#you all can have forehead kisses.

[iinkribbons]

I keep seeing people posting they are getting self-conscious about their writing. I feel it, I know the struggle. But keep one thing in mind please, you are writing for yourself! Take a small break. Your brain is lying to you. It could be the start of burnout. Remember this is for you, if you think people judge your writing. It's your brain being a meany head. If someone is judging your writing, they probably aren't interacting with you. Therefore they are not important to you or your writing.

[millportisntreal]

I contain multitudes, and by that I mean I love fics where Neil and Kevin are brothers and I love fics where Kevin and Andrew and Aaron are brothers, BUT I also love (separate!!) fics where Kandreil or Kevaaron happens. I love fics where Andrew and Aaron have a deeply complicated relationship, AND I love fics where they are simply brothers. I love fics where the foxes are an exy team, I love fics where they play another sport instead, AND I love fics where they all come together at a random job!!

[spidvrbatz]

Caregiver!Alfred Pennyworth

x - x - x

x - x - x

x - x - x

(hc's always in tags 🦇💕)

// pt - dni: nsfw accounts //

[fisheito]

rediscovered some eiden trivia in vampire yaku's rooms (R3 to be exact)!!!

idk if it's mentioned in other rooms, but eito has a scar on his head from around the time he left the orphanage. exact location unknown but

- he needs to part his hair to get to it

- can't see it so he forgets about it

- sometimes feels it when he washes his hair

Reason: one of his bosses [nepotism megadouche] was spouting foul things about orphans

Eiden was so pissed off even after going home that he smashed a glass out of rage and TADA!! CONSEQUENCE[shard heckin GOT 'IM]!

He says it feels embarrassing to bring up his former hotheadedness...how his uncontrolled rage in that moment is now immortalised in his scar..... the sides of himself he wants to hide from others..........

[andromeda3116]

people actually went on about how game of thrones made it socially acceptable to be a fantasy nerd, as though the lord of the rings movies hadn't been released less than a decade earlier and left far greater cultural ripples and i am just

got may have made the adults feel better about liking fantasy, but lotr got into the kids' heads when they (we) were just young and impressionable enough to be absolutely transported and emotionally rewritten by don't you leave him, samwise gamgee and my brother, my captain, my king and and rohan will answer

lotr was rewriting entire generations' brain chemistry long before asoiaf and so obviously it's not fair to compare any post-lotr fantasy novel to it, and each book series was trying to do different things within their own spheres and so that also is not a fair comparison, but in terms of the cultural impact of the adaptations that came out within a decade of each other, saying that it was game of thrones that made fantasy mainstream is baffling

game of thrones could only run because the lord of the rings movies laid the path, and i will die on this hill

[murdleandmarot]

Can you info dump about bluebelle, I’m very curious about her :3

SORRY THIS TOOK A HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS I WANTED IT TO BE PERFECT

Hi hello!!!!! I will very gladly talk about Bluebelle, she’s the love of my life forever :D 💙💙💙💙💙

Important note: I’m a very um dramatic person when it comes to creating oc backstories. I am nothing if not a little bit pretentious, and giving ocs weird and angsty backstories is my passion project, and that’s part of the reason it took so long to collect my thoughts, and come up with something concrete, (or as concrete as possible)

I’ll start with facts about her that I like and then backstory regarding the fabled music box :))

-her design/colors are based off of a stuffed animal I bought in Munich :)

-the songs I most associate with her, (I have a playlist because I wanted one), are probably A Dangerous Thing/Everything Matters by AURORA, The Sugar Plum Fairy from the Nutcracker, and I came to your party dressed as a shadow. Adore those songs

-the only jellicles that she has met, (by choice), are Victoria, Misto, Plato, and Demeter. Or rather, Demeter knows of her, but Bluebelle doesn’t know Demeter

-this is mostly bc she’s pretty paranoid about meeting new people, and prefers to stick to her people. It took her a while to warm up to Plato, but eventually she got used to him

-this is also despite Vicci’s best efforts to convince Bluebelle to at the very least meet Jemima

-SPEAKING OF JEMIMA, if you haven’t heard, here’s my little jellicle magic theory: The cat’s magic relates to their eyes, just vaguely. Jemima and Misto each have white eyes, and you may have noticed, Bluebelle has those eyes as well. Because she’s. Blue. And that’s not a typical cat color, I figured I should just run with it. I see Bluebelle’s magic as a combination of Jemima and Victoria! Yes, Victoria is magic to me and that’s not just because she’s lovely and beautiful, but because of the way she uses the music in the show, and the way some productions seem to use her as a metaphor for the Jellicle moon, relating it to her dancing. This is especially true for me when I hc Vicci as deaf, because it implies some sort of magic when her solo syncs with the music. Bluebelle has the same sort of music and dance magic as Victoria, and the same sort of eerie unearthly-ness of Jemima. Basically I combined all my favorite girlies into one and made her <33

Really incoherent n convoluted story under the cut lolllll

I’ve always imagined the music box has something Bluebelle has had since she was very young, as in some of her earliest memories are of the tune it plays. Her mother probably gave it to her before both of her parents disappeared like they were in a Disney movie. The point is that it’s one of her favorite things, and she loves dancing to it. Victoria loves the song as well, and they sometimes practice using the music box, and things continue as so until Misto appears, and starts practicing with them.

Because Misto insists that no music is coming out of the music box. He can’t hear a single note.

Neither can Plato, or any of the other jellicles, when Victoria borrows it, and plays the song for everyone else in the junkyard, (Bluebelle doesn’t go with her-she’d rather not meet the others, for fear they won’t like her, or will tell Victoria to stop visiting her).

No one else can hear the music. No one except, of course, for Jemima and the psychic twins.

Bluebelle starts to ask around town, playing it for different cats, until she finds an older tom, not far, though she doesn’t know it, from the Junkyard.

He can’t hear the music box of course, but he tells her that he’s bit of a collector of magical artifacts. Perhaps he’ll have something similar in his collection.

Would she like to take a look?

Bluebelle declines. Declines at least, to visit him on this night. She hands him the music box, and instructs him to take it back to his den, and look for himself. They will meet in the same place the next day, and if he cannot find anything, then she will go and see for herself.

The next morning, they meet again. He tells her that he’s sorry, he couldn’t find anything that matched the box, and that in his haste to meet her on time, he’d left the box behind. The tomcat invites her to his den, and again, she declines, saying she will visit on a later date, that she already has plans.

Bluebelle follows him home, and hides in wait. She watches as his friends gather to scheme, and doesn’t notice the staring of a golden queen hanging off the arm of a blood orange tom.

The acquaintances leave, and the old cat retires to his den. The fire is almost out, leaving her to sneak into the other tent.

…blood seeps from every item in the cramped space, leaving it to drip from the walls and stain the ground scarlet.

He is not only a collector of magical artifacts, but a collector of queens, as well. The music box is the only thing unmarred by the red, so she steals it back.

She swears she can hear him howling the whole trip.

Bluebelle doesn’t tell Victoria what happens. She tells her to steer clear of the cat who could very be Bluebelle’s father, with a coat as vibrant as the sea, and Victoria doesn’t ask any questions.

Bluebelle doesn’t want to meet any of the other jellicles after that. She barely wants to talk to anyone ever again, with the exception of the few cats she already knows.

She and Victoria still dance to the music box though. Misto tries to follow along.

[sysig]

Ooo requestober eh? Something I've been curious to see a bit more of maybe is Jake interracting with Scriabin. Edgar wondering about what the two of them talk about together alone got me curious too 👀

(Resending to the main for you :3)

Day 3 - Definitely not kissing! If that's what you think!

Meanwhile, Jake:

[youngpettyqueen]

I love thinking about the physical affection aspect of Worf/Jadzia/Julian because youve got Worf who won't go out of his way to initiate physical affection but then youve got Jadzia and Julian who are all about the touchy feely and Worf doesnt, like, mind this and lets them do what they want so he just has them clinging to him at all times. Worf is trying to sit and eat and he has to do so around Jadzia who is perched in his lap and Julian is hanging over his shoulders like a scarf. he's walking somewhere and the both of them are hanging off his arms. getting out of bed in the morning is an entire ordeal because he is sandwiched between the two of them. cant hand him shit because his hands are always being held. they are so goddamn obstructive but Worf just lets them do their thing because its not worth the argument and also he maybe (definitely) likes the affection

[parkercore-69]

thank you J.R.R. Tolkien for writing the most devastating romantic subplot in your lotr books without even realising it

[hcdragonwrites]

Just one night (a @journey-to-the-au Drabble)

Ok this is the part two! This is the comfort/ fluff of what happens after Six Eared Macaques previous rampage from Nightmares. I am glad I split these into two so people can pick and choose.

Mild trigger warning: Brief mentions of attempted SA (again nothing goes into detail at all but still sometimes this can still be a trigger.)

It’s over.

The nightmare is over.

Then why does it feel like i'm breathing but I can’t catch my breath?

Willow felt her heart beating too fast, her mind repeating the nightmare.

The cave still smelled of blood.

The imposter was dead. He lay there, finally revealed, a monkey of gray blue fur with a face of shadows. Nothing to be distinguishable of who, or what, his personality had been before it assumed the skin of their leader. Of her friend.

Of Wukong.

Her Wukong had come through the water of Water Curtain Cave in a flash of gold, eyes blazing red. Almost like a Heaven send. A blessing.

In that moment Willow had stepped forward, to the embrace of this nightmare she had dutifully taken as her yoke, a blur or fiery orange had smashed its way through the curtain of water.

“IMPOSTER!” He had called in challenge, his staff coming free of his ear. With a flick of the Kings wrist, the weapon grew in tremendous size.

The imposter had turned, hackles rising, bloody mouth circling back into a snarl. Wukong had roared. The imposter had screamed. Then they were upon each other. It had been a battle, long and difficult. Fur had flown, stone had shaken. At times the combatants had traversed the skies, shooting like two wayward stars from a bow through the Heavens. More blood fell.

In the midst of it, the imposter had cleaned the remnants of its meal from his mouth, making it impossible to tell the twisting and twining fighters apart. Which was which?

Willow had waited as finally, after gods and other immortals had been unable to tell who was who, Mama Courage and Wisdom stepped forward. Willow couldn’t hear the words being spoken between the celestials and Wisdom. She could only hear a ringing in her ears, a drumming of her heart.

She couldn’t catch her breath.

Willow's palms were wet with sweat and white. Whiter than porcelain. Courage took one of those hands, holding it tight. Breaking her numbness, her shock. Willow grasped the hand, holding on. The fear still coiled in her gut, a snake tightening its hold on her. But Courages hand was the anchor she clung to as her body battles within itself.

Wisdom had found him out, had picked out the real Wukong. A mother knew her child. That’s when the imposter had lost. He had felt it, probably, sensing the shift in the wind. In that moment he tried to run. The mirage of his disguise had fallen off in the fright. Wild white eyes, teeth bared of flesh. And now.

He was nothing more than a stain on the floor.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” The words echo, still alive within Willows head.

Willow was trying to drown those words out.

She’s failing.

The storm inside her body is a rage of water, threatening to drag her down. Those blue eyes flash sharply in her head and Willow feels herself shake.

“Willow?”

She startles. She flinches, shaken from the very real echo of what had almost happened. “Reaffirm our union… Maybe more later.”

Willow looks up, kneeling on the stone floor of the cave. She doesn’t remember when she sat back down. Wukong stands before her. He blocks her view from the rest of the cave, from what the other troop members are beginning to clean up. He blocks her view from the bodies. But Willow still sees the imposter, has to see it. She has to kill the fear in her head that at any moment, any second, those ice eyes can come back and stare into her. To ask things of her that make her soul pull away and her body go cold.

“Willow?”

Wukong stands before her, eyes o so vulnerable. His voice is bleeding uncertainty, his hands fidgeting. He looks to her then looks away, confused on what to do.

Willow also doesn’t know what to do.

How do you tell your friend that someone wore their skin and killed and began to stalk her every step? Willow feels Mama Courage beside her, the hand squeezing. She looks up.

‘It’s him Willow. It’s our Stone Monkey.’ She signs and taps in her unique monkey way. It had taken a long time for Willow to learn this sign language, struggling but wanting to understand. Now, after decades of living together she had mastered this speech. ‘Go. You both need each other.’

‘What of you? He needs his mothers too.’ Willow signs back, not trusting her voice. That storm inside her throat is threatening to release, the track of her tears still wet. Mama Courage notices this and frowns in concern.

‘He needs a friend more. He needs you.’ She signs back. ‘And you need him most of all. To banish that demon, that nightmare. You are still shaking.’

It was true. Willows body still shook as if she had caught a deep bone chill. The blue eyes flash in her memory. Ice cold and drowning her from within Wukongs face. She had been chilled in a sense.

Before she could respond, Mama Courage had stepped away. She disappeared behind Wukong, going to help Wisdom with the mess and to spread the word of what had occurred. To reveal the truth.

Now it is just the two of them.

“It’s ok Willow.” Wukong spoke, gaze still averted. “I asked my Master if I could spend a night to … to fix the problems at home.” Willow watched as those hands wrung against each other. “But if - if what has happened- if my face brings you concern- makes you uncomfortable— I understand.”

Willow saw him step a bit off, unsure of what to do.

The eye of the hurricane was moving over Willow, that numb silence beginning to break.

Another half shuffle. He was moving closer to the carnage behind him, further from her reach. Further from her.

He’s just as afraid as I am that something has broken between us. The realization hits her like a slap.

The great wave within her, the one she had tampered down to keep her calm, to keep her cool as she had faced that monster covered in blood—

It broke through her.

Before Wukong could step further back, to disappear, to help, Willow had his face in her hands.

Willow braced her courage and stared into those eyes, determined to banish the fear that somehow, the monster had escaped. The Monkey King's eyes widened, gold within a sea of red. Willow pressed a kiss to his temple, a test.

If you are my sweet boy, my handsome monkey, she thought vehemently, this will prove it.

If you are that monster … I’ll see it in your eyes.

Willow waited.

Wukongs face was full of surprise. He blinked rapidly, uncomfortable about the intense eye contact. He looked away, looked to the side. Then he looked back up.

“Willow… what … what happened ?” For he could sense something beginning to churn within his friend. A tipping point of sorts and he, the cliff she balanced on.

The monster is dead.

Relief.

Willow breathed out. The air in her lungs shook.

Relief broke the iron in her spine. What little courage she had clung to swept away and she let it. In the dozens of decades she had been with Wukong, had cultivated and grown their trust and friendship, she had found and grown a safe place to be herself. Not Earth Reaching Willow of Polestar Palace, Eldest Daughter. To be her true self. To be one with the emotions she had suppressed. The feelings she had to repress as a princess unless she gave the wrong impression, put on the wrong face, among her fathers courtiers.

I want my friend. The longing was fierce and wild. It scorched her veins and pricked her eyes with fresh tears. A strangled sob passed between her teeth as she tried to stifle it with her fist.

“Willow?”

I need my friend - I need him.

She could be just Willow here, in his arms. She didn’t need to be a shield. She didn’t need to be a princess. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, holding.

“The last thing I want is for you to go.” She whispered. And that’s when it fell. The tears came fast and hard, her body shaking with it. The hurricane was passing over here, the eye of the storm now past. The wind within her was full of the past years spent with the imitation of her friend. His watching eyes, his burning brushes against her hands. Those days when he had hinted, suggested, and plainly stated he wanted more—

Wukongs hands held her arms, cooed in her ear. “It’s ok Willow. Let it out. Breathe.”

“Don’t go…” she whispered, making a mess of tears on his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Nightmares. She felt them all coming across her mind then, each time she lifted her face to catch a breath. The nightmares flashed into her head. But they weren’t nightmares.

“He can’t hurt you Willow. He can’t hurt anyone ever again.” Wukongs voice was fierce in that promise as he turned to press a kiss to her temple. Sealing the promise as he rubbed her arms like a mother to a babe.

They were memories. Of all the times the imposter, the Six Eared Macaque, had pressed her for touches. Had asked for kisses. Had attempted many times to get her away from the eyes of others. Earth Reaching Willow had walked the halls feeling eyes always upon her.

He had cornered her one terrible night and had reached for her. Willow had felt like a rabbit caught in a snare as his hand had caressed her face, had trailed to her lips. He had been interrupted by Rin Rin coming in to ask for bouquet suggestions, wanting to know what blossoms to pair best with what greens in preparation for a feast. Her friend had saved her that night and she didn’t even know.

None of them had known.

Each time the memory popped up, Willow flinched away, trying to curl deeper into the orange fur. Trying to burrow into her friend because he was real. And she needed that reality from the wake that was her mind. It grounded her, allowed her to be scared. Willow breathed him in. The imposter had never smelled quite right, had never felt quite right, hadn’t talked quite right. At least to her.

Wukong, this Wukong- her Wukong, smelled of the world, of growing things and sunlight, of ozone and wind. Of rain upon dry stone. The Six Eared Macaque had been floral and fruity, sweet like a honeyed nectar trap, like a carnivorous flower. And she the unwitting fly.

All the things he had tried to do to lure her in had failed. Willow had survived.

Barely.

My Wukong is here. My friend, my confidant, my partner in this eternity. I do not have to be brave anymore. I don’t have to be strong. Here, I can cry.

Nothing could ever replicate the muscle memory, the familial way that Willow and Wukong both folded into each other's embrace. They had hundreds of years to build this body-deep familiarity with one another. This instinctual trust.

Not even a six eared all knowing demonic monkey could copy that.

Willows sobs were not slowing. They were gaining traction instead. All the fear of years of living with a masked monster in their midst, all the close calls that Willow was remembering now, battered her. Wukong shifted a bit and she felt more than saw Wukong grow in size. Her arms moved apart, having to move from holding his face to grab his middle.

“I’m going to move us Willow. Is that alright ?” His voice is soft, questioning.

My sweet friend, so tender in his asking.

She can’t trust her own voice but nods. Then they were up, an arm beneath her leg and another holding her back. As the sounds of the waterfall retreated, Willow felt the tightness in her chest start to loosen. Breaths she couldn’t take before, that seemed to catch in her throat, came easier.

Each step took them away from the roar of the water. With each crash of tears, Willow curled into her friend. Mama Courage had been right. She had needed him.

Wukong finally stopped moving, settling the both of them down onto the stone floor. They were in an alcove, a bit of a stone hollow off of the main passageway. Willow looked up at Wukong then as he crossed his legs. He nestled her into his lap. His tail wrapped her own lags, a warm blanket against the cold.

“Comfortable?”

“Mhm..” Willow sniffed. Her nose would be stuffed later but she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. She wiped her eyes and tried to see through them.

Wukong looked terribly sad, his face on the brink of breaking itself.

“Oh darling…” she hiccuped. Willow touched his forehead. The golden circlet was cold across her fingers. “It’s not your fault.”

She could see it hurting, eating away at her friend. A worm within an apple core, destroying all the good fruit about it.

They only had one night. One night.

Willow wished for more than just a night.

“Wu-Wukong.” Her voice came out thick. Her monkey leaned into her touch, those golden eyes warm and full of love.

“You don’t need to relive those things.” He said. “Not tonight. Not ever again if you wish. You don’t even have to trust me again. My face … it has been used for terrible things…monstrous things. I see it in all of your eyes.”

Unspilled tears pooled in his face. “I can see it in your eyes. In my mothers. In my friends. In Ba and Ma and Liu and Rin Rins eyes.”

“You all have ghosts in your eyes and I can’t banish them. Because I caused them. ”

Those sad words were spoken with such sorrow, with such rejection that Willows was moving before she could think. Willow pulled his face down to hers.

“This isn’t your fault Wukong.” Willow said.

“It is completely my fault…”

“Oh my sweet Monkey…” She said into his fur. I wish you didn’t have to go- I wish you could stay here, stay with us with me, to help chase those memories into the dark. “How I missed you.”

Wukong swiped some of her tears off her cheek, rumbling not words but noises.

“But you have a pilgrimage to be a part of. You are needed there.” Willow says.

“I’m needed here.” The guilt is eating him, swallowing him up bit by bit. The words he couldn’t say were evident in his eyes. If I had been here none of this would have happened, they said.

“You will always be needed here.”

“Maybe not as welcome.” Wukong pulled back, looking away. “ A stranger took my face and committed atrocities. That face, my face, hurt you. My mothers. My friends. My home.” His voice is shaking. From anger, from sorrow, she did not know. Wukong was powerful. He had challenged Heaven, had defeated dragons, outwitted gods. He had shapeshifted into a thousand different things, had gained a weapon that matched his own abilities. He was a warrior, a King who cared for his people.

Wukong hadn’t been able to protect them. It ate at him. Swallowed him in an endless loop of pain.

“I wasn’t here to protect you.” He whispered. Wukong had burst through the cave, seeking his doppleganger with anger. When he had seen the bloody remains of Cloud, the smiling face of his imitation covered in blood and approaching his mothers and Willow—

He had lost it.

“Wukong look at me.”

He didn’t move his head, despondent. Willow dug her fingers in deeper to the fur, twisting the large monkey about just enough to see him clearly.

She carded those fingers through Wukongs fur, half comfort for her and half comfort for him. Those fingers plucked and pulled, tugged and tended in the ways the monkey king had shown her, all those years ago when she first came to Flower Fruit Mountain.

“It’s better than brushing,” He had said. “It’s a way we say we love one another and strengthen that love. A language spoken through our hands.”

Willow spoke that silent language now. She moved the fingers through and around his face, over his ears. Willow silently kissed the tears from his cheeks as she cried her own. His pain was hers. And hers was his.

In that silent and dark place the two took shelter against the world. Willow from her own memories. Wukong from his own perceived failings.

The story of what happened fell slowly from Willows lips. She held nothing back. Wukong would either stiffen or growl, huff or pull her closer at each new unearthed memory. Willow lived them again here and now, feeling the night slip between her fingers like grains of sand. She had only one night.

One night to banish that blue-eyed monster from its association with Wukong. I won’t let that demon take him from me.

It was a fierceness that surprised Willow. It gave back some of her strength, allowing her to speak nakedly about the truth of what had happened since Wukong began his pilgrimage.

I won’t let him be poisoned to me. I won’t let my experience of a few years erase more than a lifetime of memories.

Willow would not leave that between them. She loved Wukong too much to lose him to some faceless cannibal that had been a drop in the ocean of time they had spent together.

It would take more than a night Willow knew, to repair what things had been shaken. But she would get the worst of it done. She would find a way to see him again before his journey was done. She needed him. And he needed her.

If I have to blackmail all of Heaven I will. I’ll air my fathers own dirty laundry to steal a few moments with Wukong on the road. Then once he’s home I won’t let him go till he knows he’s wanted and loved by all of us. He’s family.

Willow cried and in turn counseled her friend. Wukong simply sat at times to listen, at others times he spoke of promises and things he would do, ways he would make it up to her. Willow would shake her head.

“Just be you. Just always and forever be my lovely Monkey.”

“I promise.”

And together, in the very heart of the mountain, the two wept. Once the sun rose, Wukong brought Willow back to his mothers. He said his goodbyes. The pain and indecision on his face was at war with itself. Willow, when her turn came to say goodbye, took Wukongs hand. She wrapped her pinky around his.

“When I see you again I’ll tell you of all the things we’ve done.” Willow whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “I will tell you of the seasons change and I will tell you of the coconut toddy and sweet plumb wine we drink for you on your birthday. Of Ba and Ma’s latest stunts, of how Liu and Rin Rin act cuter than ever as they continue to court. I will tell you of all the babies born and all of the younglings who try to prove themselves to their amors.”

Willow felt Wukong shake a bit. She tightened her hold on his other hand, squeezing. “I will tell you of the new trees we plant, of the new games we invent, of the new relationships we cultivate.”

“The most important thing I will tell you though is how much we love and miss you, Wukong. How we are all eagerly awaiting you back at home. How, even now, I can’t wait for your return.”

“You … mean that?” He stared, golden sunset eyes misting over with new tears.

“Oh love. You don’t have to ask. I always miss you.” She smiled. “You are my handsome monkey. My lovely monkey. My best friend. I want you to be happy. And if ever those fellows you travel with make you guess or judge yourself harshly— then I will remind them why I chose you. Of all the beings and people of the world and Heaven, I picked you. And you picked me.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“The sooner you go.” Willow said softly. “The sooner you will come back to Flower Fruit Mountain. And the sooner I can enjoy those peaceful days with my husband.”

Wukong gave one last desperate look back, and it took all of his family’s willpower not to call him, to beg him to stay. Instead, Willow waved smiling at him. Mama Courage and Mama Wisdom both held each other, smiling at their boy.

Marshal Liu stepped closer to the smaller group, along with Ma and Ba and Beng. A silent gesture of we will take care of them, in that action.

Wukong smiled, half heartedly, and leapt through the water. Gone as quickly as he had arrived.

Willow turned then, hands clasped within their robed sleeves. She had a task to do now.

“Marshal Liu?”

“You have an idea, don’t you Mrs Willow?”

“Are my thoughts that evident?” Willow smiled as Marshal Liu nodded. He kept pace with her. walking as Willow turned deeper into the cave.

“I need a few scrolls of parchment.” The idea had already taken shape in her mind. Wukong may be stuck within his duties to his pilgrims. But she was not. She would have to be wise, be careful. She didn’t want to turn this into a heavenly spectacle. She did have a few contacts, however, that could be trusted with the whole truth of her urgency. “I need to write a few letters to Heaven.”

“Heaven?”

“Yes. I know Liu. I don't write home often.” As the sounds of the waterfall faded again, Willow felt her heart thrum with determination. “One night is hardly enough time to heal what has been wrecked here. And I intend on calling on a few favors.” She would send her letters, seeking out sympathetic ears discreetly. She would help Sun Wukong heal just as much as he had helped her. They would do so together. Even if the distance may be great I will find a way.

[boathouse]

for me, to be aro is to feel lonely but not in the way that everyone thinks i should feel lonely.

[bylertruther]

those mike pov fics that really actually show the difference between mike and will's exterior behavior in the sense that mike sees and knows that will is less "tough" and "masculine" than him, but he doesn't think anything negative of it at all and is trying to break through to will who is trying to hide that bc he feels shame or embarrassment for it..... they jus hit different .

and when will sees that mike won't judge him for his sensitivity and that he actually loves that about him? that mike doesn't view him as any less of a man or view it as abnormal? and so he comes out of his shell and becomes so much more vibrant? bro im tearing up just thinking abt it like—

AND WHEN THAT IN TURN MAKES MIKE COME OUT OF HIS SHELL, TOO, AND BECOME MORE EXPRESSIVE AND VULNERABLE?! GODDDDDDDDD

[canonkiller]

im really glad my little lindworm comic resonates with so many people 🥺

[dragonanne4fun]

.

[imminent-danger-came]

Hi I’m also an avid httyd 3 hater I think this video was a pretty good summarization of most of the things that were wrong with it if you wanna check it out

https://youtube.com/watch?v=bcFMEs177i0&feature=shared

"The director wanted an end from a different story". SO FUCKING TRUE. SO REAL.

From the httyd3 art book (which I'm so happy the video references):

"In general, it's more difficult to create a female character than it is to draw a male. For a female, any incorrect line and the shape can go wrong very quickly. We had to control all the shapes while keeping her both powerful and graceful so that she didn't fall to much into the reptilian category, like a lot of dragons. We wanted to explore how the Light Fury would walk and how to make her feel like a female, so we referenced lionesses and big cats."

What misogynistic bullshit am I right.

I'm going to go ahead and also show off the hearts on the light fury's forehead because it's just abysmal (this is a normal picture of the light fury with the saturation increased):

Thanks for sending this video my way anon!

[paul-simon-juggling]

Just Paul in 1977 quietly being the most beautiful person who ever existed.