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canmom · 2 years

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Yes, what 'AI art' promises to do is something that has happened many times before in capitalism. Even in the 'art industry', we've seen technology all but do away with entire lines of work, such as the illustration styles that withered after photography proved to better serve the needs of advertisers and clients who wanted a realistic likeness.

And it sucked for those illustrators. Maybe not the well established ones, but the ones who had hoped to enter that industry. Just as it sucked for the textile industry workers when the mechanical loom appeared.

Trying to suppress AI art through legal means may be a strategy with little chance of success and high potential for collateral damage. The Luddites found that machine-breaking proved an ineffective strategy (edit: because the government killed them), the miners of Wales were not able to stop Thatcher closing the pits and importing materials (edit: because the government beat the shit out of them). But to treat workers - in one of the few lines of work to still offer any sort of intrinsic fulfilment, at least in theory - who may be responding in a knee-jerk way to an impending threat to their ability to continue that practice and possibly survive at all, with scorn and derision? To justify that with Marx? Come off it.

Certainly, sure, the real enemy was capitalism all along. If AI were never invented, art would still be a precarious industry where you have to work stupidly hard on a speculative basis to even get a chance to get a foot in the door. An industry valuing predictability would still prefer to elevate bland, repetitive artwork; it would still push the chosen few artists who make it and get jobs to work themselves into an early death; we would still be faced with the implications of turning creation into 'content' in a social media feed. In a less precarious world, one where artists were free to pursue our practices with ample support and no fear of not making rent if there's a bad month, AI image generators would not even be a concern.

But we don't live in that world and I have no idea how to bring it closer. There isn't a 'start the revolution' button I can just press if I don't like my lot under capitalism.

What AI promises to do, what its proponents claim, really is to make everything worse in this industry. AI has many limitations compared to a human artist, but that doesn't matter for doing damage. For the employed artist, the threat of AI is going to become a similar labour discipline tool as the threat of outsourcing to a country where labour is cheaper, or the threat of installing robot tills in retail. "Don't make too much of a fuss, we can replace you." It doesn't matter if it isn't entirely true, it's another cudgel against labour organising.

In the already often miserably exploitative world of small scale illustration commissions which many artists use to support themselves while learning? Now you don't just have to compete against Fiverr's race to the bottom. The good chaps at Silicon Valley have helpfully built an obedient data centre than can do a 'good enough' job for many clients even faster and cheaper, that never gets tired. You'd better hope you have a loyal audience already, or else the independent income and exec function to work on art as a hobby on top of everything else you need to do to get by. Illustration commissions is already a pretty saturated market, turning something that ought to be a dream job into a grind. So... let's add more pressure, eh?

Worse, a lack of realistic routes to learn will likely ripple on up, similar to how the miserable conditions and high attrition of inbetweeners in anime led to a situation where there aren't enough key animators, so the industry increasingly draws from self-taught hobbyists and relies on a limited pool of overworked sakkans to paper over the gaps caused by their lack of training.

None of these problems are unique to AI. But they're all going to be made worse by it. And obviously people are going to be afraid of that coming, before we know how it will all shake out for sure. That's not a stupid reaction.

The argument over what is Real Art(TM) may be corny, but it reflects the fact that for most of us trying to make art, it is not nearly so fulfilling to type prompts into a computer and pick your favourite result as it is to draw on your own visual library and experiences and understanding of light and form and symbols and shape and etc., to go through the meditative process of solving the problems of the drawing yourself, to get the satisfaction of 'omg I made that' at the end. I'm sure creating the AI system in the first place had that sort of fulfilment for its programmers, but using it is to be a curator more than a creator, or at least to shift the creativity into coming up with combinations of keywords rather than directly making pictures, and that just doesn't grab me in the same way at all. If people enjoy it that's genuinely great for them, but I don't think very many people who set out to be an artist would get the same satisfaction out of typing prompts. It's not something we wanted automated. (Perhaps we could compare it to creating an aimbot for an FPS game.)

But that's a fairly tricky thing to articulate, so it is not surprising that it gets mixed up in ideology like 'artiness is proportional to hours spent'. Unfortunate, but that doesn't make the intuitive alarm signal misplaced. If AI art can find a niche as just another tool for expression, great, I'll shut up - but if it becomes a widespread sentiment of 'why are you wasting your time painting, just let the AI do it', we've lost something valuable. 'We want to replace artists' is the explicit sentiment of many of the AI's creators and proponents, so it's not like this is a baseless fear.

Trying to develop an art practice under capitalism is always a pretty awkward bargain at best. AI won't destroy the drives that lead us to make art, and won't do much to liberate us either. My hope is that it will become an easily ignored sideshow to the kinds of art I like; my fear is that this is only the beginning of its impact and a lot that's valuable will be lost in the chaos.

Did photography 'liberate' illustration? It's true that after the demise of the realist painting of Loomis's generation, new forms of illustration arose: scifi and fantasy illustration, many kinds of stylised illustration. But idk, that argument feels weird - if you cut down a tree to build a house where it used to stand, and a new tree grows nearby, is that liberating trees? It's hard to put any valence on that. In any case, AI proponents are trying for a fully general replacement to all types of illustration, including potential new ones. (Perhaps that's nothing more than tech cult hype; at the moment its stylistic repertoire is more limited.)

And perhaps we might expect, as capitalism continues to throw off labour without much hope of new industries arising to absorb it, that there will come a point where the balance tips and for better or worse, a vast social transformation unfolds suddenly and unexpectedly.

Would be nice if I can live long enough to see it.

Living off commissions is already proving not viable for me, regardless of AI - so I'm training to go into a different creative industry (game dev) where there's more demand in the present era, and I'll have to develop visual art more slowly, with whatever energy and executive function I can spare. I hope I will enjoy working in game dev, and I'm lucky to have skills that even make it an option, but I don't love that I have to make that decision based on what can keep a roof overhead and not on what I most want to spend my time learning to make. And I can only imagine the feeling of someone who found a seemingly stable niche doing something they truly enjoy, and now face getting thrown back into this corner.

The AI problem may just be a symptom of capitalism, but that just makes it less tractable. It may be 'just a tool', but that tool is embedded in a whole mess of social relations. Who runs the AI, who stands to benefit? Better to articulate a critique of AI-in-capitalism that navigates around the blind alleys than to cast scorn on people reaching for the first way out they can see to a genuinely bleak situation.

#ai art #to add more trash to the gyre

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literary-illuminati · 3 months

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2024 Book Review #13 – Victory City by Salman Rushdie

One of my goals for the year is to read more proper literature (here defined as fiction I can mention reading to my mother without getting judged for it). I’ve never read anything of Rushdie’s before, but I did remember his name in the news recently due to the whole attempted-murder thing and, happily, my library actually had a copy of his newest work. So, picked this up and read it sight unseen!

The book follows one Pampa Kampana – a nine-year-old girl who, in the 14th century, witnesses her city destroyed, and her mother burning herself alive. She is then inhabited and blessed by a goddess, blessed/cursed with a lifespan measured in centuries and the destiny of raising an empire up and seeing it fall before she dies.

The narrative is framed as a modern adaptation/summary of the epic poem recounting her life Pampa completes before finally dying, finally discovered and translated after being forgotten in the ruins of te imperial capital for centuries. The story is largely a story of this miraculous, semi-utopian empire, as told Pampa’s eyes (and with a lengthy digression during the years she spends in exile).

This is a story that exists somewhere in the muddy middle ground between historical low fantasy and magical realism – it’s in some sense an alternate history of the Vijayanagara Empire, and replete with historical trivia and references, but is quite clear from the outset that accuracy is not really something the book cares about. Instead, the book’s Vijayanagara – always written as Bisnaga, as it was translated by a historical Portuguese chronicler whose also a minor character in the story, to prevent confusion – is basically allegory and morality tale with a light coating of history for flavour.

Not that I can really begrudge Rushdie for his strident politics (as far as I can tell I basically agree with him on all of it), but this really does feel like one of those old fantastical utopias, or a political treatise that gets past the censors by pretending to be the history of a foreign country, more than it does a novel. Which could definitely work! But in this case really didn’t, at least for me. There’s enough time spent on characterization and character drama to eat up pages, but not enough for it to ever feel like they’re people and not just marionettes acting out a show. I suppose the best way to get across the reading experience is that I was reading a proper 500 page history book at the same time as I read this, and this felt like the bigger slog by far.

Though part of that might just be disappointed expectations that I really had no right to have in the first place? As I said, I had Rushdie slotted in my head as a literary author, but really I don’t know nearly enough about him or his work to justify that. So I came to this expecting to be at least a bit wowed and bedazzled by the artistry and beautiful prose on display – and like, eh? Not bad, to be sure, the narrative voice and the framing device are both fun and fairly well done. But having read it there’s really not a single passage or sequence I can say has stuck with me.

The comparison that comes to mind is Kalpa Imperial by Angélica Gorodischer, which is also a book-length epic history of a fantastical empire that never was which laughs at all conventional wisdom about pacing, characterization and plot (and which also has been shelved as magical realism for what are basically reasons genre snobbery imo). It’s been a few years since I read it, but from what I recall that agreed with me far more. Maybe just because it abandoned the conceit of a single protagonist and family melodrama entirely, or maybe because it had a bit more subtle in its social commentary (or maybe it was just better written on a sentence-to-sentence level).

Though I should say, there’s every possibility I’m being a bit harsher on this than it entirely deserves – it’s an entirely competent book! The politics are blatant but like a) they’re politics I agree with and b) they’re nowhere near the most blatant or forced-feeling inclusion of progressive politics in fiction I’ve seen recently. However, this is also a piece of writing that’s among other things very clearly and directly about how important and sublime and world-changing the art of writing is. Which is like a movie about making it in showbuisness, or a musical about how great singing is. Automatic deduction of a full letter grade.

#book review #victory city #salman rushdie #literature

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sir-yeehaw-paws · 2 months

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can we have some more of ur tpp ocelhira hcs? 👀 (its my bday today although thats completely unrelated ehe)

AYEEEE HAPPY BIRTHAY OCELHIRA ANON.

Let me see what I have brewing and cooking here.

So TPP can definitely get a little wonky-donky for the Ocelhira times because Ocelot has hypnotized himself. This puts a minor wrench in things, depending on what Kaz knows. And I'd say there's a good chance Kaz doesn't know he's hypnotized BUT I think Kaz might know something is up. He's known the guy nine years at this point (give or take) and he knows Ocelot is the master of mind games, but after that long working together, I think even Ocelot is going to have some consistencies with his personality-at least, the very basis of his personality himself.

But I don't want to complicate it too much, so anyway. I think that Kaz asks a lot of questions in this time period, and the answers he comes up with boil down often to things like: Boss is back so Ocelot's mindset and priorities have (of course) swapped over to his favourite person of all time again. The stuff they've been building for 9 years is now in fruition, their needs and mindset have changed and Ocelot has other things on his mind besides Kaz, etc. Intense, unforgiving self-loathing. Kaz assuming he's not desirable or interesting anymore. Etc.

I do think Ocelot helps Kaz out (whether he wants that help or not) because it has to be done. If neglect or otherwise starts affecting Kaz's work, he is going to step in. I have shaving headcanons here too-Boss is off base half the time (and often by Kaz's request, especially early on when Kaz is giving Venom mission after mission after mission) and Ocelot's good with a blade (IMO anyway). Kaz doesn't shave much in this time (as we can see), but if he does. Ocelot is there and waiting with the straight razor.

Their banter got WAY worse in this time period. Like, way worse. Banter is a normal thing for them, it got dialed up to 11 in this time. This one gets explored in fanfics periodically and it's one I agree with, or at the very least it is one I like to explore and ponder myself. It's where Kaz actually does catch onto the hypnosis, and confronts Ocelot about it. I have a headcanon about them orchestrating Kaz's capture together.

Far as Parasite! Verse is concerned, I headcanon Ocelot being one of the first to really clock into the parasites, and start coaxing them out to play because his morbid curiosity gets the better of him, and he knows it's around and happening of course he's going to pry.

The worst fights they have are about Quiet (though Ocelot just makes Kaz admit he's jealous and maybe gets slightly petty and teases him about it)

Ocelot loves to fuck with the office. They probably share an office, but Ocelot will do shit like move Kaz's pens slightly to the left, or hide his favourite notebook somewhere stupid. Rearrange things JUST enough that Kaz knows something moved, but can't quite pinpoint how, or where too.

NSFW/Darker

Ocelot has probably offered Kaz Venom's wormwood more than once. With or without complete total consent. Just dip a little bit into the food, the coffee. Anything that will get him to chill out for ten seconds. It's for Kaz's own good (is how Ocelot justifies it to himself)

I imagine they have probably the least amount of sex here than ever before. Ocelot is distracted, and I feel that Kaz's own sex drive is about the lowest it's been since he can even personally remember. There are a few lackluster quickies, maybe. Sometimes there's the sudden re-surge where it's as good and as intense as before, but it's not a frequent thing.

That being said, I think Ocelot is one of the few people who doesn't 'kid glove' Kaz. He will still get physical with him, he will still call him out. They will still fight/fuck. Kaz takes a little bit of perverse pleasure in it because it makes him feel something like his old self again, to some degree.

#ocelhira #nates headcanons #thoughts posts #asks #answered asks #mgs #we share a birthday month anon how exciting #ANYWAY i'm sure I have more but here's some tidbits and tastes for now

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simonxriley · 5 months

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What is Your Core Theme?

I was tagged by the wonderful @cloudofbutterflies92 and @corvosattano to take this uquiz. Thank you! 💜

Tagging @playstationmademe @nightbloodbix @carlosoliveiraa @captmactavish @alexxmason @cassietrn @carrionsflower @nightwingshero @macs-babies @voidika @chloekistune @collinnmckinley @inafieldofdaisies @leviiackrman @killerspinal and anyone else that wants to do it!

The Lover

your heart is full and bursting. there is nothing more in the world but your love. it is your only purpose. you ache to drench everyone you know with affection and praise and yet ache more to feel your own love. you have been surrounded by it so long that it means nothing to you anymore, it is perfunctory, it is too familiar to have any effect. you know you are deserving of it but cannot fathom it having an impact on you the way your love impacts others. you give to others what you have never felt yourself because it is so abundant in your heart. your purpose is to love and your desire is to be loved. your painting is "the cradle" by berthe morisot.

Note: Yeah, this is accurate. Liz is a very loving person, but she's just been through so much that her heart is closed. It really takes time for her to open up and love someone, like truly love someone. *cough* Simon and their kids *cough*

The Popular

the attention of outsiders is like opium. at your heart and soul you produce and create and you thrive on the love it gathers from others. it is like taking your first steps as a baby, and hearing the cheers of thousands upon thousands of parents, encouraging you to move a little more, to step towards mother or father. but when the cheers fall silent, you are lost, aimless, a boat in a turbulent sea with no lighthouse to guide you. you are no longer taking steps. there is no voice calling out to you, signalling where to turn, and there is no encouragement. you want to take the steps but you cannot find any good reason to - not without everybody waiting at the end of your path. your painting is "the birth of venus" by sandro botticelli.

Note: Eh kinda. Some of it works for her Marine years tho.

The Griever

you mourn your losses. it is as if something has been torn from your soul and you are forever a lost fragment seeking what you have lost. it will take you time to accept some things are better floating through the universe, taken from us with vice and leaving us incomplete. your corners will drift through the ocean and each grain of sand you brush by will sand you down. you will reach the beaches healed, and your sharp corners will become dull and smooth to the touch. your painting is "anguish" by august friedrich schenck.

Note: This is an ouchie, a big ouchie.

The Yearner

you long for something you have never had. it is just out of reach and your fingertips graze it constantly. you can feel its electricity buzzing through you and just the adrenaline is enough to keep you chasing it. your legs are tired and your body is disfigured but you reach out anyway, you stretch your arms forward and throw yourself at what is ahead. better days are coming. rest will find you soon, you hope, but until it does, you will keep running. the end justifies the means. the end keeps you running. you will know when to stop, you are sure of it, but it isn't yet. rest will find you. your painting is "tender grace of a day that is dead" by walter langley.

Note: This is also an ouchie. Callisto has been an assassin since the day she was born, she yearns for a normal life. A life that doesn't involve killing 90% of the time.

#i love how everyone's is accurate besides Sky's😅#oc liz walker #oc skylar jackson #oc meiying liu #oc callisto amari

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thehistoriangirl · 2 years

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I’ll Show You, [My Love] In the Shelter of the Night

It’s September and you know the S stands for smut— I can’t really justify myself for this huh. Well, all I’m gonna say before posting this and running away into the woods it’s that I had to try at least one time, right?

Viktor x Fem!Reader----3.9K----NSFW, +18, MDNI [yes, ajá]

‘Synopsis’: When you and Viktor had to share a bed, both dreams are enough to evidence the real feelings towards each other. [Ignore the terrible summary, this is actually just kind of fluffy smut]

Idk if put the task after the read more

You were sleeping at ease. It was a cold, rainy night—it had been a rainy day, actually—, and you had to wake up early for a test tomorrow morning, so you went to rest relatively early, a tea of valerian half-empty on the nightstand. The house was especially quiet when Viktor came back from the Academy in the middle of the night, you didn’t even hear him open the door, roaming in the kitchen for a midnight dinner nor when he was taking a shower, but between your fuzzy dreams, you discerned a knocking sound.

Thinking that the sound came from the rain tapping the windows, you rolled over and covered your head with one of your blankets.

Knock, knock, knock. There was again.

In the eerie silence of the night, the sound of your name called you back to reality. You recognized the characteristic cadence, the slight pause between syllables as if he were unsure to continue. Sitting against the headboard, feet still tucked under your covers, you waited for some seconds, your heartbeat rushing into your ears until the knocks returned. You didn’t want to sprint into the hallway just to realize it was a dream.

This time, the knocks were lighter.

"…Viktor?" you said because it couldn't be anyone else.

You dragged your feet out of bed into the cold floor, tiptoeing to open the door. He was waiting in the dark corner of the hallway, the metallic fidgeting of the cane reverberating in the silence between both. If you focused enough, you could smell his shampoo.

“Hi, do you need something?” you muttered, a yawn escaping your mouth. What time was it?

“Eh, yes? I… wanted to ask if you would let me sleep on your bed tonight?" It was dark, with no lamps to illuminate his expression, but his fast speech denoted his shame. “I forgot to close my window in the morning, and encountered my bed drenched.”

You leaned against the door, your sleepy brain recovering its sense of reality. You both had busy a busy day ahead, probably the reason he stayed so late at the Academy today.

“Sure, come in.” It wasn’t the first time you organized a ‘sleepover’ that was more of a study session that ended up in falling asleep of exhaustion hours later in the same bed, though all of them were done in Viktor’s room.

You entered first, kneeling subconsciously into the lower drawers of your closet to retrieve some extra blankets after turning on your lamp. He used a lot, for what his laundry could tell. He was awkwardly standing on the threshold, a pillow beneath his arm. He was probably seeing that you used to sleep in the middle of the mattress, too shy to even sit.

A nervous laugh rolled off your tongue, at least you tidied up when you made your laundry hours ago. You quickly pulled your pillow into the side further the door, tossing the blankets so they could cover the mattress. You patted the surface, sitting on your side and deliberately giving him your back so he didn’t feel observed. He closed the door slowly, leaving his cane against your desk.

You were already tucked inside the covers when you felt his weight move the mattress slightly. Heard him sigh, you tugged the end of your blanket against your nose, covering half your face. You shouldn’t be smiling.

Calm down or he’s going to hear your pulse from the other end of the bed. Do you want that?

“Goodnight, Viktor.” You said while snuggling down to sleep, back turned towards him. So you couldn’t catch he indeed was facing your back.

"Rest well," he whispered back, observing the way your soft hair fanned out over the pillow like a hue. Lingering longer than it would take him to reach for the lamp on the nightstand, he rested his weight against his pillow and tried to close his eyes, only to be tempted with curiosity to watch his shoulders slumping down and rise with each calmed breath.

He couldn’t bring himself to sleep as peacefully as you, he was too nervous. The bed wasn’t small, but all the place smelled like you, and the gap between you two felt strange, the bed already warm when he slid inside. Even if the room was colder than his, despite his habit to sleep inside a cozy cocoon of blankets, he wouldn’t gather the courage of nuzzling closer to your warm body, which was reserved for his wildest dreams.

Or so Viktor wanted to think.

His dreams always proved to be treacherous, or at least since he met you. He supposed it was fair, after all, it was the only place he could not hold back from his true inner desires.

Inside his turbulent mind, the fantasy that clouded his mind for quite a long time repeated itself: with your body pressed between the bed and his, legs beautifully wrapped around his hips as you both encountered the other with each hungry thrust. He could only ideate how your hot touch would set ablaze his skin, would you bite, or scratch him while he made you reach your release?

His dream woke him up in the middle of the night when he heard a whimper. You were sleeping, clueless about the battle displaying inside Viktor's mind. He had moved away from the safe space at his bed’s side, practically hugging your body, allured by the warmth of your skin. Catching down his accelerated breath, too afraid to wake you up, he thought about running away and sleeping in his soaked mattress after all. Though he couldn’t, not when he was sure you would ask in the morning.

And he would have to confess his feelings… He bit his lip when he felt your hips rolling against his shaft, his hard shaft. For your steady breathing, he was sure you were sleeping. But then why…?

You moaned lightly, shamelessly grinding against him. He put his jaw against the top of your head, trying to ignore the burning sensation inside his pants in the search for a clear mind. What was he supposed to do? Probably pushing you away, but he didn’t want to do that.

But another part of his mind, the one he was trying to combat, revoked in a somewhat twisted curiosity. Could you be dreaming of him?

You shifted your position, furthering your butt against him. A pleased hum escapes from your lips. Viktor growled, his lips pressed in a fine line. If he didn’t appreciate your friendship that much, he would’ve woken you up and then make his dreams—and probably yours, if he was lucky—a reality.

It was too much for his resilience. It was not only your smell now, but it also was your warmth, and your soft hair pressed against his cheek, you were so soft, with your body pressed so invitingly, he never felt more secure. Cursing under his breath every time your hips rolled against his erection, a very distant thought haunted his mind.

He had to sleep if he didn’t want to perform badly in his test.

“Mmm… Viktor…” you sighed, another roll of your hips came to torture him. "Oh, Viktor."

He swallowed, cold air entered his throat when he muttered against your hair: “Are you… dreaming of me?”

You stopped for a moment, and he froze. “Viktor, touch me,” you cried, and necessity tinted your voice. His hand gently laid against your stomach tensed. He could feel the edge of your panties’ hem with his fingertips.

“…I can’t,” he answered with his jaw tense. He wanted to, but it was wrong.

“Viktor, I love you,” you whined as if that would solve the problem.

He was shivering, for desire or emotion, it didn’t matter. A layer of sweat covered his brow. Snuggling against your hair, his tongue rolled with a chuckling plea. “If only you weren’t sleeping… the things I would do to you.” The worse thing it could happen was that you didn’t remember your dreams, but even if your desire was unconscious, there was still the tangible possibility of you didn't reject him when he confessed his feelings for you.

And for the steady rhythm settled in your hips rubbing against his cock, Viktor would probably confess tomorrow. His patience could only extend for so long.

He was carefully tracing your breath and the little moans that fled your lips to catch the moment of your orgasm. But Viktor was surprised about the way your body trembled against his while you cried his name between gritted teeth.

It took all his inner strength not to roll you over and put himself deep inside of you. Instead, he hugged you closer. “You are so beautiful,” he muttered, snuggling his nose against your hair, trying to seal your essence in his mind. Viktor was so entranced, that he didn't notice the change in your breathing. “I love you, too. You have no idea how much.”

Slowly, you rolled in his arms. He couldn't see your flushed face, but he sensed the extra warmth irradiating from your face. Blinking, you muttered: “Am I dreaming, am I not?” You tried to sit while supporting your weight on one elbow.

His gaze shifted to the deep V of your dorm shirt. He knew he should avert his gaze, but curiosity, and lust, allowed him to follow the taunting line of his gaze.

The shirt was too thin, and the neckline too pronounced he could see the sweet curves of your breasts, the taunting peaks of your nipples outlining against the fabric.

“What did you say—?" You were too sleepy and shocked, and ashamed, to connect your thoughts into a logical thread. You were about to open your mouth again when Viktor pulled you almost on top of him as his lips clashed with yours.

Your surprised exclamation was muffled against his mouth, devoured by him while your body straddled him like it was a logical next step—in your dreams sure it was—always mindful to not press too much weight on his right leg. A new sound escaped your lips in the form of a moan as your hips began to grind against his throbbing cock.

So this was what was poking your back.

His hands were all over your body, from caressing lightly your cheek so you wouldn't dare to break the kiss to roaming under your shirt, playing with the sensitive skin of your breasts. Your skin was flushing hot against the cold bedroom, the rain still pouring against the window.

You had to break the contact to breathe. His eyes glowed like beacons, but the gold was darkened with lust. Your skin was covered in goosebumps every time his fingers traced delicate figures in your back and stomach.

Your breast tingled and swelled and tightened into hard nubs that begged for his kiss. You wanted to take the cloth off your head and into the floor, to be bare in front of him. But—

You shifted your body so you couldn’t feel his erection pulsing against your core. “Viktor” you huffed; voice strangled with unfinished desire.

He rolled his hips over, accommodating you on top of his length still covered. You bit your lip to avoid copying his movement. “Mmm?”

“Are you sure about this?” You were friends, and even if you wanted to cross the line to the unknown, you were terrified of ruining the relationship you two already have.

"About what, this?" he muttered, pulling you close as he kissed you again, this time, nibbling at your lower lip for you to open your mouth. "Or this?"

He reached for one of your breasts, rubbing his thumb against one hardened nipple. You jumped at the electrifying sensation running down every nerve, ultimately leaning against his touch.

“Please let me have you,” he left out in a shaky breath, pressing his cheek against yours as he leaned to bury his face in your neck, leaving little trace of kisses there too.

“Would you not regret this in the morning?” you had to say, smelling the essence of his hair so close to your nose it was intoxicating.

He jerked up his head towards you, wide eyes, and mouth open. “In the morning I will treasure you even more.”

You couldn’t hide the smile plastering on your flushed face. Under the covers, you reach for his dick, stroking him lightly with your nails. He grunted, sending you a gaze outlined with dark, arched eyebrows.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

You hummed. “I guess it’s okay.”

He smiled mischievously, his hands slipping from inside your shirt to the waistband of your panties, his touch leaving a burning sensation on your skin, your breasts swelled, hypersensitive against the thin fabric of your pajamas.

“I think it’s my time to enjoy, don’t you agree?” You felt your toes curl in response when his dexterous fingers caressed your clit. He encircled the tender, throbbing flesh with his thumb.

You couldn’t answer, and any attempt to send him a glare grew futile as you were arching your back to give him full access.

“Hmm, so eager already.” He stopped after sensing your body tense, ready to chase your climax. Whining, you tried to frantically put his hand inside your panties, but he hid it inside the covers.

“Viktor—”

His eyes burned when he looked at you between his dark lashes. “Tell me what you want.”

You pouted. “Are you going to make me beg?”

“Not this time.” He tugged down at the hem of your panties, just a little. The cold temperature of the room made goosebumps on your skin, or at least you blamed the ambiance. “I just want to be sure, too. If you won’t regret this in the morning.”

You froze as your same words spilled out his mouth. Then your fuzzy memory picked up a perfect answer.

“Well…” you muttered in an airy sigh, using your knees to rub yourself back and forth along his shaft, feeling your wetness against his underwear. He grumbled in response. “What do you think I was dreaming about just now?”

Viktor chuckled, you couldn’t see if a sweet pink was painting his cheeks, or if he would blush in other places besides his face when he pushed you away slightly to take off his shirt because of the room’s darkness, only barely outlined by the streetlamps shining near and the dimmed moonlight filtering through the rainclouds. Nevertheless, you didn’t want to turn on the lights, no when the smooth shadows enveloped you like satin, only outlining the necessary. Flashes of silver with each lightning breaking the sky. One of his hands cupped your cheek, the other hand brushing away hair that could block his view of your face.

“Then, let me show you my love,” he stated, tangling one of his hands in the back of your neck to pull you closer. His kiss was desperate and hungry as his fingers grasped your soft skin with such strength you know it would leave bruises, but your hands embraced him, nails scratching his back.

You took off your shirt between kisses, hissing at the feeling of your hard nipples rubbing against his bare chest. One of his hands slipped from caressing your face to cupping one of your breasts, massaging the soft skin while your hips grinding against his.

“You are so tantalizing; do you know that?” His kisses traveled down from your lips to your jaw, descending on your neck. Shivering, you felt his tongue leaving wet, hot kisses that rivaled the still, cold air of the room. You extended your neck to give him unobstructed access. With his other hand, he was touching the sensible skin near your entrance, inner thighs tingling against his light touches. You moaned when one of his fingers slipped inside the fabric, teasing your folds for a second. “So precious and wet.”

“Please touch me,” your cry sounded so strange to your ears, and Viktor looked shocked, even if it was only for a second before he could recover with a smug smile.

“Hmm, you may have to be more specific.”

If you were in another situation, you would have hit him. But despite your position on top of him, he knew that he had the upper hand. This time, that is.

“Touch me here.” You snatched one of his hands and put it outside your pulsing core, your fingers touching the soaked fabric of your panties as you put your intertwined fingers right above your entrance.

“I-I’m afraid something is blocking my access.”

“Oh, and what are you going to do about it?” you smiled, stroking his cock lightly. He tried to rock his hips into your touch, but you pull away too quickly. “How bad, I can’t reach you either.”

Laughing at his glare, you felt his hands at your hips.

“Lay down.” His demanding tone made you even wetter, feeling a new layer dripping out your pussy.

You wanted to resist, but you couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you as if you were the only oasis in a desert, and he was thirsty. The pillow was soft when your head sink in. Viktor was preparing some pillows for him to support his leg now that both his leg and back braces were gone.

“Do you want help?”

“Mmm, no. I think I would prefer to take off your clothes myself.”

“Oh.” Below the blankets, you were clenching your thighs together trying to alleviate your desperation.

The clock on the wall rang 4 AM. You were half-sitting half-laying against your pillows and the headboard, Viktor’s hands were sliding down the last piece of clothing off your body. He made the panties a ball, not before pondering them with a warm gaze.

“They’re soaked.”

You opened your legs so he could see, your center pulsating with wet, hot desire. “It’s not the only thing soaked here.”

“I wonder…” he reclined towards you, almost laying down next to your body, hands crawling slowly from your stomach to your pussy, to finally rub your clit a couple of times in vicious circles. “You’re ready for me, aren’t you?”

You almost screamed when he plunged two fingers inside of you. You leaned toward him, nails digging in his shoulders as you rode his hand. He looked at you with heavy eyelids, his free hand brushing one of your nipples.

“That’s right, take your pleasure.” He kissed your brow before bending down to your chest to replace his hand with his mouth.

Feeling your climax chasing after you with your eyes close while he gently sucked your skin, rasping your taut peak with his teeth, you pulled at his hair, making him whimper before coming back with full energy at your other breast.

You were desperately pulling off the waistband of his underwear, feeling him twitch under your touch. His tip was wet too, which made you rub it in circles and then up and down. Biting your lip, you leaned against his ear.

“I want you inside of me,” you groaned, still riding him when you cum. As you were shaken by the waves of bliss that surrounded your body and clouded your mind.

He paused for a moment, enjoying the sensation of your walls squeezing his fingers, to then nibbling with new motivation into the soft skin, his hair tingling your collarbone and neck with every movement of his head. “That makes two of us.”

You grasped him from the hair, forcing him to see you even if you missed his attentive touches. “Then what are you waiting for?” You were still riding the high of your release when Viktor retreated his fingers off you. Jumping at the sensation, you scratched his cock lightly.

“Not today, I’m afraid.” He kissed you softly. “We have to sleep while we can, and if we continue... I don’t think we will be able to rest well into noon, probably.”

Your mind focused on the important duties that would happen in a few hours, still, with the room sheltered in the darkness, it looked like tomorrow was far away. “Well into noon, huh?” You cocked an eyebrow, still stroking him in a slow, teasing rhythm.

“Do… you d-doubt m-me?”

“Oh, someone’s stuttering,” you sang mockingly, but you were smiling. “Do you like it?” Gripping him slightly tighter while you increased the pace, you shifted from sitting to supporting your body with elbows and knees. “Or do you prefer this?”

You kissed his tip before Viktor could answer. His taste overwhelmed your tongue while you hummed approbatory. From your side view, you observed his legs tensed with every inch of him that went inside your mouth.

“W-wh-what a-ah! Are you d-doing?”

“Mm, you’re quite big.” He twitched under your touch. You laughed, the vibration made him grunt. “Oh, someone likes it.” You paused when you felt Viktor’s hand caressing your hair, tangling it inside his fist so it wouldn’t cover your face. “Mmm?” You said while seeing him right in the eye.

“I… w-want to see you. Like this.”

“Do you…” you said, licking him each time; “dream… of me… doing… this?”

He was biting his lip. “P-perhaps.”

You smirked, kissing his tip and resuming your quest of giving him the same pleasure he gave you moments ago. His legs were shaking, heels deeply buried into the blankets. If the room was still cold, you couldn’t notice it anymore.

“W-wait! I-I’m going to c—” Seeing him so flustered, you bobbed him down your throat. He almost screamed out your name.

Letting him out until only the tip of your tongue was caressing him, you muttered: “Then go for it.” You closed your mouth around his cock, tongue circling out at a constant pace, both hands occupying rubbing the rest of him. It wasn’t long until your mouth was filled with his seed.

“W-would you be good and swallow it, hmm?” you glared playfully at him but obeyed anyway. He looked surprised. “I… I was just, uh, playing.”

“Well, in that case, I won.” You went to him to snuggle over his chest. On the opposite wall, the clock marked around 5 AM, the dusk already picking its grayish light into the room. Now, only a drizzle was muffled into the windows.

He hugged you carefully after offering you the glass of water you had left on your nightstand, even if his fingers were digging into your skin as if he were afraid you would fade with the first sunbeams. His hands tapped your skin with his shirt tossed away to dry off your sweat. You pulled up some blankets when he was done, covering your bodies and putting them up to your nose, your voice sounded muffled.

"We should sleep now because if I end up showing late to my final test, I’m going to hold you accountable.”

His chest rumbled when he chuckled. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

Your eyes were already dozing off, your muscles relaxing as both breathings joined in unison. “About arriving late?”

“No. About holding you accountable." His hands were tracing figures on your back. “I may have to punish you.”

“Mmm, maybe it’s not so bad after all. Just remember, I’m delicate.” You had your eyes closed, so you didn’t see Viktor going his way and giving you a chaste peck on your lips.

“I will keep it in mind.”

#viktor x reader #viktor x fem!reader #viktor/you #arcane viktor x reader #arcane smut #arcane fanfiction #viktor fanfic #viktor smut #arcane viktor #viktor x f!reader #viktor/reader #you can always be honest with me and tell me 'it sucks'#but be gentle pls lel #i will be back with SFW fics soon #okay bye #my thingies :)

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goodoldfashionedengineer · 1 year

Text

The Guardians Shall Rise

Summary:

A world in which Hunter instead of Luz is sent to summer camp by his 16 older brothers and learns what it means to have friends while also getting a new mentor figure. And there's the Empress who despises humans for some reasons, but he'll be fine. Based on @sergeantsporks Guardian Family AU

Warnings: Mentions of (Parental) Death and Belos being creepy

Ao3

Chapter 1

Finally, the bell rang and they were dismissed. Rapidly he packed his stuff to get out into the hallway before the flood of students could set in.

Almost tripping over himself, he ran to his locker. Hunter exhaled a sigh of relief as he arrived with no other soul in sight. That's when he threw his backpack off his shoulders, only for it to land onto the floor.

“Damnit!” Promptly he kneeled to pick it up, but a foot from his left kicked it away. “Hey, watch out, man!” he exclaimed.

“And why should I? Will you send one of your brothers after me?” Brian said with a smile, a stupid classmate who has a new target every other day. Today that seemed to be him.

In the blink of an eye, Hunter got up again, balling his hands into fists. “Give it back!” Out of the blue, another classmate, Rich, came to his aid by taking the bag from the bully. “Come on, don't be mean. Here,” he threw it back at Hunter, who wrapped his arms around said item and shielded it protectively.

He turned away to inspect if any damage had been done to one of its contents. Luckily, it seemed to be intact. A chuckle escaped from the other student, “Besides, it's probably infested with rabies anyway.”

All remaining calm was swept away in an instant. With one quick move, he saw that self-righteous smirk. Cautiously, he secured the backpack in the locker before moving on with pure instincts. Hot rage blurred his vision as he threw himself onto him.

A few shrieks were heard from the crowd that had gathered around them. He didn’t hear what was said, all he focused on was getting a few hits. Rich was pushing Hunter’s face away with his hand, but growing up with brothers gave him the advantage.

Out of a sudden, someone grabbed his shoulders, trying to tear him away. Hunter punched whoever it was, not done yet with his current target, who still used his flat hands to defend himself. The person he just hit didn’t stop.

“You’re so crazy!” “You’re crazy!” “Boys, stop immediately!” “Ow! Did you just bite me?!” “That’s enough!” Another teacher had arrived at the scene and the both of them were finally able to get Hunter off of Rich. “You are going to the principal’s office!”, one of the P.E. teachers said as he guided Hunter the way.

Around him, the students looked at him with fear, anger and annoyance. As if he had personally wronged them. The whispering ensued and he knew that this would be the gossip for the weekend.

Not everything was understood but here and there it was just clear enough. Some didn’t even try to hide their comments at all. “That’s what happens when you get raised by your siblings.” “Yeah, I think he finally snapped.” “I heard the last set was full of troublemakers.” “Seems to run in the family, then.”

Nothing he hadn’t heard but that didn’t make his urge to free himself and go on a second round any less apparent. “Jay-eh, Finn- Wittebane, stay still and let’s get this over with. What is up with you today?!”, the teacher said. Hunter couldn’t suppress the grunt, “My name is Hunter.”

And that's how he got himself landed in the principal's office. One might say he overreacted. He, however, thought that his reaction was totally justified in this case. What was he supposed to do, not doing anything?

“Mr. Wittebane, why did you bite Richard Lewis?”

Hunter sat closer to the edge of his seat, “He insulted my family! He-”

“Mr. Wittebane, I am asking you to calm down. This conversation could go a lot smoother if-”

“If what? I had just gone away like nothing happened? That’s what you want, right?!”

The principal sighed and rubbed his temples. He was obviously used to this situation and losing his last bits of energy. With a defeated expression, not even looking up from the ground, he suggested, “Let’s just wait until your brother arrives, Mr. Wittebane.” And leaned back in his chair.

The teenager with overcrossed arms grumbled before leaning back. In an effort to distance himself from the adult, he took the chair and brought it awfully close to the door. The angry glare he shot at the principal went unnoticed and instead asked him another question, “Do you regret your action even in the slightest?”

“No!”, he spouted, “The only thing I regret is not biting hard enough.”

The principal raised an eyebrow, “Is everything okay at home?”

Hunter had to grip both of his chair arms, so he wouldn't fall out of it as he leaned forward. The audacity of that question left his mouth open. “Of course! Why wouldn't it be?!”

The other gave him a sympathetic smile, looking kind of sad. “Grief comes in different forms. I knew your brothers and how they acted-”

“Well, Mr. Shepherd, I am not my brothers.”

Hunter wasn't set on answering another question. Not until Jasper would arrive at least. He avoided each and every one.

School was long over when the door finally opened, hitting the back of Hunter's chair. “Jasper, thank God, you're finally here!”

Hunter stood up to move his chair, but when he looked up, it wasn't Jasper's face he saw. It was Caleb's.

That's when he knew: He fucked up.

“Caleb Wittebane! Pleasure to see you again, I wished we had better reasons to meet but it can't be helped”, the principal said with a grin, “Usually I have a lot of positive stuff to say about Hunter. However, today he was involved in a fight that he initiated. He refuses to answer me, the only thing I know is that I was very surprised when I first heard it.”

Caleb kept a neutral expression and hadn't even looked at Hunter once the whole time. The ride home would be unpleasant for sure.

The teacher looked at him pitifully. “As you know, I don't allow violence at my school. For nobody. That's why Hunter will be suspended for the next three school days.”

Hunter felt like he got hit right in the gut. The silence which followed after was awfully loud. “No, please! Don't suspend me!”

“I am sorry, but-” “No, give me janitor work or detention for I don't care how long, just please!”

He must have looked absolutely pathetic. Begging with wide-opened eyes to not be suspended for three days. He couldn't help it.

Hunter would have continued his rant if not for Caleb, who put a hand on his shoulder, still not looking at him.

The principal took a breath before explaining himself more, “Hunter, you fought a student over a comment. You punched a teacher. When I asked you why, you refused to answer. What's more, you only feel bad now because it affects you negatively. I am sorry, but your actions have consequences, Hunter.”

He had been robbed of all words and was too stunned to speak. It didn't quite feel real. The walk to his locker to retrieve his bag seemed like a distant dream. Getting into the car happened without him even noticing, as if he was just a spectator in a video game.

A few minutes ago, he thought this would be the worst moment of it. But he had been quickly proven to be wrong.

The oldest brother turned on the engine and began to speak shortly after, “You know, if you were being bullied, you could have just told us. We would have taken care of it without you getting in trouble.”

Hunter got a feeling that he wouldn't like the truth. “It's not just me. It's not even primarily me. Most of the time, I am not even visible to them. They just took my bag, which annoyed me and then they insulted our family.”

“This again?!”, he sounded clearly upset. “I have to talk with the others about this.”

“You mean with the First Council?”, Hunter said apathetically while looking out of the window.

That seemed to bring the driver over the edge, “Hunter, quit joking, this is a serious matter!”

Hunter had known the lecture would come but the suddenness of it still was unexpected. At least Caleb had the manners to look apologetic. “I know you care about our family. I do too, that's why I am trying to keep it together but we all have to work together for that. Hey, Hunter. Look at me.”

His head shot up and he finally made eye contact through the rearview mirror for a few seconds. He had that stern gaze he used when he was going to say something important. “Uncle Philip tricked the new police officer already. That guy totally trusts him.”

How anyone could fall for that was beyond Hunter's understanding. But hey, maybe he only knows that it's all a facade because he had people telling him about it for as long as he could remember.

“You remember when your brothers acted out?” Hunter pretended to be brooding, “Which ones?”

Caleb didn't say anything but his head movement exposed his eye-rolling. “You know which ones. The ones who destroyed school property and some people complained and said we should have our custody removed because 'children can't raise children'.”

The air seemed to thicken. He was still rather young when that happened but he could still remember the hectic atmosphere and bustle that went around the house. Nobody told him what was going on at that time, of course, but it still had an impression on him.

“I assume that's a yes,” Caleb said. He continued, “He has a big advantage now. If he does it right and acts like he is a reliable adult who just wants the best for his 'poor nephew', he could actually have a chance this time.”

Something about that gave him chills. He never thought of this possibility because their uncle was universally shunned by the town as being kind of weird and creepy, but looking back on it, he did try his best to improve his image in the last few years. Sometimes he still thought it's Uncle Philip he saw in the bushes he passed. That man knew how to spike up paranoia and fear while also making his targets feel completely helpless.

None of them knew why he wanted custody of them. It's not like he ever cared about them in particular, he often avoided going to their house even before their parents' death.

It was bad to think about their death in the very vehicle they died in. Not the same, but still a car. But he had already started to think about them and Uncle and what did he do, he ruined everything, he is going to-

“Hunter? Hunter? We'll be home soon, okay? Should I pull over?” Caleb's voice said, the sternness all gone and replaced by gentleness.

Rapidly he shook his head. He knew how to calm himself down. They all did. Just take deep breaths, hold, exhale, repeat. Simple, really.

Not long after, Caleb emerged again, “I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you so worried. We will figure something out, okay?” The remorse was thick.

Evening set in and Caleb left Hunter alone for the rest of the day. But what was even more strange was that no one else had come to check on Hunter. The only thing unusual at dinner time was some glances that were exchanged between the brothers during dinner time, thinking they were stealthy.

When Hunter was finished, he tried to sneak back to their room. Emphasis on tried. He was stopped before he could even go through the doorway by Liam. The firefighter had his arms crossed and had a questioning look on his face. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He tried to squeeze past him, but of course, his scheme was hindered before he could have tried. “Ahem,” Caleb cleared his throat, “I think we need to talk.”

All eyes were on him. What would follow would come with mixed feelings, as some looked nervous, like Monty and Nathan. Others just looked defeated. The rest seemed totally self-assured.

He has never felt this exposed when surrounded by his brothers. To be frank, interrogations like these were uncommon, especially for Hunter. But it still was enough for his shoulders to tense.

“Hunter, take a seat. Don’t worry, we aren't angry at you” Caleb ordered. “Liam, no reason to play bouncer.”

Hyper-aware of every movement, Hunter made his way to the couch and sat down. Caleb took a few seconds to collect his thoughts, but Adam forestalled him, “First off, we want you to know that we love you, and we always will.”

These words weren’t encouraging. At all.

“Secondly, you probably won’t understand our actions or reasoning, but we have been thinking about it for some time and we will explain our side,” Adam continued.

A bad feeling overcame Hunter as he stared at the floor, taking a deep breath. They all seemed to have something planned out and he didn't like that.

“What is it, then?” He blurted out.

Instead of responding, the oldest set, or the First Council as they like to call them, looked at each other, before Caleb finally pulled out what looked like a pamphlet and gave it to Hunter.

Cautiously, he eyed it, as if just the bare touch could hurt him. Upon taking it, he noticed the smiling children, assumingly having fun, on the cover, the headline being “The Great Gatherer Summer Camp”.

“What…What’s this?” he asked full of confusion, despite the title being pretty obvious. The looks on the siblings' faces showed visible uncomfortableness, but they were still determined to continue. “A Summer Camp. To which you will go to.”

It hit differently when spoken aloud. He still didn't understand why they would do this. “But… summer is one of the only times we are all together.”

“And you can make up all that time during Fall and Winter Break,” Caleb said with little emotion.

Thoughts were rushing through his head but no correct sentence could be formed. He wanted to say 'Why don't you understand that it's not the same', wanted to say 'Why are you doing this to me', wanted to say 'Why are you hurting me this way'. He wanted to say so many things. But he said nothing.

Instead, he jumped up and ran to his - their room, with Liam now out of the way and nobody expecting his sudden reaction. They would be even more mad now probably, as their calls and footsteps were already shaking the house. But surely he could not sink deeper than this.

Hunter moped to his bed and embraced the cushion that he fell onto. Oh, what he would give so that he could rot here for all eternity.

The noises outside the door became louder but Hunter had no intent to open it. Their fault if they want to send him away.

However, it did move his focus toward his school bag, which gave him the motivation to get up after all. When he unzipped it, the item already greeted him with its sight. Carefully he held it in his hands to sit on his bed again.

It was a wooden carving of a cardinal with a scar across its left eye, beautifully painted and still shining bright after decades of being in family possession. He couldn't look long at it before he became nostalgic but in a good and familiar way.

Instinctively, he opened the drawer of his nightstand to pull out a drawing of said cardinal. Next to it was written “From Dad + Mom, For Hunter”, all of it in pencil, except the '+ Mom', which was written in red.

The memory of the making of this picture has gone blurry over the years, but he could still remember their smiles as Dad drew the sketch and Mom colored it. And the birds were chirping. They loved birds. They loved birds so much, so much that a lot of decoration in their house is bird themed and they have like five different bird houses.

His hands were shaking as he finally turned the picture around to read the words “Love you, Little Prince”.

When he first read this after it happened, he was sobbing on the floor for the rest of the day, mourning to be hugged one last time. Now it's like balm for the soul. The wish to be held by them remained.

The end of the school year and with it the start of summer break came. This year, however, he wasn't excited about it. Because instead of goofing around with his siblings, he was supposed to go kayaking and group hiking with people he didn't know. Why couldn't he have done this with his family?

The days leading up to it were filled with encouragement and promises that felt shallow. Nobody seemed to listen to him and his complaints of not wanting to go were ignored or downplayed. What's worse, Hunter was sure that they think what they are doing is the right thing. They did a good job raising him until now, why did they suddenly change their stance?

“You know that we love you?” Jasper asked, who stepped into his room and sat down next to Hunter on his bed.

Hunter stared at his shoes as he grumbled, “Doesn't feel like it.”

The silence between them stretched on until Jasper laid an arm around his shoulder. “We do. You might not understand it, but we are just looking out for you.”

“Then why are you pushing me away?!” Hunter shot back, now looking directly at the older brother, who had the means of looking sympathetic.

“It's not our intention, it's just a result to keep you close to us, okay? This is not your fault, it's ours. We did what we could do with our parenting skills but now we need a little extra help and there is nothing wrong with it," he said.

Hot, bubbling rage filled up inside Hunter's very being as he lashed out. “Do you know what you sound like?! It sounds like-”

'I am a burden on you which you now shove to someone else', he wanted to say. But he chose not to and instead stormed out of his room with his backpack.

Outside, his suitcase was already waiting, with Adam and William standing next to it. The two of them were engaging in conversation. Upon joining them, they stopped and resorted to smiling at him, as that would make this situation any better.

They didn't even stay and instead excused themselves by saying that they had to have a word with Caleb.

So here he was, waiting for the bus that will take him to the worst three months in quite some time, completely alone. If not for the feeling of being watched, despite the streets being completely empty. Hunter looked back at the house and nope - nobody was standing at the window. He looked to his left, then his right, until his eyes caught something. He has to blink multiple times to make sure it was truly the person he believed it to be. But there he was.

Philip Wittebane aka. his uncle. Not 20 feet away from him, standing next to a street pole. The man smiled, but the kindness did not reflect in his eyes, nor did the small wave. A shiver ran down his spine and without thinking twice, he dashed inside to find someone.

The oldest set was standing right in the kitchen. “Guys, guys, you must look! There's Uncle Philip outside!” Hunter said as he tried to catch his breath. His brothers looked at each other with puzzling looks, both eyebrows raised. Hesitantly William stepped forward and placed a hand on Hunter's shoulder to guide him outside.

William stretched his neck to search the area. “Hunter, I don't want to be mean but there is no one.”

He was right because the street pole was just as lonely as the rest of the neighborhood. “But-But he was right there! He must still be around!”

William's right corner of his mouth dropped. “Look, I know summer camp is against your plans but you don't have to lie to us.”

Hunter froze.

“Besides, Uncle hasn't shown up in months, why would he come back now? He doesn't know about the summer camp.”

Hunter stayed silent and hoped his brother would pick up on his wide-opened eyes and struggle to say anything.

But he continued, “It's scary, but you'll have fun, just you see. You're so smart and intuitive. Wait here.”

Hunter watched as William walked back to the house, baffled by the course of their conversation that just took place.

“Hello, Hunter,” a voice behind him said, causing Hunter to turn around and jump back.

“Haha, you don't have to be afraid of me. I'm your uncle,” Philip said with a smirk, standing ominously just a few inches afar.

Hunter clenched his jaw. “There is nothing to discuss.”

“Oh, but there is,” his uncle continued, “you seem troubled. But who wouldn't be upset in your position? They don't understand you and don't know what to do. And their best solution is sending you away.”

The boy's brows furrowed further. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

The smile didn't vanish, but his stare switched from Hunter to the other side of the street. “It's such a shame that your dad isn't here. He was a truly kind and gentle man. I bet he wouldn't approve of this.”

Hunter took a step back, which the adult ignored and continued on. “You look so much like him. Every time I look at you, all these memories about your father come back.”

Another step back. He looked back at Hunter with his grin growing larger. “I'll make you an offer. You stay with me for the summer and I'll tell you everything I know about him. Of course, you can return whenever you want and I'll take full responsibility. But something tells me that you'll see how great you would have it if you lived with me instead of your brothers.”

The man's arm rose, aiming to land on his nephew's shoulder.

Hunter bolted straight into the forest. The trees rushed by at light speed but he knew he was not fast enough, he had to run faster and faster if he wanted to get away. He finally dared to open his eyes again when he heard a breaking twig and knew he had to hide.

The trees were pretty thick in this part, so it wasn't a hard decision to make. He tried to control his breathing so that his panting wouldn't rat him out. But panic shot up when he realized that his bag felt much lighter. He hoped that it wasn't the thing he thinks it was that he lost. However, as he looked inside, his wooden cardinal was nowhere to find.

“There you are.”

This must be a nightmare.

Uncle Philip sneaked around the tree into Hunter's field of view. “Stop following me!” Hunter screamed, feeling unwell at how close the man had gotten.

“Oh, but I am only looking out for you. Who knows what you could have gotten yourself into? You could have tripped and broken a leg without anyone noticing,” the relative responded with the same smirk.

Hunter closed his eyes. “Stop lying to me! I don't want to see you!”

“I am just worried about my poor nephew,” he said, voice coming closer and closer, “I wouldn't send you away.”

He could feel the man's breath near his ear, which caused him to open his eyes again. And he was staring directly at the man's face.

“They are getting rid of you.”

His heart skipped a beat. He tried to look anywhere but at his uncle. That's when he noticed a white bird hopping on the ground with a bag in its beak. And he could have sworn that a carved object was sticking out.

He pushed his uncle aside, ran off, and screamed over his shoulder, “No, they aren't!” while following the strange raven into the deserted house it was headed to.

#toh #the owl house #toh fanfiction #the owl house fanfic #the owl house fanfiction #toh fanfic #toh au #toh hunter #hunter toh #hunter wittebane #previous golden guards #toh belos #guardian family au #toh swap au

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yandere-flower · 10 months

Note

Which of your yanderes are likely to give darling a good ole back hand if they step out of line?

Would any of them never raise a hand to their darling?

honestly...most of them probably could...

Desmond is a practical guy, he'll feel a tinge of guilt about it but ultimately a little pain prevents a lot of pain in the future. If god forbid you escaped somehow, you could get so injured or taken by some one worse than him. The ends justify the means for him.

Sawyer could but he'd really hate himself for it. He'd never think about it and do it, its more rash, more sudden. Maybe you're fighting and things are escalating and he panics, his job is very violent as his actions work faster than his mind. He freezes of course, and instantly starts begging you to forgive him, but he still wouldn't let you go.

Zara absolutely would give a slap whenever she's angry or pissed at you. She won't feel bad about it, maybe if you pout for a bit she'll buy you something you like, but she won't admit even to herself what she's feeling.

Ezra would never, he couldn't. He could barely restrain darling, let alone willing hurt them.

Mizu is eh. I think he'd consider trying, but he'd chicken out or would do a shove instead of a hit.

Margo and Olive wouldn't hit, very similar to Mizu where it's just not something they really see themselves doing. Unlike Mizu, I don't think these two would even entertain the idea.

Antonio would, but seldom. A last resort "enough" kind of thing where he pretends it didn't happen, he gushes over you and whispers such kind words. He won't ever talk about it, won't ever admit he did, you have to wonder if he genuinely blocked it out of his mind.

Cliff would, and he wouldn't really feel bad. He's making sure you stay in line and a firm hand by an authority figure is what is needed some times. He talks to you really condescendingly to, and will bring it up as a threat if you start to act up again.

#flower answers #yandere x reader #yandere #desmond #ezra #mizu #sawyer #antonio #cliff #margo #olive #zara

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matan4il · 8 months

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Hey, feel free to ignore - I found your blog after going through jumblr for a bit and I just want to get some stuff off my chest to someone who understands… My dad and his family are Jewish, so even though I’m technically not, I consider my Jewish heritage to be a big part of my identity. I have a *very* Jewish name to the point where I usually go by my middle name for safety reasons. (You never know who someone is when you introduce yourself, eh.) My dad has often said to me that I’m being overly cautious, that antisemitism is uncommon where we live. I had a conversation with him the other week where he expressed his shock and horror at the quick and monumental rise in visible global antisemitism… it broke my heart. In real life, I feel like the only people who care about this are my jewish friends and family. I feel very alienated and… I’m caught between apologising for not speaking Hebrew, for not being religious, and then on the other side I always gotta be on the defensive, always lead with “I’m not a Zionist”, always measure every word of support that I’m extending to Jews or Israel. I’m so tired…

Hi Nonnie! I am just gonna start by hugging you SO BIG!

I feel like antisemitism (or maybe its overt expression) has been on the rise for a long time, but it's been happening so gradually, and a lot of it has either been focused on the ultra orthodox community (those who are visibly Jewish, and who are very mistrusting of their non-Jewish surroundings, so they're less likely to report it to the authorities), or it's been disguised as anti-Zionism, and neither form got too much attention from non-Jewish news outlets. So I totally get your dad's surprise, at the same time that I am not surprised at all, even though I'm still shocked by the audacity of so openly justifying an actual massacre.

I am so sorry that you feel so alienated! Please remember you don't actually have to speak Hebrew to be a good Jew. My grandma was a Holocaust survivor, she tried to learn Hebrew, but never managed to absorb more than a few words. And she was a fantastic Jew, not just a good one, who really reflected some core Jewish values, like how she never stopped being so incredibly fair and kind to others, despite the unjust brutality she had suffered when a part of her family was murdered by the Nazis in Auschwitz, and another was murdered by their own neighbors. Same goes for being religious. There are LOADS of Jews who aren't, because being Jewish is so much more than just the religious aspects of our identity.

Also, I hope it's okay to share with you my POV on patrilineal Jews, but feel free to ignore this if it's not helpful. So why does the halacha (Jewish law) only recognize matrilineal Jews? Well, two thousand years ago, maternity was much easier to determine than paternity. Also, back then fathers barely dealt with their kids' education. It was basically on mothers, and that means they were the ones who passed on a sense of their culture, values, beliefs and world view to their kids. At the time, Jews also didn't have surnames, so that form of passing on this identity through the father didn't exist yet.

What I find interesting is, that this means Judaism says ONE parent who is DEF Jewish, and who passes on to you a meaningful Jewish identity, is enough. Today, when paternity can be determined for sure, I think that if we had rabbis with a great enough rabbinical stature across the Jewish world, the halacha would have been changed to include patrilineal Jews. In any case, I personally count patrilineal Jews no less than matrilineal ones. IMO, it's most of all a question of whether your Jewish identity is meaningful to you. And since it is, to me you're Jewish, period. *hearts*

And even if we look at it from the narrower POV from the halacha, just remember that it does recognize you, even if not religiously. Patrilineal Jews are called "Mi'Zera Yisrael," of the seed of Israel. So yeah, IDK... but I hope this helps!

As for not being a Zionist, of course you don't have to be. But I hope whatever your position is on the right of Jews to have a state in our ancestral homeland, it's not dictated by the hope that this will help people accept you. People who can't do that, unless you throw the majority of Jews (between Israeli ones, and the ones who support the Jewish state) under the bus, they will forever be capable of turning on you in a heartbeat. If they think it's wrong to murder you, but only so long as you live outside of Israel, or denounce it, they will never be people you can truly rely you.

I hope you're feeling better, having shared! And again, IDK if my words helped in any way, but I hope they did. Please don't hesitate to write me, and let me know either way, if you feel like it. Take good care of yourself! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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