#native american character

[native-indigenous-characters]

Today’s Native/Indigenous Character in Media is Ms. Hunter from Wendell & Wild!

Ms. Hunter is voiced by Tantoo Cardinal who is Cree and Métis!

[thisis-intersexism]

Thinking about that ask sent about an Intersex character stating their variation and comparing it to a Native American character never really showing to be part of a particular tribe.

I personally would rather an Intersex character not explain their variation and be able to just say "hey, I'm Intersex", especially since a lot of variations have to do with reproductive organs. An Intersex character shouldn't have to say they have Ovotesties or a micropenis variation or what have you unless there's an actual reason. Even the most Perisex looking Intersex person should be able to just say "I'm Intersex" without needing to elaborate further.

As for Native American characters, their culture is different from their sexual development, that's a different story all together. Like you said, some indigenous people don't know their culture for a variety of reasons and yeah sometimes indigenous characters are just thrown into a story to be there, but I don't think they're really comparable things tbh.

(Sorry if this is worded weirdly)

I'm gonna be honest, I have zero idea what this is referring to, but I get what you mean, and I agree!!

[daughterofthesunlands]

This is a safe space right?

Because I'm writing the second chapter of [Something] Between Us and uh...

I'm wondering what Awan wears underneath all those layers 👀💀.

Of course you're gonna reach the birthday suit at the end, but what is underneath that shirt, vest and jacket?

Sleeveless? A t-shirt? What colour? Does he wear a talisman? What gemstone is the talisman?

My mind is going so many places🫣

[marokonna]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82473906/chapters/217090946

All Quiet on the Southern Front

A half-Choctaw, half-British Crown Army soldier named Munroe Davy grieves the death of his lover Eriche Wolffe, after he is inexplicably killed at Passchendale, West Flanders, during The Battle of Ypres _____________________________________________________________________________ Six weeks later, a botched version of his lover, Eriche, is brought to him by the power of the Rezzer. Munroe is becoming increasingly attracted to their feminine allure. As the months go by, Munroe is assigned to the 36th Infantry Division, 141 Regiment with American Choctaw men, by Colonel Alfred Bloor. The men are assigned to interpret and signal German tactical moves in order to effectively combat the other side. Munroe, wallowing in self-pity, wonders how he can love the Ersatz while aiding in defeating the Axis Powers.

  It had been the 20th night Munroe lit the paraffin candle, a pitted cylinder, its long, mushroomed wick, in honor of Eriche Wolffe.

        The crimson, ardent flame rose, scintillating, licking at the fetid air. It parts the flesh-like wax like the hand of Yahweh dividing the Red Sea.

“I see it, I see it!”

        Munroe discerns his lover in the light, a brutish, handsome man, hoary locks shrouding the scarred side of his face. If the light hadn't illuminated him, Eriche would have looked no different than a golem or a dragon, his hardened stare igniting weariness in anyone who saw him. Yet here he was in the glimmer of the air, in the trembling pulse of the moment, and all the nights before and all the nights to come.

        He laid the candle down on the concrete plane, a table-like surface just under his bed. His coarse fingertips brushed over the abrasive surface, furtively chafing his skin.

         A robin’s egg blue container was seated next to the portrait of Eriche, a luxurious scent reminiscent of their favorite Starlight mints. It is embedded with Baroque motifs, and at the center of the metallic tin is a French noblewoman. Her powdery-white skin, pink cheeks, and a lacey caraco, echoed of elegance and artifice, asserting refinement that was impossible to find in West Flanders. A Belgian province now touched by war, the German salient, like the Mesopotamian crescent, once filled with rivers and fertile land, was vehemently undermining the British forces. He had purchased the tin in Boulogne-sur-Mer, off of a woman wearing a chestnut kirtle with saggy, droopy skin. He gave it to Eriche, who laughed, low and bearlike, saying, “What do I want with a box that looks like it belongs in the house of Versailles?”  He then pried the lid and ate four of them, throat pulsing with resounding pleasure just as he and Munroe had once been when they had slept together.

          The noblewoman’s glance was lidded, coquettish, and fixed upon the rest of Munroe’s shrine. As if to acknowledge her presence, he traced the embossed curlicue of a leaf on her arm. It was a flourish that seemed so delicate,  in the bilge of a Flemish dougout where the earth itself had been blackened and churched until it was made infertile.

          He looked past the marmalade-colored cans  which he and Eriche shared, filling their bellies with sustenance. The noblewoman then cast her eyes to the Venetian lace dolly, safeguarding the larger portrait of them together, Eriche’s hand brushing his shoulder .

         The dolly was pure white, with baroque patterns emanating from the base, the edges scalloped with intricate picot stitches. The designs are ornate, undulating swirls that flow in a constant motion. Acanthus leaves curled outward from the center, unfurling, budding with life. Garlands looped endlessly into the other, each tendril beginning exactly where the last had ended, continuing in a resolute pattern.  It was intricate and airy, barely touched by the grime that had settled into the plaster walls and onto the cots. How it was preserved intact, Munroe could never know. Yet, it represented a tumultuous sea, containing the depths of Munroe's love, infinite in all of its glory, and would remain unbroken even in passing.

          Many days had  he prayed to Yahweh to envince Eriche wholly, to conjure about his soul. The sun god seemed indifferent, casting his prayers aside as if he were a small ant in the grand scheme of nature. As if the sun god viewed all men as inconsequential to the universe. There were times when Munroe’s soul felt weary, when he rested on his laurels, giving up his determination and hope. He debated whether the word of Yahweh was obstinate, that they are a just and loving god.

          Next to the shrine, he keeps something equally sacred. The portrait of his mother, Talulah, and his father, Alan.

Talulah Davy

Alan Davy

 When Munroe was younger, people commented on how similar he looked to his mother. He had her thick black hair, which was indistinguishable from the mousy brown heads of all the grammar school girls. His reddish-copper skin, combined with his father’s peach complexion, made him a shining rose gold. He had inherited his father’s height and the particular slope of his nose, but everything else was his mother's. Sometimes Munroe would look at her portrait and find his own face looking back.

          Munroe  remembered giving Eriche a portrait of him when he was a teenager. He was still presenting as a girl, thick raven hair down to his back and pooling down his shoulders in turrets of ink. He was adorned with a comb, made of a carved antler, decorated with glass beads and radial designs, emphasizing spiritual harmony. The rachis of a copper turkey feather, suited with a tannish tip, was tucked underneath the rigid yet brawny teeth. He was wearing a cotton yoke dyed with velvet, embedded with patterns resembling the eastern diamondback rattlesnake.

          He looked down at himself now. The body that had been beautiful and reminiscent of a human was now restructured with animal parts. Sharp claws were wedged between his fingernails; his arms, which had been a normal length, were now elongated, hanging at his kneecaps. His hair, which once had been shiny and gleamed in sunlight, is now a rough, wet, tangled mass, akin to scraps of seaweed or algae blooms that spread in streams. His sciera was blackened, and his gray pupils had whitened, as if some creature had possessed and embued him into a creature hollow of himself.

        He remembered that before he had to shave his luxurious hair off before enlistment. It was customary for men to ensure sanitation, uniformity, and safety compatibility, no matter their heritage. He kept it still, wound carefully in a strip of cloth, tucked beneath everything else in his kit. He was hideous, but Eriche had not thought so.

Munroe stood before the shrine and folded his hands the way his father had taught him when he used to go to church. It was in a neat and deliberate position, the posture of a Sunday school Anglican boy, his father's thin, veiny hand guiding him.

Closing his eyes, he did not say the name, Yahweh. The sun god had given up on him a long time ago. Instead, he called upon the god of his mother, a god that would not do him any wrong. The Great Spirit.

" Hushtiahli

Thank you for providing me with determination, courage, and a hearty body.

Thank you for giving me life in this hellscape, and I ask for strength, that I may live another day.

And I want my Eriche to return to me as one ."

"Yakoke."

[ganal88]

Brave Bow

He is native american from Navajo (Diné) tribe and his adopted father to Roy Harper (Speedy & Red arrow) in Adventure Comics issue 262 by Robert Bernstein in july 1959

He appearance in this comics

Adventure Comics issue 262 in july 1959

Roy father saved Brave Bow

He has not appeared in live action yet not even in cw arrow or in any cartoon like Teen Titans and Young Justice

Native american history month it is important to know that does characters exist in dc comics or any comics and in any entertainment aswell.

[ellsatheghoulishgirl]

pinterest is more of a cesspit than ppl realise bc why did i just have this interaction

mcnumbskull: [potential hoo adaptation] doesn’t need to cast a native to play piper, they can just find someone that looks like how she is described

me: actually no, piper is native and there isn’t much native rep out there, they need to cast a native actress

moronto bigotrino: being native is already a big part of her character so that’s representation enough. i miss when ppl cared about a shows quality not just having representation

me: being native is important to pipers character so a good show would cast her as native to be true to her character and portray her accurately. plus there aren’t many roles for native actresses so we shouldn’t take from what they do have

[womeninfictionandirl]

Equinox by Jeff Moy

[koresnymph]

Working on some Seras and Tsali ship art !!

Oh! I forgot to introduce my other Oc, Tsali Williams ! She’s a native vampire hunter from the states who is loosely affiliated with the Hellsing Organization