This episode is a treasure.
Yes. Yes it is.
This episode is a treasure.
Yes. Yes it is.
Aedan’s full name is actually Aeric Aedan Cousland, which he has always thought is terribly unimaginative; though he supposes it’s better than Fergus Aenor Cousland after their mother. He’s gone by Aedan just about his entire life, however, and almost looked around to see who was interrupting his coronation when the Seneschal used the whole thing during the ceremony.
/yet another name for Zevran to laugh about, really <3
(I don’t actually remember how I came up with Ingva’s name. I think it had something to do with gemstones, somehow, and does not actually have anything to do with the legitimate Norse name of Ingvar, despite the similarities.)
awww, goodness nonny, thank you <3
faejilly replied to your post “jkateel replied to your post “there are so many fics i want to write…”I was just trying to figure out how to prompt that one. :D (So keep, jkateel’s first one and add me? Isabela/Hawke SPN Hunters. If I think of something more specific I’ll drop you an ask. <3)
Salt and Burn (and Blood Loss)
"Please don’t worry about me, Sister."
Hawke stared straight ahead, drumming her fingers on the wheel, even though the weight of Bethany’s gaze begged her to turn. “I can’t help it. This seems dangerous.”
"Useful, though," Bethany cajoled. "You have to admit that much."
It was, though Hawke didn’t have to admit anything—at least, not out loud. Their last scrape had been bad. The demons loose on Earth were not fucking around anymore.
But Bethany had gotten them out—eyes filmed over black, blood trickling from her nose, she had choked five monsters out of their unwilling hosts and sent them straight back to hell, by the looks of the fires that started below them.
And the hosts had lived. That was something, wasn’t it? It gave Hawke the shivers, but they’d never made such easy work of saving anyone from a possession before.
"Alright," she conceded. "It was sort of cool. And we wouldn’t have gotten out alive without you."
Bethany flashed a relieved smile.
“But, this is a routine haunting. No funny business. Salt and burn. No need for theatrics.”
Bethany rolled her eyes. “In our line of work, everything is theatrics.”
Of them all, Carver was the best dancer. Shaky smile, big boots and all.
All he needed was a skirl of music and partner to make movement look like flying. Town dances, when the family stayed long enough for those, brightened him for weeks.
Leandra laughed. Taught him. Shook her head over her two daughters hovering by the a kitchen door or a bedroom fireplace, where Marian rolled her eyes and Bethany counted steps, her whole body tense with thwarted movement.
Carver, whenever he saw them watching, would flush and scowl and stammar, the small grace lost. But sometimes, on sillier days when Da was home and mother was laughing and no magic leaked out of Bethany’s fingertips, he still grabbed his twin’s hands, tired to bully-coax her in.
“Dance with Marian, you idiot,” she’d laugh, pushing at his shoulders. “I’ll only step on your feet.”
“Ha. She’d do it on purpose.”
“Oi!” Never a good idea to tease the eldest Hawke. The wretch kept scraps in her pockets, and knew how to throw.
"I’d look very apologetic about it afterward.”
The Hanged Man musicians were awful when they were sober, but bloody good when drunk.
Regulars took turns ordering rounds.
Varric made sure of it.
”They can’t be that bad, Varric. Ease off, would you?”
“Hawke, you don’t know the atonal horrors you’re about to—”
“Big sister has a tin ear.” A rare word from Bethany.
Her smile matches it, wan sweetness shifting into something wicked as Varric Tethras’s eyes widen in gleeful understanding.
“As soon as he was big enough to do it, Carver would trap her in a headlock every festival, least once or twice. There were songs, you see—”
“All true, sis. Every bit of it.”
“Have I ever mentioned,” Varric’s voice, approval warm and secret-deep, “That I like you, sunshine?”
Bethany swallowed, the small joy leeching out in a way that made Hawke want to break the table.
“I miss my brother,” Bethany said. A pause. “He’d have hated this place—”
“—but probably liked the music,” Hawke said, scowling. “Maker knows why. Come on, Beth.”
Hawke stood. Small, cracked hands circled Bethany’s wrists.
“Let’s go stand on each other’s feet,” Hawke said, giving a smile as uneasy as Bethany felt. “Maybe we’ll finally get the hang of it.”
“Not a chance,” Bethany said. But she stood, and when Hawke bowed with a smirk and a gesture to the musicians, she found that she was laughing.
JUST FUCKING LISTEN.
THIS IS HALLOWEEN BUT NOT LIKE YOU KNOW IT
reblog so others can hear it!
Where the hell are the Victorian Goths they should be all over this.
*SMASHES REBLOG BUTTON*
this is the Vitamin String Quartet, btw … not sure where along the reblog chain someone deleted that from the OP.
I just wanted you all to know that you can totally finish that piece that you’re working on, because you are super talented and wonderful and there are people that love you that would love to read your story, and you should totally do it.
“The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing”, for servantofclio
On a bright, clear day in Kirkwall, she can see almost the entire city from her classroom window. From the crowd of ships on the Docks to the shining stained glass of the Viscount’s Keep in Hightown, the sun makes the city sparkle. Bethany knows it’s only the quarry stone, the salt embedded in cracks and crannies by sea wind and the mist that rises sometimes in the morning on the still waters of the harbor, but against the endless gray of the Gallows it looks almost beautiful; a kingdom from a fairytale, all winding pathways and pockets of secret things.
It’s only on the hazy, dour days that she can actually hear anything though, as though the sounds of life from far away are echoing against the cover of clouds. As high up as she is in the tower where the youngest of mages are housed, the metal chime of the Chantry bell reverberates like the pulse under her skin.
Across the water she can almost feel her sister complaining, tripping over the hem a dress and crammed into ill-suiting pointy toed shoes. Aveline will marry her guardsman today – Marian writes of him in her letters, painting a portrait with words of a man she has never met. Is likely never to meet. In her mind his face is pleasant and blank, but Aveline’s red hair shines like a beacon in her memory, the color of the sun before it sleeps.
Rain on a wedding day is good luck, they say.
Her classroom is stark and empty. It’s stark even when it’s full, nothing trusted to students still growing into their powers the way that Carver once grew into their father’s shirts. There aren’t even carpets on the floor, but there are scorch marks here and there. It’s not any more depressing than the way the water rolls when the ocean shrugs beneath her window, or the whistle of wind past glass reinforced with iron bars.
Would that she could fly, and not fall.
But she will not allow herself envy, or regret. Life is too short to waste in bitterness, and being jealous of someone else’s love, even from far away, strikes her as more selfish than she can excuse. What use does she have for those Orlesian gowns anyhow, when robes suit her so well? Blue cloth swirls around her legs as she turns in a slow circle, arms outstretched to the corners of the room.
Marian wasn’t much of one for dancing, Carver either, both of her siblings with their heavy boots planted firmly on the ground. She remembers though - far distant nights when her father would offer her mother his hand and smile, lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. Her mother’s laugh would ring out like a bell in the half dark of candle flame, blushing like a girl, and they would fold together, arms entwined, forehead to forehead, and sway to music that no one else could hear.
Even now, arms wrapped tight around no one but herself, it made her smile.
Somewhere over the waves, across the immeasurable distance of the harbor’s tiny sea, a man in love would extend his hand and a woman would take it, white dress eddying against her feet like rushing water against stone. And they would come together, hands and hearts and gentle smiles, a force of nature, an endless flame.
Against that unbearable lightness, the absence of sunshine was a small and insignificant thing.
school started for the 9yo on Monday
(the 4yo starts next week)
We had our first couples’ counseling session Tuesday
(still not sure how I think it went … too soon to tell, probably? We’re back again in two weeks)
had an eye appointment today I literally forgot about and thus had to cancel because there wasn’t enough time to get there
Finally got preliminary orders, and we are going back to Maryland this winter.
Different part of Maryland this time?
so it’s been a lovely week. really. very on top of everything :P