#i DO love villains I get it!! but that is not the flavor of discourse ive seen about this guy. ANYWAYYYYYY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

lavender latte: iv

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 5 ||

word count: 7.7k

sucks when things go south, huh.

warnings: description of bodily injury, blood, mild? gore (it’s just describing injury), description of overstimulation, capital h and c hurt/comfort

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chapter 4 :’^) thank u for all of the love so far. i appreciate. every. single. one of. u. bottom of my lil rat heart.

this chapter was nearly split, but giving y’all a cliffhanger seemed mean

this the turning point and set up for the rest of the story so buckle up and enjoy ;^)

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Things between you and Hawks didn’t change too much, not externally anyways. Both of you still continued to indulge your feelings, even if you desperately tried to ignore them.

You continued to honestly spoil Hawks in lavish drinks of many sensations. Truthfully, you loved nothing more than seeing his face as he sipped at your new creations, watching the curiosity and pleasure spread over his features made your heart soar in your chest.

And Keigo continued to bask in your company. The drinks were always amazing, but the chatter and discourse between the two of you was what he loved most. Or, maybe it was his learning of you through watching your small gestures and cues. His analytical, interpersonal skills were, for once, being put to a use that didn’t involve espionage or deception.

It felt cleansing.

Despite these quietly greedy interactions, there was a great deal of repression between the two of you. Aimless flirting aside, squishing any growing feelings caused you both a great deal of strain. It worked, avoidance, for a while anyway. It wasn’t without consequences, but they wouldn’t get nasty until later.

One of the most apparent tolls was Keigo’s physical state. Having to actively ignore and quash his feelings for you caused such a deep amount of emotional turmoil. It made him ache all over. This was in addition to an asinine amount of extra hours he was spending staking out the villain syndicate that was indeed in the neighborhood of the tea shop.

(He wouldn’t admit it, but he was being overly diligent in scouting out the organization's doings. They were very close to you and your home, and the thought of you getting caught up in anything to do with his profession fucked him up on-premise alone.)

The combination of both physical and mental exertion made him messier than ever. It physically clouded him a lot of the time. Exhaustion had well and truly seized nipping at his ankles and proceeded to fully rip a chunk from his skull.

Keigo had yet another long day, dawn until at least midnight, no matter his aching body.

He’d be listening in on out some sort of meeting between the villain syndicate and one of its allies, some more reclusive group of villains from the far-off mountains. Neither organization was particularly noteworthy, but they did have some nasty criminal connection that needed to be monitored. That meant a late night for Keigo and an even greater need for caffeine.

He paid you a visit in the early morning.

The moment Hawks came through the door, you lit up, beaming from behind the counter.

The shop was empty, just having opened a few minutes before he appeared. The only sounds were the hum coffee machines, quiet music, and the tapping of your own tinkerings. Normally, there’d be more bustle, but you were alone in the din of the shop.

“Hey, angel,” He flashed you a winning smile, sliding down into his usual stool and propping his elbows on the counter. “Where’s the calvary?”

“Oh, the other openers?” You jerked your thumb to the door. “Running late. They all stayed up late working on a project for school, so I took one for the team and am manning the ship alone for this first bit.”

You sighed, looking quite tired yourself.

There was mutual recognition of your twin state, though it wasn’t verbally regarded in any way.

Hawks was far better at hiding his poor health from you, but that didn’t stop you from seeing the pinholes in his facade. You’d gotten better at it with time.

“What can I get you today, Hawks? Inspire me.” You set the glass on the counter between the two of you, gesturing to the expanse of the coffeeshop. “It’s just you and me today, so I can go all out.”

“You don’t already?” Hawks chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I try,” You shrugged. “I really do my best work for you, whether you’re a glorified guinea pig or not. Gotta serve up the best for my best customer.”

On any normal, Hawks would’ve bantered right back at you, keeping you on your toes with quick words and wit.

That day?

He just laughed, something weirdly neutral, almost off-putting because you knew it was manufactured.

You opened your mouth, brows furrowing. You wanted nothing more than to ask ‘hey, are you alright?’.

But, that would’ve broken some of your own, mentally-imposed boundaries. It hurt, to just laugh with him, but it was all you would let yourself do.

“So,” You broke the air with words as opposed to giggles. “What would you like?”

Hawks hummed, “Surprise me.”

“... Like, fully?”

Hawks nodded, slowly.

Keigo, in a movement of full vulnerability, (he told himself it would just be for a few minutes), laid his head on his folded arms, “Go wild, angel. I trust you. Make me anything you’re feeling. Wing it, no pun intended.”

You blinked at him, nodding. His sudden, almost submissive action surprised you. Something in you ached, seeing him so worn down.

You channeled this feeling into a desire to make him top-tier drink.

Reaching into your apron, you fished out your idea notebook. Many had been crossed off over the many weeks (months now?) that Hawks had been visiting the tea shop. You fairly consistently wrote down new ones, so there were always options, but on that day, none appealed to you.

Your gaze flickered back to Hawks, watching the soft movements of his breath through the tight fabric of the back of his shirt.

You needed to make it extra good, help shake Hawks from his stupor.

You’re gonna wing it.

You’ll make a feel-good drink.

It was your only self-imposed criteria.

You hadn’t ever made Hawks a drink without a concept and feeling beforehand, so the concept of not having one seemed novel.

You activated your quirk and began.

“How’s your day been?” Hawks called from behind you, words muffled.

Keigo still didn’t look at you; resting on his arms allowed him a little bit of a reprieve before his grueling day. He’d take it. Hearing your voice would make it that much better.

You described your day with a decent amount of detail for how much it hadn’t gotten started yet. Hamming up the detail meant more time for you to craft the drink. Your mind spun, grasping onto pre-existing, mental abstracts in your oddly calm headspace to create something tangible.

Though your quirk was activated, you weren’t really identifying a feeling specifically, rather just letting your quirk draw from whatever material you had laying around in your brainscape at 6 AM on a weekday morning.

You pulled as many espresso shots as Hawks usually liked (maximum, five, you refused to give him more than that in a single drink), pouring them into some steamed oatmilk and several other ingredients you had mixed into a cup. You tapped some cinnamon on top of the foam, polishing everything off with a dash of sweet cream.

Carefully, you set it between the two of you. Hawks hadn’t spoken since you had begun to make the drink, so oddly silent.

It almost made your skin itch, his lack of response. You reminded yourself with quick glances that Hawks was very obviously out of it and exhausted. You were sure that without the concealer he wore under his eyes (a secret he revealed to only you), he’d have purple circles punched from how overworked he was.

You hoped your drink would be enough to brighten up his day.

You bit your lip as Hawks raised his head, blonde waves more unruly than normal. A small, lopsided smile stretched across his face as he sat up, grabbing the drink and bringing it closer. He had learned long ago to allow them to cool.

“Sorry for not being as peppy as I normally am!” It was almost imperceptible, the off-kilter tone in his voice.

You caught it but said nothing.

He sheepishly rubbed at the back of his head. “Been running on empty it seems, angel.”

“Then take some fuel, bird boy.” You nodded to the foamy drink. “When are you supposed to be done today?”

“Late, like late. Early morning, probably.” Hawks sighed, taking a sip.

...

As the liquid coated his mouth, Keigo’s mind seized.

What.

What the fuck.

Any and all thoughts he had disappeared. They were incinerated from his mind by the drink’s heat.

A sun-scorching sensation like he’d never even known tore through his body.

It was so different from the other ‘warm’-toned drinks you’d made him in the past. The flavor and feeling filling him up was nothing like the hearth-like drinks you had made prior. You had treated him to plenty of beverages that felt akin to open flame, warm blankets, a cat purring over your chest, a candle on a cold night—

But, nothing even close to this.

This was such a strong feeling that if he was a less trained man, his eyes would’ve rolled back in his head. If he’d been standing, he was sure his legs would’ve been visibly shaking, probably given out.

Sure, the feeling was abstract, not as concrete as your other drinks but it was ineffably strong.

It felt like the flutter you caused in his stomach, but somehow all over and inside of him.

It was the heat in his cheeks when he saw you, but reaching from his toes to the skin of his scalp.

It was the shock in his throat when you smiled so honestly at him, now forcing his hands to twitch around the cup.

The consuming sensation was all of that goodness and more, magnified and exponentially deeper and marvelously burning.

It was hot, fiery as it ripped through him, completely unignorable. But, it was also soft, colored with the earnestness that he admired about you so much—

Oh.

It clicked as the sensation stirred in his stomach, fluttering to a point of near nausea.

It was you.

The moment he realized it, that all of that sensation was you feeling, as you had made the drink, something began to broil in the apex of his chest, rolling and all-consuming.

His mind stalled as he took it all in, taking another sip.

The feeling washed over him again, equally as wonderfully crushing.

“Soooo,” You drawled, setting a jar next to you on the counter, beaming him a smile. “What do you think? Gimme your judgment, bird boy.”

Keigo struggled to keep his face neutral as he quickly searched yours.

Even in his state, it was clear that there was no deception or riddle laced into the creaminess of the drink. The expectancy in your face was derived from admiration, not waiting for the punchline of an unfinished joke.

“It’s warm! Like, in your stomach.” Hawks looked down before taking another sip, the even smile on his face not wavering for even a moment. “What is it?”

“It’s a miel,” You tapped the jar next to you, pointing at the amber goo inside. “This is some wildflower honey from the owner’s sister’s farm, right outside the city. We have a bunch of extra stuff, so there’s no better time to make a honey-based drink.”

Hawks eyed the steam, “What goes into a ‘miel’?”

Watching Hawks’ shoulder go slack with the next chug he took, you hummed, “It’s a latte, so espresso and milk, then it has the honey in it which is what makes it a ‘miel’. Topped it with some special sweet cream, a bit of cinnamon. My extra touches in it as well, just based on my quirk.”

Hawks met your gaze, his eyes softening with what you could’ve sworn was desperation, but was quickly swallowed up but stoicism, “And what was this drink’s inspiration?”

You laughed, shoving your hands in your apron from the typical anxiety, though the feeling itself was somewhat normal and thereby dulled, “It didn’t have one! I just winged it, like you said. My quirk was activated though, so it was just sort of the concept of what I was perceiving and feeling, I suppose.”

There was a pause as you waited for Hawks to speak.

He didn’t.

Keigo stared down at the drink, then you.

Holy fuck.

This was ambient?

The sensation that made his toes curl and every part of him yearn to reach out to touch you and give all of himself to you—

It was unintentional?

The feeling was familiar, one that he had organically all the time when thinking of you, being with you at the teashop. It was the one that he shoved down over and over again around you, yet craved more than anything.

And here you were, unknowingly returning it to him.

You hadn’t intended it to be shared and you had no idea you even did.

Keigo was one of the most perceptive people on the planet— he knew that many of the feelings between the two of you were mutual. As much flirting as there was, a lot of it was real from both of you.

He just didn't think it ran this far deep.

(Mutually.)

“What... What do you think it tastes like?” You asked, that nasty rot in your gut rearing itself as Hawk’s lack of response ate at you. You turned fully to him, actually taking him in.

Keigo did what he was so skilled at doing—

Lying.

Hawks waved his hands in front of him like he was trying to put out small flames, “Nothing bad! Promise, it’s really good! It tastes like how the coffee shop feels. Warm, comfortable. It makes sense that your quirk would reflect that.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, good. I’m glad it's good.”

“Very good. I might have to put miels on my list of favorite drinks you’ve made me,” Hawks gave you a relaxed grin, standing and passing a wad of cash to you.

You didn’t expect him to be leaving so quickly, but he did say he was busy.

“Oh, hey, Hawks?” He perked up when you said his name, blinking at you. “I’ve got a project I’m working that I’m doing for the owner, so I’ll be here late. If you’re around, you’re welcome to come by after close if you want another drink? For your long night.”

Hawks softened for you like he so often had come to do. He fluffed up the collar of his jacket, wings ruffling up behind him, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll have some ideas for you then too, how about that?”

“Sounds lovely,” Your voice was like the honey of the drink, warm, sweet, and vibrant. “I’ll see you then, Hawks.”

“See you then, angel,” Hawks practically glowed as he walked from the door, the chime of the bell sounding with his exit. “I’ll text you when I’m close!”

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Over the course of the day, an odd feeling grew in the pitch of your stomach. You did your best to ignore it.

You alternated between serving customers and working on the ‘project’ the owner had saddled you with. Making centerpieces for his sister’s bridal shower was not something you should’ve been doing on company time, but they were giving you a handsome sum of cash under the table for it.

You couldn’t complain too much, other than that it was laborious. Masons jars stuffed with wired lights and frosted glasses, tied with twine and ribbons were all to be prettily arranged by your hand.

During the middle of the day, you went back home, spending your time between shifts catching up on sleep and making some decent food.

The odd gnawing only grew in your stomach.

Keigo’s long day was wearing on, though somewhat uneventfully. Most of his patrolling time was the effortless thwarting of petty crime and easy rescuing.

He even had the time to go back to his agency and snoop.

Because, for how lame his day was, the drink you made him (which he had greedily chugged all of shortly upon leaving the tea shop) caused him to think particularly hard about your quirk.

(As opposed to the asphyxiating awareness of your shared feelings.)

He didn’t get it.

You’d managed to perfectly create a drink that communicated complex feelings. You’d told him in the past that it could be used for any sort of feeling as well, but you were so vague beyond that. You were abstract in the same way you quirk was.

So, he decided to abuse his power a little.

He decided to actually take a lunch at the agency, munching on takeout while clicking through the HPSC’s databases.

Civilian quirks, especially those that had never attempted to pursue any sort of career with them, weren’t documented incredibly well. Maybe a few details that were used in public research projects, but not much beyond that. He had hoped he could dig and find something that would assuage his curiosity and confusion.

He tapped your name into the HPSC’s hero-accessible database, scrolling and pulling up your file.

There was a picture of you, one from an ID that must’ve been a few years old. There were personal details Keigo wasn’t all that interested in, though it was neat to finally know your birthday.

He clicked on the tab for your quirk.

Quirk: Synesthetic Manifestation

Description: Allows the user to materially manifest abstract, synesthetically-created feelings into reality.

This quirk does not allow the user to alter reality, only tangibly create abstracts through the means at their disposal.

Drawback: This quirk causes severe synesthetic overstimulation and appears to be activated unintentionally in instances that expose them to high amounts of stimuli.

Quirk potential:

Keigo knew the concept of ‘quirk potential’ well. Most of the time, this portion on files was only filled out if the individual had ever trained to use their quirk in a profession.

Oddly, your’s contained a few details.

The user showed high potential in initial assessments, but due to the nature of the quirk, its drawbacks, and its recorded usage, this user’s quirk is now classified as lowest potential.

Keigo frowned.

All this just made him more confused.

The file didn’t get into much more detail than you did. The only thing that was new information to him was that at some point you had tried to use your quirk in a training setting and that somehow got you demoted from high potential to lowest potential.

Keigo’s own quirk in the database was regarded as highest potential; you, at some point, were only a step down from him. Something knocked you down from pursuing quirk-based work, and based on your current employment at the tea shop, you never got up. Keigo figured it was the intricacies of your quirk that he didn’t fully understand.

He’d have to be a bit more careful getting any more information out of you, considering how much you disliked talking about it.

Keigo continued to stew, finishing off his lunch while thoughts of you and your feelings danced across his mind.

Though it was clear his adoration was obviously returned, it was much easier for him to muse over the nature of your quirk than the way he wanted to pull you over the teashop’s counter and kiss you breathless.

You went back to work, a few chalky tablets of stomachache medicine in your tummy. They were all you could do to try and quell the twisting in your gut.

By the time you arrived back to start your ‘night shift’, it was late evening, the sun already having fallen into the horizon.

Most of your time prior to closing was spent in the front, helping make drinks and clean up as you could. Part of you was actually excited to throw on some good music and grind after the tea shop was shut down for the night.

Also, seeing Hawks twice in the same day? Absolutely fantastic.

You wanted to try and make him a knockout drink, to make up for the lackluster one you’d prepared him earlier. Seeing his eyes get all gooey with happiness would more than push you through your night of work.

Your phone chimed a bit before close.

[birdboy]: hey ;^) mind if I come by in like a half an hour?

[you]: yeah!! just call me and i’ll unlock the door for you

Your closing coworkers giggled at you. They all knew that that big smile stretched across your face meant you were texting Hawks. You used to get a bit shy about it, but now you just gave them shit. He was your friend, right?

[birdboy]: what if i like, hit the glass, like fly into it like birds do into windows

[you]: okay one- no, that would definitely shatter the windows and idk if i wanna deal with that AND you tonight ;^)

[you]: and TWO- are you speaking. from experience. about hitting windows.

[birdboy]: please dont @ me like this

You snorted.

[birdboy]: i had to pay off a tabloid who got it on camera bc it would ruin my brand

[you]: do u still have those photos

[birdboy]: ... maybe

[you]: hawks

[you]: gimme

[birdboy]: idk if i can my publicist will kill me

[you]: u hear what i hear?? a coward

[you]: how does ‘your brand’ feel about that

[birdboy]: ...

[birdboy]: gimme one of those honey sticks u have at the register and the pics are yours once i get there ;^)))

[you]: DEAL!!!

You pocketed your phone in your apron, unable to stop the almost ridiculous smile that you wore.

Hawks made you uncomfortably happy. You knew that he didn’t feel the same, but he was still there. Even if you were just entertainment to him, you were happy to perform on any stage he was watching.

As closing crept up, you shooed your other coworkers off. Most of the closing tasks were done, they could leave a few minutes early.

As they began to pack up, chatting about some party that night, your insides twisted.

You squeezed the counter, rubbing your forehead while wishing your coworkers a good evening.

Weird.

It was about then that things went to shit for both you and Hawks.

Keigo’s was supposed to be in for a hellishly long shift of surveillance based on the intel he’d received about the syndicate and its impending meeting.

Apparently, that meeting was happening earlier, rather than later.

The chaos started quickly, the meetup going from a strategic talk to an all-out fight between two groups.

It spilled into the nearby streets, both sides unabashed in their destruction.

Perhaps, if Keigo had been faster (what a tall order, for the fastest man in all of Japan), things wouldn't have gotten so out of hand.

But quickly, things erupted and the streets dissolved in mayhem as he dove and sent feathers flying.

You stood by the front entrance, waiting for Hawks, idly sweeping. The cleaning tasks were almost done, the world outside was dark with the late evening.

You froze when the ground beneath your feet rumbled with revving engines, the air splitting with the sound of car horns and alarms.

Everything that happened next moved so quickly, it was difficult to follow.

Windows began to shatter all across the street, near and far.

They cracked, spraying glass as a figure cloaked in black flew down the asphalt outside. A red barrage followed after it, nearly subduing it as it raced past the tea shop.

The massive glass panels at the front of the tea shop filled with frosty lines, just feet in front of you.

It clicked for you a few moments too late.

Adrenaline shot through you, but it wasn’t enough.

...

You weren’t Hawks, you weren’t fast enough to outrun much of anything, let alone quirk-shattered glass.

You were just barely able to turn around before the spray of shards reached you.

You would later be incredibly thankful that you wore denim jeans and a wool sweater that day. Without the thick fabrics, you were sure that you would’ve been shredded. The problem was your low-top shoes and thin socks.

Just as you turned, searing pain shot from the back of your left ankle. You urged yourself to forget the specifics, flesh-tearing, mind beginning to buzz.

You just had to keep moving.

Except, you couldn’t. Your left leg gave out with your next step.

You shrieked as you fell to the floor, barely catching yourself. Your palms smacked against the ground, pieces of sharpened glass driving into the flesh.

You couldn’t help screaming, your voice mingling with the sound of alarms, cries for help, and the war cries of a nearby fight.

Oh.

You were in the middle of a fairly nasty villain attack.

...

So much for giving Hawks a better drink.

The mental joke seemed macabre, especially in your state.

You willed with all of your might, for your quirk to not activate. Overstimulation was just inches away from your current state, the sounds outside the teashop boring through your skull like diamond drill bits.

The pain that was radiating from your left leg was nearly unbearable, but you knew that getting out of the front room was imperative.

How you managed to keep your injured leg straight, you’ll never know.

You locked your jaw and pulled yourself along the floor, hoping that Hawks had this all under control. More people were bound to be hurt by the same sort of attack you got caught in, right? How many more folks had been sliced up like you? Worse than you?

Keigo wasn’t having much trouble subduing the villains. They, of course, had no idea that he had been watching the syndicate for three-odd months. He knew their quirks, their tactics, their escape routes, everything. What he didn’t know as well was the other group’s specifics.

From what he had understood before the fight, the two had somewhat friendly relations. Still, Keigo mentally kicked himself for not being more diligent in his gathering of intel.

His mistakes aside, the much more pressing issue was the two-kilometer stretch of shops that were now collateral damage in what was essentially a mobile mob war.

This damage included the tea shop.

When he’d flown past the shop, he’d only caught a glimpse of your face through the glass before it shattered.

You’d looked terrified.

Every part of him wanted to stop, dead in the air, rush in, and make sure you were okay, but he had to at least get things under control until more heroes showed up. Then, he’d be able to get to you.

By the time Keigo subdued several villains of either group, more Pros had arrived on the scene. He sped off to the teashop far too quickly when he saw others gathering. It was an ill-advised move, but he was clouded by a different set of instincts than those cultivated in his hero training.

The flight did allow him to fully take in the damage of the district, though.

It was about as bad as it could be.

Whatever the villain’s quirk was must’ve shattered glass within a certain radius from his body, Keigo observed.

Thankfully, the villain’s quirk didn’t appear to affect anything past two stories of height, sparing all above it. Those panes and pieces that did shatter had sprayed businesses, restaurants, shops, and the street with shards of glass. Not to mention that they flew at the speed of projectiles.

(At the full-minded revelation that there was no way you weren’t hurt, Keigo felt his stomach flip and eyes burn.)

Keigo shuddered to think how bad the damage would’ve been if the encounter happened during broad daylight.

Keigo curled in his wings, dropping onto the floor at the front of the teashop through the broken window.

He kept his expression somewhat neutral, though the scene before him tore at his heart in a way he wasn’t expecting.

The tea shop was destroyed.

The pretty, warm lighting fixtures had shattered, fine filaments exposed, and a few sparking. The glass jars on your wall of tea blends were broken, spilling leaves and dried herbs across the back counter. That wasn’t even to mention the layer of shards from all of the glassware stored around the coffee machines.

Seeing the destruction of one of the only places he had ever found real comfort in was awful, and it tore something hidden and vulnerable in his heart.

But far, far worse was the absolute horror that bloomed in his chest when he saw the sizeable spot of blood in the middle of the floor, smearing to the back doorway.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted, ignoring any stealthy elements and hurriedly following the trail.

“B-back here,” Oh, your voice was so weak.

Keigo couldn’t make himself move fast enough.

You’d managed to get yourself to the back, biting your lip so hard you were scared you’d break the skin. Part of you was lucid enough to know that making too much noise could be bad. Then again, the shop was supposed to be closed. Did anyone even know that you were there?

Hawks did.

You gripped at one of the edges of the stainless steel countertops, using all the strength you could muster to pull yourself upright. As careful as you were not to jostle your injured leg (that you still hadn’t looked at properly because you were terrified), the moment you bent it, you had to suppress a scream, turning it into a slow, nasty exhale. You let yourself sink to the floor again.

Something was seriously fucked up.

Then Hawks called your name.

You were sprawled out on the floor, injured leg awkwardly turned and extended to prevent the pain from being made worse.

The moment he saw you from the doorway, the remnants of his wings flapped, practically throwing him to the ground next to you.

The moment you saw him enter the back room, any and all fronts you had put on for yourself fell apart.

“H-Hawks,” You hated how small your voice sounded as you pushed yourself closer to him.

The details of him, how ruffled his remaining feathers were, how wide and scared his eyes were, how different he looked from the times you’d seen him on the news confidently saving the day, were lost on you.

Though, Keigo noticed your poor state easily. It was more obvious.

He scanned your form with the trained precision he was known for. He took in the shattered piece of glass sticking from your leg, bleeding lightly. Your palms weren’t bloody, but they were dotted with shards of glass.

He also noticed your panicked shaking and your unnaturally dilated pupils, beyond anything he’d seen while you’d made drinks for him.

“Is your quirk active?” Keigo asked, pulling off his gloves and grabbing one of your wrists. He turned your palm, using two of his smallest feathers like tweezers to pick at the shards pieces of glass.

“Y-yeah,” You replied, using the back of your other hand to wipe at your eyes. “It does this when I’m under extreme stress. I can’t turn it off.”

Keigo managed to laugh, relieved that the cuts in your hands weren’t that severe, “You just focus on me, okay, angel? That’s all you gotta do.”

You nod, trying to hold your overstimulated mind back. It’s fruitless, truly, because the moment Hawks reminds you that he is, in fact, there, and that you are safe, you quirk-addled mind spasms.

The awful mix of sensations whirled in your skull as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead into Hawks’ shoulder. In other circumstances, it would be a romantic gesture. But, the only purpose you had in the contact was hoping, praying, that the heat of his body would distract you from the swirling of sensations you couldn’t stop.

In that mental soup, within the fear, intense pain, and loss, oddly enough, was the unignorable, pleasant feeling of being so close to him. It made your heart squeeze. But, it was a single spice of sensation in a foul-tasting stew though, and it was hard to isolate the good in the muck of your mind.

You shook against him as sounds and pain blended inside your skull, thoughts becoming murkier and harder to understand.

Keigo finished tweezing your other hand, that one worse off, and wrapping it in some gauze he had stuffed in his jacket.

His mind screamed for him to wrap you in his arms, to pull you close and keep you safe. It was all he could fathom doing, just nearly moving to do so—

That was until the popping rumble of a nearby explosion interrupted his thoughts.

You jumped against him, muffling a scream in his shoulder.

His heart ached.

“(Y/N), I know this is all scary,” Hawks’s voice came through your sensational slurry. “But, I need to be back out there right now.”

“No.” Your mouth spewed with no discernable thoughts behind it. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t. Please.”

You caught Hawks’ wince, but barely.

He was already repositioning you, scooting you under one of the countertops, “Angel, I’m sorry. I need to go, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

Your eyes screwed shut, vibrating in your skull as pulling your uninjured leg to your chest.

Hawks looked equally as torn up about having to leave, brows creased with his lip worried between his teeth.

Despite how messy your brain felt, you knew that you were beyond defenseless. Even if your mind could easily conjure up an infinite number of ways to bring a person non-lethal (and lethal) pain, you were turning to mush mentally and you had glass sticking out of your leg. You had no fucking way to create it with your body.

Your back hit the wall under the counter and you managed to wrench your eyes open, taking in Hawks and his visage while you spun.

He looked so sad.

The feeling of mourning and fear spat so hotly in your mind, it was like you’d been intangibly burned by his expression.

You choked on your own stored tears, reaching out for him.

He caught one of your hands, the wrapped one, and squeezed it lightly.

Even with so few feathers left, Hawks plucked one, about the size of your forearm. He replaced his hand with the plumage.

“(Y/N), I will be back. I promise,” Hawks (so weakly) smiled, trying to reassure you. “You snap that feather if anything changes, okay? If anyone comes into the shop who isn’t another pro, or if you start to feel faint. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” You gritted out, somehow laughing. Your vocal cords rubbing together sends a wave of agony up the back of your neck, burying behind your eyes. You press your forehead in your bent knee.

With one last, fleeting look, eyeing your wound and remembering slate-colored eyes, Keigo took flight into the fray once more.

Keigo hated leaving you. He hated it so fucking much. It burned him, felt wrong in every way. You were so vulnerable in your state. Both of you knew that without him there, you were entirely exposed and fairly defenseless.

It perked up that protective instinct he’d repeatedly had towards you for months. It was probably something related to his avian mutation, but it was just blood-boiling need to keep you safe.

Yet, he just left you, wounded and mentally spiraling, in the middle of a destroyed building.

If he wasn’t trained so well, he would have acted differently. But, it had been burned into him time and time again what his needs were in disaster situations.

Neutralize, stabilize, clear out.

Through his exhaustion, he fought and soared with all he had, fatigue forgotten and replaced by hot cortisol. He forced himself faster, zipping down alleyways and across rooftops at some of his top speeds.

While Keigo tracked down all of the villains (he managed to miss the first time), he trusted that the other Pros could deal with the heavy collateral damage. He was number two, he could catch some organized criminals.

Beyond his training, Keigo had an even bigger motivation.

He could feel you.

The feather he left with you must’ve been pressed right up to your chest, maybe under your neck with the way Keigo could so intensely feel your breath and heartbeat. He could sense it gradually speeding up to the point of what had to be panic. If Keigo focused, he could make out your terror-stricken babbling.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is fine.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Hawks is okay.”

“He’ll come back.”

“He won’t leave.”

...

“Everything's gonna be okay.”

With that last one, your words gave out and it turned in gasping breaths.

Keigo worked himself harder, striking down the last of villains with absolute precision, all distractions forgotten in the most pivotal moments of combat.

The instant the villains were in custody, restrained, he was flying back towards the tea shop.

You don’t remember any of this well. Your mind was liquified, your body throbbing in pain.

It had been an incredibly long time, years since you’d been in any situation resembling a villain attack. There was no way to stop the synesthetic storm that was choking your mind. Every sensation was magnified, mixed with another, and shoved down your throat without any ability to change it.

A few minutes after Hawks left, giving you time to stew and roll, you spiraled more harshly.

When you realized how pitifully helpless you were, you fell away, pressing your wet face into the Hawks’s feather. Your vision muddled between black and red.

You felt the cold of the blood wetting your pant leg.

Your wound is bad.

You hadn’t fully looked at it in awhile.

Opening your eyes, you suppressed a wave of nausea at the small puddle of blood growing under the bottom half of your useless leg.

The way the denim of your jeans stuck to your skin mixed with the smell heady smell of blood made you gag.

You couldn’t keep it up anymore.

Letting your eyes shut, you sank down to the floor, cheek pressed into the dirty cement.

You don’t know how long you idled, drowning in your mind’s colors and vibrantly violent sensations.

You were only half-conscious when the feather pressed to your neck twitches.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted as he landed in the teashop, flying straight to the backroom, bypassing the mess of broken glass.

His breath caught, seeing you slumped over.

“Fuck,” Keigo couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice as he noticed how much blood had pooled beneath your injured ankle. “Hey, hey, (Y/N)—”

He sure fucking sucked at admitting his faults, and recognizing the severity of wounds was indeed one of them. He didn’t usually stick around long enough to deal with casualties so closely.

Keigo threw off his gloves, tossing them behind him without looking.

“‘M fine,” You started to push yourself up, hissing at the pain that surged from cuts in your hands. “Brain’s mushy.”

“That all?” Thank god Hawks still managed to joke. The humor dashed across your vision like little sparks. You stifle a weak snort.

“There’s my angel.” Keigo was so relieved to see you conscious that he didn’t notice his own possessive slipup. “Are you lightheaded?”

Gingerly, he helped stabilize your body upright as you wrenched your eyes open.

“A little, it’s okay, this is what happens,” Your voice was so loud in your own skull, it hurt. Though, the pain of your words was only a prick in the wet dough of your overworked mind. Sensation was pain, rolling over you and making it harder and harder to stay lucid.

Keigo swallowed thickly at the sight of your fully-blackened irises.

He needed to get you out as fast as possible, but that required assessing the gash in your leg.

His gaze flickered to your ankle, “Can you move your toes?”

“I don’t want to.”

Keigo frowned, weakly, pushing you as upright as possible as you began to slip to the side.

“Please, you have to try, okay?” Keigo begged, not noticing his own voice wobble.

You shook your head, grabbing it in within its own motion. The dizziness made your insides knot and stick together.

“(Y/N), please.”

You shifted your gaze to him, vision tilting as you did.

The frown on your face split as you just barely moved your toes within your blood-soaked shoe.

The fresh pain, vibrant and boiling, cut through the fog like a heat-blackened knife.

Your own fist flew into your mouth to mouth to suppress the cry that bubbled from your throat. You half-recognized it was the one holding Hawks’s feather.

You couldn’t see the way Keigo flinched at the sound, immediatly trying to soothe the two of you.

“Alright, good, okay, you can still feel them,” Hawks managed to laugh, cutting into the miasma of your psyche. It was something light and airy, tasting like packet sugar on the sides of your tongue.

Chasing the goodness of Hawks’s voice, you mustered up as much clarity as you could grasp, willing yourself into full sentences, “Hawks. I swear to fucking God, if you do not get me out of here right now, I will never make you a drink ever again.”

Keigo blinked at you, nodding, watching your attempt to focus on him, though the fully inked irises seemed to refuse to stay put.

So, this is what the file meant about the cost of your quirk.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, dove.” Hawks scooped you up before you could manage to put more thoughts together. A few of his feathers flew to stabilize your injured leg.

His touch felt good, like incredibly good. Even as the crunch of his boots on the broken glass of the tea shop scratched at your inner ears and burned your sinuses, the heat and texture of his jacket caressed over your cheeks. His warmth tasted like honey and cream.

Your head lolled onto his chest, idly playing with the filaments of his feathers that you refused to let go of.

(Keigo didn’t want you to, anyway.)

He couldn’t fly well, not in his mostly-featherless state, so he took to walking instead. He sidestepped as much glass he could, mostly watching your half-lidded eyes fixate on the feather you had pressed up to your face.

It was a weird circle, Keigo feeling your heat and breath so close, both on his body and on the sensitive plumage. Technically, he was doing his job, so he let himself indulge just the smallest bit in being so close to you. When Keigo squeezed you, nearly at the medic’s area, you tucked your face into his collarbones, breaths slowing from panic. You were even slack in his grip.

A paramedic rushed up to the two of you, guiding you to a setup stretcher and a waiting line of ambulances.

“We can take it from here, Hawks, no need to stick around,” The paramedic’s voice cut through the air, dripping bitterness on your tonsils and iron nails in your lungs.

Hawks set you half-down onto the lip of the vehicle, “Nah, it’s okay, I’ll hang out with them for a sec. They’re a friend of mine.”

He’d never said it before. That you were friends.

Heat rushed up to your fingertips, sweetness washing over your wounded leg, topped off silken air settling around your ears.

You’d drown in the sensation, a million times over.

The paramedic ran off quickly, a man with a nasty head wound taking precedence over your leg (which seemed to have clotted somewhat with your somewhat more relaxed state).

Hawks still didn’t leave.

Rather, he moved closer.

So did you.

From your spot sitting on the edge of the ambulance, your injured leg was twisted and propped up while the other dangled off the edge of the vehicle.

Keigo was right up against the metal, allowing you to lean on his side.

“You good?” You asked him, bumping your leg into his lower back.

Keigo couldn’t help jumping. You’d never casually touched him.

(He really liked it.)

Though the setting and circumstances were fucked, he figured it was okay.

You were friends, right?

Hawks wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side.

You took it a step further, wanting to simply soak in the amber, milky feeling of his touch.

You squish your cheek low against his collarbone, drinking in the smell of his sweat, stale, spiced cologne, and rich, expensive smelling hair oil.

The scents washed over your skin, rolling over your burning wounds like aloe and clean water.

“Thank you.” Your voice is small and soft, kept gentle by your last sparks of lucidity.

You heard Hawks chuckle, your vision swimming in honey and yellow with the sound, “Just doing my job, you know.”

“I mean, yeah,” You laughed too, pressing your nose harder into him. “But, it’s you, and I’m just glad you’re here.”

“You better stop being so sweet,” The hand around your shoulder rubbed slowly, up and down your spine, sweet spices and sugars dancing on the roof of your mouth. “Gonna give me ideas.”

The touch, something you craved and denied yourself, pushed you over the edge as his touch dissolved across your overstimulated mind in cresting waves of rushing, blessed heat.

Finally succumbing to the flood of your quirk, drowning your mind in both agony and absolute calm, you muttered out the last clear thing you said that evening, “We always give each other ideas, silly.”

God, the many meanings behind your words spun and stuck in Keigo’s mind like the taste of the miel he drank that morning. They relentlessly clung to his psyche, wanting to know more.

He stayed close while you were assessed and strapped into the ambulance. He sent a few of his last feathers to retrieve your jacket and purse from the wrecked shop.

All the while you clutched his bare hand, irises black while the whites turned bloodshot.

As the ambulance drove off towards that public hospital, he could feel the steady beat of your heart through the crimson feather he made sure was tucked in your hand the moment he had to let it go.

He felt you squeeze it, and he wanted nothing more than to return the gesture a thousand times over.

#salem writes #lavender latte #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo reader insert #hawks reader insert #hawks fanfiction #reader insert #mha x reader #tw blood #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n

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thyandrawrites · 3 years

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Putting a positive spin on that other anon's ask: Do you have a favourite dynamic in BnHA? Which parts of the fandom/community do you enjoy hanging out in? Any favourite head cannons or theories (or whatever "take" was supposed to mean idk)

Hi, anon!

I love a lot of dynamics in bnha but I think my faves are definitely the League bc found family is the best flavor ever. Other dynamics I really enjoy are Dabi and Shouto's (lack of) siblings bond, Dabi & Natsuo bc it makes me cry, the bakusquad bc it's premium shitpost content, and Todoroki and Bakugou's "friendship" (that's more siblings-like than anything, lmao). Oh and this is entirely fanon but I guess I also really enjoy exploring the dynamic Hawks could've had with the League bc it makes for great character study imho

As for my favourite portion of the fandom, I'd say the villain stans are my people but I'm actually just a lov stan. All the other villains of the series don't have any appeal to me.

The only real place that has felt and continues to feel like a community to me is a dbhwks server I'm in, chicken tenders and bacon bits. I wanted to tag the blog in case someone wanted to join but tumblr is being stinky and not letting me do it. But anyways. I made a lot of friends thanks to that discord server and so far it has been the only stress free, discourse free and genuinely encouraging place for me as a content creator seeking a safe space for sharing and finding new content or just have a random chitchat. There have been times when tumblr gave me loads of stress, but ctabb let me just exist without having to worry about that. While here you share a thought and 5 different people feel entitled to write an essay about why they disagree and your point is wrong, I found that on discord people have an easier time remembering that there's an actual human being behind the computer screen. Maybe it's just that discord is inherently moderated while tumblr is more like a fish market. Idk. I'm just lucky I had the balls to join ctabb 2 years ago despite my social anxiety. A decision I don't regret

As for favourite headcanons or theories... Gosh, okay, you know when people ask you what's your favourite book/movie/song and you're put on the spot and either can't think of anything or you have too many to list? That's me rn. Lol. This blog is literally filled with theories and meta but I can't think of one rn.

I guess my biggest leap of faith rn is that Endvr is being set up to fail again and won't just get handed redemption without working for it (since, as I understand from the sparse spoilers I see sometimes on my dash, he's still entirely missing the point that he needs to tone down the hero and work on being a better father). Idk if you could consider it a theory. Ideally, it should be a given bc the current plotline is a repeat of pro hero arc (so it should end the same way), but I guess we'll see

#Thanks for the positivity in my inbox btw!#Ali replies #Bnha

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esmeraldablazingsky · 4 years

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I’ve finally hit my limit on the number of bad takes on the Lan parents I can see before I have to lay out all the reasons I disagree, so hello, I’m Blazie, and in this essay I will justify my visceral dislike of the assumption that Qingheng-jun married/imprisoned/had sex with Lan-furen against her will.

Warning for mentions of rape (in context of Interpretations I Really Hate) and a very, VERY long post below the cut.

Before I start going off about the finer points of all this, I want to make sure people are on the same page regarding what we actually know about what went down with Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen. What I say is based off the EXR translation of MDZS, for the sake of clarity, and although I don’t think the exact wording should be too important, feel free to let me know if you think I’ve missed an important bit of nuance or something (the whole story is in Chapter 64.)

The story we get is told by Lan Xichen, and it goes like this: a young Qingheng-jun falls in love at first sight with Lan-furen, who doesn’t return his feelings, and at some point kills one of Qingheng-jun’s teachers over unspecified “grievances.” Although he’s understandably very upset over the murder, Qingheng-jun sneaks Lan-furen back to Cloud Recesses and officially marries her in order to announce to his clan that anyone who wants to hurt her has to go through him.

After that, he locks Lan-furen in one house and himself in another as a form of repentance. Wei Wuxian speculates that this was because “he could neither forgive the one who killed his teacher nor watch the death of the woman who he loved. He could only marry her to protect her life and force himself not to see her.”

A central detail of this story that I think people don’t give the import it deserves is that aside from marrying and protecting her, Qingheng-jun’s other option was to let Lan-furen be executed by his clan. His purpose in marrying her wasn’t just for kicks/out of a possessive sort of love, it was so she wouldn’t straight up die. How she felt about this arrangement isn’t stated, but I’ll get into that in a bit. In addition to that, Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen live separately, which was apparently purposeful on Qingheng-jun’s part, and runs counter to the interpretation that he intended to take sexual advantage of Lan-furen.

Though there aren’t many concrete details in Lan Xichen’s retelling, he does specifically inform Wei Wuxian that his mother never complained about remaining in her house. What exactly this signifies is unclear— whether she was simply putting on a brave face for her sons, or whether she was in fact at all content with the situation— but it at the very least serves to further muddy the waters on how she and Qingheng-jun felt about all this.

Beyond what Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian are saying out loud, there’s also quite a bit of subtext in this scene, especially in light of later events and revelations, like Lan Xichen’s confession for Lan Wangji at Guanyin Temple.

So what is Lan Xichen trying to convey with all this? There’s a lot of memes about this scene, most of which err too far on the side of Himbo Airhead Lan Xichen for my liking, but one that I do find amusing emphasizes how Lan Xichen draws parallels between Wangxian and the story of his parents (Lan Xichen: [flute solo] please use your one brain cell to connect the dots.) If Wei Wuxian hadn’t completely lost his memory of Lan Wangji defending him against his own clan elders, one would assume that Lan Xichen’s story would have had a much better chance of hitting home.

In hindsight and side by side, the parallels are much clearer— Qingheng-jun, “ignoring the objections from his clan… told everyone in the clan that she would be his wife for the rest of his life, that whoever wanted to harm her would have to pass through him first.” Similarly, according to Lan Xichen in Chapter 99, “for [Wei Wuxian,] not only did WangJi talk back to him, he even met with his sword the cultivators from the GusuLan Sect. He heavily injured all thirty-three of the seniors we asked to come.”

In that context, it makes a lot less sense to interpret Qingheng-jun as an aggressor towards Lan-furen, as in Lan Wangji’s case, the narrative clearly establishes that his actions are to secure Wei Wuxian’s safety. The action of Taking Someone Back To Cloud Recesses is— okay, actually, it’s a little more nuanced than I took into account when I started writing that sentence, so let me go a little deeper into Lan Wangji’s actions and how they relate to his father’s, story-wise.

My intent is not to dive into the terrifying underworld of novel-versus-drama discourse, but simply put, Novel!Lan Wangji as he is written isn’t exactly the poster child for clear consent. (I’m going to entirely leave off the extra chapters for the sake of everyone’s sanity, so I’m just talking about the main body of the novel here.)

He means well, and I’m sure we can agree that he does actually love and want the best for Wei Wuxian, but his lack of communication on this point means that he accidentally gives Wei Wuxian the impression that he wants to imprison and/or punish him in Cloud Recesses at least twice off the top of my head (pre-timeskip, as we know, and post-timeskip immediately after Dafan Mountain when he actually drags Wei Wuxian back to his room.)

That all likely has something to do with MXTX’s narrative kinks and regular kinks and all that, and can absolutely be taken with many grains of salt. However, these events establish how easy it is to misinterpret the action of Taking Someone Back To Gusu as an attempt to imprison rather than protect them (much to Lan Wangji’s chagrin.)

Failing to communicate his purpose to Wei Wuxian doesn’t mean that Lan Wangji actually had any intent of hurting or caging him— that was just a misinterpretation on Wei Wuxian’s part, and we, as the audience, find that out in due time— but as written in the novel, it can be really uncomfortable to read. Because of that, many people choose to accept CQL canon regarding Lan Wangji’s more possessive actions or mix characterization from different adaptations, which, to be clear, I completely understand and respect.

However, Qingheng-jun doesn’t get the benefit of the doubt as often, which I frankly find baffling, because nowhere in the text does it state that Lan-furen objected to being taken back to Cloud Recesses, while even Wei Wuxian clearly objected the first few times. In fact, while we’re on this note, I’ll take it a step farther— I find it baffling that people seem to default to an unsympathetic view of Qingheng-jun, because nowhere in the text does it state that he overruled Lan-furen’s wishes in any way. The text doesn’t clarify a lot of things, actually, and that is part of the point.

The narrators of MDZS are, in many situations, highly unreliable. This is, presumably, very purposeful! MDZS can easily be read as a sharp criticism of reputation and mass judgment and the concept of condemning people without knowing their motives! And I don’t want to sound mean, but guys… did any of us learn anything from that? Here, I’m going to put it in meme format for a second to convey what I mean.

MDZS: It’s easy to condemn someone as a villain if you don’t know their story or the reasons behind their actions

MDZS: Anyway, here’s a character whose story and reasons behind his actions you know nothing about

Some Parts Of This Fandom: Ah, a villain

Memes aside, here’s what I want to point out. It’s entirely possible to assume Qingheng-jun was a bad person who disregarded a woman’s wishes in marrying and confining her when all you have is Lan Xichen’s (actually very neutral, thank you Lan Xichen for being an eminently reasonable and concerned-with-evidence character) account of what happened. It would also be at least that easy to assume Wei Wuxian was just an evil necromancer if he hadn’t un-died and brought his own story to light, or even to believe that Lan Wangji had somehow tamed Wei Wuxian into submission and being a respectable cultivator if you were an average citizen of Fantasy Ancient China with nothing but rumors to operate on.

The thing about Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen’s story, then, is that there is nobody left alive who knows the full tale. Nobody knows what they thought about anything, really. Nobody even knows why Lan-furen killed Qingheng-jun’s teacher. Wei Wuxian asks why, and Lan Xichen can’t tell him, but I think the best answer would be something along the lines of I don’t know, Wei Wuxian, why did you kill people? Your guess on the motivations of your own thinly disguised narrative parallel are as good as anyone’s.

So, while it’s not technically impossible to assign darker motives to Qingheng-jun, the cautionary tale of MDZS seems to warn against that exact assumption.

I’ve refrained from getting too salty on a personal level thus far, but now that I’ve said a lot of the more logical and story-based points of my argument, I will say that at least some of my annoyance with the interpretation of Qingheng-jun as a possessive rapist and Lan-furen as his victim stems from the fact that I just think it’s straight up boring. Where’s the nuance? Aren’t you tired of reducing these characters to the flattest possible versions of themselves? Don’t you just want to add a little flavor?

In a slightly more serious phrasing of that criticism, I find that making Lan-furen a helpless prisoner strips her of whatever agency she might otherwise have. To be fair, she’s more or less a non-character in keeping with the general state of the MDZS universe, but making her a damsel in distress only consigns her more deeply to hapless, milquetoast innocence.

It’s perfectly valid to enjoy ladies who have done nothing wrong, ever, in their lives, but like… Qin Su is right there, if that’s your ball game. There’s also really no need to make Qingheng-jun someone who doesn’t respect women. Isn’t Jin Guangshan enough for at least one universe?

Anyway, ultimately, you do you. I don’t like arguing on the internet, and will just ignore things I don’t agree with (or write an 1800 word vaguepost) like a mature human being. I’m just saying, if it’s a cut and dry tale of imprisonment and assault you’re looking for… you probably don’t want to turn to a woman who committed a murder and a man who loved her enough to forfeit everything to keep her safe.

#mdzs #qingheng jun #madam lan #lan wangji #wei wuxian #(in a narrative parallels context)#blazie .txt #anyway without further ado here is my.... essay?#rape mention

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tlbodine · 5 years

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The Wendigo is Not What You Think

There’s been a recent flurry of discussion surrounding the Wendigo -- what it is, how it appears in fiction, and whether non-Native creators should even be using it in their stories. This post is dedicated to @halfbloodlycan, who brought the discourse to my attention.

Once you begin teasing apart the modern depictions of this controversial monster, an interesting pattern emerges -- namely, that what pop culture generally thinks of as the “wendigo” is a figure and aesthetic that has almost nothing in common with its Native American roots...but a whole lot in common with European Folklore.

What Is A Wendigo?

The Algonquian Peoples, a cluster of tribes indigenous to the region of the Great Lakes and Eastern Seaboard of Canada and the northern U.S., are the origin of Wendigo mythology. For them, the Wendigo (also "windigo" or "Witigo" and similar variations) is a malevolent spirit. It is connected to winter by way of cold, desolation, and selfishness. It is a spirit of destruction and environmental decay. It is pure evil, and the kind of thing that people in the culture don't like to talk about openly for fear of inviting its attention.

Individual people can turn into the Wendigo (or be possessed by one, depending on the flavor of the story), sometimes through dreams or curses but most commonly through engaging in cannibalism. Considering the long, harsh winters in the region, it makes sense that the cultural mythology would address the cannibalism taboo.

For some, the possession of the Wendigo spirit is a very real thing, not just a story told around the campfire. So-called "wendigo psychosis" has been described as a "culture-bound" mental illness where an individual is overcome with a desire to eat people and the certainty that he or she has been possessed by a Wendigo or is turning into a Wendigo. Obviously, it was white people encountering the phenomenon who thought to call it "psychosis," and there's some debate surrounding the whole concept from a psychological, historical, and anthropological standpoint which I won't get into here -- but the important point here is that the Algonquian people take this very seriously. (1) (2)

(If you're interested in this angle, you might want to read about the history of Zhauwuno-geezhigo-gaubow (or Jack Fiddler), a shaman who was known as something of a Wendigo hunter. I'd also recommend the novel Bone White by Ronald Malfi as a pretty good example of how these themes can be explored without being too culturally appropriative or disrespectful.)

Wendigo Depictions in Pop Culture

Show of hands: How many of you reading this right now first heard of the Wendigo in the Alvin Schwartz Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark book?

That certainly was my first encounter with the tale. It was one of my favorite stories in the book as a little kid. It tells about a rich man who goes hunting deep in the wilderness, where people rarely go. He finds a guide who desperately needs the money and agrees to go, but the guide is nervous throughout the night as the wind howls outside until he at last bursts outside and takes off running. His tracks can be found in the snow, farther and farther apart as though running at great speed before abruptly ending. The idea being that he was being dragged along by a wind-borne spirit that eventually picked him up and swept him away.

Schwartz references the story as a summer camp tale well-known in the Northeastern U.S., collected from a professor who heard it in the 1930s. He also credits Algernon Blackwood with writing a literary treatment of the tale -- and indeed, Blackwood's 1910 novella "The Wendigo" has been highly influential in the modern concept of the story.(3) His Wendigo would even go on to find a place in Cthulhu Mythos thanks to August Derleth.

Never mind, of course, that no part of Blackwood's story has anything in common with the traditional Wendigo myth. It seems pretty obvious to me that he likely heard reference of a Northern monster called a "windigo," made a mental association with "wind," and came up with the monster for his story.

And so would begin a long history of white people re-imagining the sacred (and deeply frightening) folklore of Native people into...well, something else.

Through the intervening decades, adaptations show up in multiple places. Stephen King's Pet Sematary uses it as a possible explanation for the dark magic of the cemetery's resurrectionist powers. A yeti-like version appears as a monster in Marvel Comics to serve as a villain against the Hulk. Versions show up in popular TV shows like Supernatural and Hannibal. There's even, inexplicably, a Christmas episode of Duck Tales featuring a watered-down Wendigo.

Where Did The Antlered Zombie-Deer-Man Come From?

In its native mythology, the Wendigo is sometimes described as a giant with a heart of ice. It is sometimes skeletal and emaciated, and sometimes deformed. It may be missing its lips and toes (like frostbite). (4)

So why, when most contemporary (white) people think of Wendigo, is the first image that comes to mind something like this?

Well...perhaps we can thank a filmmaker named Larry Fessenden, who appears to be the first person to popularize an antlered Wendigo monster. (5) His 2001 film (titled, creatively enough, Wendigo) very briefly features a sort of skeletal deer-monster. He’d re-visit the design concept in his 2006 film, The Last Winter. Reportedly, Fessenden was inspired by a story he’d heard in his childhood involving deer-monsters in the frozen north, which he connected in his mind to the Algernon Blackwood story.

A very similar design would show up in the tabletop game Pathfinder, where the “zombie deer-man” aesthetic was fully developed and would go on to spawn all sorts of fan-art and imitation. (6) The Pathfinder variant does draw on actual Wendigo mythology -- tying it back to themes of privation, greed, and cannibalism -- but the design itself is completely removed from Native folklore.

Interestingly, there are creatures in Native folklore that take the shape of deer-people -- the ijiraq or tariaksuq, shape-shifting spirits that sometimes take on the shape of caribou and sometimes appear in Inuit art in the form of man-caribou hybrids (7). Frustratingly, the ijiraq are also part of Pathfinder, which can make it a bit hard to find authentic representations vs pop culture reimaginings. But it’s very possible that someone hearing vague stories of northern Native American tribes encountering evil deer-spirits could get attached to the Wendigo, despite the tribes in question being culturally distinct and living on opposite sides of the continent.

That “wendigo” is such an easy word to say in English probably has a whole lot to do with why it gets appropriated so much, and why so many unrelated things get smashed in with it.

I Love the Aesthetic But Don’t Want to Be Disrespectful, What Do I Do?

Plundering folklore for creature design is a tried-and-true part of how art develops, and mythology has been re-interpreted and adapted countless times into new stories -- that’s how the whole mythology thing works.

But when it comes to Native American mythology, it’s a good idea to apply a light touch. As I’ve talked about before, Native representation in modern media is severely lacking. Modern Native people are the survivors of centuries of literal and cultural genocide, and a good chunk of their heritage, language, and stories have been lost to history because white people forcibly indoctrinated Native children into assimilating. So when those stories get taken, poorly adapted, and sent back out into the public consciousness as make-believe movie monsters, it really is an act of erasure and violence, no matter the intentions of the person doing it. (8)

So, like...maybe don’t do that?

I won’t say that non-Native people can’t be interested in Wendigo stories or tell stories inspired by the myth. But if you’re going to do it, either do it respectfully and with a great deal of research to get it accurate...or use the inspiration to tell a different type of story that doesn’t directly appropriate or over-write the mythology (see above: my recommendation for Bone White).

But if your real interest is in the “wendigocore” aesthetic -- an ancient and powerful forest protector, malevolent but fiercely protective of nature, imagery of deer and death and decay -- I have some good news: None of those things are really tied uniquely to Native American mythology, nor do they have anything in common with the real Wendigo.

Where they do have a longstanding mythic framework? Europe.

Europeans have had a long-standing fascination with deer, goats, and horned/antlered forest figures. Mythology of white stags and wild hunts, deer as fairy cattle, Pan, Baphomet, Cernunnos, Herne the Hunter, Black Phillip and depictions of Satan -- the imagery shows up again and again throughout Greek, Roman, and British myth. (9)

Of course, some of these images and figures are themselves the product of cultural appropriation, ancient religions and deities stolen, plundered, demonized and erased by Christian influences. But their collective existence has been a part of “white” culture for centuries, and is probably a big part of the reason why the idea of a mysterious antlered forest-god has stuck so swiftly and firmly in our minds, going so far as to latch on to a very different myth. (Something similar has happened to modern Jersey Devil design interpretations. Deer skulls with their tangle of magnificent antlers are just too striking of a visual to resist).

Seriously. There are so, so many deer-related myths throughout the world’s history -- if aesthetic is what you’re after, why limit yourself to an (inaccurate) Wendigo interpretation? (10)

So here’s my action plan for you, fellow white person:

Stop referring to anything with antlers as a Wendigo, especially when it’s very clearly meant to be its own thing (the Beast in Over the Garden Wall, Ainsworth in Magus Bride)

Stop “reimagining” the mythology of people whose culture has already been targeted by a systematic erasure and genocide

Come up with a new, easy-to-say, awesome name for “rotting deer man, spirit of the forest” and develop a mythology for it that doesn’t center on cannibalism

We can handle that, right?

This deep dive is supported by Ko-Fi donations. If you’d like to see more content, please drop a tip in my tip jar. Ko-fi.com/A57355UN

NOTES:

1 - https://io9.gizmodo.com/wendigo-psychosis-the-probably-fake-disease-that-turns-5946814

2 - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wendigo#Wendigo_psychosis

3 - https://www.gutenberg.org/files/10897/10897-h/10897-h.htm

4 - https://www.legendsofamerica.com/mn-wendigo/

5- https://www.reddit.com/r/Cryptozoology/comments/8wu2nq/wendigo_brief_history_of_the_modern_antlers_and/

6 - https://pathfinderwiki.com/wiki/Wendigo

7 - https://www.mythicalcreaturescatalogue.com/single-post/2017/12/06/Ijiraq

8 - https://www.backstoryradio.org/blog/the-mythology-and-misrepresentation-of-the-windigo/

9 - https://www.terriwindling.com/blog/2014/12/the-folklore-of-goats.html

10 - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deer_in_mythology

#horror #folklore #mythology #deep dive #wendigo #cultural appropriation #monster design #creature design #long post #if you need a place to channel your deerman aesthetic #may I suggest huntokar from welcome to nightvale #100% fictional #100% awesome

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wizardysseus · 5 years

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@intpdreamer replied to your post

I mean... I get, in principle, why you would hate villains and I'm certainly not going to police anyone's reaction for it. I just do not on a personal level understand *how* you can get so angry at things that never actually happened as some people do. Hating someone (even fictional) requires an active investment of energy for me which no made up crime is worth. I don't mean to derail I'm just legitimately confused.

well, couldn’t you say the same thing for loving characters? it’s all just emotional reaction, it doesn’t have to be rational. which is why that post was actually intended as a joke --- in a perfect world, we could just talk about the characters we love and hate without having to justify it. but boy do i get tired of strangers giving me “permission” to like villains as long as i “acknowledge” certain things about them like yeah, okay, your turn now.

@kareenvorbarra

I understand on an intellectual level why people are into villains but tbh my top villains are the ones I hate the most??? Also it’s totally possible for a villain to be compelling and well-written and also just the worst - idk variety is the spice of life you know?

Anyway there’s a HUGE difference between hating a character for the way they function in the narrative and the way they’re written (a character doesn’t need to be a villain for that lol) and hating a character because that’s the emotion the story brings out

my top villains are all over the spectrum of sympathy/likability/pure evil/whatever. i just like villains of all flavors. i think they’re neat, and different kinds of villains do different things in different stories. and the villain criticism that i’m interested in --- is there is still an academic sense of the word discourse? this is the kind i’m interested in --- is mostly examining why a villain does or doesn’t work for the story being told.

all this to say, yeah, you’re right, and there is a distinction between hating a character because you’re supposed to and other reasons. a lot of my problem with general fandom wank is that i see the conflation of “i hate this villain because they did an abhorrent thing” with “it is wrong to engage with this piece of media in a certain way because the villain did an abhorrent thing”.

#intpdreamer #kareenvorbarra #replies

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jcmorrigan · 5 years

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Epithet Half-Baked!

I saw through @selfshipimagines that @nougatships is having a Yuletide F/O event...and I know I’m kind of a flighty, shadowy entity in this community, but I do like to write, and thought, what the hey, this’ll be fun. So here I come out of nowhere to contribute a thing.

The F/O? Giovanni Potage from Epithet Erased. The S/I? Rachel Scribere - mundie, writer of much fanfiction, independent contractor supervillainous minion who has also given up on adulting. (Most of those things apply to me IRL!) I decided to go with something a little on-the-nose for the “catering” theme and write about the two of us trying to arrange party food - expect much food talk and many headcanons (e.g. I see Gio as ace, even though that may not end up being Word of God). For optimal results, please listen to the Mariah Carey/MCR mashup “Welcome to the Christmas Parade” while reading this. Not to mention that song will change your life anyway. (Freeman DNI unless you’re going to get the name of the band CORRECT)

***

I wouldn’t say Christmas was my favorite holiday, because it really wasn’t. Nor would Giovanni ever say Christmas was his favorite holiday, because he wanted to look like a cool guy who didn’t care about Christmas. That said, when our invitation arrived in the mail, neither of us needed to do much cajoling to get the other to agree to attend as a plus-one. Almost immediately, we’d begun work on what we were going to wear to the occasion.

Well, to be fair, Giovanni was doing most of the work in that department. I’m still trying to figure out how a needle and thread even works for something besides a dangerous impromptu sushi fork. I did play a role in the design of my formal wear, however – a full-skirted red-and-green gown that served the purpose of making me look like the princess of Christmas and thereby able to pass laws banning the repeated playing of “Jingle Bell Rock” more than three times per night. As for Giovanni, he was dead set on creating the World’s Ugliest Christmas Sweater, and boy, did it ever deserve that capitalization. I don’t have the words to you to describe properly the conglomeration of non-coordinating colors and mismatched winter-holiday symbolism that went into that monstrosity. Which basically meant we were going to be the two best-dressed people in attendance.

However, that still left the important factor: the catering aspect. This was essentially a potluck, and as much as we would have loved to skim off everyone else’s hors d’ouevres and pretend we “dropped” ours on the way there, eventually, our need to show off our cooking skills combined with my compulsion to contribute to community activities won out over the dark side of our consciences.

My first mistake was going into that kitchen with no idea what Giovanni was planning on making. Me? I was set on a hot-chocolate-and-marshmallow cake. Festive and full of my two favorite flavors! Not to mention I’d baked in the past as a hobby, though it had, admittedly, been a while. I was actually rather looking forward to this.

“So, Composer,” Giovanni asked as I set up my laptop, “can we expect any musical entertainment?”

“Damn right,” I said as I clicked through playlists.

“Just please tell me you’re not gonna stick us with three hours of Christmas music bullshit.”

“Oh, trust me. We are going to get enough of that at this party.” I set off a rather jaunty emo-pop number with guitars that were just obnoxious enough.

“Oh, yeah,” Giovanni cried, “this is PERFECT! Totally captures our debonair yet badass essence. THIS is why I let you pick the car music.”

I gave him a playful bow. “Okay. Let’s do this thing.”

I began rounding up my ingredients: flour, sugar, cocoa powder, et cetera, et cetera…

“Done.”

Wait…”What?”

I had only just gotten my ingredients lined up on the counter, yet Giovanni was leaning over the other edge of the island, elbows on the countertop and head in his hands to give me a playfully innocent look, as an enormous pot of something steaming, golden, and tantalizingly scented sat before him.

I peered into the vessel, making note of the contents. “Is this…butternut squash soup?”

“You know it.”

“…You made soup.”

“Is there a…problem with that?”

“Your Epithet is literally soup.”

“Aaaaaand…?”

I marched around to shake my index finger at him on every word: “You. Fucking. CHEATED.”

He rose, pointing right back at me: “I’m. The. BAD GUY. So I don’t care!”

I gave my eyes a sufficiently dramatic roll. “You realize this is gonna take me like two hours.”

“I’ll watch.”

“You could at least help. You’re good with this stuff, you know.”

“Hmm…” Giovanni pretended to think it over. “No, don’t think I will.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s too bad, because I love you a lot, Composer.”

I blushed, then muttering “IloveyoutooandIdon’thateyouandIwasjustkidding.” Quickly followed up with “Okay, I’m gonna start doing this shit BY MYSELF, then.”

Baking an entire cake with your boyfriend just smugly staring at you is…an experience. Not a bad experience. But an experience. Still, I thought I was on a good track so far. Until it came to the electric mixer.

As a disclaimer, I stated, “It’s been a while. I’m a little rusty.”

“It’s just an electric mixer.” He shrugged. “Even I couldn’t screw up – I mean even SOME LOSER LIKE SYLVIE couldn’t screw up using it.”

Well, now the pressure was on. I flicked the appliance to life, dipping it into a pool of eggs suspended in buttermilk, and immediately plunged into chaos. The thing about electric mixers is that they are an extreme balancing act. Too far down into the bowl, and the blades will make a horrible grinding noise against the bowl bottom, making a catastrophizer like me worry about glass shards ending up baked into the dough. However, it is very important that if this happens to you, you do not do what I did and overcompensate by yanking the still-spinning blades out of the bowl, thereby splattering eggs and buttermilk all over yourself.

As I was attempting to figure out damage control, I became acutely aware of Giovanni trying to hide an absolute fit of giggles. “You know,” I growled, “this wouldn’t HAPPEN if you would HELP me.”

I absolutely did not want him to help me. See, I have an inferiority complex the size of the sun, and even that feels weird to say, since it’s admitting I actually possess a large quantity of anything. I wanted to make this monster cake my goddamn self, and I wanted him to be fucking impressed. Still, I was pretty sure if I didn’t ask for his help, I would just end up with some kind of inedible toxic waste.

I wasn’t sure if he was just playing coy or if he knew me all too well when he said “No. Don’t feel like it.”

“Come on!”

“Composer, this is YOUR time to shine! I’m not getting in the way of YOUR masterpiece blowing away the competition?”

“…Gio, it’s not a com – “

“OF COURSE IT’S A COMPETITION! EVERY POTLUCK IS A COMPETITION! WHY ELSE HAVE EVERYONE BRING DISHES OF VARYING QUALITY IF NOT TO DETERMINE THE SUPREME CHEF AT THE PARTY?”

Well, if it meant somebody might think of me as supreme chef, I sure wasn’t going to argue. Unhealthy as that might be for my ego.

So I let Giovanni actively not help me. Even when I tried to crack another egg and it rather exploded from my overuse of momentum. But thankfully, the rest of it seemed to be coming together well. As it baked, I decided to use that time to put together the icing. The recipe, of course, called for cream cheese icing, but that is not real icing (don’t @ me) and I absolutely refuse to sully any of my confections with it, ever. I was making the real stuff – just butter, chocolate, milk, and way too much sugar.

However, that meant a rematch with my archnemesis: the electric mixer. I gave it a very sour glare as I picked it up again.

“Ooh, someone’s mad,” Giovanni teased.

“Damn right I’m mad,” I told him. “This thing fucking hates me.”

“No…I think you’re just bad with it.”

“WHAT THE – “

He was at my side then, using one hand to guide my face upward to meet his gaze: “Because no one and nothing could ever hate you, my beautiful, beautiful Composer. And anyone who does can EAT SOUL-SLUGGER DOOM-BAT.”

Well. Now I was a flustered mess. I gently leaned forward to rest my forehead temporarily on his collarbone. “No, you,” I teased. “I mean it. People who hate you don’t have souls. End of discourse.”

“And this is why we GO TOGETHER!”

“Damn straight.”

It would have been a beautiful moment if I hadn’t been thwarted, yet again, by the mixer. The grinding of the glass, the startled removal of the blades, a chocolate splatter –

Except this time, it missed me. No, the stuff made a direct hit on the tall, pink-haired, and handsome card-carrying villain standing next to me.

I gaped at him momentarily, unsure what to say. Then it all came rushing out: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry – “

“Sorry?” he repeated, and at first, I thought he actually was angry. “You’re SORRY? Oh, it’s too late to be sorry, Composer.”

When he picked up the quarter-full bottle of vanilla extract from the counter beside us, I realized his game. “This means war,” he growled in a not-very-growly-at-all way.

Our eyes locked. His way of asking permission. I gave the slightest of nods; “I guess I deserve it. But you know I’m not going down without a fight.”

The vanilla sloshed onto me. I smashed an egg onto his shirt. He dumped about a half-gallon of soup down the back of mine.

Now, what you must understand about a food fight that takes place in the Potage-Scribere kitchen is that anything, and I mean absolutely anything, becomes a weapon. Even things that weren’t part of the dishes we were cooking. The refrigerator was raided, the cupboards stripped bare for the ensuing battle. Whatever we could hit each other with, we did. Smashing tomatoes against each other. Sneaking ice cubes into each other’s clothes to try and get a shriek. Several different flavors of soup flying through the air, of course. Retaliation in the form of grabbing the sprayer from the sink and brandishing it like a Banzai Blaster standard-issue pea-shooter.

Then my timer let out a “ding” to inform me that the cake was done baking. Giovanni froze, standing perfectly still as I transferred the cake to the fridge to let it cool down.

Then we picked up right where we left off.

It came to a head when Giovanni had ended up with two cans of aerosol whipped cream, dual-wielding them at me. I had an ice cream scoop in a tub of whipped cream, ready to lob it like a snowball.

Wait - “Gio, why do we have three things of whipped cream?”

“Well, I picked these up when you texted me our respective assignments for grocery day last weekend.”

“I told you to get toilet paper. I was gonna get the whipped cream.”

“No, you said YOU were getting the toilet paper, and I should pick up whipped cream.”

“DID EITHER OF US GET TOILET PAPER?”

“…I’m thinking no,” Giovanni mused.

“Okay, emergency store run after this for toilet paper,” I declared. “Resume.”

Instead of turning the cans on me, Giovanni spun to kick an apple off the counter so that it would hit me in the sternum. I recoiled, but only slightly. “The fuck was that?”

“That? Oh, THAT was…well, Composer, have you been keeping track of how many hits I’ve landed on you?”

My eyes widened. “SON OF A BITCH.”

“THAT’S RIGHT!” Giovanni crowed. “TWELVE! WHICH MEANS WHEN I LET THESE CANS LOOSE ON YOU, IT’S GONNA BE CRITICAL!”

I let go of the ice cream scoop; it clanged to the floor. “Okay, okay!” I put up that hand in a gesture of surrender. “I give!”

“…Seriously? But it’s no fun if you – “

“I am NOT in the mood to get blasted by critical whipped cream, Gio.”

Giovanni shrugged, not letting go of either can. “All right. Then it stops here.”

I pouted. “I really am sorry I started it. Can we just…you know…kiss and make up?”

“Absolutely.”

I had counted on this. I let him shut his eyes, pucker his lips slightly, lean forward. I advanced.

And then, screaming “WORTH IT!”, smashed the tub of whipped cream directly at his face.

The resulting blast of the aerosol whip was like getting hit with the blast of twenty-six cans of aerosol whip – which, really, isn’t that harmful at all. Just a lot messier and with some added momentum; I ended up skidding across the kitchen floor. “Okay!” I laughed. “I really do give in now! I promise!”

Giovanni was already scooping the cream off his face and shoveling it into his mouth (and this is the part where I want to remind you that as ripe of a picking as this seems for innuendo, neither of our sex-repulsed minds would have it). He then slumped down onto the tile next to me, leaning onto me.

“Well played, minion,” he said with a grin. “We’ll make a bona fide villain out of you yet.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not already there.”

We actually did kiss then, tasting all the sweeter for being covered in sugar.

#yuletide f/o event #selfship #hoooo boy putting myself out here like this #kinda wanna write more of these?#they'd be tumblr-exclusive though #not for my ao3

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nellie-elizabeth · 5 years

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His Dark Materials: Armour (1x04)

Yessss. I loved this episode so much. Lots of stuff going on, a fast pace, world-building, new characters, a mission introduced and completed all in a single hour.

Cons:

I love our new characters so very much. I do wish we could have been a little more clear on Lee Scoresby's motivations. He feels he owes something to Iorek, but we are not told what, and we are not told why he has chosen now of all times to seek him out. It's a small thing, but it's the kind of plotting issue that seems like they just needed to get all the chess pieces on the board, so they forced it to happen.

Pros:

But whatever, that's such a small thing. Before we dive in to our new characters and all that noise, I'll briefly touch on what our villains are up to. We don't get a ton of movement here, just some small shifts. We learn that Mrs. Coulter has managed, with the assistance of some armoured bears, to capture Lord Asriel. She is using Asriel as leverage with the Magisterium to maintain her position as the head of the General Oblation Board. She is also leveraging Iofur's desire for baptism in order to keep him in line. Mrs. Coulter is so expertly playing everyone else in this episode, as we see her negotiating and threatening and manipulating various important people in order to position herself in the best possible placement. I love it. I love how evil she is.

In the main story, we've got a quest. Basically, Lyra and the Gyptians are looking for the assistance of an armoured bear named Iorek Byrnison. Also looking for Iorek is Lee Scoresby, a Texan aeronaut. We also hear talk of a witch who might be able to help our heroes on their quest, named Serafina Pekkala. This is essentially an "ally gathering" episode, and it does a lot of work in a short amount of time, invigorating the story with fun new faces and planting seeds for lots of future exciting stuff.

The elephant in the room is that people were not super thrilled, initially, with Lin-Manuel Miranda's casting as Lee Scorseby. I guess I can see why, but also... it's okay if the show has a different flavor to it than the book or the (horrible) movie. And let me tell ya... Miranda does an amazing job as a rouge-like figure, bright and cheerful and irreverent, but also sincere when he needs to be. I already like his dynamic with Lyra, I like his relationship with Hester (his daemon), and I like the energy he brings to the story. All of my favorite moments of this episode were moments with Lee.

I think Lee and Hester's relationship captures the daemon/human relationship better than any of the others I've seen on the show. I loved Hester heckling Lee during the bar fight, the way they sing together, how they consult each other and make joint decisions. I hope we can see more of that relationship develop between Lyra and Pan, actually.

I also loved Lyra talking about playing cards, and turning a bad hand into an opportunity. Her disappearing and Lee being amused/annoyed that she'd stolen his bacon was pitch-perfect, and it fed so naturally into that scene at the end where Lee saunters up all confident to offer his services to the Gyptians, only to learn that they haven't asked for him. He turns to Lyra, partially because he's frustrated with her, but also partially to ask for her guidance. It's so cute and I can't wait to see more of them together. I know I'm a pre-existing Lin-Manuel Miranda fan, but even without that, I feel like his presence has added so much vigor to the story.

And the other big character being introduced this week is of course Iorek Byrnison. So far, the CGI on the daemons has been... okay. Not distracting, but not remarkable either. I was nervous about Iorek, therefore, because he's got to command the screen and be an important character with gravitas, all in his own right. I must say, I was pretty impressed. I remember when there was all this discourse about the lions in the Disney remake of The Lion King, and people were comparing the CGI to the effects they did in the Narnia movies, with Aslan. Aslan was expressive and had facial expressions where you could gauge his mood. The lions from The Lion King, not so much. Iorek fits more into the second category, in that he really does look like a bear. There has been no attempt anthropomorphize him beyond the fact that he has a name and speaks English. He really is an animal, unfamiliar to human eyes in terms of how to read his facial expressions and body language. I think that really works for his character, and gives the voice actor a really tough job, one that so far he is doing very, very well.

We don't get to meet Serafina in this episode, but we do meet her daemon, and thus introduce another aspect of this world to the viewers. There are witches, and they can part from their daemons. There is a history between Serafina and Farder Coram, which adds more depth and flavor to his character and also gives us insight into an upcoming character introduction. I'm excited for more of this!

There's a lot more I could say about this episode. It was my favorite thus far, and opens the world up so much wider. The new characters add a compelling energy, and we're getting more information about the alethiometer... I'm really looking forward to what's next!

9.5/10

#review #his dark materials #his dark materials review

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bookenders · 5 years

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11/11/11 Tag Game: Rounds 24, 25, 26, and 27

Tagged by the wonderful @corsairesque, the lovely @azawrites, the stellar @sunlight-and-starskies, and the incomparable @inexorableblob - thanks!

And @inexorableblob, thank you for letting me rewrite the end of The Great Gatsby. It was very cathartic.

Rules: Answer 11 questions, write 11 questions, tag 11 people!

Bilbo Taggins: @aurumni-writes @quilloftheclouds @aslanwrites @starlitesymphony @writingonesdreams @waterfallwritings @cataclysmic-writer @ren-c-leyn @timefirewrites @minusfractions @ink-flavored - and if you like the questions and aren’t tagged, feel free to answer them! And tag me so I can see!

My Questions:

How many licks would it take for your OCs to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?

What are your favorite smells?

What’s the book you’ve read most recently? What did you think of it? What impressed you? What would you have done differently?

What are your thoughts on mugs?

If your OCs had a comic book series/graphic novel about them, what would it be called? What would be on the cover? What would the art style be?

Can you draw a bear?

Do you do any other kinds of art? Are you ever influenced by other kinds of art? What about other areas like science or mathematics/other disciplines?

Have you read any craft books or writing advice books? If yes, how have the helped or hindered you? Which would you recommend? If no, would you ever consider reading them?

What are your favorite kinds of narratives? What narrative structures do you prefer to write and what do you prefer to read?

What’s your favorite recipe?

What are some signs that make you consider setting a project aside vs continuing with it?

As always, answers under the cut!

@corsairesque‘s Questions:

1. Do you create playlists for your stories or characters?

I do!

Here’s a detailed post about how I make them.

This is Mel’s from H2H.

This is Gemma’s from H2H.

This is one for the story I recently posted.

And I have one for each WIP on my WIP page! (Mostly, I’m still working on Fish Food’s.)

I actually have folders in Spotify for my characters and stories. Each one gets a playlist.

2. What is your stance on endings that don’t end with some hope?

Sometimes a story needs to have a certain ending to have an emotionally satisfying conclusion. I don’t think hope is absolutely required for an ending. I’ve ended stories without hope because that’s how the story ends. If I wrote it to conclude with an upturn, it would’ve been disloyal to the narrative. Like life, not everything ends happily, or with a positive outlook.

If you want it from a more technical perspective, there are three sorts of endings: positive, negative, and neutral. They can mix and match, but these are the three base ones. I tend toward neutral or positive-neutral endings. The best story I’ve written so far has a negative-leaning neutral ending because it concludes with a loss that does not promise hope. Positive endings are not necessary for a narrative, or for a conclusion.

Sometimes you need to write a hopeful ending. Sometimes you need to read a hopeful ending. And sometimes you need to read or write something that ends on a down-note. I know I have.

So, TL;DR, there is no ending hierarchy. It all depends on the reader and the writer, what they need, and what the story demands.

3. What author would you love to hear feedback from on your WIP?

Of literally anyone? Dead or alive? I mean. I’d love to hear what Flannery O’Connor would have to say about my short stories. I try to do a remix-version of her moments of grace in each of them.

4. What is the genre of your WIP(s)?

I mention these on my WIP page!

Most of my short stories are literary and contemporary fiction. My longer projects tend toward low fantasy.

5. How do you come up with new ideas for your WIP(s)?

I don’t have a method or anything for idea generation. My brain works in the background while I’m doing other things, so I’ll be washing dishes, or brushing my teeth, or writing something else, and an idea goes HI HELLO WHAT ABOUT THIS HUH? and I scramble to write it down.

Most of the time, my story ideas come from cool sentences I think of while observing. That sounds super weird and nerdy, but it’s true! When I’m bored or need to occupy my brain or just sorta feel like creating something spontaneous, I’ll look around and figure out how I’d write about a certain thing in the vicinity.

Some examples of this from my phone notes:

“Laughter echoing through a cave, bouncing off the walls, the gift of hearing it over and over until it fades like gentle waking”

“Cheeks baked pink from the flush of her modesty”

“The last remnants of home, the dirt hidden beneath their fingernails”

“Headlights flicker between the gaps in the barrier like a slipstream of stars”

Ya know, stuff like that.

Sometimes, if I’m stuck while writing and need a thought, I look at the plot and think up complications for my characters to face. That’s how I figured out how to make Lithium 100% more plot relevant. I thought, okay, so she has this role right now, what can I add to make her stand in the way of X plan while also being an asset to Y? And boom, idea generated and problem solved.

6. What do you use to keep all your writing on? (Scrivener, Google Docs, good old pen and paper…)

I use Scrivener for all my main writing. I have a ton of phone memo notes for ideas on the go. I have a notebook full of random stuff for when I’m blocked and need to hand write something.

I also answered this further down!

7. What gave you initial inspiration for your WIP(s)?

H2H: There was a publisher who had a call for shapeshifter stories, and then I missed the deadline so I decided to try for a zine instead, then I got rejected, so I made it into my own thing.

AOPC: I needed to flesh out a piece of my homebrew DnD world, so I started worldbuilding, then it was my turn to turn in a story to be workshopped in my writing class, so I wrote a thing set in the village about the tribe and it all spiraled out from there.

FF: I had an errant thought about the script that hero and villain stories follow and wrote a thing about what would happen if one of them decided to deviate from it and BOOM the plot hit me like a semi truck.

Almost all of my short stories start with a sentence I think sounds really cool, a tone I want to try to capture (ex. the feeling of standing inside an old cathedral), or the ending moment of a character arc (I tend to work backwards).

8. How long have you been working on your WIP(s)?

I’ve been working with Heart to Heart since November 2018. I started thinking about Fish Food like 3 months ago I think? And I got the idea for All Our Painted Colors 3ish years ago, but it started as a short story that I thought about expanding about 8 months ago.

My writing process starts with a long period of thought percolation before I write anything definitive down.

9. What was the first thing you came up with for your WIP(s)?

H2H: The fact that the main character is an apothecary who uses recipes from historical documents to brew things and lives in a small town, and that their love interest changes shapes in some way.

AOPC: That the tribe is a society based around body paint, art, preserving their personal history, and stories. But mostly paint.

FF: The hero danging over a pit of hungry piranhas and asking the villain a question that throws off the whole “death threat” vibe.

10. Have you considered Hogwarts houses for your characters? If so, what are they?

Answered this for the H2H cast here.

As for the Fish Food cast:

Iron Will - Hufflepuff

Overseer - Ravenclaw

Nightmare - A Hufflepuff who asked to be in Slytherin and the hat said “yeah okay”

Lithium - Gryffindor

Babylon - Slytherin

Sparkplug - Gryffindor

11. What do you find easiest to write? (Description, dialogue, etc.)

Interiority! Free indirect discourse! Unvoiced character brain thoughts! Which I guess means description?

Writing dialogue sucks old car tires!

@azawrites‘ Questions:

what’s the best part about your writing style? I like how I build up to emotional punches. It’s like walking up a ramp, but in a literary way. And at the top of the ramp you either get a gut punch of feels or an ice cream cone.

do you write on the computer or on paper? I do most of my writing on my laptop because my hands can’t write fast enough to keep up with my brain. My typing is way faster. If I’m having trouble getting an idea down, or the tone of the writing lends itself to being handwritten (idk how to describe this, but sometimes words just gotta be scribbled, ya know?), I’ll hand write it in pen. I don’t use pencils anymore because I wasn’t allowed to in college and it kinda stuck.

what are your favourite books and why? Oh, no, there are too many. So I’ll just say my top book: The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien because of how it deals with stories and grief and remembering, the fact that it’s a story cycle (which is very cool), and the way he writes - it’s beautiful and sad and messed up and poignant. I love it.

why did you start writing? I’ve answered this before, but there was never really starting point for me. It’s just something I’ve always done.

why did you continue writing? Because I had too much fun to stop! I also get creatively constipated, I guess is how I would phrase it, and need to have some sort of narrative outlet or my brain gets really mad at me.

where do you usually write? Pretty much anywhere, but most often at my desk. I think I need a taller chair, though...

can you describe your favourite piece (written by you) in one sentence? Let’s get authory with this one: The teacher hands out the tests, multiple choice this time, but when the stapled packet slides across your desk, there’s something odd about it, something that brings the war to life inside your head, a long-forgotten voice that speaks the souls of the soldiers and tells their stories from the annals of history. Or: A multiple choice test about WWII that tells the story of 4 men from Company B from enlistment to the end of their campaign.

what’s one cliche/trope you overuse, but still like anyway? It’s a trope when it comes to my own writing, actually. Person Sits Alone in the Dark and Contemplates. I love it, I abuse the hell out of it, and I will never stop.

what music do you listen to when working on a WIP? Depends. I have a go-to Writing Flow State song, playlists to help me get in the right head space when writing certain characters, and playlists that help guide the tone of a story. I can never listen to movie or video game scores because the association of song and cinematic moment is too strong for me.

have you ever dreamed of a fictional character? Uh, I have the occasional nightmare about Kokopelli? Does that count?

what’s one thing that makes you automatically dislike a book? Overly pretentious first person POV prose (and I don’t mean purple. I mean a character who - honestly and without a hint of satire - thinks like a writer from the 1920s who just discovered what “paid by the word” means and believes they’re the wisest human being in the universe and everyone who doesn’t agree with them is the basest of idiots - barf). Gratuitous female violence. The use of the word “loins” outside of an animal context. Everything about The Beginners by Rebecca Wolff.

@inexorableblob‘s Questions:

Which of your characters could you write as twice their current age? Oh, man, I think writing Iron Will in his forties or fifties would be really cool. It’d certainly give the story a new commentary twist.

Which of your characters could you write as half their current age? (I’m not gonna cheat and say Mel, I promise.) I think writing a 30yo Treena would be very cool. However, writing a 13 or 14yo Lithium who is just learning how to use her super powers would be WILD.

What big city would your characters do best in? London? New York? Tokyo? Mexico City? Rio? The Fish Food characters would all do best in New York or London, since they’re very close to Conover. Lithium would prefer Rio, though, and Babylon would lobby for everyone to move to Tokyo. The H2H characters would do best in Mexico City or London, depending on who decides to take charge and teach everyone the local customs.

What would your characters do if they were in a small rural community that was attacked by underground worms? This is giving me too many ideas for H2H. Gemma would be a little bit furious, since she hates having to get rid of animals, especially when they’re invasive. If the worms just minded their own gosh dang business then everyone could live in peace. If we’re talkin’ normal sized worms, like worm-sized worms, then Gemma would develop a pesticide that wouldn’t kill them, but force them to the surface where they would then be stunned by whatever weird solution Mel comes up with. Then the town would have a Worm-Off, where the person who collects the most worms wins free pie for a year, courtesy of Harry’s. If we’re talkin’ DnD-style Purple Worms, like Beetlejuice worms, then Mel would take over. She’d help organize an evacuation and steal Oz’s gun, just in case. Then she’d do some spoilery things with Gemma assisting.

What is the worst place where you’ve ever wanted to write? Probably while I was taking the math section of the SATs. Kinda inconvenient, brain, thanks for that. Other terrible places: mid job interview, in the middle of an empty street at midnight, anywhere I’m sitting where I have terrible posture, watching a slam poetry event in a very crowded bar, etc.

What’s the most uncomfortable subject you’ve ever written about? I’ve written a little bit about hate crimes and loathed every second. I’ve written a character actively contemplating suicide (he was a WWII soldier) and that was not fun at all. I mean, I also wrote a paper about sexy (somewhat graphic) wlw poetry for my Sexuality class, which a lot of people would be uncomfortable with, but I thought it was a very good collection. Go read Marilyn Hacker’s stuff, it’s good.

If you had to change the ending of any famous novel, which would you pick? The Great Gatsby. We don’t end with the green light, screw the green light. Gatsby wills all of his possessions and wealth to Nick and Nick becomes the next James Gatz. But this time around, he pines for the man who was killed in the pool just below his balcony while pretending to love Jordan, who finds out and amicably marries him because 1920s. She then uses Nick/Gatsby’s money to purchase an automobile manufacturing company and makes cars in every color but yellow. (Gotta maintain that color symbolism for F. Scott, I guess.) Nick discovers Gatz’ old bootlegging and illegal activities buddies and starts up a criminal empire. He and Jordan become the biggest, queerest, most spiteful and angsty crime bosses in New York. Nick makes it his life’s mission to take down false accusers, vigilante style. The car manufacturing company is what they use to launder money. Daisy divorces Tom because they’re both terrible people. Daisy takes her daughter and moves to California. Jordan sends Daisy’s daughter money secretly, about a hundred dollars a month. The last line is something about how Gatz was always reaching out and chasing green, but because of him, Nick is steeped in dark, bloody red. I would then write a sequel about Nick and Jordan and their crime empire that spans the East Coast. God, I hate this book.

If you had to change your life, what would you change without regret? Start therapy way earlier, 100%. That would have saved me a lot of nonsense.

If the end of the world where scheduled a week from tomorrow, what would you do? Would you tell anybody? Everybody? Keep it a secret? Assuming this was legit and the end of the world was actually happening, I’d probably try to tell some big-shot geologist or something, hoping they spread the word. Other than that, since debt won’t be a thing, I’d take the people I love on a killer trip around the world.

What would you do if a wizard offered to cast one spell for you, but your worst enemy got the same spell? Hmmm. I’d ask them to cast the Self-Realization spell, so they would instantly become aware of the effect their actions have on others and know exactly how terrible they’ve been to other people their whole life. Maybe then they can be a better person. My anxiety makes this spell ineffective on me, since it’s already there! Thanks, brain!

Which would you choose, never eating in the same place, always eating the same meal, always eating with the same people, or never eating with the same people? I’d choose always eating with the same people. I like frequenting restaurants I like and eating different things. I don’t think I could deal with only eating the same thing/off the same menu forever. And I have bad social anxiety, so constantly eating with new people would probably short-circuit my brain eventually. A good meal in good company is pretty great, though.

@sunlight-and-starskies‘ Questions:

What is your favorite genre of music? I’ll always be a rock fan at heart. Right now, I really like folk rock and any kind of music that sounds like it has history behind it.

What are your favorite words? Illustrious, shimmer, soliloquy, incarnate, bound, and many more. Also most Yiddish curses.

Describe your ideal vacation. Somewhere cozy where I can explore and chill at my leisure. A week of artsy events in the city. Exploring landscapes in the country.

If you could have any fictional creature for a pet, what would it be? Why? Pegasus! I can ride and they can fly. We’d make an excellent team, and where we’d go, we wouldn’t need roads.

Which fictional universe would you live in if you had to live there for the rest of your life? Logic dictates the Star Trek universe, since I’d probably be an average civilian. Post-scarcity society? Sign me the hell up. My heart, however, is screaming ROHAN.

Favorite childhood toy? Uh... I honestly can’t remember.

What is your aesthetic? Good smelling old books with doodles and notes in the margins, a pile of unfolded clean clothes on a chair, a stack of handwritten papers perched on the corner of a desk, the smell of breakfast cooking when you wake up, the immediate “woops” shock the moment you trip over something you should’ve moved earlier.

Tell me a random fact about your current project or you. About me: I have a birthmark that kinda sorta looks like an elephant. About Fish Food: The Coalition knows what happened to Hydrophase. So does Sparkplug.

Are you an early bird or a night owl? Night owl, all the way. I like the idea of being a morning person, though.

What is your favorite food? Pasta! Or any kind of Asian food.

What is your happiest memory? Oh, geez. Ummm. When I was little, I would curl up in my grandpa’s armchair and eat Burger King breakfast sandwiches on Saturday mornings.

#about me #writeblr #my process #tag game #11/11/11 tag #11/11/11 tag game #writer tag

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reflectiondetonation · 6 years

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aaaaaaaaaaaaand it would appear that whoever sent me the first anon is now... sending anons to my mutuals and friends claiming i’m some pedo? well, great.

anyways, i would like to make a request: if you receive such an answer, please post a link tot he following two asks to make clear my stance on this all:

https://takamakiann.tumblr.com/post/178395031130/i-recently-caught-up-with-hsl-and-satou-and-shio

https://takamakiann.tumblr.com/post/178395186085/ok-im-done-with-this-discourse-once-and-for-all

i have never watched the anime (you literally cannot say i support an anime i have never watched?) and i have not read the manga in several months. it was a flavor of the month i got into for iconing, and i liked the idea of it as a psychological horror drama about a kidnapping with a villain protagonist. now that i am aware of what has happened in the manga and anime since my absence: and now that i am aware it has become much worse in my absence i am disowning it.

@anon, if you are there: you are doing nothing but antagonizing me needlessly at this point. soon i will make an amendment to my rbf or about about my feelings on HSL in the wake of both the most recent chapter and the newest episode of the anime which again i have never watched. i’m done with it entirely because of this. i literally enjoyed Ha/ppy Sug/ar Li/fe BEFORE it delved into this full pedo bullshit.

you are not doing anything to help yourself. maybe i was a fool who ignored warning signs for the sake of enjoying something, i admit that: i am very good at enjoying even bad media and perhaps this time i simply went too far and turned off common sense. you are simply antagonizing me at this point if you chose to continue, especially bringing my friends and mutuals into this. calling me a pedophile and trying to convince my friends that i am when from the VERY BEGINNING it is clear my view of HSL was something different from the reality because i stopped reading it: i wouldn’t be surprised if you just wanted to stir trouble. It’s no secret more than a few people on this site hate my guts and would love to see me driven off.

unfortunately for you i’m owning this entirely: so you can quit while you’re ahead. as someone once very active in the discourse scene, you learn to tell when people are sincere in their callouts and discourse and when they just want to stir trouble. i can tell you’re the latter.

leave me alone, and leave my friends and mutuals alone. i’ll be reblogging this a few time throughotu the day and night, to ensure my mutuals and friends know where i stand, so you won’t be getting much from this.

#drama cw

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noxstrix · 6 years

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ABOUT THE MUN.

hello. i am coyote. my pronouns are she / her and they / them. i am over 21 years old, and a full time college student. i’m a practicing pagan in the real world. i have adhd and anxiety, so i really prefer to reply to drafts selectively and with mutuals only. my classes are mon - thurs and i tend not to reply very much on those days. because of this i’d call this blog medium activity. as of right now nisa is my only character. i believe everyone has the freedom to say whatever they want on their blogs, within reason, please do not follow me if you are someone who is easily offended.

i know my rules are long, but they are to keep everyone on the same page and to prevent any future discourse from happening on my blog or between us as writers. thank you so much for taking the time to read everything, i sincerely appreciate it !!

TRIGGERING CONTENT / TRIGGER TAGGING.

please exit the page and unfollow right now, if you are under the age of eighteen.

this blog is extremely triggering. i cannot stress this enough. blasphemy is a reoccurring theme. a lot of the content i write here explores conspiracy theories about the biblical apocalypse, the vatican and its links to illuminati, free masonry, and the ninth circle. if you have ever been curious enough to research on these cults, then you would likely know they are linked to subject matter such as human sacrifices, sex trafficking, murder, pedophilia, etc etc. while i do not promote or condone any of this, there will be frequent mentions in my writing of these topics and i won’t be tagging them. blasphemy will also never be tagged on my blog.

images posted / reposted on this blog are sometimes graphic and contain blood, gore, or melancholy. i will not be trigger tagging anything that does not make me personally uncomfortable. this blog is mine and i can do or post whatever i want on it. however, sometimes i do feel like there’s a line that might be crossed in regards to my followers.

i will be tagging any triggering imagery as / horror. if you wish to add that to your blacklist. additionally if you have any really specific, and legitimate phobias you require me to tag, don’t hesitate to message me privately. all phobias brought to my attention ( ie. spiders, eye gore ) will likely wind up under the blacklist tag / trigger. i will not be tagging anything such as food, or body image.

THE CHARACTER / THEFT.

my character takes basis from biblical, luciferian, satanic, gnostic and jewish mythology. she is lilith’s reincarnation. i however, do change up some of the lore and give it my own ideas and flavors. everything about nisa and lilith, i headcanoned myself. same goes for her partner blog lucian / lucifer ( @antichrstis ). i wrote both of biographies. please do not steal any aspects of either character, or any of my lore regarding their universe, as i worked very hard on their background stories. i will post a call out, if i catch you imitating, copying, or stealing anything. this is your one and only warning.

AGE LIMITS.

because this blog is full of mature, adult content, please do not follow me if you are under the age of eighteen or you cannot maturely handle in character content like profanity, sex, horror, violence, torture, mental or physical abuse. if either of the words sex or smut bothers you and makes you feel even a little queezy or you have an aversion to it, i definitely do not suggest following. while i don’t smut often on this blog, it does happen, and when it does, it’s with characters whose writers are over the age of 20. sorry, i personally do not feel comfortable writing smut with muns younger than 20 years of age, i don’t care of 18 is the legal age, this is my personal preference.

additionally, i do not ship my oc against characters whose face claims are under the age of 25. i will not ship her with characters under the age of 23 ( divided by 2 + 7 rule ) that’s creepy to me. not only is nisa thirty one years old, but lilith is older than the earth’s creation. don’t even try to come up with excuses or convince me otherwise because it’s gonna get you hard blocked, you feel me?

MUN =/= MUSE.

nisa’s personal beliefs and actions, are not my own ! please keep ooc and ic separate in this regard. these are works of fiction and this is roleplay. the mun’s personality is not the muses. she’s a bit of a binch sometimes and narcissistic, but just because she is rude and mean to some characters, does not mean i, the mun, feel that way towards you ooc, or towards your character!

CHARACTERIZATION + METAGAMING.

please, please, please, read nisa/lilith’s about pages in full. like every detail, okay? because i am so, so very tired of people approaching her as the stereotypical lilith. or approaching her automatically like she’s a bitch. if you’re a bitch to her first or give her an attitude, you better believe you’re going to get a reply according to that ten fold.

nisa is in essence, a fallen angel / demon, and the creator of witches and supernatural monstrosities, reincarnated. lilith is sometimes interpreted in biblical prophecy as the anti-christ’s partner in crime, which means only god can kill her. you can throw holy water at her, you can torture her, decapitate her, but your character can’t get rid of her.

she is true immortal. if you are going to pick a fight with her, pick your battle wisely, because she will not hesitate to use her magic or destroy your character to make a point. i do not hold her characterization back for any reason, so when you find yours flying across the room or pinned on a ceiling, don’t be surprised.

also bear in mind she has the ability to see people’s pasts and future, to pick up on their emotions, insecurities, and decipher personal things about them. i always read character’s backgrounds first to get an idea, and sometimes dig through headcanons pages for some juice. unless your character is a witch or supernatural being who has taken precautions spiritually or magically to block anyone from doing so at any given time, don’t be surprised if this happens. i analyze your subtext as well, so anything your character is feeling or any vibes they’re giving off may or may not additionally not be picked up on.

if you read this and you’re thinking “lol overpowered, mary sue,” don’t follow me. it’s that simple. all of the powerful / evil characters you hate to love on television are mary sues when you strip away the lime light media. i suggest taking a look in the mirror and getting off your high horse when it comes to your attitude towards original characters, kay? awesome.

GOD MODDING.

ah yes, god modding. please don’t do it to my character unless discussed first, or unless you are sending me a starter! starters are the only situation i let people gently god mod in, because i know it can be difficult writing threads out of thin air.

do not undermine evil or magically powerful characters. i think most of us have been around the rpc long enough to have seen the psa going around on tumblr about this. it’s truly frustrating, when you have someone’s human character or any being capable of dying, repetitively poking a villain with a sharp stick, and then getting all butt-hurt when the other person replies accordingly with negative consequences for their muse.

because my character is an immortal, with nearly all magical abilities, i am going to be honest with you. if your character does anything threatening towards nisa/lilith, or anything which might provoke her to harm yours, i will god mode in my reply. again, pick your battles wisely. this only happens if your character does something to deserve it. there will be no ’ attempts made ’ because if they are human, she can literally begin choking them from across the room, melting their brain, breaking their bones, setting them on fire, or instantly kill them with a tap on their shoulder, if she chooses.

if your character is supernaturally based and has magical powers, etc, i will message you first and give you a heads up so we can discuss how we want their fight to end and which direction to go in. every attack on your supernatural character will be attempted. in counter, if your character wants to engage in a magical battle or some sort of violent fight with mine, i hope you will respect me the same way and message me before hand.

ENGAGING / INTERACTING WITH MY CHARACTER.

this blog is mutuals only! if i don’t follow you please do not send me random memes, or anything unprompted. also please do not like any of my starter calls or reply to my open starters. if i don’t follow you back, please don’t feel bad! it is most likely because i don’t see her interacting with your character, you post too much ooc, or i already follow too many of a certain muse. i am ocd about what is on my dash. i have adhd so a fast and clustered or disorganized dash does give me anxiety!

with that out of the way, any mutuals, whether we have or haven’t interacted, are always welcome to send nisa/lilith random starters, dialogue one liners, crack, memes, headcanon questions, etc. there is no limit as to how you can interact with me or how you want to. if you feel like interacting with nisa, feel confident that you can just do it and don’t hesitate !!!!! none of you will or could ever annoy me tbh.

SOFT / HARD BLOCKING / UNFOLLOWING.

this blog practices both soft blocking and hard blocking. if i soft block you and you try re-following, i hard block. i do this to protect myself, and to protect my creative freedom on my blog. i don’t owe anyone an explanation. if i see frequent call outs, callout reblogs, vague posts, or negativity on your blog, i will not hesitate to block you as i see fit. please keep your ooc political views off my dash. i really don’t give a shit, since i’m here to roleplay.

if you think i might have unfollowed you on accident ( bc lets be real the mobile app is really trash and my thumbs are clumsy ) please unfollow and then refollow me to alert me of my mistake. my tumblr msgs are currently for mutuals only, so that’s the easiest way to get my attention.

SHIPPING / SMUT.

as far as shipping is concerned, this blog only engages in pre-plotted ships. all pre-plotted ships will get their own verse.

nisa is a complicated character and she is demiromantic. she isn’t really a flings kind of person and i bet you’re thinking ’ lol but it’s lilith ’ and yeah, that’s true, but just because the bible called her a whore, doesn’t mean she is one. i’d really like to point out that they gave her that image because she disobeyed adam and god, whom are both men. did i also mention that the bible and rabbinical story of lilith, was written by men?

okay, great. now, we’re on the same page. many pagan practices and religions believe that periods of celibacy are a good thing, and actually makes witches more powerful, because sexual energy is powerful. before nisa accepts her fate of being lilith’s reincarnation, she does this frequently, as well as fasts, so that her various uses of magic, or that her visions, have an amplified effect.

in contrast, sometimes celibacy gets to be too much and she needs to actually release that tension and craves companionship, so one night stands, and flings are more likely to happen over romantic ships. she is flirty by nature and sometimes touchy-feely, this does not mean, however, that she wants to engage in sexual relations with your character.

i will only write with / ship with one lucifer, and that is @antichrstis in her main verse.

if your character is feeling nisa, or you view her character as someone yours might want to romantically ship with, and you would like it to happen, please feel free to message me andwe can discuss verse arcs and details ! don’t let what was previously mentioned above deter you.

i briefly mentioned smut earlier in my rules, but this is a reminder that i will not smut with anyone under age 20 or any muses whose fcs are under age 25.

DISCORD / TUMBLR MSGS.

if we’re mutuals, message me at your leisure! if you would like my discord, it is available upon request. i am open to ooc chit - chatting and plotting. i like making friends and getting to know people, so don’t be shy!

#noxstrix rules.

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