The Nocedas Have A Peanut Butter Jar That Is Just Hunter's Because He Constantly Eats Out Of It With

never in my life did i think i could be so into the vibes of and arc of and writing for some colonial ass white boy named hunter, of all things, but alas. here we are, loving and thriving

love writing belos even though there is such a difficulty to it? the haughtiness of it. the melodrama. the ever-constant feeling of everything else being inferior to him. the carefulness of it at the same time, like a craft, a honed weapon.

there is such a calm terror to his tone? he doesn't stress his words often, but the intensity is there throughout. he speaks like a preacher, always on the side that knows more, knows better. each word is specially chosen for the most precise of messages, vague and specific and layered alike. never a mistake, always a parable.

even his outbursts only come through expressing more intense emotion, and there comes the stress of things, syllables sharper and tone more volatile, hard in it's setness; like a story that cannot be moved from it's predestined ending. he's so removed from his emotions, from his humanity, that you can literally pick it apart in his speech and speaking patterns.

he's stupid and he's biased, your honor.

these for the future boards. going insane.

even in the earlier ones in the gym he's so stilted with his anger? the heavy weight of what they've just all been through, his guilt? they don't even have gus' lil finger guns and hunter's embarrassed blush yet he is just angry. through and through. and it's so jarring, his quiet, compared to the easy sassy talkative vibe of the golden guard. this isn't even that this is just. an emptiness, and trying to make his way through it without flap. the grief trying to eat him whole.

u ever think about how hunter would learn about wolves in the human realm and then have the windows open, hear a familiar, distant sound and go oh! oh! wolves in connecticut! wolves in connecticut! and it's just the siren of an ambulance

hello i do still be working on my *checks notes* seventeen hunter fics in progress. no i have not finished any of them. yes i am mentally ill ✌️

hunting palismen ending storyboards you will always be dear to me. it always makes me feel something so soft and forlorn. that lil smile? the gentleness of it all, even as it fades into something more pensive?

the cradling of flapjack's staff, the ease already at his presence; tinged with fear and hesitance, but the comfort still there. to finally have something that is freely given, that doesn't have to be continually earned. to have a friend that chose you, even where you are now, even at your most contrasted against the story? to be chosen. not destined, or fated for something, but chosen, freely, wildly, as in i am here, with you, of my own volition. i am yours above all else - i choose you.

no wonder he wasn't expecting that, no wonder he immediately held it close, and then at a wide distance. what do you do in the face of a feeling you have never felt, never really truly believed you'd earned before? you hold it as close as you can. you dream of one day earning it. you push it as far as you can, because you know, you know - it is a day that will never come.

and then it does, it does, it does.

i do also truly, truly believe we deserved some final parallel completion w/ hunter and belos. to be created by and outlive your own creator / your family / your "purpose" / your blood? for all of the guards before him, for caleb, for every kindness they should have all been given in their smattering of years before they learned of the truth and were killed for it.

yeah i am one for the idea of hunter being the one to have the final strike. this is not me saying i do not absolutely ADORE the way they did it in the finale. it was absolutely so badass and i do love them but oooooh something in me wanted hunter finally able to show his growth to the man who abused him for so many years. to say look at how far i have come from your impressions. look at me and how you have failed to make me into a monster, like you. how i have healed in your absence. how i have become so much more than you could have made me, and how far i will go from here.

to be made in the hurt of a bone you don't even remember. to hold onto things your body knows but you do not. to finally have that piece be laid to rest after so long.

goodbye, uncle. for your sake, i hope your god is kinder than you.

because you're a weapon and weapons don't weep / what is a lineage if not a gold thread of pride and guilt / if i let him do this to me, what else will i allow? anything, anything, anything / nothing else matters when he loves me and nothing else matters when he doesn't / i know i should go but i follow you like a man possessed / i am the sword (if i'm not the sword, who am i?) / i will wait for the next time you want me like a dog with a bird outside your door / i am dirty, infinitely dirty, this is why i scream so much about purity / grief taught me inhumane things / if you're raised with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house / but you have to satisfy the monster. the monster has loved you for longer than anyone else / anything i've ever let go of has had claw marks on it / if you killed me, would you make it good? would you make it holy? / god loves you but not enough to save you.

I don't think I've ever posted this, but this comic I've been commissioned rotates in my head every so often