#where he finds ur lack of presence uncomfortable and goes out of his way to nurse u back to health and doesnt leave ur side

[baeshijima]

time to grind out the wooing alhaitham fic bc i have a vague idea of how i wanna go about it and have had too many ideas throughout the day ;w;

[ellstersmash]

Three: Fifteen

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan (Modern!AU)

Rating: overall E for Explicit | this chapter T for Teen

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--

    [  Results were inconclusive. Again. Any last-minute suggestions?  ]

Athi reads the message from Solas, then reads it again. Is ready to send back [???] but her phone buzzes again before she has the chance.

    [  Apologies. That was not intended for you.   ]

She smirks—

no shit

—deletes her question, taps out a response.

    [  :* i miss u too   ]

    [  oop sry. wrong #   ]

    [  Ha Ha.   ]

    [  sry bout ur results :(   ]

    [  Thank you. What are you doing today?  ]

“That Solas?” Sera says, not bothering to look up from her unbroken line of yellow glitter glue. “Tell him to suck it.”

    [  arts n crafts   ]

Athi snaps a quick picture of the mess they’ve made in their living room and sends it to him.

    [  sera says suck it   ]

    [  Of course she does.  ]

“He says hi.”

Sera gags dramatically. “Thought you wanted to help with all this, not flirt with your boyfriend.”

A snotty retort itches behind Athi’s teeth but she stifles it. Rolls her eyes instead and tosses her phone aside, the device bouncing once to rest face-down on the sofa cushion. She picks up a thick black marker with pungent permanent ink, and gets back to work filling in the block letters Sera lined earlier.

Her boyfriend. Gods, but that sounds strange. Childish. Like they go on dates behind the primary school, or pretend not to be having sex in the room down the hall from someone's parents’. And yet she finds herself giddy at the thought. To be fair, it’s all she has for the moment. The thought. He's off on some adventure, and she's stuck here. Again. They'd only had that one perfect day, breakfast and window shopping and holding hands like real life lovers under trees full of dry rainbow leaves fluttering their applause. And then he took a phone call and went home to pack and left first thing in the morning.

She wonders just how often this happens.

How important could it be? Not like a bunch of ancient artifacts are going to up and wander off if he can’t go poke at them right away. A mental note to ask him later, and she moves this poster to the pile of finished ones and exchanges it for another that says “YOUR VILLAGE —> OUR CITY.” Cute, though maybe a smidge too reliant on humans knowing their history.

“Sure you don’t want to come?” Sera asks.

“That’s not—” Athi sighs. “I told you, I have work.”

“Yeah, but isn’t this more important?”

“I don’t know. Do you want rent paid?”

Sera quiets, kicking her legs back and forth as she works. Her glue bottle sputters, spits shimmer all over. A frustrated grunt and she tosses it aside, rolls onto her back.

“I’m just saying you should care is all. ‘S not going to get any better if nobody makes noise, and nobody’s making it for us.”

“Us?" Athi scoffs. "When we met, you said—and I quote—‘So glad you’re not one of those elfy elves.’”

“Yeah, well, therapy’s all right. Besides, it’s not for elves, or not just. It’s for whoever gets stepped on. That means us.”

“I didn’t know you were in therapy.” 

“Maybe I don’t tell you everything," Sera mutters. “Thought of that?”

Athi caps her marker and lays it down. It’s just a feeling, but it's nagging. Persistent. Like and yet unlike the one she still gets when her papae calls her by her full name. Isalathena Sulahnera Lavellan, come here this instant, and it’s heavy on her chest, sitting right on top of her breastbone. Guilty, but she's not.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. Throws it out there before the feeling gets stale and she decides it's something she can live with.

“Nothing.”

“Right, ok, except for it’s not, so come on. Let's get it out and over with.”

Sera sits up, blonde hair sticking out in a couple new directions. “What’s your problem?”

“You! You’ve been acting weird all week, Ser. Haven’t come in for lunch or been home at night, responded to texts—”

“If you think I want to be in the next room while you and—”

“Oh, so you have a problem with Solas? That was one—”

“No!” Sera groans in frustration. “I mean, yeah, he is kind of old, and talks about old stuff a lot, and he’s all”—she straightens her spine into an uncomfortable posture, then slouches again—“but I like him well enough.”

"Then what?"

Sera stares at her hands for a while. Then out the window. Then at the wall. Then back at her hands. Athi’s patience is thin on a good day, and it takes a lot of willpower to keep quiet as Sera opens her mouth and closes it again, false start after false start.

Finally, Sera blurts out: “I want to ask Dagna to move in.”

Athi has no idea what she was expecting, but not that. Searching for some way to relate it to her own behavior, to justify her feeling or shove it aside, she takes so long to form a response that Sera begins to fidget.

“You what?” she asks at last, thoroughly stumped.

“I want to ask Dagna—”

“Yeah, I…” Athi tries to catch up, shuffles through the past month as best as she can in the pause between. “Here?”

Sera squints at her like she's stupid, but that's fair. It was a stupid thing to say. 

“No, my mother's. Yes here!” 

“I’m sorry, I didn't realize you two were dating again. What’s it been, a year since you broke up?” 

“Yeah. You were out at your friend’s place. Better you missed the makeup sex, though, yeah? More room for fun.” 

At first Sera’s cheeky grin has Athi smiling too. It’s a relief to talk about someone else’s shit instead of her own, but then Sera glances toward the couch and—

Oh.

Oh gods, she wouldn’t have . . . would she?

Athi gets up for a glass of water, makes it two at Sera’s request. Sits cross-legged on the coffee table when she comes back. Just to be safe.

“Isn’t it a bit fast?” she asks.

“Maybe. Doesn’t feel fast, though. If you add 'em all up it's been like, a few years or something, so it sort of works out to normal. If you think about it.”

“I guess.”

Sera empties her glass in one go. “Her lease is up next month,” she says.

Athi nods. “Right. So soon, then. Um… and if it doesn’t work out?” She leaves out the again, but it’s implied.

“But that’s why I should do it! See, I keep losing her because I’m not in. She was serious about us, but I kept messing around. Don’t even know why, really.” She looks on the edge of losing her momentum, halfway to introspection, then snaps back into the room. “But therapy! So this time, like Wicked Grace, right? I’m all in and she’ll see I mean it. And then it’ll work out.”

Her logic isn’t quite flawed but it’s far from perfect. Still, friends don't tell friends to be afraid. Especially when those friends have clearly put a lot of thought into their dynamic-altering life-changing decisions. So Athi drops the questions.

“Wow,” she says instead. “I didn’t know you felt that way about her.”

Sera shifts into soft focus and smiles, a faraway look in her eyes. “Me either.”

She seems so certain. Satisfied, and happy. Really, truly happy. And it’s kind of fucking beautiful.

Feeling overcome for no good reason, Athi goes back to her task. Long thick careful black lines, then short ones. She marks a pattern with them to make it less work and more play. Not that anyone will see unless they’re trying. And as she makes the spaces solid, a thought occurs to her.

“So,” she says, bright. Like it’s no big deal. “Do you want me to move out?”

“What? No! Course not. Why would you say that?”

There’s no time to answer. After so much silence, Sera bubbles over with unused conversation. 

“I mean, do you want to move out? You’re not moving in with Solas are you? Gross. Definitely too fast for that one. Bet he wants to get married first, in a chantry and everything. Is he Andrastian, do you know? Where is he, anyway? He travels a lot for work, right? Must be nice. Wonder if his job pays for it. Is he gone now?”

Too many questions, so Athi answers the last one.

“Yeah. Flies in late tonight. He’s picking me up after work.”

Sera snorts. “What, picking you up? So you wouldn’t get up to take him in, huh? Good girl. Stay strong. Trust me, you drive him once and you're in for forever.”

“No, he didn’t even ask. Figured he’d take a cab or something, but I guess he drove himself.”

“And paid for parking? What’s he, loaded?”

Athi grins and crosses her fingers.

“Real nice. I’m serious, Ath, that’s some weird psychopath shit. Nobody drives their own self to the airport. No one who has friends, anyway.”

"I think he's just used to being alone.”

“Way to make it sad.”

"Alone doesn't mean sad."

"It kind of is though. But then, he’s got people, right? Like Varric, and, well... I don’t know. People.”

Athi shrugs. “Habits can be hard to break, especially when you’re not trying.”

“Ooh. Very wise today."

"Shut up."

"I mean it!"

She doesn’t tell Sera about the other things. The books covering all his furniture. The busted bathroom door that he removed rather than replaced. The singular coaster on his side table. The way he forgets to be hospitable, then overcorrects, asks her if she needs anything three times in a row. His house, his life, is not prepared for the presence of others. Not meant to host company or take in strays or accommodate a lover, meant for him and his needs and his convenience and no more.

And she’s honestly not sure if that makes her an exception or an intruder.

--

“Woah.”

The door slams shut behind her. Very nearly catches her in the ass but she happened to freeze just beyond its reach.

The place is gutted. Or maybe it's not? Ceiling and walls are fine and nothing she can place is missing, tables and chairs and bottles of booze all present and accounted for, but it looks fucking empty. And clean, though she can’t tell if that’s real or just the lack of tasteless decor.

“I know, right?” Tali dumps a bucket of ice in the bin with the rest. “It was like this when I showed up today.”

Athi drifts in slow, perturbed by the smell of cleaning solution and the lack of clutter. Hangs her purse on the coat rack just inside the office, her jacket on top of that. Pulls her hair back, ties her apron, washes her hands.

“Were we robbed?” she asks, only half joking.

“Technically, that would be a burglary.”

“Were we burglarized?”

“You know,” Tali says, “If someone broke in just to take those awful knick-knacks and creepy pictures Seggrit had up, I say more power to ‘em. Enjoy your ghosts, thief!"

Athi giggles. “Worst was the cabin.”

“Are you kidding? I couldn’t even look at that family one. The kid’s vacant stare, blessed Andraste, I wanted to flip it around every time I walked in that door. And you know that cat had seen things. I mean, did Seggrit know them? Why were they on our wall?”

"Somebody had to keep an eye on us."

"And make sure we weren't flirting with tall handsome customers in the back alley?" Tali grins, tongue stuck out between her teeth.

"Why? You make that a habit too?"

Tali wrings out and refolds her bar towel. “Ok, sweetie. Keep your secrets. I'll get my details one day."

"Anyway." Athi gestures at the naked walls. "Change!"

"Right. It was Seggie for sure. He was here when I came in. Must have dealt with all that crap this morning, though I couldn't say what he did with all of it. Or why. Oh! And he left that.”

Tali reaches back and raps a knuckle on the fridge where a sheet of paper hangs. Athi slides it out from under the magnet. Scans its contents. Flips it writing-side-out toward Tali.

“The fuck is this?”

“A cleaning list.”

“I can see that. Seggrit made it?”

“Either that or your writer pal is moving in for real.”

“And that’s not strange to you? That he cares?”

Tali shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe he’s decided to rejuvenate this place. You know? Spruce it up, invest a little time, maybe hire some better bartenders.”

“Hey, don't sell yourself short."

"Bold of you to assume I meant myself."

“This is weird, though. Right?" She reads off the paper. "Sweep out back? Deep-clean the office? Dust the brick wall? Tali, most of these have nothing to do with anything. Where are the temp checks? Or the fucking tap lines? Or, you know, any of the shit we should actually be doing?"

“Beats me, babe. I'm just glad he's getting involved. You should’ve seen him whirling around here earlier. Something seems to have lit a fire under his rear-end.”

Another feeling, but she can't place this one. It all fits together somehow, or should. The list and the bare walls and the lack of fire hazards. Chewing on the puzzle, Athi picks a task at random, takes a spray bottle and a coffee filter to the windows. Even free of five years’ grime and in full sun, they don’t illuminate much. But that’s all right. The list says clean, and they are definitely that.

[holaafrica]

New Post has been published on http://holaafrica.org/for-ebony-and-for-bad-gyals-everywhere-a-feminist-tribute/

For Ebony and for Bad Gyals Everywhere: A Feminist Tribute

By Rita Nketiah

I didn’t know Ebony Reigns -not in any concrete way. We didn’t school together or share a circle of friends.

But I felt like I knew Ebony Reigns.

I recognized her in ways that I might recognize younger versions of myself. Ebony felt familiar. I have been following her career since her first major hit single Kupe* -an up-tempo jam about a suspicious lover who she demands more honesty and accountability from. The glossy video displays a dreadlocked Ebony navigating daily life with her male lover in their home, interspersed with sensual scenes of Ebony reflecting on the lack of respect, care and accountability that her lover provides.

The chorus chimes “Nd3 wo b3 ti Kupe”** – a declaration of Ebony’s frustration with unrequited love. We see Ebony’s lover sneaking off to make private calls and we know that he occasionally goes to Kumasi under the guise of work meetings, only for Ebony to find out that he spends time with another girl named Belinda. On the surface, this song is just another tale of a woman chasing after a man that clearly does not want her or feels no sense of responsibility to their partnership. In the context of Ghana, men’s infidelity is often expected and rarely sanctioned; it is not uncommon to hear of wives who are well aware of their husbands cheating ways, but continue to stay for the kids, the resources, the social status of being married or the general pressure to maintain the status quo. However, for me, this song, and Ebony’s particular demands, reflect the possibility of a feminist defiance to this cultural expectation.

Quite frankly, Ebony was not here for your opinions of her. She couldn’t care less about your respectability politics and appeared to live life on her own terms.

Similarly, in Date Ur Fada, Ebony tells her lover that she will do almost anything to win and sustain his love -with the stipulation that if he breaks her heart, she will date his father, ultimately to seek revenge. This bold and comical statement is a testament to Ebony’s fierce, resilient and justice-seeking spirit. While one might interrogate the pettiness of responding to heart break by dating the offender’s father, in the context of a patriarchal country like Ghana, women seek power and emotional justice in the ways that they can. Rather than retreat into herself, Ebony seeks emotional justice in a vindictive act. It is significant that she feels she is able to challenge the emotional abuse of a cheating spouse through a sexual act with the perpetrator’s father. Quite frankly, Ebony was not here for your opinions of her. She couldn’t care less about your respectability politics and appeared to live life on her own terms.

As far as I could tell, Ebony was not a feminist -at least, it was never something she declared. And we certainly don’t know what she could have become had she lived on. However, songs like Turn on the Lights reflected what was possible for a feminist sexual expression for young women in Ghana. The song is a confident, braggadocious statement of body positivity, encouraging her lover to keep the lights on during love-making as Ebony is not shy or uncomfortable with her body.

There is often a perception that Ghanaian women are frigid or too conservative in the bedroom and certainly not comfortable with making love with the lights on. For Ebony, her body confidence allows her to challenge this construction of Ghanaian femininity in ways that we might consider feminist. Turning the lights on functions as a metaphor for her deep level of transparency, honesty and openness about her desire for sexual and bodily expression.

Existing in a hyper-masculine and hyper-sexualized industry in Ghana can be a bit of a mindfuck for women.

Admittedly, I have struggled with the new wave of dancehall music in Ghana as a reflection of a continued “de-Africanization” of our art. I sometimes feel that the rise of this genre demonstrates the increased capitalist pressures within the Ghanaian music industry to create music that is more “worldly” or globalized. I am also challenged by the appropriation of Rastafarianism within Ghanaian dancehall that cheapens the spiritual and political purpose of the faith. Ebony was not exempt from this critique. But still, it is significant that she was able to sustain a strong, healthy brand within the context of a male-dominated dancehall scene in Ghana. While I do not want to assume that the average Ghanaian girl can access the sexual power that comes with being a celebrity, I do think that Ebony’s image offered us something different. Existing in a hyper-masculine and hyper-sexualized industry in Ghana can be a bit of a mindfuck for women. The daily pressures to perform sexiness for the male gaze is even more complicated when one actually has their own desire to be sexual in their image.

Was Ebony’s image actually liberatory or did it simply reflect the non-choices women have in mainstream patriarchal entertainment industries? I don’t seek to romanticize the challenges Ebony would have likely experienced, but I do wonder if we oversimplify the matter when we do not recognize her moments of agency.

And Ebony was never created in a vacuum. Her image was made possible by the women who came before her such as Mzbel in Ghana, Tanya Stephens in Jamaica and yes, even Beyonce! There is a legacy of women artists who challenge the space made available for them in the music industry. Ebony was everything she wasn’t supposed to be. She was brave, daring, courageously sexual and in her words, a 90’s bad gyal.

Her death hits me hard.

For me, she represented the defiance of young womanhood. It was controversial, demanding, compelling and rooted in a Ghanaian experience. Ebony represents for me what is possible in a liberatory sexual politics for Ghanaian women. I didn’t agree with every song she sang -her messages could, at times, feel counter-feminist or downright tacky. But overall, Ebony’s presence in the music world signalled a new wave of bold, outspoken and clearly articulated sexual politics of young people in Ghana. Whether she was challenging us to fight domestic violence in songs like Maame Hw3 or she was reminding us of the depths of her pettiness post-heartbreak in Date Ur Fada, Ebony was never one to shy away from strong opinions. In a socio-political climate like Ghana, this matters.

Ebony mattered.

Her popularity was the constant reminder to me that, indeed, we are not as socially conservative as we claim to be as Ghanaians. Nor should we be. The tattoos, piercings and scantily-clad clothing choices signalled to many conservatives that Ebony was “spoiling the youth”, when in fact Ebony existed at the cross section of sexual expression, empowered defiance and Blackgirljoy.

As I write this, I am sitting in my hotel room in Bangkok at the tail-end of a week filled with strategizing and organizing around sexworkers rights. Upon reflection of the challenges surrounding the fight for labour rights for sexworkers, I am continuously struck by common prohibitionist arguments that often position female sexworkers as needing to be rescued from a life of sexploitation. I have written in other spaces about how anti-sexworker laws affect all women who may be perceived as promiscuous, non-respectable or loose women. At the heart of the debate about a woman’s right to sell sex is the underlying patriarchal belief that women should not have the right to monetize or control how and when she engages in sexual expression. To be honest, I don’t know if Ebony would have supported sexwork. I don’t know much about her political consciousness. But I do know she provided a space (where before there was none) for young women to express sexual desire in ways that were unfuckwithable.

I am not sure what happens now. But I know that she will be missed and that what she did for our notions of femininity and womanhood in Ghana will be felt for years to come.

This is for Ebony, who taught us all how to be 90s bad gyals.

Reign in peace, chale.

—————————–

*Not to be confused with her first actual single, “Dancefloor”.

**Today you will hear kupe!” –while I wasn’t able to find the exact translation of “kupe”, the general tone of the chorus suggests that she aims to set her lover straight.

This was first published on Drama Queens website. 

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