#my girl is STRUGGLING

[wordfather]

my brave darling ad blocker is fighting on the front lines against the nasty evil attacks by the forces of youtube ads

[danceswithdarkspawn]

@tsunderesalty

screenshot because the ask isnt in my inbox anymore but HI THIS IS FINALLY DONE FROM LIKE (checks calendar) MAY???? anyway by now i think most of us have figured out #1 is going to happen eventually and #2 is fucking...AU material??? which I can't be caught dead doing.

so that leaves us with the Third Option. Did I actually make Morrigan be nice to Ariel??? idk but i tried babes

Brief warning for:

suicidal and/or self-destructive thoughts

mentions of death and dying

general spoilers (this is set post-Griffonheart)

largely unedited because I wanted this to be a little more casual

Morrigan looked up from her makeshift potions table. Ariel sat at the opposite end of the camp, perched in front of the fire, hunched and staring distantly into nothing. A corner of Morrigan’s lips briefly quirked, finding the image of the brooding Grey Warden somewhat reminiscent of the same one she fought the Blight with. Except now her lines were deeper, her face much more gaunt, and she possessed a darkness behind her eyes that was unnatural.

She swallowed thickly and looked back down to the salve she was preparing. She added a little more beeswax to the melting pot and sifted through a collection of tiny corked bottles filled with various oils, finally settling on three. The first contained royal elfroot oil for its restorative properties; the second held embrium, to make the spread warming. And the third was Andraste's Grace, which Morrigan acquired back at Skyhold just for this purpose. Morrigan carefully added a drop each from the first two, and two from Andraste's Grace. A sharply sweet aroma lifted from the pot when she gave the contents a stir. She rifled through her collection of glass containers, picking out one that was short and round, and gave it a cursory wipe down before pouring the contents of the pot into it. Satisfied, she went about making other provisions for the journey ahead.

Morrigan approached the fire sometime later, jarred salve in her hands. Ariel didn't look up from the fire until Morrigan stood beside her. The sharpness of her features were made even more severe by the shadows resting in their hollows. It made her appear much more slight than she was. Her skin was a sickly pale, nearly taking on the orange hue of the light of the campfire. The only variation was marked by black spidering veins creeping up her neck. Ariel's eyes began to cloud in the days prior, transforming her pupils into endless milky pools.

"Do I look that bad?"

Morrigan blinked, catching herself. She released a small breath through her nose and said, "You've not quite the visage of a hurlock. Perhaps there is some humanity left in you yet." A long breath passed with only the crackle of fire between them, meanwhile Ariel simply stared in silence. "I made more of this for you," Morrigan said, holding out the jar. Ariel took it slowly and turned it over in her hands. "I noticed you were having some trouble walking; it should help alleviate some of the pain."

Ariel set the jar down near her boot. "Thanks."

"Are you experiencing any other pains?" Morrigan frowned a little when Ariel shook her head. "Nothing at all?"

The beleaguered Warden let out a humorless laugh. "I'm dying, but yeah, I'm fine." Morrigan inhaled a slow breath and bit down a scathing remark. Ariel tilted her head up to regard her, was silent for a long moment, before letting out a sigh. She looked down, head dropping between her shoulders. Morrigan thought it reminiscent of a dog tucking its tail in. "I'm sorry," Ariel finally said, rubbing at her eyes. "I know you're just trying to help."

Morrigan released a measured breath, feeling her bristling ire cool. She crossed her arms, shifted from one foot to the other, flippant, meaningless motions meant to distract from her raw heart. Anger was how Ariel dealt with things, Morrigan reminded herself. She supposed she would be angry too, given the circumstances. Still, something about this anger was different. Helpless, perhaps.

The night and the campfire crackled on, unaware.

"Is there anything more I can do for you?" The question came out a little sharper than Morrigan intended.

But Ariel let out a bitter laugh that bordered on a sob. She shook her head in her hands, drew in a seething breath, pushed her fingers through her hair. "You could kill me," she finally said.

"I will do no such thing." Ariel didn't answer, hands clenched. "How severe is the pain?"

"Go stick your hand in the fire," Ariel said, motioning. "It's like that, but everywhere." Another hissing inhale. "And probably...I think I'd prefer to burn, at this point."

Morrigan made for her potions stock before Ariel finished, rummaging through little corked bottles, holding them up to the light, before choosing one. She uncorked it on the way back. "You could tell me before it gets so debilitating. Here." She held the bottle out; Ariel righted herself long enough to take and down its contents. Morrigan retook the emptied glass and returned it to the stockpile.

But she lingered there, frozen at first and eyes glazing over open tomes with their annotations, different reagents and the rest of her supplies. Her heart began to gallop, and Morrigan made herself busy without much thought. Pages turned, bottles opened, a crucible was filled; the scent of crushed embrium and wax and just a little rose water and—

"It's not debilitating," Ariel said from across the fire. "If it was, I wouldn't be walking."

"You are a fool," Morrigan spat. She flicked her wrist and a fire sprang to life beneath the crucible. "You needn't be immobile to be debilitated. You know this, I hope?" She shot a look over to the fire, where a pair of colorless eyes bore right through her. She snapped her attention back down, snatching a stirring rod and plunging it into the waxy slurry. "You should be resting."

"I will, once that stuff starts working."

Morrigan scoffed. Her brow ached. "I will hold you to that."

A strained laugh. "What are you gonna do, turn into a wolf and lay on me?"

A pang streaked through the witch's chest. A memory, long since tamped down, dredged to the surface; her lips flickered, the fire licked at the sides of the crucible. Morrigan hadn't meant for the gesture to hold him down, but rather to—

"It worked for Eran, did it not?"

The night turned deathly quiet. Morrigan tamped out the little fire, went about pouring the mixture  into an empty vessel. It wasn't blended well. Too choppy, too stiff from scorching. She'd attempt to salvage it in the morning. It did not matter much to her now, however; the distraction had served its purpose, though her nerves still felt frayed and raw.

"Would you do it for him? If he was like this," Ariel added, and Morrigan snapped her head over. "If he asked you to kill him, would you?"

Her blood turned to ice. A lump formed in her throat and Morrigan struggled to swallow past it. Morrigan was unsure if Ariel's irony was intentional, but its weight was hard for her to ignore. She wondered how fatally close Ariel was to realizing that was exactly what she allowed before the Archdemon's slaying.

Not that she didn't try. Or plead. Or...

Morrigan said nothing, unable past the vice on her throat, knowing her silence was as good an answer as any.

Morrigan returned to the fire some time later, sitting across from her companion. She crossed her arms, minding off the chill that had settled around their makeshift camp. She'd thought these nights very reminiscent of camping during the Blight, especially when the two of them took watches together. How they'd sit across the fire, with Morrigan trying to do something worth doing, and Ariel still and silent as a gargoyle for most of it, save the times either of them grew curious about the other.

They'd come full circle, like a snake eating its own tail.

"Before I left Amaranthine," Ariel began, and Morrigan started a little, "I sent Leliana a letter telling her what I was doing, that I wanted to find an end to the Calling." Morrigan's eyes flicked to Ariel's hands, where she flipped a twig between gloved fingers, all the while her eyes remained on the fire. "Wanted her to come with me, but she couldn't. She told me Justinia wanted her. And I didn't understand because I thought—" Her fingers closed; the twig snapped. She flung the remains into the fire. "She made me promise I would tell her if I got my Calling so she could be with me."

In another life, Morrigan wondered how different this all might be. She knew solitude had done lasting damage to the Warden; it was evident before leaving Skyhold. It was not until this endeavor, however, that the depths of those scars revealed themselves. It was...sad, in a way. Familiar, but also sad. "I imagine it is difficult that she could not accompany us."

A short laugh. "Leaving Skyhold was about as difficult as leaving for Amaranthine," Ariel admitted. Silence. "She still had work to do for the Inquisition. I can't do much about that." She paused again, her head tilting, until she reached down and plucked the jarred salve from beside her boot. "That's what the ring's for, right?" She set the jar in her lap, then pulled upon the fingers of her gloves until they came off. The aforementioned band glinted in the firelight before it too came off, dropped inside a glove, and then set aside in favor of opening the jar. She took a generous amount on her fingers, spread it between her hands. "Though it doesn't really work in a place like this," she continued, sounding a little more subdued. "This in-between bullshit is weird. I can't feel her here."

"The flux of magic here makes such enchantments unpredictable," Morrigan admitted. Ariel answered with a low hum that mingled with a sigh, having steepled her hands over her nose. Her eyes fell closed, and Morrigan's lips quirked with a twinge of pride. The smell was potent, even from across the fire. "I could attempt to alter it, if you wish."

Ariel shook her head, then lowered her hands. "No, it's fine. We have more important things to do than fuck around with a magic ring." She resealed the jar and fished the ring from her glove. "I just didn't want to be alone at the end," she said lowly, sliding the ring back onto her finger. Her touch lingered, twisting the metal, kneading one hand into the other. "I didn't want to die alone in the Deep Roads and be lost down there. If things became so unbearable...if she was with me, then maybe—" She trailed off, her hands lowered, and she stared into some middle distance for a long breath. "I think it's better this way. I wouldn't want her to see me like this."

"No? She is not unfamiliar with death's face."

Ariel shook her head. "Not like this. It's too much. Even being like this around Kieran, the boy's too young...and if I'm honest, I'm—I'm glad Leliana had to stay behind."

Morrigan leaned back on her perch, a brow arched. That was not something she expected from Ariel. "Should I be flattered that you tolerate my company so?"

"I'm too weak," Ariel answered, kneading a hand into her eyes. "I want to go home. I trust you to get me there."

Ah. Well... "You know that there is a chance this does not work."

Ariel's hand lowered, hollow eyes fixed on Morrigan through the flames. Then her head dropped between her shoulders again, her thin hair becoming a curtain. "I know. That's been a possibility for over a decade now. Always there, always stuck to me like a shadow in my thoughts, my dreams, I—" Fingers clawed through her hair, and a low hiss coupled with the crack of embers followed. "If I were still with Leliana, I would have asked her to end it at least a dozen times already."

Morrigan drew in a slow breath. She was beginning to understand; the evidence had been there since leaving Skyhold, but in all the moons since their departure, Ariel's earlier outburst was the first time she voiced such notions. She supposed it was foolish to assume Ariel meant it in jest, though she could hardly fault her regardless.

And again she wondered how things might be different if things had played out just a bit differently.

Love was such a trap, one all of them had been snared by in one way or another.

"And you think Leliana would kill you?"

"If I were to beg, if things were so hopeless..." She slowly shook her head in her hands, her hair bunching in the crooks of her fingers. "I'd like to think she would," Ariel answered, not looking up, her voice a touch thicker. "I hope she wouldn't."

Morrigan was unsure of what to say. Delicate sympathy was very much out of her element. It was one thing to deal with the ills of her son; it was an entirely different matter responding to grief left to fester for a decade. When everything aligned and horror seeped in, it was everything Morrigan could do to stave away her own grief. "Do you truly believe she would allow you to lay down and die? Have you so little faith in her, in yourself?"

The Warden reared back, her lips spread into a bitter grin and she laughed. Morrigan bit the inside of her lip, golden gaze narrowing, watching Ariel claw at the twin streaks running down her face. "This is what I mean," she said, and Morrigan raised a brow. "Why I'm glad I'm with you and not her."

"I am afraid I do not follow."

"This," she said, balling her fists and shaking them. "This insistence to just...keep going, even if I don't want to. It's what Eran used to do for me. Whenever I wanted to lay down and be done with it all, he'd just—" She sucked in a breath; her colorless eyes were wild. "He'd pick me up by the scruff and say 'Get up.'," she hissed through her teeth, "'You're not done yet, get up!'" A long silence followed while Ariel stared into the fire, her breath heavy, and her visage looking every bit beastlike with the way the fire and ghastly light of the Crossroads lit her face. For a moment, Morrigan wondered if this place knew of Ariel's nature.

"I need that," Ariel finally spoke, subdued again. "I need to be told to keep going. Not soft reassurances and 'oh, darling, rest for a while.' No, as much as I want that, it won't fix me. Once this is done, if I survive this, I'll have a lifetime of that, but for now, I—" She looked off to some unknowable spot beyond the fire, then finally dragged herself to her feet, collecting her discarded things. "I suffer a little now, it'll feel all the better when it's over. That's how that works, right?"

Morrigan's lips momentarily quirked. "Yes, the sooner I return you to that tart of yours, the better, I think."

Ariel tossed her a hollow glare. "She's not a tart."

"No? The way she acts around you, I might have been fooled." The jab dredged out a reaction from Ariel that Morrigan had not seen since departing Skyhold: she smiled, a genuine, lopsided smile, and she raked a hand through her hair, looking down. Morrigan could guess what she might be thinking about. "We should move on from this place come morning," Morrigan suggested before they carried on further. "We have lingered here for long enough."

"Right. That's probably wise."

With that, Ariel vanished into her tent, and Morrigan set about preparing for the journey come morning. She sorted and packed up much of her supplies, putting away the things she would not need immediately and leaving the rest before setting off.

"Morrigan?"

She snapped her head toward Ariel's tent, finding the woman dressed down and standing with her hands fidgeting at her front. Morrigan opened her mouth to ask what was the matter, but she finally spoke.

"Thank you," she simply said. "For everything."

Morrigan's thoughts fell over themselves until she finally managed, "Of course." Of course. As if it were the most...natural, obvious answer. If Ariel thought it indifferent, however, she gave no indication. She nodded in farewell before disappearing back into her tent, this time for good.

Morrigan went back to organizing her things, albeit in a slower, more deliberate manner as her mind wandered. Was she doing enough? Could this be stopped? What if it couldn't?

The heavy lid of the trunk carrying her various reagents thumped shut, but her hands lingered upon it, her eyes following the worn ivy patterns carved all across it. It had to be, she told herself. "Would you do it for him," she mouthed, her fingers curling in on themselves.

She wondered what he might say. She wondered if he'd let her.

[honcyandlemon]

Open to : All  Location : The Vincelli Mansion, Rec Room Timestamp : Close to Midnight, Saturday, 27th September 1924 tws - alcohol

The Vincelli Mansion is a place Nalini had only ever dreamed of being, and never like this. In her dreams, she was the lady of the manor, the rooms filled not with drunken revellers but happy, barefoot children who look like their father. It has been years since she realised that was never to be, but to be here, so close, yet never further away, stung at her. 

But she had come anyway, because there was never any question of staying home. The night promised to be the party of the year, and that wasn’t something she could miss. Besides, she was being paid a decent sum. It wasn’t the kind of money she could turn down. 

So she came, and she sang, and now her set was over. Nalini had smiled courteously at those who commended her for her performance, but had barely heard that words. All she was interested in was getting her hands on a bottle of champagne, and drinking to the bottom of it. 

She had just finished that task, her cheeks tinged pink from intoxication, her troubled emotions a little more evident on her face and her head a little fuzzier, when she finds herself in the company of another. Nalini leans over the bar, waiting for the attention of the bartender, and cocks her head at them, a small smile gracing her face. 

“Absinthe would hit the spot right about now, don’t you think? What do you say, want to sink a few shots with me?” It’s a bad idea - she’s teetering on the edge of tipsy, and this would likely push her straight into the arms of drunkenness, but she doesn’t care. “And by a few, I mean all of them. I intend to drink the bar dry tonight.” 

[inkskinned]

even 2 years ago people still said autism with a whisper. it was also how people sometimes whisper lesbian, like they're afraid of uttering a slur. autistic was either an insult or it was something terrible, a horrible burden only select people endure. "select people" were usually 9 year old boys and skinny white men.

they are not hispanic young adults with a dog and a life and friends. i can make (sustained, calculated, painful) eye contact. with certain people, i don't even have to count how many seconds i am holding their vision - i can just look at them. i can wear clothes that bother me, i will just have a worse day than usual. i might cry about any changes to my schedule - but change is scary! this is normal!

when i was 16 it was OCD. i mean that was the thing everyone said. i totally have ocd. they would arrange 6 colors of gel pen in rainbow order (no worry for indigo feeling left out) and they'd be "so ocd" about it.

if you struggle with intrusive thoughts, be careful at this next paragraph, but. at 16 i developed a compulsion that involved self-harm. my ocd was convinced i was simply forgetting that i'd hurt someone terribly - a thought that persisted for no clear or delineated reason.

at some point i will probably write about how the idea of "morally pure thoughts" was hell for me and others with ocd, but this was the odd dichotomy for many of us: they liked our "aesthetic", but were genuinely repulsed by our lived experience. "intrusive thoughts" now means "cutting your hair in the sink" instead of talking yourself down from believing horrible things. "so ocd" is a label without any true understanding.

it's something i've talked about before - in multiplicity - but i firmly believe in the veracity and necessity of self-diagnosis. i think it saves lives and it saves tragedies from occurring. as someone raised in a house that wasn't safe, self-diagnosis was, for many years, the only viable option. 15 and honestly googling: am i depressed or there demons affecting my behavior.

but it is not genuine self-diagnosis anymore, most of the time. it is a strange, blanched version of that whispered word autism. now certain traits are constantly seen as "autistic" - any passing intense interest. any flubbed social interaction. people say it while laughing - a touch of the 'tism.

and i like the acceptance! i do. i like that people are talking about it. i like that if i self-identify, more people speak up and say me too, bitch. but there is something-else quietly happening, the way it happened to OCD. the quirky, "fun" parts have been washed and sanitized and removed of all suffering. now it is just something that makes you "a little bit silly."

it took me 27 years on this planet before i learned to make friends. something about me just seems incredibly odd, i guess, some kind of radiation monitoring. someone once (in a way that was almost friendly) told me i am doing the right things, but in a way that's off-putting. i have scoured myself raw attempting to be charming.

someone on tiktok does a deep dive into their particular passion. the top comment says "what kind of autism is this lol". like we are a breed of animal. like it has no influence on our experience. like our life is a fresh breeze, an open meadow.

more often for me, life was a drowning.

[dapper-lil-arts]

Kissing Sunset challenge; The short people struggle

Excellent hustle as usual, Pinkie! Good work out there, great form!

Good work Twilight, smart as always, excellent form!

Trixie, absolutely shameful display, no upper body strength at all, hit the showers 👉

[bumbleboa]

color sketches from yesterday's livestream (vod is over here for a couple of weeks)! I was in the mood to play around with some light scenarios

[math-is-math]

What better way to start pride month than with some good ol’ Sciset 🥰

[seraphont]

Rotating Uzi in my brain

[ribbononline]

Sylv/Gard + Shiny fusion

[hells-greatest-prince]

*Some Splatoons on Aggie/Magma

[beescake]

i am in love with your sollux i think

sollux love party :]

if you’re interested heres some of my personal fondness thoughts on him.. big warning for the mega long read ahead aye

as we alr know sollux's rejection of participation somewhat mirrors dave's rejection of heroism, but even without getting cooked to completion i still find sollux's character v compelling beyond the fourth wall

as someone who doesnt get a pinch of that Protagonist Sparkle to begin with, he can openly say he wants to leave anytime…. and unlike dave, he actually Can leave the scene anytime. but he can never be truly Free from the story via permanent character death like the other trolls.

his irrelevancy is indeed relevant - he’s there so u can point him out.

while his image is intended to be a relic of past internet subculture, his role is not only about hehehaha being a Chad or a 2000s cyberforum 2²chan haxxor ragequit gamebro.

his continued existence also happens to add a Bit to the overarching themes of homestuck! a Bit that gives him longer-lasting thematic relevance compared to the trolls who could’ve had more character potential but didnt get to survive beyond the main story.

the Bit in question:

his defiance contributes to the illusion of agency (treating characters = people with autonomy). he’s “aware” of it, and that recognition is worth noting enough to forcibly keep him alive as both reward and punishment.

considering how his personality & classpect is designed its definitely a very haha thing for hussie to do LOL. he’s made to be op asf so he's resigned to doing dirty work, gradually deteriorating along the way but never truly dying. as fans have mentioned before, him openly rejecting involvement after a while of grim tolerance is like if the sim u were controlling suddenly stopped, looked up and gave u the finger while u were step six into the walkthrough for Every Possible Sim Death Animation.

but since he’s just a sim… the more he hates it, the more you keep him around. if ur sim started complaining abt your whimsical household storyline you’d definitely keep that little fuck.

but yeah i like that sollux is just idling. the significance of his presence being that one dude who's always reliably Somewhere, root core Unchanged, no individual ambitions (possibly due to fear of consequence?), and design-wise: a staple representative product of his time.

compared to dirk's character, who has aged phenomenally well into the present (themes of control + AR + artificial intelligence, clearer exploration around navigating relationships/sexuality, infinite possibilities of self-splinterhood and trait inheritance), sollux's potential is really... contained. bitter. defeatist. limiting and frustrating in the way old tech is.

the world continues moving on to shinier, brighter, more advanced automated things - minimalist and metaverse or whatever but sollux is still here 🧍‍♂️ going woohoo redblue 3d. (tho personally i imagine his vibe similar to what the kids call cassette futurism on pinterest mixed w more grimy grunge insectoid influences eheh)

conceptually-speaking,

at the foundation of it all, the rapid pace of modern development was built off the understanding of ppl like sollux in the past, who were There actively at work while the dough was still beginning to rise

thats one of the cool things abt the idea of trolls preceding humans! the idea that trolls like sollux excelled back when lots of basic shit still needed to be discovered, building structures like networks and codes from scratch, and humans will eventually inherit and reinvent that knowledge in ways that become so optimized it makes the old manual effort seem archaic, slow, and labour-intensive.

but despite information/resources/shortcuts being more accessible now, much of the new highly-anticipated stuff released on trend still end up unfinished, inefficient, or expiring quickly due to cutting corners under severe capitalistic pressures

meanwhile, some of the old stuff frm past generations of thorough, exploratory and perfectionistic development still remains working, complete, and ever so sturdy.

those things continue to exist, just outside our periphery with either:

zero purpose left for modern needs (outdated/obsolete)

or

far too important to replace or destroy, bcs of its surprisingly essential and circumstantial usefulness in one niche specific area.

which are honestly? both points that sum up sollux pree well.

dramatic ending sorry. anw are u still on the fence or are u Sick abt him like me </3

[offkilterkeys]

The world isn’t ready for my alpha kid readings.

[technically-human]

Can you draw something with Doom Patrol!Edwin and Netflix!Edwin?

Maybe something about Dp!Edwin talking about his feelings for Charles with N!Edwin?

It's just something I've been thinking of, make it a little angsty?<3

Glad you asked

ko-fi

[cutie-lumi]

Let's make a deal~ ❤️

[demmywolf]

Flustered

[carouselunique]

They had a bit of a chance encounter on a day where Blueblood was dealing with something that was very difficult and was so caught up in his emotions he didn’t even care that he was in the garden getting grass stans on his coat and Ditzy, with her natural impulse to cheer ponies up, didn’t even notice or care that she was flying into the palace gardens when she saw someone sat in the rain.

At first he was definitely going to call the castle guards to come apprehend this strange filly with the odd eyes who was intruding when this was the last moment he’d want to entertain any desperate debutantes, however she surprised him by not fawning or anything, not even caring about his status, just putting one of her fluffy wings up and asking if he needed somepony to lend an ear.

“Don’t let my eyes fool you, my ears work just fine!”

She was incredibly disarming and while he didn’t reveal everything about why he was upset, he found himself talking about his feelings to her. And she made such cheerful remarks, and was very comforting. In the end, he felt better and she came to check on him the next day, even sharing a blueberry muffin with him. He remarked that he’d never seen her around before, and that he wouldn’t mind terribly seeing her more often.

The rest, as they say, is history.