whisky and water

also also, last half-salty, half-amused post I swear BUT

IM STILL LAUGHING AT THE FLYING WATER KAMUI IN THE END because I’d tweeted this nonsense before the finale aired:

Sorey and Mikleo finally fulfilled their birb dreams and ascended to the skies above LMAO ADKJFKHGSKJGGS

#47 The Interior Designer (Harry Styles)

Word Count: 2560

Summary: A girl with a cheating boyfriend and a new client. 

“And, you know I don’t know why she was so mean, I did everything on that list. It’s just me she picks on every time. Riley, she didn’t even finish-” I was cut between my upset rant, with my tears falling down my eyes.

“Look, Victoria, do we have to this right now?” He looked at me like I had spilt coffee over all his papers.

“What? My crying?” I asked, feeling so upset with what happened at work today.

“Yeah, this complaining! Why don’t you go and talk to Noah or something?” He said, going back to his computer.  

“Noah, is not my boyfriend you are, and I want to talk to you-” I said, wiping my tears.

“Victoria!” He yelled. “I have four people on call waiting to talk to me once I finish this document. I swear I have better things to do that hear you crib here. Please go do some work and leave me alone!”

I flinched as he yelled at me, and looked away from his face. Looking everywhere but him, embarrassed and slowly going numb, I picked up the coffee mugs in front of me and walked to the kitchen. “No wonder she gets shit at work,” I heard him mutter. I frowned at his words, filling water in the cups, feeling this was not needed.

“You know, I told you to leave him! He ticks all the ‘don’t touch this human” signs on my list!” Brittany explained sucking on her straw.

“Don’t touch this human?” I asked.

“Yeah! He has no time. He wakes up and looks at his phone. His phone is always ringing. He doesn’t listen to you, talk to you, be with you. He knows the important dates of his clients than you! These are all signs of running Victoria!”

“I don’t know what to do! He wasn’t always like this! And I have been with him forever. Like forever Brit, how can I just leave him?” I explained. “It’s his job, you know. He wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t! And you were talking about dates? I was reading online that couples who live together don’t really have to go on dates to keep their relationship alive!”

“Does he? Does he live with you?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Brittany…” my phone pinged. “Oh look,” I said reading the message, “He wants to take me out tonight!” She gulped her drink and came close to read the message.

“No, he is ordering you.” She said. “There is no ‘will you?’ ‘would you” or even –”

“But, it is something. It is an effort. I knew something good will happen,” I smiled to myself, and she smiled.

I dressed in a really nice black dress that accentuated my curves. Looking in the mirror, I smiled to myself. It was a long time since we went out and I wanted to make myself look the best for him. “Are you ready, Victoria?” I heard his voice call out from downstairs. I took a deep breath and walked down the stairs, making sure to make him see my legs, but his eyes stayed glued to his phone. “Let’s go.” He didn’t look at me even once, but I still tried to keep my hopes up. A dinner date was a good attempt and, I was going to give him that. “Sit in the car.”

I saw a bouquet in the back seat and frowned. If it was for me, shouldn’t he give it? I didn’t say anything as he started driving. He switched off the music in a minute of it playing, talking loudly to his clients on his Bluetooth. I sighed and looked outside. We pulled into a huge mansion, and I knew this was not a dinner date. “You bought me to a party?” I looked at him in shock and disappointment.

“Take the bouquet out,” He ordered still typing away on his phone, “and Vic, please. On your best behaviour today? This is an important party for me,” Best behaviour? What did he mean by that? When was I not on my best behaviour? I handed him the bouquet, and he kept the phone away, before fixing it and walking away leaving me behind to follow him.

Kisses, hi’s and hello’s took place as soon as we walked in. A lot of how have you been, I hope you’re well, come enjoy as people danced on the floor to soft music, and then, held glasses of wine or champagne talking to each other in small groups. I saw as different women came and kissed his cheek and he kissed their cheek back, asking them about their work. Did he know about mine? He introduced me once, and then left me to talk to more people. Feeling abandoned like a little child and trying not to pout, I walked towards the bar.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“Whisky please, a little water and ice, thank you.”

I sat there was a long time, sipping my glass with my back straight, phone on the side for it wasn’t very proper, trying to locate where my boyfriend was and failing. Sighing, I asked for another drink.

“Long night?” I heard a deep voice ask, as I looked up. I knew who he was. He was everywhere these days. His album has just released.

“It’s getting longer than how I expected it to be,” I said, taking another sip.

“Oh same, I came here with my manager and he is well managing. It’s not a lot of fun when you just have to show your face from faraway,” He said and I chuckled. “Are these parties always this boring with slow music and pretentious conversations?”

“Yes, always,” I said. He smiled and sat down next to me. “So, who are you here with?” he asked.

“That guy,” I said finally finding him.

“Mr Douchebag?” He said, and I frowned. “I didn’t see you as the type?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I said.

“No, I mean. Why are you here with him?” He asked again.

“I am his girlfriend,” I said, trying not to take offence.

“What? Since when?” He laughed.

“Since 5 years, what do you mean by all this?” I asked, trying to figure out what was happening.

“Woah. My god. I am sorry, I am Harry,” he said, pushing his hand forward.

“Victoria,” I said, shaking his hand. “Why did you call him a douche bag?”

“Umm, that is a story for another day. What do you do Victoria?” He said, trying to change the topic.

“How do you know him?” I asked, staring into his eyes.

“Umm, he has been to many of my parties,” he said. “Your drink is over, let’s get you another?” He asked the bartender to make my drink.

“He has?” I hadn’t heard of any of these parties. I had heard nothing. I thought he only worked all the time…like me.

“Yeah, known him for quite some time.Anyway, you didn’t answer my question…Victoria? Victoria?” He pulled me out of my thoughts.

“I’m an interior designer,” I told him.

“Oh, that’s nice! That’s great. I have awful taste in furniture though, I have never designed any of my houses. I sold my old one because it felt to impersonal and shifted again, and I am literally now living in an almost empty house cause I don’t know how to just make it personal, you know?” He explained.

“Yeah, but you need to get a designer and then spend time with them, so they know how you are and then, be absolutely involved in the process of buying and installing and designing to get that personal touch and favor,” I told him since, I faced cases like these on a daily basis.
I’m going to quit my firm though, start my own designing,” I said, thinking loudly now.

“Oh then, can I be your first customer?” He asked.

“You’re very nice,” I smiled.

“No really, I am serious. Please don’t let me search for people. I hate it. Please design my house?” He looked like he really meant it.

“Okay, so here, give me your phone?” I took it, “I’m putting my number in with my name and designation. Contact me when you are absolutely sober, and we’ll talk?”

“Splendid.”  

Harry and I just talked for the evening, until it was time to leave. “I’ll call you, designer.” I looked back and smiled at this goofy look on his face. The ride back home was suffocating. I was suffocating. I knew I had to break up, but we had been together forever. And, relationships aren’t made in a day. You have to work on them and keep working on them.

He left in two days for a business trip. In these two days, we had said four sentences to each other. Harry and I, on the other hand, had met two times and he kept chatting with me for some reason. I didn’t mind it. I needed a friend. This week was quite hectic as I left my job, and signed my new papers for opening my own firm. Everything was ready since I was planning it for a long time, and Brittany threw a small party with my closest friends to celebrate it as well. My boyfriend knew nothing about it. Now, I didn’t even have anything to tell him.

“Just leave him, bro!” Mike said, whining, quite drunk now. “He is like this Airbnb person living in your house.”

“It is our house, you know.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t live in it? Does he buy veggies and those wine glasses and those cheerios? No. He does not. He paid for half the price, and that is it. Kick him out!” He said, imitating the kick with his legs.

“Mikey, calm down, here have some water,” I said, bringing it to his face.

“Brit, Oscar…tell her that I AM RIGHT!” He yelled, and everyone cheered.

I met Harry for lunch, the next day, “So, where do I sign to go into this intense procedure with you?” He asked, taking a long sip on his coffee.

“Here,” I took the page out. “Are you sure you want me to do this? You haven’t seen all my work yet?”

“I have enough. And you designed Nick’s house, and I love it so, yeah…there we go,” He said signing it. “I’m free for the next two months before I get busy again. I’d like to do this! And! And! I am your first client! So, cheers to that!” he giggled, and we almost banged our coffee cups.

The long designing procedure started the next day. It was my first project with my company name, and it was a huge one. I wanted to give my best to it. I spent time in his house, working on each floor and then talking to him. I wanted to know him properly, his tastes, his dislikes to be able to come on a nice theme for his house. I could see Harry enjoyed it. I like to know that he enjoyed everything that was new to him. My boyfriend wasn’t back yet, and the only conversation I had with him was a guy who came from his office to collect a few files. It had been three weeks now, and I was almost done with the theme. We had set a budget, even though Harry was pretty lenient with it and we went looking for things on the list.

“I like this,” He said looking at a ceiling attached sofa chair. “I’d like to put to in the balcony,” he said.

“Near the trees, the opposite side, first floor? I guess, it’ll look nice there and a perfect spot to sit as well because of the sunlight?” I asked.

“Yes, perfect!” He nodded.

We looked around more, picking up a lot of things that we liked. He wanted to go room by room so, he could individually pay attention to it so, it took a longer process, but I didn’t mind it. I was absolutely enjoying my work with no politics being played like my previous workplace. I was at his house, setting up the master bedroom when my phone rang. It was Oscar, but he cut the call. He then sent a picture. It was my boyfriend…I sat down. He was on the beach with a girl, lying on the sand with him. I read his message.

Was here off work after a meeting. Saw him and wanted to go say hi, until I saw her. I’m sorry Ria. I had a chat with the girl as well, just to confirm when he left for a while. They have been seeing each other for quite some time. Five months…I’m sorry.

My legs failing to hold my weight, had me sitting on the bed, just looking at the pictures. “Hey, do you want to have lunch from this nice Italian place, I know?” Harry walked in. “What happened?” He asked, as my tears just fell. Five years for this guy. Two years before that and this is what it led to. Harry sat on his knees in front of me and took my phone from my hands. “I’m sorry Victoria…”

“Why did you call him a douchebag?” I asked.

“What? Umm…Victoria…it doesn’t matter now.”

“Just tell me, Harry!”

He closed his eyes, “He had a reputation. And, I saw it at work. He came to each of my parties with a different woman, and then Jeff knows him. He told me how he went on these holidays and Jeff once went with him –”

“You knew?” I stood up, looking at him with accusatory eyes. “You knew he was cheating on me?” He nodded, still on his knees. “And you didn’t tell me! In these three weeks, when I told you how sad my relationship was making me, you didn’t say anything?”

“Vic, I –”

“Don’t call me that! I hate that name!”

“Ria, I didn’t know what to say! I saw you at the party, and you were so beautiful. And your eyes were so innocent and full of love, and when you told me that it was for five years, I didn’t want to see your heart crushed.”

“It had been crushing for years, Harry! I thought you were my friend! I treated you like my friend! A friend tells!”

“I didn’t know what to say, Ria!”

“Say that Victoria, Wake up! He is cheating on you! He came to my parties with different women every time!” I yelled.

“Victoria, he is cheating on you. He came to my parties with different women every time,” Harry repeated. I could see the guilt in his eyes.

“I know that now, you – you –” I couldn’t even curse. I knew he was not to blame. But, my world was crushed now. “I have to leave. I am taking a break for a few days. Please don’t contact me.”

“Ria, I’m really sorry.” He said, coming forward and holding my hand, while I just looked at him with defeated eyes.

PART 2

Please tell me if you liked it and what do you think about it! It will mean a lot. Thank you so much! 

Comments?

Masterlist

Copyright ©theStylesproject 2017: ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THIS WORK CONTAINS MATERIAL PROTECTED UNDER INTERNATIONAL AND FEDERAL COPYRIGHT LAWS AND TREATIES. NO PART OF THIS WORK MAYBE REPRODUCED OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY MEANS WITHOUT EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM theStylesproject.

CRYSTAL ELIXIRS

I recently received a request to do a post on crystal elixirs! Elixirs work by placing crystals in water, and allowing the water to absorb the healing vibrations from the crystals! Elixirs can be used for drops, baths, room mists, face wash or even for drinking. I’ll make a list of steps to follow!

  1. Cleanse your crystal you want to use before making your elixir. When choosing a crystal I recommend only using tumbled stones, as raw ones can put dangerous toxins in the water. Also make sure you chose a stone that isn’t going to dissolve in water (i.e. No selenite guys!). 
  2. Place the cleansed crystal into a glass bowl and fill with spring water. If you want the elixir to last longer than a week you can use a formula of ½ vodka/whisky/brandy and ½ water (this is mostly recommended for dosage bottles) however I usually just use water. 
  3. Place the bowl in sunlight for 12 hours to allow the crystal to do its magic! 
  4. Then pour the water into an airtight bottle, or dosage bottle. I just use the glass bottles above, as I can drink directly from it. If using the alcohol solution, place in a cool dark place.

Examples of elixirs:

  • Golden Beryl: Gargle for sore throat
  • Black Tourmaline: Room mist for negative energies 
  • Bloodstone: Drink for constipation and emotional stagnation 
  • Amethyst: Wash for acne/pimples
  • Fluorite: Drink for antiviral and blockages
3

The Mommet and White Blood Brew

I’ve really enjoyed reading Robin Artisson’s works, especially The Resurrection of the Meadow. The author describes this tome as a “record of thirteen occult formulas and charms of art….” One formula that stood out to me in this text was the ritual of the White Mommet. The mommet, more commonly referred to as the poppet, is a small doll made to represent the target of a spell or other magical working. In this book, Mr. Artisson provides a beautiful formula to create the mommet, then activate it’s power through the use of three magical brews:

The White Momment or the Work of White Blood and Red Stone

On a Saturday at dawn, gather clay or dirt from the earth while speaking this charm:

Earth from which flesh is drawn

Gathered by my hand in the gaze of dawn

As day quickens life in sky and leaf

So let this flesh alike be quick

At my will and art, soon all revealed

Let that quick be captured and sealed

This in the name of Earth & Sky

And the Elfin Dominion below

That night, and better if the moon is full, boil the white blood – the white of a goodly amount of eggs – along with a good measure of wine, and the sympathetic materials you have gathered from the one whom the mommet will become a double for: their hair, nails, a tooth, spittle, blood, urine, or an article of clothing that has been worn against their skin. Make this charm over the seething boil:

White blood, water of earth and sky

Life blood of the verdant artery

___(Name)___’s own flesh

Be stirred quick to heat and flame.

Growl and bubble with impetuous life

And take the soil as a man takes wife.

Then mingle the clay and dirt with the mixture, after it has cooled to warm. From this mix, form the shape of a man or a woman, depending on the shape of the one you work for or against. Take a small red stone, which shall be the heart of the mommet, and in a new pot, boil it in white blood, a measure of water, whisky, or wine, and sympathetic material not used in the first seething. As it boils, say:

Heart of ___(Name)___, red and strong

Let flame and heat engorge you well

And the white blood of life rouse you:

You will beat in the chest of ___(Name)___ soon;
Perhaps you will leap there long

Or cease in your striving and hasten doom.

When the white blood has cooled to warm, take the heart and embed it in the chest of the Mommet, in the proper place of a human heart. Cover it well. Now, again, in a fresh pot, set to boil white blood, a larger measure of water, and a handful of mugwort, dry or fresh. As the steam rises strong, take a broad forked piece of wood and suspend the momment over the steam, face down, with an open hole dug in its head where the mouth should be. Say:

___(Name)___, this is the breathe of life

The whisp of the soul, the Lunar wraith that you inhale

This is the moving breathe of the world

The wind of bones, mare of peace and strife

So inhale the ghost and arise from earth’s dim bed

Cross the hedge between the quick and the dead

Turn the mommet over and very quickly seal the mouth-hole over. Inscribe on the mommet’s body the full name of the other it doubles, as well as their mother’s name, if your know it. Do not use a metal instrument to inscribe this; use a thorn, a bird’s talon, or a sharpened stylus of wood.

Eggs are a symbol of the essence of life. As such, we can easily see why they would be used in the birthing brew to bring life to the mommet. Humans are mostly water, and since we are activating the power of a human poppet, the water base makes sense. Wine is mentioned in the first base, although Mr. Artisson tells us we can also use water (or whisky), however, I find wine to be more appropriate since, to me, it represents the blood of life.

The text goes on to provide further applications for consecration which would be lost here for those that are unfamiliar with the book’s previously described practices. For those looking for magic that is not influenced by Wiccan tradition, this book is an excellent place to start.

Works cited

Artisson, R. (2010). The Resurrection of the Meadow. Sunland, CA: Pendraig.

anonymous asked:

I studied abroad in Scotland and I knew I would miss the water so I literally filled a water bottle with tap water before I left so I could still have Scottish water when I got home but that was in 2014 so it's been finished since then but like... the water is so sweet and good there

It is the purest of all things. It helps create our whisky also known as the water of life.

“Do you...?”

So, due to #the encuttening, for the past 6 months I’ve had to have 2 professional carers come in and hoist me in and out of bed twice daily, morning and evening, They’re a lovely bunch mostly.

We live in a ground floor, two bed apartment, and for various reasons we have had to store the hoist in the library/temple space/2nd bedroom which contains cow, sheep, and goat skulls.

Oh, and my altar: a concrete slab raised on bricks, then covered with deer-skin, on which sits a ceramic painted skull with an Ægishjálmr betwixt its brows (because that’s where it goes damnit - fight me) a statue of Odin, one of Mahakala, a Tibetan Phurba, my ritual knife (used to be a steak knife, but I needed teeth, so a day or so’s consecration and I have my hungry little pal to hold in my red right hand) a pair of red pillar candles, my maternal Grandfather’s jewelry box he got from Java when he was out there. Oh, and the jug and whisky glass full of cool water for the Dead

Behind there  are shelves of comics, SF/F novels, graphic novels, philosophy texts, anthropology texts, books on systems theory, literary criticism; also a Masai throwing spear my paternal Grandpa was given by tribesfolk when he was in Kenya contributing to the destruction of their traditional ways

(Sorry, sorry, doing missionary work for the Gideons. He was given the spear in exchange for a bible, in ceremonial fashion. I like to hope the ancestors of the Masai are happy it’s now in the hands of someone who doesn’t hold the Bible to be the only Way. But I haven’t asked. I know they’re not pissed about it though. The irony of being one of the Spear-god’s is not lost on me)

Then, amongst others there’s most of Scarlet Imprint’s output, as well as Theion Publishing’s, the Betz Greek Magical Papyri, Baker’s Cunning Man’s Handbook, Crowley stuff, Agrippa, Barrett’s Magus, the Voudon Gnostic Workbook, a sharpened sickle, a bunch of tarot decks Deren’s Divine Horsemen, two copies of Metraux’s Voodoo in Haiti, and my Granny’s personal bible which I used to keep on the altar but the cover started to show signs of water damage even though there was no water spilt near it, so I cleaned it, took it as a sign and removed it to a shelf.

Oh, and in between the red pillar candles is the repeatedly bloodied deer-skull with its proud antlers. I used to keep it covered when folk slept in there. It gave Mum ‘nightmares’ (her words) but never seemed to bother Dad, the priest. If you look at my icon, done by @unknownbinaries, you might be able to suss what that’s for - I’ve  mentioned it before, but the specifics of the pact aren’t public. Suffice to say I’ve been plugged into #deerkult for a decade or so, consciously at least. Unconsciously? At least 25 years in some fashion, I reckon.

All of which is to set the scene and point out that I’ve been waiting for months for someone to crack and ask. It finally happened last night:

Them: We’ve been meaning to ask..Do you…do Voodoo?

Me: Oh, no. I’m Heathen…

Them: *blank look*

Me: *sighs inwardly, resists urge to scream “YES I’M A FUCKING WIZARD. YES LIKE HARRY POTTER EXCEPT WITH LESS QUIDDITCH, SCHOOL DINNERS, FLYING CARS, AND EVEN MORE DEAD PEOPLE, BONES, MUD, BLOOD, SCREAMING, AND ECSTATIC FURY”*

Me: A kind of pagan.

Them:
*vague look of understanding*

Me:
*gives up, because I am knackered* Yeah, it’s like Voodoo. Except, for White People.

Them:
Ohhh. Right.

(I know, I know: It is perfectly possible for anybody to be properly initiated into the ADRs, if (and only if) the community and spirits agree and the proper rites are performed - skin colour is not a factor. But explaining that was not on the cards last night.)


Character Headcanons: Head Colds

Because a lot of my friends seem to be sick lately. Have some DAI-themed sympathy.

For purposes of this headcanon, I am assuming that head colds exist in Thedas, that magic and potions can alleviate symptoms but not cure them outright, and that, while people don’t have a full-fledged germ theory they are aware of contagion and contamination as contributing factors to disease outbreak.

To the surprise of some members of the Inquisition, Blackwall is extremely reasonable about colds. While he’s still functional, he’ll power through, but once he’s fuzzy-brained or short-breathed enough that he’s no longer operating at peak performance he’ll remove himself from the situation. His favorite cold cure is a particularly nasty Fereldan whisky in hot water with honey and Rivaini lemon, although as far south as they are, usually all the lemon he can get his hands on is dried. (Sometimes Cole will come to visit him and then, as if by magic, there will be fresh slices of lemon instead of dried in his toddy.)

Cassandra is the worst illness patient ever. She considers herself not to have the time nor the patience for colds… and the fact that she nevertheless contracts them from time to time doesn’t disabuse her of this. It is sadly clear that being sick offends her dignity, and so she denies it for as long as possible. She persists in attempting to go about her duties as normal even with the cold, and sulks when someone finally sends her to bed, and then she’s crabby about it. Her favorite cold cure–once she has finally admitted to being ill at all–is chicken soup spiked with vinegar, with a side of trashy romance novels. (When she is feverish and tired and crabby, Cole will come and read to her. Or… not so much read: he holds the book, thumbs the pages, but the words he’s speaking are reflected out of her head, her memory of the book she wishes most to have read to her at that moment.)

Having spent so much time in various Circles, Cullen knows just how fast disease can spread in an isolated location. (While it is certainly not the most traumatic thing that happened at the Kirkwall Circle, Cullen still vividly remembers the Great Gallows Stomach Bug Incident of 9:35 Dragon.) So at the first feverish morning or sign of a sniffle, he is meticulous about isolating himself from the healthy: keeping at least a desk’s-width between them at first, and when the illness finally manifests in full, wrapping himself in blankets in his room and not coming out. His favorite cold cure is elfroot tea with plenty of honey. (When he is on his third day of self-imposed isolation and is bored and lonely out of his mind, Cole comes to visit, bringing nigh-incomprehensible scraps of gossip from around Skyhold.)

Dorian’s coping mechanism for illness is to be at least as annoying to the people around him as the cold is annoying to him. Suffering in silence is not in his nature–or, rather, it is, but only for serious issues. The trivial ones, he will complain about loud and long, and get some measure of satisfaction out of the snorts and eyerolls it inspires. Dorian swears by a particular herbal brew–a trade secret from a particular potion shop in Tevinter, that must be imported at considerable cost–made from sixteen special herbs and spices, bitter as the Maker’s wrath and cloying as Andraste’s smile. He magnanimously offers it to his suffering fellows, but none of them trust the stinking herbaceous brew. (When Dorian is feverish and uncomfortable enough that even complaining can’t make him feel better, there will be cool hands on his brow, though he won’t easily remember that it is Cole responsible.)

Qunari are nothing if not pragmatic, including about illness. Iron Bull prides himself on being tough, but he has no qualms about taking himself off to bed as soon as an illness takes effect. “The sooner you start taking care of yourself, the faster it runs its course–you can’t fight Vints and a sickness at the same time, that’s like taking on one enemy when another’s already flanking you.“ (He’s often the one most vociferously attempting to send a sniffling Cassandra off to bed–not that she listens.) His favorite thing when he’s sick is a drink made from the juice of bitter oranges, with or without a shot of strong spirits. (Once Bull is asleep, and only then, Cole slips in and hums the same songs the Tamassrans used to sing to him, until the wrinkles ease on his sleeping brow.)

Josephine much dislikes the inconvenience of illness, almost more than the discomfort itself. She has a vast collection of dainty handkerchiefs–embroidered, lace-trimmed, so pure and pristine a white that they look out of place in such a ramshackle location as Skyhold–and goes through them at a rapid pace while insisting that she is quite all right, don’t mind me, please forgive me for not shaking your hand–it is just a little thing, but I would not wish to give it to you!  When she is finally forced to hole up in her room under her counterpane, she drinks a lemon honey tea with a heaping spoonful of crushed garlic (and takes care not to breathe on anyone; it is more pungent, in its way, than Dorian’s Tevinter medicine–although Josephine would tell you that it is the offensive strength of the garlic that makes it so effective), and still brings all of her scrolls and letters to bed with her so she can at least keep up on her correspondence. (Cole slips the half-read letter from her hand, caps her inkwell and sets it aside, and pulls the blanket up over her.)

For Leliana, a cold is not as much inconvenience as it is for many others. She does not often travel, and she can continue to write letters and send out agents even when quite ill–but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. As far as anyone outside Skyhold knows, the Nightingale of the Inquisition is never indisposed. Within Skyhold, people know to keep out of her way when she’s looking red-eyed and unusually murderous. When her head is congested, Leliana craves a basin of hot water filled with dried lavender blossoms; she tents a towel over her head and breathes the steam, lets it draw away both illness and tension. (When Leliana is sick, Cole slips not only honey but also steeped thyme into her wine. Sweet and sharp to clear both her head and her heart.)

When Sera gets sick, she’s no stoic about it: she bitches and moans from moment one all the way through when the cold has run her course. But she doesn’t let it stop her–as she will tell you with a snort, normal people don’t get to just stop doing stuff when they’re ill, not if they want to keep eating. It takes one of her friends ordering her to bed to get her the rest she needs. At whatever stage of her illness, she swears by an old peasant remedy: mugs of stout, to shore you up (and with enough mugs, to make you forget how bad you feel). (Cole never lets Sera know he’s there–he knows that he upsets her–but he makes sure that the tavern waitress knows to bring her ale when she wants it, and he piles up the blankets at night since she insists on keeping the windows open.)

It is rare that Solas falls ill, and when he does, he treats himself with tinctures and potions of his own, of a startling efficacy. (He is not stingy with them, but for some reason they never seem to be quite as effective on others.) Quite often his companions aren’t even aware that he was sick to begin with. More often than not he uses it as an excuse to contemplate the mysteries of the Fade: how sickness and spirits interact, whether a Spirit of Illness could be convinced to work on your behalf rather than against you. (Cole sits on the table next to his bedside, elbows on knees, and listens, listens, listens with infinite patience. That is more important to Solas than tea or soup: being listened to.)

Varric is almost as crabby about becoming ill as Cassandra, although he hides it better–or perhaps differently. While Cassandra is in snappish denial about it, Varric makes increasingly-bitter jokes about the rotten timing of this cold or the discomfort of that cough. Dwarves don’t fall sick very often, and Varric seems to treat it as a personal affront whenever he does–and as with all personal affronts, he faces it with snarly humor. His preferred method of treatment is a camphor salve to clear his sinuses (an Orzammaran dwarf treatment, but one his parents brought with them to the surface) and a shot of strong liquor to dull him to the tedium of sickness. He eats soup, too,  but only under the steely eye of one of his friends. (Cole’s eyes are never steely, but he provides the soup nonetheless, and sits by Varric’s bedside listening to him complain as he eats it–feeling the strange way Varric’s mood lifts even as his complaints become more and more poisonous.)

It is a sure thing that Vivienne is far too dignified to ever have a stuffy nose or a cough or a fever. Vivienne is purity and perfection, too far above mere mortals to ever catch their diseases. …At least, so she would prefer people believe. So at the first sign of any disease, she shuts herself up; she could not possibly honk noisily into a handkerchief, darling, that’s absolutely common. She continues her work via correspondence, borrowing Leliana’s messenger-birds without leaving her rooms. Her preferred remedy is a strong Orlesian herbal soup, which she drinks by the bucketful while holding a handkerchief to her nose and plotting refined vengeance on the world in general and illnesses in particular. (Cole ensures that her pot of soup–kept warm over an array of tallow candles–does not run short, refreshing it with potent herbs and soothing broth at regular intervals.)

Cole doesn’t get sick–at least, not at first. For Cole, sickness is something that happens to other people. And, somewhat guiltily… he rather likes it. Sickness is a straightforward hurt, and it is not usually difficult to find out what someone needs to soothe it, whether it’s lemons for Blackwall or lavender for Leliana or a fresh set of handkerchiefs for Josephine. And it is a hurt that almost always runs its course, leaving its sufferer better in the end. It is nice, after so many tangled-tormented-thoughtbound-tremulous pains, to see a pain that he can soothe so easily with a cool hand or a warm cup of tea. 

If and when he becomes human enough to catch a cold, Cole finds the tables turned. There is Cassandra reading at his bedside, Varric pouring him a mug of soup, Blackwall with whisky and lemon, Leliana leaving branches of lavender by his bedside, Bull with juice and spirits. Spirits for a spirit–but not all spirit, not all, not anymore, human enough to be sick, human enough to be cared for.

A Call to Arms

Hi! Could you maybe write about Jamie’s reaction to Claire’s kidnapping in book 6? How he gathered the men to go rescue her.


While mine is going to focus on what Jamie was up to when they discovered what had happened, if you’re interested, I’d highly recommend  @writtenthroughtime‘s depiction of Jamie’s POV through searching for and finding Claire and the fight that ensues, Jamie to the Rescue.

This fic is set during A Breath of Snow and Ashes so spoilers apply. 

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