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theyhavetakenovermylife · 1 month

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Hi! I love your writing so much I’m so happy I fell on this account 💖 Your dark turtles works made me think of a scenario for the 2003: Fast Forward series? 👉👈

After Dark Leo gets wounded and is kept in the turtle’s medical bay, reader brings him food and checks up on him. He tolerates reader and even slowly gets to enjoy their company. Dark Leo feels territorial at the sight of Leonardo with reader knowing he clearly has a crush on them. He starts being jealous and feels the urge to steal Leonardo’s place to get reader’s affection and claim them.

Caught Between Light and Darkness (Angst..?/Fluff)

Dark Leo x reader x FastForward!Leonardo

A/N: Today we’re doing a crossover between the Fast Forward boys and our Dark Turtle cuties. I love it!😍🖤💙

Warnings: Jealous dark Leo, and Leonardo trying to show off😂🖤💙 Oh, and faking of pain.

So far, the plan had gone mostly as planned. Leo had gotten access to the penthouse, even if that meant he now was locked up behind a holographic field that was only lifted when Donatello or one of the other turtles had to get in close, in order to take a look at his wounds. It wasn’t hard for Leo to fake irritation, as to be honest, he found his counterparts very annoying. Always so happy and bright, with a tendency to turn on the light before he was ready for it, causing him not only frustration, but headaches and the kind of pain a kanabo clone would feel from sudden light. Absolute pains in the ass they were.

Well, most of them. There was one that Leo wouldn’t necessarily call a pain, but only a minor irritation… or maybe just a little prickle in the side. You were… not exactly like the others. You seemed to understand how lights worked with Leo, and took the time to slowly turn on the light. And you brought him food. A lot of food. Even after the first day where Leo flipped a tray and told you to leave him the hell alone, you continued to come with food, with or without the other turtles. Sometimes you would just come into the med bay and do nothing but sit and talk to him. At first Leo found it strange, and spent a long time trying to figure out what you were trying to do. But as time went on, Leo came to a realization - you were not trying on anything. You were there simply to talk to him. To keep him company and to check in on his well being. And that… had not been part of Leo’s plan.

Leo had only been in the penthouse med bay for a week, and he already found himself looking forward to the moment that you would walk through the door, with food or not. Though he never smiled your way, or gave any sign that he had come to enjoy your presence, Leo waited and looked forward to you, every single day. Sometimes he would even act like he was asleep, keeping a small eye on you as you made your way around the room.

For a time Leo forgot what he actually was there to do - to make the turtles trust him, giving him the opportunity to let the other dark turtles in, all so they could prove to Darius Don that they weren’t as thick headed as he liked to call them, and deserving of better ways of living. More food for Leo and his brothers was one of the main reasons he decided to do this, but as he laid still, watching you with half closed eyes, he momentarily forgot that goal. Instead he found himself wondering if you had always been so nice and sweet. He must have overlooked it while he and his brothers fought their counterparts. But even back then, Leo had noticed your beauty. It was hard to overlook, even when his focus had been on his non kanabo counterpart, and his annoyingly fast moves. That little blue covered grimling could make Leo’s blood boil sometimes. But he had never felt his blood boil over the same way, as it did one of the following days.

Leo sat out on the balcony in his medical bed, kept from going anywhere due to the energy shield surrounding him. Laying his side, trying to protect himself from the sun in the sky, that kept blinding his eyes and making his head hurt. Not off to a good start.

It had been Splinter and Donatello’s idea to pull Leo out in the sun, so that he could get some “fresh” air and some “healthy” sunlight, being kept company by Splinter doing gardening and Donatello practicing with his bow staff on a mat.

Splinter tried to engage the annoyed kanabo clone in some friendly conversation, but was only met by grumbles and spatting sounds from the large blue turtle. Leo had no desire to talk with anyone, while the sun was cooking him alive. What about kanabo did these people not understand?! Donatello had said something about his turtle side, but Leo couldn't care less. The sun was nothing but a burning ball of pain, and Leo wanted it gone. Fucking drown it with the water Donatello had provided him on the side table. Had it not been for that damned energy shield, Leo might just had snuffed out the life of the sun, and then thrown himself on the still overly happy and talking rat and turtle, grabbing them with his bare hands, and-.

“Do you guys have space for two more out here?”

Leo’s anger and frustration was instantly replaced by intrigue and curiosity, along with a small amount of longing, and maybe even… happiness, the moment Leo heard your sweet voice.

You stood in the glass doorway from the penthouse to the balcony, a mat rolled up under your arm, making it very clear that you had intended to train out on the sunny balcony. Your presence brought life to Leo, but before he could move in his medical bed, someone came into view behind you. The exact same someone that Leo would throw into the sun before dunking it with water - Leonardo. The sight of Leonardo with a mat under his own arm, put a big damper on Leo’s mood. Of course he was there too.

“Of course, (Y/N)”, Master Splinter said, smiling at you and his eldest son. “There’s always space for more out here”.

And so, you and Leonardo folded your mats out on the balcony and begging stretching, warming up for your training.

Staying on his side with his shell facing the sun, Leo forced himself not to look at you and Leonardo training together. But then Leo heard you laugh, finally looking at where you and Leonardo had now started going through stances. Leonardo stood behind you, positioning your body the correct way, every once in a while tilting your hips, accidentally tickling you as he did so. With every small tickle, you instinctively would move your arms around yourself, meaning that Leonardo would have to reposition your arms once again, for a moment wrapping his arms around your from behind. And that almost sent Leo spiraling. Especially when he realized how much Leonardo was enjoying it. With every laugh that escaped you, and movement of your arms, Leonardo would laugh, playfully scold you, before doing the whole deal all over again, at one moment even hugging you from behind, while the two of you almost fell over laughing. It was a blood boiling sight that hit Leo with a sudden realization. If Leo had started growing fond of you, then was it possible that his DNA source also had? It hit Leo harder than a brick wall, and caused a headache stronger than the sunlight ever could. Just like Leo, Leonardo had developed a crush on you. A big crush, only rivaled by Leo’s.

Leo watched you and Leonardo, feeling his body tense up and his breath growing shallow. He clenched his fist and grinded his teeth as you and Leonardo started sparring. Seeing you listening to Leonardo’s every word, your attention fully on him, as you did your best to improve your punches and ducks, your smile and eyes sparkling whenever he praised your doings. But when Leonardo suddenly grabbed your arm, followed by a series of movements that had you pinned on the ground underneath him, with Leonardo smiling proudly above you, Leo couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t just watch his sun loving counterpart attempt to take over your heart. No, Leo had to do something about it.

And so, Leo threw himself on the ground next to the medical bed, making sure to land on his injured arm, and let out a loud cry of pain. You reacted instantly, pushing Leonardo off of you, and screaming at Donatello, telling him to turn off the energy shield. Donatello scrabbled in haste with the buttons on his forearm, before the shield was turned off, allowing you to hurry to the side of Leo.

You made your way up to Leo’s head stretching out your leg, before rolling him onto his back, allowing his head to rest on your thigh, while you began undoing the wrappings around his shoulder, in order to take a better look at his injured arm, all while Donatello quickly made his way over to help.

With his head resting on your thigh, Leo could look directly up at you, quickly catching your eye as Donatello started to move and bend his arm. Leo faked an expression of pain, causing you to hold onto his head, softly rubbing your thumbs against his temples in soothing motions. Leo had to swallow his deep churr before it could boom through his chest, and break the scene he had put on. Yet the small sound he accidentally made caused you to grow even more worried, focusing all your attention on trying to calm him down while Donatello continued to check his arm and shoulder.

“You’re okay, Leo”, you spoke softly, your words like butter to his ears, while your fingers continued to make soft shapes on his face. “You’re doing great. Just relax, and it will be over before you know it”.

“Thank you, (Y/N)”, Leo said, straining his voice to make it sound like he was in pain, throwing a quick look towards Leonardo, who stood with Master Splinter. While Splinter looked on in concern, Leonardo stood with his arms crossed, a showling look on display. Leo had to bite his tongue in order not to smile. Of course Leonardo knew what Leo was doing, his was his clone for fuck sake. He could easily tell when Leo was faking pain. But was he going to say that out loud, and risk your anger? Hell no. Instead he would just stare disapprovingly at Leo, letting him know that he had caught on to his little act. And so Leo looked back up at you, finding your concerned eyes, while enjoying your warm hands against his face. “It’ll get better now that you’re here”.

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speedystarshine · 1 year

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Various TOH characters x readers (General HC’s)

Characters: Eda, Lilith (Platonic), Darius, Adrian, and Steve.

Eda

H-Hot...bird woman..

She is so amazing we love her

She will definitely get you anything at the drop of a hat

No, she doesn't pay for it.

Sometimes when she's bored she'll drag you around town to find some mischief to cause or something to do

If her and Lilith ever get into a fight, you are the barrier. Every. Single. Time.

"Y/N, can you tell my darling sister to stop leaving apple blood cartons everywhere?"

"Y/N, can you tell Lilith to mind her damn business?"

Y/N: *eye twitch*

If you know about the curse she'll appreciate any support you give, even if it doesn't look like it.

Will use Harpy form, especially if she knows it flusters you- poor owl beast is so done.

She is very protective of those she cares about, so she'll deffo bail you out if you happen to get in trouble. She'll feel so bad if it's because of her shenanigans 😭

She likes to drag you into her nest randomly. In her mind, pretty things in nest. Y/N = pretty thing, pretty thing = in nest. Don't say anything about it, though, she'll get so embarrassed-

Lilith (Platonic)

Cool history nerd aunt? Hell yeah!

Definitely overloads you with random info at any point of the day. She cant help it, especially if you get her started on a topic thats special to her.

She'll talk for hours then, not that you mind :)

She does really appreciate it if you listen though, and even more if you engage and back up points.

Is definitely the type to cringe you out, especially in front of your friends. She's cool like that, even though you hate it-

If anything happens to you or you get in trouble, she gets so worried about you!!

I feel like she's the type of person where panic makes her do smart stuff quickly, so she'll instantly patch you up with care if you do get hurt.

I feel like because of her, you'd have a love-hate relationship with Hooty?

Like, you would protect each other to the max if needed but they totally team up against you all the time and it's so not fair >:(

Darius

Ah yes, our favourite peacock.

He treats you like royalty, so be aware of that.

Spa days? Spa days. You keep laughing whenever he puts on a face mask and he gets grumpy about it-

He acts like he's above it but let's be honest, he would totally love to gossip with you.

He somehow knows about everyone and everything in the castle so watch your back if your trying to hide anything from him (he tries not to peep if it's like, a surprise for him but he probably already knows)

You two shovel talk Adrian, it drives him mad 😭

You know if you get into an argument and your parents leave a bowl of fruit or something as an apology?

He definitely brings a mini abomination to bring you something.

He will eventually apologize face to face, but who likes confrontation? Not him.

Co parenting Hunter co parenting Hunter CO PARENTING HUNTE-

Is super worried abt you after the day of unity, and immediately seeks you out (and vice versa).

Adrian

I'm just gonna be upfront. He's draining, but that's the fun of it! (Or not.)

He is 100% catboy confirmed.

He doesn't even bother with the whole "I act like I don't care but actually do" thing he's just super clingy and has no shame <3

He's also super p(r)etty, and can get jealous quite easily. Make sure to give him lots of attention!

Surprisingly doesn't shovel talk Darius, he has some semblance of respect for him, but he just hates everyone equally. Apart from you! (And Terra. She absolutely terrifies him, don't leave them in a room together)

Take everything he says with a grain of salt though, he twists his stories a lot.

E.g: Someone accident tripped him up? It was attempted murder. They tried to break his neck and-

He is a dramatic person, but what do you expect?

The type to just flop onto you and go boneless after a long day, no matter what your doing.

Also treats you like royalty! Just... In his own way.

Steve

Steve! Everyone's favourite demon/ex-scout boy!

He is so affectionate, but in an awkward kinda teenage way.

He buys you flowers.

Gives the best advice? Y'know how you can no what something tastes like just by smell and sight even if you've never had it? Like that but with advice.

He talks about you all the time to Mat!! He's super happy if you two get along, since you are the most important people in his life.

(if you don't though, immediate deal breaker. His little brother is so important to him, so sorry..)

This is random, but he has an obsession with candles.

One time you told him all that smoke wasn't good for the environment, so he bought "bio-degradable" ones from a certain pig at the night market..... He's trying I promise 😭

Motorcycle rides? Hell yeah! He won't ever say it (unless it comes up ofc) but his favourite rides are where there's not really any destination in mind, and your just driving around because.

He somehow is friends with everyone on the boiling isles? Don't be surprised if you see someone who you'd never expect to see talking to him.

The goodest boy ever. Treat him right!

#the owl house #the owl house x reader #toh #toh x reader #eda x reader #eda clawthorne x reader #lilith x reader #lilith clawthorne x reader #darius x reader #darius deamonne x reader #adrian x reader #adrian graye x reader #steve x reader #toh steve x reader

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crimeronan · 2 months

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On the topic of Luz trying to find every ethical legal non-murdery way she can of messing with Amity's parents.

I'm just imagining her staying up at night, trying to think of *evil plans tm* to mess with them (she's being very serious about it, note book on the bed like she's a normal teenager doing normal homework and all) but when she gets Hunter to double check her ideas he is grossly disappointed in the most loving and positive way because he knows how Luz is.

Hunter was hoping for burning down the factory or throwing them in prison on trumped up charges. But he looks through it and it's all relatively reasonable legal reforms.

Stuff like workplace health and safety laws (with inspectors instructed to place Blight Industries under constant scrutiny), shifting the tax burden to wealthy over the poor (with perhaps slightly obsessive auditing from the BI version tax office) ending the contract to buy murder robots from them to cut off one of their key sources of income. Raising the minimum wage and granting workers significantly more rights. Passing a law singling them out by name giving Darius the power to shut them down at any point for inspections if he deems their products to be of poor quality.

Odalia and Alador (mostly the former) only really care about prestige, power and wealth, and Luz wants to hurt them by taking all of that away in a way only a wise and beloved ruler can. Just pulling out all the stops a reasonable-ish government can to screw over a business empire and erode its reputation in the eyes of the public. Whilst avoiding all of the dictatorial associations of just having them disappeared.

Imagining what might happen if Amity finds this notebook, she doesn't say anything, she just adds more notes on other laws and ideas that would burn their fortune to the ground.

(sorry if this is too long and rambly)

this is hilarious. hunter is like "i can't believe you aren't even Blackmailing them" and luz is like "it hurts more to strip their power in broad daylight." hunter's like "these are all legitimately good reforms. but if you wanted to be evil you could just arrange an 'accident,' you don't have to be moral about it" and luz is like "why would i kill them. if they're dead then they don't get to see their empire crumble"

hunter, raising an eyebrow: i see you're feeling Really Normal about belos today.

luz, swatting at him: MY DESIRE FOR SUFFERING HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HIMMM >:( LET!! ME!! BE!!! EVIL!!!!!

#^girl who is lying #hunter's like yeah alright whatever if this is your evil villain arc then go ahead. get it all out of your system #replies #horrible mindscape trauma pals #shitty idiot repression gang #princess luz au #toh

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thousand-winters · 1 month

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Living with Darius after Belos is defeated, Hunter slowly learns it's okay to ask for stuff. Sometimes it doesn't go as he would like.

One time, he asks Darius if he can borrow ten snails for something and Darius says "sure!" At the time, Darius is too busy or too lazy to grab his wallet, so he tells Hunter where it is and allows him to get the snails himself.

Hunter goes to find his dad's wallet as instructed, but he gets nervous and anxious once he picks it up. Even though Darius gave him permission, taking out the snails himself makes him feel like he's stealing from his dad and feel all sorts of bad.

To calm himself down, he needs to take the whole wallet back to his dad and have him pull out the snails instead.

Even having Darius' permission, Hunter is just not used to simply taking things for himself, especially when it's something such as money because it's not like he's going to be grabbing that and then giving it back immediately like he would with other things he has gotten the courage to ask Darius if he can borrow before.

The brief thought of finding a temporal job or something of the sort to pay Darius back does pass through his head, but ultimately, it feels best not to be presumptuous and just go to Darius because what if he didn't hear Hunter asked for ten snails and that ruins his budget for the week or something? Granted, it's not a lot of money but who knows... maybe it's better if Darius checks himself so he can determine in the end if he wants to let him borrow that money or not.

Darius is very confused when he sees Hunter bringing him the whole wallet but seeing how anxious he looks, he just asks him if everything is alright as he gets the snails out for him. Hunter probably is also like "I know I asked for ten snails, but it's fine if you can't give me all of those, I know I'm asking for a lot, and really, I can figure it out myself, you don't have to do anything-" before Darius cuts him off and just hands them to him.

It's not hard to guess where this is coming from, it's in part that Hunter isn't used to being allowed to want things and then ask for them, but it takes a while for him to be comfortable grabbing anything in the house in the first place. It's very much his house now, but Hunter was used to kinda feeling like an intruder even back at the castle, his room being the only place that was truly his and now...

Well. It's all very new. Even in his room sometimes he feels like he's disturbing it just by being there.

Darius does his best to encourage him, acting naturally when he asks Hunter to bring a plate or grab this or that from the kitchen or the bathroom or wherever, because Hunter sort of needs that "practice" so it feels natural for him to just do things like that without awaiting for permission every single time, which Darius notices quickly he does at first, not doing so much as grabbing a glass of water if he hasn't been told he's allowed to use this or that glass.

It helps that Darius gets him some things so they feel like specifically his own, but he still needs to get comfortable with everything so he doesn't continue feeling sort of like a guest in someone else's house.

All of that can't be solved by just acting casual and giving Hunter gifts every so often either, because then Hunter will think he just has to accept what he's being given and that it's selfish to ask for more. Darius figures out teasing him lightly helps; he's not mean, just playful, and it does make Hunter see that perhaps it's silly to worry about being perceived as selfish and greedy when to Darius it's such a small thing.

It takes time, but Darius is very patient.

#hunter deamonne #darius deamonne #dadrius #the owl house #toh

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ninjastormhawkkat · 4 months

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Matthew wasn't sure if he should be so surprised by how resilient his son was. Hugh though wasn't looking very pleased. His expression was one of absolute exhaustion and worry. Gene of course picked up on this, honestly feeling slightly guilty over putting the alien through so much stress in such a short time. Matthew had shared that same worry over the mad scientist, knowing just how little time his son had to recover. Yet he couldn't say no. What would've that done? Make Gene all the more stubborn and make him do something just as rash as he did? No. He knew better than to do so. “As long as you don't overdo it. Of course. I don't think your friend could take much more of our recklessness.” Gene gave him an apologetic expression as he knew what his father said was true. “I know. I'm sorry Hugh. You know I have to do this. I'm not going to just stay in bed while all this goes down. I'll stay in bed rest after this all you want. I promise.” Hugh sighed, crossing his arms. “You wouldn't listen to me anyway. Don't you get yourself hurt during this or I swear I will strap you down and leave you like that while you heal up.” Gene couldn't help but let out a little laugh at that. He knew that the alien would absolutely do that. His eyes went back to the silver falcon in his hand. The mad scientist was still slightly worn out but he's never felt so revitalized like this. Given life anew in a strange way. It didn't take long for the mad scientist to get himself dressed. Alex and Tristan had wanted to intervene and keep him from joining but they knew that would've encouraged him more as well. Though that couldn't stop either of them from helping Gene. He gave them both a look that showed he wasn't going to let them coddle him. He's never let them do so before. Even when he wore himself down to the bone when Becky went missing. That thought had made him stop and looked around for her. Having lost track of the girl during his identity crisis. No one else seemed to have noticed until they heard a whoosh and saw Becky nearly tackled her father over. She hugged onto him, holding something with one hand. “Hey, kiddo. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you again. I'll be fine, I promise. Confused but fine.” Becky looked up at him, still not quite believing him. She quickly then placed another item within his hand. It was the goop ray he had left behind during the chaos. She had gone back to find it to give it back to Gene. He stared down at it. “Aw, thank you for getting this for me.” In another city, they were unaware that there was another gathering. The mayor of Newport had just finished giving the heroes the go ahead to storm the B.E.A.W Labs near their city. They were met with a riled up crowd filled with villains, civilians and other heroes alike. They didn't appreciate that these people were messing with their heroes as well. Ones they've grown to love over the years. They were just as inspired by Maddrixs broadcast. Sure they were a bit more on the bloodthirsty side but they were nowhere near the level of Darius. He had angered them so much they've put aside their differences temporarily. Having a bigger goal to accomplish first before resuming the status quo. It was unsettling just how quiet they went when they had seen the heroes step out. Waiting with bated breath for them to give them instructions on exactly where to go. Hydro had been surprised to see an old friend among the crowd. J.J. the villainous jester. There were a few others they've recognized. The circus themed villains that loved to team up with the jester. A certain doll who was once part of the villain roster of Fair City. They were going to bring every single one of them to the facility. To wait for Maddrix the malicious to take lead and destroy the hellish place. Taking down all those who willingly worked within there. Experimenting on innocent lives. They weren't going to stand for it at all. Even Atomic Steele knew to finally put aside his fury whether he liked it or not. He still despised him but he trusted his friend despite what happened. He still cared.

It still felt weird to Atomic, learning all that he did about his father's biological relationship to Maddrix. From what that woman Margaret told him, it made the hero think back to moments of his childhood before the massacre. How his dad never talked about his grandfather only telling the boy he had one who died. His dad only talking in details about his grandmother. There were times his dad seemed sad and frustrated about something, when a younger version of Max tried asking his dad what was wrong, all his dad would say was that he was just worried about and missing someone. At the time Atomic had no clue his dad was referring to an estranged cousin. The last time Atomic saw his dad alive, before he told the young hero to stay put and safe, was when his dad was watching the television and seeing what was going on. Atomic clearly remembered his dad having a horrified look but also a pained and guilt ridden expression. Although Max still hated Matthew, there was a part of the young hero that took some pity on Matthew and his father's past. A part of him that was strangely glad his grandfather perished by Maddrix's hands. Gene was ready to leave with Matthew and the others to head back to city hall. He had finished assembling his gear and putting on his attire for battle. Hey this was a serious matter but Gene didn't want to look like a bum going into battle. He also was kind of unsure about putting on his old Dr. Two Brains attire, which was just his work clothes. So Gene decided to make a compromise combining his former villain attires with his own spin. With Alex's and Tristan's help, the two aliens gathered a new lab coat for Gene along with a new change of clothes. These clothes were in clean and pristine condition. They also helped him gather a top hat and a silver mask, something similar to his old Professor Terror outfit. He didn't have the original clothing since he burned his outfit after the massacre. There was also no time to add some special sequins or elegant designs to his clothing much to Gene's chagrin. Gene looked into the mirror one last time before he left with Matthew, Alex, and Tristan. Gene's still white hair was pulled back into a ponytail. This earned an odd reaction from Becky as she muttered "no sandwich words" which made Gene recall Becky once telling him about the Chucktopia incident. Becky otherwise reassured her dad that she wasn't bothered by his style. Gene's silver mask was similar to how his old one was. It was an eye mask with embedded designs. The top hat Alex got him was definitely something similar to a Victorian era top hat but with modern designs. Gene had kept his gloves as his hands were still altered. He had gotten rid of his usual goggles as he saw no reason to wear them over his mask. As Gene held his old staff in his hands, the one thing from his Terror days he could never part with, an eerie feeling went down his spine. He recalled memories of his past, when he first joined his dad into the field of villainy, when he lead his own rebellion of villains against his father, and when he took down Atomic Steele. That wasn't Squeaky in action nor was it connected to his old Two Brains gimmick. That was all him. Gene let out a sigh and small smile. He had no idea what he was going to do after everything was over. Gene definitely planned to give Steven back his name and identity since he was going back to his old name that had been established on official, yet forged, documents. Gene wasn't sure if he was going back into the field as a villain or take a break after everything he had been through. One thing that was for sure, Gene was going to determine his own path and no sabotaged experiments or crazy animals and people was going to affect what he wanted to do with his life from now on. Meanwhile back outside the hallways of the medical clinic, Matthew was learning one of the most shocking things in his life. "You were in the mafia!" Matthew exclaimed in a shocked tone. @dualnaturedscientist

#wordgirl au #wordgirl #fair city vs the facility #part 5 #maddrix the malicious #gene woods #professor carl woods #erraticeris #answered ask #dualnaturedscientist

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plentyoffandoms · 5 months

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daniel garcia x wheeler yuta x female reader??? threescome imagine???

De-stress

Main Masterlist ♡ AEW Masterlist ♡ Daniel Garcia Masterlist ♡ Wheeler Yuta Masterlist

Daniel Garcia x f/Reader x Wheeler Yuta

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Warnings: Some swearing. Threesome. Double Penetration. Oral sex (m & f receiving) cum om face. Smut below the cut

Gifs and photos do not belong to me.

WC: 688

Paul - Wheeler Yuta

Summary: f/Reader is stressed about her singles match against Shida. Daniel and Yuta decide to help her relax in a different way.

WHEELER YUTA'S POV:

"Fuckin' hell Danny. You gotta taste her." I told him from my spot between her shaking thighs. I looked up to see that his head was thrown back, his hands woven in her hair as he thrust his cock in and out of her mouth.

"Gotta feel her mouth, Paul. Shit, she has no gag reflex. Do you, sweet heart?" He proved this point by holding her head in one spot and shoving his cock all the way down her throat.

"Maybe another day. I like where I am, thank you." I said before I continued to eat her out. I can feel her soaking my face with her juices.

This went on for a bit until Danny pulled his cock out of her mouth, a string of saliva connecting to her mouth. "Fuck, almost made me cum."

"Want your cum Danny." She whimpered as she tried to pull him closer.

I pulled my mouth away from her pussy, making her yell at me.

"None of that." I slapped her thigh, making her quiet down. "We need to fuck her first, don't we Danny?"

"Yeah, we said we would help you relax before your match tomorrow." He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her with ease. I helped keep her steady as he gripped his cock with one hand and placed it at her entrance, before having her sink her pussy down, taking him fully inside od her.

"Oh my God." She moaned, her eyes fluttering as he bottomed out. I stood behind her, spreading her ass cheeks as wide as I could.

"Mmm, should I try to fit in beside him, or fuck this perfect ass?" I played with her ass cheeks as I waited for her to decide, but I became antsy.

I gripped the back of her neck and forced her to look at me as I leaned across her back. "Tell me which hole before I decide."

"Ass." She whimpered.

I lined myself up against her hole and slowly pushed in, my own eyes fluttering at how tight she was wrapped around me.

I bottomed out, not being able to get the last inch or so in her ass, but it didn't matter.

Danny started to move, being the inpatient man that he is, making her cry out his name. I wanted her to say my name, so I started to move.

Our two paces were very different, but we got her screaming our names. Her one arm flung over head, wrapped around my neck holding me in place as I fucked her ass. Her other arm is around Danny's neck.

We have lost count at how many times she has cum for us, but we are holding ourselves back, not wanting this to end.

"Paul." Danny groaned, letting me know he was close.

I quickly moved back, bringing her along with me, my cock still lodged in her ass, as her and I watched as Danny jerked himself off.

At the last minute, I pulled out of her and placed her on the ground in front of him, now jerking my own cock off, ready to cum all over her face.

She just sat there, a tired smile on her face as Danny came first. She closed her eyes and barely flinched when her face got covered by his cum.

I followed not long after, making sure to aim my cock at her mouth, so u could watch her mouth fill with my cum.

I closed my eyes and opened them just in time to watch her swallow the load that was in her mouth.

"Still feel stressed?" Danny asked as we watched in awe as she cleaned her face with her fingers, and sucking the cum off of them.

"Very much so. I think I need some more help with de-stressing." She sweetly said.

"I am sure we can help with that." I said to her, already picturing her in different positions.

"Maybe we can get Darius or one of the Tyler's to help?" Danny suggested.

"The more, the merrier." Was all I said, watching as he grabbed his phone.

Tag list: @lghockey @nicoleveno14 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @hooks-martin @wwenhlimagines @melissahausen @faerieofthenightcourt @tahiri-veyla @crowleysqueenofhell

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travlersjoy444 · 1 year

Text

Two Short trans! Hunter Oneshots

So uh the spirit of transness hath possessed me and I typed these in a fit of passion. In the first one, we have a transmasc Hunter and in the second we have a transfem Hunter. It's pretty much all fluff. I projected hard on Hunter in the first oneshot and Y/N in the second oneshot, so Y/N is very subtly implied to be transmasc in the second oneshot. Should be easy to ignore though.

Uh yeah! Let's go!

***

No.1: Safe (transman!Hunter)

In which you inform your boyfriend that you do indeed see him as your boyfriend

I furrowed my eyebrows as I sat by him in his new bedroom at Darius’s house. He was paler than ever, and where his armor usually sat was a white bandage that wrapped around his ribcage tightly.

“Hunter- you can’t wear that anymore.” I sighed, squeezing his hand.

“Relax (Y/N). I’m just gonna wear it until I can get my armor back, it’ll be fine!” He said with a bit of a gasp, tightening the bandage further.

“No! Look, I’m sorry, but this is crushing your lungs! Have you seen your complexion?! Why do you even need something tight there?” I exclaimed.

He faltered, looking over at me nervously. “I told you. I’m…I’m used to it, it makes me feel…safe?”

“Hunter…” I whispered, putting the pieces together. “No pressure, but are you…um…hiding something?”

“No, no! No I’m not-”

“Because if you hypothetically needed to hide something…there’s a thing called concealment stones. And I-ahem- may or may not have a spare to give you while you’re trying to blend in as a non-armor wearing citizen.” I coughed.

“...Oh?” He murmured, looking over to me.

“Yeah.” I nodded, fishing the red crystal out of my bag- I had been waiting for a reason to use it, and this certainly looked like one to me.

I pressed it into his hand with a smile.

“Thanks.” He whispered. “Can you ah…not tell anyone about…well. What I’m hiding?”

“Duh. You’re Hunter, regardless of your fuckin’ chest shape. And Hunter is a pretty awesome dude.”

He smiled and slipped on the red crystal necklace. “Thanks (Y/N). And this…doesn’t change anything then?”

I scoffed. “Of course not. I don’t frankly care what gender you were assigned at birth. You’re a dude. A man. A boy who I love very much. I just would prefer that you don’t damage your spine is all.” I said, punching him in the arm lightly.

He beamed, taking my hand. “I love you.”

“Likewise, dork boy. No matter what.”

***

No.2: Something to Tell Ya (transgirl! Hunter)

In which your boyfriend might not be your boyfriend

“Hey (Y/N)...” Said Hunter quietly as we stood in the human mall. “Can I ask you something…weird?”

I raised my eyebrow. “Er…what? Good weird or bad weird?”

He shrugged. “I…don’t know?”

I looked over at the rest of our group as they chattered loudly. “Is it something we should say in private?”

“Probably, but I just…need to tell someone. Like, now.” He whispered. “And you’re my partner, and you know a little bit more than me about…um…women’s clothes.”

I nodded hesitantly. “Do you want to talk alone here in the mall? I can tell the group that we’re just…exploring or something, would you like that?”

He nodded, squeezing my hand nervously.

I frowned, looking over to Luz. “Uh, Luz, let Camila know that Hunter and I will be right back, okay?”

“Okay-”

“Great, bye.” I smiled and pulled Hunter towards the single use restrooms.

“Okay…that’ll do, pig.” I said, locking the door behind us.

“Thanks.” Hunter said, still quiet. “I’m sorry about this, (Y/N), really, but I guess I just feel so sick of not saying things…and I know I can trust you.”

I put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. “You can tell me anything, you’re safe here.”

He hugged me back, leaning against the doors. “So…well..this is weird! But um…um. I think…I think I’m a girl!”

I raised an eyebrow. Not quite what I expected, but not unsurprising.

“Oh. Cool.” I smiled. “Do you want me to call you she/her?”

“You’re not mad?” He- er, they whispered.

“Of course not. I love you. When you’re happy, I’m happy.” I smiled.

“Then uh…yeah. I’d…like that a lot.” She murmured, eyes watering.

“Hey.” I said softly, hugging her again. “Is that why you wanted to tell me now? Would you like some help…getting some new clothes?”

She wiped her eyes and nodded.

“Cool. I’d love to help you!” I grinned. “Now I can use all my wonderful fashion knowledge! So…do you know what you're comfortable with?”

She shook her head.

“Hm, okay…I can work with that.” I nodded thoughtfully.

“Are you sure you’ll still wanna…date me?” She said quietly, tugging at the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “If I’m…you know, not a guy?”

“Jokes on you, I like both, and more importantly, you’re still you. You’re still the witch that I love dearly, regardless of your gender.” I said, rubbing her shoulder.

She smiled, wiping her eyes again. “I love you too.”

I wiped her tears with my sweater sleeve and smiled back. “Do you wanna start experimenting today then, or is that moving too fast? I have some old makeup in my bag if you wanna try now…”

She nodded hard. “I…I’d like to start now. I’ve um…been wanting to. Cue the makeover montage?”

“Hell yeah!” I grinned, opening my satchel to dig out the makeup. “I am honored to serve you your first makeover montage!”

***

Uh okay, thank you for humoring my transgender impulses. We will be back to my usual content in a bit lol

#x reader #the owl house hunter x reader #the owl house x reader #the owl house #the golden guard #golden guard x reader #toh hunter x reader #hunter toh #toh golden guard #toh golden guard x reader #trans hunter #transfem hunter #transmasc hunter #trans headcanon #please don't use ace bandages as a binder guys they're not good for your ability to breath #okay??!!

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drabbles-of-writing · 1 year

Text

Pretending Not to See Your Ghost

AO3

Chapters: 1, 3

Summary: Darius has begun to notice a few...𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 between Hunter and his old mentor. From appearance, to speech, to the smallest of characteristics, he always swears he'll blink, and his mentor will be standing right where Hunter once was, as though nothing had ever changed.

But he's sure it's only a coincidence.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hunter, he learned, was terrible at learning how to sew.

This was found out, rather embarrassingly (for Hunter, that is), when Darius noticed his own sewing kit was missing. And, going off on a hunch, he knocked on Hunter’s door—to find him, on the floor, strewn together in a jumble of threads and fabric, staring like a deer in the staff-light.

“...you know there are videos you can look up, yes?” Darius tried, slowly, looking Hunter up and down. “That was partially the point of the scroll.”

“Uh,” Hunter blinked, “I-I thought…I could do it on my own…?”

“Practice only makes perfect when you have an idea of what you’re doing.” Darius sighed, stepping in, much to the gleeful chirps of Hunter’s palisman, who was perched safely on his bed. “Let’s just get that off of you.”

And, to his surprise, Hunter didn’t complain. Just sadly held out his arm for Darius to snip away the strings, doing nothing more than set the rest of the supplies back in neat order. He seemed more surprised by Darius staying to offer his assistance (the boy was going to stab his own eye out at this rate) than the nonplussed reaction to his thievery.

Of course, that had to be when the more…alarming acknowledgments began to set in for Darius. The most being that…well, realistically, he always knew this, but…Hunter was a kid.

Stupid thing to say, he knows, but he had no other way to describe it. Hunter, since the very day he was announced to exist at all by the Emperor, was simply the nephew. He was always just the spoiled brat, just trying too hard, just an annoyance, just Hunter.

The entire time Darius tried to walk Hunter through sewing his torn cloak together, the boy talked, exclusively, about his palisman.

In that one session, which really only lasted about an hour, he learned the palisman was named Flapjack, he’d previously lived with the Bat Queen, kept pulling on Hunter’s hair, loved sunflower seeds more than any other, had many opinions about Hunter’s sleeping habits, and—well, just about everything else.

Darius hadn’t asked a single question about that palisman. He’d figured Hunter wouldn’t have answered, considering he had to know what would happen if he was found to be hiding him. He had assumed Hunter would keep up the stoic, petty silence. There had been no other reason for him to expect anything else.

He found it harder to get Hunter to stay quiet than to start talking. Not that he tried to keep him quiet, but—you get the idea.

Hunter asked a million questions, and Darius was willing to bet he wasn’t even expecting answers for half of them. What do palismen normally eat? Are they really as good as an artificial staff? Can they be repaired if scarred? Do they always complain this much? Do all of them talk to their witches?

Darius supposed if he didn’t want so many questions, he shouldn’t have answered each one Hunter threw his way. Then again, he was much too stunned, and much too surprised by the change of pace, to ever consider it.

“You’d do better asking Raine,” Darius had said, at one point, finding that he seemed to be doing most of the work sewing up the cape, Hutner much too busy talking a mile a minute, “I never got to have a palisman, but they did.”

“You didn’t?” Hunter blinked. “But Hexside lets its students have palismen.”

“My time at Hexside was far different from your friends.” Darius said simply, ignoring Hunter’s sputtering about them being acquaintances, not friends. “They were stricter. And I joined the Emperor’s Coven much sooner than them, I had no reason to ever get one.”

“Oh,” Hunter said, stroking his finger down Flapjack’s head, blinking at the cloak in Darius’s hand, “did you ever want one?”

(“Don’t you want to get one?” Jasper asked, ear flicking, as though it were something normal to ask.

“And do what?” Darius scoffed, hunching his shoulders. “Wait for it to get taken from me?”

“I’d help you hide it.” He insisted, smiling in a crooked, mischievous way.

“You just want a palisman for yourself.” Darius accused, and Jasper only shrugged.

“What? So I think they’re cool, big deal. They’d make a neat pet.”

“They’re not pets, you daft—”)

“Suppose I might have.” Darius said evenly. “But there was just no good time. Are you going to pay attention, or not?”

“Right!” Hunter sat up like a rod, startling Flapjack as he tried to lean forward over his knees. “I’m watching, I’m paying attention. Should I take notes?”

“We’re not doing homework on sewing.” Darius scoffed, though he smiled. “I’m not that cruel.”

“I’m good at homework, though.”

“That’s not something to boast about, little prince.”

For that, Darius received a rather pathetic pout. Not that Hunter would ever call it that, of course.

It probably shouldn’t have disturbed him to see such…a normal, dumb, kid-like expression on the boy. He’d heard about scouts mistaking Hunter for some troublesome kid back when he briefly went missing, and he remembered scoffing at the idiocy of the Coven.

He tried not to stare out of the corner of his eye. Tried to keep his eyes on the cloak and his words on directing where Hunter’s hands should go, blocking out just about everything else.

He supposed he was just a little too harsh on the scouts. Looking back on it now…well, he probably would’ve made the same mistake, too.

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axieta · 1 year

Text

Hungry eyes

Henry Winter x reader

Chapter 5

| What had passed in a blink of an eye |

That week I had spent at her place.

‘You’re quick’

She had said as soon as I knocked on the door of her apartment on that first day, a cloudy Tuesday.

‘I’m sick.’

I joked terribly mimicking a clogged nose, and she snorted.

Her flat wasn’t very lofty, cramped rather, but it wasn’t a quality with which it was built. Rather, the lack of space came from all the trinkets, books, cups and mugs, clothes, makeshift cigarette trays (I tell you, all those mugs, plates, cake stands and fruit bowls, were covered in cigarette ash and millions of tiny, orange butts) and many a plants scattered all over it. There was a convergence of all the kinds of alcohol bottles intermingling with piles of books and papers sticking out their flimsy, disheveled carcasses in each and every corner. Some of the bottles empty, some of them full, waiting for an opportunity to be opened. The moment I entered the crowded space I knew that I was walking into a smoker’s home, not only for the ash and the butts but also the sheer vail of silvery cigarette smoke blurring the contours of the space before me. In the morning light its tendrils curled up and untangled, white-rimmed swirls created fantastical shapes in the air, as if it was a living, breathing creature with a strange, artistic mind of its own. Ever present, the smoke followed her and her slowly burning cigarette like an importunate roommate. Everywhere she went, it appeared instantaneously, as she seemed to be smoking even more now, that she was confined to her flat. To be fair, I had not seen her light a single cigarette during that week and I wondered wether or not she had a special, everlasting ciggy on her hands. Truly what a mystical and magical trinket would that be. Once my eyes adjusted enough to those foggy conditions, I could see the flat in its full glory. And it was a really nice flat. Right opposite the entry, a huge floor-length window gaped at me from a frame of golden setting of ornaments. Like the mouth of Leviathan, sharp with sculpted leaves and vines it opened the flat to the grey world outside, sill damp with the morning mist. Before it sat a black, leather armchair with its feet resting put up and a small table on one leg, obviously holding a dangerously heavy looking stack of books and an ashtray. This time a full-fledged crystal cigarette holder and not any cheap substitute. In the middle of the room stood a hefty one-piece table, dividing the space. To its left opened the kitchen annex, strangely populated with plants, and without any kitchenware in sight. Everywhere where I looked, and so on the shelves, the counter, floor and even the sink, plants unraveled their green leaves, bowed their heads and climbed upwards, towards the ceiling, to hug the small iron chandelier with their veiny arms. I wondered how did she even managed to meander amongst this miniature jungle, but I figured that if anyone could do it, it would be her. And to the right, a big fireplace took the better part of the space left, disproportionally big to the size of the flat. Over it, supported on a stone shelf a giant reproduction of Philoxenus’ mosaic stood, framed in much tamer, silver mount. From it, the fierce Alexander on Bucephalus chased after Darius and his chariot. That classical accent felt somehow out of place, even more so when my gaze fell down onto the art deco set consisting of two slick, leather chairs, a couch and a glass coffee table, per usual littered with papers and other trinkets. Next to the fireplace loomed a dark, oak door, shut closed, concealing what I could only assume was a bedroom. I had never seen the door open, nor did I catch a glimpse of what hid behind it. Never had the chance to get close enough to her. For a second, months after that week I thought she might open herself to me completely, seal the deal of our forged friendship. And maybe she too was considering it, but then the whole Bunny affair took place and any trace of connection any of us might’ve had with her dissolved to a minimum. After that she became a whole different person, terribly distant from the girl I got to know in that smoked-up room. Overall, however disorderly, the flat felt somehow cozy. Homely, very her.

As I went in, I didn’t really know what to do with myself. I had no present for her ( I heard that it is only polite to bring a present when you pay someone a call for the first time, but I was so stressed with the visit it had completely evaporated from my mind) and so I just swirled my empty hands around, looking for something to say. Because what was there to say? I went there to maybe gain some insight on the tragic drama that was apparently at play between her and Henry, but it felt rather tone death to jump into that right off the bat. So I stayed, as I was in her hallway, a bit dismayed and disoriented. She, always the empath, must’ve felt my discomfort or maybe she just read the clear apprehension from my daft body language and so, to lift my spirits a little, she sent me a warm, reassuring smile.

‘Why don’t you sit down, huh Richard my dear? Have you eaten yet?’

‘No, no I haven’t I’m afraid.’

I said, truthfully. As I had already mentioned, the visit cost me so much stress that I couldn’t think of anything of substance, least to say breakfast.

‘Then would you like me to cook you up something? Scrambled eggs? Please don’t say no, I already promised I would whip up something for you.’

I nodded, thankful for her light tone and the slight, crooked smile that she kept on her lips. Weirdly, in that apartment she seemed drastically different from the ‘her’ from the outside. Somehow more delicate, less wild and more… well warm. The spark in her eye had not diminished, but rather turned into something more inviting, cosy. Maybe it was the effect her letter had on me, even so, it seemed as if she had shed the tough exterior she wore while in Hampden and revealed her soft belly to me. Truly surreal to think that, I know, but what else could I think while faced with a completely new version of her?

Her aura, usually a raging fire, sparkling with terrifying orange, screaming with fearsome yellow had simmered down to idle warm tones of embers gleaming with shy and affectionate red.

Sitting at the cluttered table I swiped some of the crumbs off of it and watched as she put on an apron and swiftly zigzagged around the kitchen. A pan here, a cutlery set there. She opened and closed cupboards faster then the speed of light. I could not keep up with her, even though I was simply spying her with my eyes and she was doing all the work. She moved with an effortless grace, because of course she did, and hummed softly, the same melody she did that night at Francis’s summer house. There was something familiar and light in the way she roamed about the kitchen. Not in that tacky, trite way some of the people try to show off their skills in kitchen, flaunting around what they had learned in curses and what-not’s, but in true, pure, kind manner. Everything she did seemed not like a performance but rather like a favor to a friend or an unexpected gift. It was a pleasant experience, seeing her in such a motherly light. Because that was her aura at that moment. Bright, soft and motherly. All that laid encapsules in those precise, rapid movements, from the way she lit the gas stove, to the way she twirled her hair around her finger as she tossed around the egg yolks on the frying pan reminded me of Vesta, goddess of domestic and civic hearth. With her own, gas-lit fire serving as her sacred attribute.

‘So what do you do for fun around here? Expect for reading and not cleaning your flat of course?’

She giggled, breaking another egg on the edge of a pan.

‘Not much I’m afraid. How hard do you want them fried?’

‘Not at all. And egg soup is what I fancy the most.’

Another laugh.

‘Coffee?’

‘Hmmm.’

Not so long after that quick exchange, she set a plate with the eggs, tomatoes and a slice of bread as well as a glass coffee pot and a mug before me.

‘My god, you really made a soup out of it, didn’t you!’

‘You want a soup, you get a soup.’

I huffed a laugh and she puffed at her cigarette. For a second it was quiet, the silence only disrupted by my fork scraping the ceramic plate.

My eyes wandered onto her hand squeezing her own cup with the dark beverage in it and I wondered if she was not going to eat herself.

‘Cigarettes and coffee, remember?’ God damn it, she must’ve been an oracle of some sort, seeing as easily she guessed what was going through my mind all the time. She shook her hand as if to illustrate her point. ‘I don’t need nothing else.’

‘Then what about that one? Are you going to drink it?’

I pointed at a mug that had my attention since I crossed the threshold as, and I already knew that from the letter, it bore a particular connection to a special someone I simply itched to know about some more.

‘Oh that ol’ thing? Well it’s waiting for its proprietary.’

Suddenly the wild grin was back on her lips and the mischievous spark shined in her eye. Her face elongated with poisonous fiendish intention. A true vixen if I’ve ever seen one.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. I’m going to throw it right in his face, next time he comes around.’

‘No you won’t.’

She slammed her hand on the table and the towers of books around us shook in their foundations as she let out a nasal laugh. It was pure and loud and contagious.

‘No I won’t!’

And we both spiraled into a fit of laughter. There was something nice, fulfilling about a slight mockery like that. I don’t know at whom we were laughing at so hard, at her, or at Henry, but either way it felt good to let loose a little. Usually, when I was with them, the whole pack of the classical course, I felt terribly on edge. As if I as much as sneezed in their presence, it would be seen as a horrible faux pas, a terrible transgression. But with her? With that newfound aura of delightful familiarity she brought in with her brilliant smile and those bright eyes, for the first time in months I felt like bird in flight. Like I would soar high into the skies on the winds of her pearly laughter.

‘Oh you’re in so deep, my Diogenes!’

She threw head back, snorting once more and I could feel the air coming into my lungs.

‘Eat up Richard, quick, quick! I have something to show you!’

When I finished I wanted to put the plate in the sink, clean it a little, but she just waved me off and tugged at my sleeve to follow her. She took me to one of the stacks of books and crouching beside it, she forced me to as well. Her sharp, neat fingernail slid across the many torn backs of the books, leaving a quiet tr-tr-tr sound behind, like a chirping of a beaver gnawing on a piece of wood, until she stopped at an uncharacteristically tidy, blue and silver, hard cover.

‘Do you know what that might be, my Crates?’

I shook my head, no, wide smirk spreading across my face at the new nickname. Now I was her apprentice.

‘Erotic poems, Rhetorical pleasure.’

Oh! What a devil woman! The smirk she gave me- the toothy, sunny smile full of that wonderful deviltry. How pleased with herself did she look! How beautiful did she seem in that prurient happiness of hers!

We were crouching so close to each other that our arms brushed and breaths mixed. I could smell that dreamy scent of hers and feel the unruly strands off hair she had now in a tight curl washing over my shoulder. She had a very disobedient type of hair, a few strands fell over her forehead giving her a disheveled look of a romantic poet, think Byron or Shelly. I wanted to push those strands from her face, behind her ear, but I didn’t find the courage in myself to do so.

‘Well, come on, don’t just flaunt that before my face, recite something for goodness sake!’

With a swift tug, she pulled the book from beneath all the others, sending the magnificent tower to the ground. A terrible, deafening rumble resounded in the quiet space, akin to a dragon’s roar and I jumped surprised, falling onto my arse. It hurt like hell, I must’ve hit my backbone, but my hurt did not last long, as she jumped over me with a fiendish yelp and onto the armchair. With one leg tossed over the headrest, and the other supporting her stance on the wobbly piece of furniture she smacked the book open on a random page.

‘Cana Fides et Vesta, Remo cum fratre Quirinus jura dabunt; dire ferro et compagibus artis claudentur Belli portae; Furor impius intus saeva sedens super arma et centum vinctus anis post tergum nodis fremet horridus ore cruento.’

Her voice was strong, deep and loud, perfect for recitation. Fire filled it with each and every word as she screamed the chant of foretold justice into the air above me. And as I watched her squinted eyes and pursed lips I thought the cigarette fumes started to get to me, because in my head she was glowing. Shining with unalloyed, heavenly smoulder that beamed from her eyes and came off her skin in waves. Sweet with the melody of her chant, illuminated with the grey light beaming from the window behind her she presented herself as a frightfully enchanting creature of light and mist. With her head tossed back, hair swaying softly as she nodded to the rhythm, teeth bare and r’s prominent on her tongue, a true Roman goddess emerged from deep within her, manifesting in that blinding, fascinating glow.

She was heaving, her chest coming up and down in utter and total perdition, her gaze directed upwards as if sending the residuals of her voice up, into heavens. A priestess of Forum Romanum.

I clapped, as she finished her verse and in turn got rewarded with yet another toothy grin.

‘One more?’

‘Yes please!’

One more turned into two, then three, four and five and before I realised it I was pulling out a cork out of the third vine bottle of the evening, swaying off the headrest of the art deco coach, screaming on top of my lungs, trying to shout over her.

‘No! It’s not salutam but salutem! Have you learned nothing in those classes you take?’

‘Oh I much prefer to recite in my mother language than in those dead tongues, you can cut me some slack!’

She slurred now, having far more to drink than I did, and I myself wasn’t feeling so sure about my clear mind.

‘Then say something in English.’

She frowned, suddenly offended.

‘Why would you, in all that is holly, assume that English is my native language?’

She pulled off the couch and stood before me in all her disheveled, alcoholic glory. Mars gracing her reddened face.

‘Is it not?’ I asked fearfully, my own voice trembling slightly.

Suddenly a bright smile appeared on her lips lighting up that cloudy expression she bore just seconds before and she snorted. Once again I have fallen victim to yet another of her silly pranks.

‘Now, get ready for I shan’t repeat myself.’

Her tone turned strict and demanding all of a sudden, still I could see a glimpse of humor in her eyes. God, how expressive and lively those eye were. I could bet my own left arm, that even after her death they would gleam at anyone brave enough to look into them, living a life of their own.

‘I’m all ears.’

She cleared her throat, straightened her back and lifted her head up, clearly preparing herself for a great epic. The air stilled around her, silence broken only by the crashing of the logs happily burning in the fire place. Even the silver cigarette smoke around us halted in its fantastical swirls as if to stop and listen to whatever great verse she had prepared.

And in that sublime atmosphere, those words fell onto my ears:

‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad.’

And then my roar followed. I could not help myself, by all that is holy, I couldn’t! The air came out straight out of my lungs, pushed out by an invisible weight and stroke my vocal cords in my throat. A strained wheeze of my laugh scratched my very being.

‘Is this funny to you, Richard Papen?!’

If it was anyone else screaming at me like that I would scram in fright, but it was her. Screaming with a slight note of amusement quaking in the back of her throat, she did not sound threatening at all, so I just snorted away.

‘No, no how could it? By all means continue!’

‘Fine. Fine!- but now listen! This is my favorite lyric of all time.’

‘Go on. The floor is yours.’

Once again, she positioned herself properly, seeing as that particular pose- stiff and serious was the only one in which she could recite Larkin.

‘From the top! They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had and add some extra, just for you. But they were fucked up in their turn by fools in old-style hats and coats, who half the time were soppy-stern and half at one another’s throats.’

Suddenly all the color drained from her face and her eyes turned cold, motionless, unseeing. Ghostly shadow covered her whole form and as the words left her mouth she pulled further and further away. Her voice turned scary, gravel and not so motherly.

‘Man hands on misery to man.’ Her teeth shined between her reddened lips, the only splash of color in her otherwise insipid face. ‘It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, and don’t have any kids yourself.’

This time I did not clap. Nor did I laugh. Looking at her I felt an unpleasant dryness overtaking my throat.

‘Do you… do you believe that?’

Her sharp gaze took my whole frame in. Suddenly I felt awfully small.

‘Do I? I suppose yes.’

I swallowed, hard.

‘And did your parents…?’

‘Immensely.’

The temperature dropped drastically in the room. I could feel the cold needles of hoarfrost freezing inside my lungs despite the fire raging in the hearth mere inches from me.

‘And you never wish to have kids?’

She must’ve felt the cold as well, she had to, because as soon as that sentence had left my mouth she tossed her head back and rushed to the raging heath, placing her hands on the shelf above, her back turned to me, put up and rigid.

‘Never ever.’

‘Even with Henry.’

Dry snort resonated off the dark stone of the fireplace, so different from her delightful giggle I got so accustomed in span of a few hours.

‘Sooner the sky will meet the earth and the sun will set in the west than I will ever have the gruesome though of bearing his kids grace my mind.’

‘Are you so sure about that?’

‘Positively. You cannot turn vinegar into jam. And you most certainly cannot consume it on its own.’

And before I could react, she looked at me over her shoulder, the orange beaming from the fireplace framing her face with gold, trembling light. And I think if I had not set eyes on her before she eyed me, I should have been struck dumb.

‘That’s a great analogy. He’s sour like vinegar, don’t you think?’

I shook my head yes, mute, speechless, despite winning the wolf eye agility contest as her sharp teeth glistened in yet another bone-chilling smile.

And that was our first day.

On the second day, I must admit I felt a little bit guilty about not presenting her with anything the previous day, so I troubled myself with dragging my portable record player as well as a few of my favorite records along with me, to make her up for that. I kind of feared her reaction, after all the record player was one of the, as she called them, devilish modernities of a man. But, no! She surprised me once again. I watched her watch the machine witch child-like glee and big eyes, following intently the rapid spin of the record and gazing incredulously at the knob with which I regulated the volume.

‘It is a positively wonderful thing, this record player of yours.’

She liked all the records, but most of all the Speak and Spell recording. What a strange thing it was to see a creature of light such as herself crouching over that crappy record player, nodding and bouncing on the balls of her feet, squealing with delight at every electronic note coming off the machine. She must’ve rewinded that particular record at least a dozen times, and at the end of that psychedelic session I was sure that every lyrics from every song written on it was engraved into my mind. So much so, that I felt positive that if someone came to me in the middle of the night and put a gun to my head demanding me to sing, let’s say New life, I would be, by god, I would be able to do it.

In the span of that night her lips curved up many times more than I had ever seen them. And they shined like freshly picked July cherries. We had not spoken about Henry at all that night and I suppose that was why she seemed so carefree and cheerful. It has come to my attention then that the slighted mention of his person could sour her mood like no other thing, in no time.

At the very end, when the sky behind the window started to turn from black to indigo and then to light grey, and I felt I had to go home, to at least wash myself off and sober up a little bit (she was handing me generous, copious amounts of vodka on that eve, clearly extremely pleased with the novelty I presented her with) she asked me to leave the record player behind, along with the Depeche Mode record. One look into those big eyes of hers and I knew I could not refuse. However, as I was leaving, I decided to not give up so easily.

‘I shall leave the record along with the player in your capable hands my Diogenes. On one condition.’

‘And what that might be, my Crates?’

‘We will clean tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I cannot stand seeing you vegetating in all that filth.’

She only snorted and waved me off.

‘Whatever you say.’

I had gone to my room in Hampden, washed off and laid down. But I could not stay put for long as my mind was being plagued by the images of her, deeply burned inside of my mind. When I closed my eyes, there she was, shining on the inner surface of my eyelids, and when I opened them, her face loomed over me, as if painted on my ceiling. She awakened something in me during those two mellow eves. Even though we did not do much, only jested and wasted our time on reading and listening to music, I found myself longing for her presence. For the mess that diminished the size of her flat, the dusty books she pulled out from their piles just to read a passage for me and toss them on other pile without much thought, for the reproduction of the mosaic hanging idly above the hearth. I was simply incapable to lead my life as I lead it up to that point, I was not able to sleep or rest properly for she, probably without even the intent to do so, had turned my whole life on its head. It scared me profoundly, because what if I was just like one of her books? Surely, for now entertaining to her, maybe even fascinating to some degree. But what if she got bored with me and tossed me aside just like she did to all the other volumes at her place? I don’t think I could stand that state of suspension. The dust covering my back, emptiness left in my soul by the absence of her laugh and the indentation in the shape of her watchful gaze. I rose from my bed, not getting much sleep, and rushed right to her doorstep. I could not bear the thought of being discarded by her and felt I had to squeeze dry every moment we had to share. This time I had brought paper and a fountain pen with me. I don’t know why.

I had not expected her to open the doors the way she did. Her impecable, slender hands clad in yellow rubber gloves, apron covering her midsection and a bandana securing her hair on her forehead. Domesticity taking root in her as she waved a duster at me, inviting me in, and smiled widely. She was cleaning… I did not expect her to take my throw-away comment from the night before seriously, rather I anticipated to see her that morning sipping on her coffee, with a cigarette in her mouth and a book in hand not bothered by it at all. And yet, there she was. It made my heart swell with pride at that clear indication that my words meant something to her.

‘You’ve got mail.’

‘I know. It’s from Francis. Leave it in the box.’

I stepped into the flat, fully, and noticed, not without a trace of solemn nostalgia, that the Leviathan window was wide-open, and the air around me was clear. No trace of the silvery tendrils of smoke I’ve gotten so used to.

‘Don’t you want to know what he has to say to you?’

The room before me was the same and yet completely different. Now the stacks of books and papers were neatly towering against the wall adjacent to me. No plates or bowls in sight and as far as I could see into the jungle kitchen, all of the dishes rested idly on the dryer, shining with polish. The make-shift ashtrays disappeared as well, and now the only sign that a smoker lived in this space was the crystal one resting in the middle of the one-piece table, right next to a number of bottles, clearly organised by hight, from biggest to smallest. I took the room in like a shock to my system. It was brighter, loftier and somehow colder. To be honest I kind of regretted my decision about suggesting the clean-up to her, as now her flat seemed a little bit expressionless, as if the havoc and disorder that ruled it up to this point contained a piece of her in it. But I concealed my disappointment and set my papers on the table.

‘Oh, I already know. He’s probably asking me if I want company.’

‘And do you not?’

‘Nah, I’ve got plenty.’

She waved her hand, scooping some dust from one of the sink plants and I giggled, warm feeling spreading across my chest.

‘You need help with anything?’

I liked to watch her like that. Unbothered by my presence, content with it even, as she went on about her things, chatting to me above her shoulder, as if my presence was just as normal and natural as the sky was blue.

‘Richard you wouldn’t have a clue where to put all of my dirty stuff even if you wanted to. Let me do my own thing.’

‘Then what should I do? I wouldn’t want to disturb you in any way.’

She laughed as if I just told a joke.

‘Why don’t you entertain me, huh?’

‘How?’

She filled a green watering can and slowly started to tip it over various plants. Some of them got more, some less water and I couldn’t figure out what was the system to her method.

‘Tell me a story.’

‘A story?’

‘Hmmm. Think of something. Fun. Sad. Grotesque. I would like to hear what you can come up with.’

I laughed, nervously. As I said before, she was a great writer, telling and scribing stories came to her naturally, even on spot, in forms of her little white lies. But me? I was sure I couldn’t muster anything up, especially under the pressure of needing to satisfy her.

‘I’m afraid that won’t fly. I’m not a great story teller.’

‘Sure you are. You’re a great observer. I constantly see you lurking around judging people. A watcher that’s what you are. I’m sure you can forge some of your peeping Tom experiences into something entertaining.’

‘I don’t lurk. And I don’t peep.’

‘Oh yes, and a magnificent liar. That too.’

I felt blood rush into my head as she said that. Deafening roar of my pulse in my ears made me sick to my stomach and hot with panic. Her gaze landed on me, sharp, intelligent, all-seeing.

‘Don’t think for a second Richard Papen that I haven’t seen through you.’

Sweat pulled under my collar as she pointed at my with her rubber-clad hand.

‘You’ve worn this shirt three times last week. With this exact sweater. And it’s not very neat. Faded and with a abrasion on you right sleeve. And threads are coming off your coat as we speak.’

I hid my hand under the table, numb with fear of her discovery. Fool. I was a fool for thinking I could carry on with my rich kid charade, especially right under her nose. How could I even think someone as sharp as her could ever let that slide?

‘No rich kid would ever allow themselves to roam about in clothes that are this fatigued. Sorry, but that’s true. Your not stock up enough, too swagger-less to deceive me, mister.’

I felt dizzy with nerves that pooled in the pit of my stomach. And she continued, with her back to me, carefully tending to her plants.

‘Don’t get me wrong, Richard….Why are you so pale? What is… Oh, god! I’m not going to tell anyone if that’s what you fear!’

I almost jumped at her sudden light tone.

‘You’re not?’

‘No! If that’s what you care about then no. You should already know that there is nothing that I admire more than a skilled liar. And there is no doubt to it. Not only are you a skilled liar but also daring. What a combination! Truly what a combination!’

I felt as if a stone was lifted off my chest as she laughed softly and came my way, light on her feet, as always and with a somewhat prideful grin on her face.

‘You posses the qualities of a great liar. And what goes with it- a great story teller. No tale is true back to back. Every writer knows to exaggerate a bit to make their stories more interesting. Lies are the same, except they lighten not your story, but your life.’

She patted my face in a reassuring gesture. I thought my heart had skipped a bit when she nodded with conviction as she stared right into my eyes.

‘I admire you, Richard. Ab imo pectore.’

She reassured me once again.

I could not tear myself away from her image. Intimidating in the situation of my exposure but also enthralling in the light of the praise she showered me with.

‘You’re a great liar.’

She repeated.

‘Takes one to know one.’

She giggled at my shy attempt at compliment and caressed my hair with her hand, like a mother does to her kids after comforting them. Her motherly side came back and suddenly I felt lighter than a feather, as no burden was now weighting me down. I was now bare before her. My soul and my lies, the complicated maze I’ve woven myself into seemed like a straight road, with no forkings or crossroads. And as it all fell from my shoulders and the knowledge that she already knew who I was and accepted it without a question, admired it even, seeped into me I started to feel somehow full and content. I relaxed my shoulders and sat further in my chair.

‘Come on Richard, don’t keep me waiting like that. Stop slumping around and tell me a story!’

Somehow, despite my identity already being out in the open, I wanted her to know more about me. To seize that comfort of being, of truly living as who I was and as I was and tell her all bout the things that rattled about my chest. So as she slowly came back into the kitchen and started putting all the dishes in their destined cupboards I opened my mouth and words fell from them in an unstoppable cascade. I told her about my childhood. About California and my dad’s gas station. About the TV I used to watch in my living room and my high school. I told her all about the med school and my distaste of it and then how I found about Hampden, through a pamphlet. How I was charmed by the photos in it, the atmosphere of mystery enchanted into paper and my longing for beauty. I told her about what I have been writing down in my journals, every fear, every insecurity or a splash of triumph, every dot of color that had fallen in my memory, she heard about. And she silently soaked in my words like a dry sponge thrown into water. She did not comment on any of it, not judged, only listened, commuting to her own rules of confessions she had laid before in her letter to me. Only when I got to telling her all about how I tricked dr. Roland into signing me a check for two hundred bucks, she sat next to me, face serious, lines around her mouth deep and eyes murky.

‘Those are not lies Richard, are they?’

I shook my head, no, suddenly insecure and filled with dread at her reaction. Had I said something inappropriate? Unbefitting? But she did not scorn me, or show any signs of disgust with my tiny, slimy self. She just took my hand in between her own palms, now bare and soft like silk. As she hung her head I saw something profoundly forlorn shining in her eyes, like an abysmal dark swirl of sadness.

‘Even though, it is a beautiful story. Moving.’

Her voice was small, almost too small to hear. But I did, and so I supported my head on hers, and for a second we rested like that, sinking in our silence, freezing off in the golden rays of sun outside.

‘I don’t know why I tell all those lies.’

I finally said. She looked up at me and I found nothing but understanding in her eyes.

‘Neither do I. But I must admit that I find a strange delight in doing so, can’t you say the same?’

‘Positively.’

‘And we are not hurting anyone with those lies, I think, for they only concern our reality, not anyone else’s.’

‘So it would seem.’

‘More than anything, by weaving those lies, we protect ourselves in the most basic way of all.’

My brows furrowed at that statement slightly, not understanding what she had on her mind. And once again that clever Pythia read my mind expertly, answering, before I could even utter ‘how so?’.

‘In words of Plato - A man can guard expertly whatever he can thieve expertly. Hence, if a man is expert in lying, he is also expert in detecting lies. By fabricating our truths we guard ourselves from being deceived by others.’

‘Is that true?’

‘Have you not seen how quickly I saw through you?’

‘Maybe. Maybe you’re right.’

I was struck dumb at her strange way of interpreting Republic, but at the same time I felt somehow reassured in my own ways by what she had said. Her soul, strangely akin to mine, sought any kind of justification for her compulsive behaviour as well. But that was the difference between me and her. While I sweated and trebled at the thought of being discovered, she had found what we both were looking for. And being a liar far more exquisite than myself, she also managed to convince herself of her own righteousness and in addiction, me. I liked her way of thinking. Her way with words. That slithery, cutthroat tongue of hers. And so everything that seeped through her mouth fell onto my very eager ears and I gorged it all up, avid for more.

‘I think I’m done with the cleaning for now. I hope you’re happy, now that you made me strip my flat of any trace of character.’

I laughed at her mocking tone. That as well I valued in her most highly. The ability to switch moods, like mask in ancient theatre.

‘I must say I’m quite content with this vapid state. At least I don’t faint from lack of oxygen the moment I step in here, so I think you did well enough. You may stop in your endeavours.’

She giggled, sending me a toothy smile.

‘How magnanimous of you.’

She looked up into the ceiling as if searching for the god or goddess she was chanting to before, now in clear search for patience and strength.

‘Although I can’t help but wonder… what are you going to with this one?’

Pulling myself from her grasp I pointed at the still untouched, half-empty mug with dark, murky coffee in it. Dark circle had already set above the liquid’s surface on the well, indicating the prolonged stay of the mug on the table.

‘You should clean it as well, or otherwise it’ll turn moldy.’

I reached for it with an intent to get rid of it for her, but her hand shot up, quicker than lightning and caught my wrist half way up to the dish.

‘No.’

Her voice was firm, packed with undeniable tension.

‘The cup stays.’

Unbreakable resolve shined in her eyes, fervent and terrifying. Terrifying not because of its intensity but because of the weight her words carried. Only then have I realised with how high regard did she consider Henry. Angry at him or not, he was her priority. No matter what did she say or thought about him, he should have always stayed in the forefront of her mind. Like the craters on the moon that shed their shadows onto its otherwise unsullied, white surface, he was there to stay, always on the pedestal, unmoved like the cup on the table. I thought that no matter how much value my words carried for her, his person alone, his existence, would outweigh it. And I wondered. Seeing how resisten to her charm did Henry seem, cold and uninterested in what she had been giving him on a silver platter, what I would jump at and gobble up at the first occasion if anyone was willing to offer it to me, was her own heart similar in any way to the moon? Reflective and pure in its silver glow, ready to bounce back any source of light, of warmth to guide throughout the darkest of nights, but at the same time solemn and forlorn. Suspended alone in the cold, dark space, always willing to give and to give back but never to take. Without any protection, silently accepting the damage Henry’s asteroids imprinted on it.

It was a sad, dark thought. One that in no capacity could ever fit her. But I saw it. In the low sway of her head, the furtive glance of hers and the uneasy flutter of her lashes. I saw it to be true. And I wanted it to go away. Most desperately, ardently I wanted the expression gone, exorcised from her catalogue of facial expressions for all the eternity. How could Henry stomach it? How could he be so cruel?

I turned my wrist in her grasp, most delicately and took her hands into mine, slowly and with caution as if I was gathering not flesh but water, careful not to spill them from my hold.

‘Why don’t we do something different then, huh, my Diogenes?’

I was never the one to comfort others. Never the one to be kind and open, to give advice. I preferred to stick to myself, hidden in the shadows, peeping, as she described it. I enjoyed being the watcher. But with her I found that the words and actions of comfort came naturally to me.

‘Brandy?’

‘This is Francis’.’

‘Well nothing tastes better that what’s not yours, don’t you agree? Finders, keepers.’

She puffed a laugh, still too strained for my liking so I continued.

‘Annexation of brandy! What do you say? Coup d’état! Brandy Anschluss!’

And then she laughed at my clownish antics fully, with her whole chest, mouth agape and one hand covering it. A breath of spring amongst all the gloomy talks of Winter.

‘Fine, Richard, fine! You had me at annexation!’

I eagerly pulled at the cork sealing the brandy and chugged directly from the bottle.

‘This is dangerously close to alcoholism, you know.’

Sha said as she tore the bottle from my hands and down a few generous gulps.

‘Not if we arrange to do something alongside the drinking.’

‘And what would you suggest?’

My gaze fell onto the stack of papers I had dragged with me.

‘Writing?’

‘Writing? While drunk?’

‘Write drunk, edit sober.’

‘Hemingway.’

She looked at the fountain pen, took it into her hands, as if weighting it, as she slowly went through the idea in her mind.

‘Come on. We can lie our wrists away till they won’t be able to move any longer. It’ll be fun.’

‘All right. But only in Latin!’

I sighed deeply, theatrically. I knew that she was going to say that, but what can one do in a situation like this? I nodded my head, yes.

And so we got into it. She scribing hastily, with rushed, generous gestures, me more conservatively, tightly with less expression and verve.

‘Put on the music.’

‘Depeche Mode?’

‘Sure.’

And with that, the sound of electronic music accompanying Dave Gahan’s deep, hypnotic voice and the scraping of pens on paper, hours passed. When the hour got late and the sun set it’s head behind the horizon, we started to time each other, who could write more, or a better limerick. She won of course, but I had no problem with that.

‘Nec meum respectet, ut ante, amorem, qui illius culpa cecidit velut prati ultimi flos, praetereunte postquam tactus aratro est.’

‘Cheat! Cheat! That’s not yours!’

‘Whatever Papen, the only thing that counts is that I could memorise it and you couldn’t!’

‘That’s no fair!’

‘Life’s not fair.’

But other than that one instant of tried treachery, she composed her own poems, beautiful, crescendoed with thunder and rain. I don’t think I had so much fun in many weeks, even if I did not excel at writing my own verses.

We got quite drunk, not only downing the whole bottle of Francis’s brandy, but also a bottle of scotch and three shots of vodka each. I never was a lightweight, but I must admit that when I got up from my chair after we finished with our literary game, my world swirled around me and blurred into a heavy shoal of colourful ink blots. Words jumped up from the many pages resting on the table and down onto the floor before my eyes, woven from green smoke and moonlight. Oh how beautiful the moonlight was that night! Mysterious, soft. The moon was full and when I looked up at it, through the wide-open Leviathan window I saw the craters on its surface. Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt her hands grabbing me by the collar and pulling up from the slithery floor. I did not even notice when I or how I had lost my balance, but I was very grateful for her assistance.

She asked me to stay the night, and I agreed. She gave me a blanket and took some of the pillows off her art deco couch, so I could lay comfortably.

That night I didn’t go back to Hampden, and she didn’t go to her room neither. She stayed with me, humouring my teary testimony about the poor moon. What a poor astral being, I said constantly, shaking my head, sure she understood my analogy without me even having to explain it to her. And she nodded her head, hummed as if she really did understand what I was trying to say. But I don’t think she did. Liars are like that, they see the lies and truths of all the people around them, but those concerning them. But I had no more energy to lay it all down before her, the hurt and sympathy I felt for her. How I saw her in the dark, cold embrace of Henry’s grasp on her and how it made me feel, ache for her. So I just stopped at incoherent sobbing about the satellite.

When I woke up next morning, to the slight chill shaking my back and the smell of pancakes teasing my nose I felt awful and spent.

‘Oh, thank gods, you’re up! I though you were dead!’

‘And you left me either way to rot on the couch?’

‘You know how I detest cleaning.’

I snorted while rubbing eye boggers from my face. Yes she seemed like a person who would let a body rot in her apartment, just so she wouldn’t inconvenience herself with calling an ambulance or cleaning it herself.

‘Want a pancake?’

‘Why do you even ask?’

For the next two days we mostly ate, drank copious amounts of alcohol that with which she was so generous, I started suspecting wasn’t hers (as I later got to know, most of it indeed belonged to Francis) and writing. Writing, writing, writing. Words, words, words. I truly found myself writing more, and more zealously than I ever had before. Maybe because it was light, not binding, not obliging. Just lies on paper. With her it all was like that, even the hangovers. Light, chased away by the mouth-watering smell of her cooking. She truly was a culinary genius and by the time she offered me lunch I stopped wondering why would Henry ever come over to her place. Even a stoic cold man such as himself must’ve enjoyed the atmosphere of idyll that reigned in that flat of hers.

On our last day together, Sunday, right after we finished eating lunch - Greek salad with vine (she couldn’t stop giggling about it! ‘What an absurd name! You really think they ate something like that? What an absurd!’) - somebody knocked on her door. Her eyes shot up to me, incredulous and somewhat weary. My heart pounded in my chest, jumped to my throat suffocating me. Was that the moment? The moment when Henry finally appeared? But as she came to the door and tilted them slightly ajar, a fiery main poked through the crack.

‘Hier kommt die Sonne!’

She must’ve been taken aback as much as I was, because as soon as Francis shouted those words, she jumped up, and then slid back, her whole body recoiling as if reading itself for an attack.

‘What? You’re not going to greet me properly mon bijou? I brought you my notes! Come one, give your darling a kiss.’

‘I’m sick, Francis.’

‘Yeah, sure you are!’

Francis squeezed himself unceremoniously into the flat, shaking himself off the rain water like a dog.

‘Come one, greet me like the good friend you are! I did bring you notes, after all. You know how much I hate making those!’

In one jump he got to her and sliding his arms around her waist, pinning her to his person. Papers he was holding, soaked dry from the rain swished loudly in the air as he did so.

‘Oh, stop it, you brute!’

And she hit him playfully, right in his chest. I shuffled uncomfortably in my chair, as for I did not know what to do with myself. I think that slight, hesitant movement was what got Francis’ attention onto me. His body grew taunt and his arms fell from her waist. His face froze in an expression of incredulous awe and dread mixed into a dismayed grimace.

‘Richard?’

‘Hi…’

A moment of silence.

‘You’re with Richard.’

His voice was flat, void of any emotion as he stared his eyes into my soul. His spectacles shined with a ghostly glow, reflecting the sun from behind my back.

‘Yes. Did I not tell you?’

Her voice, on the other hand was dripping with forced sweetness.

‘No. I didn’t get any response to my letter.’

‘Well, I am, so… notes?’

He handed her the tortured, mangled pieces of paper he was holding, fisting, absentmindedly, never tearing his gaze from me.

‘Drink?’

‘No, thanks I’m..’ He swallowed, hard. ‘I’ve got a date.’

And then he turned on his heel and rushed to the exit. He disappeared as quick as he came. The door shut loudly behind him.

‘Asshole…’

Silence filled the flat.

Despite its newfound tidiness, it once again turned excruciatingly small, almost to the point of suffocation.

‘Maybe I should go as well.’

‘No. Stay.’

‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

‘So do I.’

I watched as she stared blankly at the space Francis had occupied just seconds before and I couldn’t help the hurt feeling clawing at my heart.

‘Sure. We ought to finish the bottle either way.’

But the unnerving feeling of impending doom stayed, setting me with sweat.

Only around midnight, when nothing else really happened I finally stared relaxing. I convinced myself that Francis’ visit was strange, abrupt, but only because he himself was a strange person, and it hadn’t bore any traces of animosity. Vine helped in coming to that conclusion. Once again, when I could no longer sit straight or even talk I let her tuck me in on the couch. I revelled in the quiet cracking of the logs burning on the fireplace, the heath that came off of it. I watched her sit across from me, with a deep frown gracing her face as she read some old book, too heavy and big for her form and so covering it almost entirely from my greedy gaze. My eyelids felt heavy, so I closed them, only leaving a slight clearance, so I could spy the intricate dance of golden light on her skin. A delightful creature, she was. Half of her mingling with shadows that swirled in the flat, the other part of the flames coming off the hearth. She did not seem as careless as me, but I scored it to her focusing on the contents of the book. In all reality however, if I wasn’t as drunk as I was, I think I could see that her eyes were not moving, but staring blankly into one spot on a page that her fingers had not turned for quite some time.

‘Richard?’

I did not respond, my tongue deft, and eyes sore, dry. I felt as if I opened my mouth then, another monologue relative to the moon would slip out of me and in all my empathy I thought that this wasn’t what she needed then.

‘Are you asleep?’

Still, I kept silent. She nodded her head and closed the book. Somehow content with the silence, as she supported her head on the palm of her hand and stared into the flames.

‘Good.’

She sighed, deeply, mournfully and repeated.

‘Good.’

And when the silence became prominent, when it stretched impossibly around us and started eating at the flames I though I heard something. Faint and uncertain, but it was like branches knocking at a window moved by a soft breeze. One, two, three times. Then a pause, and silence. For a second I thought I only imagined the sound, but after a while I heard it again, this time louder, more confident. I didn’t move, paralizad by comfort and heath, but after the third knock like that she did. I thought that she had fallen asleep long before that, but the sharp snatch of her head, and her quick, precise movements as she got up from her sit pointed otherwise.

‘Who… they are going to wake him up.’

I heard her snark under her breath and I couldn’t help but smirk slightly. But that content grin faded from my face as she opened the door.

‘What are you doing here?’

She was wearing that furious frown of a warrior on her face, pure Mars, I could tell without even having to see her. It was all written down in her strained back, in the coldness of her words.

‘I came here to talk.’

And then I froze as well, because at the doorstep, hidden from me in the dark swayed the dry voice of Henry Winter.

#bunny corcoran #camilla macaulay #charles macaulay #francis abernathy #henry winter #henry winter x reader #richard papen #the secret history #afab reader

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welcometogrouchland · 1 year

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not only is darimila HYSTERICALLY funny as a crackship i think camila deserves a nice peacock of a boyfriend. i want her to show a photo of him at work and his coworkers are too busy wondering if this guy is an actor or a model or what to wonder about the ears or the goo hair. can you imagine darius helping the nocedas with groceries high heels and green eyeliner and god knows what else. MAN.

Firstly I love that this ask implies that Darius puts 0 effort into concealing his identity as a witch when he's in the human realm. This man is fully willing to expose magic and the demon realm in the town famous for producing a crackpot genocidal witch hunter everyone hates IF. and only if he can look fabulous doing it

I'm also on team Camila Deserves Nice Things anon, though I do differ on the details slightly, mainly because I'm sooooo enchanted by the Darius and Camila fake dating scenario I've cooked up in my brain. It both appeases the part of me that adheres to canon characterization of Camila as a woman who still, years later, has boxes of Manny's stuff lying around the house, yet to be put away, bc realistically she did not get proper space to mourn him when he died and she is not ready to move on...AND the part of me that, like you, wants Camilla's coworkers to see a picture of Darius and LOSE THEIR MINDS. HELLO??? THIS IS THE BAD BITCH SHE PULLED BY BEING AUTISTIC??? FR???????

And then I'm unsure whether or not I prefer Darius with romantic feelings for Camila? On the one hand I think, in the beautiful timeline where I actually wrote this, I'd prefer to have it come down on the side of "Darius and Camila are Good Friends who bond over how terrifying being a new(ly), single parent is"

and Hunter has to grapple with the fact that no, his family is not and never will be "normal" according to societies standards, and he cannot parent trap his parents into loving each other, but that doesn't make his family structure any worse off than something closer to a nuclear family.

Also I'd squeeze some juicy character exploration out of Luz bc she is SO not over her dad's death. She tries to downplay it and act like she is but she is not and it's very very clear in TTT. But she also wants her mom to be happy more than anything. And she loves love! And it'd make hunter happy! So she's just. Sitting there with gritted teeth trying not to get upset at the idea of Darius and her mom actually getting together and being happy.

But, tragically, I can't guarantee I'll ever fully write this out (though I fully encourage ppl to run with the idea if they like it. Please run with it I can't be the only one who's thought of this before) so I give myself a little more room to be silly and I say that. Darius is a person with a lot of walls up who likes pretending to be cool as a method of distancing himself from ppl, and I'd love to watch those walls get eroded by the overly sincere and silly sci-fi nerds that are his son-figure and his crush, who are also mother and son. Also I love the idea of Darius being a man in his forties with a crush. Yes!! Get more pathetic!!! Raeda is cowering rn!!!!!

IN CONCLUSION: I love you anon, I should really make SOMETHING based on the Darius Camila fake dating scenario, but if I don't, let this rambling serve as a testament to the GRIP it has on my brain

#ramblings of a lunatic #the owl house #toh #darimila #camila noceda #darius deamonne #the more i joke abt this ship the less ironic it becomes and I'm scared. don't do this to me #it's fine they can polycule it up with raine and eda /j #throw alador and perry in there too. watch everyone on the hexsquad slowly become related to each other. except willow. rip #ALSO i didn't proofread this bc it's very late </3 wish me luck that this is still comprehensible by morning

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blackautmedia · 5 months

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Have you seen the owl house? If so, do you think it has good representation?

I have seen it, yeah! I enjoyed it too. As for its rep, I think it depends on what kind of rep you're looking for.

From a disability standpoint I think it's fine. I know a some people relate to Eda and later Lilith for how their curse reads more like a chronic disability and there's also the unintentional neuroexpansive portrayal of Luz.

It also manages to avoid a lot of the issues that generally come with treating curses like a form of disability that a lot of other media does. I'm a big fan of the episode where Eda's mother visits has to unlearn her ableism to be a better parent.

I think where it could be improved is in how it utilizes race with its characters. It's not a secret that the main villain is a cream cheese colonizing crusader and the Boiling Isles has several forms of white supremacist violence like:

It being a police state

branding the citizens with law, deception, and force to be killed with the coven sigils, a practice done to several real groups of oppressed people. Obviously not with magic tattoos, but I feel any work that centers heavily around its villain branding oppressed people to denote their status in society should be extremely cautious with how it handles a very real thing.

the control over the education system and information

the breakup of community and enforcing of individualism

declaring the cultural practices of the people native to the land impure and wicked

the colonization, etc.

So while the series focuses a great deal on taking out said cream cheese colonizing crusader, it frames his white supremacy in a way that assumes nearly every single white person complicit in that was "tricked" and immediately understands upon learning properly because Belos was this crafty manipulator who fooled everyone.

ToH imo is at its best when it gets Luz or others to challenge and dismantle the institutions around them and most of its greatest episodes I feel come from its strong cast when it doesn't have to orbit them around white characters. Luz, Camila, Gus, Willow, Eda, Raine, and Darius for example all solo everyone and are great. King is fun.

Luz in particular is really such a great protagonist that I feel strengthens a lot of the show and makes up for the aspects I didn't care for as much.

I don't really like the discourse around or even the term "redemption arc" because I don't feel it drives at the right questions, so it's not an issue of if I feel these characters deserve to be forgiven or not, but moreso how the Owl House provides a white fantasy in how white people can picture themselves as being alleviated of their white guilt and welcomed with largely open arms from non-white people because of it. My question is more "who is the intended audience?"

To give an example using a different show, one of my favorite Moon Girl episodes is the one where Lunella is belittled at school by a white girl because of her textured hair. They don't go on to give the white girl a backstory, they don't show her parental background or even give her a name. The focus is on Lunella dealing with desirability politics, texturism, and getting support from her friends and family to embrace her hair as it is.

It's not to say I hate the white cast or think they have nothing of value to offer. It's not lost on me that Hunter for instance is an abuse victim and a lot of people can identify with that struggle and him having to unlearn that behavior.

But at the same time the show goes back and forth on trying to do that and also having him wield state power. I'm not all that cool with him institutionalizing a bunch of girls and non-white kids, not listening when they say he's hurting them, then only coming around because he felt more sympathy for their animal companions, which ends up happening far more often in real situations than it should.

A lot of the Owl House when looked at that lens may have a lot of non-white characters in it, but they can sometimes feel like trophies for its white cast after they've been taught better. They do a great job of depicting numerous facets of colonial violence portrayed in an easily accessible way to younger viewers.

But it also feels ultimately in service of centering the rehabilitation of its white cast.

So I think "what audience is this intended for" is an important question to ask when evaluating representation in a work.

#owl house #toh spoilers #luz noceda #darius deamonne #toh darius #luz and camila solo everyone #moon girl and devil dinosaur #moongirl lunella #lunella lafayette #tw: racism #normalize calling Belos a cream cheese colonizing crusader

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mdhwrites · 9 months

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The Nightmare Catch 22 of Hunter as a Clone

So first, let's just get this out of the way: The Grimmwalker twist was unnecessary. It wasn't properly introduced until S2B, with the only real foreshadowing of it being a single element in the S1 finale and the fact that Hunter didn't have magic. They could have kept him as having no magic though and been a genuine orphan that Belos took in to raise as a protege, possibly inspired to do it MORE because Hunter had a failing Bile Sac and would never be able to cast magic by himself which would have made him appear more human to Belos than the other denizens. Someone he could connect with more. This also would have made it so Hunter would have HAD to choose to leave Belos on the grounds of morality rather than being a disposable clone that Belos just straight up tries to kill before Hunter can actually rebuke Belos' way of doing things and the like, making his arc and redemption stronger. This also would have allowed for the same steps taken but less baggage that they couldn't deal with because of the shortening.

But, as always, TOH couldn't kill its darlings so let's talk about the nightmare that is how they dealt with Hunter being a clone, especially in the context of his crises of identity.

So the first thing that has to be acknowledged is that this is nothing new when it comes to clones. Clones have been a staple of sci-fi and fantasy for a LONG time and a clone reveal is ALWAYS more common than the person actually knowing what they were. This makes a lot of sense thematically though and it's a trope for a good reason. It opens up a lot of questions about what makes a person their own person, nature versus nurture, etc. like that. And the common decision by most media is to have the clone reject that who they're made from doesn't matter, they're going to be themselves, doubling down on the idea that free will is that which makes us human and ourselves rather than a machine (which also brings this up a lot in matters of androids.)

Which I will give credit that that DOES actually fit the goals of TOH. That you being you is the best thing possible in this world. There's just a couple catches to it. The first is obviously time as by the time Hollow Mind happens, there's VERY little time to deal with it and Hunter still spends some of that time just not addressing it and lying/keeping secrets instead because this show has very few ideas of what to do with things when it comes to angst. He's not the most prolific liar/secret keep in the series amongst the good guys after all as that title firmly goes to Luz.

And that time problem IS a problem. After all, this is their setup: Hunter is a clone of someone who recorded history in his world has entirely forgotten. Instead, he looks and is raised by Belos. As such, he assumes that Belos is who he is cloned after and after the attempt on his life, even more than just being a clone (I am serious when I say the Grimmwalker twist is unnecessary), by Belos, he rejects being like his perceived Uncle. And so he becomes a witch loving, Palisman befriending good guy who betrays Belos!

...Which is literally EVERYTHING we know about Caleb. Every concrete fact about him lines up with what Hunter turns into. Even worse, NO ONE wants the old Hunter. They only want what he is when he is lying, not acting like himself... Or like Caleb. Darius is actually the creepiest here as he explicitly wants Hunter to be like his dead lover and the canonical fact that EVERY Golden Guard ends up betraying Belos means that Darius effectively just wants to not guide Hunter to a better place but to just... remake his old love.

And that's fucking creepy.

Luz wants nothing to do with what Hunter was before he started becoming good though. Amity wants Hunter to become like her which is essentially just becoming Luz. Willow likes the time she spends with 'Caleb' and then is mad at Hunter when he's back to being the Golden Guard, at least until he goes against Belos by saving The Emerald Entrails, pleasing Darius and her.

But this is where the Catch 22 comes into play. From the character's perspective, Hunter IS rebelling against what he thinks he was made to be. Who he believes himself to be a clone of. He has no reason to assume he's Caleb's brother after all. Hell, he'd probably get confused about why this ancient white dude named Philip has brown hair when Belos has blonde. Not white like Eda but blonde. So we NEEDED some time for Hunter to introspect, learn the secondary twist that he is a clone of Caleb, learn about who this Caleb guy was, which is effectively impossible beyond the fairy tale they're told which tells Hunter nothing of Caleb besides the boy liking witch booty over taking care of his brother, and for him to THEN decide he was okay with being like Caleb.

And that would have been fine. It would have even been theoretically a bit novel if not kind of weird. Again: Writers have always chosen that the person goes their own way for a reason. Hunter deciding being Caleb is cool with him is one way to close that out... But it would still be him choosing to be a different person. That his individuality isn't what's most important which goes against pretty much the core theme of TOH, who believes individuality and self expression is the ultimate priority. Full stop.

So you have a character who narratively, for the sake of having the redemption arc they want him to have and who logically fits into this place by contrasting against his uncle, also cannot become that person because he's a clone and his clone appears to be the anti-thesis of his uncle, thus making each of those points of contrast not him becoming his own character but him becoming just a different, ancient white bloke. There is no winning with this. And in the end, there was no victory. Hunter turned into a copy of Caleb, his arc feels shallow in part because of it and the Grimmwalker stuff robbed time away from the rest of the series for minimal payoff and a blow to the core themes.

All for a twist that cheapened his arc in the first place and had no real reason to be here besides being kind of neat conceptually.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

#hunter toh #TOH Critical #The Owl House Criticism

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misccy27 · 1 year

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why I prefer Darius as Hunter's primary guardian (an unhinged rant)

(This post is riddled with disclaimers because the fandom has no chill about this subject lol)

So first of all I want to say, IRL at this point it would be Hunter's decision who he wants to live with. So I'm looking at this from a narrative perspective about what would be most satisfying to me as a viewer.

For the record, I think Darius, Camila, Eda, Raine, etc. can and should all be involved in Hunter's life in some form or another going forward. Hunter needs a strong support network and deserves all the caring parental figures he can get. But I also think that he needs stability. Even if he spends a lot of time at other houses, I think Hunter would do best with a place he can start to think of as his home, instead of cycling through a rotation of 'his room at Camila's house', 'his room at Darius' house', and so on.

Now. I know there were plans for Hunter to stay at the Owl House at some point in season 2, but since that didn't happen in canon, Hunter doesn't have any real foundation for moving in with Eda now. And we sadly never really get to see him interact with Raine. So that leaves us with 2 realistic candidates: Darius and Camila.

And just to head this off, yes Camila is a wonderful person. She would be a great parent for any child, including Hunter. I'm not saying that she wouldn't be, and I'm not saying that Darius is in a better parent. Just hear me out.

1. Practical considerations

I know no one wants to hear it, but Camila has been single-parenting 6 kids for 2-3 months. I cannot believe she had no worse breakdown than a (very well-done) nightmare sequence. If Hunter does move in with her post-canon, then that makes her the primary caregiver of 3 severely traumatized teenagers. Again, I'm sure she would do an excellent job as always. But that's still a lot of stress.

Second. Hunter states his desires at the end of Thanks to Them. They are to: study wild magic; learn how to carve palismen; attend Hexside as a regular student; and play flyer derby with his friends. All of these goals would have him spending a lot of time in the demon realm.

One argument I've seen is that Hunter was the happiest we've seen him yet in the human realm, which is true. But I think a lot of that was because he was with his friends in a relatively safe environment. He should be able to get that in the demon realm post-canon, especially since most of his friends will be staying there and he plans to spend so much of his time there. And for feeling safe, he's now been successfully traumatized in both realms so. yay /s

So those are my practical justifications for why it makes more sense for Hunter to stay with Darius over Camila. But I also have reasons based on what we get to see of their relationships in canon.

2. Canon clues that I'm not just reaching

A lot of people seem to be taking it as a given that Hunter will or should end up with Camila based on canon. For the reasons given above, I don't think there's more canon basis for Camila parenting Hunter over Darius.

I also think it's worth noting that Hunter seems rather attached to Darius. During the draining spell, Willow and Amity try to help Eda while Hunter runs straight to Darius to try to wake him up.

In the human realm, Willow, Gus, and Amity draw pictures of their families. IIRC Gus is the only one who verbally mentions his dad. Luz doesn't talk about Eda and King or hang up any pictures, but she does draw them. Hunter doesn't draw anyone, but he verbally mentions one single person from the demon realm. And that person is Darius.

2. Camila's relationship with Hunter in canon

I hate how little we know about it. I know, I know, the Shortening. But it does affect how I view their relationship. In all of the interactions we see, from the learning Spanish to the sewing machine to saving him from drowning, it could have been any of the kids. There's nothing about the way Camila interacts with Hunter to differentiate their relationship from her relationship with Willow, Gus, or Amity.

What I was really hoping to see at some point was any clue about what Camila knows about Hunter's background. Like I’m assuming she at least knows that he was raised by Belos. But the way it came up and who told her what about it is entirely unknown. Does she know he was abused? To what extent? Does she know about his role as the Golden Guard? Does she know how he met Luz, when he threatened to throw her into the boiling sea? Like I know, I get that she would have been as compassionate as always. But if I'm filling the gaps for how these conversations played out, I at least want more evidence that they happened at all.

Because it isn't a given. Again, Camila is working a full-time job and taking care of 6 teenagers, 5 of whom have to live in hiding to some extent and are struggling to adjust and have unique needs because they aren't human. That is so much stress and responsibility on Camila. So the montage and photo album we saw were mostly the kids bonding with each other. We didn't get to see Camila interact one-on-one with anyone but Luz. Which again, yes, the Shortening. But also maybe Camila just didn't have as much time to spend bonding with each individual child as everyone would have liked. It is a very real possibility that a lot of topics relating to Hunter and his childhood simply haven't come up yet.

Also, we know that Camila still has a shaky grasp on the Boiling Isles by the end of TTT. It is totally understandable because she's never been there and has never seen it; the kids are having the same issue adjusting to the human realm. Hunter didn't seem overly eager to talk about his past. Luz didn't seem overly eager to talk about the Boiling Isles in general. I think most of Camila's understanding comes from what Vee told her prior to and during TTT, and what Willow, Gus, and Amity told her while they were there.

So that leaves a lot of room for interpretation about what Camila's understanding of Hunter's situation is, which in turn makes it hard to imagine how any specific interaction or conversation might play out. Like yes, Camila would of course be loving and supportive, and she would say all the right things and model all the correct behaviors, and that's great. But without any canon basis for how Camila uniquely views and interacts with Hunter, it all ends up feeling more like wish-fulfillment to me than a relationship between 2 characters who know each other in canon.

For example, Camila doesn’t seem to be expecting Hunter to stay with her long-term. Because after months in the human realm Hunter is still sleeping on the floor of the basement. But there are so many possible explanations for this, because we don't know anything. Maybe Camila doesn’t know yet that Hunter is functionally homeless. Maybe she does know, and they had a really fulfilling heart-to-heart about it off screen. Maybe Hunter really is already planning to stay in the human realm. Or maybe Camila is under the impression that Hunter already has a place to stay in the demon realm.

Which is its own thing. I am being a bit of a hypocrite. For all we know, Hunter did talk to Darius about this before the Day of Unity and already has plans to move in with him. There are plenty of gaps to go around! So I will move on to:

3. Darius' relationship with Hunter in canon

I will admit it, I'm biased. This relationship is so much more interesting to me, just from the set up.

Because Darius is the only adult we see actually try to help Hunter while Hunter is still living in his abusive situation.

I know there's been discussion and debate about Darius' behavior, so I'll try to keep it brief. Darius did not help Hunter for a long time. He also didn't have any particular responsibility towards Hunter. Darius failed Hunter as much as every other adult Hunter interacted with over the years.

It is unclear based on canon how often Darius and Hunter interacted or what those interactions were generally like. It is unclear what Darius knew or suspected about Hunter's situation prior to Any Sport in a Storm. I think a lot of fandom disagreement comes down to how generously or harshly you interpret Darius when filling in these blanks. So I'll focus on what we do know.

Darius gave Hunter a mission in ASIAS. He didn't mean to; he was just trying to get rid of Hunter. He seems to view Hunter as a lost cause for most of the episode. Because of that and/or the traitor thing, Darius makes no effort to explain what he thinks Hunter is doing wrong. Which is unfortunate, because he is pushing Hunter in the right direction.

Darius encourages Hunter to think for himself at a time when Hunter is still loyal and Belos is still actively working to keep Hunter unquestioningly obedient. And this is before Darius has even taken any real interest in Hunter. He goes about it horribly, but he is already taking the right stance on these fundamental issues, and that matters to me.

Then at the end of the episode, Darius' attitude towards Hunter changes completely. And yes, I know it shouldn't have happened this way. I know Hunter shouldn't have needed to prove himself to earn help and attention. But this show is full of flawed characters who change for the better. So why not Darius?

And Darius shows that he is capable of change. He admits to Hunter "I had you all wrong". He praises Hunter for both making friends and for disobeying him, which is huge for Hunter while he's still in his abusive situation. And then Darius' first action after his revelation is to give Hunter a scroll and encourage Hunter to make connections outside of the castle.

And again, Darius didn't have to do that. He could have just as easily ended the interaction there. He could have agreed to keep Flapjack a secret in return for Hunter keeping his mouth shut about letting the 'recruits' go, and then gone back home to get his beauty sleep.

But he didn't. He gave Hunter a scroll and encouraged him to break out of his isolation more. Then he gave Hunter back his cloak and fixed the cloak and gave Hunter the approval that Hunter spent all episode desperately wanted since the beginning (which is problematic, I know). And then Darius told Hunter to get a sewing lesson, which he very well may have given actually him based on Hunter comparing his stitches to Darius' in TTT.

So did Darius handle everything perfectly? Of course not. But he did consistently push Hunter in the right direction, and by the end of it he does seem actively interested and willing to help. He becomes the first (and tbh only) adult we actually get to see start paying attention to Hunter's situation and intervening with Hunter's best interests at heart.

...And then we don't get to see them interact after that. It's another place where the fandom diverges, particularly regarding whether or not one or more sewing lessons ended up happening.

But we do get some crumbs.

During Hollow Mind, Darius is alarmed when he realizes Hunter got trapped in Belos' mind.

Then in Clouds on the Horizon, Hunter reveals that Darius sent him to escort Luz. I think this scene is overlooked a lot, but it's huge to me. Because it means that Darius and Hunter got in contact some time after Hollow Mind, presumably after Labyrinth Runners.

Like Hunter must have had some pretty severe trust issues after learning that Belos is an evil sadist who manipulated him his whole life. It would've been compounded by Coven Head Adrian showing up at Hexside lying about being a rebel. So even though we didn't get to actually see it, we know something must have happened between Darius and Hunter that somehow got Hunter to trust Darius enough to go on a mission for him on the Day of Unity. And I'm assuming that required Darius to make at least some effort to confront head-on the reality of Hunter's situation and Darius' role as a rebel and all the messy complicated emotions that go along with all of it.

And again, he didn't have to. Darius didn't have to get in contact with Hunter after Hollow Mind. That is a choice that he both made and successfully pulled off. Like I see this hc a lot that Darius can't handle emotional situations, but he was there for Hunter at least to some extent both while Hunter was unknowingly in an abusive situation and while Hunter was coping with the fallout of having everything ripped out from under him. So I don't get why it's so hard to imagine Darius being there for Hunter in emotionally difficult situations post-canon.

Anyway. This scene also tells us that Darius went and gave Hunter the same mission that Eda gave Luz, presumably for the same reason: to let the kids feel useful while also trying to keep them relatively safe and out of the line of fire on the Day of Unity. (And that's it's own thing. There are plenty of parallels you could draw between Darius' relationship with Hunter and Luz' relationship with Eda, particularly in the early stages where things were a bit rocky.)

So. This turned into a little bit of a tangent of why I don't get how it's so inconceivable to some people that Darius is truly capable of genuinely caring about Hunter and/or being able to grow into a parental figure that can do right by Hunter. Because we have canon evidence for all of these things.

2. Canon clues that I'm not just reaching

I also think it's worth noting that Hunter seems rather attached to Darius. During the draining spell, Willow and Amity try to help Eda while Hunter runs straight to Darius to try to wake him up.

And I'll accept the hc that the way Darius treated Hunter before was just too unforgivable,

#the owl house #toh hunter #darius deamonne #camila noceda #gonna post this and not look at any replies lol #just want it on the record before the finale #i believe in you darius you can do it #like this is the demon realm there's no patriarchy dads can be competent caring parents here #fr tho did everyone forget about s1 eda and luz relationship #like are we watching the same show #and fwiw hunter is attached to darius #he mentions darius in ttt as much as any of the kids mention any of their parents lol

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