pfp by @lunar-shards// WH4T's A03 // Dragon Age Meme and Misc Hellblog// A Josephine Montilyet simp// I like to meme, my brain gives me no other choice// Don't you just love it when women✨💓//
So me, the idiot, decided to make the rest of the song based off her humming (once again, no singing I am not a fucking singer). I was thinking Antivan Folk Song the whole time and now its just vibes my dude.
If there isn’t alot of Josie/Antiva/Montilyet Family lore content out there, I’ll just make my goddamn own.
I also wrote a lil story to go with it about Josie and her lil sister Yvette when they were teeny so yea, feel the feels my dude.
It started with fussing. A small cry that echoed in the house followed by hiccuping sips of air. The night was just barely eking into the hours of early morning with this short wailing as its herald. Sitting up in bed, Josephine tossed off the covers before reaching for a candle, lighting the wick; her eyes barely open. Though her parents normally looked after Yvette, there were times where she was overdramatic; crying for no reason other than to make noise. It was times like that they were a little slower on the draw, especially after they realized young Josie was constantly running to her sister’s aid. Their father had said while bouncing a babbling baby Yvette, that she would be a difficult one; a troublesome, restless but vibrant child.
With the candlelight as her guide, Josephine opened the door; one hand moving back to hold up the ruffled cloth of her nightdress. The wailing began to get sharper as if desperately trying to wake the entire house. Padding down the hall, Josephine passed by the many paintings on the wall, noting a space where the newest one would go; a little oil canvas for Yvette’s first picture. The private gallery spoke of history, of fortunes and reputation, blood and duty that told the old, sad tale of the Montilyets. Josephine stopped for a moment, holding the candle by a specific painting; one that her father spent many months on. A stormy sea of violent purples and cobalt blues, mashing together against the last of the trade ships as they were pulled down, plank by plank into the belly of the sea.
‘Sfortuna,’Josephine recalled as she looked at the weathered plaque
Misfortune
Another cry sounded from Yvette’s room as Josephine turned her head towards the noise, abandoning her thoughts. She hurried, taking care not to out the flame with her speed before she opened the door to her youngest sibling’s room. Though the window was only opened a crack, the sea breeze still came through in force, billowing the thin white curtains near the crib.
Setting the candle down, Josephine began shushing Yvette softly, speaking gently in Antivan as the babe fussed. She was still very young, just over 7 months and already so loud and energetic all the time. It was truly exhausting for anyone involved with caring for her. Carefully, Josephine parted the thin insect-repelling curtains to hold her sister up, nearly tutting in annoyance as she cried a little too close to her ear. Wrestling with the baby Yvette, Josephine managed to hold her against her chest, letting her small head rest against her shoulder as she moved towards the rocking chair. The wailing turned to quiet, confused mewls as the eldest Montilyet pushed the chair gently, keeping the motion steady so as not to upset the child.
Looking out to the sea; the calm, flat waves and their rustling surf, Josephine closed her eyes as she began humming an old song. It was a melody passed down from every Antivan mother to daughter; heard by every child be they a brothel wench’s elf bastard fitfully sleeping on scratchy hay or a nobleman’s daughter given a life of luxury at the cost of future responsibility.
Soon enough, Yvette stopped crying; fast asleep in her older sister’s arms. When Josephine opened her eyes, she still saw the sea and the blackened borders far off in the distance that spoke of storm clouds.
In her mind, she heard the word clearly; Sfortuna but it was drowned out by the sound of Yvette sighing in her sleep. Brushing a hand over the babe’s curly hair, Josephine smiled, her heart ardent and her goals affixed.
She would do anything to see her family flourish; though she loved her brothers, she felt a certain adoration for her youngest sister. And the word, once ugly and bitter shifted like perfume twisting in the wind. She leaned down to kiss the sleeping child’s head before her soul spoke silent words.
Her goal, Fortuna, to bring the Montilyets back from the brink of erasure.
To make sure they all had a beautiful, fortunate life together.
Swimming around the ecosystem carefully balancing my dragon age hyperfixation and my *ahem* rampant simping for Lady Dimitrescu 👀
Been a tough tough year but the simpin don't stop.
I feel like Lady D and Josephine would get along if they met; they're both beautiful noblewomen and would def gossip and discuss fancy wines together while drinking tea together. 😌
Ok. Ok. Haven't seen DA: Absolution yet but I have seen some clips of Qwydion and!!! I LOVE HER!!! Shes so silly and tall and loving and yet so capable! I LOVE a good dynamic qunari representation!
She really do be reminding me of my OC harel tho👀 two bubbly qunari (well in harels case, half qunari) ladies with elemental magic powers off to do big mission stuff while also running and screaming from it😭 (sorry about all the oc talk👀). Qwydion is so sweet and lovely and strange I stg
I'm just so psyched that Qwydion is an actual addition to the DA world is all
I don’t know who needs to hear this but be nice to fanfic authors. Reblog their stuff. Tell them you liked it. How you felt when reading. What school assignment you didn’t finish because of how captivating their story was. Don’t just scream to your friends about it. But tell them.
So many wonderfully talented people out there don’t get the praise they need. If their work brought you joy, make their day better by telling them it did.
Long ago I wrote a fic. Posted it under a different name without telling anyone in the fandom group I was active in. Watched how the online fandom group loved the fic and had a conversation of it in a positive spirit with each other - what did they like it, theories of this and that, how nice it was to get a new fic into this small fandom etc. - but did they leave feedback to the fic? No. I think it was only one person who commented the fic from the group.
I know the fan group liked the fic because I saw the outside comments. But, if I hadn’t seen them - like readers don’t - then I’d think the fic was not worth of my time and no one read it, or read it but didn’t care about it as it clearly was not worth of any comment.
We’re not telepathics. We don’t know. Tell the creators. They want it and appreciate the feedback. If we didn’t want you to interact with the stuff we create, like comment it/share it/reblog it/etc. we wouldn’t post the stuff online for you to see.
It occurs to me upon reading this that we don't have conversations like this in the comments to the author's fic---so much of fandom is interacting with each other about media we love, but in the fanfic comments section the conversation is almost just commenters talking directly to the author, and maybe the author talking back.
Nobody launches a metacommentary thesis for other readers to debate about in the AO3 comments, or has long comment threads gushing to each other about their favorite character's interactions; it's like the tendency to give the author space while we go play with their creations, a relic of our past when we weren't supposed to exist, has extended to fic authors who are themselves playing in the same mud we are.
We act like it's bad manners to love a fic in front of an author, in the ways the fandom that writes fanfic loves a fic.
I have had one or two fics where readers engaged with one another in the comments and I can say with 100% surety that it was REALLY COOL to see!!! Even if they weren’t talking to ME, they were talking about the thing I made where I could see it and that made me feel GREAT. Absolutely loved it.
I write fanfiction and let me tell you: comments about the fic and what you like about it make the hours of work all worthwhile. Literally there is nothing else going for me right now. I get up, go to work, come home, go to bed. To get a (1) in my inbox instantly makes me happy and I'd be nothing without it.
thinking about the video where a bunch of guys get together to un-corrupt a blastoise that got bad egged years ago in a leafgreen game and how that whole scenario is like. the loving side of cosmic horror.
you are a blastoise. you trust your trainer. you've been through countless battles together, and while they never say anything, you can tell your trainer loves you.
what you don't know is that your trainer is, at all times, being puppeted by intelligent forces outside of your dimension, holding knowledge far beyond the scope of anything you could ever know. they know things about your world that you do not; that nobody in your world ever could. the distinction between your trainer and this creature is minimal.
at the same time, this creature is not god. it does not have infinite knowledge; it understands far greater than you, yet in still a very limited capacity. they understand what your world is made up of and how it can be manipulated to fit your whims.
this creature loves you. your trainer loves you.
they love you so much that they want to help you become stronger. they manipulate the very laws of your world to attain this feat. however, they did it wrong. they didn't know what they were doing, and the makeup of your being- everything you ARE- was twisted.
you are no longer a blastoise. you are a bad egg.
your trainer remains the same as ever. everything continues on, the same as it ever was, yet you cannot be what you once were. your trainer tries over, and over, and OVER again to hatch you, but you never become what you once were. you are a bad egg. there are other bad eggs now, other pokemon you used to know; pokemon you helped your trainer catch, pokemon you may have even fought alongside. now you're all bad eggs, sealed away by ancient protective magic known as Code. you never knew such a thing existed. you wonder if you're dangerous now.
your trainer sets you in a box. over the years, he forgets which box you're in.
unbeknownst to you, the creature is panicking, trying everything it can possibly think of to restore you to your blastoise state. the creature is just a child. he carries the pain of your loss long into adulthood; in his mind, he is responsible for your death. in the grand scheme of the universe, you do not matter; you're a "game". a few lines of code and some pixels. you do not Exist.
and yet, you are mourned.
and yet many others just like you are mourned by many others just like him.
the world has been still for many, many years. you don't know this, because your world does not contain an internal clock. time doesn't really exist for you; it's a concept far outside of your reality.
and yet, it is important.
your creature contacts another of its kind. it shares the story of its sin, the insignificant act of corrupting you beyond repair. it shares this story in hopes that it could save you.
the other creature recalls its own destruction of a world not unlike yours. it agrees to help.
many creatures within the world outside of yours have gathered all together, using technologies familiar and unfamiliar with one collective goal in mind: to rescue you. specifically you.
your loss is widely considered nothing. and yet, they put in incredible effort. obstacle after obstacle, they perform miracles for your sake. they copy your world; they use strange windows to view it, they layer your world over itself many times over to view it from every angle. they dig deep into the very makeup of your universe just trying to find you.
one of them uses a method that only he has access to, in all the world, to find you.
and they do. you have lost your name and everything else that makes you you, but there is something that remains in tact, that makes you findable; a piece of "data", an invisible quality to you that you and your trainer would never see, something you could never possibly know about. this is what ultimately makes you you, and not another blastoise.
slowly but surely, they begin to put you back together. it's much harder than it needs to be, it is far too much effort for one
creature in one game that will never be touched again, and yet they do it. they race against the clock, stressing endlessly, sweating bullets and crying out in relief when they finally find the exact values, the last pieces of invisible quality that makes it YOU.
you are now a blastoise. you are now "legitimate" to the game.
you do not know it yet, but your trainer - your creature - is waiting for you, excited to Transfer you into new worlds until you are where he wants you. until you are safe.
you also do not know that at this time, two of you exist. there is the You, here, being put together, manipulated through the fabrics of reality to restore your original form.
and there is the Original you; the one waiting home, on the cartridge. the Real you.
you are a clone, but you are not. you are a new pokemon, but you are the original. you are both corrupted, and legitimate. you are many things.
the new you is saved, and this version of your world- this version that has fixed you, and only you- is re-uploaded, overlayed and overwritten to the original.
you safely arrive.
You are a blastoise. You were a bad egg, for a short time. But now you are a blastoise again. your trainer acts the same as ever, because he cannot display anything that would suggest he notices the difference.
you do not know what happened.
you have no idea.
you have no idea how much you are loved.
