#the nogitsune

[deafeningnightcollection-things]

So like, was there an original version of the script where Eli was possessed by the Nogitsune???

Cause there were too many implications for it to be an accident.

He’s been sleepwalking the past couple of months

He knows where the Nemeton is

The weird fixation the Nogitsune has with him

[here-for-the-frogs]

[antelabbitdoods]

LOSE YOUR MIND.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

he is v o ¡ d

(just found this rough sketch going through old files... it's so ominously nogitsune-like!)

[the-liminal-place]

[bi-slut-buck]

If you're telling me Parrish's fire is strong enough to burn the mountain ash barrier, the nogitsune and Derek out of existence but not Parrish's pants then I'm calling bullshit

[chriscdcase95]

My thoughts on “Teen Wolf: The Movie”.

So I watched the new Teen Wolf movie. Ultimately. I'm giving it a six out of ten. While there was more I liked about the movie than disliked, I had quite a few  gripes.  

I didn't see it as horrendous as a lot of fans say it is, but there are a few valid critiques I've seen. Maybe I'm just easy to please.

I think some of the issues could have been fixed if there wasn't such a big time skip; like instead of fifteen years, five years. Maybe instead of raising a teenager, Derek would be raising a toddler. Though I don't think we'd get the same kind of story for Eli that way, especially for this generations teen wolf. 

Spoilers below.

1. So I got into Teen Wolf back in high school, and I remember being a die hard Scallison stan back then too. I'm not as big of a Scallison as I was back then, but I am glad to see them be endgame, if it wasn't for one small thing.

My main question is if Allison aged a bit after her resurrection ? Like is she still considered a teenager or is she considered a young adult now ? I feel like this is a nitpick, but some In-Universe clarification would be nice! Feels like something the writers overlooked.  

Then again, werewolves are slow to age in the show's lore, so I guess you can apply "Vampire Rules" to these kind of romances. Maybe I'm overthinking it. I mean the show used to tease Parrish and Lydia, in season four; back when she was a teenager, and he was in his 20's. As if over half the fandom wasn’t shipping Sterek.

Actually, while I was working on this post, I read that Allison was eighteen when she died, so that's...better I guess.

2. Speaking of Parrish, his and Malia's relationship...I'm okay with it, more so than Scott and Malia. I mean they didn't do much with either pairing. Maybe that's the Malira shipper in me talking.

With Scalia, it felt like they just slapped them together because Scott needed a love interest for the final season. You could make the argument that a lot has happened over fifteen years that we didn't see.

With Malia and Parish, it feels like there's a whole ass story we didn't see, but y'know, show, don't tell. 

3. While I'm on that, the movie leaves a lot open ended, that it felt like it was setting up a follow up. This is were most of my problems come from. I was thinking maybe it would tie into Wolf Pack, but I've been hearing that the show isn't meant to be a direct spinoff (or even the same universe) as Teen Wolf. 

One thing I'd like an explanation of is Eli's mother, which again feels like they're saving for a follow up. Speaking of Eli, he became an instant favorite of mine, and someone I wouldn't mind seeing again.

Also, the cursing and nudity in this movie, I'm not saying it's out of place, and far from being prudish. I like that they’re being more risqué, but I’m also glad they didn't go too overboard with it. Still,  “Darkness, you motherfucker” absolutely killed me!

Another gripe I had was that Kira didn't return. Like this is a story where kitsune are front and center, and one of the antagonists is a monster her mother helped bring into the world. 

You’re seriously telling me she’s not up for another round ?

We're introduced to a new Kitsune, Hikari, who I have nothing against, but it really feels like Kira could have (should have) filled her spot. Especially since Hikari didn't have a proper introduction for a new player. "Oh, Liam has a new girlfriend who's a kitsune ? Welcome to the team I guess."

4. The villains...here's where I have more of an issue. So the Nogitsune makes a comeback. Which is fine; I saw that coming as far back as the trailers. 

But the movie's other Big Bad is Adrian Harris, with no explanation for his survival. I mean sure, a slashed throat/strangulation is an injury you can survive, but the chances are often slim.

I could have easily bought this Big Bad Duumvirate, if there wasn't something that stuck out; Stiles wasn't there. 

I can accept that Stiles isn't part of the story. I can accept Stydia splitting up (albeit begrudgingly). But Stiles was the Nogitsune’s primary tormenting victim, and the one Harris had the most beef with. You telling me he wasn't on their radar ?!

You're telling me that even if Harris survived or came back, the first thing he wouldn't do was try to access the speed force and pull some Eobard Thawne buffoonery on Stiles ? 

Get out of town!

Anyways, the Nogitsune was a serviceable villain, but I feel like Harris could have been replaced with another past antagonist. Say Tamara Monroe, considering she was the series cliffhanger villain, and as of this movie her arc's unresolved. They probably wouldn't have been able to pull any kind of twist with her, but she at least would fit more. 

Hell, even Theo Raeken would have been more fitting; the guy such has a proud history of subverting whatever redeeming qualities thrown his way, I still have a hard time buying his “redemption” at the end of the series. Actually, it wasn't even a redemption, it was just the one genuine Pet the Dog moment the guy actually had.

Anyways, Harris probably would have been a better fit in a story that had Stiles in it.

5. Not gonna lie, Derek's death was something sorta I saw coming.

What I mean is, I certainly saw someone in the main cast was gonna die. That's like an unspoken rule in “Next Generation” sequels. But I thought it would be someone else. If not Derek, it would be one of the parents.

Who'd I'd probably have die instead would be Chris Argent. I mean if you're gonna bring back his daughter, you'd think one consequence would be that Chris would die in her place.

Derek's death, I'm more mixed on, but ultimately accept. I would have preferred if Chris was the one with the heroic sacrifice. I still think it would be a more fitting end than Derek’s.

I heard some complaints that Scott and Allison pretty much adopted Eli, but I didn't see it that way. When Scott and Eli interacted, I got more of an uncle/nephew vibe than any father/son thing. 

The way I see it, Eli just has a large support system following his father's death; a support system that just now includes Scott and Alison. And let's be honest, there's no way and hell Derek is gonna let Peter raise him.

I've been told this was intended to be the start of a trilogy, so if we get sequels, hopefully they'll fill us in on what we missed.

[all-i-do-is-live-in-daydreams]

I want to erase the entire teen wolf movie from my brain. WHAT WAS TAHT???

THEY MADE THE PACK ESTRANGED LIKE THEY WERE A FOUND FAMILY TROPE AND NOW THEY DONT REALLY TALK ?? LIKE WHAT ??LIKE MASON AND LIAM THE VERY BEST OF FRIENDS DIDNT INTERACT ONCE IN THE ENTIRE MOVIE WHAT ??

THEY PUT PARRISH AND MALIA TOGETHER ??? FOR WHATEVER REASON?? MOST RANDOM PAIRING IVE EVER SEEN

PUT LIAM IN JAPAN WITH THAT LADY AND NO OFFENSE TO HER BUT SHE WAS ONLY IMPORTANT CUZ SHE WAS USED AS A WAY TO MOVE THE PLOT ALONG YOU KNOW TO PROTECT SCOTT AT THAT ONE PART NEAR THE END ONLY THEY DIDNT EXPLAIN ANYTHINGWITH HER OR HER AND LIAMS CONNECTION IT WAS WEIRD IM SURE I WOULD'VE LOVED HER IF THEY ACTUALLY PUT EFFORT INTO HER CHARACTER

THEY BROKE UP STYDIAAAAA A CRIME A FUCKING CRIME IM SUING MR DAVIS FOR EMOTIONAL DAMAGES I DID NOT WAIT S I X SIIIIXXX WHOLE SEASONS JUST FOR YOU TO BREAK THEM UP AND WITH SUCH A LAME EXCUSE

MR. HARRIS ?? WAS THE BAD GUY ?? WHAT ?? THIS IS MORE RANDOM THAN PARRISH AND MALIA WHAT WERE YALL TAKING WHEN WRITING THIS MOVIE HE WAS AROUND FOR LIKE 1 OR 2 SEASONS MAYBE NOT EVEN THAT JUST IN A FEW EPS( I CANT REMEMBER HE'S THAT INSIGNIFICANT)BEFORE DYING ?? LIKE HE DIED DIDNT HE ?? EVEN IF HE DIDNT LIKE HE WAS SO INCREDIBLY INSIGNIFICANT IT TOOK ME AWHILE TO EVEN REMEMBER WHO HE WAS IN THE SHOW

THEY KILLED DEREK HALE. THEY TOOK HIM FROM ME HIS DEATH WAS COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY AND NOT TO MENTION COMPLETELY DISRESPECTFUL TO HIM HE DIED BY BURNING TO DEATHARE YOU KIDDING ME ALMOST HIS ENTIRE FAMILY BURNED TO DEATH AND IT CAUSED HORRIBLE TRAUMA AND NOW HIS SON HAS ALSO WATCHED FAMILY HIS FATHERRR BURN TO DEATH GIVING HIM THAT SAME TRAUMA WTF

All of this and not even mentioning the terrible directing in this movie. None of it moved smoothly at all like ot was weird to watch and even the acting was bad like all around this was a shit movie.

They gave us literally nothing we wanted. The only okay thing in this movie was Eli and having Scallison back, but not even they could save this movie. I kind of wish they had never made it and so I'm going to try to pretend that I've never seen it and that it doesn't exist.

[secretly-insane]

Noah Stilinski: hey Stiles, what do you want to eat?

The Nogitsune: the souls of the innocent.

Stiles Stilinski: a bagel.

The Nogitsune: no!

Stiles Stilinski: two bagels.

[antelabbitsghost]

teen wolf au where they play connect 4 instead of go and stiles defeats the nogitsune by drawing loss on the board

[knoxious-existence]

I’m just now watching the teen wolf movie, I’m like 40 minutes in, but it’s honestly pretty good, and I adore the fact that Eli is exactly like stiles 💕💕💕

[deklo]

i drew some stiles :3c and honestly i’ll probably draw more >:3c

[teencopandthesourwolf]

FIAT LUX

written for @sterekdrabblesgonelong using the @sterekdrabbles 23/11/22 challenge words that were: PART, MATTER and SPOT with the end-of-month theme of HONESTY.

sterek fic, MATURE, 2245 words, post-nogitsune stiles, stiles stilinski has PTSD, heavy angst, imagined body horror, healing, getting together, falling in love, POV stiles.

READ IT HERE ON AO3

.

"Hey, you good?"

Somebody spoke. Stiles remembers that. He also remembers thinking, at the time, how it sounded a lot like Derek's voice.

He'd been right. Of fucking course he'd been right. 

Stiles was scrambling to process what had been said to him, alongside trying to figure out what exactly was happening to his still-wobbly sense of self.

"Stiles? Are you okay?" 

Stiles couldn't answer. Couldn't get any sounds out of his strangled throat, nor force his suddenly arid mouth to move and make the right shapes needed for words.

Everything was muddying all over again, his mind and body becoming a wasteland in a heartbeat. He was barren, a damned apocalypse. Truth be told, since his possession, Stiles was just an empty shell, only pretending to be human. And now his memories were flashing before his eyes, having once again become a trailer for his fucked-up, one-man indie zombie movie. Although—no, actually. No, that wasn't right. This wasn't a trailer. The Horrors were back in full, movie-length, and were now playing out their incredibly specific brand of Existential Dread right before Stiles' glassy eyes in all of their glorious, terrible technicolour.

Spawn of the Dead: Double Feature!

Grab yourself an extra large bucket of Salty'n'Sweet and settle in for the midnight showing.

How, though?

How the hell could the parasitic evil which they'd ended—it absolutely had gone, it had!—be so inexplicably here? Like, right here and now, delightedly wrapping one crooked hand around Stiles's stringy neck while using the other to dig into Stiles's already bent-way-out-of-shape psyche, sinking its dirty claws in all the way again until Stiles couldn't think or see straight or even speak.

How could the thing they'd destroyed still have him so very firmly in its clutches?

In his peripheral there were now only blurred-out, bony digits where his fingers were supposed to be; Stiles couldn't stop the violent shaking as he looked down at his hands and felt bile rise in his throat that tasted of reams and reams of filthy bandages rapidly climbing his esophagus, in a far too-real scene from some disgusting, stop-animation nightmare.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Oh, fuck no. 

It was here. Even if it wasn't really; it was. Here, crippling each of his faculties, one by one with a sickening sort of ease, the ghost of it shutting down his capacity to process his surroundings, to operate his body correctly, to function as a human being, even if only a pretend one. It was too quickly obliterating his ability to just be.

To be Stiles.

Void.

Oh, God. 

No! No! No! No! No! No! No! 

Breath became cement in his lungs. 

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Re-appeared and yet not, the spectral memory of the Nogitsune was once more burrowing its way beneath pale skin and fragile bone, digging a six-foot deep grave ready to bury Stiles's power to answer a simple question and say No, no, I'm not okay and I really need some help here, and so very easily quashing his in-vain attempts at doing anything at all about this runaway train of a shit-show situation.

Chaos.

He'd lost control again. 

This time it was aftermath. Or aftershocks. Or afterburn or afterbirth or some other after-metaphor for absolute guilt.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

"Can you hear me, Stiles?"

Stiles wasn't really there anymore.

Stiles was spiralling, fast, due to that broken part of his soul ripping apart all over again and gaping open, a casm, a disgraced depiction of his abject shame for his past actions that now flowed out from the ghoulish wound like spilled wine. He looked down to see invisible gut-shot viscera tumbling out of him, staining his shirt and shoes like claret on crisp white sheets and instantly soaking into his skin and muscles and right through to the marrow of his bones, infiltrating his forever-infected anatomy in a strange sort of self-perpetuating vicious cycle. His heart, full of holes, was leaking its last vestiges of goodness, draining right out of him, his body now just a humanoid estuary. Other Stiles Juices added to the polluted mix—tears and adrenaline and cortisol, all becoming a veritable hurricane in his brain and chest and belly, swirling around viciously, dangerously—until it had drowned out his voice and drenched his autonomy in a chorus of non-existent Let me in! Until he'd lost his will completely to a bottomless whirlpool of contempt.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Oh, Void had truly left its mark. 

And so there he was. Just a stricken, hyperventilating five-foot-ten jagged fissure wearing his clothes and his face. A mask was all that was left of Mieczysław Stilinski: Stiles, just a stupid boy in the body of a not-quite man, who was suffocating in the mould and the rot of himself.

The intangible had brimmed over and drip-drip-dripped until it was gushing freely and spilling right out of him and onto the floor, becoming an epic tidal wave of oblivion that would splash and tarnish and permanently stain everything and everybody around Stiles, all that he loved. 

Again. 

Only this insanity wasn't invisible, not to him. It was a vivid Hieronymus Bosch knock-off. A never-ending bloodbath painted in brushstrokes of the richest of colours. Stiles was an oily waking nightmare, a moving tapestry of his own creation that was playing over and over and over on the glitched-out loop that was his faulty VHS mind.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

"Don't step in it," he'd whispered. 

He doesn't remember if Derek had answered. He doesn't remember much of anything after that. 

Derek, just like everybody else, was poisoned by Stiles's toxicity. Forever marked, just as Stiles had been—because of Stiles.

Stiles, with his bony hands that hid those undetectable tattoos in blacks and blues and mauves that were the inky Rorschach contusions of all his loved one's cuts and bruises; Stiles, with his immortal pattern of dead leaves that twisted along the gnarled branches of his inner Lichtenberg tree; Stiles, with his fear-induced awful decisions that had lead to the lives of so many being taken; Stiles, with his murderous intent—borrowed or not, it made no fucking difference in the end; Stiles, with all of this horror; Stiles, with his blackened soul that was now only recognisable as death.

Yet, in stark contrast, his haemoglobin-bright red ravaged veins were very much not dead. He felt them, now, itching beneath the surface of his skin, unreal yet so real and becoming vine-like, pulsating and stretching out their long creepy creeper-fingers to reach down inside of him, clawing their way back home to the black hole that was his centre. And they were growing. He could feel them swelling in his arms and his legs and his face. Alive. Becoming stronger and stronger, they traversed alongside his nervous system like a road map, journeying through what was left of his tattered existence and getting so big and so fat they too were branches and were somehow both choking him and splitting him clean open—Stiles, roots and all—his thoughts and actions reduced to nothing more than a fractured glass pane in an already damaged photo frame which threatened to crack and turn him into thousands of thousand-year-old shards of nothing but absolute destruction.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Out, damned spot. 

Maybe Derek had said more words. Begged and pleaded for Stiles to talk to him, to make sense of things for him. For Stiles to tell him what the hell was going on.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine—

ten? 

Or was it eleven, or twelve that time? 

Too late. 

Rip. Tear. Shatter. 

Stiles had collapsed under the weight of his own mistakes.

*

When something in his brain managed to press the pause button on the horror show, there was only numbness.

Nothing. 

Then remorse had once more seeped through his pores like a poisonous gas, a hazy mist of it eventually filling him and triumphing over delirium because, after some time—minutes, hours, days, maybe—Stiles was finally able to communicate again.

Well, sort of.

There were four words he had to offer.

"It's all my fault." 

And as he'd made frantic attempts to once again count his uncontrollably shaking fingers, he'd whimpered those words on repeat, for an indeterminate amount of time and in a thousand different voices, none of which sounded like his own.

"It's all my fault."

onetwothree—start again.

"It's all my fault."

onetwothreefourfivesixseven—shit.

"It's all my fault."

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine—

"Hey, I've got you."

Derek?

If he wasn't dreaming, it meant Derek hadn't left him. He should have. Stiles was to blame for so very many terrible, terrible things.

But Derek had stayed and minded him, regardless.

He took Stiles in, after that. Fed him. Forced him to wash. Watched him as closely as he ended up holding him, in a way that he shouldn't. In a way that nobody ever should because Stiles was a travesty. Undeserving. But Derek? Derek was good and so Derek did it anyway. And those big arms folding around Stiles broke Stiles all over again, broke him impossibly more. Only it was a different kind of break this time around. Maybe not gentle so much as it was firm and necessary. A resetting of bones.

Then, somehow, slowly, painfully, Derek helped to put Stiles back together again, which was nothing short of a Herculean feat.

That Humpty Dumpty Stiles, he'd spent weeks sobbing and going mute, sobbing and going mute, and sobbing and sobbing and shouting and shrieking and screaming the loft down, bringing his feral nightmares back to life and out into the open and into the here and now, into Derek's already too-difficult world.

Stiles was just a transparent bag of those reset bones. Fused with fear and sorrow and so much sin, glued up all wrong, and held together with tears and snot and guilt and shame—and an ancient, evil-tainted love; a love possessed. 

Until he wasn't. Until there were hints of a new kind of love shimmering around the edges of their lives. Something quiet. Something lighter.

A love made up of Stay here with me and Stay another night and consistently screaming into the dawn but never any pity nor judgement and whole days of silence and then communication via eyebrows and heartbroken Fuck Yous and last-minute notes left on the refrigerator door and second and third and fourth, fifth, sixth chances and just being there and Shut Ups with no real heat behind them and listening and listening and listening some more and sandwiches left untouched until there were sandwiches half-eaten and finally sandwiches scarfed down at the speed of light again and conversations with thumbs-up and thumbs-down and Don't Call Me Dude and comfortable silences and unexpected classical music afternoons and awfully bad puns and quality time spent alone together and Wanna watch the Discovery channel? and smiling eyes and crappy paper planes and precarious mountains of hot buttered toast and stolen borrowed too-big Henley's and thrifted old sci-fi novels and English to Latin dictionaries and games of PSYCH! from opposite sides of the same room and eyes being rolled into the backs of thick skulls and gallons and gallons of Dirty Chai Lattes and a far too-kind and outstandingly stubborn asshole's absolute forgiveness and furtively holding hands in the dark and weighted long looks that said I know, it's okay—I'm broken too and the silent question of Do you want me? and the tactile answer being Of course I do, you idiot. Of fucking course I do. 

It was a love that made Nogitsune love never, ever love. A real love that shook its head softly at such dreadful affection.

Werewolf trumps Demon, every damn time.

* 

Stiles might not be able to laugh—at least not properly, not yet. He's getting there, though. The quirk of his lips today is bigger than yesterday's meagre twitch. And who knows, tomorrow could even bring a grin. Stranger things, right? 

There's still pain. Stigma. Suffering. Still so, so much work to do. Only now it's manageable. A touch easier.

Derek's touch.

There are many more hard days and nights to come, Stiles knows that, but he is nothing if not single-minded and he's making steady progress. Every day, he's mending. Thanks to Derek and Stiles's determination, the fissure that he'd become is closing up and he is no longer infected with quite so much self-doubt. There's scar tissue, sure. How could there not be?

But Stiles is healing.

He's being replenished and renewed, little by little, bit by bit, and at long last he's finally finding his voice again. The right tone, a familiar pitch—and it's strongest in those times he utters a particular word. It's a name, actually, so often spoken as a mantra, or mouthed delicately like a prayer.

"Derek?" 

Of fucking course. 

"I'm here."

No more counting fingers. 

As it happens, Stiles Stilinski is finding his way back to his life and to himself with the help of Derek Hale, sometimes stumbling and yes, often having to crawl from the oppressive blackness, dragging himself through it using only his non-existent fingernails and stubborn will, barely making it out alive by the skin of his teeth.

Yet he knows, now, that he'll conquer that darkness. Because he's not alone anymore. There's help at hand, in his hand, where Stiles holds a candle that burns just as brightly as the Sun, the Moon and the Truth, and won't ever blow out—not while shielded by the shape of the 'wolf.

Fiat Lux. 

Let there be light.

[the-liminal-place]

[fiction-justanotherstateofmind]

I have nothing further to say, your honor.