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challenging myself to write one lil ficlet type thing for each of my dragon age romances per day since i haven't written anything in a few months
day ten: briar lavellan & josephine montilyet
Josephine decides Briar needs dancing lessons before Halamshiral.
Briar decides that dying in the Arbor Wilds might be preferable.
They practise in Josephine's office after the keep quiets. The furniture has been pushed against the walls, leaving a narrow floor between the desk and fireplace. Josephine stands poised in a simple evening dress, while Briar regards her own feet as though they have personally betrayed her.
"The first step is backward," Josephine explains. "Then to the side. You need not look down."
"That seems dangerously trusting."
"You routinely turn into a wolf."
"Wolves do not attend balls."
Josephine's smile widens. "Orlais would be much improved if they did."
She positions Briar's right hand at her waist and takes the other gently. Briar's shoulders are rigid beneath her formal coat.
Josephine begins to count. Briar misses the second step, corrects too sharply, and nearly collides with the desk. She apologises at once.
"My love, no one has been injured."
"I stepped on your dress."
"It has survived far worse diplomatic incidents."
They begin again.
Josephine does not tell Briar to relax, as though anxiety were a posture she has chosen incorrectly. She explains each movement, repeats it without impatience, and gives warning before changing direction. Gradually, Briar stops trying to anticipate every possible mistake.
The dance becomes something shared rather than performed.
"You make this look effortless," Briar says.
"It is not. I have simply practised for many years."
That matters. Josephine's grace is learned, not bestowed by some certainty Briar lacks. Competence can be assembled step by step.
Briar moves backward, then to the side. This time, she does not look down.
"There," Josephine says. "Perfect!"
"It was one correct step."
"Most journeys are made of them."
Briar's expression softens. She tightens her hand around Josephine's and allows herself to be guided into another turn.
At Halamshiral, hundreds of people will watch the Inquisitor for signs of weakness - but in the quiet office, she can simply follow someone she trusts.
I get in theory why people complain about het ships or whatever, I get wanting to watch queer media I really do, but I guess where yโall lose me is like. I saw some asshole on a post about Sinners complaining it was โhetslopโโthis person was specifically doing so while also claiming Remmick was a queer character and thus they were justified in caring more about him than the Black protagonists. which is a whole other disgusting can of worms that has been well addressed by others at this point. but even in the absence of that part of the argument, like, no, i actually donโt think that a hunger for queer stories is an especially good excuse to deride and dismiss a piece of landmark Black filmmaking, especially as a non-Black person. I have a post thatโs been going around encouraging folks to engage with more Native stories and characters, and I had someone come onto that post saying in the tags that theyโd need these stories to be queer in order to care. and I just think that, you know, sucks! like obviously as a queer Native I also want to see more of those stories too. but idk how else to put it other than to say that Black people and people of color shouldnโt have to be like you in order for you to care about our narratives and experiences. and I think some of yโall are using this disdain for heterosexuality as a cover for your unexamined racial biases. itโs not okay to be racist to people just because those people happen to be straight, and you continue to be white before you are queer.
on an even more basic level than that, also, I simply just think some of yโall NEED to learn how to interact with media and storytelling without ships and fandom in mind. like if not being able to write fic about two men kissing is genuinely going to be a dealbreaker for you I think thatโs actually something you need to work on within yourself because at that point I think youโre no longer really interacting with art and themes and narrative so much as just kind of playing with toys. which is, like, fine I guess. have fun. but it wouldnโt kill you to disengage from that from time to time. especially if would allow you to actually appreciate rich and deeply moving cultural stories from communities of color that you desperately need to learn how to see as human
from the micro story prompts: candle for olive x seven? <3
micro story prompts
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Seven hates Olive's parents almost as much as he hates his own father.
It doesn't matter what they do. Doesn't matter how small the sin. To him, they're all equally unforgivable. To him, there's no difference between forgetting to leave her 10 dollars for dinner when they're not home and almost making her walk across town with her guitar in a thunderstorm because they didn't remember, until Seven and his mom dropped her off, that they were supposed to pick her up in the first place. How anyone could forget that Olive exists is a mystery to him - she's the most memorable person in the entire world - but the fact that it's her own parents doing it?
Still, on the list of all the unforgivable things they've done, not wishing her happy birthday on her 18th might take the cake. Pun not fucking intended.
He knew that expecting them to wish her happy birthday before noon was a long shot. That's part of the reason he took her out to breakfast in the first place - he knew that if he didn't, she would spend the morning sitting on her bedroom floor and staring at her phone, waiting for them to call the way that she had so many times before. Even the idea of them reaching out before dinner seemed far fetched. But it's almost midnight, now, and as Seven sticks the candles into her birthday cake, he wishes that her parents were here, if only so he could throw it in their faces. The cake. Not the candles. Actually, y'know what? He doesn't care either way.
"Seven?" Olive calls out from the living room. "Are you alright? You've been in there for like ten minutes..."
"All good!" he calls back, hoping she can't hear the angry edge to his voice. Chill out, Duckstein. This is about her, not you. Although it doesn't really feel like there's a difference between those two things anymore. "Just be patient! I'm almost done!"
"Okay!"
As he finishes placing the last of the 18 candles on the cake, he's haunted by the mental image of her big, watery eyes, her quivering bottom lip. He knows for a fact that she's in there staring at her phone and, unfortunately, the only thing he can do to distract her from the reality of her parents being shitheads is to wave something else bright and shiny in her face. As carefully as he can - which is very carefully and very skillfully, thanks to the time he's spent working at the diner - he slides the cake onto his open palm and rests the edge of the tray in the crook of his elbow. Now that he's looking at it, he's realizing that he probably didn't need to buy a cake that's meant to feed 20 people just to split between the two of them, but ah well. She deserves it. Besides, her parents still haven't learned to leave her money for groceries when they're gone, so she can eat the rest of this cake for every meal until they get back from their work trip.
After nudging the kitchen door open with his socked toes, he peers out into the darkness of the living room. She's sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, which he only knows because her phone is lighting up her face, though she locks it quickly and drops it into her lap when he enters. "Seven," she gasps, "what -"
"Haaappy birthday to you," he sings, creeping across the room towards her because dropping a cake with 18 lit candles on it would kill the mood even more than her parents already have. "Haaappy birthday to youuu..."
"Seven, you didn't have to -"
"Happy birthday," he sings firmly, cutting her off, "dear Olllll-iiiiiiive... Happy birthday... To... You..."
He kneels in front of the coffee table and slides the cake onto the surface between them. She looks down at the cake, then back up at him, then down at the cake, her face breaking out into a grin, the white of her newly brace-free teeth shining in the candlelight. After a moment's pause, Seven angles his head towards her and whispers, "You're supposed to blow out the candles, van Cleve..."
If she were sitting next to him, he would've gotten a smack on the arm for that one, but he's safe from his position across the coffee table. She instead rolls her watery eyes before tucking her hair behind her ears and leaning forward to blow out all 18 candles in a single breath. His mom always used to tell him that however many candles you had left on your cake were how many boyfriends you had, and he knows it's dumb, but he's relieved that not a single flame is left flickering. Not that it would matter if she did have a boyfriend. (Okay, yes, of course it would matter, but he's been trying not to think about stuff like that lately.)
"What'd you wish for?" he asks. Hopefully not a boyfriend...
"I can't tell you. Then it won't come true."
"Bullshit! Come on, tell me."
"No! I can't!"
"Olive, you know that stuff like that doesn't count for us. We're, like, the same person."
She rests her chin in her hand. Her smile, previously so wide and so pleased, has turned small, almost embarrassed, and it's obvious she's trying to stifle it in her palm.
"Come on," he says, softer this time. "What is it?"
Even when she meets his eye, she doesn't move her hand away. "I wished that I could celebrate every birthday for the rest of my life like this," she murmurs. "With you."
He's glad that she so expertly extinguished the main source of light in the room. It means she can't see him blushing. "Well..." He plucks out the candle from the centre of the cake and hands it to her, knowing that she'll want to lick the icing off the bottom. "I hate to break it to you, van Cleve, but that's a waste of a wish. You were always gonna get that anyway."
She takes the candle from him. "I know, but... can't hurt to be safe."
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"i like oriana's writing more than orion's because a power imbalance/forbidden romance feels so good and pure when it's a woman but it's soooooo icky and gross and disgusting and problematic and predatory when it's a man. and also women are allowed to get divorced because it must've been her spouse's fault but orion got divorced from a woman so obviously he's the reason that marriage failed because a man can never not be the problem" โ do you see how you sound now.
"I like yaoi because it's free of heterosexual dating mechanics" ppl when the larger more masculine boy takes care of and protects the smaller feminine one.
Rumination is probably the most common type of OCD compulsion, but I rarely see anyone talking about it. I've talked to multiple people diagnosed with OCD who didn't even recognize it as a compulsion.
Basically, if you have OCD you have terrible intrusive thoughts. They can be about anything, but common themes are fear of being a bad person, fear of hurting someone, fear of contamination. etc.
Rumination is when you get stuck in a spiral. Rumination is when you spend hours catastrophizing, overthinking, analyzing, telling yourself it's going to be okay.
I'll say it again:
Rumination is a compulsion.
Rumination is a compulsion, and that means you have to stop doing it.
I did ERP (exposure response prevention) for my OCD with a therapist! For 9 months! And it did help, but the idea didn't really click until I found this website a couple years later.
And Oh My God. It made things make so much more sense, and I was able to pull myself out of an episode even though I wasn't in therapy or on meds at the time.
Genuinely if you have OCD, or even if you suspect you have OCD, I'm begging you to read some of these articles.
Like this was genuinely life changing for me.
Here are some of the ones that were most helpful to me:
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have no idea if this would be ooc or not but i cannot stop thinking about, further down the line, orion calling sparrow chamsae in private; like, it just means sparrow, but it still counts as a pet name in sparrow's eyes lol
and maybe sometimes during intimate moments i could see him calling sparrow songbird
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I appreciate those people who are just genuinely nice. Like their mindset is instead of making others miserable, they give people tools to better themselves because why not. Thanks for putting that good energy out into the universe.
snowghoul
origamiaround
amandla
tangentwithtanner
turnnoffyourmind
gummygunk
