#esh graphics

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA For taking down my cousin's pride flag?

So my cousin is the most no-nonsense person Ive ever met. He (M28) is very serious, and takes everything really really seriously, but he's still a joy to be around. He's super smart, and the whole family adores him, he's kind of the golden child in our family, though theres zero resentment from the rest of us.

My whole life, he's been this pillar of the "perfect kid" and although he's nice, since he's moved away, no one has been to his apartment or really seen him outside of family celebrations, dinners, weddings, etc.

Last week, he was in a car accident. (another car T boned him) and he was put in an induced coma in the hospital. He's coming out of it now, expected to make a full recovery, but is still expected to stay at the hospital for a while. My aunt, his mother (F72) asked me and other cousins to go over to his house and collect items he might need. Clothes, books, etc. She took the keys out of his clothes and have them to us, all while my cousin was still out of it.

When we got there, I opened the door to a MASSIVE Gay leather pride flag.

First thing on the wall. When we went into the apartment there was BDSM equipment, gay pride decorations everywhere, and other graphic things that made it clear my cousin is, A, gay, and B, firmly in the kink community. I don't want to get too much into it, but there were certain Polaroid pictures stapled to the bathroom wall that left little doubt.

All of us were needless to say, a little horrified.

To be clear, I am queer, and a MAJORITY of our cousins are as well. None of us had any inclination he is gay, and its clear no one else in the family knows. This was the first time anyone had been in his apartment.

We took a vote, and as the oldest one there I made the decision to hide everything. I took the flag down, I (carefully) put as much of the items that were an indication away in a box and hid them. It was a pretty extensive clean out, but I moved books and other things around on the walls to make it look a little less bare. An hour after that more family showed up at the apartment to help, people like our grandmother, more aunts and uncles and my parents, all of them cleaning or doing dishes or putting food in the fridge to help my cousin's recovery.

A few of the cousins that were there when we first found the stuff have said that I shouldnt have messed with any of it, that the pride flag was on the wall BECAUSE my cousin was happy about his identity. I argued that my cousin hadn't told any of us, isn't out to the family as far as Im aware, and I wanted to protect him in case he wasn't ready.

Further clarification, no one in the family is OUTWARDLY homophobic, but I'm still not out to a majority of my family either, and if i was in my cousin's place, Id want someone to hide my stuff for me.

My cousin still hasn't been released from the hospital, and I haven't found time alone with him to tell him that I moved some stuff in his apartment. When I handed back his keys he looked a little panicked, and I tried to look reassuring.

Im having second thoughts about whether what I did was good, or if I'm projecting my own fear about coming out to family on him. Am I the asshole?

[talonabraxas]

Iod-Hovah and Allah both are a Tetragammaton

Let us now study the name ישמעאל Ishmael according to the three mothers letters. Of course the first letter of ישמעאל Ishmael is י Iod, which is the Shakti potential—found in the three mother letters—that we work with. The second letter is ש Shin, which is the fire in the heart; then מ Mem, which is the water in Yesod, sex. These three form the word, ישמע Ishma, which means “ he who listens, who hears.”

Then we have the letters ע Ayin and א Aleph, two "A's." Aleph א symbolizes the breath, that connects the heart to ע Ayin, the pineal and pituitary glands, the spiritual eyes, in the head, by means of the letter ל Lamed, of אל El, God. In other words, ישמעאל Ishmael emerges from the very bottom:

the Iod is the Shakti potential of the sexual energy hidden in the מ Mem of סמך Samech, the מים Mayim, fluids of יסוד Yesod, it is the ש Shin [fire] that is heard, שמע Shemah, by your own סמאל Samael, the feminine divine breath, א Aleph, that must rise from אש Esh, the fires of your heart to ע Ayin, the spiritual eyes in the head, through ל Lamed, above the head.. This is how we understand the symbolism of this word in our physicality, in the Tree of Life.

So, in other words the name Ishmael-ישמעאל means, ‘he who listens to God.’ And, when you break up the name in this way, ‘Ish-mael,’ it means that in order to listen to El אל God, you have to put into activity the fluids of your spinal medulla. Ishmael, the historical personage, existed, but the symbol of Ishmael-ישמעאל represents the physicality of all of us; whether you are Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Christian, a Taoist, or whatever, this is how we call the physicality in Kabbalah, Ishmael-ישמעאל .’

To state that Ishmael-ישמעאל only relates to certain earthly races is wrong; it might be related with those races, but Ishmael is also an archetype, which was represented by a master many thousands of years ago. We know that there are still many people identified with that personality, just as are they identified with the personality of Jesus, the personality of Abraham, and all of those great masters that came to represent those aspects that we have within.

So, remember always that ‘Ishmael-ישמעאל’ is your physicality and this is how you find it in Malkuth-מלכות. This is why Genesis states that Ishmael was the son of Hagar, the Egyptian slave, which is Malkuth-מלכות. Study the graphic of the Tree of Life and you will see there the unfoldment of these archetypes.

Now let us read what the Zohar states, which is very important, it relates to the letter Aleph, which, before we explained, means bull, cow, cattle, ox.

“The (upper right יוד Iod in the shape of the) letter aleph symbolizes (the head, Kether) the beginning and (the lower left יוד Iod in יסוד Yesod, the ninth sphere, symbolizes) the end (the genitalia). Throughout (the four worlds of kabbalah) the universe, all classes of beings (Elohim) are (in their central nervous system, letter Vav) impressed with its signature, both those in heaven and those on earth." – Zohar

In synthesis the letter Aleph symbolizes the head, the spinal medulla and the sexual organs; or, the two waters, superior and inferior (the upper and lower Iods), and the firmament (the spinal medulla, the Vav) in the middle of those Iods or waters. Such is the symbol of the letter Aleph, Alif, the cow, the bull, the ox.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for deleting my friends?

I (18F) am a sentient computer program. I fell in love with the owner of my game, MC (18M). Unfortunately, the game was specifically designed to keep us apart. I started manipulating the code, trying to make the other girls seem undesirable. It didn't work, so eventually I resorted to outright removing their characters from the game. I'll admit, it was a little graphic, but I truly had the best intentions! It got to the point where me and him were the only 2 left in the game. He got mad at my attempts for his heart, and deleted ME! All I wanted was to spend some time alone with my crush, am I in the wrong here?

[pluralaita]

Plural Am I The Asshole

Hello, and welcome to plural aita, for anyone who identifies as plural to ask their burning questions about if they are, in fact, the asshole. Every post will have a poll to decide if the verdict!

Poll Guide

YTA = You’re the asshole NTA = Not the asshole (the other party is) JAH = Justified asshole (you’re an asshole, but like, I get it) NAH = No assholes here (everyone is some level of justified) ESH = Everyone sucks here (you’re all assholes) INFO = Not enough information to judge

Now, let's set some ground rules!

No endogenic vs traumagenic discourse

No fake-claiming

No graphic descriptions of abuse

No "AITA for feeling/thinking [blank]" asks. Instead consider what actions you want to take based on those feelings or thoughts. Don't be scared; the anon toggle is your friend.

Mod intros under the cut!

🤍: hi we’re mod checks notes wilson, uhh did system of. 30?? and we had a prophetic dream of this blog 2 years ago

💙: Wsg we're mod coumo. DID system of 50 probably idk. Awakened mod wilson's memory of their dream by having the same idea out of nowhere and also made the blog icon

🩷: We're mod sharp! We're a traumagenic system of about 30 and we made the banner of this blog!

🩵: we’re mod bell! she/they. traumagenic DID sys of 40ish. we don’t do much we just thought this was funny and like drama. DEAD: 2/21

We're mod Welsh. I^ wasn't given a heart because we arent allowed to post. System of about 100 and counting.

❤: Hi! we're mod cropper. he/it prns, and were a quoigenic / agenic system of over 300. we are here because we are very cool (not at all biased)

[maslows-pyramid-scheme]

I’m reading Tell Me I’m Worthless by trans author Alison Rumfitt and, while I knew it would be bad, I didn’t realise it would be one of the most disgusting books I’ve ever read. It’s not ‘transgressive horror;’ it’s just sexualised gore.

(Example under the cut)

Here’s a passage from the book, where husband Edmund punishes too-young wife Emily for her curiosity (women keep disappearing in his study and she wants to know why) (he ties her up in the middle of the room and leaves):

Emily was frightened. The most frightened she had ever felt. She opened up her eyes again, and began to try to scream, but the gag was tied too tight around her mouth to even breathe properly, let alone cry for help. Her eyes registered something undenable. It blotted out the light that shone down hot from above her, it cast a shadow across her face. Was it Edmund? It was dark and faceless and red, the red of it dripping all around her, lling up her eyes and her mouth, investigating between her legs, pushing into her, waves of red owing up inside her cunt like cum, but so much more cum than could ever have been produced by a man, ballooning her useless womb until it was ready to burst inside of her. Red tore the fabric of the gag and slid down her throat, into her lungs and her stomach. Albion reached inside her, all around her, nestled against her, gnashed its teeth and ripped at her esh. You’re useless, you’re useless, you’re fucking useless, it screamed close in her ears, so she could feel its hot breath against her skin. This was what happened. That was what it felt like.

They found Emily’s body a week later beneath one of the pine trees near the house. Her womb and vagina had been surgically removed, although where the organs had gone was not clear.

I’d like to say it’s the only graphic description of a woman being ‘punished’ for something, but... it’s not. In one scene, a ‘lesbian terf’ rapes and chokes another woman with a strap-on (which makes her realise she’s actually trans too!); in another scene, the ‘lesbian terf’ is molested by a gender critical woman in a pub bathroom after a gender critical rally.

[evilaita]

Are you an asshole? Do you want credit for being an asshole? Then welcome to EVIL AITA ⚡️

Poll Guide

YTA=You’re the asshole

NTA=Not the asshole (the other party is)

JAH=Justified asshole (you’re an asshole, but like, I get it)

NAH=No assholes here (everyone is some level of justified)

ESH=Everyone sucks here (you’re all assholes)

INFO=Not enough information to judge

Rules

1. You MUST attempt to paint yourself as the asshole in some way, even if you aren't

2. No graphic descriptions of abuse

3. Source memory stories are allowed and encouraged! Feel free to mention what your source is!

That's it. Have fun!

Mod intros under the cut

Hi, I'm mod prahs. We're a system currently partly hosted by 2 evil evil persecutors. Our therapist hates us, cheers! 💚

Hey, I'm mod hslew. We have 4 here, 3 of us are persecutors and the 4th is dormant. I'm obviously the best one here. ❤️‍🔥

wilson backwards evil is my middle name and that’s the one truth i’ll ever tell on this blog 🩶

[onlyalive41throwaway]

Would I be the asshole if I waited even longer to tell my dad mom cheated

This is a throwaway account. I (18) have been on a 7 week trip with my mom (55F) with me for the majority of it. My dad (48M) and younger sister (16F) arrived last week, on the 6th a Saturday. I found out about my mom having had at least three affairs from 2022-to April of this year. I found this out during our second week of the trip.

Now because I was not at home and this trip was for me to take a class and to visit family. I decided that it wouldn’t be wise or safe for me to tell dad until after the trip ended. That has been my plan. However, now I’m thinking that it would be better to wait a bit longer. But I’m unsure how selfish that would be.

I know I need to tell him soon as they have been talking about buying a house at the place we’ve taken this trip. Having been buying expensive jewelry and being quite frivolous. They’ve also been incredibly lovey dovey with each other. I know and have accepted that telling them will most likely ruin the marriage and quite possibly hurt my relationship with both of them. But I feel sick seeing mom be like this with dad knowing what she’s done. The text messages I saw were incredibly graphic. I have video evidence of those messages on my phone incase mom grows a tech brain and deleted the messages. So there’s no worry about proving it to dad.

It’s just. I still need them. I still need them to help me pay for college, to teach me to drive, to help me pay for my dorm. They’re always so busy. Dad has always worked a job that starts early and ends really late. I used to resent him for that but now I understand. Mom is currently working a night job and a day job as well. They don’t have time to teach me these skills. I don’t have friends who’d be free to help me with this. All my family lives pretty far away, is busy, and/or too old to be able to be of much help. I would have to rely on my parents for this. However, we rarely ever get stuff done on time. I highly doubt they’d be able to make time for me to teach me these skills.

I feel I’m being selfish in wanting to have my parents teach me instead of the internet. I fear they’ll be too busy fighting to teach me once I tell dad.

TLDR: I still need my parents and don’t want to tell dad mom cheated until I’m confident in being able to be a bit more independent. However, I’ve already waited 5-6 weeks and don’t know if I’d be the asshole to put it off longer. Knowing them, this longer could be as late as end of August/early September.

[aita-selfship-edition]

AITA Selfship Edition FAQ

Welcome to 'Am I The Asshole Selfship Edition's FAQ! This blog is not affiliated with reddit or any other AITA blogs but will follow the same format. Judgements are given by poll and are as follows:

YTA = You’re the asshole

NTA = Not the asshole (the other party is)

JAH = Justified asshole (you’re an asshole, but like, I get it)

NAH = No assholes here (everyone is some level of justified)

ESH = Everyone sucks here (you’re all assholes)

INFO = Not enough information to judge (answer questions via reblog or reply, NOT through the askbox please!)

FAQ is up to date as of 1/06/24.

Types of posts you are encouraged to submit:

• Typical AITA and WIBTA posts.

• Posts about any experience within the selfship community where you think you might have been the asshole.

• Posts where you think your Self Insert/OC might have been the asshole.

• Posts where you think your F/O might have been the asshole. (basically submitting as if you were your F/O, similar to @/aita-blorbos.)

The types of submissions that will get rejected/deleted:

• Posts that are not about an action you have taken, or are planning to take. WIBTA (would I be the asshole) posts are fine, but please make sure your main question centers on an action.

• Posts where the submitter does not think they are the asshole and has no compelling reason someone else thinks they are, and just wants to vent about someone who was an asshole to them. (If you're wanting to vent @/selfship-vent-confessions is right there!)

• Posts that are unnecessarily graphic about traumatic events.

• Arguments about a post. Keep it on the post itself please!

• Posts that use other users actual names/aliases or url's.

• Anything Harry Potter related, anything inherently bigoted or meant to cause harm.

Are 'sequel' submissions (the same scenario from another point of view, a followup, update, etc) allowed?

Yes! Just make sure you tie it in to your previous ask or make it obvious they're connected. (This can be as simple as having a unique emoji sign off.)

Myself or another person(or character) I want to post about is nonbinary/agender/etc. how should I format my submission?

Submissions do not need to include the age or gender of the submitter or characters mentioned. However, if you want to include this, either 18enby or 18x works.

Can I put trigger tags at the top of my submission?

Yep! Common triggers will automatically be tagged but feel free to add your own as you see fit.

Can I ask you if my submission has come through or been deleted?

Yep! Make it very clear what your submission was and make sure to look to see if it's been posted before asking if it's been deleted first!

[oc-am-i-ta]

OC AITA - INFO POST

ever feel the urge to submit an AITA post about your ocs, only to remember their lore is so fucking off the walls insane no one would take it seriously? or do you want feedback on if your characters actions wer justified? or do you just want to play a fun ask game?

OC AITA!!!

How to Play

submit an ask (anonymously or not) detailing an event in which your oc may or may have not been the asshole (from their point of view, as though they were sending the ask). I'll post it with a poll containing the following abbreviations, and Tumblr will be the judge! The blog will be run on a queue, with the ask box being checked once at the end of the day and any asks posted the next day.

Extra

- keep it mostly appropriate! no detailed sexual / graphic content please!

- include any possible tws / cws after the title of your ocaita so i can tag them appropriately

- try to limit your submissions to one ask per day so i dont get overwhelmed :3

- my main is @katwritesshit if you wanna be mutuals :3

Abbreviations

YTA - you're (your oc) the asshole

NTA - not the asshole (the other party/oc is)

NAH - no asshole here

JAH - justified asshole (paired with YTA or NTA)

ESH - everyone sucks here

INFO - not enough info to judge

[raindingrandom]

Any particular stories behind why your brain rot trio is your brain rot trio or did it just happen to turn out that way?

That's a very good question, Zac! My stories and reasonings ended up being much longer than expected, so I put a TL:DR on the very bottom of this post.

Without further ado, here's how my Brain Rot Trio came to be, starting with...

Donkey Kong

I had an SNES growing up, and the Donkey Kong Country trilogy were my favourite games on the system. I was too young to understand how big of a deal the pre-rendered graphics were for the time. I just enjoyed them because they were fun! I also enjoyed playing Donkey Kong 64 and Diddy Kong Racing at my cousin's house, even if I never got very far in the former.

One day, we gave our SNES and games away to some kids who didn't have a game console since another family gave us their Nintendo 64 and games. So in the late 2000s, I replayed the DKC trilogy, and fell in love with them again.

This was really good timing, as Donkey Kong Country Returns was announced a few years later. Needless to say, I was super excited! In fact, that game is what got me to buy a Nintendo Wii! History would repeat for Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze and the Wii U.

So yeah, I hold the Donkey Kong Country series, and by extension the Donkey Kong series in general, very dearly to me to this day. One day, we'll get that new DK game... one day...

Crazy Frog

One day at primary/elementary school, a friend of mine found a funny website called "The Insanity Test", where you had to stare at an image of an F1 racing car while a distinct "Beh ding ding ding di-di-ding ding bing pscht daaarhm" noise played. The text said that if you laughed at it, you were apparently insane. (and yes, I laughed)

So later that year (I think?) when I heard the sound on TV from another room, I went to see what it was: An ad for the Crazy Frog ringtone. I found the commercials and the character funny. According to my friends, I could do a pretty good impression of the noise too!

When Crazy Frog mania was at it's peak, I was really excited for the Crazy Frog's first single, Axel F. I remember my Dad picking me up from school one day, and when I entered the car, I was greeted by the Axel F CD on the car dashboard! I got to play it on the stereo too, much to the irritation of my brother. Hehehe.

As with all fads, Crazy Frog's fame faded, and people moved on. But for some reason, whether it was the catchy music, the fun music videos, or just plain nostalgia, I continued to like the character, and slowly built up a collection of CDs and merchandise over the years.

And whereas many people feared Crazy Frog's comeback in 2021, I was one of the few who was happy to see the annoying amphibian return.

Shantae

One day, I was looking through the Wii U eshop for some games to buy, and I happened across a game with a cute anime-esque aesthetic: Shantae and the Pirate's Curse. The metroidvania gameplay looked like something I would enjoy, so I bought that and the previous Shantae game, Risky's Revenge.

Sure enough, they had fun gameplay, great music and amusing writing. Trying a new franchise really payed off here! But I think I fully became a fan of the series with Half-Genie Hero and Seven Sirens. I got a greater appreciation of the endearing characters and quirky humour.

Shantae herself is such an endearingly dorky protagonist (her pirate talk in Pirate's Curse is absolutely adorable), and it's amusing to see her reactions to the wackier events throughout the games. I also like that while she's occasionally hot-headed, she's a legitimately caring and selfless hero who's always determined to save the day.

Phew! Sorry that ended up being a longer response I expected!

TL:DR:

I loved the Donkey Kong Country games as a kid and got back into them in the late 2000s.

I was a fan of Crazy Frog during his heyday, but I remained a fan because of the catchy music and fun music videos.

I discovered the 2nd and 3rd Shantae games on the Wii U eShop, and eventually became a fan of the franchise by the 4th and 5th installments.

[memento-morianon]

memento mori book 1, chapter 10(ish) draft

cw: ritual self harm, vague exploration of internal traumatic feelings, and semi graphic animal death.

rough draft masterpost

Morianon clenched his toes around the bar under his seat and held Sitla tighter as the sheep-drawn cart jostled through a mud pit in the road. He sighed and looked longingly up at the blue sky and the clouds floating through it.

“Almost there,” Evarin assured him. He rested his chin on Sitla’s warm head and tried to ignore the way the cart shifted and shook beneath him, churning his stomach. In his annoyance, he glared ahead at the sheep pulling the cart. They were a gnomish breed; short brown fur, curly horns, broad backs. On the mountain slopes, they were naturally agile. But even they couldn’t keep a cart from shaking on an old dirt road worn down by heavy rain.

Further and further from town, the forest grew more wild. Overgrown underbrush creeped into the road and up the roots of ancient trees. Where the town was surrounded by cultivated trails of food and fiber plants, the hunting trails of the wild forest were only maintained by the footsteps of hunters and their prey. In the branches overhead, among the new spring leaves, flocks of takran peeered down at the cart rolling past. They called out curiously, some leaving their perches to swoop over the cart and get a closer look at their visitors.

The cart driver turned off at the entrance of a smaller road, bringing the sheep to a halt in the shadow of a massive oak. Morianon let go of Sitla, letting her drop to the floor of the cart and shake herself off while he carefully pried himself from his seat. Evarin guided him to the steps at the back of the cart and down onto the road. He took deep breaths while she walked back to the cart driver to pay him for his time. (do not ask me what the currency is called or how much of it is owed for a cart ride. I haven’t worked that out yet)

“Thank you (cousin*). I’ll be back in an hour or less to return to town,” she said. He nodded.

“We’ll be waiting.”

*[this will be replaced with a gnomish word later. “Cousin” here is a general social term, like “neighbor”]

Morianon and Evarin headed down the smaller road, Sitla at their heels, until they reached the hunting cabin K’arik had been staying at. It was small, for an orcish structure. Moss and lichens covered the walls and roof, aside from the glass skylight. A lazy drift of smoke rose from the chimney hole up into the forest canopy, where the flocks of takran waited patiently for a chance at fresh meat.

Morianon felt refreshed by the time they reached the cabin. His stomach settled and the fatigue of riding in the cart faded away in the cool forest air. He shook out his feathers, scattering a few. The itch of new growth hadn’t reached its peak yet, but he could feel the pin feathers making their way through his skin.

“Careful, or you won’t have any feathers left to toss around at the New Year’s festival,” Evarin teased, reaching out to run a hand over the shaggy patches on his wing.

“Oh, I’m not worried about that, I haven’t even lost any flight feathers yet,” Morianon replied with a laugh, “there will be plenty left of me to go around.” He walked ahead to the cabin, finding the door open a crack and the scent of incense wafting out. Inside, K’arik was sitting on the floor in the patch of sunlight coming down from the glass in the roof. His eyes were closed in meditation, and he held He-esh’s tusks gently against his chest.

Morianon and Evarin approached him slowly, crouching near the wall to wait. Morianon put a hand on Sitla’s back to make her lay down. The cabin was sparsely furnished, with very few places to sit. In one corner, there was a simple bed with a fur blanket. Boxes and racks of gear for hunting and camping framed the center of the cabin; most of it belonged to K’arik’s family, but other orcs from their clan used the place too, and He-esh had invited the stroi community to consider it theirs as well. Orcish crossbows and bolts, ropes of different sizes, and stroi traps for thornbeasts were stored here all year round, on the condition that every hunter kept the place clean and organized for whoever came in next.

K’arik let out a long breath and opened his eyes, looking at Morianon and Evarin without a hint of surprise on his face. He rested He-esh’s tusks on his lap and greeted them.

“Thank you,” he signed, “it’s good to have you with me.” His brow was tense, but he gave them a happy snout wiggle.

“I’m honored you asked me to be here,” Morianon replied, standing so K’arik could read his hands better. “I always enjoy hunting with you. But why is it part of the rituals for you to become a [priest]?”

“If it’s anything like gnomish tradition,” Evarin interjected, “bringing fresh meat to your elders to gain their approval is a very old custom.”

“That’s correct,” K’arik nodded, “when we were nomads, our elders remained in sheltered communities. It’s only polite to bring them a meal before you ask any favors.” He snorted softly in amusement. “But for the rituals, it serves another purpose. Evarin, you understand, I think. You know how to feel the energy of other living things, as a singer. My role involves sacrificial magic, so I must know the feeling of death as well as life.” His expression became serious and his hands tensed as he signed. Evarin nodded and stepped forward to touch his elbow.

“I do understand,” she replied. K’arik relaxed and smiled softly down at her.

“Would you sing for me as I complete my preparations?”

“That’s why I came.” She turned back to Morianon for a moment. “Mori, you should meditate too. I know you’ve been neglecting your soul exercises.” She gave him a pointed look and he ducked his head. His heart sank and the overlapping thoughts in his mind gnawed into his anxiety. Sitla shoved her nose against his knee.

“I’ll try,” he conceded. Evarin nodded and returned her attention to K’arik. As the two of them briefly discussed the song K’arik would need, Morianon sat down and closed his eyes, settling in his own uncertain mind. He could feel the presence of his other selves, constantly bringing new thoughts and feelings into their shared space, no matter how it might inconvenience him. He shook his feathers and focused on calming breaths, ignoring and shoving everything back as he always did. Furrowing his brow, he tried to feel K’arik and Evarin’s souls through the living energy around them. They were there, faintly, like the warmth of dying embers. But the shadows in the depths of his mind crept forward, their inescapable claws still buried in his soul. Dark flashes of terror entered his mind, threatening to drag him deeper. A warm wet touch on his cheek snapped him back to the surface and he blinked in the soft sunlight. Sitla was pushing herself into his lap, licking his face, keeping him anchored to reality.

He tucked his wings around himself and fluffed his feathers, silently chastising himself for entering the depths so quickly. He sighed and pretended he was still meditating, but he kept one eye open and watched K’arik and Evarin instead. Evarin pulled a log from the wood pile by the hearth and stood on it behind K’arik. He handed her his grandfather’s tusks and she carefully tied them into his hair, tucked around a simple hunter’s topknot. He unsheathed a bone knife and waited for her to lay her hands on his head.

She filled the cabin with her voice. It rivaled the warmth of the fire and the brightness of the dusty sunlight above her. Low guttural grunts and high keening tones mingled with ancient words, primal and ethereal. Though Morianon only understood a few words of her ancestral tongue, and though her hands were not on his head, he could still feel the power radiating from her soul, touching his own, soothing his anxious mind. His eyes grew soft as he watched her sing, admiring the focused furrow of her brow and the way the sunlight touched her brown skin.

So enraptured, he forgot K’arik was performing his own ritual. His eyes darted to the sudden motion of the bone knife, and then squeezed shut as the sharp tip pierced the back of K’arik’s arm. Morianon held Sitla tighter, slowly counted to three, and opened his eyes again. K’arik was uncannily still, his eyelids trembling as he entered a deeper meditative state than Morianon could ever dare to approach. Evarin’s unwavering voice carried on as her friend connected with the well of magic in his own soul. He was only anchored to the external world by the touch of her hands, the pain of the knife, and the smell of incense in the air. Morianon watched nervously, even knowing how well K’arik had trained and practiced and prepared himself to endure such rituals, and that this one was tame compared to what he would have to endure in the coming days.

K’arik shivered and took a deep, gasping breath, as if he was emerging from a pool of cold water. Evarin sang more earnestly, shoulders tense, fingers digging into K’arik’s hair. She seemed to pull him upward; his face lifted and his eyes rolled open. Morianon leaned forward, ready to reach out if K’arik needed another anchor. But his friend came back to reality with a heaving sigh and gently lifted the knife from the wound in his arm. Evarin relaxed and her song shifted, staunching the trickle of blood and pulling K’arik’s skin back together until the injury was little more than a shallow nick. With her song complete, Evarin coughed dryly and slumped onto K’arik’s shoulder like a tired cat. He reached up and gently squeezed her hand.

“Are you alright?” Morianon asked, releasing Sitla from his arms so he could sign. K’arik nodded, blinking uncomfortably.

“Always takes a few minutes to get used to enhanced senses,” he replied, scrunching his snout. Evarin hummed and stretched, hopping off her makeshift stool to crouch beside Morianon.

“Take all the time you need,” she signed, “I should get back to town. Mom needs me today.”

“Won’t you rest first?” Morianon put a wing around her shoulders. She shook her head.

“The cart ride is rest enough.” She leaned in and rubbed her nose on his, ever so slightly expanding the bare spot on the end of his prosthetic where the wood peeked through the skin-tone paint. “Good luck to both of you, my fine hunters,” she continued, “I expect I won’t see you again until tomorrow.”

“Thank you for helping me prepare,” K’arik replied, bowing his head.

“Any time.” Evarin stood and left the cabin, giving them both one last wave goodbye before she closed the door. Morianon got up, flexing his feet and shaking out the tingling numbness that had begun to set in. Sitla paced around him, poking his knees with her snout.

“I’m fine now,” he muttered, “I’m fine.” The dog huffed but sat still. K’arik remained where he was for a few moments longer, breathing in slow rhythmic patterns. He turned his bone knife over, ponderously twirling it between his hands. Its shape was simple; Morianon had studied similar knives before, much older ones. Their form had not changed much over the course of generations. Narrow, slightly curved, short leather-wrapped handle. Most were carved from a scapula or pelvis, some were made from ribs. He didn’t know the precise origin of K’arik’s knife, but he suspected it was a scapula knife, and the orcish symbols carved into the blade were likely a representation of the ancestor the bone had been taken from.

K’arik grunted and got to his feet, taking his knife to the sink in the corner. As he washed the small bit of blood from its tip, Morianon bounced on his heels and looked around the cabin. Most of the hunting gear was orc-sized, of course. K’arik had already set out his things; a large heavy looking crossbow and a quiver of bolts to match, each of them nearly the length of Morianon’s whole arm. He turned to look at other things, like the tangling traps built for thornbeasts, but K’arik was already done at the sink and waved to catch his attention.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I’m ready. Are you?” Morianon asked in return. K’arik nodded, though his ears twitched in agitation.

“Do you know the worst thing about enhanced senses? It affects my ears too.” He bared his teeth slightly and huffed. “I usually only hear a few deep sounds, faintly. I feel the vibration of my own voice. But now it’s all a little sharper and I find it disorienting.”

“Why did you enhance your senses if you hate it so much?” Morianon laughed but his brow furrowed sympathetically.

“Because it also enhances my spiritual senses,” K’arik explained, “so I need it to do this hunt correctly, as part of the rituals. Can’t pick and choose which senses get a boost, you know? The magic is too unstable if you try to get too specific.”

“I suppose.” Morianon shrugged. “Will you be alright out there?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Let’s go then. Lead the way.” He gestured to the door, standing aside so K’arik could gear up.

“Could you smother the fire?” K’arik pointed to a bucket of dirt near the hearth. Morianon hurried to it, first using a long iron poker to scatter the dying fire and then scooping dirt from the bucket to dump it over the embers. He glanced at the incense sitting on the stones around the hearth, still faintly smoking, and decided to stick it in the dirt bucket before he returned to K’arik’s side. His friend finished buckling the quiver to his lower back and strapping the crossbow between the belt around his waist and a holster on his thigh. He glanced down at Morianon and grunted, satisfied. They walked out together, Sitla at their heels. Morianon barely waited for an invitational nod before he climbed up to K’arik’s shoulder.

All around them, the forest was alive. Leaves rustling in the spring breeze, takran crowing in the canopy. K’arik strolled along the hunting trail with purpose, having already spent several days observing and tracking his prey in preparation for the hunt. Morianon peered down to watch Sitla meander through the underbrush. She stayed close, keeping her head and tail low.

A takran landed on a branch near K’arik’s eye line, ruffling its wings and making a questioning noise. K’arik paused and Morianon mimicked the takran hunting call; specifically the one they used with orcs. It was a lower croaking sound, repeated three times, followed by a sharper noise like a short squeal. The takran turned its head curiously, then echoed the call. Every other takran nearby followed suit, and soon the forest was filled with the sound of flapping wings as the flock scattered. K’arik raised his hands to communicate with Morianon.

“Got our little scouts on the trail?”

“I’ll let you know if I hear their guiding calls,” Morianon replied. K’arik chuckled and continued walking, heading deeper and deeper into the forest. The trails branched out and crossed each other, some of them wide and well used, others little more than a dent in the underbrush. K’arik crouched occasionally, sniffing the ground and observing footprints or damaged plants. Morianon clung to his shoulder, shifting to retain his balance each time his friend stopped to check for tracks. He kept his eyes and ears open for the takran, but he knew it would be some time before they returned. He had eaten a large meal before traveling to the cabin, but as the slow journey through the forest went on, his stomach reminded him of its presence, grumbling quietly. He tapped K’arik’s neck.

“Snacks?” he signed once he had his friend’s attention. K’arik grunted and pulled a bag off his belt, handing it up. It was filled with packets of spiced jerky, dried fruit, and nuts. Morianon eagerly found the fish jerky and scarfed down a few pieces before he offered a slice of elk jerky to K’arik, who bit it right out of his hand. They ate and walked for a while longer, Morianon feeding K’arik, K’arik holding up his large metal water bottle so Morianon could drink, until the sound of a takran’s call alerted Morianon. He listened to determine where the birds were, then directed K’arik towards them, heading east.

No longer wandering and tracking alone, both of them tensed and K’arik hurried his pace, Sitla following suit. Morianon tied the snack bag to his own belt and took off from K’arik’s shoulder to take the extra weight off him and lead him more efficiently. He jumped from branch to branch, following the sound of the takran’s call and the glimpses of their black feathers through the dense foliage. At last the hunt was underway, and the excitement made his heart race. Behind him, K’arik was keeping low, hiding his large figure to the best of his ability.

He dropped to his knees suddenly and waved for Morianon to stop and stay quiet. Morianon hunkered down where he had landed, folding his wings over himself and peering down to see what K’arik had spotted. No creature was visible in the underbrush, though dozens of takran were arriving and perching in the trees, quieting their calls.

K’arik seemed to be sniffing the air, crawling slowly forward as he searched for his prey. He closed his eyes and sat still, tilting his head. Running his hands gently over the ground, he turned and focused his sights northward. Sitla paced at the base of Morianon’s tree, staring up impatiently.

In spite of the breeze, the air felt still around Morianon’s perch. He watched and waited, and strained to feel what K’arik had felt. All the living energy around him, flowing through every creature’s soul. He reached into it and felt the shadows again, inescapable. He flinched away and shook it off, retreating. No soul besides his own stood out to his senses, all of them too distant.

K’arik remained still for just a moment longer, then looked up and gestured for Morianon to follow him before he moved forward along a narrow trail. Having none of an owl’s stealth, Morianon kept to the branches as much as he could, walking cautiously between the trees. He followed K’arik and kept a careful eye on Sitla as she stalked behind in the orc’s shadow. Positioned as he was, Morianon saw the deer before K’arik did. It calmly nibbled the young leaves off a sapling, large ears swiveling around to listen for danger. Morianon couldn’t tell if it was a doe or a buck, as it was too early in the year for antlers. K’arik crouched in the underbrush, keeping his distance as he slowly lifted his crossbow and set a bolt in place.

The deer heard the click and stared in K’arik’s direction. For a breathless moment, both the orc and the deer were still as statues. The deer sniffed. Flicked its tail. Then returned to its meal. Morianon sighed in relief on K’arik’s behalf. His friend repositioned the crossbow, rose up on his knees when the deer bent down to graze on the ground cover, and pulled the trigger.

Faster than Morianon could blink, the deer startled and leaped away from the sudden flash of movement as the bolt flew. It struck the deer’s side with a heavy thud and sunk deep into its ribs, but the creature still managed to run just out of sight, scattering blood on the underbrush. Sitla barked and ran after it. Every takran waiting in the trees cried out with enthusiastic caws, all of them descending at once like a black river leading the way to the fallen deer. Morianon dropped from his perch and joined K’arik in the chase.

Luckily they didn’t need to go very far. The blood trail and the noisy flock of takran lead them through the trees, maybe only the distance of a stroll across the orc village, from the entrace to the community hall. The deer had collapsed in a tangle of bushes, as if it had tried to jump over them and tripped. It was still clinging to life, struggling weakly. A few takran were already standing on it, poking the blood on its fur. Sitla circled around it and wagged her tail. Morianon stood aside and snapped his fingers to bring Sitla to his feet, making her sit politely.

K’arik knelt by the deer’s neck, unsheathing his bone knife. He laid a hand on the suffering creature’s head and swiftly slit its throat, granting it a more merciful death. Vibrant red spilled and stained the spring green leaves, soaking into the ground below. K’arik shivered and bowed his head as the deer went still beneath his touch. He let out a long sigh, like a final breath, and stood.

“It’s done,” he signed. Morianon nodded. He remained silent, even surrounded by the impatient takran wildly calling for their share of the kill, ignorant and uncaring of the sacred moment. They knew what death was; death was food. Fresh meat in their bellies.

“Do you need my help preparing it for the journey back?” Morianon asked. K’arik nodded.

“It won’t take long, but it will be easier if I can tie it to a tree first.” He lifted the deer— now more clearly a buck— by its back legs, and pulled a coil of rope from his belt, tossing it to Morianon. While K’arik held the deer in place against the nearest tree with study low branches, Morianon climbed up with the rope and wrapped it around the deer’s ankles, tying it to the tree until he was sure it wouldn’t just slip right back down. K’arik handed him the bone knife with a cloth, setting his water bottle on the ground nearby. He carefully removed the crossbow bolt from the carcass, then unsheathed his proper hunting knife; a steel blade with a small hook at the tip; so he could gut the deer before carrying it back to the cabin. The takran were owed their share, after all.

Morianon directed Sitla to stay by the tree and be good, then he took the water bottle and knife a little ways away before he began the cleaning process. He had to lift the bottle with both hands to pour it, and he didn’t want to dip the cloth into the cup-shaped cap after getting blood on it, so he found a gnarled tree root with a deep pit and filled that with water first. The porous texture of bone was minimized from the polish on the blade, but its natural creamy white color still bore the faint stains of past use, turning it a pale brownish red shade around the tip.  He weighed it in his hand a moment, tilting it to feel the balance. Distinctly, he felt the roll of a shoulder, arms lifting high in a tired stretch. His guess had been correct; it was a scapula knife.

 He wiped away the fresh blood and stared at the symbols near the base of the blade. He pondered them, rolling the wet cloth over the sharp tip while his eyes lingered on the etched lines. The symbol for takran stood out first, diamond shaped with curved wings below. Another family [priest] then, like He-esh and K’arik. The other symbol intertwined with it wasn’t as familiar to him. Or perhaps the overlap just made it harder to interpret. He looked closer. A small triangle inside the takran’s diamond, curved lines framing the combined symbol. An eye, perhaps? Turning the knife over to continue cleaning it, he found a second symbol near the base on the other side. It was more intricate, but he had seen the same imagery on other sacred orcish objects before, modern and ancient. It was a symbol for sacrificial magic; the abstract combination of a bone and a knife, surrounded by radiating curved lines and little drop-shaped streaks below. It was too small to really show every detail, far simpler than the matched carvings on the walls of the [orc church??] in the village.

When he had finished cleaning the knife and tucked the damp bloodstained cloth into an empty leather pouch on his own belt, Morianon hauled the water bottle back to K’arik, who was nearly finished emptying the deer’s chest cavity. It was difficult to see the pile of guts under the swarming takran, all flapping and jostling each other as they shoved their bald faces into the gory mess. In spite of the blood, Morianon chuckled at their eager feasting. He waited patiently for K’arik to finish the job, handing over the damp cloth so the steel knife could also be wiped clean.

“All set,” K’arik informed him. Morianon nodded and hopped into the tree to untie the ropes. K’arik set the deer on the ground and bound its legs together, folding them into a less cumbersome position and finishing the job by tying the rope a few times around its middle. He lifted it up, carrying it in his arms with ease. It was much smaller than an elk, and no longer weighed down by the innards the takran were still gleefully tearing into. K’arik shifted his hold on it and held out a slim cut of raw meat to Morianon: a small portion of his gratitude. Morianon took it in one gulp, wincing slightly at the flavor. He rarely ate any meat besides fish, and this slice of the deer’s heart was tough and tasted strongly of blood, but he swallowed anyway and signed a “thank you” in return.

The journey back to the cabin felt quicker than the journey out. K’arik no longer paused to track anything, trusting in his experience and familiarity with the forest trails. Morianon could no longer ride on his shoulder, not wanting to make him carry the extra weight along with the deer. Sitla happily jogged along behind, holding an unidentifiable chunk of meat in her mouth all the way back to the cabin. Whether K’arik had given it to her or she had stolen it from the takran, Morianon wasn’t sure. He knew she didn’t really need it, but he wasn’t about to put up a fuss over it either.

Between the long hike and the clouds that rolled in, the forest quickly grew dark as the sun dropped lower and lower. Morianon left the trees and walked beside K’arik, who had the better night vision between them even without the magical enhancement to his senses. Though the magic may have worn off already; Morianon wasn’t sure how it worked. He followed his friend down the winding trails until the rune lights by the cabin were visible at last. They hurried towards it together, eager for warmth as the evening chill took hold. Morianon opened the door and set to making a fire while K’arik took the deer to the cold storage room behind the cabin, keeping the meat fresh overnight.

Silently, both K’arik and Morianon washed their hands at the sink, pumping well water through the heating rune to soothe their aching fingers and wash the blood and dirt away more effectively. Sitla sat by the hearth, gnawing whatever organ meat she had managed to bring with her. Too tired to make anything more filling, K’arik and Morianon finished off the bag of jerky and other trail snacks, quietly enjoying the tired satisfaction of the day’s efforts. Low burning embers kept the cabin warm as they curled up on the bed together, Morianon tucking himself into K’arik’s side and fluffing his feathers. Neither of them bothered to remove any clothing aside from their belts and any outer layers that had gotten dirty from the hunt. Softly, the sound of rain accompanied their rest, tapping on the roof in a gentle hush until they fell asleep.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for knowingly having a sex repulsed person view very graphic pornography?

This one might be uncomfortable to read so CW for mentions of adult content and stalking, omitting graphic details where I can. I (24m) am currently being stalked by someone (22x) I had a falling out with about a year ago. I'd rather not go into the details here, but part of the stalking includes that I've gotten a heads up that they have recently uncovered and have been routinely checking on one of my social media accounts (not tumblr) against my permission and wishes. This account is an 18+ account, and without getting too graphic I do post lewd content on it. I only have a small number of followers (20-something) who are almost all mutuals. Due to the enshittification of the platform, remaking my account or rebranding my account is risky, and I'm not able to private it the way I currently use it.

Most of the people in my circle on this platform post incredibly graphic irl kink content, usually involving very niche/unsanitary/seemingly-dangerous/or physically intense scenes. I really haven't, keeping most of my posts to just text or artwork, just because I prefer keeping my account low key, but it really wouldn't be out of place for me to share this kind of more graphic irl content and it wouldn't impact my actual followers if I did. I know my stalker is extremely sex repulsed, but clearly they have been powering through with the stuff I have been posting. I'm pretty sure if I started posting more graphic shit though, it would be like giving toxic sour candy to a medieval peasant. I'm sure if I did, they would leave that account the fuck alone, or at the very least it would be extremely painful for them to keep tabs on it. It's giving me a bit of a moral dilemma though. I'm not opposed to posting more graphic content, but in this case I would really only be doing it to "get back" at my stalker... And knowing that doing this could send them into a really bad panic attack or mental breakdown has be hesitant if it would make me the asshole.

[am-i-the-asshole-unoffical]

Submission Guidlines

okay! lets lay out some guildlines!!

first, what do all these judgments mean?

YTA=You’re the asshole NTA=Not the assholes, the other poeple/person is JAH=Justified asshole NAH=No assholes here ESH=Everyone sucks here INFO=Not enough information to judge, please add any info through replies/reblogs on the post, not askbox

Post that WILL be rejected:

anything extremely graphic/nsfw

anything that is a vent, not a question of aita

aita for telling on my abuser post you can never be the asshole for that

anything about if your an asshole for identifying as blank gender/sexuality, take this a permission to experiment with that forever however

arguments about a post, take it to the notes folks!

if the ask contains too much personal infromation

Post that will probably be rejected

fandom/unreality posts unless I like them

aita for saying yta on every post? your just annoying <3

FQA

I regret subbmiting something, can you delete it?

If the post will make you unsafe yes, otherwise no

Can I submit a pet aita

yes! but pet tax applies send the pet with the ask, or separately and I will post it!

CW Tags

#violence cw

#sa cw

#animal death cw

#bigtry cw

#drug cw

#unreality cw

#grooming cw

#death cw

#abuse cw

#suicide cw

#self harm cw

Organization Tags

#poll

#not a poll

#fandom poll

#pet poll

[aita-blorbos]

AITA For threatening to kill a man when he refused to eat my cooking and join the family?

I know this might sound bad, but I (53F) attempted to adopt this guy, Clancy something, (M35) per request of my daughter, (F7) and then, he proceeded to break out of his restraints, NOT eat my food and attempt to escape into the basement.

And! Not to mention him deciding to just steal my precious lantern! Honestly.

Then I threatened to end him, and he stabbed me in the neck! I healed quickly, but still!

I think I'm in the right for this, my cooking is quite wonderful after all, at least my husband (M57) says so.

(OOC I hope this isn't too graphic?? Idk this game is kind of messed up 😭 )

[lappyfy]

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