable. I’ll prepare dinner tonight.”

“How comfortable? Because let me tell you this armor is pretty heavy.” Expecting a frown, he laughed quietly to himself and turned away to collect his travel pack, quipping 'a light snack will do' as he patted Shanoa on the shoulder while passing by on his way out of the room.

Rinsing his armor off and scrubbing himself clean took the better part of an hour, although at one point he had dozed off for a few minutes while soaking in the tub. After drying off and dressing lightly, Albus heard a faint knock at his door before it opened and he could hear Shanoa’s familiar footsteps, as well as the scampering of several sets of little feline feet.

"Great, you've brought the cavalry," He chuckled while still inside his half-bathroom, mentally envisioning where and how all of her cats would be exploring and positioning themselves in his usually-off-limits quarters. "Just another moment,"

Shanoa sighed quietly to herself, setting a tray with a simple setting of shareable foods; cheese, bread, sliced cured meats, and the odd bit of fruit she had garnished the platter with. Seating herself on the chaise by the window, she stared down at the food somewhat forlornly. Honestly, she was not the greatest chef - her memory loss caused her to forget many basic things and cooking skills were among these basics; she did not want to put more work and pressure on her partner, he had to rest after such an exhausting mission. And while a near hour had passed she had still found herself staring at the ingredients she had intended to use, with nothing coming to mind on how to best prepare them. With a frown, she had slammed a fist gently on the counter, cursing the damned Dominus glyphs under her breath. She knew he would appreciate anything she put together, but she had wanted to put effort into the meal. He'd sounded so tired… She wanted to help.

"Ah, perfect!" Albus beamed at the simple platter, rounding the other side of the chaise while toweling his hair off. Running a hand through to tame his locks into a somewhat acceptable mess he sat next to Shanoa and nodded his thanks. "You’re remarkable, as always."

She just continued to stare at the food, with something akin to visible contempt in her gaze.

"Something the matter?" He asked, slinging one arm lazily over the back of the chaise. Though exhausted and ready to drop, there were things that were more important than falling into a semi-coma-catnap at that moment. Something was bothering her.

“…N-no.” Shanoa muttered quietly and ran a hand through her hair slowly. “…I’m sorry…”

Ah, there she went again with being nearly as impossibly difficult as she claimed he tended to be. Turning in his seat, Albus reached out for her hands and held them tightly in his. Locking eyes with her, he offered a supportive smile and just looked at her silently for a few moments before speaking.

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” He whispered, letting out a soft sigh. His shoulders drooped a bit and he lowered his head, gave it a slow shake, and then looked back up at her. “Thank you for trying. I really appreciate the effort."

To further prove his sincerity, he reached over to the platter and helped himself to the food, soon putting an open-faced sandwich to his mouth with one hand, and offering Shanoa a piece of fruit with the other.

"We can make something tomorrow, together. How does that sound? Could be messy. Or argument-inducing. Or both.” A quiet laugh sounded from him as he continued to keep his eyes fixed on hers, not wanting to look away from his partner, as if doing so would be his last and final time.

Shanoa smiled faintly, accepting the few grapes that had been offered. Before she could say anything in response, several little furry interlopers made their way into their personal spaces, some begging for scraps, others merely curling up wherever they could manage. Albus shook his head at her in mock disappointment at her for letting all of her cats into his room so freely. 

"Alright, if that's how it's going to be," He growled lowly in a joking manner, doing his best to scoop up as many of the cats, as well as Shanoa, into his arms before leaning back into his side of the chaise. Any felines he missed simply climbed back up and over once everyone else had settled into a very fuzzy cuddle puddle. Covered in cats and their cat lady, it didn't take long for him to fall asleep in such a safe and cozy atmosphere, and he did not feel the slightest bit guilty for selfishly clutching her so tightly. 

Nestled comfortably against Albus’ chest, Shanoa thought to herself that it had been nearly a lifetime since he had last sought such close physical comfort from her. Yet considering everything he had been through, she could not begrudge his need to be near another human being. In their youth, he had always been quite hands-on with those he was close with. 

She herself had been hesitant to be alone the first few nights after her defeat of Dracula, opting to sit up in the commons with warm tea and seated near the fire, never having to ask Albus to stay up with her for he had always offered before she could find the words. Admittedly, he had been asleep for most of it. Having either fallen asleep in his own chair while reading or seated near her on the couch, but it had been nice all the same to have someone close nearby during those long, dark nights.

Albus awoke a short time later, startled by vivid recollections of some of the sights he had unfortunately borne witness to during his mission abroad. Shuddering as he recalled the horrors, he buried his face into his hands, having unsettled some of the cats and waking his dozing partner.

“Even the sanctity of sleep has been taken from me…” He muttered, giving a heavy sigh. “If I truly do go mad... again, do me a favour and bludgeon me into unconsciousness.” A dark smirk formed on his face as he craned his neck to look at her in the dimming evening light, recalling something else just as terrible that they both had memory of. “You know, like the last time you were forced to do so.”

Concern awash on her sleepy features, Shanoa shook her head faintly at him. "No, you'll pull through this. Like the last time you had to."  

Their big white cat, Frost, then decided to walk through their line of sight and proceed to try to groom Albus' hair. Despite the persian's resting miserable-face, it was the sweetest he had ever been to the scholar. Two of the other cats were tucked under arms and wherever they could fit around their humans, and the fourth had since sauntered off to who knew where - until the clattering of something falling in the study area.

"Perce, knock it off." Albus grumbled, looking over the top of the chaise to see the bengal cat wandering amongst the papers and artifacts on his desk.

"I think that was the point." Shanoa chuckled, pushing herself up enough to look at see what Percival had gotten himself into. "Mission accomplished."

"Yes, well… you didn't have to let them in here." He continued to mutter, frowning as he was nudged back down by a bossy Frost - who was not at all finished with taming the mussy mass of hair.

"They wanted to see you too. They were concerned."

Confidence was not instilled in him, but he opted to say nothing of it. Albus could endure the feline invasion force a little longer. Especially the grumpy old cat that still persisted in grooming the top of his head.

Shanoa seemed to weigh her next words carefully, shifting over to lay on her side between the back of the chaise and Albus's left side, nestling against him a bit less precariously as before.

"It's… worrying to see you like this." She admitted reaching across him to pet the grey fluff of Mister Thomas that had nested in the crook of Albus' right arm. "You've never faultered quite like this before, but I am certain you will pull through. You were there for me even after recovering from Dominus' hold on you, so if you need anything, please just ask."

Albus grew uncharacteristically humble and quiet as she spoke, his usual radiated pride and self-assurance quelled once more.

“You know," He began softly, looking at her pointedly for a moment before letting his gaze wander out into the falling darkness outside. "When we were children, nothing gave me more purpose than looking out for the timid young girl you once were. I wanted to be strong and dependable, for you brought about this desire to become a sort of knight in shining armor… that seemed to persist well into adulthood in some ways, didn‘t it?” A chuckle escaped from under his breath after his slight revelation on his stubbornness in looking out for her, and then remembered that he had been wearing not-so-shining armor hours earlier.   “I have never stopped wanting the best for you, even now that you have since grown into a brave and strong warrior capable of taking care of herself. You are your own hero now, and I am so very proud of you for all you have accomplished." The arm he had around her squeezed once in emphasis, and the returning look in his eyes was that of complete adoration for both she herself and the things she was capable of. "You completed the mission we had been groomed for our whole lives; defeating the Dark Lord and saving humanity. And on a more personal note…you brought be back from the edge of oblivion. …If anything, you’ve been my protector. And for that, I… I owe you everything.”

"You owe me nothing, Albus." Shanoa replied softly, a little shy at the slew of compliments peppered into his ramblings. She hugged him tightly with her one free arm and smiled to herself. "We're here for each other, just like we always have been. I couldn't ask for more."

[leahdarkspear]

A Visit with Poreen

At long last, I finally finished this story. I tried to come up with a better title, but they’re not really my strong suit. Anyway, I hope you guys like this one!

The breeze was cool and pleasant as it swept across the grassy plains of Mulgore. Gently it tousled Leah’s hot pink mohawk as she stood leaning against the nearby bridge support. The ground was cold and damp under her feet from the rainstorm which had swept across the plains the night before. She and Taj rested along the southern edge of Stonebull Lake just off the path outside of Bloodhoof Village. Parched from the long ride through the sweltering Barrens, the troll’s trusty raptor drank eagerly from the cool, clear lake. Leah held his bosal and reins in her hands as she scanned the surface of the water. The lake appeared deep and, with the exception of the small ripples from the breeze, completely still.“Hmm,” Leah pondered aloud to herself. “I wonder how de fishin’ be.”

Splash! Almost seemingly in response to her thought, a trout’s jump broke the surface of the water.

“I wish Daddy was still here, Taj,” she said as she stroked the smooth, turquoise scales along her raptor’s neck. She always thought of her father whenever she encountered a potential fishing spot. “He woulda loved dis for sure.”

Leah pictured for a moment sitting on the bank of the lake next to her father. Patiently they would watch their bobbers as they sat in the land of the peaceful Tauren, their backs warmed by the sun. The wind would blow an undulating pattern in the tall prairie grasses and carry the songs of the birds to their ears. Leah blinked away her daydream. Maybe her father couldn’t be there, but surely she could find someone else. Maybe Boaris would come with her one day - he did have that silly old fishing hat, and he was decent with a rod and reel.

Leah glanced up at the sun, which was now directly overhead. “C’mon, Taj, it be midday.” She turned to the raptor and patted him on the rump. “We gotta get ta Thunder Bluff. I wanna have time ta give Poreen a visit aftah we get done at Una’s.”

The two made good time to Thunder Bluff. Taj, it seemed to Leah, had been born for no other reason than to run fast. This was good, because that was how she liked to ride. She stabled Taj on the lower rise and gave the stable master a little gold for his trouble (Taj was none too happy about being cooped up and was nipping at the Tauren’s tail). She then made her way to Thunder Bluff Armorers, in hopes that Una the leatherworking trainer could teach her something new.

A couple of hours later, Leah left Una with an armful of supplies and a smile on her face. Una had several hides in various stages of tanning, so Leah had been able to lend a hand and observe the entire process. More importantly, she now understood the technique behind making heavy leather herself. Leah beamed knowing that a new, sturdier set of armor made by her very own hands was in her future.

When Leah arrived at the stable master’s, Taj seemed notably calmer. He was furiously ripping the flesh from what looked to be a tall strider shank. Leah packed her supplies into her saddle bags and handed the stable master yet more gold, for she noticed he was now sporting a bandage on his tail. She then made her way to Elder Rise, all the while pondering training techniques to help Taj break his annoying habit of trying to bite everyone.

At the Hall of Elders, Leah spied Poreen near the druid trainers, sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading a thick leather-bound book. Quietly, she approached and placed her hands over the Tauren’s eyes. “Guess who,” she teased in a sing-song voice.

A small smile brought up the corners of Poreen’s mouth briefly. “Greetings, Leah. You know, for someone who stalks prey for a living, you aren’t very stealthy. I heard you as soon as you came in.” The druid usually remained quite passive, but she did have her moments. There seemed to be a hint of teasing in her large, soft eyes.

The hunter just chuckled. “Tryin’ ta make a joke dere, friend? Ya gonna hafta do bettah dan dat if you be lookin’ ta get my goat,” she replied, still grinning. “Besides, I don’t try ta sneak up on you, ‘cause you be hearin’ everyt’ing wit’ dem big ol’ ears.” Leah then turned her attention to the book in Poreen’s lap. “Say, whatcha be readin’?”

Poreen’s eyes lit up. “I’m studying the properties of Stranglethorn bromeliads,” she answered in a lively tone. Anything about the natural world interested the druid, but she especially loved to study tropical flora.

Leah made a face. “Ugh. Why? You be needin’ somethin’ ta help lull ya ta sleep? Bromeliads don’t do nothin’ but look nice.”

Poreen flared her nostrils with a short, annoyed snort. “There is nothing wrong with beauty being a plant’s primary function, Leah,” she said reproachfully. “Bright colors attract pollinators, which in turn fertilize all kinds of other plants, allowing them to survive and bear fruit. And I’ll have you know, pineapples come from bromeliads.”

“Really?” Leah asked with intrigue. “Well, I do like me some pineapple punch.” She then leaned on her druid friend and began reading over her shoulder.

Poreen sat looking up at Leah in mildly perturbed silence for a moment before snapping the book shut.

“Hey, I was readin’ dat!” Leah seemed genuinely offended that the druid had closed her book. Poreen chuckled softly. She was somewhat amused that a simple fruit could so easily change her friend’s opinion of an entire family of plants. Trolls were indeed curious creatures.

“So, my friend, what brings you to see me?” Poreen inquired with a smile. The druid got to her feet and motioned for Leah to follow her out of the Hall so they could talk without disturbing the others.

“Oh, ya know, I was in de neighborhood,” Leah replied casually as she followed Poreen outside. “I’d come ta see Una about learnin’ some more leatherworkin’ techniques, and so I thought I’d come by an’ say hello.”

The two sat on the grass and caught up. Poreen spoke of her nature studies, the Night Elves of Moonglade, and how Leah had just missed the Darkmoon Faire. Leah talked of missions, creatures she’d hunted, and how she and Boaris were getting along. Before they knew it, two hours had passed.

Leah rose to her feet with a groan. She pulled herself up tall and stretched her limbs which had grown stiff from sitting so long in one position. “Well, I best be goin’,” she said. “I was hopin’ ta make it to Camp T by nightfall. Get dat ride across de Barrens done early in de mornin’ so it’s not so blasted hot, ya know?”

Poreen nodded. “It was good seeing you, my friend. Shall I walk with you to get Taj?” she asked as she stood up.

“Actually, Por,” Leah began, “Would ya mind sparrin’ wit’ me a bit? It’ll help me loosen up ‘fore I gotta get back in de saddle.”

“Don’t you normally do that with Boaris?” the Tauren inquired. “I thought you two only did that as an excuse to have one of your ‘cool-down sessions’,” Poreen said as she made quotation gestures with her fingers. “Isn’t sparring you trolls’ idea of foreplay?”

Leah whipped her head around to look at Poreen with her eyes wide and mouth agape. Like most trolls, Leah didn’t shy away from discussing intimacy, but she was caught off guard to hear Poreen bring it up so flippantly. Her cheeks went pink as she sputtered. “Wh-what? Noo! Dat’s not de only reason I… Look, what I do wit’ my mate is my business!”

“And everybody’s who’s in earshot,” Poreen muttered under her breath.

Leah shot Poreen a dirty look. “Whatchu say?”

“Hmm?” the druid replied innocently. “I didn’t say anything, but I believe you were correcting me on some misconceptions about troll culture.”

Leah eyed Poreen suspiciously for a second before focusing on the topic at hand. “Well, while it be true dat watchin’ a mon display his combat prowess can be arousing’, sparrin’ be all about self-improvement. Ya spend time perfectin’ techniques an’ developin’ muscle memory. Dat way in de heat o’ battle, ya body knows what ta be doin’, an’ it does it automatically. By de same regard, ya don’t always be sparrin’ wit’ just one partner. Even wit’in de same fightin’ styles, de execution of a technique be unique to de mon dat’s doin’ it. Different partners help ya ta learn how ta improvise in combat. You become familiar wit’ all kinds o’ ways to attack an’ ta defend yaself. It be an exercise in both concentration an’ strength. Good for de mind an’ de body.”

“And you don’t just do it because you like to fight?” Poreen asked.

“Well, I’d be lyin’ if I said dat wasn’t part o’ it,” Leah responded with a shrug. “Us Darkspears have had ta fight for just about everyt’ing we got. It be second nature to us now. I s’pose ya eithah learn ta take pleasure in what ya can, or ya go crazy. Still, it’s not like fightin’ be de only t’ing we got goin’ for us. Dere be some o’ us dat, if peace fell over Azeroth tomorrow, would be just as happy ta nevah pick up a weapon again.”

“I see,” Poreen nodded. “But as for sparring with you, I respectfully decline. Combat is not my cup of tea.”

Leah looked perplexed. “But I’ve seen ya fight! Damn well, too! Whatcha mean it ain’t ya cup o’ tea?”

“I fight when I must – to preserve balance.” Poreen explained. “You’ll notice I take no sides in the conflict between the Horde and the Alliance. I only participate in combat to protect nature.”

“But surely ya practice, so c’mon, let’s go!” Leah said enthusiastically. In her mind, there was no arguing with that logic.

“Actually,” Poreen stated, “I do not practice combat at all. I work on forging a deeper connection with nature, so that I may rely on my primal instincts to guide me in combat situations.”

Leah slumped her shoulders. Convincing her friend to do a simple warm-up sparring exercise was proving much more difficult than she thought it would be. This didn’t surprise her necessarily; Poreen was deeply analytical, capable of breaking down the bigger picture to view it in fine detail from every angle. It made discussions with her very interesting and arguments with her a nightmare. Leah did not often “win” against Poreen, still she wasn’t going to give up just yet.

“C’mon, Por, ya wanna preserve balance? Well, my ass is gonna be out o’ balance if I gotta ride wit’out loosenin’ up some.”

“Then do some stretches,” Poreen said stubbornly.

“It’s just for fun, nothin’ serious. Just humor me, mon. Pretty please?” Leah blinked her eyes in mock innocence.

Poreen rolled her eyes and sighed. “Well, since it’s obvious that you’re not going to let me be until I do this, I will concede just this once. Just promise me you won’t try to sleep with me afterward.”

An impish grin spread across Leah’s face. “Oh, baby, you be cute, but ya ain’t my type,” she replied, reaching to stroke Poreen’s large, velvety ear.

The druid swatted away Leah’s hand in agitation. “Remind me how we became friends again,” she said with a flare of her nostrils.

Leah cackled. “I don’t know, but whatevah it was, you be stuck wit’ me now.”

The two made their way to the stable master, where Leah picked up a simple wooden staff she’d left with Taj. Poreen insisted that she would not need a weapon. This puzzled Leah, but she did not question it. She and Poreen then rode the lift down to the ground below the Bluffs. Puddles from the previous night’s rain were everywhere, and some were quite large. Leah scoped out a slightly higher spot that wasn’t too muddy.

“Here,” Leah stated. “Everyt’ing around dis be pretty wet, but if we stay here, we should be good.”

Poreen surveyed the area and agreed. “Yes, this seems like as good a place as any. Should we give ourselves some distance?”

“T’irty paces be what I usually do,” Leah said. “You go fifteen, an’ I’ll go fifteen.”

Poreen and Leah counted out their paces and turned to face one another. Poreen called out, “I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this now, huh?”

“Not a chance!” Leah shouted back with a grin. “Ya ready?”

“I suppose I am,” Poreen replied.

“Alright den,” Leah said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Let’s go!”

Leah made to charge at Poreen, but was suddenly blinded by an intense white light; a blistering, searing pain filled her body.

“OWWW!” she cried, sounding somewhat like a startled house cat. Leah dropped her stave to cover her eyes with one hand while clutching her chest with the other. “What de hell was dat?!”

“Moonfire!” Poreen called out. There seemed to be a trace of mirth in her voice.

“Thrall’s balls! It still burns!” Leah shouted.

“Yes,” Poreen stated matter-of-factly. “It will do for the next few seconds.”

Leah gasped and then exhaled abruptly as the sensation passed. Instinctively her hand shot to the top of her head. Relieved to find her hair had not been singed at all, the hunter began to look over the rest of her body and marveled that there was no physical evidence of her injury. However, amazement soon gave way to irritation at Poreen, who remained at her initial spot thirty paces away. Was - was she smiling?!

“Hey!” Leah called sharply, her eyebrows furrowed. “What’d you do dat for?”

Poreen threw up her arms in a shrug. “You said we were sparring!” she replied bemusedly.

“Not wit’ magic!” Leah retorted, gesturing vehemently. “I don’t be usin’ spells!”

Once again, the Tauren shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, my dear troll, you were not very specific, and in any case, should you need to defend yourself against a druid, you should be familiar with the discomfort our abilities can inflict.”

Leah sighed; as much as she may have wanted to, she couldn’t dispute that logic. “Fair ‘nuff,” she conceded. “Alright, let’s go again, but dis time, no spells.”

Poreen nodded her agreement. Leah turned and bent to pick up her staff, but when she turned around, Poreen was no longer there. In the Tauren’s place was a large, leonine cat. No sooner than Leah laid eyes on the beast, it rushed forward and began closing in fast.

Without much time to think, Leah decided to try an old hunters’ trick. She stood her ground and pulled herself up as tall as she could. She raised her arms wide above her head to make herself appear even larger. When Poreen was just steps away, Leah made a menacing face, stomped the ground, and let out the fiercest, loudest roar she could muster.

To her surprise, Poreen tucked her tail between her legs and bolted in the other direction. Leah let out a celebratory whoop and did a little victory dance. It was then she noticed that the druid was still running scared, right for a very large puddle. The troll tried to call out a warning, but it was too late. She watched as her friend stumbled straight into the water. Then, still in cat form, Poreen jumped straight up, hissing, spitting, and yowling. Her paws did not appear to touch the ground again until she was well away from the puddle. Leah thought she might die laughing. She doubled over, clutching her sides and cackling maniacally.

Poreen, however, was not nearly so amused. After changing back into her Tauren form, the druid huffed several times through her large nostrils and then slunk over to the edge of the nearby bluff.  She sat down, pulled her knees to her chest, and rested her head on them. The cool afternoon air caused her to shiver in her wet clothing, and it looked as if she was about to cry. Immediately sobered, Leah’s smile faded. She jogged over and sat down next to the druid, who turned away from her.

Poreen sounded hurt and angry. “I’m not speaking to you. I told you I didn’t want to do this.”

“Oh, Por, I be so sorry,” Leah said, her brow furrowed in concern. “I honestly didn’t know dat would work. I didn’t mean for it ta scare ya so.” She scooted close, put her arm around her friend, and hugged her to her chest. Poreen did not resist, which Leah took as acceptance of her apology. The two sat silent for a while.

Poreen sniffled a little and then looked up at Leah as a sheepish smile spread over her face. “I bet I looked pretty funny running around like that.” Instantly, the atmosphere around the two friends shifted.

“I won’t lie, it was hilarious.” Leah chuckled softly as she looked at her soaking wet friend. “But ya know, if you be honest with yaself, it’s kinda your own fault for using magic again. If ya hadn’t turned inta a cat, I wouldn’t have been able ta do what I did,” she teased.

Poreen shook her head in denial. “It wasn’t magic. You wanted physical combat. I always fight in cat form.”

Leah raised an eyebrow at this. “Ya transformed inta a completely different creature, mon! How is dat not magic?”

Poreen looked as if she wanted to argue this point, but couldn’t quite find the words. “Okay, yes,” she admitted, “but in a way, you used magic too.”

“What?! No I didn’t!” Leah retorted.

“Yes, you did,” Poreen stated. “You once told me that all of a troll’s blessings come from the Loa, correct?”

“Well, yeah, o’ course,” Leah agreed.

“Then isn’t your skill with manipulating beasts a blessing from the Loa, and therefore a form of magic?” Poreen inquired.

Leah bristled slightly. She revered the Loa, but she wasn’t about to let them take credit for something they didn’t do. “Now, wait a minute, I wasn’t born knowin’ all dat. I be learnin’ on my own from my mama, de Loa didn’t grant me any special abilities!”

But Poreen stood by her position. “They gave you an able body and an aptitude for learning, did they not? So, you could say they blessed you with potential. Anything you use it for would be an extension of their magic.”

Leah opened her mouth to argue, but instead she just laughed. “Okay, now ya just messin’ wit’ me. You really be reachin’ wit dat one, mon, ‘cause even if we don’t admit it, every livin’ t’ing be born wit’ potential, not just us trolls.” Leah nudged Poreen playfully. “Don’t t’ink I don’t know you just be tryin’ ta turn my words around on me.”

Poreen gave Leah a mischievous grin. “Maybe so, but mark me, one thing I’m not messing with you about is that I will get you back for scaring me into that puddle.”

A loud guffaw escaped Leah, and she shook her head in disbelief. “I know ya be jokin’ now, mon. My sweet friend Poreen don’t do de whole revenge t’ing.”

“This is not about revenge; balance must be maintained,” the druid said, looking very serious.  “You got me, and now I will get you. We must be even.”

Leah eyed her friend curiously. “Ya know, mon, sometimes I t’ink you just be makin’ all dis up as ya go along.” The troll then waggled a finger at Poreen. “I be onta ya.”

Poreen only smirked.

“What? What’s dat look?” Leah asked. “Dere be a t’ought behind dem eyes, I see it.” She got to her feet and extended a hand to Poreen to help her up.

Poreen took Leah’s hand, smiling as she did. “Oh nothing. It’s just… how is it exactly that we’re friends, again?”

They both laughed aloud as they headed back up to Thunder Bluff.

[imagine--drv3]

The boys trying on thier S.O's clothes and then getting caught, por favor?

This ask could’ve gone in so many different directions. I hope you enjoy it!

Korekiyo Shinguuji

You walk into your room to go get your scarf because man it is cold out

You stop when you see Shinguuji standing in front of your mirror

He freezes and you can see him look at you through the mirror

You notice that rather than the usual bandages on his hands, he’s wearing your gloves

When you question him, he goes into a great long speech about how the frigid weather would have a chance to render his hands utterly-

He just needs your gloves, basically.

You question why he’s wearing your gloves though

...He only has the bandages.

He lost his gloves.

He needed something because he really hates the cold-

You kiss him on the cheek

It’s fine, you tell him

After you two go out and he gives you the gloves back

He notes that it felt like you were holding his hands the whole time

You let him keep them.

Rantarou Amami

You walk in and your room is a mess

Your clothes are spread out everywhere

There are some shirts you haven’t seen in years out in the open

And there’s your boyfriend standing in the middle of this tornado of clothes

Wearing your favorite shirt and jeans

You ask him what he’s doing

He tells you in the most subtly annoyed voice you’ve ever heard from him

“I’ve seen you wear the same eight shirts since we’ve met when I know you have more”

You ask him why he’s wearing your shirt, though

He said that he was trying to organize your closet with the best outfits possible

But why is he wearing your shirt though

He needed to see how they looked on a person

And he’s decided: You two are going shopping

He drags you out the door while still wearing your clothes

Kokichi Ouma

You work very hard and often come home late

You’re absolutely exhausted

But you became very much awake very quickly when you see Ouma sleepily welcome you home

In one of your button up shirts

It’s a little big on him so the sleeves nearly end at his fingertips

And you can barely see the edge of his bright red underwear under the hem

You ask him what he’s doing in your shirt

He tells you, while he’s still only half-conscious, that he wears your clothes when he can’t sleep next to you

Of course, that’s a lie, he adds

But from the way he curls up next to you that night, you can tell he was telling the truth

Shuuichi Saihara

You come home from getting groceries one day to see your boyfriend wearing your school uniform

He even took your kneesocks

He’s blushing as he tells you that he just wanted to know what wearing a skirt felt like

And you come to the realization

He looks great in your uniform

Maybe even better than you

His voice and his stupid beautiful eyelashes don’t help matters

He notices the grin you have on your face and the blush fades

Because he is now very much regretting trying on your uniform

You take him by the hand and start dragging him to your room

He’s trying on all the clothes

Kaito Momota

He has a good excuse for wearing your jacket, he swears

You put on his all the time so why not try on yours for a change?

You giggle at the uncomfortable look on his face because the sleeves are too short on him and he can’t close it

Then he looks you in the eye and bluntly tells you:

This is the crappiest thing he’s ever worn.

His t-shirt is sturdier than this thing.

You give him a shrug that tells him “They’re all like that”

He sighs and tries to shove his hands in the pockets

He can only get up to his knuckles into them

He looks at you with such pity at the realization that girl pockets suck

No wonder you keep taking his jacket!

He comes home the next day with good jackets

That will keep you warm

With actual pockets

Kiibo

You find him wearing that one over-sized hoodie you own

You know, the one you wear when comfort is the absolute priority

It’s just big enough to cover his body armor and he looks really huggable right now

His face is blushing bright red over the fact that he’s been caught

Before you could even ask him what he’s doing in your hoodie, he blurts out his explanation

He just wanted to know what it was like to wear clothes

Once he finishes, he looks even more embarrassed

So embarrassed that he tries to hide his face with your hoodie

You can’t help but hug him

If he wanted to wear clothes so badly, he could have just asked!

He says that he was too ashamed to buy clothes while not owning any...

You give him the hoodie

Gonta Gokuhara

Gonta found that one really cute shirt with the bee on it

He loves it but, by god, is it small on him

How did he even get his arms through the sleeves?

You can’t help but laugh

He starts laughing too

But the second he does, your shirt kind of explodes

Gonta is very sorry

Ryouma Hoshi

It kind of started with a comment about his height

At the time he had just rolled his eyes and said “I’m not that short”

But a few days later, you came into your room to see him standing in front of your mirror

For a second you think that he’s wearing a dress

Then you realize that he’s wearing one of your shirts

He looks over to you with a straight face

“Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m short.”

And you tell him that it looks good on him?

He appreciates the thought

But he still has to shop in the kid’s section

Now occasionally he’ll walk around the house wearing nothing but one of your shirts

[herushingu]

I got a blurry image and lots of info after deciding that everyone's inner dragon would represent their internal drive.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Oddly, the Major is a skinny dragon, downright sickly looking, in fact.

This dragon is stubborn to the absolute. It has a direction and you can't change it for anything. This is true of all dragons, but not like this. He takes it to another level. You can calm other dragons if you know their triggers. Nothing you say or do matters to Major Dragon except as a target to be run through. Anytime he stops moving, it's only to rest.

Major Dragon has a thick levitant ring of huge scales rotating around him at all times. He can't control this Scale Ring, it's simply there at a constant distance from him, always.

The outside of the large scales is shiny, clean, and smooth, while the inside is covered in a mess of root(or "vein")-like patterns in shades of deathly blue. Though the outside is, of course, much more durable than the inside, it would be a mistake to think that the inside is EXGTRA sensitive. The truly sensitive part is if you can wedge the scales apart from each other a bit then try to hit them with a heavy blow in between that space.

While it's not impossible to crack or destroy the Scale Ring from the outside, it's not worth the effort it would take. It's far easier to leap over it or dig under it rather than try to damage it. Even many explosives wouldn't make a dent.

This Scale ring makes Major Dragon very difficult to have in any location where things aren't fairly far away from him. The Scale Ring keeps anything and anyone from getting too close to his personal space. If there was a "dragon world" with things like "dragon society" and "dragon houses", his Scale Ring would be demolishing every doorway (being a "dragon sized" doorway even for dragons that are on the larger side) he tried to go through.

Major Dragon's head is covered in armored plates that are harder and sturdier than the Scale Ring, by far. Any enemy that gets past the ring to be able to attack him, he headbutts with all the zeal he can muster. He could use his head to crash through whole buildings and not feel a single ounce of pain. One could out-run Major Dragon, but no one can out-headbutt him. NO ONE. If you're in his way, you're an obstacle and if he can't get around you with enough ease, he'll plow right through you. And honestly, "enough ease" pretty much means you're not really in his way at all in the first place.

Should he want to go faster, and since he lacks powers of flight, he can twist the Scale Ring to be vertical around him, rather than it's usual horizontal. Increasing it's rotation by making a running motion in the center of the ring, he can go MUCH faster, but not for long. The Scale Ring isn't actually at his whim and it takes a great deal of effort to turn it on it's side like that as well as to force it to rotate more quickly. He exhausts much faster, but he's far more a force to be reckoned with, so it's not worth giving him reason to do it when, say, he's within city limits.

However, it becomes a sight to see from the side when he pulls this maneuver, as it looks almost exactly like a hampster in a running wheel. Crashing through everything in his path even more indiscriminately than usual, with the weight of sheer destruction.

-----------------------------------------------------------

.... that was all time I could have spent drawing, but as usual I OVERFLOW and go so overboard on details that all my time gets eaten up ^^;

But hey, we got Major Dragon in a hamster wheel out of it, so XD

So… I found out about Smaugust (draw a dragon a day throughout August) and was all set to do that, despite being four days behind, when my worst enemy kicks in… OVERFLOW.

I started with the Major

[stormcloudgeneral]

Hero’s Legacy, Friend’s Memory

The village of Jarkynn had changed drastically since Adeia had last come to it. In fact, it was no village any longer; forty years had seen it grow into a burgeoning city, with many of the old streets she once knew to be trodden dirt now covered over in cobbles. The old town square had grown to twice its size, an unfamiliar statue in the center depicting a bastard sword of silver metal impaling the marble skull of a dragon. Shopkeepers proudly hawked their wares to passersby, and children darted about. The old hunger and strife that had beset the former trading village had given way to growth and prosperity. And though Jarkynn had always had a temple to Nelandr, the temple now was thrice its former size, and Adeia spied priests of every god in the Glödraun pantheon tending to it. Never had the speed of human lives impressed her so as now. But then, the speed of human life was exactly why she’d come to Jarkynn.

The last and only time she’d come, she had been little more than the guard of a merchant caravan. She initially hadn’t wanted to, but humans were such easily impressed folk, and having a Nularyan guard seemed to them to be worth paying her triple her mercenary’s rates. Back then, her life had been so much simpler, albeit harder. Adeia almost missed the simple days of taking odd jobs, cooking hunted food over a fire, and learning about the short-lived nation that had sprung up beside her native Ilguardia. But Jarkynn had ended that, and she only had one man to blame for it: Balthazar.

Winding her way through the city streets, hood up and snug against her long ears, Adeia did her best to follow the streets that her memories told her led to Balthazar’s home. He’d only been a militiaman at the time, so it had been in the village’s military district, near to the guardsman’s keep. Said keep was growing into a bastion now, and the former ramshackle houses had been replaced with sturdier constructions. That three-story manorhouse, didn’t that used to be the one-story dwelling of the smith who’d made her bodkin arrowheads? Where did he go? Where was his forge? Did the past four decades run him off, or was this still his family’s home?

The Snow Elf shook her head to dispel her recollections of the old homes, nearly running into a scampering pair of children playing at soldiers. She couldn’t count on such thoughts anymore, it seemed. Gods above and below, what felt like such a short time ago was a lifetime for these mortals. Sighing, Adeia let herself lean against a corner, staring up at the buildings. Why was such melancholy in her heart? It wasn’t as though she didn’t expect things to change. Perhaps she wasn’t as used to humans as she liked to tell herself.

The moment’s reverie was broken by a light cough. “Pardon me, ma’am, but have you business here? The merchant district is back towards the Temple, and–”

Adeia turned her head, ears twitching futilely beneath the cloth of her cloak. The person who’d questioned her—a shieldmaiden, judging from her chainmail armor and spear—recoiled at seeing the icy blue skin of Adeia’s face. “Oh! Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t realize what you were.”

“Being an elf makes me a lady, does it?” Adeia’s lips tightened at the formality; wariness of Aryans hadn’t changed in forty years, it seemed. “No matter. I happen to be looking for the house of...a colleague.”

“Then perhaps I can direct you.” The shieldmaiden gave a small, informal salute. “The Dragonslayer District is my responsibility, so if they live here, I can help you find their home.”

“I suppose so.” The Snow Elf tapped one foot against the cobbles, considering whether or not to ask. Finally, her resolve weakened, and she crossed her arms. “Then would you happen to tell me where Balthazar lives?”

The words hung in the air for a few moments before the shieldmaiden seemed to pick them up. A look of pure amusement crossed what was visible of her face beneath her spangenhelm, and she laughed. “Jarl Dragonbane will be holding council tomorrow at the keep, if you have business with him. In the meantime, I can help you find an inn, perhaps?”

“I’m not here on business. This is a social visit.”

The shieldmaiden’s mirth dimmed a little, suspicion in her aquamarine eyes. “Social? You called him a colleague.”

“Colleague and friend.” Adeia set an elbow down on the hilt of her sabre, feeling the creep of misunderstanding growing ever closer. “I would rather leave it as such.”

“Then I’m afraid I cannot direct you to his home, my lady.” The shieldmaiden shook her head. “I’ll have to insist I take you to an inn.”

“Oh fine.” The elf clucked her tongue, and cast back her hood, letting the silver circlet holding back her tawny hair catch the afternoon sun. “My name is Adeia Crestalla. And that should explain to you why this is a social visit.”

Another long pause as the shieldmaiden processed the words, then a louder laugh. The human woman collapsed against her spear to hold steady as the guffaws racked her frame. Embarrassed, Adeia lifted her hood back up. “You think I lie?”

“No, no, I, oh Madyr…” The woman gasped a few times to recover her breath, then removed her own headgear, copper braids frizzy from their captivity in the helmet. “What do you want with my grandfather?”

Though unable to feel the cold of winter, Adeia felt as though a glacier had just run over her heart. “...grandfather?”

“My name is Imma Carlottasdottir, who is the wife of Lafki Balthazarson.” The shieldmaiden let the targe on her shoulder swing onto her arm, revealing four entwined serpentine dragons, each biting the next’s neck. Adeia knew the design immediately; Balthazar had painted it on his own shield, decades ago. And if the Nularyan woman knew anything of humans, it was that they were just as picky about family heraldry and patterns as were Aryan nobles. So it seemed the shieldmaiden was speaking truth.

While Adeia processed this, Imma swung her shield back to a more comfortable position. “So, are you really Lady Crestalla? Grandfather’s stories of you made me think you’d be...gruffer? More stern?”

“Perhaps when I am not caught out of my element.” Adeia raised a hand to cover her eyes. “Balthazar...married?”

“The jarl of a principality has to produce heirs, so, yes.”

“He could have told me.” The elf felt her voice crack slightly as yet more evidence of time passing struck her heart with sledgehammer blows.

Imma frowned lightly, and reached out a hand to pat Adeia’s shoulder. “Well, come on, I’ll let you ask him about it yourself. I’m willing to believe you, but if grandfather turns you away...well, I’ll do my duty.”

“Of course. Lead on then.” Adeia lowered her hand, and stared up at the sky, melancholia settling around her like chains.

As it happened, Balthazar didn’t live in the keep. He lived adjacent to it, in the grandest of the district’s houses. From the stonework, it seemed that the council of Jarkynn had hired Dwarven stonecrafters to build their jarl’s abode, and all the timber seemed high quality as well. The interior was equally lavish, all perfectly made furniture and rare fur rugs. Painted tapestries hung here and there, and the halls were lit with oil lanterns rather than the typical candles of the region. It was a far cry from the soldier’s house Adeia remembered. And despite sitting in a parlour across from the man introduced to her as Jarl Dragonbane, Adeia couldn’t help but feel that she’d been misinformed.

Balthazar in her memories was tall, muscular, and weathered from work and battle. She remembered a man with tanned skin against a wild copper beard and back-length hair, golden eyes glinting with mirth and focus as he would practice swordplay or tend to his leather armor. She remembered his booming laugh when he would make jokes, the snarl of pain when she would treat his wounds, and the broken sobs he gave when they’d been told his parents had been killed in a drake attack. She remembered a human man full of light, life, vigour, and emotion.

The man across from her was a shadow of such a man. His hair was storm grey, neatly braided back and to his shoulders, beard trimmed close to his jaw. Where once was armor and soldier’s clothes now lay elegant robes, trimmed with wolf fur. A golden circlet rested on his brow, and if she really wanted to, Adeia could convince herself that it was the metal’s weight that was causing his face to be so sagged and wrinkled. But the old man’s hands trembled slightly as he took a long sip of mead, eyes less gold now and more like bronze as he stared at the elven woman.

Adeia, she knew, hadn’t changed. What were forty years to an elf, after all? Her muscles were still firm and defined from her training, her face unwrinkled and unblemished, her eyes youthful to match her movements. She was still a young adult by elven standards, barely 1500 years, and she knew she looked it. And the Jarl knew it too, judging from the sadness in his eyes. Finally, the man gave a drawn out sigh, then smirked. “You’re late for our morning spar, Adeia.”

Despite herself, Adeia felt tears clamour for time in her eyes; even with forty years and old age making his voice waver slightly, it was very much still Balthazar’s voice, the same one that had rung out over their campfires during their travels. “I didn’t see you coming to Ilguardia, so I’d say we’re even.”

“I don’t think I ever got an invitation for a state visit.” Balthazar chuckled. “Not like Glödraun is recognized as a worthy power by your Elder Council, no matter which jarl sends them a letter. And it isn’t as though you sent me any yourself.”

That made the elf’s ears twitch in surprise. “I...sent five within ten years, Balthazar. You never answered.”

“Hm. I sent ten in four.” The human man rested his chin on a fist. “I guess Jarl Ordel was right; messages between humans and elves don’t make it to their recipients.”

Adeia winced. She could have figured that out for herself, if she were honest about it. But now at least she knew her old friend’s silence wasn’t malice. After all, here he was, genial as ever towards her. “I...probably should have come sooner, then.”

“You should have. You missed my wedding, after all.” Balthazar lifted his left hand, letting the golden band on his ring finger shine in the firelight. “I had to go for my second-choice of witness.”

“You know I’d have done it if word had gotten through.”

“Adeia, it’s in the past.” Balthazar waved away the apology. “I’m not angry about it. Not anymore, anyway. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“And missed most of your life in the process.” The elf’s grip tightened on her own mead, the drinking horn creaking under her fingers. “I missed it all.”

The wrinkles on Balthazar’s face deepened as he listened to her voice. “You had your own matters to attend to, and I mine. Don’t blame yourself.”

“Who else can I blame?” Adeia closed her eyes tight. “I came here to scold you for not getting in contact, but...I forgot how fast things change. I missed your wedding, your children’s youth, and even your grandchildren are adults now.”

“Imma’s only barely an adult, but the other jarls don’t begrudge me for having let her become a shieldmaiden so young.” Balthazar grinned. “She always liked stories about you, by the way. Even with plenty of tales about Freyja and ancient shieldmaidens, she’d always ask to hear about the Archer of Ilguardia. Pretty sure there’s a tapestry of you in her room, actually. So hey, my granddaughter’s your fan.”

Adeia scoffed slightly at the change in topic, though her reaction was equal parts embarrassment and annoyance. “Be that as it may, your people remember you, not me. Not Vishas either, or Moqita.”

“I did my best to make sure they got credit.” The jarl glanced into the fire, his own sadness doing nothing to stop Adeia’s own from surging in her. “But the people of Glödraun have heard plenty of stories about the fairfolk champions and their mighty deeds. They wanted their own, so...here I sit. The Dragonbane.”

“Not as though you don’t deserve it.” Adeia took a long drink of her mead. “Even the Aryans are buzzing about it, thanks to my talking some of their ears off.”

“Please tell me they’re praising me and not saying that Runhaarzaal was frail by the time I got to him.”

“Depends on who you ask. A few nobles try to spin the tale so that Runhaarzaal died of overindulgence, and you just poked him in the eye a few times before calling yourself a dragonslayer.”

The both shared a small chuckle at the ridiculousness of people denying Balthazar’s achievement, but melancholia replaced the mirth far too fast. Adeia took the moment to control her breathing, recenter herself, then looked her friend in the face. “I...miss you, you know. Travelling has felt wrong these past forty years without a brute of a human sharing my fire.”

“Well, I’d have only been a decent swordhand for twenty of those.” Bathazar tapped one knee. “The fall I took after stabbing him has come back to bite me in my old age; walking is an absolute chore.”

“A good enough healer could fix that, Balthazar, if you wanted them to.”

“And I don’t.” The man leaned back in his chair. “I don’t want to lose the memory, no matter how old I get.”

“Fair enough. I didn’t let them heal the scars I got from it.” The elven woman placed a hand against her abdomen, the feeling of dragon talons raking through flesh as vivid in her mind as the human hero’s geniality. “But...I am sorry I took this long to come back.”

“Then make up for it by staying awhile.” Balthazar drained his drinking horn. “I have an opening for a berserkr, and there’s no one I trust with my life more.”

Adeia’s hand tightened more around her own drinking vessel. “I...I don’t know. Your people probably won’t accept–”

“So what? I’m the Dragonbane, Adeia, hero of Glödraun. I think they’ll let me name an Aryan woman to my berserkir as opposed to naming her a shieldmaiden. I can get away with that.”

“What about your wife?”

That gave Balthazar a moment of pause, after which he gave a chuckle. “Hilda knows what we were and what we weren’t. She’s not about to be jealous because my old friend came back. She might be jealous that you still look so good despite the years, though, while she frets over every sign of age.”

“Age. That’s another thing.” Adeia felt the tears rise again as she lifted her gaze to Balthazar’s, piercing his bronzing eyes with her vermillion ones. “Tell me the truth, Balthazar: how long until you…?”

The human man set his horn aside, a cloud shadowing his face. “No idea. But I probably won’t make another decade. That’s mortality for you. You’re lucky you never have to experience it.”

“Lucky?” Adeia’s lips pulled back in a hiss. “I’m lucky that I don’t age, am I? Lucky that my life is endless? Lucky that I’ll outlive the humans I’ve met? Lucky that I’ll have millennia upon millennia of life left after this city dies? Lucky that I’ll outlive you?”

A crack rang out through the room as Adeia’s fingers shattered the drinking horn, sending her mead cascading down to the floorboards. Red blood dyed her blue skin as she let the fragments of horn clatter down to join the drink, and the sadness she’d been holding back finally started making streams run down her cheeks. “Lucky, Balthazar? I’m cursed! Even if I had never left after you killed Runhaarzaal, that’s still barely any time with you! Your whole life has gone by, and...and what have I done aside from travel, spread stories, and fight a bit more? Even if I become your berserkr, what am I supposed to do with myself when you’re dead and gone, and I no longer have a friend to guard? Tell me, damn you! What am I supposed to do with this curse of life if your time runs down before mine?”

The aged hero sat silent as Adeia struggled to find her composure again, the flickering firelight turning his wrinkles to canyons. He sat silent as she wiped her tears, silent as she used a small pulse of magic to heal her hand, silent until her breathing was steady again. Only then did Balthazar look her in the eyes, and give a sad smile. When he spoke, the elf finally heard in her friend’s voice the tone of the leader he’d become in her absence.

“Adeia...we humans believe that everyone deserves to live life to the fullest. We only have eight decades in us at best, and not all of those are useful. So we live. We do everything we can, try everything that interests us. We fight, we laugh, we love, and we pass the torch to our children. I rule so that my son can take my title and build off it, so that Imma can find a worthy husband and maybe raise little heroes of her own. As a mortal, I try to leave a legacy behind that my children and people can be proud of. So I can’t tell you how to live an endless life. What I can tell you is that I missed you these long years, and if I’m going to die soon, I’d like to die with my friend nearby. And because the only things I can leave behind are memories and stories, I want you to have as many of those as possible so that my legacy can life forever on in you. My passing will hurt. Hilda will cry, Lafki will beg Lalnur to honour my soul, and Imma will hide her sorrow in her work. But I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t die. So, my friend...please be with me until the end, be there for my family after I pass on, and remember me until your time comes. Please?”

Breath shaky, Adeia stood from her seat and walked over to Balthazar. Standing over him for a moment, she bent down and wrapped him in a hug. “I never did learn how to not go along with your dumb plans, you brute.”

A sniff came from the man as he embraced his comrade to him. “So much for Aryan superiority, then.”

“Shut up. But you’d better last as long as possible, or I’ll kill you myself.”

“It’s a deal.” Balthazar squeezed his friend, the tightness of the hug far less so than the old ones Adeia could remember, but warm nonetheless. “Welcome home, Deia.”

The elf nodded, feeling the chains about her heart start to loosen, replaced by the armor of duty and camaraderie. “I’m home, Bal.”

A month later, Adeia Crestalla, Dragonslayer and Archer of Ilguardia, was named to Jarl Balthazar Dragonbane’s berserkir to no complaints from anyone. Two years later, she was in the crowd at the wedding of Imma Carlottasdottir to a jarl of another province. In another two years, she was named godmother of Imma’s son, Balthus. A year after that, Adeia spoke at the funeral for Hilda, dead from plague. And three years from then, Balthazar the Sword of Victory passed in his sleep, entombed in the Pantheonic Temple. It was Adeia who signed off on Jarl Lafki’s decision to rename Jarkynn to “Balthasberg,” and Adeia a century later who helped finalize the decree from the Council of Jarls that Balthasberg and its province would forever be under the rule of the Pantheonic Temple. After this, she vanished from Glödraun, insisting that she had matters to attend to elsewhere.

A millennia onward, Balthasberg was a metropolis, a holy mecca for Glödraun, and the Pantheonic Temple had grown strong and influential. The leaders for each of the pantheon’s gods ruled well, spread their divine’s word, and never faltered in their duties. In the city center now stood a dramatic statue of a youthful human man, bastard sword held at the ready, posed bravely and defiantly in the face of the implied Rogue Dragon Runhaarzaal. Forever memorialized now was Balthazar, God-Hero of Victory and Success. His triumph served as one of the catalysts for elven nations across the world beginning to draft interspecies relations laws, for the fairfolk the world over to accept hominids as potential equals. His legacy was that of power, change, and divinity. Truly a scion of human potential, even if his bloodline had vanished from the world over time.

And yet, every decade, on the anniversary of his death, a hooded figure would appear at the statue at dawn. Every decade, she would place something at the statue’s feet that she’d found on her travels: a scroll of foreign poems, a decorative axe, a crystal sculpture of a sphinx, and so on. Every decade, this woman would spend the rest of the day in the inn that boasted of being Balthazar’s favourite as a youth, telling lesser-known tales of the God-Hero to anyone who would listen. When asked why, she would give no answer aside from “I haven’t stopped remembering him.” And she never did.