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ehlnofay · 1 year

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content warnings: discussions of abuse, death and violence

The knife Torr usually uses is too thick and blunt to split the pane from the frame; with a muffled curse they sheathe it and feel for the letter-opener in their sleeve. (Katla gave it to them a few weeks back, managing to look guilty and irrepressible at the same time. They’d sighed, enough to make the guilt flicker, and told her that they’d told her to stop taking shit, that they weren’t going to stand for it, where did she steal it from? She’d told them. They’d told her they’d go and give it back. They lied, of course; it’s a nifty little blade, and it wouldn’t be missed by the stationer’s shop, what good would returning it do? They just needed there to be no point to it, to make sure she wouldn’t do it again.)

The house is a bitch to break into, worse than Torr anticipated. The locks, he’d expected them to be beyond his skill level – he’s a novice pick at best – but from what he could glean with his awkward fumbling they’re even tougher to crack than he’d thought they would be. He almost cracked his pick in half just trying to dislodge it from wherever he managed to stick it. No dice there. None of the lower-floor windows are open, and thanks to the weird layout getting higher up would be practically impossible, not to mention very visible. He’s already more obvious than he would like; tucked just behind the corner of the house, in clear view of anyone who passes through the road, very obviously fucking with a window.

He's chosen the most time-consuming way of getting in, too, but what else could he do? Doors won’t work and smashing a window’s a terrible idea for so many reasons. (The situation in there is going to be sensitive, judging from everything Torr’s heard; strange rumours bleeding poisonous through the city and Griss’ dead certainty that she saw him, her less-than-favourable description. The last thing they need to do is freak the kid out, ruin it before it’s begun. Plus if they shattered the window it would let the cold in. Probably the last thing the boy needs.)

The letter-opener works better than the dagger. The narrow blade worms into the space between the windowpane and its sturdy wooden framing, chipping away at the glaze, widening the gap bit by bit. Whenever Torr shifts its angle there’s a hair-raising sound of metal point scratching glass. The wood creaks. It’s all quiet enough that Torr can only just hear it when they’re inches away, but in the strange and silent shadow of the lopsided house it feels deafening.

Torr keeps going, carefully listening out for anyone approaching, preparing potential excuses or escape routes just-in-case. He doesn’t have to use any of them; no-one comes, not in all the time he spends separating the glass from the wood. It takes more time than it feels like it should. More time than Torr has. There’s a million other things he could be doing right now.

(It’s a market day, and there’s always work to be had when the stalls are out – runner errands, mostly, and it’s a pittance but it’s something. Skrauti at least is probably down the markets, begging maybe, or helping with some of the stalls there if the vendors let him. They probably are – they like him. Talres might be there as well, if Idrela is. And then there’s checking up on Skygna, who he hasn’t seen in long enough to worry, and asking around for jobs for Ogaefa that would let her bring her sister as well. He needs to figure something out about Kyrri’s nightmares, too – he won’t go to sleep half the time and it’s not sustainable.)

But. There’s a kid in there that needs his help. Needs something. (Another Windhelm orphan. You’d think the city would get sick of making them.)

The gap Torr’s made reaches all the way around the glass. They chip away extra along the place where it joins at the bottom – the frame looks peeling and scrabbled, like an animal ate away at it – and then finally the pane shivers, loose enough that when Torr drops the letter-opener into the snow and presses it down it slips right out of place without a fuss. They ease it out of the window-frame – it’s heavy, they always manage to be surprised by how heavy glass is – and lean it gently against the wall by the door.

The good thing about this method is that the window can go back in. (More or less. As long as no-one touches it, or the wind doesn’t blow too hard the wrong way.) Hopefully, the house will stay insulated. Torr doesn’t want to give the boy in there hypothermia. (Torr doesn’t need to see that again.)

They take up the letter opener again, cold and wet with snow, and slide it back into their sleeve. (Its freezing shape against their skin feels like a brand.)

They take a breath.

The boy’s name is Aventus Aretino. That’s what Torr’s heard. His mother was well-known in political circles, apparently – her death, a few months back, caused quite a stir. (So they’ve heard, at least. Naalia Aretino wasn’t exactly part of Torr’s social strata.) Torr doesn’t know if the kid left, or kept real to himself, or what, but he’s there now, holed up in his house, performing a ritual to summon assassins. Apparently. That’s the talk, anyway – it’s all swear on the Nine, my cousin heard him, scared her half out of her wits kind of stuff. Not substantiated. But some of the kids have heard noises in the house – not assassin cult rituals necessarily, but something – and who else would be in there? The place is shut up. Plus Griss is dead certain she saw him once (creepy boy with a lip split from the cold that talked to himself) and Skrauti thinks they might have met when they were younger and was worrying about it. So Torr had to check, to assuage their concerns, and to help how necessary. Who the hell would he be if he didn’t?

Torr braces his hands against the emptied frame, splintered wood digging into his palms, and hoists himself deftly through the deconstructed window.

Inside, the house is both muggy and colder than Torr feels like it should be.

The windows haven’t been open – no airflow – but it doesn’t feel like there’s been a fire lit, either; at least not today. Maybe not for a while. It doesn’t feel like a place someone should live. But, separated by the thin walls (sans one window) from the noise of the city large, Torr’s pretty sure he can hear something somewhere upstairs.

The windowpane Torr took out let him into what looks like – a larder, maybe? Some kind of storage room? An aboveground cellar? Fuck if he knows; he’s never lived in a house with more than two rooms (or any houses, for that matter, in the last four years) and this seems excessive. Whatever it is it has shelves and not much else. Whether that’s by design or the place has been cleared out, he couldn’t say.

The shelves are covered in dust, mostly; the wind whistling in through the empty window-frame, clingy collections of dirt and debris tumbling merrily along the wooden surfaces. There’s nothing in here.

Torr moves on.

The hallway isn’t much better – all creaky floorboards and dark, no windows or fireplaces to light it up. They have to blink hard to adjust. There’s pictures on the walls but in the dim lighting they can’t make them out.

Torr checks the whole ground floor (two rooms and a hallway, already more than they’re used to) and finds nothing. The place feels like a mausoleum. All the curtains that there are, are drawn. Half the furniture seems to have been taken away and what’s left is just gathering dust. It’s all a strange warped tableau of how these people lived, before, but now the mother is dead and the son – well, who’s to say?

Torr feels a bit weird in what looks like a study, running his fingers over inkpots that have long since congealed, glancing over a shuffle of papers left precariously at the corner of a desk. (One of the pages has fallen onto the floor. He can see the track it left in the dust.) After a few seconds, he leaves; there’s nothing for him there.

(Yet. They didn’t rummage through the desk drawers. Could be something valuable in there, and it’s not like anybody else is using it. Not like they’d care too much if they were.)

The staircase groans obnoxiously as soon as Torr puts a foot on the first step – even though he has nothing to fear from discovery, he freezes. No-one comes peeking around the corner of the upper floor, though. Even though by rights someone should – Torr can definitely hear something higher up in the house. A sort of banging, he thinks. Slow and rhythmic, as if on a drum.

The rest of the steps squeak as well, but they’re quieter about it. The pounding gets louder the higher he goes. Thud, thud… thud. The staircase leads onto a landing that’s as blank and dim and dusty as everywhere else.

A bedroom with the bed stripped. Toys on the windowsill (nice ones, the kind Torr points out in shop windows and lets the kids imagine having). The door was closed when Torr came in. No-one has been in here, he thinks, for a long time.

They close the door again behind them.

The noise is on this side of the house, they’re sure of it, so they don’t bother crossing to the other half. (It’s strange – they’ve been poking around, and they’ve definitely not been quiet about it. If there’s someone in the house, they should have come to look.) There’s a sort of living room – a nice space, with chairs and an ashy fireplace; and it’s not dusty, wouldn’t even be dark if not for the heavy drapes drawn over the windows. The drapes trap everything in. The dark. The sweaty cold. The smell.

There’s definitely a smell. Torr thought initially that it might just be mould. It’s not.

On the other side of the living room, there is a door. On the other side of the door is the banging noise. Torr takes a deep breath – almost chokes, because it stinks. (They’re used to normal bad smells – fucking have to be, spending time with so many children who’d barely know how to bathe themselves even with regular access to washing things – but this is something else. Sickly sweet and rancid all at once. They can taste it.)

(It isn’t wholly unfamiliar. Shit.)

Torr takes another steeling breath, this one shallow, and crosses the room, giving the arm of a chair an absent pat as they go. The door is cracked just a little bit open. There is something very bad on the other side.

They nudge it open.

It’s brighter, in this room, and stuffier. The smell is much worse, settling around their shoulders like a shroud, worming through their ribcage into their lungs – they don’t gag, but it’s a near thing. The room is brighter, even though its curtains are drawn as well, because it is lit by candles. Several of them. The smell is worse because of the mess of rotting meat laid out over the floor. (Torr recognises some – that’s a human heart, for example, there between two candles; he’s seen one in Nurelion’s shop, though it was much better preserved. Good for poisons, but only if you really know what you’re doing.) There are bones, too, carefully arranged in a caricature of a person’s skeleton. And before it all is the child.

The kid is here. Torr doesn’t know whether that’s worthy of relief or not.

The boy is the one making the noise. He kneels, huddled, a fraying blanket draped around his hips and puddling on the floor behind him. It might have been covering his shoulders at one time and slipped down quite badly. He’s bent almost in two, hunched over his own thighs, so bent Torr wonders if it’s a spinal condition, a kitchen knife in hand, rhythmically lifting it up and bringing it thudding down into the floorboards.

The knife leaves deep grooves in the wood. Periodically it hits one of the bones and splinters them into bits.

Torr’s not sure how long they’ve been watching. Fuck, they don’t know how long the boy’s been here, doing this. He doesn’t move to acknowledge them; didn’t seem to hear them come in. Doesn’t shift to pull the blanket back up or change the position of his legs or stretch his back. He just stays, head lowered, lifting the knife like it’s the heaviest thing he’s ever held, plunging it into the floor over and over and over again. Knees tucked under him, bent almost in half, forehead almost touching the ground, he seems almost to be prostrating himself. The candleflames rise and fall with the knife. The shadows flicker over the rotting heart with eerie regularity. A languid, lifeless beat.

Torr steps into the room. He’s not quiet. Aventus Aretino doesn’t move but to stab the space between the bones again.

“Hey,” Torr says, “Aventus,” but there’s nothing.

He kneels down, bending over the candles, trying to get a look at the kid’s face.

His lips are cracked, like Griss said; it’s hard to see in the strange lighting but his cheeks look hollow. The veins stand out on his hands. His eyes stare into fathomless distance as though seeing through the smoothed-out knots of the flooring; and his mouth moves, though all Torr can hear is the rattling of breath in his chest, and that’s only if they really listen.

“Aventus,” they say again, sharper, louder, but he doesn’t seem to hear, bloody lips almost kissing the floor, corpse-scented oxygen whistling in and out of his lungs. His mouth forms the same shapes again and again. Prayer. Supplication. Deadly benediction. Torr was already not particularly religious; this is going to put them off it for life.

Even so, in their head, they offer the Nine a quick, impious plea. Something is very badly wrong; they need whatever help they can scramble to get.

“Aventus,” they snap, placing a hand on his shoulder, and he responds then, flinging himself away across the meat and bones and fire, the knife at least left standing straight up in between two wooden planks where he can’t hurt himself with it. The bones scatter. There is an unpleasant stain on the boy’s sleeve. The knocked over candles, dripping wax, fizzle out before they manage to set either the walls or his hair alight; small mercies.

The boy stares, eyes bloodshot and hollow – eyes like gore dripping down a too-pale throat and beneath a collar, eyes like poison splattered on a bedspread, eyes like dirt and blood and snow. He gapes at Torr with something like wonder; when he smiles, it looks like it hurts, the dark scabs on his lips reopened. The hope on his face is the worst thing Torr has ever seen.

“You came,” he says, his voice so cracked and raw it’s barely audible. “You came, you –”

He’s still lying there, among the candles and the remains – he seems to register this at the same time Torr does, and he starts to scramble into a sitting position, the process looking much more laborious than it should. Torr reaches out to help, a hand on his arm pulling him to his feet, but the boy’s head drops into Torr’s palm and they freeze.

With a sound not unlike a sob, but also not quite like anything in the world, he rubs his matted thatch of hair into their hand.

Torr feels their face creasing; very deliberately, they smooth it out. “Okay,” they say, soft and soothing, and they adjust the angle of their knees so they can reach him without being in danger of tipping over. They crook their fingers enough to scratch gently at his scalp and he makes another horrible sound. “Okay. Let’s get you up, yeah?”

He ends up having to shuffle over on his knees. The kid can’t or won’t move until Torr’s basically holding him up, an arm tight around the shoulders, one hand still in his hair. Torr’s pretty sure he cracks one of the bones, stepping on it. He hauls the boy, trembling, to his feet.

“You’re here,” the kid mumbles. Torr can feel the points of his shoulder-blades through his shirt. They almost forgot the blanket – he hooks it around his shoe and shuffles it into the next room with them. The poor bugger clearly needs something to keep him warm.

He pauses to pull the door closed behind them with his unoccupied foot. They don’t need that right now. “I am. You’re Aventus Aretino?”

The boy nods, near-frantic. “I – and you – I –”

“Relax,” Torr says automatically as he lowers him into an armchair. Aventus sounds like he’ll cough up a bloody lung if he keeps trying to talk. “You need to drink. You got water in here?”

Aventus points mutely to a bucket next to the cold fireplace, but when Torr goes to get it, he clings. Like he’s a mirage. Like he’ll disappear if he stops touching him.

Torr ruffles Aventus’ hair again unthinkingly, his mind elsewhere. So there’s water, and the boy knows where it is, even in his state. (Whatever his state is – all Torr really knows is bad.) But they’d bet money he hasn’t been eating, enough or at all; he’s pale, slow, his eyes sunken. Torr knows that look far too well. He hasn’t been sleeping, either, or going outside – curtains all drawn and doors all locked. And his behaviour – well.

It’s not promising.

Gently, Torr detaches his arm from Aventus’ grasping fingers and goes to get the bucket. He hears the kid’s breathing kick into something sharp and uneven behind him. The bucket, he finds, is indeed full of water; there’s a mug lying on the bottom, under the surface. He brings it back, scoops out the mug, offers it to Aventus, who, naturally, can’t manage to get his shaking fingers to get a hold of it; he lifts it to his lips and tips down his throat. A bit of water splashes down the boy’s chest; he doesn’t seem to notice. Torr doesn’t think it matters.

Aventus isn’t able to drink much before he starts coughing. Torr sets the mug down. Aventus grasps for him again; he grabs a fistful of sleeve and tips his head back, air rattling in his chest. Torr stays crouched by the chair, looking up at him, and waits.

“You’re here,” Aventus repeats, gazing unfocused at the rafters. “I knew – I knew you would be. I prayed.”

Torr’s face scrunches. “You prayed for me?”

“Again and again.” The words sound like a prayer in the boy’s reedy voice; a litany. “And again and again and again and again… with the bones and things. I kept praying. I knew you’d come. I just had to be patient.”

Ah.

Shit.

Torr closes a hand around the boy’s wrist. He opens his mouth to speak, but Aventus beats him to it – his eyes slide down from the ceiling, vague and bottomless, and he confesses, “I’m tired.”

“I’m sure you are,” Torr says, rubbing their thumb in comforting circles over the point of his wrist. They keep their voice level. “Aventus. I’m not an assassin.”

In the blink of an eye, the boy is sitting bolt upright.

“Yes you are,” he says, saying the words louder than he really seems able to, wheezing them out with as much fierce desperation as he can manage. His scrabbly little fingers dig into Torr’s arm. His face is frightening. “Yes, you are. You are, I prayed, I prayed so much –” He chokes. His grip is actually beginning to hurt. “Did I do something wrong? Please, don’t go, please, I can do it right!”

“Aventus,” Torr tries.

“I can do it right,” Aventus insists. The frenetic energy with which he speaks makes him stretch his lips more than advisable. The scabs are splitting open. “I can, I can, and I can pay, I promise, I promise, I promise – !”

Torr shoves into the chair next to him, crushing him against the arm (just a little, just enough to force him to stay inside his body) and pulls him to leaning on Torr’s shoulder. He can feel his jaw still working, like with the prayer. He wraps an arm around the kid’s neck and threads fingers into his hair and waits for the shuddering to subside.

“I can,” he mumbles weakly after a few minutes of desparate silence. “I promise.”

“Stop talking,” Torr tells him, and he does. “I believe you, okay? Just try to keep calm. I’m here to help you.”

Aventus’ hands, crabbed and clawed, are fisted in the folds of Torr’s jacket. Even through their layers they can feel his bony fingers pressing into their ribs. He isn’t letting his eyes close, no matter how soothing a presence Torr tries to be, carding their fingers through the knots of his hair as best they can, badly humming that lullaby Swims down the docks taught them. It has the slow rolling cadence of the waves lapping at the barnacle-covered board. Aventus doesn’t stop shaking, but at least it slows.

Torr squeezes his shoulder. “There you go.”

The boy heaves a rasping breath.

“Why do you need an assassin so bad, anyway?” It might be a bad idea to ask – just rile him up again – but Torr has to know. He’s met a lot of kids with a lot of problems and none of them have ever tried to hire a hitman in reaction.

(Skygna might come close, he supposes, but no money ever changed hands. And besides, it’s not like she ever asked him to.)

Aventus takes another shaky breath, still clinging to Torr hard enough to bruise, like he’s trying to put down roots in their chest. “Grelod,” he says, and then doesn’t say anymore.

Torr pauses, replies, “I don’t know who that is.”

“They made me go to the orphanage,” Aventus croaks. The side of his head is pressed hard against Torr’s shoulder. “In Riften. After my mother –”

Another pause.

Torr tries to tease the knots out of his hair one-handed. “I never heard much about the orphanage,” he muses; it’s often been mentioned, but no details, except, “I hear it’s nicer than the street.”

“It’s not,” says Aventus with sudden, unshakeable conviction; considering the fact that he evidently travelled back from the Rift up to Windhelm alone, and has been in this house doing fuck only knows for a while, Torr’s inclined to think he would know.

The corpse smell permeates this room as well, even with the door closed.

“It was bad enough that you learned how to invoke the Dark Brotherhood?”

“Black Sacrament,” Aventus mutters, still leaning into Torr’s hand like a starved dog; they’re not sure if it’s a correction, or just information, or what. “I learned it on accident in a bookshop. First time I ran away.”

What the hell kind of bookshop includes instructions for ritualistically summoning a quasi-folkloric murder cult? “How many times did you run away?”

“Three.” He offers no other information. He tucks his face into Torr’s sleeve and says, muffled, “I want her dead.”

“Who?”

“Grelod.”

“Why?”

Aventus’ whole body quakes. His hands dig into Torr’s torso; they feel like he’s going to try to pry up their ribs and rearrange everything underneath. “She can’t,” he starts, then stops, like a fire sputtering in the absence of fuel. “It’s not fair. She doesn’t – she – I need – and everyone else –”

“Slow down,” Torr says, slipping into the soft voice he uses when things get bad; he doesn’t think he’ll end up having any other voices with Aventus. “So she’s in charge of the orphanage?”

Aventus nods into his shoulder.

“And she’s not nice?” Torr can’t really make heads or tails of anything the kid’s been saying, but this seems like hazarding a safe guess.

He tries to press closer, though that isn’t really possible with how he’s already clinging. He mumbles, but his voice is rasping and whispery already, and all Torr can make out is the word monster.

There’s some familiarity to it all, and not in a good way. Aventus’ desperation for touch and reassurance is reminiscent of Gellir when the anger goes. His reticence and scrunched-up posture reminds them of Skygna back when they first met her. Something is very wrong – that much is clear, has been clear since Torr broke into this bloody house – but they don’t know what.

They want to ask, but they don’t want to make it worse.

But then Aventus’ chin nudges at their arm. He’s doing it again, the mouthing – only not quite; when Torr cranes their head, almost snapping their neck in half, they can actually just about hear his whispers.

(Not understand them – they’re an unsettling stream of consciousness – but they can hear them.)

“… the keyhole,” he murmurs, teeth dampening their sleeve, nails scraping against the fraying fabric. “Just in the dark with the keyhole. In the dark, days, and she’d put your face in it. Make you sick. Made Hroar sick, and she was too old, even with the cane, and she made us. Made us hate each other. But I can’t leave them. They’re my friends.”

“Aventus,” Torr says gently, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Sorry,” he says, automatic, and then they feel his face screw up, his nose pressing itself flat against their arm. He’s quaking again.

Not crying; Torr checks. Just shaking, jaw clenched tight enough to crack a tooth, his eyes huge and hollow.

Torr holds him, silent, for another few minutes, and thinks.

Malnourished, sleep deprived, mannerisms too close to kids who have been through shit Torr wishes he could have protected them from. Won’t meet Torr’s eyes. Won’t cry, just shakes. That state he was in when they arrived – trance-like, unfocused. Lost it when Torr stepped away to grab water. Disjointed speech. Blood on his lips.

Open-ended questions, thus far, have not gone well. “Did she hurt you?” Torr asks.

The kid nods into his sleeve.

He swallows the how. “Are you afraid she’ll hurt the other kids in her care?”

Aventus mumbles, “Already did. Can’t do it again.”

Won’t stop. Have to make her go away. “Right,” Torr says, low and drawn-out, pondering more than they should; and then, “Aventus. How long have you been praying?”

He lifts his head. “I don’t,” he starts, and squints, his eyes more focused than Torr’s seen them. “I’m not sure. Whenever I’m awake.”

“Since how long ago?”

“I don’t know.”

Griss saw the boy matching Aventus’ description almost five weeks ago. Torr’s been hearing rumours of the Aretino kid trying to summon assassins for two.

How does a ten-or-so-year-old even get his hands on a human fucking heart? On bones? How long has he been in that room, swaddled by the stink of flesh putrefying, methodically carving a hole into his dead mother’s floorboards? If he’s been praying to the Dark Brotherhood for a month, then where the fuck are they?

This is a terrible idea. Hafgrim and the guards and whatnot, they were all one thing; they were pragmatic. Necessary. Close to home. Surely this Grelod woman being a hold away is enough distance?

Only it’s not, clearly. Whatever put Aventus here was bad, bad enough that he hasn’t escaped it, isn’t going to with the threat of it lingering. If it were enough distance the windows would be opened to clear out the smell. And what of the other children down in the Rift, left to rot – sucks to suck, kids, maybe you should have suffered closer to home?

Torr has to draw a line somewhere, he knows that. He can only just manage the responsibilities he’s taken on as is. And yet.

If I don’t, no-one will.

Torr doesn’t groan aloud, if only because it would frighten Aventus more than he already is. Instead, they say, “You said you could pay?”

He snaps to attention quick enough that the top of his head clips Torr’s chin. “I can,” he assures them, so terribly eager. “Anything. Promise. There’s a family heirloom.”

Bloody hell, they’re not doing this. (They are.) (They’re already thinking – need to research the cheapest ways to travel fast, because they can’t get away for long. Borrow some money – from Nurelion, maybe, they’ve got enough of a rapport with him he might actually consider it. They’ll probably need to steal as well. Which is a shit. They don’t even like it. There’s just so rarely a better option. Sort things out with the kids as well, get food and things arranged, get someone to keep an eye on the rabble – Kat and Talres will help, of course, and maybe if they ask Eirmund and Ambarys…)

“Okay,” Torr says eventually. He gently, but not without difficulty, unhooks Aventus’ hands from his jacket and begins to stand. “Okay. I’m going to get you some food, right, kid?”

Aventus’ face crumbles. “But –”

“I’ll take the contract.” And he’s committed now. Damn it. “Okay? But you’re going to eat first. Get some sleep, too. Condition of the deal.”

“Okay,” Aventus copies, blinking; he nods. “Yes. I will. And then you’ll go to Riften?”

“I need to sort some things out first.” A lot of things. Torr really doesn’t have the time for this. (He’ll have to make it.) “But I will soon. Swear on –” and he stops; what do Dark Brotherhood types swear on? Should he tell the kid he’s not an assassin? Is he now, effectively, an assassin, thereby negating the point? Is the honesty worth it, or will it just be confusing? Is it better for him to believe that his prayers were answered, or to know that they weren’t but someone will help him anyway?

It really doesn’t matter in the end; Aventus cuts him off before he can figure out how to end the sentence. “Thank you,” he says, far too earnestly, scrambling to his feet.

Torr holds out a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” he says, and he retrieves the blanket from where it’s crumpled on the floor and spreads it over the boy’s lap. “Rest. Remember? I’ll be back in a bit with some food, yeah?” He glances at the closed door behind him. “I’ll dispose of your Sacrament, too.” It can’t be healthy to be in a house with rotting remains.

Aventus blinks; his face twists like he’s just now realising the smell, or perhaps like he’s about to cry. “Thank you,” he repeats.

“No problem.” Even if it is, a bit. Nothing they can’t handle.

Torr wraps the mess in the fraying scarf that he’d planned on using as repair material. Aventus’ eyes are already closed by the time he comes back into the living room, though he doesn’t look any less stressed. Torr thinks about squeezing his hand or ruffling his hair, anything to make him relax, but if he is dozing they don’t want to wake him up.

So they just leave, replacing the window in its framing as they go. There’s a lot they need to do.

#this one is LONG AS HELL #but I like it :)#they're sooo normal together.#torr will meet a kid and go 'someone is a problem for you? want me to make them go away?'#and aventus will meet literally anyone and go 'you're here to kill someone for me right? right?? yes? good yes'#match made in. something #writing aventus here was really interesting because that kid has a lot going on with him #this guy grieved his mother was sent to an extremely abusive place ran away and lived on the street until he could get home #then solitarily confined himself in his mother's house with a corpse #now I can't speak to that experience personally. but I don't think you come out of it doing too great #a significant part of aventus' trauma and emotional state here originated in honourhall but his weird impulsive behaviour #is largely due to the sleep deprivation and lack of human contact #his brain is not so normal right now #love this child. weirdo miserable beast of a kid #anyway #my writing #fay writes #skyrim #the elder scrolls #dark brotherhood #oc tag #torr #aventus aretino #tes #tesblr

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gayvampyr · 2 years

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can we please stop sensationalizing domestic abuse just because the parties involved are famous. ffs what the actual hell is happening

#why are there so many videos on social media of ‘funny’ court case clips of a victim of domestic violence reliving his negative experiences #and fighting for his fucking right to not have his named dragged through the mud because tabloids want to make him look like the perpetrator #a man’s career is being ruined and you’re making stupid fandom edits of it on youtube #fuck off #this would literally be so widely condemned in any other situation #‘haha funny pirate actor says funny things in court’ his life has been a fucking roller coaster and the fact that people are joking about it #and it being so subjected to the public view cannot possibly be making things any better for him #he needs support not a peanut gallery #abuse is real and serious #stop joking about it #unless you’re on the gallows you’re part of the execution #real people are not your blorbos #you fucking weirdos

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anothermonikan · 2 years

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Those TikToks of people being like 'Deciding to be friends with the class outcast and then realising why no one hangs out with them :/' I just want to know what I did. What did I do wrong guys.

#Part of why I ID as Evil and Irredemable atp <3 #Not to invalidate those peoples experiences or anything. But I'm just a lil afraid of the narrative being switched back to-#-'Weird loner kids don't have any friends for good reason' cause like. Most 'weird loner kids' are just ostrosized for not fitting in.#There's not usually malicious intent behind it. Most outcasts are rejected by their peers for not fitting in with them asdffjddjsj #I was a weirdo loner kid in primary / grade school. No one wanted to be friends with me cause I was too intense about My Little Pony.#I do not think that's a horrible trait. Sorry.#This continued on into like #Year 10 / 9th Grade #Guys pls specify what you mean I need to make a list of behaviours to avoid or smth #Sorry this was rambly #Ajsjssjjs #TikTok #Android.txt

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 months

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I am not the asshole, and I think this whole thing is stupid, but I was promised that if I sent my side of things to this blog I could pick the hotel for our honeymoon, and I am marrying a man who once tried to take me BACKPACKING of all things, so this ask has become a necessity. In light of that:

AITA (I'm NOT) for planning the seating for our wedding in a logical way?

I got engaged in June, apparently in part because of my partner writing in to this blog (I don't know how to find or link to his posts, but I'm the man who got the cat to bite him, if that rings any bells?). At any rate, for the past ten weeks, I've been in the beginning stages of planning our wedding with my fiance, whom I have been secretly attempting to remove from the planning process as much as possible. I have ALREADY been given a list of his must-haves, and I AM incorporating as many of them as our budget allows. This has NOTHING to do with the emotional side of the event, and EVERYTHING to do with the fact that this is an idiot with no real planning experience or taste who thinks he knows more than me.

For the most part, this has worked very well. I'm the one who's been collating all the contact information for things, so I just replaced all the emails for the tacky companies with false addresses, responded to his inquiries as the companies to say the date was already booked or the price was outside our budget, and let him filter his way to the ones I DO like on his own. I also made a fuss about being "willing to compromise" on the few things he's picked I'm completely fine with in the hopes I can use it to make him compromise later, and have been humming portions of the songs I want on the playlist in the hopes he'll think he came up with the idea to include them himself.

None of this is the real problem. The PROBLEM is that he is deliberately ruining my seating chart, by moving our horrible friend's seat when I'm not looking.

The man in question dated both of us at one point in our VERY early 20s (both ended BADLY), is generally the messiest person we know, and will almost certainly get sloppy drunk and try to make a speech IF he does make an appearance. I'm banking on the fact that he won't, because he's also ridiculously wealthy, and will almost certainly send us some very lavish gift in lieu of coming.

He is SUPPOSED to be sitting beside my fiances aunt, at the same table as his grandmother, his work friend, and her girlfriend, because all four of these women are stone cold terrors who I believe are more than capable of keeping him in line on the slim chance he does come. My fiance INSISTS they won't be able to have any fun if they're running interference all night, and keeps moving him to sit at the head table instead. You know, where WE are. I finally caught him switching the label magnets on my planning board last night, and confronted him.

I tried leveraging how much I've been compromising already, that he's almost certainly going to RSVP no, and that I shouldn't have to deal with him on our big night. My fiance said he knew about all the fake emailing and such, and told me, and I QUOTE: "Look, the mind game shit was hot when it was just about the colour scheme or whatever, but I actually care about this. So you can suffer with everybody else, or you can do the normal thing and not invite a guy you hate to our wedding, you weirdo."

I said that if I did that, it would take out half his groomsmen, he called me an asshole and said I should go explain this to "literally any rational adult" so they could tell me I was in the wrong, and now here we are.

Would you recommend calling my fiance's bluff, since he doesn't want the man sitting near us either? Or should I focus on ensuring he'll turn down the invitation no matter what, so the matter of where he WON'T be sitting can be a moot point?

What are these acronyms?

Original post

The update

#aita #am i the asshole #the saga of proposal anon

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kiefbowl · 3 months

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this is going to sound silly but it isn't silly, and I'm seriously saying this. I do think there is a slight feminist concern to alien abduction stories in so far as we can assume that when people, especially women, talk about their abductions and their abilities to communicate with extra terrestrials et cetera, they are someone who is mentally unwell and who has likely experienced something traumatic. alien abduction stories tend to have common elements even if there are details wildly different from each individual. those details are different because they likely didn't happen, but the common elements tend to be things like being taken from home, being violated, being exposed, having things implanted in the body, experiencing pregnancy, having secret knowledge, having a special connection to the extra terrestrials...

you can start putting some pieces together. yes, sometimes these elements are shared because they are what's heard in pop culture. you're more likely to imagine the details of a book you read or a tv show you saw than come up with something so fantastically new and original. you can imagine, for example, if someone is a say a seven year old girl being manipulated into sexual favors by a trusted adult and doesn't understand what's happening to her and has seen alien media and perhaps even has other messaging around her wrt sin, purity, worthiness, karma (what have you), and also perhaps is predisposed to mental illness, it's easier to believe she's a special person being abducted by other worldly creatures who don't truly mean her harm. you can see how a vivid child's imagination could lead to an adult believing memories that never happened.

and so the feminist concern is to not treat these stories as complete jokes and hoaxes and roll our eyes. I'm just reminded today of something I saw years ago. I think it was a Penn and Teller Bullshit episode on aliens, and they had a group of hard core believers talking about their experiences with aliens, and it felt like we were supposed to be laughing at them when at least one of them was a woman who truly believed an alien husband took her way sometimes and forced her to give birth and she had several children she didn't get to see in space, and she was clearly not very well adjusted socially. all I could think was is this a woman who's been raped? is this a woman who has been forced to have abortions? is this a woman who has had multiple miscarriages? is this a woman experiencing domestic abuse from a husband or boyfriend? but the episode wasn't interested in exploring that, and she stuck out as "one of these things is not like the others" when juxtaposed to fake professors trying to sell their weirdo books as a living or whatever else was in the episode.

when we say believe women, that includes "crazy" women. women who say ghosts are trying to kill them, who talk about people living in their walls coming out at night to steal their body parts, women who believe they are married to alien overlords since they were 12 and have birth 50 alien babies. these women are probably telling us something and I think we can say "I believe something has happened to you" rather than make a mockery of them.

#this post probably sounds apropos of nothing but it's been on my mind before #I just went down a rabbit hole not worth explaining that reminded me of this

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bunni-v1 · 8 months

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hii, can I request "First Years Finding Out Your A Girl" with sebek and ortho please?

Ortho and Sebek Find out You’re a Girl?!?!?! (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!)

TW: Swearing (as usual lol); Ortho being creepy; Misogyny mention <3; Reader goes by she/her and is biologically female; Book 6 spoilers (very light, but still there); Bunni hasn't read Book 7 and therefore doesn't know what they're talking about :)

Info: Ortho x Reader; Sebek x Reader; Fem!Reader; Platonic

🍓Hi. If you’ve read the first part of this, I copy pasted the intro. Not because I’m lazy or anything (I’m a little lazy, but I’m a full-time college student who also has a part-time job, so I think I can be excused.) It’s mostly because… It’s a good intro. If people are just discovering this stuff then they can read it, but if you’ve read the first part you can just skip to the good good yk. Anyway, long-ass babble session, but I didn’t include Ortho and Sebek initially because they’re kind of new to the First year group so idk. Felt weird including them. Also, I haven’t read book seven so Sebek I bullshit a lot lol. Anyway, they’re here now, and I absolutely ADORE Ortho, so sorry if my favoritism shows.

First Years

Second Years

Third Years

Dorm Leaders

-Okay so, I know we’re all wondering, how the hell do you get away with hiding your gender for so damn long?

-Firstly, those ceremonial robes do great at hiding the figure. The only tell would maybe be your hair, but feminine men aren’t unwelcome at Nightraven College, so you mostly get a few questioning stares and that’s it.

-Secondly, Crowley wants to save his own fucking ass. He already has to hide from the press that he has a MAGICLESS student from ANOTHER DIMENSION here, he doesn’t need the fact that you are a woman ALSO on his plate. So, obviously, he helps you hide your gender from others.

-Grim knows, of course, and he keeps his mouth shut for a few yummy cans of tuna (and threats of being expelled from Crowley <3)

-Even when you were just a janitor, he couldn’t have the rumor that he put a “helpless” young woman to work. (Like it wouldn’t be expected.)

-So how do you two do it?

-Baggy ass uniform. Crowley gave you at least three sizes too big.

-Your figure is completely hidden. Sure, you look completely homeless, but at least you’re hidden.

-For your voice, you simply deepen it. After some point, you blackmail Crowley into giving you a potion to help with it, since it's so taxing on your voice. (Or maybe your voice is naturally deep!)

-Sam provides you (for an unfairly pretty penny (not too different from your original world…)) any feminine hygiene products you might need.

-Honestly, you’re set for being cared for, but it’s the adjustment period that’s the hardest part.

-Truly, it’s very jarring to suddenly be thrown into both a magical world and be isolated in a man's world with nowhere to hide.

-At least in your world you had other women who could understand your struggles. Here though? You’re completely alone.

-You notice how… messy some of these guys could be. How some of them smell… really rancid. -How rough they were with you and each other.

-Honestly, it’s kinda eye-opening. The way men show affection to each other is oddly refreshing to watch and experience!

-Ace and Deuce specifically are a good… trial run.

-That’s not what we’re here to talk about though…

-For the most part, it's incredibly easy to hide yourself for the first while on campus. Everyone on campus is so self-absorbed that they don’t bother questioning you.

-Your only real risk factor is Savannaclaw, but it's easy to avoid those guys (minus Jack, of course).

-However, you can only hide your gender for so long… It’s mentally draining to keep up this facade all the time around people you care about.

-So… how do they find out?

Ortho

-Okay, so Ortho is a little creepy weirdo. He’s a highly advanced robot who likely has autism, and loves his big brother a whole fucking lot.

-(Side note: Can a robot, child, or thing have autism? Does that mean Idia programmed Ortho to be autistic? How silly of him.)

-It’s my personal head cannon that Idia DECKED this kid out in as much high-tech gear as he could get his hands on.

-He’s equipped with some of the most complex medical features, therefore he has access to a database of all students at NRC’s medical files. (This is not legal, but he does not care for the law.)

-“But Bunni, what does that have to do with the prefect?” Well, Ortho is ALSO equipped with the latest medical scanner on the market.

-Think like Baymax, yeah? He can scan everyone one time and know every piece of medical knowledge readily available.

-Well, Ortho, the sweet little creep he is, automatically scans the medical information of any new person he sees/meets into his database — just in case it may come in handy.

-So, before he even KNOWS you. Before he speaks a single word to you, he knows you’re biologically a female.

-He scanned you without thinking and just shrugged his shoulders at it.

-You’re not from here, and you got thrown into this, so you being a woman doesn’t really matter too much to you being at NRC.

-It honestly could’ve been anyone getting stuck here, so why should he question it?

-However, he notices that you are referred to with exclusively “male” pronouns, so he marks in your file that you are trans and moves on.

-Again, who cares? He’s a magical robot guy based on his brother's dead brother. Who was he to judge?

-When he finally ACTUALLY gets to interact with you after being welcomed into the first-year squad, he’s very respectful of your gender.

-You are a man to him, therefore he refers to you with exclusively masculine pronouns.

-However, everyone in your little group already knows, and they assume that Ortho knows. So when they speak about you, they use feminine pronouns.

-Ortho, sweet as he is, immediately questions everyone as to why they’re misgendering you.

-Protective of the people he cares for at heart, he doesn’t like the idea that your so-called closest friends are misgendering you behind your back.

-Doesn’t believe them completely when they explain, so he goes to you because you’re the only one who knows who you really are.

-“Prefect!”

“Hey, Ortho! What’s up? Miss me?”

“Of course I do, but I have a very important question.”

“Sure, what do ya need?”

“Are you a woman?”

-At this point 90% of your friends know, but there is a handful that doesn’t… and you can’t be having that.

-You, of course, assure Ortho that you are not only a woman, but that your friends are not misgendering you behind your back.

-Relieved, he takes several of your friends off a hit list and removes the trans man label on your medical chart.

-Asks why you hid your gender in the first place.

-Promptly adds Crowley to a hit list (again).

-Ortho, out of EVERYONE at NRC, has absolutely zero behavior changes toward you.

-He’s equally protective as he was before, he spends the same amount of time with you as usual, he doesn’t suddenly have some weird crush on you, and he’s still trying to set you up with Idia.

-Honestly, everyone should take notes from Ortho. He’s the best at this whole thing.

Sebek

-On the other hand… do not take notes from Sebek! He sucks at this! He sucks really badly!

-Out of all the first years, Sebek is not only the least close to you, but he is also incredibly mean. So you just… feel no obligation to tell him.

-In fact, you kind of… sort of… actively leave him out of the loop for a really long time.

-I mean, it's not an unreasonable thing to do. He is constantly berating you and putting you down for being human. You have no idea how he feels about women and you don’t want to find out first hand.

-In all honesty, he is the only person (other than Azul and the twins) that you’re really scared of finding out, and take extra precautions to ensure he doesn’t find out.

-However, you attend NRC, and nothing ever goes your way at NRC.

-Despite every precaution you take to keep your gender under lock and key, you overlook one thing.

-Malleus Draconia.

-His complete and total lack of social awareness is your downfall here. He finds out, and despite everything telling him to keep his mouth shut… he doesn’t. Because of course, he doesn’t.

-At this point, you’ve gone through most of your misadventures, and most — if not all — of your friends know you’re a girl.

-Hell, even Silver knows now. Everyone BUT Sebek knows.

-And he finds out because Malleus casually mentions it over dinner. Not even directly about your gender, he just uses she/her pronouns.

-Sebek, being Sebek, respectfully asks Malleus if he meant to say he. Malleus, of course, says no without a second thought.

-The shock and horror on Silver and Lilia’s faces was enough to be further confirmation.

-And Sebek’s world shatters.

-He was completely left out of the loop and also has a moral conflict now.

-As much shit, as I gave Sebek (as everyone gives Sebek) he RESPECTS women. His queen is a woman, and his mother is a woman.

-In his eyes, women are some of the strongest people around. Regardless of if they’re human or not.

-You, on top of being a human from another realm who had successfully quelled several of the strangest students at NRC’s OVERBLOTS and came out on top, was also a woman.

-If that wasn’t strength, he didn’t know what it was.

-However, his bias against humans strongly clashes with his respect for women in this case.

-And it just… messes with his head.

-He doesn’t treat you worse, in fact, he’s just… really awkward around you now.

-He doesn’t know if he should apologize or berate you for being a human, so he just stays stiff and glares at you.

-It's honestly more scary than him constantly talking down to you.

-However, once the two of you actually befriend one another, he apologizes to you. For everything, and explains where he’s coming from. Why he acted the way he did, how he really feels about you, and all that sweet shit.

-Afterwards, he is genuinely the best at keeping your secret (if he even needs to at this point).

-If there is anyone you can trust to keep his stupid mouth shut at NRC, it's Sebek.

-His honor and pride force him into silence when it comes to secrets he promises to keep.

-In fact, if anyone is on your trail about it, he’s the first one to jump in the way and scare them off/shut them down.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #twst headcanons #bunni's treats 🧁#ortho shroud #ortho shroud x reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader

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miserycanary · 1 month

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PLEASE PAINT OVER MY BRUISES ᡣ𐭩

synopsis: pairing: early 30s!Ghost & 20s!reader (can be read as platonic)

synopsis: Ghost as your refuge from your abusive father

tags: angst, verbal abuse, physical abuse, hurt/comfort

| The first meeting was a coincidence.

Shivering from the midnight breeze, you huddled your flimsy sweater close with one hand out to hold your cigarette. One inhale of nicotine got you throwing your head back, forgetting the situation back home that led you to wander the streets at midnight. Busy peering up at the stars in the sky, you didn't notice someone's presence there until you felt your cigarette pulled from your lips and stomped on the ground.

"Dude! Not cool. That was my last," you angrily mumbled, squatting down to see if you could still use it. "Leave it." The voice took you by surprise, tilting your head up to see a hunk of a man, carrying some beers, looking down on you. You took notice of the calloused hand gripping the paper bag, meaning he was probably a lot older than you. Say early 30s? "Easy for you to say," a retort you throw at him. "I don't have money to buy more—" "then don't buy more," he plainly states, looking at you. Standing up, you finally noticed the mask on his face. With a roll of your eyes, you flip him off, grumbling under your breath, “fucking weirdo”.

| The second time was fate's joke.

Groaning and yelling, you kick an empty soda can, cursing out your good-for-nothing father. You ran your fingers through your hair, tears slipping on the corner of your eyes as every part of your body ached in pain. Sniffles turn to sobs, muttering about ending it all as everything seemed to never go your way. The oversized shirt barely concealed the bruises, recent and old, making you wince. “Fuck, I hate this shit,” your eyes got hazy, breathing almost cut short. With minimal effort, you sit by the store’s wall to steady yourself. Face buried in your arms, you— once again— don’t notice his presence.

The first time Ghost met you, he thought you were another rebellious teenager trying to act cool. You didn’t have a job, so he assumed you were a student. When he got home from that first meeting, he could only sigh and hope you’d gone back to your parents. Imagine his surprise when he sees you again, huddling by the store, sobbing. He was not one to manage emotions, so he thought of leaving you alone when a sudden gust of wind caught his attention. Blowing the flimsy fabric on your body, Ghost could see the marks on your body; marks he was too familiar with. Without hesitation, he walked over, pulled you up, and led you to his car. You didn’t even protest. How far gone are you to not even try to fight to live?

The silence on the way to his house was uncomfortable, with your occasional sniffles which turned to hiccups. His eyes glanced at you from the side. With one hand on the steering wheel, he reaches at the back to grab one bottle of water from his bag and hands it to you. “It’s not drugged,” he tried to joke. “I wouldn’t mind if it was,” you mumbled, silencing Ghost from awkwardness. At the end of the night, you found refuge. You were offered a place to stay, some food, clothes, and.. peace and safety. You found something rare that you never want to let go of.

| The rest are blessings.

Opening up to Ghost was relatively easy. Was it because you guys shared the same experience? Was it because he was the first to ask? All you know was you had him now. You would always come to his house when you needed to escape, and he never seemed to push. But the day you finally told him was a time you’d love to keep but forget.

Coming to the place that seemed to be hell on Earth, you were immediately greeted by a chokehold, pressed against the wall. “Fucking brat. What took you so long? Are you out there spreading legs for people, bitch? The apple doesn’t really fall far from the tree. Your bitch mother was also a whore” ‘Ah, it smells like liquor. He’s drunk again’ you thought, eyes drained of life. Next thing you felt was yourself slumping down on the floor with an ache on your face. ‘This motherfucker really punched me’ “If you ever think of following that bitch’s footsteps and leaving me, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Sighing, you pull your legs closer to your chest while your father repeatedly stomps his foot on your legs, then your back. He eventually got tired, leaving after spitting on your face. It took everything in you to force yourself to stand and make your way to your room.

Dread immediately poured in when you noticed every drawer was pulled. “No, no, no, no, no'' you sobbed, rushing to look at the place where you hid your safety money. Feeling nothing, you started to cry, rushing out the door and ignoring the yells from your father. You didn’t know where you were going. Using the only 10 dollars you had left, you took a cab to the only place you know is heaven on Earth.

As soon as the cab pulls up to the familiar house, you storm out of the vehicle. You rush to the door, opening it using a spare key and yelling his name.

“SIMON,” you cried. Footsteps thundered and you see his figure pop up from the kitchen, eyes widening as he takes in your state. It was like all the weight on your shoulders was lifted, your knees buckled. Before you could collapse on the floor, Simon was already by your side.

One arm holding you by your knees and another across your shoulder, he carries to the living room. Sitting down and letting you embrace him from his lap. His warmth calmed you down, your face buried in the crook of his neck. Holding on his shoulders, begging him to keep you safe with tears staining his shirt. He shakes his leg, softly cradling you closer to his chest. “I’m here, I’m here. I won’t let you go, okay?” he mutters, turning your head to him and placing a firm kiss on your forehead. “I will keep you safe. This is the last time you’ll be in pain. I’ll protect you from whatever scares you,” he sighs, wiping away your tears as his other hand rubs soothing circles on your shoulders.

You look at him with a broken smile and profound peace, like he's a savior— a god. For the first time in years, you let yourself succumb to sleep without any worries for your safety.

Maybe this is indeed heaven. You would love that— to be in Simon's safe embrace forever, away from the horrors of the world.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: my first ask by anonymous. 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist is open! Comment if you want to be tagged in the next posts.

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

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tickfleato · 5 months

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how to make cool blobby turing patterns in photoshop

i'll preface with i learned the basic loop from skimming a tutorial on youtube, but as someone who prefers written tutorials i'm sure many would appreciate one! also, the second part of this is some of the visual effects i figured out on my own using blending modes and stuff.

i'm using photoshop CS4 on a mac so some buttons and stuff might be in different places on windows and newer photoshop versions but all the actions are the same. my canvas is 1000x1000 pixels.

UPDATES (i'm hoping these'll show up whenever you open the readmore?)

it's possible to do something similar in krita using this plugin, made by the love @arcaedex

it's also possible to do this in photopea, a free browser alternative to photoshop! the results are pretty much identical.

FIRST off you wanna get or make a black and white image of some kind. it has to be one layer. can be noise, a photo, a bunch of lines, whatever. here's mine, just some quick airbrush lines:

now find the actions tab. idk what it looks like in newer versions of photoshop but you probably won't need to dig!

hit the little page thingy to make a new pattern. once you hit 'record', it'll record everything you do. the little square 'stop' icon will end it.

now you want to do a high pass filter. you can mess around with the radius to change the size of your squiggles, but the tutorial had it set to 6. experiment!

now add the 'threshold' adjustment layer. i use the adjustments tab but i think there's also a dropdown menu somewhere. keep it at the default, 128. merge it down. (control or command + E or you can right click it like some kind of weirdo)

and finally, the gaussian blur! the radius of this affects the shape and size of your squiggles as well. i like to keep it around 4.5 but you can mess around with that too.

after that, hit 'stop' on the action you're recording, and then repeat it a bunch of times using the 'play' button, until you have something you like, like this:

WOW!! that was fun!! and only a little tedious thanks to the power of macros. anyway, here's some fun layer blending stuff i like to do. it's with a different pattern cause i made this bit first.

anyway, using a black and white gradient (or a grey base that you do black and white airbrush on), make a layer with the vivid light. this will make the blobs look thicker or thinner.

then, for cool colors, do a gradient map adjustment layer over that:

and finally, my best friend, the overlay layer. just using a gradient here bc i'm lazy, but feel free to experiment with brushes, colors, and blending modes!

NOW GO. MAKE COOL SHIT WITH THE POWER OF MATH. AND SEND IT TO ME

also these are not hard and fast rules PLEASE mess around with them to see what kind of weird shit you can make. here's a gif. as you can see i added some random airblush blobs in the middle of it, for fun.

#photoshop #turing pattern #tutorial #photoshop tutorial #abstract art #reaction diffusion pattern

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stesierra · 3 months

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I've been noticing a trend of people who want to be part of the writeblr community but don't actually want to get involved. You know. They don't write an intro post. They don't write about their writing. They don't share excerpts and they don't comment on other people's writing. They might favorite something occasionally. Even more occasionally they reblog something.

You guys. I love you but writeblr is a community. It works best when we talk to each other, like any other community. This isn't Instagram where likes matters. There's no algorithm (For You tab is total garbage.) We're just all writing weirdos sharing our experiences and joys and blorbos together. If you're not interested in that, if you're just looking for content to passively absorb, and you don't want to make friends, I don't know if writeblr is the place you're looking for.

That said, if any writeblrs out there are looking for someone to talk to and share ideas with, please comment or add in the tags and I'd love to find some new mutuals!

#writeblr #writing community #writing

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inbarfink · 5 months

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There’s just something about the fact that Zim reads as So Autistic. Like, both in the sense that it’s easy to map his experiences as an alien secretly living on earth to Autistic experiences:

A lack of understanding of social cues and conventions

The Anxieties of feeling like you have to fit in some arbitrary social standards or Something Bad will happen

Unusual sensory sensitivities

Pickiness about food

General alienation

Even the whole ‘fully grown alien disguised as a human child but he’s so immature he basically acts like a child’ shtick can really resonate with a sort of Growing Up Autistic Feeling of… being both far too mature and childish for your age at the same time.

And also in the sense that even in the context of comparing him to other Irkens...

He has problems with volume control

And possibly audio processing

And definitely with emotional regulation

And is extremely impulsive

And uses very unusual wordings and turn-of-phrases

And experiences sensory overloads.

And these aren't even Alien Things. That's just Zim being Zim. So he can be read as a metaphor for being Autistic and also as just having the Irken Equivalent of Autism

AND ALSO

His human arch-enemy Dib also has SO MUCH AUTISM VIBES

Like being single-mindedly obsessed with a special interest from a young age

(The part where his interests alienate him from his peers at school and he only finds companionship with an assortment of fellow weirdos of various ages he met online is something I find especially relatable for my own experiences)

Also having problems with reading social cues

And a tendency to rant and info-dump

AND ALSO ALSO

There’s also Gaz

Who is ALSO single-mindedly obsessed with a singular subject

And it’s something that always gives her something to do with her hands

And avoid eye-contact

Which she generally prefers to avoid

And also seems to dislike any sort of physical touch

And either expresses her emotions in a way that is terribly understated or overstated

And it could also apply to their dad too, who’s been obsessed with science stuff from a young age

And also doesn’t seem to do so well with social interactions

Outside of just, like, me looking back at my Autistic-but-unaware-of-it middle-school ass imprinting on this show and being like “oh yeah, That Makes Sense” - it’s also kinda darkly hilarious how this show is basically about two autistic boys who just fucking hate each other to death (plus one of the boys' extremely autistic and extremely dysfunctional family). I mean, in the real world Autistic Solidarity is so incredibly important, obviously. But Invader Zim, a show that was everything to me as a lil autistic teenager is all about that sweet sweet Autistic Hostility.

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astroismypassion · 1 year

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Astrology observations 🤗🫂🤗

Credit goes to @astroismypassion

🤗 Scorpio Juno often regrets losing virginity before entering marriage. The wish they would have lose it in a more meaningful way with a meaningful partner, their spouse.

🫂 Libra Chiron might have been shamed by others for losing virginity before marriage.

🤗 Women who have Mars in the 12th house often get “the bachelor”, that one man a lot of women wished to marry. If Mars sign is Cancer, it also indicates a lot of hate coming from women because of that.

🫂Venus Conjunct Pluto in a Natal chart: You can be obsessive in love. You have cycles in your partnerships. Your partners have a tendency to come back to you even after you spent years apart. They always seem to return. You transform your lovers.

🤗 The sign of your Vertex shows the Sun sign of the person that will have a role in your awakening. One celebrity example is: Prince Harry has Leo Vertex and his wife Meghan is Leo Sun. Being in the 7th house, you will likely have this awakening while in partnership, marriage or through being a part of a team.

🫂 4th house shows the father in a woman’s natal chart. 10th house shows the mother in a woman’s natal chart. So it’s just reversed for women.

But in a man’s chart 4th house is the mother. 4th house shows the mother in a man’s natal chart. And 10th house shows the father in a man’s natal chart.

🤗 I’ve noticed a lot of Capricorn Rising people tend to attract, be in relationship or even marry a person who is older than them. Which I still don’t fully understand how and why with Cancer over their Descendant. It would make more sense to marry younger, but this is often not what I observed.

🫂In Synastry chart your Sun in someone's 5th house: You might dream of having children together or you could be good at it. You see each other as your personal vacation. You might enjoy doing hobbies together. You share similar interests. You might be more romantic with each other than you are with other people. You could go or have really extravagant dates. You might go all out when you are together, because you want to impress each other. You will compliment each other a lot and these compliments will come very naturally to you. You will want to praise each other. You will feel like you are a star, a celebrity when around each other. You will feel like their spotlight is on you as well.

🤗 I noticed people who have Ceres in the 3rd house, their love language is not that often words of affirmation, but more so just ✨hand holding✨.

🫂Venus Conjunct Uranus in a Natal chart: You could be a part of love triangle at some point so be mindful. You could have a friend to lovers transition. Or a lot of your acquaintances have a crush on you. You might have a long-distance relationship at some point. You could also not see your partner due to the fact that their job might keep them away, like they could be a pilot and you don’t see them for 3 months. You might like quirky, eccentric and unconventional lovers. You go for the weirdo in the room that seems really interesting. You value communication the most in your relationship.

🤗 If your Mars is in the 5th house, you might particularly care for disadvantaged children, those who lack school supplies could be one example.

🫂In Synastry chart Moon in someone's 8th house: You might have sexual awakening with this person. Before one of you or both might have considered yourself aromantic or even asexual, but with this person you will feel awakened. You will feel passion, lust and desire. You will just want them. You might be quick to merge your finance, living situation or even become physical. With this overlay, I suggest getting physical as late as possible, try to prolonge it and don’t give into desire too soon. Because as soon as you merge with this person, obsession, jealous and being territorial might begin. You will experience power struggles, but also understanding on an emotional, physical and mental level like never before. You might have sex dreams about this person, a lot of sexual fantasies (and vice versa of course). It’s an intense, strong bond, but a lot of times unbreakable. You could become too easily dependent on each other and learn to nurture your own individuality and have your own individual lives as well. You will mirror each other a lot. You will challenge each other and learn your mistakes, short-comings. You might be a bit unwilling to change. One might change a lot (8th house person especially), but you will feel like the other person is always the same. But this will not be true, Moon person will go through psychological, inner changes, while you (house person) might change in your actions, outlook on life. You will know each other’s desires, secrets and fears with time. But at first there might be a lot of frustrations, miscommunication and misunderstandings. You might be very vulnerable around each other. You could feel like the other person see right through you. You could feel like are naked in front of each other.

🤗Mars trine Pluto in a Composite chart: This is an intense, but magnetic connection. You enjoy working from the background. You are subtle. Others can sense tension around you, even if just sexual. You might have power struggles and ego death. You also feel like you need to one up each other. You might have tit for tat behaviour towards each other at some point. You feel vulnerable with this person. You think this person sees right through you. You feel like you can hide from this person, they always find you. You feel easily rejected or ignored by this person.

🫂Eros Persona chart: Sun indicates where your pride lies in your sexual desires and intimacy, it’s your basic sexual identity. Moon indicates what traits partner have to have for you to be comfortable with them. Mars indicates how you behave when aroused, what you feel energized by in intimacy and where you are likely spontaneous. North Node indicates the general direction of your sexual desire, what you are meant to learn, who you will likely encounter in life that you will be sexually involved with.

🤗2nd house shows which brands and designers you buy clothes from. It literally shows which brands, designers and people you "give money to" when you buy their clothing. If you have Moon in the 2nd house or even Cancer Venus you could be a fan of Hugo Boss (Cancer Sun) brand. If you have Venus in the 2nd house, Taurus over the 2nd house or Taurus/Libra Venus you might be Fred Perry (Taurus Sun) or Ralph Lauren (Libra Sun) fan. You might like Tommy Hilfiger (Aries Sun) brand if you have Aries Venus or Mars in the 2nd house.

🫂Capricorn Midheaven in Eros Persona chart: Your sexual partner with time will see you as someone who enjoys control or is controlling. As someone who is like a parental figure to them almost. And you will be seen as serious, mature, detached, impatient, reckless and bold. You will be respected. You could enjoy power plays in sex. You will focus more on reality rather than fantasy. You could be seen as less romantic, but your love and sexual attraction are astounding.

🤗Venus trine Jupiter in the Synastry chart: You are generous with one another, always ready to help each other, and you have a great respect and appreciation for one another. You also allow one another a lot of freedom to develop other friendships, rather than clinging possessively to one another. You may also benefit from one another materially as well as emotionally.

🫂Venus in the other's 10th house in a Synastry chart: Both like to be seen in public together. You might enjoy present this person to your parents. If this is a romantic situation, you might be a slow burn. You will take time to get to know this person and to introduce them to your parents. You want to see this person in your future as well. You see this person has a potential for a long-term connection.

🤗Sun conjunct Uranus in a Synastry chart: You inspire each other to try new things, experiment, and investigate alternatives. You may have met each other, for example, during a time period when both of you were breaking free from traditional values and exploring new possibilities. There is a lot of excitement and spontaneity in your relationship. The two of you may find it difficult to settle down into a stable home. There will always be surprises and unexpected turns in your relationship. You encounter lots of new ideas, unusual people, adventure, and exciting times together. You both enjoy a good measure of freedom and independence in this relationship, but either of you may wish that there was more commitment, devotion, seriousness, warmth, and closeness.

🫂In Midheaven Persona chart Juno shows traits of ideal people that you would like to connect with at your workplace. Vesta shows your »sacred fire« what you will feel overprotective about at your job or about your job, career and reputation. Lilith indicates people in your workplace that you can have power struggles with, because you will feel like they don’t want to cooperate or you can’t “tame” them. Vertex shows where you will encounter fated relationships in your career or at your job. Those relationships that will make you think like it was meant to meet them. It might also indicate people that you will likely “commit” to in a way that you’ll become great work friends.

🤗In Synastry chart one's Venus conjunct the other's Sun: The warmth, appreciation, admiration and love between you is very strong and you enjoy a high degree of harmony and congeniality in your relationship. You have much in common in terms of styles, tastes, and enjoyment of the same pleasures. In many ways Sun person embodies all that Venus person finds attractive and beautiful and Venus person also makes a special effort to please the Sun person. So Sun person responds with much generosity, love, and loyalty. An excellent match!

🫂Mars trine Saturn in a Natal chart: You could like and prefer older people. You might often be the group leader. You might have tension with authority figures. You could also be a bit impatient, especially before first Saturn Return (so before the age of 30). But you will learn patience with time. You could be a late bloomer.

🤗 In Synastry chart someone's Sun trine your Saturn: Saturn person is very dedicated and loyal to Sun person, with a strong desire to fulfill the responsibilities and demands of this relationship. Saturn person is willing to go the extra mile and make sacrifices without complaining, for the benefit of the Sun person and the relationship. Sun person is encouraging and supportive of Saturn, inspiring a sense of security and well-being. If the two of you engage in business activities or marry, you will find that you work well together on meeting the problems that arise and you can count on each other to be responsible and trustworthy. There is a deep sense of mutual commitment and dedication that holds your relationship together, even when you go through difficult times together.

Credit goes to @astroismypassion

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sanguineterrain · 8 months

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PLS PLS PLS I'm begging you for the play fighting prompt omgggg sanne I'll love you forever (I already do but that's besides the point)

lmfao I am so embarrassed by this 🫣🫣 totally exposing myself right now but whatevs. hope u like it aud (and others). i haven't written smut in a looong time so. baring my soul rn 🫠

jason todd x fem!reader. warnings: smut, playfighting, roughness (?), sprinkle of dumbification (no one look at me), dom jason but also kinda service top jason, fingering, praise, and CONSENT! bc we consent orally here, sir. 18+ only minors get OUT (you shouldn't be here anyway!!!)

heh. anyway. crawling back under my rock now.

****

"Do you think I could take you down?"

Jason raises his eyebrows at you from over his book.

"Come again?"

"Like in that demonstration Kory and Dick did today. Do you think I could do to you what she did to Dick?"

Jason chuckles, setting his book down.

"Baby, I hate to break it to you, but I think Kory's a little more practiced in combat than you are."

"So you don't believe in me. Wow. Some boyfriend you are."

"Of course I believe in you," he says. "She is a space princess, though."

You shake your head and pluck the book from Jason's hands. You make a point of sliding the bookmark in before you close it. Jason squints at you.

You wait approximately a quarter of a second before you leap forward, straddling Jason's chest. He makes a hup sound as you land, and you lift your chin victoriously.

"I got you," you say.

Jason nods, smile widening. "You got me, sweetheart."

"No, I don't. C'mon, fight back, Jay."

His eyes glitter as he studies you. Then he picks up both of your thighs and swings you both off of the couch. You land with him hovering over you, not even holding any part of you down. His hand is underneath your head to cushion the impact.

You huff. You know Jason can do better than this; you've watched him take down fifteen men in less than five minutes.

You lift your head, mouth parted in expectation. Jason understands immediately and happily complies, kissing you warmly.

You take the chance to hook your leg over his hip and throw him off balance. His hand wobbles enough to tell you that he genuinely hadn't been expecting that. Jason rolls on his side, absorbing the impact. You pounce.

"What's gotten into you?" he asks, smirking as you crawl onto him.

"You're holding back," you say, pinning his wrists down.

Jason looks at you mildly. "I told you I believe in you. You got me, baby."

He could break out of your hold instantly. Even if you were matched in strength and size, Jason has years of experience on you.

Something in your brain goes quiet and gooey at the thought. It fades as quickly as it comes.

"Play with me for real," you urge. "Show me some moves."

Jason presses his lips together. "You sure?"

You nuzzle his cheek, scruff scratching you.

"I'm sure. I trust you, Jay. C'mon, show me what you got."

He laughs, unbearably fond, and crosses his legs around your waist. You lose your grip on his wrists in the next moment, and you end up on your back. Again, Jason doesn't let you feel the full impact that he'd unleash on an opponent. He holds your shoulders when you go down to avoid thumping your head on the carpet.

Your breath still knocks around in your chest, though. The lightheaded feeling returns. You shift, pretending like you're adjusting underneath Jason.

"I can show you how to do that if you want," he says, and it's oddly sweet.

Your eyes narrow. Jason tilts his head, immediately suspicious.

"What're you planning, minx?" he asks.

"What do you mean? I'm perfectly innocent."

"Yeah, sure. I see the gears turning up there." He taps your forehead.

"Whatever, weirdo," you say, and push at his chest. "Let me up."

Jason practically scoops you up into a standing position. You busily dust yourself off even though he vacuumed last week. Jason's apartment is always spotless.

Right when you think he's distracted, you go in for the final attack. You launch yourself in his direction, putting all your weight into the advance.

At first, Jason's thrown off. Briefly, the thought that Jason feels so safe around you that he isn't on constant alert crosses your brain, and you melt at the realization.

Then he gets this glint in his eye, and squares his hips, and another feeling overtakes you entirely. He assesses you quickly, and the two of you push against each other for a few seconds. Just long enough for you to witness the emergence of a different side of Jason.

"My girl plays dirty, huh?" he says, voice pitched low.

Your head spins with how fast it happens. You've unlocked something, it seems, by trying to ambush Jason. He locks both of your wrists into his left hand, spins you around, and splays his right hand over your lower belly. Breath squeaks from your throat. Jason doesn't often remind you of your and his acute physical differences, but his large palm cupping your belly, fingers dangerously close to your waistband, reminds you that your boyfriend is at the top of the food chain when it comes to survival.

If he wanted to take you down, he could. That fact sears deliciously in your brain.

Then Jason goes in for the final blow. He pulls you in by your belly while also wedging his thigh between your legs. His ankle hooks yours, and you feel your balance topple as he pushes and pulls you.

You land on your stomach, Jason's hands still on you, and more than a little of his weight holding you down.

You throb underneath the pajama shorts you never changed out of.

All your air pistons out of you when you hit the ground, resulting in an embarrassing catch between a whine and a wheeze.

Jason's grip slackens immediately.

"Shit, baby, you okay? I'm so—"

"Ngh, Jay."

Jason freezes. His grip tightens, just firm enough to make your head go fuzzy again. His breath is hot against your ear when he speaks.

"Oh," he coos, and now you can feel nearly all of his body weight on you. His thigh is between your legs but only to keep them separated. There is no friction against your pussy, you clench around nothing.

"You like that, pretty? Like a little weight on ya?"

"Jay," you pant, wiggling underneath him. "Jay, please."

"Too much?" he asks, and the check-in just makes you wetter.

"No, n-no, want more. Guh—Jay—"

He laughs, a little cruel, a lot pleased.

"Fuck, honey. If y'wanted this, y'could've asked. Feels good, huh? Lighter? Too much on that quick brain of yours; y'need a break, don't cha?"

You've never felt like this before. You'd be seconds away from humping Jason's thigh if you could move.

"Jay, Jay—"

"Oh-oh, I know, sweet. You put up a good fight. Couldn't believe it was my girl, fightin' like that. What happened at that last part, hm? Your pretty head go empty?"

You whine, squirming as much as you can under Jason's weight. He hums.

"Didn't know how easy you get with a little weight on you. Poor baby, gotta keep your wits about you when all you want is to gush all over my thigh. You gushing yet?"

His fingers on your belly slip past your shorts, past your underwear, finally landing where you want them most. Jason gives your pussy sweet, little pets. He parts your folds, shallowly dipping his middle finger, just enough to make you clench.

"Jason, please," you beg, trying to chase his fingers.

"You wanted to play, right?"

You don't say anything, mind hot and cloudy like you've got a fever. Jason pinches your clit, just hard enough to make you jolt.

"Did the words leave you that fast, sweetheart? I've barely done anything. C'mon, you can do it. You're usually such a smart mouth. What happened?"

"Empty," you manage to say. "'M empty, Jay. Needa feel full."

"Oh, good girl," he purrs, two fingers diving into you pussy. You keen. "Good fucking girl. I can keep you full, don't you worry about that, pretty."

His fingers inside of you sound obscene. You might be embarrassed if you weren't on another planet right now.

"God, you're so wet," Jason says, and he genuinely sounds awed. "Little clit's so hard, I bet you can barely think. No wonder you're so dumb right now. Do I even have to do anything? I bet you'd just hump my thigh till you come."

His hand slips out of your pussy and you protest loudly, thrashing and gasping. Jason hushes you.

"Ah-ah, what happened to my good girl? Know all the blood from your brain rushed to your clit, but you gotta be patient, pretty. You think I'd leave you hanging? Be a crime to leave y'wet and aching."

He pulls your shorts and underwear down in one go, then lifts your hips up, slotting his thick thigh right up against your hot cunt. You immediately start to rub against him, out of your mind with the need to come.

Jason laughs. "What'd I say? I take care of my girl, don't I?"

"M-more, touch me, rub my clit," you pant out, nipples dragging almost painfully under your shirt. The carpet bites at your tits even through the fabric, especially now that Jason's given you room to ride his thigh.

You're still one hundred percent trapped beneath him, his weight pinning you down. Your arms remained locked behind your back.

"Mm. A little bossy, but I like you asking for what you want," Jason says, leaning down to nip at your shoulder.

His hand returns to your now bare pussy, and his middle finger quickly finds your clit. He swipes it a few times, then sucks his fingers into his mouth. You hear him lick them clean before he dives back in, now zeroed in on making you come.

It doesn't take long. You moan loud and long when your pleasure reaches its peak, Jason relentlessly working you over. You squeeze hard around his thigh when you come, brain syrupy and light.

"Oh, fuck, God. Look at you, yeah. That's my girl. Feel better?" he rasps, hovering over you.

You don't have time to reply before Jason flips you over, holding you down like that. He's hard, and his eyes are wild, a beautiful, blazing teal. He looms over you, and you feel inexplicably hunted.

"I think you've got another one in you," he says, pawing at the soft fat of your thigh. "Pretty girl can give me more, right? What'd you say earlier?"

Jason leans in and covers your body with his. The weight on your chest turns your brain to soup.

"Oh, that's right. Show me what you've got."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd smut #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood smut #red hood fanfiction #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #smut #inbox #blurb #nsft

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