#also three versions because imagine being decisive

[sarucane]

How did Stede know that Ed wanted to "watch the world burn"?

This one is fun because it's such a smooth and well-written character development that it's actually really easy to miss what a big shift happens for Stede in the first three episodes of S2. But in E1, Stede is saying this about Ed

and in less than an hour of screentime, he's mostly caught up with what's actually been happening to Ed.

So how'd Stede figure that out? Get to know Ed better, despite being separate from him?

By letting go of ego.

Stede's decision to bail on Ed in S1E10 is driven by selfish low self-esteem. He thinks he doesn't matter to Ed, that he's brought Ed to ruin and Ed will be better off without him. And that's actually held back his emotional investment in the relationship: Stede clearly misses Ed, but he's not devastated over the breakup to the same degree that Ed is.

But by the end of S1E10, Stede's gotten to understand himself better, and his relationship to other people. But he's also gone from not understanding that he's in love to idealizing the relationship between him and Ed, telling people they're "on a break." At the beginning of S2, he's projecting his own insecurities onto Ed, while at the same time trying to believe in a torrid love story starring himself (idealized) and an idealized version of Ed. An Ed who's still got Blackbeard's black beard.

These ideas are rooted in the same conviction that made Stede leave in the first place: he doesn't understand that he's important to Ed, so he can't absorb the fact that what he did was immensely hurtful.

In the second episode, Lucius forces him to really deal with the things he's been denying. He tells Stede "you broke him." And he does the thing that Stede just wasn't managing to do: he gets Stede to think about what's been happening from Ed's perspective, without Stede's insecurities blocking his imagination. To think about just how badly Stede hurt Ed. And to think about what pain and loss like that might mean for someone as damaged as Ed: hopelessness.

Far from Ed's life being "better without me," Stede has to face the idea that Ed might think his life will never get better again. That while Stede has been holding out hope for a reunion, Ed may have given up on both Stede and himself.

That means it's all on Stede, to hope and to act. And he rises to the challenege.

Stede doesn't hesitate when he thinks Ed is in trouble. And he doesn't doubt that Ed needs him, shouting "I'm here!" as soon as he sees the Revenge. He faces what he finds on the ship, and sets about fixing what can be fixed, pulling the knives out of the walls.

He doesn't quite know how bad it's gotten. That Ed couldn't hold onto the ideal-pirate dramatic "watch the world burn" drive. That Ed hit a point of actual cruelty and suicidal despair.

But Stede knows Ed enough to be able to absorb that information when he gets it. To face and accept the reality of the darkness inside the man he loves.

And then to embrace his own role in keeping that darkness from consuming Ed. In the first episode, Stede was putting off looking for Blackbeard because he thought he'd make Ed's life worse. In the third, Stede tells Ed he can come back to life because he's safe now that Stede's here.

And then Stede, again, embraces some selfishness. Asks Ed to come back to him. But this time, it's not the kind of unhealthy selfishness that makes someone obsess over what they mean to others. It's the kind of selfishness that makes people hope life might get better again. Lets people choose relationships they want, and exist in them consciously. Makes someone a strong enough person that they can give, and receive.

#ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd #ofmd s2 #our flag means death #ofmd spoilers #ofmd meta #ed teach #stede bonnet #blackbonnet

[rebelfell]

Surrender III

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader x lesbian!Chrissy Cunningham

Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

cw: established relationship, platonic!hc (eddie-chrissy are college besties), questioning/bi reader, threesome, fingering, oral (fem-fem giving and receiving), piv sex (unspecified birth control), squirting, one instance of spanking and singular use of the nickname “daddy” (not by r, it’s kind of a joke?)

6.5k 18+, MDNI

“Hey…are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Eddie’s voice is soft in your ear and you have to slightly rouse yourself, nearly having fallen asleep as you and he wait for Chrissy to arrive.

The room is quiet except for the low sound of the album he put on the record player, vinyl crackling occasionally, and the faint humming of the fan overhead pushing cool air down on your half-dressed bodies.

He’s drawn the gauzy curtains closed so the fading sunlight can still filter through and casts across the bed in a hazy glow. You lay flat on your stomach, wearing a pair of sweatpants a size or so too big so they’re slung low on your hips, and only your bra so he can gently rake his nails over the expanse of your back.

“Yeah,” you whisper, still halfway half-asleep. “I’m nervous, but I’m excited.”

“Me too.” He smiles at you and leans over to place a gentle kiss on your shoulder. “I just don’t want you thinking this was like a plan or something. I thought for sure these days were behind us, I never imagined this would happen.”

“Old habits die hard,” you snicker.

He grins back, his smile deepening the dimples in his cheeks and making your own heart swell.

“And you know you can take it back any time, right? Neither of us is gonna be disappointed or mad or anything like that. We just want you to have a good time.”

His steady voice and the words he’s saying warm your chest and you nod, cheek rubbing against the pillow under your face.

“I know that,” you say. “I trust you both.”

You fall quiet for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on your lip, and open your eyes to look up at him. 

“Hey, um…are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Of course,” Eddie smiles. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I was a total jealous nightmare obsessing about you and Chrissy getting together and now…”

You fall silent, pushing down the crack in your voice you can feel coming. Eddie tips your head up to look at him and gives a reassuring smile.

“I just kind of feel like a hypocrite,” you admit to him, your voice small.

“Don’t,” Eddie tells you, still smiling. “I get why you were worried, especially when I wasn’t telling you everything. You think you don’t deserve good things, so you can’t help but think when you have something good that it’s going to be taken away.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your temple. You sigh at the feeling of his lips on your skin, the way his stubble rubs your hairline and gives you shivers that run across your scalp. You could have never imagined how good it would feel being with someone who knows you like he does. Someone who knew your body inside out, but also your head. And your heart.

“I know Chrissy…and I know you,” he tells you. “Neither of you would hurt me. You’re the best thing in my life. Nothing and no one is going to change that.”

He leans in to kiss you again, too wrapped up in one another to notice the turn of a key in the front door or the soft creak of its hinges.

“It’s you and me, right?” he murmurs, keeping his lips close to yours.

You nod decisively and whisper back. “It’s you and me.”

“God, you guys are like…disgustingly cute.”

You and Eddie’s heads both lift at the sound of another voice in the room. Chrissy leans against the door frame, arms crossed in front of her chest with a doting smile on her face. She’s dressed much more casually than the last time you saw her, in a matching set of velour sweats like an updated version of those Juicy tracksuits that were all the rage in college. 

The soft mocha color of them sets off the red in her hair making it look less blonde than it did at The Hideout. Her make-up is simple, what little she’s wearing at all. You can’t help but grin at the sight of her as you bite down on your bottom lip. Her eyes sparkle as they meet your gaze and her nose scrunches adorably as she smiles at you.

“That’s what you get for breaking and entering,” Eddie chortles. Chrissy just rolls her eyes.

“That’s what you get for never changing your hiding spot.”

She holds up her hand and twirls the spare key Eddie keeps underneath an ogre statue in the yard around her finger. The sun catches on the sparkles on her nails as she lays the key down on your dresser and moves inside the bedroom.

“Someone likes back scratches, huh?”

The mattress dips as Chrissy joins you and Eddie on the bed. She reaches out and traces your spine with her forefinger from the nape of your neck all the way down to the small of your back. It causes more shivers to ripple across your body and you emit a deeply contented sigh.

“Mmhmm, better than a massage,” you hum.

Chrissy’s eyes find Eddie’s over you. “Mind if I take over?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer audibly, but you assume he must have nodded or brandished his hand with a silent be my guest when you feel Chrissy shift and swing out her leg. You feel the gentle graze of her velour sweats as she lowers to straddle you, knees resting on either side of your hips. 

Eddie brushes your cheek one last time with the backs of his fingers and carefully climbs off the bed. “I’m gonna grab us some waters,” he says. “Chris, you need anything else?”

Chrissy glances over her shoulder at him with a playful smile. “Got any candles you can light? A little ambiance never killed anybody.”

“No, but candles sure have,” he says back wryly. “I’ve got some, but it’ll take me a minute.” 

“That’s okay,” Chrissy hums. “We’ll keep ourselves busy.”

You listen as Eddie’s footsteps recede down the hall and you have to try and contain not only your excitement, but also the nerves that are starting to bubble up in your chest. As though she senses it, Chrissy devotes herself to keeping you relaxed. She gently strokes your back with a sensual skim of her fingertips up and down your spine, light as a tickle but smoother.

“I’m gonna unhook this, okay?”

Her hands rest on the clasp of your bra, but she waits to separate it until you give an affirming nod. The relief of it releasing is instantaneous, the band and straps falling away. Chrissy begins to scratch methodically, first with all ten fingers moving as one in a long, slow crawl down your back, and then splitting off in different swirling patterns. She knows all the places that need to be paid special attention, like right above your rib cage where the band dug into your skin all day. Her nails aren’t long, just a short almond shape, but they’re enough to offer a deeper scrape and more relief than Eddie’s blunt fingertips.

Leaning forward so her body presses against your back, she lets her lips hover over your ear.

“If you ever want to stop, you tell me, okay? If you aren’t enjoying yourself, I’m not either.”

“You got that from Eddie,” you say, recalling the first time you’d come over to his place. The first time you’d laid in this bed that would eventually become your own.

Heart in your throat, you’d warned him you weren’t ready to go too far. After all, you were still living in New York at the time and staring down the barrel of your return flight home set for the day after your sister’s wedding in a little over a month. The last thing you needed was to get too attached to someone who lived hundreds of miles away—least of all the sweet, handsome, oddly disarming guy you just met at a strip club. And you knew if you gave in to what your body was screaming for, it would only lead to heartbreak. There was no way it wouldn’t.

Eddie responded perfectly. More than perfectly. He said he didn’t care what you did or how far you went. He only cared about spending as much time with you as he could; and that he would go at whatever pace made you comfortable. If you aren’t enjoying yourself, I’m not either.

Which of course only made you want to do it more.

Chrissy laughs breathily, the sound a sweet and fluffy thing like a wisp of cotton candy.

“Eddie got that from me, babydoll.”

She pushes up on her knees so you have room to roll over onto your back. As you do, your arms come up instinctively to cover your breasts, suddenly feeling ashamed of the way they probably look from this angle, flat and flopping around unlike her tiny, perky ones.

“Don’t hide from me, beautiful,” she tuts, wrapping her hands around your own and bringing them to the zipper of her sweater.

Your fingers fumble around the metal pull and Chrissy helps you drag it down, revealing her skin is bare underneath. She has a faint smattering of freckles across her chest and you stroke your fingers softly along her collar bone and over her breasts as her sweater slides off her arms.

The light pressure of her body settles back down on your hips and she leans forward again, letting her warm chest press against your own. Her long lashes flutter and the gold ‘86 charm hanging on the chain around her neck swings steadily like a pendulum and bumps your chin.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks. Wordlessly, you nod.

Her lips are familiar, in a way. Plush and full, not unlike Eddie’s. They move against yours with purpose—not aggressive, but insistent. Like she’s trying to show you how much she wants this too. Gradually, you open up to her, giving her tongue access to probe your own and sighing softly when it does. The light clicks of your lips meeting again and again fill the room under the gentle strums of the acoustic guitar on the album playing.

You’re so lost in her, you don’t catch the sound of Eddie’s bare feet padding softly on the carpet as he returns. A soft creak makes your eyes fly open and you turn your head to the side. 

“Don’t mind me,” Eddie chuckles, leaning against the low bookshelf your record player sits on.

Beside it, he’s arranged some white pillar candles of varied sizes and states of dripped wax. There’s a soft hiss and a faint smell of smoke as he strikes a match to light them. The flickering flames make his shadow dance on the wall and once he’s done, his attention turns back to you.

His eyes are luminous as he watches you and Chrissy together, the deep brown of them warm and bubbling with excitement seeing the way your lips move so sultry and sensuous with hers.

“She’s a good kisser, huh?” he asks his friend.

“So good,” Chrissy murmurs, pressing her mouth back to yours. She swallows your soft hums and breathy moans of pleasure. Your hands come up to cup her face, thumbs brushing over her cheeks and fingers slipping into her fine, soft hair.

She nips gently at your bottom lip, a little hint at wanting something more, and you remember that little request she made on the phone. You slide one hand into her hair until the heel of your palm meets the base of her skull and firmly squeeze the hairs closest to her scalp. 

You don’t yank her head back, just grip her tightly enough to tip it back and get at the column of her neck. You suckle at the skin there, soothing the red mark you make with your tongue after. Her throat vibrates with a moan and you hear the soft plop of Eddie’s own sweats falling to the floor.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he groans as he palms the front of his boxers.

“Taker her pants off for me, Ed,” Chrissy instructs, tipping her head back down for another kiss.

Eddie nods and kneels dutifully at the foot of the bed. His fingers curl around the waistband of your sweats and he starts to tug them down over your hips and off your legs. He tosses them into the growing heap of clothes by the bed along with his pants and Chrissy’s sweater.

“I think she likes kissing you, Chris,” he says, his fingers toying with your dripping entrance.

“The feeling’s mutual.” Chrissy smiles, shooting you a wink as she slips off you to stand.

She removes her track pants, leaving her in nothing but a dainty thong, and your eyes go wide trying to take all of her in. A smile plays across her pillowy lips as she climbs back onto the bed and drapes herself against your side. You’re now laid bare before them, gazing down at Eddie between the valley of your breasts as he lowers himself to kiss at the apex of your thighs. His breath is warm as he exhales and brings his fingers to your core. 

He slides in one with ease and follows it with a second, relishing the hitch of your breath it causes as he begins to massage your warm, wet walls. There’s more warm breath on your ear as Chrissy leans in close to whisper to you.

“How’s he feel, angel?”

She smoothes her hand over your forehead and brushes a few pieces of hair from your face, letting her fingertips trail over your cheeks.

“He’s…he’s really good,” you pant, struggling to draw breath. Your body is already on fire after just a minute of having Eddie’s fingers, reactive to every touch of Chrissy’s soft hands.

“I’m not surprised,” she giggles, letting her fingers skim your navel. “He learned from the best.”

“Oh, please,” Eddie snorts from between your legs. “I’m completely self-taught.”

“Excuse me?!” Chrissy squeaks in mock outrage. “I’m like your Mr. Miyagi of pussy.”

You start to giggle until Eddie curls his fingers particularly deep and the sound crumbles into a low moan. The two of them continue their light squabbling while you drift away, being blissfully rocked by the pace and rhythm of Eddie’s capable fingers inside of you.

“Not a chance,” he tells her. “If anything, you learned everything you know from me.”

“You have some natural talent, I’ll give you that,” Chrissy concedes. “But there’s always room for improvement.”

With that, Chrissy places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder in a signal to swap places with her. He withdraws his fingers from you, his eyes locking with yours as he brings them to his lips and sucks them into his mouth. Just the sight makes you flutter and ache with need.

Chrissy lifts herself up until she’s suspended over you, caging you between her limbs. Her eyes glimmer as she dips down and little tendrils of hair caress your cheek as she kisses you sweetly. 

“I taught him everything he knows,” she whispers. “But not everything I know…”

Her soft lips skim the line of your jaw, traveling down to your neck and then your breasts. She laves her tongue over your nipple in a dazzling array of circles and flicks, gently rolling one between her fingertips as she suckles the other.

As she moves further down your body, Eddie smoothly moves up to lay beside you.

“Hi,” he whispers, smiling down at you, dimples deepening in his cheeks. “You okay?”

“Yes,” you breathe, the sound hitching in your throat as Chrissy’s warm breath fans across your mound. You meet her sparkling eyes once more as she glances up for one last check-in. Without a word spoken, you can see what she’s asking and you nod eagerly.

Her mouth is a mystifying combination of familiar and fresh. You recognize a couple of Eddie’s moves one or both of them must have learned from watching the other, but there’s still a clear distinction between the two. Where Eddie is precise and exacting in his movements—creative, yet deliberate as he’s working towards a goal—Chrissy has more finesse and flair. 

It’s whimsical and variable, changing up and keeping you constantly attuned to her. It’s kaleidoscopic, in a way, shapes and colors twisting in seemingly random order to create a stunning, beautiful pattern.

While Eddie’s fingers have the benefit of sheer length and girth, Chrissy’s can maneuver more efficiently. They actually dance inside of you, like they’re trying to waltz with your g-spot. It’s not even a matter of better or worse. With a gun to your head, you couldn’t decide which was more enjoyable. Luckily, you don’t have to.

You feel the weight of Eddie’s broad palm as he strokes the top of your head, and dreamily turn your head to look at him.

“How is she, beautiful?” he asks.

“She’s really good…holy shit…”

You hook a finger in his ball chain necklace to tug him down, but find it slack as he’s already on his way to kiss you. His mouth meets yours eagerly, relishing the feeling of the moans and whimpers that fall from your lips as Chrissy plays expertly with your clit.

“This is so great,” Eddie breathes as you pull apart. “I can hardly see you when I’m eating you out and now I’ve got a front row seat. God, you’re fucking gorgeous…”

He swoops in to plant his lips against yours again and it steals all the breath in your lungs. You reach out and fumble like mad to find Chrissy’s hand where she’s holding your thighs apart, weaving your fingers with hers and squeezing to tell her you’ve not forgotten her.

She squeezes your hand back, but lifts her head when your hips start to squirm.

“I think she needs to be fucked soon or we might kill her, Eds,” Chrissy says teasingly.

“That true, baby?” Eddie husks, his voice low in your ear. “You ready for my cock?”

“Yes, yes—please,” you gasp desperately. 

Chrissy’s slides up and her warm body lays against you, sandwiching you nicely between them as she pecks your lips softly.

“How do you want him to take you, angel?”

“From behind,” you say, daringly looking up at her.“So I can eat you out while he fucks me.”

The words feel clumsy coming out of your mouth, but still you commit to the statement as best you can and it must be enough for them to buy it. Chrissy’s large eyes widen even further as she exchanges a glance with Eddie, who looks at her like he might blow his load on the spot if you say something, anything, like that again.

“I think we created a monster,” she chuckles.

Needing no more prompting, Chrissy begins to arrange herself on the bed with a pillow under her hips and lays down another for your chest.

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Eddie says, stroking himself as he watches you get into position.

You roll over on the bed to lay between Chrissy’s spread legs. You let your head drop low to ghost your mouth over her baby blue g-string, noting it’s the same pale shade as her eyeshadow you complimented that night you met at the bar. You lift up your hips, dripping slit on full display as Eddie kneels behind you. He draws a shuddering breath and a loud CRACK fills the room as he smacks his hand down on your ass. Your whole body jerks and you wail pleasurably.

Chrissy props herself up on her elbows and takes your chin between her fingers.

“Someone likes that, huh?” she says. “You like it when Daddy spanks you?”

You nod earnestly, eyes big and round, getting more excited by the second. Chrissy’s eyes flicker over your head to meet Eddie’s as a playful smirk spreads across her lips.

“Maybe keep that in check while she’s neck deep in my pussy?” she suggests

“Will do, Cap’n.”

Eddie gives Chrissy a little salute as you glance back over your shoulder at him. He shoots you a secretive wink, both of you knowing he had no intention of administering another even before Chrissy said something. Any more than one and the pain becomes too much of a distraction.

His ass, on the other hand…

You gasp suddenly, bunching the blanket in your fists as Eddie teases your entrance with the head of his cock. He smears your own juices between your legs, mixing them with the precum leaking from his tip. Rather than sinking inside, he slides it forward and the ridges of his tip and shaft catch on your clit and make you keen forward.

“Should I take these off?” Chrissy asks, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her thong.

“No, I…I wanna,” you say softly.

Your head dips again and you begin a soft trail of kisses following the dip of her hips until you reach the curve of her waist. You place your mouth over the pale blue string, taking the thin elastic band between your teeth to pull it down. Behind you, Eddie actually whines at the sight and he leans sideways to watch as you drag the tiny piece of fabric down over Chrissy’s hip bone. 

With all the grace of a ballerina, she brings her legs together and sticks them up in the air so you can lift her panties off completely. Once they’ve been tossed away, she lets her legs fall open on either side of you and you can’t help but stare. A bare shave, skin smooth and soft as a peach. Pink tissue glistening with her own arousal.

You tilt your head as you regard it, eyes dancing, a little surprised. “Huh,” you say. “It’s so…pretty.”

“Thank you,” Chrissy says with a tittering laugh. “And it tastes as good as it looks.”

You meet her gaze over her mound and the two of you share a devilish smile.

“Start slow, baby,” Eddie coos, his hands running up your sides. “The way I do with you, you know? Touch her thighs…rub around the outside…tease her…get her all needy…”

“Leave her alone, Ed,” Chrissy tuts. “Let her play with her new toy how she wants.”

The two of them exchange a smile and you feel the familiar weight of your boyfriend’s palm smoothing up your spine, the heel of his hand pressing gently down and helping to coax you forward. Your heart pounds in your chest as you descend, tongue slipping out to wet your lips before placing a kiss on the inside of Chrissy’s milky thigh. 

“Mmm, hang on a second,” Eddie says, suddenly backing off the mattress. He walks around to the head of the bed so he’s standing over you as you look up at him plaintively.

“Are you not gonna…”

You glance behind you at the space he just occupied, pussy clenching around nothing as if in mourning. Eddie smiles and leans in close, his hand reaching out to cradle your jaw. You shiver at the roughness of his calloused thumb against your cheek and stare into his eyes.

“I will, baby, I promise,” he says. “You just…god, you look so hot right now I have to watch.”

You swallow hard, torn between the thrill his words send through you and the nerves now creeping up your shoulders and making them tense. Giving head was one of the things you actually felt pretty confident about. Guys were quick to tell you how good you were—Eddie in particular, even before he had discovered your affinity for praise. Of course, you could never shake the suspicion they only told you it was really good so you would do it more often. 

Still, you’d certainly done it enough and you had it on pretty good authority your skills were above average. And you’d sort of been hoping maybe you could coast on that and Chrissy might help you with the finer points. But the thought of Eddie watching you do it? Being on display like that…not only having to be good, but also make it look like it was good?

What if you were bad at it? What if Chrissy hated it and didn’t have the heart to tell you after all this build up? You imagined her lovely face grimacing as you remained oblivious between her thighs. That would be a disaster in and of itself, but the thought of Eddie bearing witness to your spectacular failure? 

At least if he was fucking you, he’d have something to keep him occupied.

“Hey,” Chrissy whispers, placing her hand on your other cheek so they’re each cupping a side of your face. “Come out of your head, angel.”

“Sorry,” you say meekly. “I’m…I’m trying to stay confident, it’s just hard.”

“Baby, why? You’re doing so good,” Eddie hums. “And you’re so sexy, can you really blame me for wanting to watch this?”

Your lip quivers as you avoid his gaze. “I just…it feels like I’m on display…”

“We’re not here to judge,” Chrissy says with a kind smile. “We know this is new for you, you’re not gonna get a scorecard at the end.”

“Just pretend I’m not here,” Eddie chuckles. “Chris already is.”

Chrissy swats his shoulder and it makes all three of you laugh gently. You look back and forth between them, warm brown eyes and sparkling blue-green ones. Both pairs shining and eager, focused solely on you, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen.

Making it easy to believe you are.

You carefully lean forward and peck Chrissy on the lips, then turn your head to kiss Eddie’s as well. And back to Chrissy, for longer this time, cupping her jaw before returning to Eddie again. Anywhere you look, there’s a pair of lips to kiss and you greedily drink your fill of both.

“Let’s slow down a little,” Eddie murmurs, words making his lips vibrate against yours. “You two kiss for a bit and I’ll just watch for now. Okay?”

His eyes find yours and he lifts his brow with the question. You nod, almost imperceptibly, and he drops his hand to wrap his fingers around your wrist. Three squeezes. I. Love. You.

Chrissy grins. “Don’t have to tell me twice,” she says, hand slipping around the back of your neck and pulling you into her mouth.

Eddie backs away and settles into the chaise by the window, spreading his legs wide to stroke himself as he watches you and Chrissy’s bodies begin to move together. You remember how mystified he’d been by you putting a chair there— “Just seems silly to have extra furniture. If we’re in the bedroom, we’re only gonna be on the bed,” he’d chuckled. 

He’s eating those words now, you’re sure of it.

You lay your body against Chrissy’s, letting one of your legs slot between hers, relishing in the velvety feel of her freshly shaved skin. Her mouth is open and inviting, tongue running across the seam of your lips to politely request access, which you grant her happily. 

The kissing is deep and slow, like you and Eddie used to do when you first started dating and you realized making out with him was better than all of your past sexual experiences combined. You brushed your fingertips over the swell of her breasts, so dainty and perky, playing with her nipples until they stiffen at your touch. 

She gasps as you move your lips down her cheek and sprinkle a line of kisses along her jaw until you reach her neck. You kiss and lick and suckle at the sensitive skin until Chrissy trembles in your arms. She turns her head to the side, mouth falling open in a gasp as you run the tip of your tongue across the shell of her ear.

“Get on top of me?” she asks in a breathy whisper. “I wanna feel you.”

You move quickly to straddle her hips as she’d done to you, placing your hands on her waist both to steady yourself and to hold her down as you begin a slow, deep grind down.

“Fuck, baby,” Eddie groans from his seat. “You’re so goddamn hot, I can’t stand it.”

Chrissy smiles up at you and nods in agreement. She flattens her hands against your stomach and moves them up to palm your chest. At her touch, that burning pleasure reignites. You sneak a glance at Eddie and your whole body tingles at the sight of him. He looks almost primal. Eyes hooded with lust, gripping himself so tightly it must blur that border between pleasure and pain. His stroke is long and slow, tortuously so, to stave off his release as best he can.

The feeling of having his eyes on you, the ravenous way they rake over your form, causes your confidence to surge. You lean forward, boldly pressing your mouth to Chrissy’s before beginning a trail of kisses down her body, mouthing at the hollows of her neck, nipping at her pronounced collar bones until you reach her breast and suck her pert nipple into your mouth.

“Such a little tease,” she hums excitedly, pursing her lips in a pillowy pout. 

You chuckle around her nipple and release it with a lewd pop before continuing your trail down her body. Sternum to stomach, navel to mound, and at long last to your final destination.

You try to remember the things Eddie and Chrissy did that feel best for you, but eventually you give up on thinking at all. You let instinct take over, exploring her folds, listening to what makes her breathing get heavy, what makes her chest heave, what makes her thighs twitch and her toes curl over. You lose yourself in her taste and her musky scent, new but familiar.

“Oh, fuck you, Munson, I can’t believe you get this tongue all the time,” Chrissy whines, her voice wavering as you delve deeper into her center. 

You swirl your tongue around the edges of her entrance, spreading her lips apart, licking at them like honeysuckle petals. You’re so wrapped up in her you don’t even realize Eddie has left the chaise until you feel the sudden delicious stretch of him pushing inside of you at last. 

Gasps and whimpers fall from your lips right into Chrissy’s folds as he fucks into you. He starts with a steady roll of his hips, but you thrust back against him, chasing more force. He increases his pace, the slapping of his thighs against the backs of your own filling the room, as your lips surround Chrissy’s clit and you suck it like a piece of candy.

“Oh, yes, keep doing that,” Chrissy cries out, her voice jumping an octave in a pleasurable scream. “Just like that, just like that—”

Behind you, Eddie moans and you can feel his reaction as he pulses inside of you. “Jesus Christ, fuck—baby, you’re drenching me,” he exalts.

It doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. You’ve never felt as attractive as you do right now; never as wanted and desired. 

The sounds of both of them fill your head, a symphony of pleasure and praise. You squeeze and clench around Eddie’s cock, milking him for all he’s worth. He feels you getting close and his hand comes around to find your clit and rub the flats of his fingers over it. 

The coil in your belly grows impossibly tight with every pass over the bundle of nerves. He pushes further into you, his cock reaching impossibly deep until he hits that sacred spot within you that has you seeing bright white as you moan into Chrissy. Your orgasm rips through your body, walls gripping Eddie like a vice as his warm release paints your insides.

The sound of him coming is loud and guttural, his hips stuttering and thrusts growing erratic as he loses all control. Still, you do everything you can to maintain your pace on Chrissy. Her hips are squirming, her back arching as she grinds her hips against your lips and tongue.

“I’m so close,” she pants, breathless as her chest heaves. “Y-you’re gonna make me come, you’re making me feel so good—ahh!”

You plant a hand on her lower belly mostly for purchase as you add your fingers and crook them up in search of that spongy wall inside of her, but the pressure causes something else entirely. 

A spray of liquid hits your neck and chest, dribbling down your breasts. Chrissy’s voice goes higher as she rides out her orgasm, her thighs twitching against your ears. Behind you, Eddie’s eyes go round with shock as though he thinks he must be dreaming.

“Was that…did you…did she…”

Answering him seems unnecessary when the evidence is all over your face. Chrissy’s chest and stomach heave as she draws one shuddering breath after another, her high moan dissipating as the waves of her pleasure finally ebbed.

“Ffff-uck, angel, that was amazing.”

“Really?” you ask, looking up at her hopefully.

“Absolutely,” Chrissy hums, content and sated as she lets her head loll back on the pillow.

You look back at Eddie, your eyes big and hopeful. “How are you? You good?”

He bends at the waist and leaves a line of kisses down your spine, the soft ends of his long hair tickling your tingling skin as he does.

“Oh, baby, you have no idea,” he says, the noise throaty and strained from his efforts. “What about you? Are you okay?”

“Incredible,” you sigh, laying down next to Chrissy and letting your head rest on her shoulder. 

She curls her slender arms around you and her fingers start to stroke the hair at the crown of your head. Eddie heads for the bathroom and returns with two washcloths. One, he hands off to Chrissy and the other he dips between your legs to collect his spend as it’s trickling from your entrance. Once she’s cleaned herself up, Chrissy has you sit up with her and she reaches for one of the waters sitting on the bedside table.

“Good girl,” she sighs as she brings the glass to your lips, her cheeks still flushed and skin all glowy and radiant from her orgasm. 

You can’t imagine ever looking as good as she does after you come. 

She kisses you after you sip, licking the chilled water from your lips before taking a drink of her own. You fall back onto the bed together and Eddie curls up beside you, their arms layering over one another’s as they hold you between them. You roll over after a minute, burying your face in the crook of his neck, Chrissy now curling around you as your big spoon.

“You hungry?” you murmur against his chest. 

“Fucking starved,” Eddie groans, making Chrissy chuckle.

She unwraps her arms from around you and stands to pull her clothes back on, glancing down fondly at the rumpled mess the three of you have made of the bed. As she zips her sweater, she pauses, looking for the first time a little unsure of herself.

“So, um…I guess I should go?” Her eyes dart back and forth between you and Eddie and you pull yourself off him to sit up.

“Do you have to?”

You look up at her plaintively and then back at Eddie, not quite sure what you’re even asking. All you know is you hate the thought of…kicking her out. Making her feel used. Letting her go back to Robin and Nancy’s without anyone to take care of her. God, do you wanna take care of her.

“You should stay, Chris,” Eddie tells her warmly. “Dinner should be done soon and we can watch a movie. Have a cuddle pile on the couch.”

“You sure? We’ve, uh…we’ve never done that before,” she says with a giggle.

It makes you laugh, too. The thought of them balking at something as innocent as cuddling when they’ve watched the other one fuck on multiple occasions. Eddie just shrugs and a smile plays across his lips as he leans in to brush the tip of his nose against yours.

“First time for everything,” he chuckles.

After you eat, you all settle in together on the big sectional sofa. Eddie sits up against the arm and you lay between his legs with your back against his chest and Chrissy draped across your front. It’s a delightfully crushing feeling, having both of them surround you. Eddie’s firm, solid body cradling yours while Chrissy rests her head on your chest and lightly strokes your legs.

You find out they both like to talk during movies and chuckle at the little quips they trade back and forth while you get to sit quietly, happily listening to them. Dinner sits warm in your belly and the heat of both their bodies around you is like the best electric blanket ever. 

About halfway through the movie, you start to crave something sweet. And just as you lift your head to ask if he wants dessert, you see Eddie’s phone is out and he is already DoorDashing ice cream for all three of you.

Pistachio, strawberry and butter pecan.

The sleep you eventually fall into isn’t deep. You let your eyes flutter closed, and your breathing grows even and rhythmic, but you’re conscious enough to feel it when Eddie lifts you off the couch. He carries you down the hall to the bedroom and Chrissy follows, helping him tuck you under the duvet in the center of the bed. 

“I’ll call her tomorrow,” she says, her voice hushed in the dark room.

“You can just stay the night if you want,” Eddie whispers to her. “She’ll be bummed if she wakes up and you’re not here”

You have to resist the urge to chuckle at all the domesticity you’re overhearing.

“I’m so happy for you, Ed,” Chrissy hums. “You guys are great together. Really solid.”

Eddie just smiles in response and holds a finger to his lips, shooting you a cautious glance to make sure you’re still asleep. He leads Chrissy to the closet and you hear the soft creak of the door opening as he ushers her inside. There’s a light rustling as he searches for something in the pocket of one of his blazers—the only hiding place he felt certain you wouldn’t find.

“Ohhh,” Chrissy mewls at whatever he shows her. “It’s perfect.”

“Thanks for the idea about getting her size. I thought she might have noticed the ring was missing, but she never said anything.”

“I’m so glad that’s the one you went with, it really suits her. When are you gonna ask?”

“I talked to Robin and Nance about having a dinner thing when they get back. Their patio is so nice with the lights and the pool and the fire pit and everything. And Jon will be there — I asked him about taking pictures. Will you still be in town? I think she’d like you to be there.”

“Of course,” Chrissy says. “Maybe we can go get our nails done that day.”

“That’s perfect.” Eddie exhales, breath coming out slightly shaky as he sucks in another. “And she…she’ll say ‘yes,’ right?”

“Oh, Ed…”

Chrissy lets out a soft sigh and you’d bet anything she’s rubbing his arm.

“Definitely,” she tells him. “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #chrissy cunningham x female reader #chrissy cunningham x reader #chrissy cunningham x you

[skyeventide]

does the Oath of Feanor work as a magical compulsion, or does it have magical properties, and are its consequences real?

yes, because the magic of Arda is also based on words of power, and it would be dissatisfying and limiting to assume that somehow that power doesn't work in this specific instance. no, because even if Feanor is the one speaking, not even his power could bend the fate of elves to that extent. yes, because the fate of any one people can be bent, delayed, or weirdly modified until an oath is fulfilled; in LOTR, the ghosts of the path of the dead prove it. no, because Manwe and Varda would not feel bound to enforce an oath of death with them as witnesses, and it goes against the rules of oathing. yes, because the enforcer is Eru, they just stand as witnesses and do not have the power to release the swearers as Eru would. no, because we don't even know if Eru accepted that oath. yes, because if the oath was invalid from the start, it would be beyond callous of Manwe and Varda not to inform the swearers and allow the consequences of the oath to happen. no, because a magical compulsion would remove or to an extent at least lessen responsibility of actions taken in its pursuit. yes, because the author of the story acknowledges a certain "will" of the oath by making it wake or sleep with active verbs. no, because even swearing without additional magic on top can feel like a compulsion to do things or to keep going that otherwise would not exist or not be felt by a given swearer. yes, because no matter what the everlasting darkness is or does, it can be real independently from any other prior compulsion to act; in other words, there may not be a magical property to the oath, but its called consequences for the swearers are very real. no, because there's several slightly different versions of the oath across the texts, and it's impossible to do a literal, word for word reading of its lines if it's possible to recite it slightly differently at a given time. yes, because the only valid version is the original pronounced by Feanor in Tirion, you can't wiggle out of that one. no, because who's to say that was recorded correctly, it's far too poetic for a sudden decision. yes, because who's to say that Feanor couldn't whip out all that via improvisation, I bet he could. yes, because other characters beyond the sons of Feanor treat the oath as something absolutely serious and real, and that includes Finrod in speaking to Andreth, when he says that Eru's name is not called upon even in jest, as well as Melian, when pointing out the strong forces awakened by involving that power. no, because neither of them can talk to Eru anyway. yes, because it's narratively more satisfying to imagine characters morally struggle against something that is eventually unbreakable and unavoidable like in any good tragedy. no, because it's narratively more satisfying to imagine characters do it to themselves and compromise with who they are out of family loyalty. yes, because the curse of Mandos actively turns it against the swearers into a betraying force, a consequence that wouldn't otherwise be a given, that is, nothing says that everything they start well would have finished badly and that the oath would have led them to defeat, and if it weren't magical before Mandos' addition, it is now. no, because Amrod's death in a draft would prove it breakable through his (admittedly only guessed) desire to turn back. yes, because he still died in the process, aka the everlasting darkness claimed him for being an oathbreaker. no, because how is it possible that it's simultaneously unbreakable and broken. yes, because the fate of arda and that of elves is inscribed within the eternal paradox of everything being predicted and everything being free will, and that will never be solved, neither regarding the fate of the elves nor the oath of Feanor. no, because the oath is a narrative device. yes, because the oath is a narrative device. three hundred more lines.

hope this helps. hope it doesn't. your pick.

#I am most definitely not normal about it #oath of Feanor #Feanor #The Silmarillion

[moondirti]

DEE IK THIS IS SO OFF THE BAT BUT IMAGINE RIDING MIGUEL’S ABS??!;!;?:?:? WHATS UR CRUMB ON THAT BCS IM LITERALLY ASCENDING INTO HEAVEN JUST BY THE THOUGHT OF IT😩☝🏼

SUMMARY: after the events of DOUBLE RAPTURE, we follow Mig back home and explore his less than ideal relationship with his world's version of you.

explicit (18+) | 1.5k words

part one / can be read as a standalone! WARNINGS: smut, ab-riding, handjobs, codependant relationships, submissive (?) miguel, ANGST, fear of commitment (on the reader's part), implied parental issues, drinking, anxious/avoidant attachment styles NOTES: did this take me forever to respond to? yes. have i been thinking about it every day since i received it? also yes. please have a little drabble as a sweet treat for your genius mind, anon. sorry i took it too far

This is how it is with Miguel.

Buttressed on a leather couch that isn't so much leather anymore, but cotton dotted with the flakes of black suede that've managed to hold on through the years since you bought it. It's old, unstable – somewhat an apt metaphor for your relationship to the man – and stands situated across a television with no cable. He shows up at your door on any unannounced night, where for once you wish he'd catch you with plans pre-made, and intrudes on your vain attempt to connect the old screen to your neighbour's internet.

And it's ironic that you should end up watching dated cartoons anyway, stuck inside your apartment that is a fraction the size of his, because he always opens on some variation of the same line – the very thing that woo'd you all those years ago, when you were younger and prone to any man's charm:

What's a pretty thing like you do in a place like this?

It's dark outside – night-worn inhibition being one of the main constituents to poor decision making – and his skin gleams golden in the dim lamp light. You can't refuse him for all your rationale on why, so he comes in and you pour a strong drink whose hangover tomorrow will take precedence over your guilt. He drinks too, perhaps to make your eventual rejection easier, and the two of you make-out on that tumbledown couch until your lips turn blue.

Sometimes, he comes up for air – only when he gathers enough courage to break away from you – to whisper filthy nothings and little promises on the shell of your ear. Neither are empty, you know. Miguel’s good at making good of every word when it comes to you. The push and pull gets to him, fuels his gears until he’s pouring proper work into making you happy. From what you can physically face – gonna have you creaming on my cock, cariño – to prospects that remain ever-frightening – wanna stay like this forever, you on my lap, sharing our home. 

You’ve never had a reference to ‘our’. Commitment remains a fickle thing for you, instilled by parents who didn’t have the mind to give it. He knows as much, but you don’t think he understands just what keeps you around regardless. What keeps you at the door, waiting for an acknowledged three-knuckle knock. None of the in betweens, flowers, nor the heights you reach spread-eagled underneath him. It’s always just been exactly that – his return, done every time without fail. 

(And there’s the ever-negging fear that one day he’ll grow sick of the cycle. 

On one hand, you hope he does. It hurts him more than it does you, and you hate to watch him leave. Yet on the other, more volatile hand – you pray he fucks you so well you forget your reserve, that he breeds and carries you away from this hole you’ve dug yourself in.) 

For now, though–

For now, you lift the shirt off his frame. He’s let his chest-hair grow since you met him last, and if you strain to remember, he’s gotten bulkier. Abs more pronounced, with pecs that bounce when you graze your nails down his side. It’s refined, a look that makes him appear older. You swoop down to lick his neck, moaning hotly once you reach his mouth. 

“You been working out, Mig?” 

“For you, hermosa. Figured you’d like me better like this.” He groans, kneading the flesh of your thighs. His fingers dip into the waistband of your underwear, snapping it on your skin in an explicit plea to take it off. 

“And who told you that?” You say, acquiescing, working the lacey strip off your hips. Your cunt sucks at it, belligerent in letting go now that it’s soaked the fabric through. 

“A couple I met. They remind me of us.” His head follows yours when you draw away from an attempted kiss. It’s unintentional, done to stand off and strip completely, yet his reaction to it sends little tremors of pleasure to your core. “Of what we could be.” 

“Shhhh.” Once you’re completely bare, tits freed from your tank top, you straddle him again, a little higher this time. His waist is cinched enough to allow you to do so with little fuss, tendons at the top of your thighs aching only slightly. “Make me feel good, please.” 

“Of course.” 

His thumb presses down on your swollen clit, holding it in place while you arch your back and trap it underneath you – sandwiching it between your mound and his midriff. The pressure is electric, charged to fervency, buzzing as it lights every nerve ending from your waist below. And three thrusts forth and back see to it that he’s slick, lubed with the juices that gradually seep from your needy slit. 

The sight, the sensations, the thought that he’s putting effort outside of this room for you – they all make you exceedingly weak. Your legs wobble, practically jello, spine made out of sand and unable to support you fully. Miguel stays firm, one large paw squeezing your breast and the other at your pelvis. You’d ask him to help, to move you against him until you see stars, but a stone lodges in your throat and prevents the words from finding clarity. 

It’s guilt, of that you’re familiar, but for a number of things; the fact that he would help you seek pleasure in spite of his own – his erection left abandoned under the confines of his pants. The idea of desecrating his hard work, those muscles made pronounced, with your filth without fully appreciating it first. For everything, everything, and it’s so crushing that you stop moving altogether. 

“No, no. C’mon, pretty. Keep going.” He begs, pelvis thrusting up with need. You shove your arm behind you, seeking out the zipper keeping him from you, palming his hard length with clumsy assurance “Don’t worry about me. Wanna feel you cum on my abs. Gonna lick you clean after. We have forever if you’d let me. There’s no rush.” 

No rush. It’s far from the typical Miguel sentiment, and you blink in perplexed contemplation. But he just grins, brows knitting up with reverence. 

“Did these people also teach you to take your time?” You struggle to say patience, because he’s always been patient with you. 

“Something along the lines.” He mutters, suddenly sheepish. His fangs always intrude when his tone is quiet, like they’re intentionally making him difficult to understand. He knows he’s special to you when you try to decipher it nonetheless. 

“Don’t be making me jealous, now.” You taunt, dipping to bite his lip. It’s fun to pull up, up, until he whines and shoves you harder onto him. Achingly empty and close to cumming on his abdomen alone. Slowly, you start to gyrate again, riding unrelenting sinew. And in the meanwhile, you manage to get his zipper undone, sneaking your hand beneath his briefs.

“I’ll explain lat… later, p-promise.” 

“I don’t doubt it. F-Fuck,” Somehow, the pleasure is simultaneously heavenly and not enough, this little game you decided to engage in tiptoeing the line. He’s good even when he isn’t trying, just laying there, pinching pebbled nipples with enough callousness that it aches in the best way. On your first date – which wasn’t really a date, but a happenstance meeting at your father’s shady bar – he’d been hesitant to hurt you like you wanted. The best he could do was pepper your neck with sore hickeys, pocketed in the back alley, touch kinder than any you’d experienced before. “Oh my god.”

“Y-You’re so soft. My gorgeous girl. So soft and… and pretty when you do that.”

“Mig.” You wail, useless in properly pumping his pulsing cock. It’s all you can do to palm the head, smearing prespend all over his velvet tip. And it’s hard, like smelted iron, throbbing hot and heavy. It’s been so long since you’ve had it in you that you’re sure it’ll take some effort to fit. The abstraction fills you with desperation so poignant that you start moving faster, rougher, seeking an end where you’re stuffed full yet doing nothing to actually achieve it. 

That is, until–

“What do you need?” He asks.

Your hole clenches. Your guts knot together. Your orgasm gathers, full and sloshing wet, trapped behind the wall he’s been breaking down since his arrival. 

“You!” You finally admit. “You.” Softer. 

And when you cum, soaking his middle with shameless indulgence, all he does is flip you over to settle beneath him. The couch rocks with the sudden upheaval, threatening collapse, so he keeps a firm hold of your shoulders, kneeling between your quivering thighs. His breadth bobs from over his pants – you don’t recall taking it out – purple with restrained pain and just waiting for your cue to allow him entry.

“I’ve got you, cariño.” Miguel hums, positioning himself onto the divet of your cunt when you give a frail nod. “I’ve got you.” 

And you know, of course you do. He’s never backed away from a promise before. Because that is how it is with Miguel.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfic #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel atsv #miguel spiderverse #thirt #drabble #smut #x you #x reader #x y/n #x f!reader #x female reader #spiderman: across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #spiderman #atsv #༄dee answers #angst

[female-malice]

Women have long surpassed men in the arena of environmental action; across age groups and countries, females tend to live a more eco-friendly lifestyle. Compared to men, women litter less, recycle more, and leave a smaller carbon footprint. Some researchers have suggested that personality differences, such as women’s prioritization of altruism, may help to explain this gender gap in green behavior.

Our own research suggests an additional possibility: men may shun eco-friendly behavior because of what it conveys about their masculinity. It’s not that men don’t care about the environment. But they also tend to want to feel macho, and they worry that eco-friendly behaviors might brand them as feminine.

The research, conducted with three other colleagues, consisted of seven experiments involving more than 2,000 American and Chinese participants. We showed that there is a psychological link between eco-friendliness and perceptions of femininity. Due to this “green-feminine stereotype,” both men and women judged eco-friendly products, behaviors, and consumers as more feminine than their non-green counterparts.  In one experiment, participants of both sexes described an individual who brought a reusable canvas bag to the grocery store as more feminine than someone who used a plastic bag—regardless of whether the shopper was a male or female.  In another experiment, participants perceived themselves to be more feminine after recalling a time when they did something good versus bad for the environment.

Men may eschew green products and behaviors to avoid feeling feminine.  In one study, we threatened the masculinity of male participants by showing them a pink gift card with a floral design and asking them to imagine using the card to purchase three products (lamp, backpack, and batteries).  Compared to men shown a standard gift card, threatened men were more likely to choose the non-green rather than green version of each item.  The idea that emasculated men try to reassert their masculinity through non-environmentally-friendly choices suggests that in addition to littering, wasting water, or using too much electricity, one could harm the environment merely by making men feel feminine.

Ironically, although men are often considered to be less sensitive than women, they seem to be particularly sensitive when it comes to perceptions of their gender identity. In fact, a previous study suggests that men find it to be more difficult than women to choose between masculine and feminine versions of everyday food and household items and will usually change their preferences to be more manly when allowed time to think about their decisions. Something as simple as holding a purse, ordering a colorful drink, or talking in a high voice can lead to social harm, so men tend to keep a sharp eye out for any of these potential snares. 

So what can pro-environmental marketers do to buffer against the threat posed to men by the green-feminine stereotype? First, eco-friendly marketing messages and materials can be designed to affirm men’s masculinity and give them the confidence to overcome their fear of being judged as feminine when engaging in green behaviors.  For example, in one experiment, men who received feedback affirming their masculinity were more interested in purchasing an eco-friendly version of a cleaning product. Men who feel secure in their manhood are more comfortable going green.

Second, green products and organizations can be marketed as more “Men”-vironmentally-friendly, with more masculine fonts, colors, words, and images used in the branding. To illustrate, men in one experiment were more likely to donate to a green non-profit with a masculine logo (black and dark blue colors featuring a howling wolf, with the name “Wilderness Rangers” in a bold font) than one with a traditional logo (green and light tan colors featuring a tree, with the name “Friends of Nature” in a frilly font).  And in a field study conducted at a BMW dealership in China, male customers were more interested in a hybrid vehicle after viewing a print ad featuring a masculine term in the model’s description than when viewing the traditional print ad.

Together, these findings highlight how the green-feminine stereotype inhibits men from taking eco-friendly actions, and suggest that masculine affirmation and masculine branding may be effective in narrowing the gender gap in environmentalism. Make the man feel manly, and he’s more likely to go green.

–

MEN ARE IDIOTS. MEN ARE IDIOTS. MEN ARE IDIOTS.

THE COLOR GREEN IS NOW "TOO FEMININE" FOR MEN APPARENTLY.

FUCK THIS. FUCK YOUR 33 SPORTS CARS. FUCK YOU.

ANDREW TATE SMALL DICK ENERGY @ GET A LIFE DOT COM

WE DON'T NEED TO AFFIRM THE MASCULINITY OF THESE DEFICIENT HYPERSENSITIVE INSECURE BETA MOIDS. WE NEED TO PUBLICLY SHAME THEM. THAT'S THE LANGUAGE THEY SPEAK. THAT'S THE LANGUAGE THEY'LL RESPOND TO.

#cc

[polisena-art]

I've always wanted to ask since it's never definite and changes based on adaption, but what's your preference for Panchito's last name? Pistoles? Romero Miguel Francisco Quintero Gonzalez III? No last name at all? Some combination like Pistoles being a stage name? If he lived with José in Rio long enough could he eventually adopt Carioca? It seems to differ for everyone which is one of the cool fandom things

HI! SO- I can safely say I don't consider Panchito's surname to be "Pistoles". To me, that's his stage name and an American stage name at that!! Getting a little meta for a bit here, the name "Pistoles" was chosen for the character simply because it was easier for the American audience to pronounce it with an "e" instead of the original "a" in the spanish word for "pistols". So, going back in universe, imagine that in the 1940s when the Three Caballeros commissioned a small series of posters with the little money they had, they all came with a typo in Panchito's name because of the language barrier/miscommunication with the print shop. But in the end Panchito kinda digged that XDDD "NO, LEAVE IT IN!!! It makes it new and exciting, guys!!!" Paco might say, upbeat and always seeing the bright side of every situation. I like to imagine that his nickname in his hometown and stage name in México was "Panchito Pistolas" and just "Panchito" for family and friends. As for his actual surname I really dig the House of Mouse version, (Panchito Romero Miguel Junípero Francisco Quintero González Tercero) even if it means he would be Francisco twice XD, tbh not the weirdest naming decision to happen in latin america by far...

AS FOR JOSÉ!!! Well, first, I don't think that either one of them would adopt any of each others' surnames (but this is my own bias because I kinda hate the whole changing names for marriage and the burocracy it entails-) Also I'm in the fence whether to consider "Carioca" to be José's real surname or not. This is very much me overanalyzing the character but we are in the "overanalyzing stupid characters website" so whatever- The thing with José is that, here in Brazil, "Zé Carioca" reads simply as a very descriptive nickname meaning "guy from Rio". Reason why I can totally see it being just a nickname that later got turned into a stage name for him. So, it also doesn't make sense to me for Panchito to have it in his name, that Bitch (affectionate) isn't carioca! But anyways, just to clarify, can "Carioca" be a surname? Yes, absolutely!! It is, in fact, a surname that exists in Brazil although it's not a very popular one. But when you consider the character's history and also Zé's cousins (the joke with them being that each has a regional name after "Zé" indicating where they are from), the idea you get is that Carioca is not a family name but a label. The comics have also shown us some of Zé's relatives that could indicate what other alternative surnames he may have but, mind you, none of this means that Zé would have inherited these particular surnames! So we're still in headcanon valley here. First, there are Zé's two grandads: Zé Paiva (or Zeca Paiva) and Josué Carioca. We don't know which one is from mother's side or father's side tho. And later there are more relatives, including two grandmas, one from the Dutch comics, Oma Carioca (aka vovó Carioca), and the other from a recent Culturama release, Isaura Araripe. Once again we don't know which one represents the mother's side and which represents the father's side. In the Culturama special story tho, José's family, including himself, identify as "Araripe" (a real surname but also a play on the word "arara" meaning "macaw" in portuguese).

So, we coooould make Zé Carioca's registry name be any mix of these like "José Araripe Carioca" or "José Paiva Araripe" OR "José Carioca Araripe" OR "José Paiva Carioca" OOOOR if you're a fan of long names "José Carioca Araripe Paiva". The mother's family name comes first in Brazil but since we don't know which one that would be, you can pick and choose to your heart's content. I said all that BUT I'm also a big fan of the "descriptive" nature of "José Carioca" as a name for the character, because it almost grants him a kind of anonimity. There are millions of Zés in Brazil and millions of cariocas (in relation to place of birth) too. Which makes him LITERALLY JUST A GUY!!! Just a little guy commiting scams all around and nobody fucking knows his real name-- A REAL POWER MOVE in my opinion. That said, I would also find it very funny if he had the most WIDELY USED Brazilian surname and ONLY THAT, making him "José Silva" or "José da Silva", so he could maintain that "generic guy" energy in his registry name as well.

#I think Zé should have “Silva” in his name so he could really be the QUINTESSENTIAL Brazilian little guy #I also looove to headcanon zé as an orphan so imagine if he grows up not even being sure of what his actual surnames were #he gets a state provided one IF THAT and it's Silva #because in the 40s there were people going around w no surnames no registry no nothing #sadly invisible to the government #the three caballeros #josé carioca #panchito pistoles #text post #ask #anonymous

[corazon-calaveras]

The Crow Reboot Rant

NAH NAH NAH, WHOSE IDEA WAS IT TO MAKE ERIC DRAVEN LOOK LIKE A DISCOUNT VERSION OF JARED LETTO'S JOKER?!? IMMA THROW HANDS!!! 💀🔪

There's just so much wrong about this reboot and as a fan of the original crow movie and graphic novel I cannot even begin to express how much this disappoints me.

More to rant ahead, just know it's hella long.

I recently saw and heard more news about the crow reboot and upon seeing what to expect I no longer have any interest in watching the reboot, in fact I wish the fans continue to roast the hell out of it to show the people in charge of this reboot that this is NOT what the people want or need.

Now I just want to go on and say that I have no problems with Bill Skarsgard as Eric Draven. I think he's a hella great actor with lots of potential of doing a great job at being the next crow actor, but my issue is with the writers and the people who made the overall decision to make this cult classic "appeal to modern audiences" which that quote alone was enough for me to completely abandon all hope of this movie being any good. I was already skeptical enough about the reboot and my expectations were low but THIS...this definitely made my expectations drop even lower than they already were and that's surprising to me. Honestly at this point the three crow sequels were a lot better and that's saying a lot because if y'all have seen those you'll know they weren't that good either but at least they were entertaining. 😭 (In my opinion at least, feel free to disagree on that).

It gets even better when you find out that the inspiration for reboot crow was Post Malone and Lil Peep. 💀

Like...is that what appeals to modern audiences nowadays? Was that really necessary for modern day Eric Draven? Absolutely not! The original movie and comic took place in the 90's so LEAVE IT IN THE 90's! Not everything has to be modernized for the sake of appealing to modern audiences. What modern audiences need right now are original stories with good and compelling writing (which probably won't happen any time soon since Hollywood proved to be in the middle of an imagination drought).

Sure, one can argue that the original movie wasn't completely faithful to the source material, that being the graphic novel. However, Due to the unfortunate passing of Brandon Lee during the making of the film, James O 'Barr has stated that he had finished the film as a tribute to Brandon who was a sweet and caring man and so decided to write Eric Draven to have some resemblance to Brandon in the film as a way to honor him. With that in mind, it's no wonder people are much harsher about the reboot, myself included, and find that this reboot would be an insult to not only James O 'Barr but also to Brandon. (Those who know the tragic history of The Crow graphic novel would understand why that's the case but in short it was a way for James to deal with grief).

In my opinion, the original crow film does not need a reboot or a remake. It may not be the best or perfect movie in the world but it is a cult classic and is one of the most beloved movies that holds a dear place in people's hearts. Mine included. Which is why instead of making another movie based on Brandon Lee's crow, that the other crow characters get a shot at the big screen since Eric Draven isn't the only one who gets brought back to life by a crow. I can understand how this might potentially not gain enough traction because it's not the iconic Eric Draven, but I do believe that with good writing and loyalty to the source materials, that it can be very possible to make a good and fresh crow movie without piggy backing off of an already beloved and successful film with the help of the fans who most likely have read the other comics.

In my opinion, I don't think this reboot is worth anyone's time (at least for those who are hardcore fans of the Crow franchise) and I have no hope for this whatsoever. In fact, I'm gonna go rewatch the original movie for the millionth time and reread the original graphic novel because I've already accepted the fact that any potential of getting a good crow movie is officially out the window. Not only that but the book and film are my comfort watch and reads so there's that.

For anyone who wants to hear more details about the reboot I recommend looking up articles or watch videos about it on youtube since that's where I heard the majority of the news.

Brandon Lee will forever be the best Eric Draven out there, may he rest in peace.

#the crow #the crow 1994 #eric draven #james o'barr #the crow reboot #bill skarsgård #the crow 2024 #rant post

[crescencestudio]

2023: A Year of Connection

Hi everyone!

As I told you last month, this month's "devlog" will be more like an end-of-year recap. For those of you who have known me a while, you'll know that I get ~in my feels~ and Very Nostalgic at the end of the year. And this year is no exception to that.

Looking back on this year, I realize I did much more than I thought I did. The year was filled with so many waves of uncertainty, burnout, and ruts, that I felt like I wasn't accomplishing anything in the moment. Now that the year has actually wrapped up, I can see that was Once Again my imposter syndrome whispering words of sweet nothings into my ears.

In fact, this year, I find that I did Way More than what I did last year. Crazy, considering how busy I remember 2022 being. Let's take a walk down memory lane, shall we?

Writing

If there is one thing this bitch did, it's fucking write LFMASODIJ. For all my complaining this year of routes taking too long, getting creative ruts, etc., I still wrote (what I consider) a Very Good amount. While I may not have hit my writing goals that I had set out, I still ended up writing around 255k words in total this year. Most of this being for Alaris, and some of it being for my dissertation (LOL) and other side games, like Intertwine and Jam Games.

This number also doesn't include deleted passages, edited passages, etc., so the amount I've spent writing, reviewing, etc. was Significant this year. Here's to hoping that momentum continues into next year and finishing the rest of Alaris!

Side Games

Something completely unexpected, but that I'll forever be grateful for, was my decision(s) to join game jams this year. It all started with Otojam, a visual novel jam I'd wanted to join for a WHILE.

Intertwine was, without a doubt, one of my most memorable moments from this year. The friends I made/grew closer to during that jam. The people I connected with because of Intertwine. The people I got to work with. Everything about the experience surpassed my expectations, and Van and Summer 2023 will always hold a very special place in my heart because of it. Thank you to everyone who enjoyed that game. It was my first full game I ever released, and I couldn't have been more nervous about it (no literally. I wasn't sleeping and I was nauseous for a week before release).

Knowing there was no "revision" afterwards that I could hide behind or promise that there would be a "better"/"enhanced" version made the release terrifying. But the reception you all gave to it and support from so many friends made me feel so connected and grateful for the community.

The other three side projects were... well, Unexpected. LOL. Before these jams, I'd never wanted to work in team settings, mostly because I have Mad Imposter Syndrome, and I've always imagined I'd be dead weight in any given game dev team. My skills on writing, art, and/or coding alone aren't "exemplary" enough for me to think I, well, deserve to be on a team. But when a couple of short jams were being held by a friend, and teams were being made filled with other friends, I thought maybe I could help, even if it's just to QA/playtest. But I've walked away from each of these experiences learning so much from other talented people and with very dear friends.

Each of these side games truly tested my chops in terms of writing, narrative design, and coding. But I'm glad I challenged myself to take part in each of these experiences because I've walked away with so much more than I would've expected.

Alaris

My Heart. My Soul. And at times, My Worst Enemy.

As much as I may have talked about how I Wasn't making progress on this baby. I, in fact, made A LOT of progress:

Art: 15 CGs, Updated Sprites, Kickstarter Artwork

Commissions: 20 BGs, Complete GUI, Personality/Affection Indicators, Editing, Voice Acted Lines, Complete OST (8 Tracks!)

Writing: Three Finished Routes

Shipped Kickstarter Merchandise

I'm going to be Real with you all. I'm not in the mood to recap everything for Alaris in the way I did with everything else LAFKMSDFOIJWOEI. Main reason being, I do that Every Month, and at this point, I would feel like I'm repeating myself for no reason. But let me tell you, when the Enhanced Demo comes out, you will see what I'm talking about with progress made. And I'm excited for the next year when I start getting to show things off (read: Demo Release and Route Beta Releases) now that assets have really come together ^^

I will say, thank you for sticking with this project for so long. It's easy to get bogged down in development when a project like this is as big as it is. It's just as easy to think that no one will care about this by the time I release, or people will start losing their patience with me as development goes on. So I'm forever grateful for how kind, supportive, and patient you all are, especially this year <3

Connections: The True Theme of 2023

If you've made it this far, I'm extremely impressed with you. And to reward you, I'll give you a moment of honesty and vulnerability which, to be frank, I Don't Do as a person and especially with my dev persona LMFAOO ((Before I do, let it be known, CW: mention of death, grief, alcoholism, chronic illness, suicidal thoughts))

Something I don't talk about much is that for all of 2022 and most of 2023, I was not in a good place mentally. At the beginning of 2022, I lost three very important people in my life back-to-back (I'm not exaggerating when I say back-to-back it was within 2 weeks, three separate deaths lol). That, on its own, was hard to deal with. But on top of that, I soon found myself having to cope/help with a family member's chronic illness and another family member's mental health (read: alcoholism, suicidality).

While this isn't a particularly unique situation, it was one that I found myself struggling with pretty severely on top of a pretty demanding work life. And it was a situation I found myself in until about midway through this year. Things have lightened up. I navigate a new life with some pretty severe triggers, and without the presence of some of my most loved ones. But overall, I at least feel like I can breathe and function, which is a state I didn't feel like I could exist in for over a year (and started to believe I may never exist in again).

Because of this new room in my life, I was able to connect with people again, in a more genuine way. I've grown closer to a lot of dev friends, to the point I consider some of them genuine close friends. And IRL, I've been able to reconnect with some of my dearest loved ones. The main reason I bring all of this up is because this year, I felt unbelievably connected to people, whether that was dev friends in the community, people who support my games, and IRL people.

And sometimes, when you interact with people solely online, it's easy to think they don't care as much about you as you do for them. But this has been disproven to me time and time again this year. And I've found myself in a state of appreciation for so many of the people I've been blessed to meet and befriend <3 I felt this especially so during some of the game jams, with the Secret Santa gift exchange, and with my recent Holiday Tree.

So thank you for everyone who has let me take up some space in their life. You literally Do Not Know how much it means to me and impacts me. This year, while I started it in a state of slightly hopelessness and numbness, I find myself ending it with gratitude and connection.

I hope the rest of this year (the very few couple of days we have left LOL) treats everyone well. I'm excited for how we get to start 2024 and what we'll get to experience together <3 Thank you again for the memories and support, love you all very dearly ^^

#crescence cries

[tendebill]

drew the ow strike team as paladins of voltron, because i am normal about them :]

(2 other versions and a fucking essay below the cut!)

ok so im gonna give my reasoning for each of them

Reinhardt - the easierst to pick, the Yellow Lion is the most tank-like (besides the Black Lion, but thats cuz Black is the head + torso), also i think the legs of voltron are supposed to be the "pillars" that allow the team to work well, without them the whole thing crumbles (literally). from what i recall from the actual show, the Yellow Paladin is protective and loyal. Rein was the easiest to match up tbh (plus even the color fits lol)

Torbjörn - not my favourite choice, but tbh i dont think any other lion fits him? besides maybe Yellow, but Rein was too perfect so i couldnt give Torb that one. anyway, the Green Lion is the left hand. i consider the legs to be the "pillars" holding up the team, whereas the arms are the actual damage-dealers/the ones that act on what the leader commands. and as Torb is a dps, that fits just fine. hes not quite a leader, so being the left hand instead of the right is good. plus the Green Lion is inquisitive and curious, and since Torb is a genius, that fits just fine too. i thought he would look weird with green, since i associate him with red-orange-yellow the most, but he looks kinda nice

Ana - i was originally gonna make her blue from the get-go, but i thought it'd be silly to make the remaining three switch lions a bunch, so i can get an excuse to draw Gabe and Jack in multiple suits lmao. but Ana starts out as red, the right hand of Voltron, described as the most temperamental and aggressive. it requires a paladin that can keep up with it and works on instinct most of the time. i feel like Ana would have to BECOME the motherly figure for her team, instead of being one from the start. with that i think she would have been a more "lone wolf" type at first, only later on becoming more mindful of her teammates and how much they need her, which would lead to her becoming the paladin of the Blue Lion - a pillar that keeps the team going along with Rein, a vital part, but no longer in a leadership position. i've seen the Blue Lion described as a "free spirit" too, which i think is also perfect for her :3

Jack - for him i had three options, all of which fit him well: blue, red and black. and instead of picking one, i decided he was going to have three different lions :))) for shits and giggles. so he starts out as blue, a free spirit, very versitile (from what i gathered, the Blue Lion doesn't have a specific "thing" it specilizes in, but instead does a little bit of everything, kinda like Jack). i imagine Jack was the middle-man, an integral part of team-building. he would have been the one to push everyone to work together and follow Gabe's lead, but he was content being on the sidelines most of the time. eventually he takes up more responsibility, sees that he's vital for the team and that he can do more working side by side with Gabe, and so he becomes the paladin of the Red Lion, Gabe's right hand man. then he of course slowly grows to be the actual leader, as Gabe's approach changes and he slowly abandons his original role, passing the command over to Jack. and so Jack's last lion is the Black Lion. also i feel like all three lions fit Jack's color scheme pretty well, so that's another win for me hah

Gabe - since he was the original Strike Commander, i thought it only natural that he would be the first to pilot the Black Lion. the pilot needs to be decisive, stay cool in the face of danger and be someone whose men will follow him into battle with no hesitation - all traits that i see Gabriel would have had to have during the first Omnic Crisis. like i mentioned before, Jack eventually becomes his second in command, and then slowly their roles start to shift. Gabe is no longer content in making decisions for the whole team, he probably also becomes more violent and reckless, relying on Jack to keep him in check. he loses his connection with the Black Lion and becomes the paladin of the Red Lion, Jack's right hand man. the traits of Red fit him well too - aggressive, relies on instinct, temperamental, plus i imagine Gabe is the type to want to get things done as quickly as possible, no matter the risk, to save more people faster. plus, again, the colors match up yaaaay!

fun fact: i never finished watching voltron ^^

also i am truthing anahardt and reaper76 as we speak

#fighting all of my base instincts so i dont make this into an actual au and dont pour in hours of work to make it make sense #lowkey losing but holding on #voltron #voltron legendary defender #overwatch #overwatch2 #ow #ow2 #reaper overwatch #reaper76 #anahardt #ana amari #jack morrison #torbjorn lindholm #reinhardt wilhelm #gabriel reyes #soldier 76 #tendebill art #voltron au #overwatch strike team #voltron strike team AU #overwatch fanart

[bluedalahorse]

Hi! I hope everyone is doing well. I am popping up to let you know that I’m alive, that there’s a lot going on, that I still love YR, and that I’m thinking about boundaries and priorities.

I loved Young Royals season three. I especially love how it engaged with the legacy of Erik and the systems of Hillerska. I love that it took the idea of the legal system providing catharsis and that it threw that out the window. I love the way characters got words for what they were going through, how Felice got to name the racism happening to her and August got words to name his disordered eating. Most of all I loved the way Lisa wrote Sara’s relationship with her father and her reconciliation with Simon. That meant so much to me, and I can’t wait to imagine a future for the Eriksson siblings.

Here is a brief list of things I loved about the finale. They were all written in the afterglow of seeing the episode. I stand by them. Especially how much I loved Wille’s ending, and what happened there.

In the coming weeks, I’m sure there’ll be stuff I’m more critical of or don’t feel as strongly about. I especially have mixed feelings about the way Lisa seemed to structure 3.5 in a way that mimics the emotional roller coaster of trauma. I’m not really focusing on that stuff here or now, because I don’t want to. But it’s on my mind, and I don’t know if I’ll end up posting about it here and elsewhere.

At present this post isn’t rebloggable or tagged with much of anything. That’s because I’m trying to figure out the best way moving forward with tumblr. I don’t know if I want to delete this blog and abandon it entirely, but the pressure to present a curated version of myself is too much, and is a pretty big trigger for things like rejection sensitivity and anxiety. The pace here is also too fast and there is no way to keep up with everything, and (forgive me for this cardinal sin in tumblr-land) I wish I had some easier way to not see the same sets of gifs a hundred times with the same commentary. I’m experimenting with slower ways of doing fandom, where I can enjoy myself more.

I do, however, want a way to get the cultural footnotes for Young Royals, especially when they help me write better fic and create better fanworks. I know there’s some pretty darn useful posts about how lines get translated and various holidays and traditions (and looking forward I would like to know more about universities in Sweden, and how the monarchy works and such.) So I want to be able to find the stuff I need without having to spend as much time on what I don’t need. The resource posts people make are truly helpful.

And I also have some other fannish things I want to see here, like Les Mis and Interview with the Vampire. And the memes are nice. I miss the memes.

Before I make the decision about how I engage, I think it will be useful for me to know my priorities. So I’ve thought about them a bit, and I want to make the decisions that align with my priorities. Here’s what I want to focus on moving forward:

I want to spend more time creating. The thing that has always brought me the most genuine joy in this fandom is writing fic. YRS3 ended in a place of possibility for so many characters, and I want to keep writing about them and learning about them that way. (I won’t even lie, of course most of my ideas are about August—August and Kristina working on their intergenerational cousin relationship, August getting pulled into weekly DND sessions with Wille and Simon so they can all get better at being human together while pretending to be elves or something, August doing the personal and liberatory work that allows him and Sara to one day have a Second Chance Romance with they’re older, even August/Nils because oh boy did that season give me ideas about them I never knew I had.) One of my goals is to cut down on browsing time significantly so that I spend more time writing, especially so I can finish Heart and Homeland. I think it’ll make me happier.

I want to spend more time helping others create. Some of the most meaningful experiences I had in this fandom involved being a beta reader or hearing out another person’s fic ideas, and getting to live in that space of creation and collaboration. For that reason, I’d like to still make new YR connections on occasion, especially with people who wanna share their writing process with me. Tumblr may or may not be a place to do that. I’m still figuring out where stuff should happen.

I want analysis to be something I do as part of my creative process, and that’s it. I don’t know if this is fully true, but it felt like ten years ago there was more fandom meta focused on what fans wanted to write in their fanfics, and how their interpretations of canon led to them creating cool art. There was some meta that was about how to interpret canon “correctly” but that wasn’t the priority. Now, it feels like—and this is true even outside of YR fandom, so this is no reflection on YR specifically—there is more emphasis on having the “correct” interpretation of canon. About getting it right, and having the right predictions and interpretations. It feels competitive in a way that wears me down. From this point forward, when posting analysis, I’m going to ask myself, is this furthering my creative pursuits and my understanding of the writing process more generally, or am I just trying to win an argument? If the answer is just to win, then I’m not going to post my argument. That runs counter to my goals.

I don’t want to engage in any space where anonymous discourse flourishes. Even when well-intentioned. Being away for a while was clarifying for me on that point. Turns out one of the biggest triggers for my anxiety and shame are extensive, heated conversations where I don’t know who is saying what and who I can trust. Spaces where there’s a lot of anon conversation are probably going to be ones I block and unfollow first moving forward. It just seems like a good baseline for how I engage.

So this is where I am as of now. I’ll probably continue to hold off on doing much posting in the coming days, but I did want to poke my head up for air for a second to let people know what the state of everything is.

Here’s one picture of the plushes for the road:

And here’s a picture of the waffles I ate on finale day:

Oh, to have cloudberry jam and time spent with friends. These things are truly joyous.

#yr s3 spoilers #yr spoilers #yr season 3 #mostly tagging this in case anyone has those blocked

[analogskullerosis]

I think what I loved about "Tomb Patrol" more than anything is how Rita, Larry, Jane, and Cliff escaped the fate of the old Doom Patrol seen back in Season 1. They beat Mr. Nobody and kept their sanity intact. They also learned the truth of what Niles Caulder did to them and instead of becoming worthless and placed into a make believe retirement home, they survived and lived to eat his head and outlive the guy who was so obsessed with immortality and living one day longer than his daughter.

The old Doom Patrol seen in season one were just as aged as the one seen in "Tomb Patrol," only that team is utterly broken and can't even enjoy the time they have left if they wanted to. I wonder if Rita thought of the state of Mento and the others when she reached her geriatric state and started breaking down.

The biggest reason Rita wanted everybody to come to dinner is because Cliff, Larry, and Jane are quite literally her only family. They're all she has. Every person related to her is either dead or wouldn't believe that she's still alive, given she's a film star from the fifties. The most important part of the episode was Rita finally voicing that the Doom Patrol are all she has. They're her family and that one line suddenly makes her wanting to be the team leader and why it was so important to her all clear. She wanted to work to keep her family together after the death of Niles Caulder.

The moment with the four geriatric Doom Patrol members sitting in the living room, reminiscing about their adventures was the sweetest scene of the entire season. They forgot all about their problems and impending doom for just a few moments and simply enjoyed each others' company. They didn't become angry or confused or sad or broken like the Doom Patrol before them. They sat in the living room and shared a loving moment like a real family. Even when Rita collapsed, the other three agreed to go to the play for her sake. I loved Cliff's line when they make the decision to go: "We have to. It's Rita." For all of their dysfunction, once they saw that she was in real trouble, her fellow Doomies rushed to her aide and said, "Let's whoop some ass. For her." Those moments are what make a dysfunctional family worth rooting for. That no matter how much they may bicker and fight and disagree, they always find their way back to each other and look after each other when shit gets serious.

This version of the Doom Patrol is the best example of the team being a found family since Rachel Pollack's run back in the 90s. They've been through hell and back, but they can still sit in a living room and laugh about it. They were ready to face death together with love and laughter about eating Niles Caulder's head. Rita tells Mento before she leaves: "All I know is… I don't want to end up like you. Or Arani, or Rhea." This episode confirmed that she didn't end up like them. None of them did. If Rita Farr is truly dead, then she died surrounded by the people who loved her most who rushed to her body to help her without a second thought. At the end of the day, this show is about a bunch of freaks who love each other and that love has overcome the strangest and most bizarre forms of hell imaginable.

The Doom Patrol is marching towards death in the same way that the show is marching towards death with only two episodes left to go. No matter how it all ends, this show will always be special to me.

#original post #doom patrol

[witchofthemidlands]

i'm writing doctorjackrose angst currently in my recent fanfic chapter so you guys can have my brain rot as a result, i apologise in advance.

the fact that the two people eleven mentions by name is rose & jack as people he would want to spend time with to avoid his trip to lake is such a throwaway line but it makes me absolutely insane regardless because i can just imagine jack&rose being with any of the modern doctors & it still being as electric & beautiful as it was when they were travelling with nine (before satellite 5 obviously) because you cannot tell me that there were not polycule vibes between the three of them.

i mean, i can imagine that they would have so much fun with eleven. he's a near feral energy goblin & weirdly smooth in his own way so i feel like elevenjackrose would go on some incredible adventures. they would ALWAYS be touching one another in some way, there would probably be the most physical contact from this version of them & they would scare the locals of every planet they go to. eleven strikes me as the doctor who would attempt to be the big spoon & then decide that he'd rather enjoy being the little spoon between the three of them. ACTUALLY i can also imagine eleven innocently putting the three of them in bunk beds & being so elated about it that neither rose nor jack want to say anything but they nearly have & all three of them have somehow ended up in the same bunk before. I can picture them just being practically joint at the hip & just about get stuff done because they're always having a great time with one another & need to remember to stop being near indecent to save the world.

twelve, there would be ✨tenderness✨ (especially with rose, similarly to how the moment is with the war doctor) not as much physical contact as the previous regenerations but he'd probably link arms with rose & jack in an old fashioned manner as they’d walk around together. i think rose would adore twelve (both she & jack would tease him for the attack eyebrows though) & wouldn't even really take much notice that he looked a lot older than the previous regenerations because he’s got his usual big doctor personality, even more so as twelve & slightly more ✨unhinged✨ mean personally, i doubt jack would even speak to twelve at points due to the decisions he made concerning missy but despite all that, i think those three would have a wonderful time together. i can just imagine twelvejackrose all trying to fit in one big chair in the tardis library together to sleep whilst twelve rambles on about something. twelve would be the big spoon & would have his arms resting around both of them.

with thirteen i think thirteenjackrose would be similar to eleven where they’d have so much blissful fun together & be practically joint at the hip. her northern accent would be so nostalgic to both rose & jack. there would also be so much flirting between thirteenjackrose that the rest of the companions are nearly always facepalming (cue jack telling them that any of them are open to join in) i can also picture thirteen basically banishing jack to the tardis at first because she is sick of people assuming that he's the doctor & rose always finds that hilarious. people might disagree with me here but i think thirteen would be the big spoon between the three & would hold them both so close. i also think if rose&jack encountered the hologram that they would see thirteen as she is but it would occasionally flicker to other doctors probably both nine&ten.

#rose my love my everything🌹 #rose tyler #captain jack harkness #✨javic piotr thane✨ #eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #thirteenth doctor #doctorjackrose #ninejackrose #doctor who #whoniverse #kat’s thoughts 🍄

[vampiremeerkat]

not sure if you've caught up much to Vivziepop's work lately, but got any thoughts regarding her Helluva Boss show, or her upcoming Amazon Prime version of Hazbin Hotel?

Said this: https://vampiremeerkat.tumblr.com/post/188696192708/hazbin-hotel-came-out-thoughts-aye-watched-it https://vampiremeerkat.tumblr.com/post/665027239768899584/since-youve-seen-hazbin-hotel-what-do-you

But I've still not watched Helluva Boss, only about two or three few second snippets out of curiosity for the animation quality. My knowledge on it is based on a review from Just Stop, and if the show is like he describes, I won't be turning on episode 1 soon. It appears to me like Helluva Boss just does things to look or sound exciting in the moment, without caring about previously established rules or how stupid these decisions make a character look in the face of past or upcoming episodes. Then again, my mind has been poisoned by anime, and I like Cars, so I can also imagine none of it would keep me up at night. But even before Just Stop's video, I've not felt particularly interested. If I had to give a reason, perhaps I just don't enjoy Vivziepop's interpretation of Hell enough to want to know about its residents. Just Stop gives a sensible list of reasons what's wrong with her Hell, but like I said in one of the linked messages above: I find many of the characters too approachable/aesthetically pleasing and already don't think that's what Hell should be like. I want disfigured gremlins no one wants to draw porn of. Hell should be Hell, not a (slightly) less bearable version of some big city you can find on Earth. A good example of Vivziepop's work is the character "Beelzebub". I happened to come across an image of her not long ago, which is a fluffy neon-rainbow fox with insect wings, instead of an actual bee with beastly features, which would've made more sense. Why is someone who's called "(queen) bee" a fox? We know why, and I cry for all the sexy bees in the world. You don't always have to cater to the furries, my friends, please, just try something else for once, leave the canines, felines, and dragons alone! There are so many different kinds of animals walking the planet to sexualize! And you.. furries.. You're all conveniently inhabited by the soul of a wolf -an animal that so happens to appeal to most humans in terms of appearance- while there's infinite times more sea life and insects that existed throughout time and in present day, that died and could've reincarnated into what is now you! That's right loser, you are a literal worm! Anyway, the characters draw the attention of teenagers, but at the same time, the show mishandles the use of swear words and throws them around like it's all good, which I also can't stand. I think the latter is what initially turned me off from sitting on stand-by for the upcoming Hazbin Hotel show, because why should I care about anything you have to say if you're always going "fuck" and "shit" in my face? A sliver of positivity in this rant: I think the owl looks cool. Again, he does not look like anything Hell would produce, I'd design something like him if my intention was a "mysterious, forest fairy tale creature", but still cool. I contemplated looking up his scenes under the belief there's a complicated, emotional story attached, but if you're telling me they did this hooty boy wrong by making him a sexually dissatisfied whore, with Blitzo's only aim being his magic book, and yet further episodes proclaim there's an actual connection between the two without the writers having put in the work, then never mind. I'll find myself a different hooty boy. 💔🦉

#hazbin hotel #helluva boss #beezlebub #stolas #blitzo #just stop #youtube

[shion-yu]

I Still Think Of You

Whatever proceeded or followed this moment was worth it, if only just to hear Elliot's voice one more time. Cliff and Elliot reconnect nearly three years after their breakup. A complete rewrite of an older story that I wasn't content with and deleted. Also my fill for my @badthingshappenbingo space "I Will Only Slow You Down." 2,351 words, original writing, no TWs, CW depression, chronic illness whump.

The song hit Cliff like a stray bolt of lightning. He was sitting in the outpatient infusion center getting his monthly infliximab when it came on the regional variety station.

Sometimes I'm driving 

Down ninety-five in your car

I imagine it still smells like you

But that was so long ago

And you're gone

Like dust in the wind

Like the tide pulled you in

Like you're never coming back

To me again

To whisper in my ear

"You're my whole life"

And I'm yours

I'm still yours

It was Elliot. The voice was unmistakably Elliot's because nobody else's voice sounded like that: that perfect mix of confident yet wavering and gentle. Cliff knew it immediately because it was the voice that he fell in love with. He also realized quite quickly that the song was about him. All those other love songs that Elliot had written could be excused away as generic, the classic ballad about a faceless lover. Maybe a few coincidences, but never anything like this one that pulled so directly from the time that he and Elliot spent together. 

Cliff had told Elliot so many times: "You're my whole life." At first it seemed romantic. Later it seemed possessive. "I can't be your whole life, not all of it," Elliot had told him the day they broke up. "You need to keep some for you, too."

Cliff wished he had understood what Elliot meant by that back then. Maybe if he had, things would have turned out different. Maybe Cliff would have been more honest, braver. But they were victims of the age old cliche: you can't love another person until you love yourself. It hadn't just been Cliff though. Neither of them had loved themselves, they'd only loved each other. They'd relied on each other too much before the other was ready to carry the burden of another.

That was almost three years ago. A lot had changed since then. Cliff was diagnosed with sarcoidosis. He started law school and then made the difficult decision not to return after the first year. He dated Phoenix, who broke up with him when he dropped out. He never loved Phoenix though. Cliff wasn’t even sure if he ever even really liked him. It was just another poor attempt at hoping that if he pretended to be someone he wasn't, he'd stop being the real, pathetic version of himself that actually existed.

Cliff had been trying to ignore Elliot's steep rise to fame for a while now for his own self-preservation, but after I Still Think Of You hit the billboard 100 it became impossible. Elliot was everywhere: on talk shows and TV performances and magazine covers. The other half of his act, some guy named Alex, always hovered behind him providing bass and backup vocals. Cliff thought he looked like a little kid. He rarely smiled, as opposed to Elliot who couldn’t stop except for when he was crooning so passionately into the microphone that it gave Cliff chills to see. Everyone seemed to think Elliot's permanant smile when speaking was adorable, but Cliff knew it was just a nervous habit.

He watched Elliot sing his heart out on a YouTube clip of Good Morning America. Elliot was always incredibly talented, but his voice had gotten much better with age and confidence. He owned every word and his presence was immense. The announcer described him as a prodigy, but Cliff disagreed. He knew Elliot worked his ass off to get to that point, it didn't just come naturally. But Elliot laughed and thanked everybody profusely. It sounded like the audience was mostly girls based on the squealing every time Elliot said something sweet. Elliot had never denied his sexuality in interviews, but it seemed that didn’t matter.

Cliff didn’t know why he did it. Maybe because he thought there was no way Elliot wouldn't have changed his number by now and even if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t answer Cliff right? Maybe it was because he was lonely and figured he didn't have anything to lose. Or maybe it was because he thought he might die before he ever had a chance to address his single most burning regret in life. Nobody said he was dying, but Cliff wasn't sure. He didn’t leave the house anymore, too sick to have the energy and too self-conscious about his inability to control himself to try. He couldn’t get farther than the length of his apartment without his crutches and he couldn’t skip the oxygen if he wanted to walk further than a single block without his lips turning blue. It felt pitiful, and he spent many nights thinking that if someone offered him a magic pill that would let him never wake up again, he'd take it. 

The text was tapped out, deleted, then rewritten and sent before Cliff could change his mind again.

'I still think of you too.'

He told himself not to wait for a response. Even if Elliot did receive the text, he might not respond. It had been three years since they'd talked after all. Three very long years in which both of them had undergone a tremendous amount of change. Elliot was now successful and brilliant, shining for the world to see like Cliff always knew he would. And Cliff… He was the opposite. He was dull and empty. He had nothing left but a broken body and the bones of all the things he'd ruined over the years. Elliot shouldn't talk to him anyways, Cliff thought to himself - he’d only bring Elliot down. 

Cliff nearly dropped his phone when it rang almost immediately after he pushed send. It was Elliot. Cliff answered in shock. "Hello?"

"Cliff!"

And that was it. Whatever proceeded or followed this moment was worth it, if only just to hear Elliot's voice one more time. 

"Yeah, it's me."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Cliff was sitting in Barney's waiting for Elliot to show up. It was their old stomping grounds, the café that they used to visit during late night study sessions when they went to NYU. Elliot asked him to sit in the back, presumably so he could avoid being recognized by any fans while he met with Cliff. Cliff thought maybe if Elliot knew what he looked like now, he wouldn't have even taken that chance.

Cliff tried to clean up nicely, but he was so pale now from a mix of illness and never leaving the house. He wore his oxygen to get here, but he arrived early so he’d have time to catch his breath and hopefully get away with stashing it in his bag while they talked. His crutches weren't something he could hide though, and neither was how thin and brittle his hair was from the methotrexate (although at least it hadn’t fallen out). He was starting to decide this was a terrible idea, that he ought to just go home before Elliot ever had the chance to arrive, but then suddenly Elliot was standing right there in front of the table - in front of Cliff - and it was too late to turn back.

Elliot looked older. More mature. His dark curls were shorter and tamer than they ever were when they dated. “Hi Cliff,” Elliot said with a nervous smile. 

Cliff thought he looked incredible. He wondered if he should stand and give Elliot a hug, Elliot always was a hugger. But instead he just smiled back and motioned for Elliot to sit. “Hello Elliot,” he replied, equally as nervous. Elliot took off his black leather jacket that fit him astonishingly well and hung it on the back of his chair before sitting.

“So,” Elliot said. “It’s been… what, two years?” Almost three, Cliff thought to himself as he nodded in agreement. Surely Elliot had to know it'd almost been three years since Cliff messed what they had up so immeasurably. "Wow."

"Wow," Cliff repeated. "You look great, by the way."

Elliot's flustered face made Cliff worry he'd already messed up. But Elliot just said, "Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself." Cliff was sure that was a lie. "How have you been? I heard you got diagnosed with an autoimmune disease."

Cliff wondered where the hell Elliot possibly heard that. Then again, they had still gone to the same school for their final year of undergrad even if they hadn't been dating anymore. Their majors had no crossover at all though, and any friends they'd shared had obviously ended up staying friends with Elliot, not Cliff. 

"Yeah," Cliff confirmed uncomfortably. "Sarcoidosis." So awkward.

"I'm sorry," Elliot said.

"Sorry for what?" Cliff said.

Elliot rubbed his hands together, glancing down. "Well, I never called after I heard you got sick. That wasn't very nice of me. I wanted to, but we were... You know."

"Yeah. I know," Cliff said. This is so not how he'd hoped this meeting would go, although he had tried not to have any expectations at all about it. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. Tell me about you."

"Me?" Elliot asked with such innocence that Cliff had to laugh. He barely ever laughed this days, but he couldn't help it.

"Yes you," Cliff said. "Like you're not totally famous now."

Elliot blushed and looked flustered. "Stop, I'm not that famous," he said quickly. "I mean I've been so lucky and so fortunate but, famous is a little..."

"Sure," Cliff smiled. "Okay. Successful. You're so successful now. You really earned it."

"Really? Thanks, Cliff," Elliot said, smiling back. "It means a lot to hear you say that."

It was Cliff's turn to be surprised. He wasn't sure why Elliot would value his opinion much. He cleared his throat, coughing a little. "Well, yeah, of course."

They were silent for several awkward beats until Cliff interrupted it by coughing again. Was sitting at a table in a coffee shop seriously too much for him, he thought in annoyance? But it was also the first time he'd left the house for anything but a doctor's appointment in... Weeks? Surely not months. 

"Do you have a cold?" Elliot asked worriedly. 

Shit, five minutes reunited and Cliff was already making Elliot worry again? Cliff had to get the situation under control. He shook his head, pulling a napkin from the dispenser on the table and covering his mouth with it while he continued to cough. He could feel his lungs twitching, protesting in annoyance that they weren't being treated like the main attraction as usual. Cliff closed his eyes and tried to pretend Elliot wasn't right across from him for a second while he weighed his options. He ultimately decided it was less embarassing to wear oxygen than have a full on asthma attack right in front of everyone. "Sorry," Cliff said hoarsely. "Don't think that... I just don't want you to worry."

Elliot looked confused until Cliff pulled his oxygen tubing from the bag slung across the back of his chair and looped it over his ears. "Oh," Elliot said softly. Cliff couldn't read his expression. Pity? Disappointment? "Cliff, you didn't have to not wear that for my sake. I know it's... Things are different now." 

Cliff took several deep breaths through his nose, trying to control his cough. He could feel his head getting a little clearer. "I'm not saying you should care," Cliff said when he caught his breath. "I'm not saying I deserve you to. But I don't want you to think I'm not trying. I am."

Elliot nodded as if he understood. His face was so tender, so gentle and delicate... Cliff pushed away the desire to reach out and brush Elliot's cheek with his fingers. "Like I said. Things are different." 

Cliff relaxed a little, his shoulders falling from their tense position. He rested his chin in his hands and said, "Thank you."

The long minute of silence that followed was still awkward, but not as awkward as the first one. Elliot shifted in his chair and said, "Why did you text me?"

"What?" Cliff asked, startled. 

"You must have had something in mind. After all this time. Why'd you text me?" 

Cliff had asked himself that a million times in the week since he'd sent that message. At first he really didn't know, but now he realized two things. One, his life without Elliot had never been as happy as when Elliot was in it. And two, if he wanted Elliot back in his life, he had to be honest, not like the first time. So, he was honest. "I just missed you." 

"Oh," Elliot said. Cliff half expected him to run away, slap a hand on the table and say he knew Cliff hadn't changed. But instead he smiled shyly and said, "I missed you too."

Now they both looked surprised and a little embarrassed. Cliff had wondered for years what it would be like if he ever saw Elliot in person again. He'd at times wanted to apologize, beg for their relationship back, to convince Elliot he'd changed. But as time went on, he'd gotten more tired. He was still that anxious, guilty person he was before, but he'd had the time to think about what had gone wrong and learned to appreciate what had gone right. Elliot had agreed to meet him, and this was his chance to do things right this time. Even if it was never the same and Elliot wasn't his, Cliff's main desire was to make it up to him now. 

"I was wondering if I could text you sometimes," Cliff said. "I know you're really busy. Just, talk to you every once and a while."

"You mean like friends?" Elliot asked.

Cliff nodded. "Yeah. Like friends." 

He waited for the answer feeling like this was judgement day. There was no other question he was dying to know the answer to more. He only had to wait a second.

"Okay," Elliot said. "I'd like that. Friends." God, that nervous smile, Cliff thought to himself as he melted in relief. No wonder all those teen girls fell in love so quickly.

#shionwrites #oc: cliff #oc: elliot #sickfic #whump #bad things happen bingo #I will only slow you down #chronic illness whump #angst with a happy ending #hurt comfort #male whump #emotional whump

[soapkaars]

this is kind of a series of questions in one big question but do you think any Peter Lorre characters have tattoos and if so, who is it, where do they have it, and what does the tattoo look like? (I kinda have this feeling that at least one of them has a tattoo that says "Kleine" (baby girl in german) in cursive and it's embellished with hearts)

Oh this is such a fun ask!! I spent way too much time on this and it’s three in the morning now but here goes!

First up is Victor Emmric from The Verdict:

Everyone’s favourite morbid illustrator from the Victorian era, if anyone has a tattoo, he surely does. I’m imagining a gothic Victorian vampire tattoo with an edgy snake across, and because Victor is somewhat of a wine woman and life man, he’s also got a very shitty tattoo drawn on in a drunken mood on his hip. Live every regret tattoo it has an ex-flame named on there, later corrected in another drunk mood with another ill-fated name

Next, there’s Marko from Black Angel:

Ever the sentimentalist, I think it’s extremely in character to have a tattoo on his chest with his daughter’s name on there. I’m thinking it’ll be something very simple, a bunch of roses for instance, because Marko isn’t one for grand gestures.

Kismet from My Favourite Brunette:

Our (my) favourite French-speaking, knife-wielding, civics test studying butler/gardener! This man is definitely tattooed, and I’m going all in. I’m giving him a badass French tattoo with obscure symbolism, knives, blackjack and hookers. A bizarre collection of symbolism only he knows and understands and something that’ll instantly intimidate mild-mannered photographers who fancy themselves to be a detective!

Gino from The Chase:

Love or hate this film, I certainly love its weirdness and proto-Lynchian atmosphere. Gino is an Italian name, so I settled on some Neapolitan mafia tattoos, and I think they fit well with the character.

The General from The Secret Agent:

Does this man look like he makes well-thought out decisions? I’m imagining an early 20th century version of a tramp stamp: on the lower back just above his crack, a sword piercing a heart, a crudely drawn woman cleaved in two, and some latin meaning ‘shit bitch’. An edgy shitpost of a tattoo! Also to answer your question, this man is the most likely candidate to wake up one morning with ‘babygirl’ tattooed on his buttcheeks. The design of which I’ll leave as an exercise to the reader…

Finally, Abbott from The Man Who Knew too Much:

The man has a scar and painted hair. How would he not have a tattoo? But, being Abbott, it’s gonna be a map of the prison he last stayed (and escaped from). Also an anarchist black cat because I like it and I think he carries his politics on his sleeve.

I was too tired to draw more, so honorary mentions to:

Nick Dramoshag from Quicksand. He’s bitter, he runs an arcade, he drinks, he smokes, he’s a nasty crook with a switchblade… This is definitely a man with a faded sweetheart tattoo.

Marius from Passage to Marseille. He was a prisoner on Devil’s Island, I don’t think many would come away uninked from there. Maybe the amazing lockpick has a little safe in a heart tattooed on his arm?

Major Siegfried Grüning from Lancer Spy. My headcanon is that this guy eventually becomes The General, so he’s gonna have the ‘shitbitch’ tramp stamp and ‘babygirl’.

Mr Strangdour from Muscle Beach Party. The strongest man in the world, I think he might have some fun ones under that turtleneck of his.

#thanks for the ask! #peter lorre #the verdict #the chase #black angel #the man who knew too much #my favourite brunette #the secret agent #passage to marseille #lancer spy #muscle beach party #quicksand #drawing #doodle #this was FUN

[synergysilhouette]

Remaking 1995's "Pocahontas"

This is definitely one of Disney's most controversial films, and I wanted to take a stab at remaking it, stripping back historical associations so it could be a fantasy film that Disney could release in the 2020s without too much concern for offending Indigenous Americans. Please let me know your thoughts!

Part 1: Reference Panel/Designs

When making Pocahontas as a character, the directors drew upon Native American, Asian, and Black women to create her character, though it'd obviously be best to use Native American women if we were creating her in this time and age to show more cultural appreciation. In this specific case, I'd imagine using models like Ashley Callingbull and Quannah Chasinghorse as inspiration for Pocahontas. Since this is an original story, I'd wonder if they'd adhere to something similar to her blue concept art, her 2013 redesign, or something new altogether. Both designs are beautiful and avoid the sexualization of her original incarnation in the film.

In my mind, the love interest for Pocahontas would be a cross between John Smith and John Rolfe, having Smith's taste for adventure while still keeping Rolfe's academic intellect and skills with diplomacy. While overcoming racism is a big deal for Smith in the film, I feel like it'd make him too unlikable, as with Rolfe's sexism in the sequel. While I can see him having ignorance and preconceived notions, I feel like it's better to show him as someone new to the colonizing game and have a fresh, Thomas-like mentality (albeit slightly less innocent). This new love interest would have one of John Smith's earlier designs. I could definitely see him being inspired by Captain America: dutiful and loyal, but open to new ideas and perspectives. Honestly, his character would be a lot closer to Captain Phoebus from Disney's "Hunchback of Notre Dame."

Part 2: Story Changes

New Setting. As I mentioned before, I'd be making this a 100% original story, so this isn't set in America, the cultures that the two sides come from are fictional, and we use different names.

2. Different varieties of colonists. Aside from the traditional white settlers, we'd also see other Old World colonists, hailing from Asia and Africa. I know some people would think this just a minor shoutout for diversity, but I included this based on African slaves that came with the Europeans as well as Asian migrants that came to America during the 16th and 17th centuries.

3. We see more of Pocahontas' family. It's mentioned that historically, she had several half-siblings, so giving this fictional version of her three or four siblings would be neat, especially so you can see how tied she is to her culture. I'd probably also make Nakoma one of her sisters, since they have a sisterly bond. I'd also consider making the fictional version of Kocoum her brother instead of her betrothed, since I feel like it makes the audience care more about him and it'd explain why he's so protective of her. Expanding on Pocahontas' mother would also be awesome.

4. Thomas is John's brother. At first I thought this simply because in this version they'd both have red hair, but I thought about how Thomas was trying to make a good life for his family as well as how John Smith looked out for him like a little brother. Since I'm removing John's colonizing experience here and Thomas would be more likely to listen to Radcliffe if he and John weren't related, I think it makes sense that John influences his thoughts and decisions the most about the new world.

5. There's more of a cultural exchange. In part 1, Pocahontas mostly tells Smith about her world, while in part 2, Rolfe mainly tells her about his world. I'd like to combine the two so they can get to know and understand each other very well.

6. The fantasy aspect--it's easy to forget I'm not just changing controversial elements. Perhaps it's due to my thoughts on "Avatar: The Last Airbender," but I do like the idea of the colonists and Natives being able to use magic; not only is it entertaining for the audience, but it can also be symbolic for several situations, ie the colonists bringing diseases to the Natives, and the Natives' spiritual connection to nature while the colonists' being much more "modern" and less elemental.

7. This happens over a period of years. I feel like this is great to let Pocahontas and John's relationship grow organically (since some think her and John Smith's relationship was rushed and encouraged by passion), as well as showing us how the relationship between the Natives and the colonists fluctuate.

Hope you like my ideas! Lemme know what you think or if you have any questions. Would this have made you enjoy the film more?

#pocahontas #john smith #disney #disney animation #native americans #disney princess