#wedding organizer on the day

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i love cakes filled with sprinkles. i think all cakes should bleed when you stab them

[captain-astors]

To the groom.

[wraenata]

I feel like that torture stretch rack from medieval times would fix me

[pushing500]

Awww, Brennan and Debby got married! <3

Debby, no! You're at your own wedding!!!! I know you have the polyamorous trait, but c'mon, can't you wait even a single day?

You can pry Barghest out of my cold, dead hands. But, hey, if you want a Yttakin husband, I am more than willing to send Wookshys to you! I'll even throw in a crappy persona zeushammer to sweeten the deal. Please take him before I resort to drastic measures

Speaking of Wookshys, dealing with him annoys Kaz enough that he needs to go smooch his girlfriend to calm down.

Baz is cold-blooded and has the thermophile trait, and Zonovo is a demon-coded xenotype that can sort of spit fire (it's more like acid but whatever)...

Do you think Zonovo's skin is really warm? I bet Baz treats Zonovo like one of those special heat rocks you might put in a lizard's terrarium. A match made in heaven!

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[ben-the-hyena]

I am not sure if I want Prince and Princess to be endgame (since despite her being in the Cousins category she is actually just a friend) since Namco seems to have created her for that purpose even though they are like just 6

On the one hand it would be cliché and even if we suppose that they do crush on each other it is rare to love the same person you loved as a little kid, but on the other hand they do look cute and I cannot help but think the fact the King has a soft spot for her because she looks like the Queen and that her name is literally Princess are foreshadowing

Whether I will have them go endgame as adults or not, I still think I'm gpnna HC that they certainly do share a kiddy crush right now. Look how they run holding their hands or how he draws her thinking of her

And whether they will end up together or not you KNOW the King BOTH because he projects his own love story on them, because she reminds him of his wife and because he can be dumb at times he thinks everyone's true love is the first because it was the case for himself ships it HARD

[united-under-skyfall]

please y'all i need to see something

[falst]

oh my fucking god my family

[dreamweddinghub01]

Planning Your Perfect Destination Wedding in Alwar: A Rajasthan Dream Come True

[madlori]

On being an older fangirl

I was probably 10 years old when I first conceived of what was, looking back, fanfiction. Me and my best friend would lie in bed together on sleepovers and I'd make up stories about what happened after the end of our favorite book, "The Westing Game." She'd ask me for more stories, and I'd tell her more, inventing them as I went along. "Then what?" she'd say.

I was 14 when I went to my first convention. I had discovered Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was 1987, and my youth pastor was a huge Trekkie. He took me to a one-day crappy Creation con, but it was amazing to me. I met Nichelle Nichols. My dad showed me the Trek movies. He and I watched TNG together.

When I went to college in 1991, my dad used to videotape TNG episodes onto VHS tapes and mail them to me, so I could keep watching (I didn't have TV in my dorm room).

By the time I was a senior, we had Trek watching parties in the dorm lounge, where the TV had cable. Star Trek: Voyager had started up, and I wrote a column about it for the college newspaper. I joined a mailing list about it, with people in it that I still know today.

I got my first computer that could go online in 1995. I was on newsgroups. I discovered Doctor Who. I went to Trek conventions where we still passed around fanzines containing fic and art and smutty K/S fan creations.

Then it was Harry Potter. Then there were websites. Then there was Geocities, where we could all make our own little spots. We organized them into webrings. We talked on newsgroups and mailing lists. There were fanfic archives. Then there was fanfiction.net.

Then...there was LiveJournal. And we could interact in entirely new ways. We could form communities, and debate things, and fight over canon, and get into ship wars. On LiveJournal, I met my best friend of 22 years. I was in her wedding. She's my sister of the heart (which is what she calls me).

Then there was Tumblr. And Twitter. And now there's Discord. But it's all the same.

I am the same.

I am still that little girl who made up fanfiction in her head to entertain her best friend. I am still the one who was amazed to find communities on the internet - which was so new, so raw, so uncommodified - where others like me could meet. I found there people to meet in real life.

I am still that twentysomething going to her first major convention, being told that someone loved my fic, being asked about my writing process.

I am still that thirtysomething watching something I wrote blow up. Seeing friends from other fandoms find me in new ones, finding them there, too. Forgetting which fandom I know someone from, because I've known them for twenty years.

I still know some of the people who created those early websites, those mailing lists, those archives. I still meet people in new fandoms who say "Oh, I read your fic in [fandom] fifteen years ago!" There's no feeling quite like having someone remember something you wrote for that long. Or meeting someone whose fic meant a lot to YOU, or who you talked with on rec.arts.drwho.creative in 1997.

Aging in fandom is a gift. Being middle-aged in fandom is a joy. Having people who still read what I write and ask "Then what?" is a blessing.

It breaks my heart that so many people see it as something to be ashamed of, when it is one of my life's greatest gifts.

[greypetrel]

We Lying by Seasand

Happy Birthday @shivunin!! <3

Catching the occasion to write some more Maria and Aisling shenanigans. My hand slipped and it's long, but on my behalf, another idea would probably have ended up in a multichapter thing I sadly had no time for (and Cullen woud appreciate I spared him a headache). So I went on with what we already wrote and did a third chapter of sort! I put them through the horrors and I hope you'll like it. 😌💜

Here's a little masterpost:

[ 1. Three Card Trick | 2. A Gravity Assist | 3. We Lying by Seasand ]

Have the nicest of nice days. <3

[ Maria Hawke & Aisling Lavellan | 7408 words | No warning applies but major spoiler for DAI Here Lies the Abyss ]

We lying by seasand, watching yellow And the grave sea, mock who deride Who follow the red rivers, hollow Alcove of words out of cicada shade, For in this yellow grave of sand and sea A calling for colour calls with the wind That's grave and gay as grave and sea Sleeping on either hand. The lunar silences, the silent tide Lapping the still canals, the dry tide-master Ribbed between desert and water storm, Should cure our ills of the water With a one-coloured calm; The heavenly music over the sand Sounds with the grains as they hurry Hiding the golden mountains and mansions Of the grave, gay, seaside land. Bound by a sovereign strip, we lie, Watch yellow, wish for wind to blow away The strata of the shore and drown red rock; But wishes breed not, neither Can we fend off rock arrival, Lie watching yellow until the golden weather Breaks, O my heart's blood, like a heart and hill. - Dylan Thomas

Maybe it was totally out of place, and the signal that she was out of her mind for real.

But as everyone else was worried and ill at ease, not sure whether to be relieved that exchanging a certain death by falling a collapsing bridge by being stuck physically in the Fade was relieving or not… Aisling felt only curious.

That world followed a logic of its own, and in spite of everything, the particular corner they were into and the implication of potentially getting stuck there… She was fascinated. Not that the Fade was anything new, of course, but being there physically? With a real body that was affected by the place? Her mind buzzed with at least a thousand questions and scenarios and what-ifs. The colours looked brighter than in the real world, the air seemed fresher, and somehow she felt less tired than she’s been before, the Anchor itched less.

If there wasn’t a battle outside, she probably would have suggested the group to stop for a while.

She knew Solas would have had her back, and she couldn’t wait to make him at least a thousand questions.

But their time was limited, and so she could only walk further, exploring every niche and crevice and corner, but without straying too much from the others.

“Does the Fade affect our bodies? Do we weight the same, what do you think?”

She skipped forward, bringing herself at Solas’ side. He turned his head, cracking a smile. Somehow, he looked more relaxed there, as if he knew the place and wasn’t uninterested in what was going on around him.

“Why do you ask? I know you’ll test it out anyway even if I tell you.”

“Yes, but it’s the body itself or gravity?”

“You tell me, da’len.”

It didn’t even feel annoying that he called her child, in that moment. He had a smile for her, a sparkle of enthusiasm in his eyes, and he nodded to get her going. She smiled back, encouraged, and stopped to run to the others.

Splashing around in the water was particularly fascinating, and she put all her care in creating as many droplets she could with her feet. Because instead of floating down, back towards the pond they were walking through, they floated up towards the sky, in slow zig-zag paths as if they weighted nothing at all.

If only they had more time.

“I was thinking-”

Maria turned towards her, as Aisling reached her and linked their arms together. She looked strained and tired, and she had a crease between her eyebrows that Aisling liked really, really little. Her first reaction was to smile more and get more cheerful, talk until the other couldn’t think.

And oh boy she only had to choose between at least ten experiments she could think of.

“- Do you remember when you were upside down when we woke up here?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I still remember, after all this time.” She chortled. Without much amusement, but it was a start.

Dorian heard and approached them, his shoulders were still contracted weirdly, but maybe he understood what she was planning to do.

“Well, do you think it was our body, our physical, real-world body, being affected by the Fade, and thus not having the same mass of outside, or is it the world that works differently and our body is the same? I think we can test it and be sure.”

Maria frowned, looking at the road ahead of her, for once at loss of words for a moment. It was eerie that she was, but Aisling waited, smile plastered on her face.

“I don’t think it’s-”

“It would be quite the useful thing to know while fighting, as a matter of fact.” Dorian interrupted from the Champion’s other side, twirling a moustache pensively. He was looking up, at nothing much in particular, but it was clear he caught on.

Aisling would have liked to jump at his neck and press a kiss on his cheek, as loud as she could. But Maria needed that hug and the physical reassurance more. It was her first impossible world to be thrown into, after all. “Right?” She answered instead. “We would be much more efficient if other spiders comes out, if we know more on how everything works!”

“Very rude for Corypheus not to inform us about it. I swear Tevinter children receive a better education, these days. Also what spiders? Do you see the demons as arachnids?”

“You don’t?? What are you seeing?”

“Horses with black and white spots and a hunger for Tevinter underwear.”

“Hey!”

“It’s interesting, tho. Indeed I wonder if it’s our eyes or the Fade. Do Spirits and Demons appear differently to you? Like Rage Demons. Was I seeing a big blob of lava when you were seeing… I don’t know. A very angry small dog?”

“No, I would have tried to pet it…” The other two waited a moment and nodded, convinced. “Help me, come on.”

She let go of Maria’s arm just to step back and slip between the other two, taking each of their hands in hers. Her staff could be harnessed on her back for a moment, surely. She stopped walking, looking down and thinking on how to best convey what she had in mind. She felt the other mages’ eyes on her, interested: they stayed silent, letting her space to string her thoughts together.

“Inquisitor, is this necessary?” Cassandra sighed, more resigned that really annoyed at her.

“You should have thought twice before putting me in charge.” She looked up at the warrior and stuck her tongue out at her, playfully. “It will only take a moment, don’t worry.” She smiled then, reassuringly.

The Seeker shook her head, looking up at the sky. Looking better, her lips were curled up in a smile, the same that was larger on Stroud’s face, as he stopped too to assist to whatever they were planning to do.

First, Aisling kicked up the water, testing it another time with more purpose than just walking. Dorian complained, but she ignored him. All the water she moved floated up, lazily dispersing in rivulets and big drops.

“What are you thinking?” Maria asked, finally.

“The water floats up. As the objects I took from the desk and didn’t explicitly put back down on the surface. I wonder… Hold me, ok?” She rose one foot, keeping it dangling in mid-air.

The grab on both her hands tightened, and with a deep breath, she jumped up with the other foot, closing her eyes and struggling not to call for any magic. Her heart skipped a beat, expecting a fall…

“Woah!”

The fall didn’t happen.

She was floating, and without her friends holding her hands, she would have just flown up. The feeling was exhilarating, like she was falling down, but she was not, and it brought a laugh on her lips, which she couldn’t keep in no matter how much she tried, no matter how much the situation was not the right one for laughter.

“Inquisitor!”

It was Cassandra who called, worry in her voice, as she splashed quickly towards her. Paying more attention to her situation, she was floating upward, and the grab on her hands tightened, with the other two mages trying to pull her back down with difficulty. Stroud was fighting with laughter as he approached too, Solas had a smile plastered on his face, Dorian was complaining in that way that meant he was amused, and Maria was staring with big eyes, and a smile finally curving on her face.

It felt like a victory and it didn’t really help the elf’s situation.

“You’re so small, how come you’re so heavy??” Dorian complained, pulling on her hand and on her belt which he had grabbed.

“It’s sword practice, she’s building muscles, finally.” Cassandra grumbled, grabbing both her ankles and pulling down.

“If you laugh you’ll make the situation worse, da’len.” Came the chide, but it held another laughter in it.

Indeed, Aisling couldn’t stop giggling, and the act seemed to propel her upward. The situation was so ridiculous that she just couldn’t help it.

“Oh this is really fascinating. Floating when laughing? It’s like gravity works backward, you were right.” Maria added, hype in her voice. “But really, where are you hiding those muscles? Last time I put sunscreen on you they weren’t there…”

“Yeah, yeah, muscles. It’s all those lunches with the Commander, I’m telling you. You two are eating rocks fried in butter and covered in sugar, aren’t you.”

“I need sugar to think!” Aisling complained.

“So that’s where you disappear to every day, lately?” Maria puzzled. In Skyhold lunches together were formal ones, otherwise the great Hall was a sit down and a waiter will serve you situation. “How hasn’t Curly already bored you to death?”

“He is nice.”

“Sure, as nice as a guy who steps in the Hanged Man at First Day’s Eve and suggests to keep the voices down not to wake the neighbours and play chess instead.” Maria snorted, with a sureness that hinted that she wasn’t really speaking for hypotheses.

“Chess is a sport with a long and noble tradition, perfect to improve-” Cassandra tried to defend her friend.

“He’s the fun police, ok, but he’s not boring. He’s nice to talk to.”

“Honey, a person is nice to talk to when you actually leave them space to answer.”

Aisling pouted at Dorian for that, which made Maria laugh. When Stroud’s added help, they managed to bring the Inquisitor back with her feet on the ground. They let her go very carefully, just to check she wasn’t going to float back up once more.

“Don’t do that again.” Cassandra complained, righting her cuirass and frowning at her.

Aisling considered her. She wanted to propose another experiment to answer her question more fully. Sure, they knew now that bodies could float in the air, and that apparently emotions had to do with it. But she hadn’t yet proven exactly why, or taken much of it.

“We don’t have time to play like that, ok? Experiments are fine, but this is hardly useful, Inquisitor.”

Cassandra was serious, she knew it was worry on her face. Looking at Stroud, he was strained too. They were all, and indeed experimenting would have stolen them precious time.

The thought made her wish to make at least other ten experiments to see if time flowed the same there and in the waking word, but she bit the inside of her cheek and sighed. Whatever appeared to them with what Cassandra said was the look of the late Divine confirmed that she was not the Herald of Andraste, but she was still the Inquisitor. The one in charge.

And at much as it disappointed her, she had responsibilities, and was raised her whole life to be the one in charge, the one with responsibilities. Fun and experiments came later, she knew. She felt that Cassandra was right, in spite of how much she didn’t like it.

“I’m not trying to fly anymore, don’t worry.” She nodded, all hilarity gone from her voice.

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” The Seeker sighed.

They got back walking, after that little exploit. Aisling’s good mood was ruined, and beside exploring and distributing objects she found near the memory they must have belonged to, she lead them forward with little more stalling.

But after maybe ten minutes, Dorian grabbed her wrist, and stopped her beside him. As a direct consequence, without even thinking about it, she grabbed Maria’s in tow. The girls stumbled, but kept on their feet and looked at the Altus, waiting. He had that frown on his face that meant he was thinking of something. Usually, they were the best, most out-of-the-box experiments.

“If we try a gravitational sling here, we can prove whether it’s gravity working funny or it’s our body changed.” He reasoned.

Aisling tried to protest, but he tightened his hold on her wrist.

“No no, it’s important. If we can prove it and it’s gravity working funny… Oh, I have ideas. We can not limit it to just a sling but … Oooooh the implications!”

He blinked up and walked forward with a spring in his step he hadn’t before. He hadn’t had in quite a while, actually.

“Maybe we should-” Aisling tried to protest, but at that point, Hawke was interested too, and she hurried her steps too.

“Our sling, but bigger? Are you thinking of a full gravitational field? Oh, that could help us greatly taking up many enemies at once!”

“Right?” Dorian turned, the same light in his eyes he had when he asked Aisling to reanimate a dead horse. “We’re three, we could have a chance against the Nightmare.”

“We wouldn’t be able to make it that big, have you seen that thing?”

“Hawke. My dearest, bravest, loveliest Hawke.” Dorian grinned at her. “Do you really think all I did in Tevinter was research genealogies? If we can make it small, I can make it bigger. Big as fuck. A humongous, gargantuan gravitational field.”

“What did you study in Tevinter exactly?”

“Not important. Just name something we can throw at the Nightmare.”

“Uhm…” Maria considered, squinting. Looking up, her smile grew, in a very mischievous way. “Can we throw the Black City down at him?”

“You’re a terrible human being and I hate you so much. Consider it done, if our good Rift mage and Fade expert cooperates…”

“I won’t help you three hit the Nightmare with the floating castle.”

“And we have the second member of the fun police.” Hawke snorted.

“Disappointing but not surprising. That’s fine, give me half an hour more and I’ll calculate a way… Aisling?”

They stopped, looking at her with expectation in both their eyes.

She was doubtful. It was tempting, in a way, and it got the best of both worlds. An experiment, but propedeutical to their purpose there. Maybe it was the Fade making her doubt feels louder, making one small remark weight more. She looked at Cassandra, who was still disapproving, but looked at them attentively. The woman noticed she was looking at her and snorted, rolling her eyes up.

“I couldn’t stop you even if I tried, you’re three against one. As long as it helps us.”

Relieved, and managing to push that vein of insecurity down again, she concentrated on the hype and what was good in that awful situation.

“Oh, it’s gonna be a masterpiece!”

She squeezed the hands of her friends and hopped along, joining the discussion once again.

---

The graveyard was very peaceful.

So peaceful it would have been a perfect, albeit grim, place to stop and rest a while. Surely they could have convinced Cassandra to stop, after how successful the road up there has been.

Recovering her memories, for Aisling, had lifted a weight off her shoulders, confirming that she was not the Herald of Andraste, as she had been insisting with everyone ever since she woke up in Haven. Knowing that she wasn’t the tool of a foreign goddess, just a person that decided to help another one in need and touched the wrong artifact, was relieving in a way she didn’t think it would have been.

They also managed to prove that gravity worked not, in the Fade: that a rock thrown in a gravitational sling would just float peacefully to the sky, swinging gently as if cradled in the gentlest of streams. When they tried again, modifying a couple of things, they managed to discover that gravity could work, if one put some thought about it and didn’t give it for granted. Willingness made the catapult, and they managed to hit a demon with their projectile.

Sure, after hitting the Divine too.

But then they hit the target they aimed at, and saved Divine Justinia from being eaten. And her hat took the most of the damage.

Nothing of this helped her much, now. It all came crashing down, one simple word carved on a stone enough to erase all the hype and curiosity she had built up.

Abandonment.

One simple word, just a handful of letters on a fake gravestone, really. Written in clear, readable signs. Whoever took the time to sculpt it did a remarkable job, and put a halla and a horse at the side of the word, just to make it clear that the “Aisling” it spoke about was her.

She wanted to take her eyes away, turn her back and get out of that horrible, cruel place, and yet she couldn’t. If she turned, the others would have known. She would have known for sure that everyone looked at her differently and-

- a hand grabbed hers, and squeezed.

It was so abrupt that she startled, jumping back and trying to escape.

But it was just Maria, smiling at her warmly, even if the strain in her eyebrows had returned. She didn’t let go of her hand, and stepped forward to follow, when Aisling tried to wiggle out before recognizing her.

When she lowered her eyes, mortally embarrassed of having her own fear so much in the open, and so afraid that they would have pitied her, the hand on hers squeezed more and dragged her away.

“Let’s go, shall we? This place smells even worse than Darktown before it rains.”

Aisling let Maria drag her away from her tombstone and her deepest fear. One step after the other. A part of her wanted to be hugged, but the biggest didn’t. It would have felt like pity, and pity was the last thing she wanted.

She was the Inquisitor, not the child of 6 that got passed to another clan, and didn’t understand why. Believing it was a little easier, now, with Maria pretending she didn’t read and she wasn’t frozen.

The woman stopped abruptly, making her stumble. She was kept on their feet, as Hawke clicked her tongue on her palate, with a note of disapproval. She was scrunching her nose at another tombstone, this time decorated in poppies.

Maria Hawke. Last of her name.

“Darktown before it rains is a field of flowers, let me tell you.”

She scoffed, not paying to her tomb an ounce of attention more than what was needed in being disappointed at it.

Aisling squeezed her hand back, nonetheless, and the gesture was reciprocated. Gratefulness, bone-deep.

She wanted to go and hug Solas, not to be comforted but to comfort, his own fear striking wildly similar to hers. But one look at him told her that he wouldn’t have reacted positively. She just smiled at the older elf, and instead took Dorian’s hand in her other.

Nobody spoke of what they’ve seen, and even if the mood drastically cooled, Aisling felt a little better. Still in control, still ready to face the Nightmare.

They had a Black City to tear down from the sky, they couldn’t lose time in feeling sorry for themselves or for their friends.

---

That gratefulness and that inscription were her undoing, in the end.

They didn’t manage to pull the castle down from the sky, after all.

Maybe if they had had more time… But as it was, all they could do was create a huge gravitational field all around the battlefield, and make all the surroundings mountains fall inward, directly on top of the Nightmare and its underlings. The different mechanics of the Fade made twisting the sling so it didn’t repel objects, but dragged them in instead: Dorian explained the theory, but it was so full of numbers and variables that without any more specific educations on advanced magical theory and maths, they struggled to follow him. He directed them, nonetheless, and they made it work, with a magnified effect.

Columns and big chunks of rock fell onto the demon, statues crumbled to dust, as if it was a sandcastle and a child just stepped on it. The very peaks of rock that surrounded the lair fell inward, making the gigantic spider lose balance and fall heavily on his belly, blocked for some moments.

It bought them some time, enough for Cassandra, Dorian and Solas to jump in the rift and get out, but it wasn’t enough to stop it. The Nightmare was moving, skimpering to get back on its legs and scroll huge chunks of rocks away. Other spiders, little ones, were headed their way from all sides, and Aisling, Maria and Stroud had just the time to get close together to face the new enemies.

Which left space to think and discuss on what to do and how to reach the portal in time. Someone had to cover for the others, if they wanted to make it: Aisling and Maria, on their own, wouldn’t be able to evoke that spell again with that magnitude.

The only solution, suggested too calmly for what it was, was that someone stayed behind.

Hawke’s arguments were logic, sound and passionate. Just as she was. And as it happened most often, Aisling found it difficult to disagree. It was particularly difficult now that she knew what she wanted and was ready to get it.

And by all means, prioritizing Stroud would have been the logical solution. With Clarel gone, they needed someone to fill her shoes and guide the Wardens. Possibly a person whose morals were proven and priorities sorted. One that wouldn’t allow his warriors to be sacrificed.

The Wardens needed Stroud, the Inquisition needed his alliance. Had Aisling been a good leader, a good Inquisitor, she would have listened to that thought. Thought long term, considered all the pros that saving Stroud brought.

But.

But, she looked up at Hawke, her determined expression. The way she blew a curl away from before her eyes, after it fell, as per usual, before her face.

The last of her name.

She saw Maria moving her mouth, make another speech, propose another reason why she should have been the one to stay and cover their retreat.

Aisling heard not a single word.

Aisling heard Varric, complaining with Cassandra how they had asked too much of his friend. Aisling heard what she read in the book. The glory, sure, but the pain as well. All that Maria had told her about Kirkwall. Her family dead or who knew where.

The thought passed through her mind: staying herself. She couldn’t ask either of them to be stuck there in her place. She was no one to make that decision, she had no right to it, and if there was a divine justice for real, Mythal would have struck her down for the audacity.

But she had two people looking at her like the decision was, indeed, hers. And she knew that she could convince Stroud to leave before her, but not Maria.

In ten seconds, all the sureness in herself she had gained in the last month in the Approach shattered down.

She wasn’t a Keeper, she wasn’t the Inquisitor.

If she had been, she would have listened to her brain and not to her heart. She would have hated herself less for thinking that staying in the Fade meant freedom from a role she never wanted, and the best for everyone, probably. She would have hated herself less because she knew that very thought was an insult for all the people that had put her on the throne and gave her trust enough for it. Unworthy of her title and ungrateful.

The air felt colder: her fingertips started to get numb, and she could see her breath condensing, knew what it meant and who would have showed up if she wasn’t careful and kept on thinking over it.

So, she trusted her guts. In that moment, she was Maria’s friend, and she couldn’t chose any differently.

“Hawke, get in the rift.”

Calling her by surname -something she really didn’t like, it made her feel like she was a thing and not a person- made it slightly more bearable, the words falling out of her mouth less tasting of bile.

“No! This is-”

“Get in the fucking rift. Now.”

“It is madness! You need him more than me, Corypheus is my-”

“You wanted me to decide?” She interrupted her again, pointing at the rift with a firmness she didn’t think she could have now. “I decided. Out.”

Maria shut her mouth and looked at her with… She read it as hate and it broke what was left of her heart, but in that moment, it mattered little.

She could hate her, but she would have done so in the waking world, beside the man she loved and their children. She wanted some, she had told her.

She watched her hesitate, wanting to speak again, and stood her ground. Stroud placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded, with a smile.

“Go. It’s ok. I would hear the Calling soon, anyway.”

He basically pushed Maria away, and for a moment, it was only him and Aisling.

Aisling turned and faced the spiders, instead of looking at the Warden convince Hawke to actually get out: the fight felt better, it took her mind away from everything else. Mythal didn’t strike her, and she moved her staff. Once, and twice, lightning after lightning, venting out frustration.

If Stroud hadn’t stopped her, physically, and dragged her back, she would have stayed.

She told him so, she told him to get back himself, she couldn’t ask him. She really couldn’t, and he-

---

Aisling fell down the rift as if she had fallen into it.

She landed out of balance on her side, with a grunt. Cullen had taught her, tho: his first lessons were on how to fall. So, she fell, and rolled to the side, taking advantage of the momentum. It was science too.

She maneuvered, quickly, and was back on her feet again, staggering as she looked at the rift above her.

The air felt different. It smelled different, like it was denser and heavier… And like there was something wrong with her, all of a sudden. Like someone tightened her skin on her body all so slightly. Not enough to prevent her from functioning, but enough to be felt and feel uncomfortable. She weighted more.

She looked up and stared at the rift, letting soldiers and friends cover for her.

“Please.” She begged, waiting.

The anchor on her left burned and buzzed, reacting to the rift in a way she was getting used too. It hurt, but it was bearable. Any other moment, just another one, just to give him a chance more to-

A spider crawled out, with a terrible screech, then a second and a third.

“Inquisitor-”

She knew. She knew, and didn’t answer. She stomped her staff on the ground, and the magic came to her a tid-bit slower than five minutes ago. It still answered to her, obediently, something normal where everything else was not. She hit one spider, left the others to the soldiers around her and stood her ground, waiting for-

“Inquisitor!”

The huge, gnarly leg of a spider, ending in a talon, creeped out of the rift, and Aisling knew the time was up.

Her throat was closed, her heart sunk between her ankles and her limbs heavy, but she knew what she had to do. Ignore the yells around her, ignore the pounding of her heart that still told her she made the wrong choice, raise her left hand and pour magic into the Anchor.

It came natural, by then, and she pulled hard on the spell, screaming in frustration as the rift closed with a roar and the spider leg fell down with a thump, severed.

She didn’t wait for the finality of the act to settle.

She turned to Erimond, fury rising up in her throat. Fury and remorse and hatred. She hated herself, but the Keeper taught her well: she didn’t let it sit in her heart and fester. She glared at the Magister and with a simple, smooth move of her staff, launched a lightning bolt towards him.

She was quicker than he was in evoking a barrier, the electricity slipping between the trails of magic of his forming barrier before they could weave together fully.

The courtyard filled with light and with the boom of thunder, and the next thing they knew was that Erimond was down and not moving save for the occasional twitch.

Aisling didn’t care, in the moment, if he was still alive.

It didn’t make her feel any better.

The next words to the Wardens fell out of her mouth and they were almost insubstantial, like she wasn’t really the one telling them. She announced them they were allies to the Inquisition, told them to do better than they did.

In other ten seconds, the battle was over.

She marched away looking at her feet, ignoring Solas’ disappointment and Maria… Whatever Maria looked at her with, she had not the heart to face it now.

Better alive and hating her than trapped in the Fade.

If anyone would have opposed her and tried to take her title away for that, she would have been glad to leave it to the first offerer.

Whatever anyone thought, her title wasn’t worth any of that.

---

Aisling needed to sleep. She knew it.

Solas kicked her out of the infirmary because she did: her hands were trembling too much, she wasn’t fully lucid, she would have done some grave mistake mixing one plant with another.

She knew he was right, but the tone of voice in which he told her so…

She had spent a good half of an hour outside the infirmary, crying her heart out. Crying more because Cullen had found her and held her through it, and he just seemed to be there when she most needed someone. She let him go because she knew that asking him to stay and take a nap together, as she would have done with Radha, Dorian or Maria would be… He didn’t like to be touched, that was clear. She didn’t want to impose on him any more than she already did.

She never liked sleeping on her own. Actually, her first night completely alone has been in Haven, and she had been too scared to sleep much, dreading every sound from the outside as the signal that they were finally coming for her head.

Moreover, she dreaded dreaming, right now.

She dreaded close her eyes and see Stroud dead, or trapped, and not being able to do much about it, with no one there to soothe her from nightmares.

The sound of her own beating heart was deafening in her ears, and she couldn’t stand it anymore, alone in that tend.

The sheet felt too much of a constriction, so she kicked it away and decided to get out. Walking would have helped.

She marched right back, remembering that people in camp would have minded seeing her with no pants on, that this may feel close to it, but it wasn’t a Dalish clan.

Her breeches felt icky on her skin, but she couldn’t stay inside one minute more. She didn’t bother with wraps and just wrapped a light scarf over her shoulders and up her head to protect herself from the sun.

The air wasn’t fresh, but it was better than staying inside. As hot as the half of day was, she was in the open.

Aisling didn’t know where she was going: concentrating just on the act of walking was distracting enough. Raise your foot, balance on the front of the other, toes first and heel later, rinse and repeat. Don’t step on that, wood will splinter, that rock is bouncy, have some fun balancing over it.

When she stopped, eventually, it was in front of another tend that wasn’t her own.

Without thinking, she went to Hawke’s assigned tend. As she had done in the last weeks, almost automatically. As Maria had done with her.

Aisling had been more than happy to offer comfort when the Champion had needed it. It was her job, it was what she was raised to do and loved doing. It made her feel useful. And getting some comfort back, discreetly, felt easy with the woman. All too easy: Maria didn’t ask explanations to her farfetched excuses. Never minded when Aisling, whom Varric called Lucky for her ability to fell asleep whenever and wherever, whom was the object of a successful poll in the inner circle to see who could find her napping in the weirdest place, told her that she could not sleep.

Reaching for Maria, now, felt automatic.

But…

Aisling stepped back.

She couldn’t, and her heart clenched.

Her steps to get back to her tend were quick, she crossed her arms to her chest to soothe herself and there was no Solas to complain she was picking on the Anchor - it itched, after she closed rifts.

“Oh.”

Halfway to her tend, she stopped and looked up from her feet.

Maria, even more in disarray than she left her, curls loosened from sweat and exertion escaping her braid, dirt on her shirt and sleeves rolled to her elbows. Judging from blood stains on her sleeves, she must have just walked out the infirmary, where Aisling last saw her. And whence she wasn’t kicked out.

Her eyes felt still piercing and accusing, and the fact that she wasn’t told to leave the infirmary and get to sleep felt like another blow. Aisling looked down and stepped back, ready to take a detour. That was a confrontation she didn’t want to have now. Not before thinking about what to say, and for that she needed to put order in her thoughts, and to sleep first.

“I’m sorry.” She blurted out. “I… I was just checking-” Of the hundred things that she could check as the Inquisitor in a keep that housed her army, nothing came in mind. She just stepped back and turned, embarrassment on top of unease and fear. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“What the hell?”

Her wrist got grabbed. She tried to wiggle out, but Maria’s hold was too strong. Instinct kicked in, more than rational thought. Months and months of drills, of Cullen and Helaine barking in her ears exactly what she should do, and still some adrenaline from the battle. She stopped, pivoted and pulled her arm up and away in the direction of Maria’s thumb. It worked, and she could step back twice, heart beating fast, and faster at the way Hawke was surprised, and not in a happy way of how she reacted.

They stood there, in a thankfully empty lane between a row of tends and a wall, staring at each other.

“Are you avoiding me?” Maria asked.

“We both need to sleep. It’s been a long day, and we’re both tired.”

“Answer me, Aisling.”

She didn’t want to. But the firmness of the tone demanded an answer, and she fawned it.

“… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Wow.”

“Not yet. I… I need time to-”

“Like you took your time to kick me out of the Fade?”

If she had slapped her, it would have hurt less. It hurt less that time in training when Cassandra hit her nose with the pommel of her sword. She couldn’t froze, because their voices raising caused some stir in the tends. A soldier shouted to shut the fuck up, before peeking out and gasping as he recognized whom exactly he shouted at.

“Come.”

Maria hissed and grabbed Aisling’s wrist, walking briskly away. The elf this time let her touch her, and followed her steps, not really in the mood for causing a scene with her men as well.

Maria turned left and then right, walked up some stairs,  before Aisling took courage enough to speak.

“I don’t want to discuss it now because it’s… It’s too soon, I’m not- You would not like what-”

“I’m not Solas.” Maria interrupted. “Thanks Andraste I know how to speak to people.”

She stopped, but her steps slowed down. They were on battlements, staring at the chasm beyond and at a sky so blue it seemed fake.

“Do you really think I would shun you like he did? Seriously?”

“… You are angry with me. You must be.” Aisling explained. Taking it with cold logic felt better. It wasn’t a matter of her feelings, it was a matter of cause and consequence. Just that. Another math problem. “I deliberately left the Wardens without a lead that wanted to protect them, hence putting your brother, your only family left, in danger. Kept the Wardens tied to the Inquisition. I tried to help in the infirmary and put everyone in danger because I wasn’t lucid, and just slowed things down. You asked me one thing that was important for you and I told you no and forced you to retreat. I killed a good man when I could have prevented it. I would be angry and disappointed at me, if I were you.”

 “Are you listening to yourself?”

Maria’s hand went from her wrist to her shoulders, where the woman grabbed her and shook her, in an attempt to make her snap out of it. Aisling wished it worked.

“Listen, I…” She hesitated, Aisling heard her swallowing, uncharacteristically uncertain on what to say next. Her heart sank: Maria was never out of words. If she was, it was bad. On the other hand, how worse could it get?

“It’s ok. You don’t have to explain anything.” She assured the other. “I didn’t choose Stroud over you to hurt you, if that helps and… I had fun with you, thank you for putting up with me in the last two months. You didn’t have to.”

“Can you shut up, please?”

Aisling did, but she still didn’t feel like looking up at the other. Fixating the space between two tiles in the pavement, and the way her toes curled and left traces in the dust covering the stone was better. Better than looking up and starting to cry, surely.

“I’m sorry if I bring this up but… I don’t plan on leaving you behind and never look back because we disagreed and you took charge when you are, in fact, the figure in charge. Ok?”

Not crying was getting more difficult. When prompted to give an answer, she nodded to signal she understood, and then the other went on. She gently moved her, guiding her still by her shoulder, so they entered the shade under a porch, and the sun didn’t beat so harshly on their heads.

“But… I have to know. Please, answer me on this and we’ll be good, I promise.”

A pause, Maria’s fingers on her shoulders contracted. The extra pressure wasn’t unpleasing.

“Why did you choose me? Why did you tell me to get out, and not Stroud?” The words fell from her lips, more vulnerable than Aisling ever heard her.

That vulnerability somewhat helped her, in believing what she said was true, and to open up a little. It was easier if they both had to be vulnerable. She took a deep breath, squinted her eyes, letting two tears roll down her cheeks, and answered.

“I am sorry for Stroud. I really, really am.” She cleared her throat, hating how whiny her voice sounded. It got better, as she went on. “But… You told Varric that you didn’t expect to like me at first. He told me. I… I was so jealous of you at first. You were all I was not and all I had to be. You still are, in a sense and… And instead of looking down at me you were kind and you helped me. You never made me feel like I am too much, or in the wrong place, or I say the wrong thing, and…”

She swallowed. More tears fell, and she blinked them away. Rising her hands, she took Maria’s in hers and gently guided her down, to sit. Sitting and crossing her legs felt better, felt more stable, the stones were warm by the sun and it felt pleasant. The hands in hers were warm too, kind and callused, and they felt welcoming enough that she started vomiting words.

“You have given so much of yourself already, I couldn’t ask for more. You have people that are waiting for you, outside the Inquisition, friends that are waiting for your return, and Fenris. Stroud… He would have been the sound, logical choice… But he… He’s not the only honourable Warden, and I… I couldn’t leave you in that horrible place. I just couldn’t. Not… Not after the graveyard.”

Silence fell. Aisling sniffed, as tears wouldn’t stop. Not an ugly cry, not the bawling of before, to unleash tension and stress, but her eyes just didn’t seem like they had an intention to dry out. Some times she hated being so emotional, it made her feel like a child. Maria, tho, didn’t seem to mind, once more.

“Corypheus was my responsibility. It was my father’s legacy to keep in check, and I failed. I should have stayed.”

“No.”

“Yes. You’re my friend, and you shouldn’t be working so hard to clean my dirty rugs. I was ready to make that sacrifice. My father couldn’t contain Corypheus, I failed too, and you got in the middle. Staying was my chance at fixing things.”

“Don’t say that.” She squeezed her hands and finally looked up at the other. She was bending her lips in a harsh line, her eyes were watery, and she looked like she was about to cry. Aisling hated it. “Don’t ever say that. I… I don’t think I’m good at being the Inquisitor. But if I can help, I gladly will. I don’t blame you for where I am, ok? I don’t, not now and not in a million years. I would do everything all over again. It’s not your fault, you did your best and it was enough. You have nothing to fix.”

They stood there, looking at each other in the eyes, and the world stopped for a moment. The sun burned a little less, it was less evident how there was no breeze flowing in the nooks and crannies of the fortress. The sky was impossibly blue, in contrast with the red of the sand, the abyss fumed, the stones were warm around them, and they were shaded. No one was there, but them, and the knowledge that they definitely didn’t know each other from nearly enough to have each other’s deep fears so much in the open between them.

At the same time, time didn’t matter at all.

Who hugged the other first was not clear: they reached for each other at the same time and curled up together, crying on each other shoulder and finally letting go of tension and stress that the siege and its terrible consequences had brought.

All they did was crawling into a corner, not letting go of each other, so they could lean on the wall for a more comfortable position. Both their tends felt impossibly far away, and they both were so tired. Aisling just let go of Maria with one hand to wave some glyphs in thin air. The space was open and she wasn’t at her best, so she couldn’t do much, but the air grew at least bearable in a bubble around them.

“I’m gonna miss you so much when you’ll return home.” Aisling whispered, after a while.

If she was sure the other was half-asleep, she was wrong.

“I expect you to write at least every other day. I will do it, so you may as well answer.”

She smiled, squeezing Maria more and burying her face in the crook of the other’s neck, breathing her in. Sweat and dirt, but they both meant the other was alive and well.

Aisling was very happy, in spite of everything, to be wrong in her fear.

The friendship, the love didn’t fix much of anything, that was sure. Stroud was still lost, the Wardens with an uncertain future, the Inquisition still had a zombie Magister and an Archdemon to get rid of and a civil war in Orlais to stop, somehow.

It didn’t fix much of anything, but the weight felt more bearable, if they held each other so close to share it.

[robotpussy]

[posted 4th of June 2024: "Yesterday two relatives died because of dehydration TWO of them, one of them was bridegroom to be, his wedding was in the coming days, we are dying of dehydration in west.

Please help me rise this funds so we can evacuate sooner from this hell"]

i have donated $5 to this and hoping others who see this can match my donation

[ktempestbradford]

I have been on a Willy Wonkified journey today and I need y'all to come with me

It started so innocently. Scrolling Google News I come across this article on Ars Technica:

At first glance I thought what happened was parents saw AI-generated images of an event their kids were at and became concerned, then realized it was fake. The reality? Oh so much better.

On Saturday, event organizers shut down a Glasgow-based "Willy's Chocolate Experience" after customers complained that the unofficial Wonka-inspired event, which took place in a sparsely decorated venue, did not match the lush AI-generated images listed on its official website.... According to Sky News, police were called to the event, and "advice was given."

Thing is, the people who paid to go were obviously not expecting exactly this:

But I can see how they'd be a bit pissed upon arriving to this:

It gets worse.

"Tempest, how could it possibly--"

source of this video that also includes this charming description:

Made up a villain called The Unknown — 'an evil chocolate maker who lives in the walls'

There is already a meme.

Oh yes, the Wish.com Oompa Loompa:

Who has already done an interview!

As bad (and hilarious) as this all is, I got curious about the company that put on this event. Did they somehow overreach? Did the actors they hired back out at the last minute? (Or after they saw the script...) Oddly enough, it doesn't seem so!

Given what I found when poking around I'm legit surprised there was an event at all. Cuz this outfit seems to be 100% a scam.

The website for this specific event is here and it has many AI generated images on it, as stated. I don't think anyone who bought tickets looked very closely at these images, otherwise they might have been concerned about how much Catgacating their children would be exposed to.

Yes, Catgacating. You know, CATgacating!

I personally don't think anyone should serve exarserdray flavored lollipops in public spaces given how many people are allergic to it. And the sweet teats might not have been age appropriate.

Though the Twilight Tunnel looks pretty cool:

I'm not sure that Dim Tight Twdrding is safe. I've also been warned that Vivue Sounds are in that weird frequency range that makes you poop your pants upon hearing them.

Yes, Virginia, these folks used an AI image generator for everything on the website and used Chat GPT for some of the text! From the FAQ:

Q: I cannot go on the available days. Will you have more dates in the future? A: Should there be capacity when you arrive, then you will be able to enter without any problems. In the event that this is not the case, we may ask you to wait a bit.

Fear not, for this question is asked again a few lines down and the answer makes more sense.

Curious about the events company behind this disaster, I took myself over to the homepage of House of Illuminati and I was not disappointed.

I would 100% trust these people to plan my wedding.

This abomination of a website is a badly edited WordPress blog filled with AI art and just enough blog posts to make the casual viewer think that it's a legit business for about 0.0004 seconds.

Their attention to detail is stunning, from how they left up the default first post every WP blog gets to how they didn't bother changing the name on several images, thus revealing where they came from. Like this one:

With the lovely and compact filename "DALL·E-2024-01-30-09.50.54-Imagine-a-scene-where-fantasy-and-reality-merge-seamlessly.-In-the-foreground-a-grand-interactive-gala-is-taking-place-filled-with-elegant-guests-i.png"

"Concept.png" came from the same AI generator that gets text almost, but not quiiiiiite right:

There are a suspicious number of .webp images in the uploads, which makes me think they either stole them from other sites where AI "art" was uploaded or they didn't want to pay for the hi-res versions of some and just grabbed the preview image.

The real fun came when I noticed this filename: Before-and-After-Eventologists-Transformation-Edgbaston-Cricket-Ground-1024x1024-1.jpg and decided to do a Google image search. Friends, you will be shocked to hear that the image in question, found on this post touting how they can transform a boring warehouse into a fun event space, was stolen from this actual event planner.

Even better, this weirdly grainy image?

From a post that claims to be about the preparations for a "Willy Wonka" experience (we'll get to this in a minute), is not only NOT an actual image of anyone preparing anything for Illuminati's event, it is stolen from a YouTube thumbnail that's been chopped to remove the name of the company that actually made this. Here's the video.

If you actually read the blog posts they're all copypasta or some AI generated crap. To the point where this seems like not a real business at all. There's very specific business information at the bottom, but nothing else seems real.

As I said, I'm kinda surprised they put on an event at all. This has, "And then they ran off with all our money!" written all over it. I'm perplexed.

And also wondering when the copyright lawyers are gonna start calling, because...

This post explicitly says they're putting together a "Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory Experience" complete with golden tickets.

Somewhere along the line someone must have wised up, because the actual event was called "Willys Chocolate Experience" (note the lack of apostrophe) and the script they handed to the actors about 10 minutes before they were supposed to "perform" was about a "Willy McDuff" and his chocolate factory.

As I was going through this madness with friends in a chat, one pointed out that it took very little prompting to get the free Chat GPT to spit out an event description and such very similar to all this while avoiding copyrighted phrases. But he couldn't figure out where the McDuff came from since it wasn't the type of thing GPT would usually spit out...

Until he altered the prompt to include it would be happening in Glasgow, Scotland.

You cannot make this stuff up.

But truly, honestly, I do not even understand why they didn't take the money and run. Clearly this was all set up to be a scam. A lazy, AI generated scam.

Everything from the website to the event images to the copy to the "script" to the names of things was either stolen or AI generated (aka stolen). Hell, I'd be looking for some poor Japanese visitor wandering the streets of Glasgow, confused, after being jacked for his mascot costume.

HE LIVES IN THE WALLS, Y'ALL.

[romanceyourdemons]

time travel regulation organization where it’s not official policy, but it’s common practice for field agents to keep a binder at their desk with the names of their family and friends, their address, their anniversaries, their schedules, their passwords. everything you would need to steal an identity—virtually anyone who’s been a field agent for more than a year has had to steal their own identity at least once. the timeline they all work to protect is concerned with wars and presidents and major motion picture releases. some margin of error is allowed, and it’s not uncommon to find agents walking around dazed, coming back from a mission to find their best friend unexisted and a wedding ring on their hand that matches the ring of a stranger. some give up on all relationships, not even letting themselves love their siblings. some wear lockets on their missions, so that if the photo on their desk has shifted in its frame on their return, at least they have something left of the timeline that now never was. agent zhang, who works hebei-shandong-jiangsu AD 1850-2000, has eighteen different family portraits. in some some agent zhang has a wife, in some a husband, in some neither. three portraits have one child, one has four, one has seven, most have none. some are in courtyard houses. some are by white picket fences. many have parents, but the newest one has none. you ask agent zhang if it wouldn’t be easier just to let the alternate timelines go. agent zhang points at a child four portraits back, a little girl with a missing front tooth and a goldfish bowl clutched in her arms. “i never learned what that goldfish was called. i took her out for ice cream as soon as i knew she existed, and i didn’t even get to see her come home from school the next day.”

[oepionie]

— "HE'S THE OTHER MAN!" . the corpse groom

SYNOPSIS: A ghost groom has claimed MC as his unwilling bride. Unfortunately for him, she's already got a lover

⊹ [ c.w ] — violence, possessive behavior, malleus blows a fucking green laser down ramshackle, mentions of blood, yuu is poor but we alrdy knew that, papa crewel crumbs

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.6k opening post with malleus! if this gets enough attention, I might do more :P

"You what?" Crewel seethed, eyes wide as an unsettling smile stretched across the red of his cheeks.

"Repeat that."

"I…I accidentally released that ghost from the spellbook," Grim sobbed, his glossy eyes reflecting both fear and guilt as he looked up at the imposing figure of the professor. "And he's taken my henchhuman as his bride!"

Oh, Great Sevens. Not again.

Crewel groaned, his hands reaching up to frantically rub at his burning eyes. The flickering candlelight cast erratic shadows across his face.

"Please, do tell. How in Wonderland did someone with your lackluster skills manage to—" The professor was abruptly cut off by a loud, almost obnoxious cry that echoed from the doorway. Turning sharply, Crewel saw Crowley hunched against the entrance frame, hysterically sobbing into his palms. Fat tears dripped beneath his ornate mask, glistening in the low light. "They grow up so fast! My dear child is already getting married!"

Crewel's eye twitched as he took in the scene: Grim shaking like a leaf, and Crowley, dramatically weeping, pathetically looking to him for a solution.

"Fools," Crewel snarled, striding out of the room as he fished his phone from his coat pocket. "If you two won't be of use, then I'll have to enlist the help of those mutts instead."

The day had started like any other in Ramshackle, but you certainly didn't expect it to end with a wedding. Surrounded by the ghostly residents of the dorm, you stood dressed in all white, a bouquet clutched in your hand. Curling in yourself, you sighed and rested your head in your hands, avoiding everyone's gazes which felt like icy needles on your skin.

Ramshackle's old lounge, with its worn-out floorboards and faded wallpaper, was the chosen venue for your ceremony. Whispers rustled through the gathering, carried on a faint breeze that stirred the dust motes in the dim light. Somewhere in the background, the somber notes of an organ piano echoed. You didn't even know you had a piano…

"Dear?"

Jumping with a shriek, you whipped your head around. A ghostly visage, bathed in a deathly pale blue glow, hovered inches from your face, an unnaturally wide grin stretched across their blue lips. Bony fingers gently traced up your cheeks, sending tingles down your spine.

With sunken eyes and high, sharp cheekbones, Elizan—a "visiting" friend of one of Ramshackle's ghosts—was truly a sight to behold. His complexion had a pallor that matched the moonlight filtering through the decrepit windows of the form. Wisps of long, flowing indigo hair framed his face, swept back as if caught in a breeze that only he could feel.

"You look wonderful," he cooed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, leaving your cheeks burning.

"Ah. Thank you," you stammered, averting your gaze and gently pulling away. You could hardly focus on the words being spoken to you, your mind spinning with the surrealness of it all.

"You look... Good as well," you forced out with a cough, tugging at your hair nervously. "But... Listen... I—"

Before you could finish, the door to the entrance slammed open, nearly breaking off the hinges with a sound that could wake the dead, sending cracks spider-webbing through the already dilapidated walls.

On the inside, you screamed louder than the hinges.

You had painstakingly patched up the door after Grim's recent screw-up—a feat that had tested your patience and carpentry skills to their limit. Unless you wanted to survive on a diet of stale canned food and cafeteria leftovers for another year, you couldn't afford any more repairs.

While you were busy mourning the loss of having decent meals, heaving and leaning against the door for support, your friends called out your name in a panic, their bleary and furious gazes zeroing in on your figure. Clad in white, you stood there, the perfect picture of a pretty blushing bride.

The uninvited guests didn't go unnoticed by your "groom," and in seconds, you were pulled into a suffocating grip. Elizan's usually serene demeanor shattered like fragile glass. His deathly pale features contorted into a snarl, veins pulsing ominously beneath translucent skin. His typically gentle eyes blazed with an unsettling fire, icy whites now narrowed and piercing.

"Mutt!" Crewel seethed, his foot slamming into the floor and shattering the newly installed tiles. Your soul nearly left your body as you screamed inside again. There go a thousand thaumarks…

"What in the Sevens is this!?" Crewel shrieked, running a gloved hand through his tousled hair. With sharp movements, he pointed a finger at Elizan. "I'll have you know I can have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful detention, and violating the sanctity of this academy!"

"How... How dare you? Barging into this sacred ceremony—Who even are you?!" Elizan snapped back, his arms coiling tightly around your torso. The crowd erupted in a haze of shouts and muddled answers. Unable to understand anything, Elizan's intense gaze shifted and bore into yours, demanding answers. You gulped nervously, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in his grasp.

"Who is he?! Who are they?!" he barked like a dog, flashing his sharp fangs at you.

"Uh… That's my professor—uh, Crewel," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "And those are… They're my… friends?" Your gaze flickered to the group of men who had entered, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.

Elizan's wide eyes now filled with shock, white orbs glossed over with luminescent blue tears. He pushed you away as if you had burnt him, recoiling from your touch as though it pained him physically.

"You know other men?!" the ghost cried out, his hands clenching into fists, his midnight blue hair cascading wildly around his face like a tempestuous sea. The tortured cries of the groom echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you awkwardly shifted on your feet, feeling like a character caught in an soap drama.

"…Yes?" you replied, unsure.

"How could you do this to me?!" He sobbed, a dark shadow covering his face. "Running off on an affair the DAY of our marriage?!"

"Well, that's a rather dramatic accusation—" you started, but Elizan shook his head in anguish.

"Answer me! Do you have another man?!" His voice shook the room, and you took a few cautious steps back.

"Elizan, please," you uttered gently, your eyes darting nervously toward one of the men in the room.

Your lover didn't meet your gaze; instead, his eyes were locked onto the ghost, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his features. As you jumped down from the makeshift podium, you shot an apologetic frown at the ghost, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. "Don't you understand? You're the other man."

"No! You're married to me!" Elizan shrieked, lunging forward in a frenzy, his nails clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something intangible. "Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

"Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

Lilia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, his form reclined against a fogged-up window of the room. The weather was gloomy and stormy, the skies tinted green outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The window pane, streaked with raindrops and mist, blurred the view of the turbulent skies beyond. Lilia hummed a tune under his breath, a calm figure amidst the brewing storm.

With a sidelong glance, his eyes locked onto Malleus, whose entire figure shook with a barely contained wrath that threatened to engulf the very air around him. The young prince's chest heaved in violent, choked breaths as smoke wisped from his mouth and nose—tendrils of flames flickering amidst the swirling dust and ash.

A deafening crack tore through the air as a vivid surge of green emerald lightning erupted from the heavens, descending upon the roof of the venue with explosive force. The blast of energy painted the sky with a blinding flash of green as it crashed into the building, sending broken glass and wood raining down upon the venue.

Cursing, Elizan moved you both aside, a large chunk of debris hurtling past, narrowly missing your startled form. As more debris crashed down, he shielded you with an outstretched arm, a shimmering barrier briefly forming to deflect a particularly large piece of wood.

"Spectral pest," Malleus seethed, his eyes aglow with an eerie green hue as his nails elongated into sharp claws. With a click of his tongue, he raised his hands, summoning thorns that spiraled towards Elizan, ensnaring the ghost in their sharp embrace. Simultaneously, from the floorboards below, vines emerged like serpents, their tendrils gently but firmly pulling you away from Elizan's protective embrace and guiding you into the safety of Malleus's arms.

"How—?! Ngh!" Elizan writhed against the thorny vines. The prickly tendrils twisted around him like serpents, their sharp points digging into his ghostly flesh.

Malleus paid no mind to the struggling spirit, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he checked for any signs of harm. His expression softened with relief upon finding you unscathed, albeit a bit dusty.

"Beloved," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the lingering chaos. His gloved hand moved delicately, sweeping away the clinging dust from your shoulders and arms. Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingered there briefly, conveying a warmth that contrasted starkly with the raw power he had displayed moments ago.

"Are you alright?"

Blinking up at him with wide eyes and frazzled hair shooting up in every direction, you nodded dumbly. Turning away from him, you nearly gasped aloud to see the room in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the eerie green glow of energy still lingering in the air. The ghostly residents were in a state of panic, their translucent forms flickering as they moved frantically.

"My dorm," you whimpered, your mind racing as you calculated the cost of the damage.

With a chuckle, Malleus adjusted his grip on you, his muscles flexing as he gently set you down. Your legs felt shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

"I will handle the cost of repair, my dearest," Malleus assured you, bending down to your height, his voice dropping to a whisper. Green eyes bore into yours, strands of his midnight hair falling over his face. "You will not need to worry about such things once we are formally betrothed."

You froze, your face suddenly warming and burning.

"What?!"

Malleus reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek, claws dragging across your supple cheeks. "Yes, my dear," he murmured, chest rumbling as his lips curved into a sharp smile. "You heard me correctly."

"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, feeling dizzy with emotion.

"Will you consider it?" he asked softly, a faint hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Please?"

Caught in the depth of his gaze, you felt your resolve melting away. "I-I guess?" you breathed, your voice trembling. "I'll… consider it."

A smug smile spread across his face, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours. "That's all I ask, my dearest."

After ensuring you were alright one last time, Malleus redirected his focus to Elizan. With a flick of his wrist, the thorns under his control tightened around the ghost. Elizan shrieked and thrashed about, his translucent form writhing in pain as the thorns dug deeper.

"Do try to exercise some restraint, my boy," Lilia drawled, tapping his sharp fingers idly against his crossed arms. "We do not want Ramshackle to be bathed in blood. It would be very unsanitary."

not too sure if i am continuing but feel free to suggest some peepl bookies

[intersectionalpraxis]

In the past 24 hours, I learned that the IOF freezes the dead bodies of imprisoned Palestinian people and keeps them in fridges so they can "serve out their sentences."

I also learned that multiple Israeli environmental organizations and interconnections worked to BAN herbs that are an intrinsic part of Palestinian cuisine, and despite it being overturned, they diligently STILL tried to.

On top of that, IOF soldiers recently looted over (what I saw reported on Al Jazeera) just over one million dollars in jewelry/goods -by robbing Palestinian homes in Gaza for THEIR IOF 'treasury.' I also saw the story about one silver necklace that was stolen by IOF scum for HIS girlfriend (of which he bragged about on social media) -only to find out it belonged to a Palestinian woman, who was supposed to wear this on her wedding day -she was killed during an IOF bombing.

When I say the IOF is one of the world's embodiment of evil incarnate and exemplar of moral depravity, this is just the tip of the iceberg because this is just beyond insidious.

[umabloomer]

I got a job at a Ukrainian museum.

On the first day someone asks me if I have any Ukrainian heritage. I say I had ancestors from Odesa, but they were Jewish, so they weren’t considered Ukrainian, and they wouldn’t have considered themselves Ukrainian. My job is every day I go through boxes of Ukrainian textiles and I write a physical description, take measurements, take photographs, and upload everything into the database. I look up “Jewish” in the database and there is no result. 

Some objects have no context at all, some come with handwritten notes or related documents. I look at thick hand-spun, hand-woven linen heavy with embroidery. Embroidery they say can take a year or more. I think of someone dressed for a wedding in their best clothes they made with their own hands. Some shirts were donated with photographs of the original owners dressed in them, for a dance at the Ukrainian Labour Temple, in 1935. I handle the pieces carefully, looking at how they fit the men in the photos, and how they look almost a hundred years later packed in acid-free tissue. One of the men died a few years later, in the war. He was younger than I am now. The military archive has more photographs of him with his mother, his father, his fiancé. I take care in writing the catalogue entry, breathing in the history, getting tearful. 

I imagine people dressed in their best shirts at Easter, going around town in their best shirts burning the houses of Jews, in their best shirts, killing Jews. A shirt with dense embroidery all over the sleeves and chest has a note that says it is from Husiatyn. I look it up and find that it was largely a Jewish town, and Ukrainians lived in the outskirts. There is a fortress synagogue from the Renaissance period, now abandoned. 

When my partner Aaron visits I take him to an event at the museum where a man shows his collection of over fifty musical instruments from Ukraine, and he plays each one. Children are seated on the floor at the front. We’re standing in a corner, the room full of Ukrainians, very aware that we look like Jews, but not sure if anyone recognizes what that looks like anymore. Aaron gets emotional over a song played on the bandura. 

A note with a dress says it came from the Buchach region. I find a story of Jewish life in Buchach in the early twentieth century, preparing to flee as the Nazis take over. I cry over this.

I’m cataloguing a set of commemorative ribbons that were placed on the grave of a Ukrainian Nationalist leader, Yevhen Konovalets, after he was assassinated. The ribbons were collected and stored by another Nationalist, Andriy Melnyk, who took over leadership after Konovalets’ death. The ribbons are painted or embroidered with messages honouring the dead politician. I start to recognize the word for “leader”, the Cyrillic letters which make up the name of the colonel, the letters “OYH” which stand for Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN in English). The OUN played a big part in the Lviv pogroms in 1941, I learn. The Wikipedia article has a black and white image of a woman in her underwear, running in terror from a man and a young boy carrying a stick of wood. The woman’s face is dark, her nose may be bleeding. Her underwear is torn, her breast exposed. I’m measuring, photographing, recording the stains and loose threads in the banners that honour men who would have done this to me. 

Every day I can’t stop looking at my phone, looking up the news from Gaza, tapping through Instagram stories that show what the news won’t. Half my family won’t talk to the other half, after I share an article by a scholar of Holocaust and genocide studies, who says Israel is committing a genocide. My dad makes a comment that compares Gaza to the Warsaw Ghetto. This gets him in trouble. My aunt says I must have learned this antisemitism at university, but there is no excuse for my dad. 

This morning I see images from Israeli attacks in the West Bank, where they are not at war. There are naked bodies on the dusty ground. I’m not sure if they are alive. This is what I think of when I see the image from the Lviv pogrom. If what it means for Jews to be safe from oppression is to become the oppressor, I don’t want safety. I don’t want to speak about Jews as if we are one People, because I have so little in common with those in green uniforms and tanks. I am called a self-hating Jew but I think I am a self-reflecting Jew.

I don’t know how to articulate how it feels to be handling objects which remind me of Jewish traumas I inherited only from history classes and books. Textiles hold evidence of the bodies that made them and used them. I measure the waist of a skirt and notice that it is the same as my waist size. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Jewish homes during pogroms. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Palestinian homes during the ongoing Nakba. Clothes hold the shape of the body that once dressed in them. Sometimes there are tears, mends, stains. I am rummaging through personal belongings in my nitrile gloves. 

I am hands-on learning about the violence caused by Ukrainian Nationalism while more than nine thousand Palestinians have been killed by the State of Israel in three weeks, not to mention all those who have been killed in the last seventy-five years of occupation, in the name of the Jewish Nation, the Jewish People — me? If we (and I am hesitant to say “we”) learned anything from the centuries of being killed, it was how to kill. This should not have been the lesson learned. Zionism wants us to feel constantly like the victims, like we need to defend ourself, like violence is necessary, inevitable. I need community that believes in freedom for all, not just our own People. I need the half of my family who believes in this necessary “self-defence” to remember our history, and not just the one that ends happily ever after with the creation of the State of Israel. Genocide should not be this controversial. We should not be okay with this. 

Tomorrow I will go to work and keep cataloguing banners that honour the leader of an organization which led pogroms. I will keep checking the news, crying into my phone, coordinating with organizers about our next actions, grappling with how we can be a tiny part in ending this genocide that the world won’t acknowledge, out of guilt over the ones it ignored long ago.