#the sins of her clan eat her alive and she can’t escape from them no matter how hard much she fortifies her defence

[maaaahri]

Oh no I’m thinking about VtM npcs again

[church-of-lavorre]

The Brenatto Family - part 3, Nott

- imagine being veth, you’ve kissed your husband and son goodbye and promised them that you’ll be right behind them. you’re terrified but you know that it’s not fair if only you get to go back home, so you run back into the encampment you just escaped from. 

- you’ve got a makeshift dagger in your hand and you hope that you don’t have to use it but you know that you will, you know that goblin blood will stain your hands and your dress and your skin. you never wanted to be a killer, you became an alchemist to help people but now you don’t have a choice and the only way you can help these people now is if you kill

- imagine finding where the other prisoners are being held, crouched in cages to small to fit so many of them. you can smell the blood and piss and vomit, you can smell their fear but they see you and know that you’re here to help. heart thundering, knees shaking, you use your makeshift dagger to pick the locks on the cages and ferry the people out before the commotion you cased to free your family dies down and the goblins come again to torture these people. 

- imagine almost having all of them free when you hear a scratchy, unkind voice behind you that demands to know what the fuck you think you’re doing. imagine the owner of that voice running at you, trying to stop the escape you’ve just started so you grapple him and force him to the ground. imagine rolling in the dirt and shit that coats the ground of the goblin encampment, filthy nails trying to pull our your eyes as the two of you roll across the ground. imagine his threats, his breath smelling like rotten flesh and burning and your lungs constrict at the stench, threatening to throw up the remnants of whatever meal you ate so long ago.

- imagine his nails swiping too close, the jagged edges of them almost scraping across the surface of your eye as you fight to restrain him. the people you saved are long gone but the fire you started in your initial escape is still eating away at the camp and the sounds of goblins yelling to each other tells you that there won’t be any coming to help him any time soon...or at least you hope that’s what it means. 

- he’s so close to digging his disgusting nails into your eyes, your skin already torn open with the sharpened, jagged edges as blood flows freely from the wounds and mixes into the filthy ground beneath you. you’re scared, so goddamn scared, you don’t know how much longer you can do this. you’re an alchemist, an apothecary, you weren’t trained to fight goblins. you’re a mother with a little three year old boy who doesn’t understand what all of this means and you know that you have to get home to him, to your husband, because they need you and they’d be lost without you. so you tighten your grip on the ramshackle blade in your hand and plunge it into the goblin’s back, he released a long, anguished wail before his body falls limp on yours and you lie beneath his warm corpse for a moment, shell-shocked.

- imagine being unable to move, not because of the body on top of yours but because of the weight of what you’ve done. you took a life, even if it was the life of a goblin and in taking that life you’ve saved future ones you know that what you’ve done is wrong and unforgivable. you know you need to move, you need to push him off and run but you can’t because the weight of your sin is too much.

- imagine more goblins coming, finding you collapsed beneath the corpse of one of their own. the goblin had a wife you find out as she pushes his body off yours and wails into his filthy, blood-smeared shirt. you think of your husband for a moment, of how terrified he must be because you promised you’d be behind him...you promised. imagine discovering that the goblin you killed was their leader and that, now that he is gone, his wife is now head of the clan.

- imagine the cold, murderous look in the eyes of the goblin woman whose husband you’d slain. you’ve never seen such fury and you’ve never felt such overwhelming terror but she pulls away from the corpse of her husband and approaches you. imaging her prying the dagger free from your hand and spitting in your face, turning to her clan to yell something in goblin. they’re angry, you know, and suddenly there are tears on your cheeks, streaming from your eyes as you remember your family. your beautiful husband, your wonderful son...and know that you’ll never see them again because here is where you die.

- imagine being caged for days, food brought to you occasionally but never enough to fill the deep, empty void in your abdomen. they haven’t killed you yet but they will...they will soon, you know it. imagine being blindfolded and dragged somewhere, you don’t know where but you know what it means. your heart is in your throat as you repeat their names over and over again in your mind. ‘luc, yeza, luc, yeza, luc...’ the mantra is lost as you feel your body being thrown into icy water. your hands and feet are bound and you know, you just know, that this is it.

- imagine feeling the water enter your lungs through your nose and mouth as you struggle against the binds. a flash of hope cut through your mind and willed you to fight back, to escape this execution and to go home to your husband. he needs you, you need him. but the hope fades as you pull one of your hands free and your vision starts to darken, a hand pushes down into the middle of your back as your struggles begin to stop. you’re weighted down by the water you’ve inhaled and your struggle has left you without oxygen. imagine everything beginning to fade away as your vision turns black and you hear someone calling out to you. imagine moving toward them, your last thoughts of your husband and your son and the life you barely got to live.

- imagine waking up, coughing and sputtering as gallons and gallons of water leaves your lungs. you’re alive but you don’t know how and you don’t know if you should be grateful. imagine the first thing you see being the goblin woman whose husband you killed, her gravelly voice promising you that you are now exactly the thing you hate most. she doesn’t know that her words mean something different to you but they hit you all the same as you glance down and see your once round, dusty brown skinned hands are now mottled and green. you’ve become what you hate most but that wasn’t a goblin, it was a killer.

- imagine trying to find a place within the goblin clan you’ve now become a part of. they know what you did and they know what you took from them, they’re unkind and they don’t care...this is the least you deserve after all.

- imagine being tossed from role to role within the clan, you’re useless but the clan chief insists on keeping you alive just so she can watch you suffer...you know you deserve this. imagine thoughts of your husband and your son entering your mind, of the kindness your husband showed to you and the acceptance he always provided, and your chest tightening to the point of near pain as yet another half eaten scrap of meat is thrown at you by a goblin. you want to cry, you need to cry, but you can’t do that here or they’ll beat you. they like beating you.

- the flesh on your back has been sliced open so many times when you’ve disobeyed and the goblin healers have been diligent in making sure the wounds heal properly so they can be torn open over and over again the next time the whip is raised to you. it’s been a year and nothing has changed, you don’t think anything ever will.

- imagine realising one day how close you are to your home. you’re a few miles away, they’re down the stream from where you are. a spark lights in your chest again, small and dim but there regardless. you start to hatch a plan to escape from the goblin encampment, the clan now positive that you’ve resigned yourself enough to your fate that they let you wander when you’re not being forced into completing menial tasks. you’ve always returned so why would the next time be any different? they know that the world isn’t kind to creatures like them and they’re so confident that your own prejudice against their kind will stop you from trying to leave.

- imagine going wandering one day, you’ve had enough and you know that you’re close, you’re so damn close, so you walk. you walk through the forest and down the length of the river until you reach your home. it looks the same and you feel a lightness in your chest that you can’t remember ever feeling before. you want to whoop with joy and yell to the world that you’re free but you look down at your hands and see the long, mottled green fingers topped with jagged, tough nails and the joy dissipates. it doesn’t matter if you’re free from the goblins because you are one of them now. you died and they brought you back as one of them. your husband won’t want you. who would want a goblin for a wife?

- imagine looking upon your home one last time before pulling your dirty, ragged hood over your head and disappearing into the fading light of dusk. each step you take feels heavier and heavier, your eyes sting with unshed tears as the oily strands of your hair slap against your wind-burned cheeks. you’ll never be able to go home. you’ll never see them again.

- imagine learning how to steal to survive, your affinity with locks coming in handy when your fingers begin to itch for things that aren’t yours. imagine developing a reliance on alcohol to keep the memories away, everything reminds you of what has been taken from you and the only way to numb the pain that comes with the memories is with alcohol. imagine waking up in places you don’t remember getting to with things shoved into your pockets that you know aren’t yours. you’ll take what you can get at this point so you keep them and move on.

- imagine getting caught, all your things taken from you as you’re thrown into a cell. you don’t care, you’ve already sent of anything that may have been of value to someone who you know you’ll never seen again in the hopes that his life will be better than yours. imagine there being a man in the cell, he smells of piss and looks so dirty. you feel sorry for him, he reminds you of you...if you were a fully grown human man with a weird magical cat that pops in and out of existence on a regular basis who appears not to move for any reason whatsoever, whether that be to relieve himself or reach for the food shoved between the bars of your cell.

- imagine this man speaking to you one day, you’re huddled in the corner desperately wishing for a mouthful of something that will make you forget all the memories. imagine this conversation turning into two then three then four, he tells you about his magic and why his cat isn’t always with him. you tell him that there have been times when you’re tempted to leap for the cat and eat it, he does’t look amused at your comment but the silence between the two of you doesn’t return.

- imagine getting fed up with this cell, everything the same day in and day out, bringing back memories of your time with the clan. imagine convincing the man, you know him now as caleb, to help you escape and promising him that he can come with you, he doesn’t need to be alone again if he’s with you. it’s selfish of you but you want him to come with you so you’re the one who isn’t alone, you’ve been alone for so long and it feels good to have someone speak to you without a hint of malice. you want to keep him around because you know you can’t cope with being alone anymore, it’s eating away at you and you don’t know how much longer you’re going to be able to stay like this.

- imagine your escape plan working, you and caleb disappear into the night with a small bit of money and some food. you begin to travel together, caleb teaching you what bits of magic he can, you know that he knows more than he says he does but there’s something in his voice that tells you that his own power scares him. he makes you think of your son but now you can try to forget that you had a son because you have caleb and he’s the only person who cares about you now.

- imagine meeting the strangest group of people in a town you hadn’t planned on staying in for long. you’re hesitant about joining them but you can’t miss the way caleb’s shoulders seem less slumped when they’re around. you’ll do this, you’ll do it for him because he has done so much for you, so much more than he will ever know. 

- this group of weirdos becomes a family, a family you’d never thought you’d have because you didn’t think you were worthy. you still don’t think you’re worthy of being with them and being happy but they’ve kept you alive and caleb gives you hope that you’ll be able to go back to your family one day. they call you ‘nott’ and you hope that one day you might be able to tell them your real name, that you might be able to hear your name leave your husband’s lips again.

[5lazarus]

Hi Lazarus! from the hurt/comfort prompts: “Hey, just look at me. Breathe.” Thank you!!

this story got completely out of control, but I vomited up 2.5k words from this prompt! thank you for sending it! I had a lot of fun with this little story, and while I don’t think I managed to bring it to a successful resolution, it taught me a lot about pacing!

to recap, you inspired a whole story idea with the first hug prompt you sent me. I was thinking about what Hawke & friends must have gone through, escaping Kirkwall, and how utterly miserable and emotionally shattered every single one of them must have been. what would that emotional catharsis have looked like? then ellie-elfie sent me a few prompts, which I looped into the story you inspired here, and then ended with this. I posted it on AO3 as Catabasis, though I realize I stopped the story before they go back underground. Thanks again for inspiring this. This was a lot of fun! 

The warm wet of the woods washes away the ash of the last of Kirkwall. Merrill winds them through the muddy woods. She makes them take their shoes off to confuse their tracks, despite Anders muttering about hookworm and Varric’s hatred of dirt, and routinely casts a spell to shift the leaf litter back over their prints. “It’s going to look like elves were travelling, if they’re looking at all,” she says. “Not four humans, a dwarf, and Dog.” Dog barks merrily at the mention of him and Fenris shushes him. “In Seheron, we had caligo lagoenae,” Fenris says. “Can you do something similar?” “Fenris, I don’t speak Tevene,” Merril says shortly. Hawke puts their hand on her shoulder. She is still irritated over the grammar argument in the cave, and Hawke knows she has refused to learn Tevene as a point of principle. Bethany’s said that the best way to learn old magic is to read the magisterium’s journals. Merrill has said the only elves who know Tevene are slaves and slavers, and she would rather not. She continues, “Do you know it in Common? Or is it a spellword?” Fenris snaps, “Don’t patronize me,” and now it is Anders’ turn to step in and diffuse the situation. “I can work up a fog,” he says. “But you’re better at nature magic than I am, Merrill.” They don’t bother asking Bethany, because Bethany is best at curses and massively destructive rift spells. Hawke smirks to themself. Their family always makes a splash, wherever they go--good thing Merrill knows how to cover it up. Merrill weaves and thickens the humidity of the already cloying woods into a thick fog. Bethany summons a small flame and leads them forward, Fenris at her side, checking for signs that his underground left. Aveline sighs. “Creeping through the forest with a thick fog, as if that’s not suspicious.” She shakes her head. Fenris made her change into a light leather armor and leave her guard’s uniform behind. She looks close to the worn woman that Hawke met, all those long years ago, with the security of Kirkwall of her back. She still clutches her sword. Hawke is sorry they made her throw away the Amell family shield. They cannot help but suspect Fenris took some pleasure out of ordering Aveline out of her uniform. They’ve wanted to do the same for so long too, but they know the only way to balance their friends is to step out of the way. Aveline is an idealist, perhaps even more than Anders is; she finds her disillusionment in her own way. Hawke mutters a curse as they step into a particularly noxious puddle of mud. They’ve pushed her further down it, certainly. “Dunno how you stand this,” Hawke says. “The mud. The bugs. Fungus. Do you ever think you’re going to get infected with, like, mushroom people?” “Mushroom people,” Varric mutters. “That’s a good one. Better than lizards.” “No, really,” Hawke protests, scraping the mud of their feet on a tree. Merrill, irritated, waves a hand and the mud hardens and falls off. Hawke blushes: right, that’s a very clear mark a person was there. “Sorry. But, we’ve all seen some strange things in our time in Kirkwall. Amulets that turn into strange witches who can turn into dragons and eat darkspawn. Trees that turn into angry men-spirit-elf things that guard tombs. An actual ancient elvhen god, living in the sewer.” “You know, it’s not so clear Xebenkeck was one of my people’s gods,” Merrill says testily. “She is referred to as both a Forbidden One in our lore and a Forgotten One in the Chantry’s interpolation of the Tevinter text, and--” “Pedant,” Hawke says fondly. “But given all the weird shit we’ve had to fight, I feel like we’re due for some mushroom people springing up on us.” Merrill says, “That’s not how the Fade works. This is land still roved by the People. Think about it like a garden. A good Keeper prunes back the rot and the overgrowth, and leaves space for growth. And burns it out, when necessary. Kirkwall hasn’t had a good Keeper in a long time.” “Or First,” Fenris says nastily. Merrill says, “That demon took Marethari, Fenris. Not me. And if you’re not able to understand that, I don’t understand how you’re able to tolerate Justice and Anders and not what I did with Audacity.” “Because Justice isn’t a demon,” Anders says angrily. Merrill sighs. “I haven’t the time to argue Chantry propaganda with you. You can lead a halla to the water, but you can’t make him drink. I don’t understand how you can hate the Circles and still impose the way they shape the Fade--” “Oh, come off it, you’re worse than Velanna,” Anders says. “Even you have to admit, that time Hawke dragged us into the Fade, that demons mirror Andraste’s teachings on the seven deadliest sins.” “Only because Andrastians outnumber us now,” Merrill argues. “Because when I dream with my clan, we see spirits inherently different--which implies that there is no set form, as you say. What’s the line between Justice and Vengeance, anyway? Between Pride and Fortitude, Audacity and Courage? Fenris, you must have seen how Seheron feels differently than, say, Minrathous, or Kirkwall, or even Wycombe and the Friendly Homes. Where the Fade touches the Waking World--” “They’re going to go on like this for hours,” Varric says. “And I don’t understand shit. Sunshine, why don’t you ever join in?” “Both of them are far too proud to be fun to argue with,” Bethany shrugs. She pushes the lick of flame over her head and nudges it onward. It warms her tired face. Hawke thinks that she looks like their mother, as beautiful as her too, and Leandra would be furious to see the mess their children had made of their lives, on the run again. But she would be happy that they were alive. They troop through the forest, wet and muddy and irritable, and eventually even Anders runs out of things to argue about. Hawke grows comfortable in the smell of Merrill’s petrichor spells. Though the mud is admittedly unpleasant, they like the feel of wet grass sticking to their feet and legs. The woods are loud, Merrill’s magic feels like a hug from her herself, and they feel like they may just get through this. The ground grows rocky as they climb into the Vimmarks. Varric, though he hates inclined surfaces, argues that it is safer to stay in the mountains and follow a winding path past Ostwick rather than risk crossing them and skirting so close to Starkaven. “Prince Charming won’t think we’ll go up,” he says. “Trust me. One thing Sebastian knows about me, is how much I hate hiking.” They set up camp in rock shelters Merrill picks out. She knows this part of the route better than Fenris. Rain sets back in at night. Hawke wonders if Merrill inadvertently summoned it, with her fog spells. It is hard to gauge what a mage can do, because their friends regularly do the impossible. Varric has plucked arrows out of the air, Fenris can pass through walls like a lyrium-infused ghost, and Aveline took down the eldritch horror of a rock wraith in the Deep Roads. The feel of the caves is fantastic. The air tastes good, somehow, fresh and hungry, and the walls are inscribed with runes, layered through the ages. Some of them Merril can read, and she and Fenris sit down with a notebook and they go over them together, Merrill saying the words aloud and Fenris trying to write them down. Anders sits next to Hawke as they watch them. They are all tired, but the tension has been easing the further they get away from the city. They are not sure any of this can be resolved, but right now, they are too tired to fight. “Has Fenris been teaching  you his dialect?” Hawke asks. “Merrill tries with me, she’s very particular about it. Says my accent is adorably shit.” Anders says, “Justice knows Elvhen. I--sometimes I know it when he says it, sometimes I don’t. It’s easier when the Veil is thinner, but gives me a headache.” “Huh. So spirits speak Elvhen.” Hawke turns to Bethany. “How does that work?” She is the Fade expert, out of the trio, though Bethany disengages with grace whenever Merrill disagrees with her. Bethany shrugs. “Dunno. Maker’s first children? Anecdotally I’ve heard that elvhen mages are more susceptible to the Harrowing--” “That’s not true,” Anders interrupts, “that’s because of templar bias and the way they’re discriminated against--” “Let me finish, Anders,” Bethany says, irritated. “As I was saying. There seems to be a stronger pull between elves and spirits, and Merrill thinks is has to do with Dalish cosmology, though that wouldn’t make sense because Orsino--well, no one has actually studied it. And now no one will, not with what’s happening with the Circles. If they don’t just kill us all.” “Fiona won’t let that happen,” Anders says, face hard. “The Liberati have enough of a majority to push for a vote.” Bethany snorts. “Didn’t know you were that engaged in Circle politics.” “I voted,” Anders protests. “Until it was no longer useful for me.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hawke says. “I’m gonna go talk to Varric instead.” The days proceed much like the rest. People talk. Hawke listens. They learn that Isabela, Anders, and Merrill have all met the hero-wardens of Ferelden before. Merrill comes from the same clan as Warden Mahariel, though Sabrae split before the Blight. Anders still corresponds with Surana, who lives in Amaranthine to avoid the stress of warden politics and to support Warden Tabris, who Isabela hooked up with in Denerim. Isabela also slept with the Left Hand of the Divine, they discover, and the King of Ferelden’s lover. “Though we couldn’t talk him into bed with us,” she sighs. “Though Zevran and Tabris and I really tried. He just--I think he got overwhelmed by all the anatomy. Poor boy.” Hawke snickers. The days go on like this, aching their way through the Vimmarks. These are the paths the Dalish take, and escaped slaves, and occasionally mages. They find marks of all three groups overlapping, though Bethany casts enough obfuscation hexes to keep them from intersecting that she collapses in her bedroll at the end of each day, shaking. Likewise cleaning their tracks begins to take a toll on Merrill. She withdraws into herself, focusing on relentlessly hiding their trail, and not even Varric can get her to laugh. “I’m tired,” she says. “And I need to focus. Please stop.” Hawke decides they need a rest day at the border of Hercinia and Wycombe. Fenris knows a cave system that will take them directly to his friends from Clan Lavellan, who promised him refuge the last time they saw him. He claims it will only take two days, but it will be two days without sunlight, and Hawke remembers how depressed Varric got without the sky. They camp in a treehouse built into a grove right below the mouth of the cave. Everyone is quiet, for the most part, curled around the fire. Aveline hums as she patches a shirt for Isabela, and Anders goes through his medicine bag to reassure himself they have enough to heal them through to Wycombe. Varric stares into the fire. “When I write about this,” he says, “I think I’ll keep this for myself.” “Why?” Bethany asks. He purses his lips, thinking. Hawke wraps their arms around Merrill, who is already half-asleep, and enjoys their friends. It is always fun to watch Varric think, he’s the cleverest out of all them, except maybe Merrill. Merrill buries her face in their arms, and they look down, concerned. She is upset, and there is nowhere private to ask why. The fire casts shadows over his face. Varric looks old. They all do. It has been a hard month. He says finally, “Because there’s no romance in it. No one wants to read about the Champion and their friends all fighting, and not really coming to any consensus besides that they want to stop fighting and be safe. There’s no moral in it, nothing uplifting. Just that people fight, viciously. That we make mistakes we can’t fix. And we just have to live with it. It’s not compelling. Not like our story in Kirkwall, which is more about Kirkwall. Who are we without the city in the background? I don’t know. I think I’ll end it in the docks. Or maybe with us watching the city burn. So people can assign us closure. Choose their own happy ending, because I don’t know what ours will be yet.” Isabela says, “Nothing special, just pieces.” She stretches again. “Keep talking like that and you’ll end up a Qunari. Our story doesn’t need a moral, Varric. That’s not how life works.” “I know that,” he says. “But that’s not the point. The story isn’t life. So I can make it work however I want.” Merrill pushes herself up in Hawke’s lap and whispers in their ear, “If they all start arguing again I will either scream or cry, I haven’t decided yet.” The journey has taken its toll on her. Hawkes examines her closely and sees the shadows like smudges under her eyes. She’s paler than usual, and she starts shaking. Hawke inclines to the edge of the treehouse with their head and quickly they move as far as they can from the others. Bethany looks at them questioningly, but they shake their head sharply. Mercifully they are left alone. Bethany is a good sister. She knows exactly when to look the other way and cause a distraction--and that she does, wheedling Varric to read a piece from his book. As the others laugh at the mess Varric has made of them, Hawke turns to Merrill. They ask, “Are you alright?” The fire casts light into Merrill’s eyes like a cat’s. When she looks at them, her eyes shine and Hawke cannot help but remember how otherworldly she is. She bridges both worlds, the Dalish and the human, but sometimes the old magic wills out. Merrill says, “Clan Lavellan doesn’t like me much. Because of Marethari. I don’t get along with their First. And I’m not sure how their Keeper will respond to me.” “Then they’re idiots,” Hawke says, “and we’ll keep moving. Send Aveline to resupply in town, and move onto Rivain. Dairsmuid or Llomerryn, or that Dalish town Isabela talked about.” Merrill is shaking harder now. “No.” Hawke takes her hands, but she pulls away. “I wish it were that easy, vhenan. But there won’t be anywhere to go. Not with the Dalish. Because of me.” “Hey,” Hawke says. “Just look at me. Breathe. That’s not true. Look at me.” Merrill’s eyes flash back to blue. “We got this far, okay? And I’m okay with--I didn’t grow up as nomadic as you, but I can do it. It could be fun. I liked moving, as a kid. Bethany and I are used to it. And if we can get another ship, well, that’ll make things easier. And you know Isabela’s going to get us on a ship at some point. I know everything is changing. If the Divine calls that Exalted March...well, you remember what that dragon lady said.” “Asha’bellanar,” Merrill corrects, lips twitching. “And it was a prayer to Mythal that revived her, there’s something in that.” Hawke sighs. “Well, you remember what she said.” They close their eyes and focus on the words, which has haunted them since--partly because the delivery had been so terrifying. They quote, “‘We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment...and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.’ And, well, we’re lying up in the sky right now, so I think we’re doing alright.” Merrill smiles despite herself. “How do you remember that?” she asks. “I don’t even remember it like that.” “Varric wrote it down,” Hawke confesses. “And it sounded so cool I memorized it. It’s good advice.” Merrill turns to the fire, where Aveline is holding a book with a luridly pink cover over the fire while Anders and Isabela cackle and Varric jumps, protesting. She says, “I know I shouldn’t have let Keeper find out about Audacity. She thought I was weak, but I knew her pride, I knew her arrogance. And her fear, since Tamlen died. I should’ve written to Mahariel, who could’ve convinced her. Or gone to the Applewood--but I didn’t. And though I lost my clan, I still have you. My aravel.” She gestures to their friends. “Walkers of the lonely path, who never submit.” She smiles sadly. “I think I fell into that abyss, Hawke. And now I’m starting to float up.” Hawke takes her hand and kisses it. Her nails are bitten to the quick. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” they say. “Can you teach Anders that spell?” “No, vhenan,” Merrill shakes her head. “It’s--it was part of my duties as First, to clear the tracks of the aravel. I can’t teach a human that. I love you all, but that is for myself.” They accept that, and all the ways Merrill pushes herself too hard, and hand-in-hand they get up and rejoin their friends at the fire. There is a touch of mania to the conversation. Everyone is utterly shattered, but they do not want to go to sleep. No one knows what the next day will bring, and they are clinging to the routine they have set up. Hawke blinks and pretends that they are at the Hanged Man for a moment, but the bar has run dry, so they are all stuck being sober and chummy with each other. It doesn’t work. It feels dishonest, and the woods smell too good. Finally, Aveline takes charge. “We need to rest. Especially you, Merrill. Those spells couldn’t have been easy. We’ll get up before dawn and head out then.” Fenris speaks up. “And Clan Lavellan will hide us, for however long we need.” He looks at Merrill steadily. “First Lavellan promised me that. They will not abandon their vhenallin. And she owes me a favor, anyway.” Varric says idly, “There’s a story in there.” Bethany groans. “Not more stories, please,” she says. “Aveline’s right, we do need to rest. This part’s nearly over.” She banks the fire to keep it burning low through the night and they set up their last camp before the descent. Hawke is struck by the faith they have in them, going through their nightly routine. They have been two weeks on the road, camping through the woods, and though they have spent it mostly at each other’s throats, they have made it through. So little has been resolved, and there is still so much unknown. As Flemeth predicted, they stand balanced on the precipice of change, and they know they are about to launch themselves off that cliff. But they have their friends to slow that crash, and by this point, who knows? Maybe the witch will turn them into a dragon. Settling into their sleeping roll, Hawke cannot help but grin. They faced down the Blight, the long march to Kirkwall, the Deep Roads, their mother’s death, and the start of a revolution. What could possibly happen next? They whisper to Merrill, “I feel like this world is dying. It’s monstrous.” They smirk. “Monstrously exciting. Can’t you feel it? A new world is trying to be born.”

[slothinplaid]

Star Wars Experience Part 4 (aka Mom and I Watch Star Wars):

The Mandalorian

There are SO many people that mom & I recognized in the cast list for the show, lmao. That being said. Most of these comments will probably be us yelling about seeing people we know, lmao.

Episode 1: The Mandalorian

1. Yepp. Immediately. Me: "Oh hey, that's Apollo Creed." Mom: "Huh. Yeah."

2. Omid Abtahi the /moment/ he stepped into frame mom yells "SALIM!! IT'S SALIM/NOT-SALIM!! DO YOU REMEMBER HIM?? I LOVE HIM!! 😭" yes Ma, I remember him, he's a cutie, and I know you do

3. Mom, hearing Kuiil speak for .02 seconds, "Oh, that's Nick Nolte." Wow. And she is apparently stealing, "I have spoken" for herself, haha

4. The Blurrgs freak me out. 😬 They're a mix of blob fish, tadpoles, & piranhas and I Don't Like Them.

5. I was not expecting Taika to use an American accent, so we only caught that he was IG-11 when his accent slipped on a word and we realized it was the voice he used in Seven Stages to Achieve Eternal Bliss as Storsh, lmfao.

6. Not even gonna lie, as soon as I saw Baby Yoda I screamed, lmao. He's just. So fucking cute. 😭

Episode 2: The Child

1. Mom already relates so hard to Mando that she guesses what he's thinking...because it's what she's thinking, lmfao

2. I guess the Jawas have ventured into space to...yet another sand planet, lmao.

3. My first impression of the Mudhorn: Sand Rhino. Then mom observed it was covered in hair. So. /Wooly/ Sand Rhino. Lmao. The egg was weird!! Kinda...kiwi-ish? Mom thought the Jawas wanted it to sell it; I figured they were gonna eat it. I was right and the uh, yolk, I guess, looked more like melted cheese to me, haha.

4. Both of us when Baby Yoda passed out after using the Force on the Mudhorn: "Oh NO!! 😨😭😟"

Episode 3: The Sin

1. Then when Mando gave the baby to the Client: 😑😧😡 & when he got his armor and rescued the baby: 😑😶😍

2. The other Mandalorians helping him escape with the baby was pretty toight.

3. HE GAVE THE KNOB/BALL THING TO BABY YODA AHHHHHHHHHH 😭😭😭

Episode 4: Sanctuary

1. We both thought Omera looked familiar so I looked it up and yeah. She was Leah in New Moon, lmao. And then, even though it was dark and the quality kinda gross, I saw the side of Eugene Cordero's face and yelled out "PILLBOI!!!" and my mom was like?? until he showed up again and she knew who I meant, haha

2. Gina Carano!!!!!!!!!!!! 😍😍😍😍😍 I warned my mom before the show that I was gonna be Real Gay seeing Gina but I think she underestimated /how/ gay, lmfao

3. I knew Mando wouldn't stay there with Omera & her kid and raise Baby Yoda, but, ughh it would have been so good for them.

Episode 5: The Gunslinger

1. When I read Jake Cannavale's name on the cast list I was like?? Like Bobby Cannavale?? Yes! He's his son. Wild. Cute. His character had potential. Sucks he was a dick instead.

2. Ming-Na Wen is awesome and a fuckin badass and her character (most likely) did NOT deserve to go out like that!!

Episode 6: The Prisoner

(aka the ep with the most cameos)

1. My mom just /heard/ Ran speak and she goes, "Bobby!! (his character in Sons of Anarchy) That's my dude!!" and every time he did/said something, "That's SUCH a Bobby thing" "Haha, Bobby is like that too" okay ma, lmao

2. Thoughts on the crew:

Xi'an: me- "Tonks?!?!" mom- "oh! that's Osha from Game of Thrones" and we agreed she was very...Suicide Squard!Harley Quinn (bad kinda crazy)

Mayfield: super douche

Burg: mom- "Devil creature!!!" then "Oh, that's the one dude whose face you didn't want to see" me- "Yeah, and thankfully you can't even really see it, haha" (I just...can't stand that guys face for some reason)

Zero- of course Richard Ayoade is a droid

3. I was excited for Matt Lanter's cameo and wowie, a whole FIVE seconds of screen time. cool, cool

4. Qin was also bad kinda crazy, but I looked up the actor and holy FUCK the guy is attractive. Good for him

5. Mando was right: they all definitely deserved what they got

Episode 7: The Reckoning

1. Mom and I the after Karga's plan proposal: "It's a trap" lmao

2. Mynocks are just...pterodactyls?

3. I figured Baby Yoda could heal when he tried to get to Mando's arm before, but seeing it? 😭😭😭😭

4. We know Giancarlo Esposito from OUAT and mom was disappointed he wasn't wearing eyeliner, lmfao

5. Poor Kuiil ):

Episode 8: Redemption

(how is it over already? /:)

1. Knowing Jason Sudeikis & Adam Pally were the Scout Troopers made the scene both bearable and unbearable because ya know, two funny actors we like, but both of them hitting the child made us wanna punch them in the dicks

2. IG-11!!!! Nurse droid and Badass™ When Mando tries to protest him taking the helmet off because no living thing can see him without it on and IG goes, "I am not a living thing." Fuck, dude 😭😭😭

3. All the Mandalorian armor in that pile /:

4. Din got his signet ("for a clan of two" 😭), his jetpack AND officially became a dad I cannot 😭😭😭 (even though he is supposed to find the baby's home, but whatever, Din Dad!!)

5. IG-11 about to sacrafice himself, to Din: "There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive." Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?? 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

6. Kinda sad Cara didn't go with Din & Baby Yoda. I'm hoping for more teamups.

7. Upset that Gideon lived, but not gonna lie...that darksaber is cool as fuck

Definitely looking forward to more good space dad, his cute green son, and my wife in the future, lmao