Sten Alphabet - R is for Remain

maybethings:

maybewriting:

Sten stood alone, blind and broken in the darkness. Blood—his own, his enemies’, his brothers’—ran down his chest, cold and foul and sticky against his skin. The faint rasp of his breath and the cold clouds of mist in the air lulled him into something close to a trance.

He winced and shook his heavy head. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t fall. Behind his eyes lurked images that would sear themselves on the inside of his skull, given a chance.

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I saw the last one cut down, too late. I fell…I am told no others survived.

This is for the seven, the brave Qunari sons who died far from home.

And this, by the way, is your blood, guts and/or gore warning.

RIGHT IN THE KOKORO ARGH

@6 days ago with 11 notes
#sten #sten alphabet #dragon age #fanfic #tw: violence #fic recommendations 

Tony Stark plays Mass Effect

fighting-false-hope:

“No.  No… no no no no no.”

Tony Stark, billionaire playboy philanthropist, threw his Xbox controller across the room and dove for his cell phone, which he was relatively sure he set next to his liquor glass on the table.  After some digging and rummaging through important documents and old pizza boxes, Tony discovered the device.  He quickly dialed up a number and held it to his ear.

Pepper Potts’ voice came through.  “Tony, it’s four a.m., what are you –“

“Pepper, I need to buy a video game company.”

That drew silence from the other side of the phone; before the red head could recuperate, Tony continued.  “Now, I know that silence, that’s the ‘Tony has another bad idea’ silence, but really this time it’s not a bad idea and it’s for a genuinely good cause –“

“What are you going on about, Tony?”

“It’s this game, okay?  Mass Effect, it’s all Rhodey’s fault, blame him, he gave it to me – well, he gave me the first one, and I bought the other two – Collector’s Editions, every DLC –“

“Tony.”

“So, the games – they’re great.  Mostly.  Got some problems, what doesn’t, but I like them.  Love them.”

“Okay, and that means you have to buy their company… why exactly?”

Tony was standing and pacing now.  “They’ve got problems.  Nothing’s perfect, unless I made it, and I didn’t make them so they’re not perfect.  See what I’m getting at?”

“Your ego is still larger than the island of Manhattan?”

“I need to buy the company so I can have some input!  I mean, Pepper, if you’d played this game – you would not believe what they did with the ending!”  Throwing his free hand in the air, Tony paced around the couch, moving for the sake of moving.  “It’s the worst, moronic, empty plot device I’ve ever seen, and the SCIENCE – god, what did they do to science!”

“Tony you’re not making sense.”

“That’s because I’m talking about the ending and the ending didn’t make sense!  There was this kid and these three stupid options and junk science and Buzz Aldrin and it was the worst thing ever.”

“…”

“Worse than Loki.  I would take fighting Loki without the suit rather than that ending.  I would sell my soul to Reed Richards – wait, scratch that - I would have a heart to heart chat about feelings with Prof. Xavier before accepting that ending.  It’s terrible.”

“… so you’re buying the company to…?”

“Well, it’s obvious they were rushed and out of ideas and EA is a total bag of dicks, so I figure – I buy the company, I finance the games, and they’ll release an ending where my FemShep and Garrus ride off into the sunset to raise Krogan babies and everything’s hunky dory.”

“… are you high?”

——————————————————

Nick Fury was sitting in his office, working diligently on something not world threatening for once, when his personal phone rang.  He’d given all the Avengers his personal number for emergencies, though he was very close to blocking certain team members from calling him.

The man’s phone buzzed; he set his pen down and removed it from his belt, looking at the name.  “Speak of the devil,” He grunted, reluctantly putting the phone to his ear.  “Stark.”

“Fury, hey, how are you, nice day?”

“Get to the point.”

“Right.  There’s a big problem – BIG problem – that needs your immediate attention or else the entire galaxy is going to succumb to an evil alien invasion.”

That raised the man’s eyebrows.

“So what you need to do is help me convince Pepper to buy a video game company –“

Stark.”

“ – or at least help me vanquish it so that it’s capacity for soul-crushing, science-ruining badness is forever destroyed!”

Click.

——————————————————————

“Why am I down here again?”

“Because we’re friends, and everyone knows friends play video games together.”  Tony smiled in a totally innocent way as Bruce cocked an eyebrow.

“I thought we were more of the doing science friends than the playing video game friends.”  But he still took a seat on the couch.

Tony shrugged, sitting beside him, holding the controller in his hand.  “Why can’t we be both?  Don’t worry, this series is fun, completely stress free, and the third game just has the best ending…”

————————————————————————

When the Hulk attacked E.A.’s headquarters a week later, everyone knew it was Tony’s fault.  He paid for all the damages, but that was okay – if he couldn’t have his ending, he could at least have his vengeance.

“Sometimes, I really hate you.”  Bruce mumbled from the other side of the couch.  In his hand was one of his ruined shoes, destroyed by his last transformation.  He stared at it with a forlorn yet irritated look.  Tony wasn’t really paying attention to him.  From the way he was staring at the news coverage of the Hulk’s attack, he was still thinking about his little scheme.

“Maybe next time they’ll think twice before ruining everything with SPACE MAGIC SCIENCE and glowing children and Buzz Aldrin.”

Bruce threw his shoe at him.

-=-=-=-==-=-=-=—=-=

I don’t even know okay don’t judge me.

OH MY GOD YOU DO NOT KNOW HOW HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES ME I SWEAR THE ENDING I WAS DANCING ALL AROUND THE ROOM AND CACKLING MADLY AND OH MY GOD TONY STARK YOU ARE A MOTHERFUCKING GENIUS LET ME LOVE YOU ZVNLAKDJFHALKDJFHLKJD

(via middlemarching)

@1 week ago with 647 notes
#Mass Effect #The Avengers #The Hulk #Bruce Banner #BASICALLY #YES #THIS #THIS IS A MARVELOUS IDEA AND EA SHOULD BE GLAD THE HULK ISN'T REAL #AND HE PLAYS F!SHEP WITH A GARRUSMANCE TOO AKSJDF;LAKSJDFHLAKDJSF #MAEKR TAKE ME I'M DYING #I'M DYING OF TOO MUCH HAPPINESS #KILL ME NOW #fic recommendations #more like BEST FIC EVER 

Stitches (Dragon Age II fanfic, Aveline, Merrill, others)

maybethings:

apeacebone:

Title: Stitches
Fandom: Dragon Age II
Word count: 3968
Characters: Aveline, Merrill, m!Hawke/Anders, Varric, Isabela, Fenris, Sebastian, minor characters
Rating: G

Summary: An unusually cold winter descends on Kirkwall. One of Hawke’s gifts to Anders has unintended consequences, and a little-known hobby of Aveline’s causes a stir.

Also here @ AO3; here @ Dreamwidth.

* * *

Aveline did not normally give much thought to how her friends were dressed. She noticed things, certainly—when Sebastian’s belt buckle disappeared for three days (to Isabela’s exaggerated surprise and barely-concealed satisfaction), for example, or the way that Hawke’s color coordination had dramatically improved around the same time that he and Anders had begun exchanging saccharine glances and honeyed smiles whenever they thought no one was looking—but she had more important matters to dwell on than other people’s personal grooming. How to keep the fools from being killed or arrested, mainly. If some of Hawke’s companions were too thick to dress properly, it wasn’t her responsibility; she was the Guard-Captain of Kirkwall, not their mother.

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THIS IS THE SWEETEST THING

THE SWEETEST

BRB CONTAINING MY DIABEETUS

Never even knew it was possible to drown in fluff *hacks up a fluffy ball*

@1 month ago with 33 notes
#fic recommendations #da2 #aveline #merrill 

hamburgerjack asked: Sten, Cat Shelter, have ever you want else be there

maybethings:

maybethings:

He didn’t look like an ex-con, Wynne noted. No piercings, no tattoos, no missing teeth. Just a large, solemn, dark-skinned man with an expression bordering on a permanent scowl, and hair almost as white as her own pulled into large, tight cornrows. His faded jeans and dark T-shirt could have come from any store in the area. His boots were patched, but sturdy and clean. He stood before her, arms folded behind him at ease like a soldier.

“So you want to work with the Grey Wardens?” she asked.

“I was assigned here to seek my atonement,” he responded in deep, formal tones. Odd choice of words. Perhaps he was an immigrant. She immediately chided herself for such thoughts and pressed on.

“Well, we are short on staff at the moment. Are you good with animals, um…”

“Call me Sten. I am uncertain how to answer your question.”

“Then you’ll have to show me, young man. Follow me.” She rose with a grace that belied her age, and led him out of her office. He followed at a short distance, matching her pace step for step as she took him through the shelter. On one side, Leliana and Zevran were showing a boy and his mother how to care for their new acquisition, a marmalade kitten with ears like sails; on the other, Alistair was supervising their new intern, a girl with dark hair and an insouciant air.

She took him into a back room, past the meowing and purring, and shut the door behind her. The air was cool and still here, and smelt of animal. Under a window, in a pool of light, a skinny blond man was making unintelligible noises over a box of kittens. His hair was pulled back into a rough, short ponytail, and his Grey Warden T-shirt fit loosely on his spare frame. He looked up at the sound of the door, and smiled a watery smile at Wynne.

“Good morning, milady.”

“Hello Anders. You’ve been here all morning?”

“Yeah.” He fingered the furry collar of his jacket, the one he hadn’t had time to take off. “Came in for the small ones. Didn’t want to leave them alone too long.”

“What are you doing with them?” Sten interrupted.

“Bwuh?” Anders suddenly realised there was a third person in the room. “Oh. Uh. Someone left a box of kittens on the doorstep last evening. In the rain. These poor things are too little to be left alone.” He indicated the towel-lined box he was straddling, full of balls of tiny, mewling fluff.

Sten loomed over the kittens, brow creased as if deep in thought. “These are too small.”

“Of course they’re too small!” Anders snapped. “Some jackass probably didn’t spay his pet, or didn’t know enough—or care enough!—to keep them until they could survive without their mother! Right now, we’re all they’ve got.” One of the balls of fluff mrowled. “Shh, there there, Pounce.”

“…Anders, you named them?” Wynne sighed.

“Here’s Pounce, and this one’s Izzy, and Merrill and Greg—”

Anders.”

“Sorry. I know. No naming anything.” He looked so crestfallen Wynne almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Sten prodded the kittens with blunt fingers, listening to the tone and timbre of their squeaks. The last, a silvery grey all over, put out a paddy paw and clung on to this new and interesting object, gumming it enthusiastically at the same time. Anders’ eyebrows went up as he glanced at Wynne. Wynne glanced at her job candidate. And Sten’s eyes did not leave the wriggling kitten. Slowly, he ran his hands down its spine.

“They will live,” he intoned slowly, not so much a statement as a promise. Wynne knew right then they’d found their man.

Felt like reblobbing this again!

@1 month ago with 6 notes
#dragon age #fic recommendations #A QUEUE A QUEUE 

Spending the afternoon trawling the ME3 Kmeme

stumble onto FemShep’s Sassy Gay Friend

die of laughter

@1 month ago with 8 notes
#oh u fandom #oh u #XDDDDD #Mass Effect #fic recommendations 

Two-Handers

maybethings:

sehnsuchttraum replied to your post: Prompt Day, Prompt Day

*squeeeeee* <3 How about a bit of Fenris and Carver having a conversation about swordplay that Merrill thinks is dirty XD

BAD TUMBLR, not showing anything after the ‘<’! 

“Don’t SQUEEZE it like that,” snorted Fenris. Merrill looked up from her apple, shocked to hear a voice she recognises all the way down by the Wounded Coast. “Just…try and relax. I promise not to maim you.”

“Easy for you to say,” grunted yet another familiar voice. Carver! Hawke’s brother, with the lovely arms and the lovely sword. If a voice could drip with sweat, his certainly would. “You’ve had experience.”

“Far too much. Not by choice. Now. Relax, and follow my lead. Forward—ow! Gently!—and back. Forward, and back. Slow. Fast. Yes, right there, from the hip. Lengthen your stroke. Pace yourself, pace! This is no race!”

“I’m—trying—aieuuurgh!! Oh balls, it’s too hard!”

“If it’s not hard, it’s not worth it!”

Merrill’s head slowly edged over the top of her rocky hideaway, a peachy flush spreading across both cheeks. Dusting some errant sand from her shins, she trotted up to the source of the noise, darting behind rocks and scrub as the noises got louder and more…grunty.

She jogged into the clearing to find Fenris and Carver, glistening with sweat, much of their clothes in a messy pile and…sparring, swords drawn. Oh.

“What are you doing here, mage?” Fenris snarled, and she saw the lyrium tattoos spark, from the tips of his fingers and toes all the way up to his nut-brown throat.

“Merrill?” Well, at least someone remembered her name. “Er, um. Don’ttellmybrother,” he blurted out.

“Why would I?” she responded. “You two seem to have your hands full of each other already. Oh my!” she exclaimed, as Carver’s jaw fell open and Fenris’ mouth contorted into a horrified shape she couldn’t describe. “Did I say something wrong?”

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SO MUCH I DON’T EVEN

Isabela would be so proud of you, May XD

@1 month ago with 21 notes
#UGLY LAUGHTER #XDDD #da2 #fic recommendations 

Ficlet - From The Life That You Always Knew

ladysmaragdina:

Title: From The Life That You Always Knew

Fandom: Mass Effect

Rating: G. Brief mention of child abuse.

Word Count: 962

Summary: “Alexandra became Alex became Shepard and found the stars and searched them.” Self-indulgent character study piece. 

*****

She doesn’t dream anymore.

Not the old dreams, the good dreams, good-person dreams. The Alexandra dreams. She is not Alexandra anymore, just Alex: a new name that had been won at enlistment age eighteen with a buzz cut and razor scars on her scalp and the laugh of new recruits, all her matted-hair past shoved down the drain.

Her mother had named her Alexandra. Her mother had insisted.

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Sometimes I just want to hug Alex and hold her until all the sad goes away

But then I get scared because it’s Alex so I just flail from afar and squeak

@1 month ago with 9 notes
#Mass Effect #fic recommendations 

Exiles All The Longer [15/15] (Nathaniel/Cauthrien, m)

serindrana:

[1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 :: Ao3 :: fst

The inspiring promptfic, by Maybethings.]

.

Chapter 15

.

She was still there when the sun rose.

He had woken twice in the night, fearing she might disappear, but each time when he reached out he could find her. The first time she was still tucked warm against his side. The second, she had moved away slightly, but he couldn’t find it in himself to blame her. He hadn’t shared a bed in some time, and his arm had fallen asleep from being trapped beneath her earlier.

At dawn, though, she had returned to his side, lying beside him with an arm draped over him. He wondered if she had woken and moved, or if it was something done in sleep. He watched her as the sunlight began to filter in through the window, catching on her hair - not black, it turned out, but a very deep brown. She had a surprisingly delicate jaw, and the slight lower curve of her nose kept his interest for longer than it likely should have. Her shoulders were broad and he could make out the lines of muscle there, even faded as there were.

He counted scars while he waited for her to stir. The bedding had fallen down to their waists while they slept, tangling around their legs, but his eyes didn’t linger on her (full, lovely) breasts; they went to the little raised lines and puckers of a life spent fighting. Her skin was surprisingly smooth for it all, though it showed her age. Armor, he supposed as he traced the path between her ribs down to her navel.

She started at the touch and he pulled away, flushing.

“Just me,” he murmured.

She opened her eyes, blinking blearily and stretching against him. Her toes brushed his shins and he felt it like a jolt through him. “Good morning,” she said, and then she pushed against the mattress, sitting up and rolling her shoulders.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, and she paused, then shook her head.

“Habit,” she said, lowering herself back down.

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ALKDJHAKXCMVNALKJDSFHALKSDJHLDKJ IT’S ONLY 7:08AM AND I’M ALREADY DYING OF THE FLUFF THIS IS PERFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECT THE ENTIRE STORY IS PERFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECT

@1 week ago with 12 notes
#exiles all the longer #nathaniel howe #ser cauthrien #dragon age: awakening #dragon age #fic recommendations 

The Ash Land Girl, Cinderella

hamburgerjack:

“Who gave us this?” the little boy asked, walking along side a stooped woman.

Her skin was brown and many times wrinkled, and she had wisps of white hair poking out from under a brilliant blue scarf.

The boy too had a blue scarf, tied around his arm.

In the comings and goings of people around them, there were blue scarves every where.

“She gave us this.”

“Who?” he asked again.

The old woman pointed up and out, towards a summit.

There among the ruins of demolished castle stood a massive statue of bronze and glass of a young woman with a flag in hand and broken chains in the other.

“Who is that?”

“The greatest among us. The Fable Cinderella.”

“And what’s she done?” the boy asked, staring upwards at the statue.

“She freed us. She freed us all.”

“But what about the Godmother?”

“What about her?” the woman chuckled. “She just helped.”

“But… but you were there, right?”

“I just helped. Come on, we’ll go see it.”

And so they went.

“Tell me what happened to her!”

“Oh… you might not be old enough for that.”

“But I want to know!” he whined, skipping along. “Tell me? Godmother?”

“I guess I can tell you… about her.”

**

*

**

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@4 weeks ago with 25 notes
#fic recommendations #A QUEUE A QUEUE 

Truth in the Lie - a Kaidan mini-comic

commandercocktease:

darkisthenight:

artsyneurotic:

For full effect, I recommend listening to this while reading.

Click the image for Full-Size!

OMG, my heart……..

I just spent an hour look through Kaidan posts, and I’m ending with this beautiful artwork..  asdlfksadkfjsdaf Kaidan.. ;~;

OhThePain <333

Why… why would you make this… i don’t…

MAKER NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

(Source: eji.deviantart.com)

@1 month ago with 138 notes
#UGLY SOBBING #GROSS CRYING #WHY #WHY WOULD YOU POST SOMETHING LIKE THIS #I DON'T EVEN #S #DFJKSLKAJHDFLKJALVJKABHLDFKJH #WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #Mass Effect #tagging this as a fic recommendation because i want to read it again and again and again #fic recommendations 
qunrapah:

He couldn’t stop the dreams. He was even pretty sure that they were getting worse. Maybe it was the food. Three weeks on this forest-covered rock, and he was still restricted to whatever turian field rations remained in the Normandy’s cargo. Despite EDI’s prodding to “try the fish—they’re a curious consistency with an intriguing flavor,” he didn’t want to risk it.
He didn’t even feel hunger the same way anymore, and he was sure that was feeding the nightmares. No. Not nightmares. They didn’t frighten him or fill him with dread. They were more like memories…memories meshed with now-abandoned aspirations. Shepard was in every one, dark haired and smiling. No Reapers. No Cerberus. Just her living a life she would never know.
Garrus sat straight-backed against the tree trunk. His favorite rifle was caught in his grip, subject to being cleaned for the third time that morning. Its surface was marred by scratches left by a Marauder on Palaven, the withered husk of someone he had probably once known. A former comrade. Maybe even a friend. He traced the jagged lines with his fingers. His stomach twisted at the tangle of thoughts that would probably always eat at him.
Where were they?
What happened to Earth?To the others?
What of Palaven? Tuchanka? Sur’Kesh?
Why was EDI even eating? She didn’t have the hardware for that kind of thing.
Or did she?
He looked down at his hand—probably for the thousandth time since they got here—squinting to make out the faint tracings that wove along his carapace. He felt different. They all felt different. Joker limped less. EDI could eat and feel sensations other than hot and cold. James—
“Yo, jefe!”
Garrus’ eyes shot up at the voice, the deep green coming to focus on the broad form of James Vega as the soldier came plowing through the underbrush. The turian’s danger sense never really diminished after the war with the Reapers, but the same could not be said for the younger human. Vega had sobered since Mars, sure, but the time spent on this planet had lessened his caution. He almost treated it like a vacation. Either that, or it was his own way of coping with the undeniable truth that they didn’t know where they were…and neither did the rest of the galaxy.
“You are not going to believe what I found in the Loft. Did you even know about this?” He held out a data chip that looked too big for an omni-tool but too small for a terminal. “I figured that, if anyone would want to see it—” James hesitated, his boisterous demeanor trickling away. It was first evident in his eyes as the deep brown caught the light. There was the glisten of tears, perhaps, but it was impossible to tell. He recovered quickly. “If anyone would want to see it, it would be you.”
He pulled a black box out of his belt pouch, a smooth thing of plastic and metal with a glass circle on the top, and inserted the data chip into the side. He then placed the box on the ground and pressed a button. There was a sputter of light and crackle of static. A vague form blipped into view, fuzzy, but the voice was unmistakeable.
“I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite spot in the universe. Looking good, soldier.”
Garrus could only stare for a moment. His throat had gone dry while his jaw and mandibles clenched. He gripped his rifle tightly, his focus shooting from the box to the glow of the VI’s face and back again. He struggled to his feet and practically staggered over. The image was sharpening as the transmitter warmed up.
“There’s nothing this galaxy can’t beat if we all work together.”
“Shut it off.” His voice was low, dangerous.
“But I thought you’d—”
“Except the Reapers. Ever see the size of one of those things?”
“I said shut it off!” Garrus primed his assault rifle and aimed it at the transmitter box.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” James dove forward and knocked the gun barrel toward the deep woods before Garrus could fire, the echo of the rapid shot seeming to carry on much longer than it should have. His foot shot out and kicked wildly at the transmitter box until he managed to hit the power switch. Shepard’s likeness blinked out. The voice stopped.
Garrus didn’t move. He stood there, James’ hands clamped to his wrists to keep the deadly weapon pointed in a non-lethal direction. His breath was short and ragged, his eyes burning with rage and an overwhelming sadness. He inhaled deeply and forced himself to relax. James took the gun from him when his arms fell back to his sides.
“I’m sorry,” the human said, genuine concern carried in his tone. “I thought that…maybe….”
Garrus turned to look at him. “I appreciate it,” he said, hesitant but honest.
“But too soon?”
“Yes. Too soon.”

qunrapah:

He couldn’t stop the dreams. He was even pretty sure that they were getting worse. Maybe it was the food. Three weeks on this forest-covered rock, and he was still restricted to whatever turian field rations remained in the Normandy’s cargo. Despite EDI’s prodding to “try the fish—they’re a curious consistency with an intriguing flavor,” he didn’t want to risk it.

He didn’t even feel hunger the same way anymore, and he was sure that was feeding the nightmares. No. Not nightmares. They didn’t frighten him or fill him with dread. They were more like memories…memories meshed with now-abandoned aspirations. Shepard was in every one, dark haired and smiling. No Reapers. No Cerberus. Just her living a life she would never know.

Garrus sat straight-backed against the tree trunk. His favorite rifle was caught in his grip, subject to being cleaned for the third time that morning. Its surface was marred by scratches left by a Marauder on Palaven, the withered husk of someone he had probably once known. A former comrade. Maybe even a friend. He traced the jagged lines with his fingers. His stomach twisted at the tangle of thoughts that would probably always eat at him.

Where were they?

What happened to Earth?

To the others?

What of Palaven? Tuchanka? Sur’Kesh?

Why was EDI even eating? She didn’t have the hardware for that kind of thing.

Or did she?

He looked down at his hand—probably for the thousandth time since they got here—squinting to make out the faint tracings that wove along his carapace. He felt different. They all felt different. Joker limped less. EDI could eat and feel sensations other than hot and cold. James—

Yo, jefe!”

Garrus’ eyes shot up at the voice, the deep green coming to focus on the broad form of James Vega as the soldier came plowing through the underbrush. The turian’s danger sense never really diminished after the war with the Reapers, but the same could not be said for the younger human. Vega had sobered since Mars, sure, but the time spent on this planet had lessened his caution. He almost treated it like a vacation. Either that, or it was his own way of coping with the undeniable truth that they didn’t know where they were…and neither did the rest of the galaxy.

You are not going to believe what I found in the Loft. Did you even know about this?” He held out a data chip that looked too big for an omni-tool but too small for a terminal. “I figured that, if anyone would want to see it—” James hesitated, his boisterous demeanor trickling away. It was first evident in his eyes as the deep brown caught the light. There was the glisten of tears, perhaps, but it was impossible to tell. He recovered quickly. “If anyone would want to see it, it would be you.”

He pulled a black box out of his belt pouch, a smooth thing of plastic and metal with a glass circle on the top, and inserted the data chip into the side. He then placed the box on the ground and pressed a button. There was a sputter of light and crackle of static. A vague form blipped into view, fuzzy, but the voice was unmistakeable.

I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite spot in the universe. Looking good, soldier.”

Garrus could only stare for a moment. His throat had gone dry while his jaw and mandibles clenched. He gripped his rifle tightly, his focus shooting from the box to the glow of the VI’s face and back again. He struggled to his feet and practically staggered over. The image was sharpening as the transmitter warmed up.

There’s nothing this galaxy can’t beat if we all work together.”

Shut it off.” His voice was low, dangerous.

But I thought you’d—”

Except the Reapers. Ever see the size of one of those things?”

I said shut it off!” Garrus primed his assault rifle and aimed it at the transmitter box.

Whoa, whoa, whoa!” James dove forward and knocked the gun barrel toward the deep woods before Garrus could fire, the echo of the rapid shot seeming to carry on much longer than it should have. His foot shot out and kicked wildly at the transmitter box until he managed to hit the power switch. Shepard’s likeness blinked out. The voice stopped.

Garrus didn’t move. He stood there, James’ hands clamped to his wrists to keep the deadly weapon pointed in a non-lethal direction. His breath was short and ragged, his eyes burning with rage and an overwhelming sadness. He inhaled deeply and forced himself to relax. James took the gun from him when his arms fell back to his sides.

I’m sorry,” the human said, genuine concern carried in his tone. “I thought that…maybe….”

Garrus turned to look at him. “I appreciate it,” he said, hesitant but honest.

But too soon?”

Yes. Too soon.”

(via chileancarmenere)

@1 month ago with 42 notes
#UGLY SOBBING MAN #GROSS UGLY SOBBING IT'S RUINING MY EYE MAKEUP #ALL THE SHAKARIAN FEELS I GOT IT #WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #fic recommendations #Mass Effect #Garrus #sdfjksldkfjaslkdjfhalkjdffvnbasd 

DA2 Companions, Personalities and Abilities

katiebour:

I was writing a post on the BSN about character abilities.  Hit a wrong button, browser went back, and entire essay vanished.  BLEARGH!

However, I was on an interesting train of thought regarding companion specializations.

In DA:O, we could equip our party members with just about any armor and/or weapon.  We had overall schools that they studied, but there was flexibility.  Everyone could have a ranged weapon.  Warriors could use any weapon they wanted.  Mages could learn any school.

DA2 restricted us, and a lot of people were irate about that.  Why couldn’t we give Isabela a bow, or Varric a pair of daggers?

BECAUSE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, that’s why.

All of these characters had other things to do in life besides practice a martial or magical art.  They might spend a decade or two honing skill with one weapon, but that doesn’t make them a master of all.

And I kind of love that.  As much as I love and hate Seb, one thing that I unequivocally love about him is that backstory- how he got up every morning before dawn to practice, to make his grandfather proud.  Like Nathaniel whom he replaced, there’s a history with bows.  Sebastian isn’t an archer because we gave him a bow- he’s an archer because that’s WHO HE IS.  Give him a pair of daggers and tell him to stab someone, and the prince in his lily-white armor might recoil in disgust.  Ask him to stab someone in the back and he’s likely to lecture you on the rules of warfare, and how backstabbing is a dirty, underhanded tactic and he’ll have none of it.

*****************

Beth is pretty flexible, although in the Entropy/Creation dichotomy she falls on the side of Creation.  She’s Sunshine to everyone, kindness, forgiveness, healing of all sorts, but I find that her major personality trait is her fondness for “what-if?”  What if Varric had stayed in Orzammar?  What if the Hawkes had grown up in Kirkwall?  What would Carver have thought of everything?  What if she’d gone to the Circle?  In a way, she and Seb are almost a perfect pair, the boy who can’t make up his mind and the girl who wonders about everything.  That flexibility of “what-if” is reflected in the fact that you can spec her from the beginning of the game in just about any way you wish.

After she goes to to the Wardens or the Circle, she’s granted the Force Mage spec, and at the end of the game she seems to have graduated from “what-if.”  Her entire speech of “For years I tried to understand why Andraste needed to lock us up, but now I know that the system is wrong” shows a stronger, more determined Beth.  The what-if girl becomes a Force to be reckoned with.

**************

Ah, Carver, compensating for something?  He’s so emasculated by his older sibling, by always being the second best, the middle child, the little brother always outstripped by Hawke the elder.  His bitterness in his personal quest, the pointed dialogue where he sneers at the thought of any of his father’s letters being for him (after all, if he lives, he’s the only non-mage child in a houseful of mages) and it’s really not surprising that he chooses the biggest weapon he can swing to say “I’m not a mage, SO WHAT.”  

******************** 

Bianca is more than Varric’s crossbow.  In my mind, she’s a symbol of his love/hate relationship with his heritage as a dwarf- for all of his ridicule of typical dwarves and their water-clock inventing paragon ancestors, he’s uncommonly fond of the wonder of his repeating crossbow.  And Varric, spinner of stories, keeper of secrets; how could he not have a mysterious, anthropomorphized weapon who keeps others at a distance, who acts as a convenient excuse to push away those who get just a little too close?  Asking him to put Bianca down for a pair of daggers is more than a simple swap of weapons- it’s a contradiction of his character.  Varric may kill people, but he does it to their face, with style, singing Bianca’s song under his breath as he takes on all comers.

********************

Isabela wields daggers because they’re hidden, a secret power, her tendency towards back-stabbing both a literal and figurative habit of years.  You can’t haul around a bow and quiver of arrows while climbing rigging in a storm- bowstrings have to be oiled, wrapped, and you have to have two hands free to use one.  A dagger you can fit between your teeth, in a thigh-sheath, in a tall boot, at your waist, on your back.  Perhaps all of the above.  She’s used to being backstabbed, first by her mother, and she carries that forward.  Isabela’s not one to hang back and shoot from a distance, unless it’s with a cannon on her ship- she’s either up close, in your face, unapologetic, acrobatic, stunning and lithe, or she’s behind you, with a dagger in your kidney, and you never see her coming at all.

In a way it’s like the woman she used to be, invisible to her husband, a trophy behind the scenes to be exhibited at will, and the woman that she became, the strong, amazing, self-confident pirate who keeps friends and enemies within arm’s reach, melee distance always.  Step one- do something, step two- ???? step three- profit!  There’s little or no forethought to Isabela, and she says as much- “Don’t read too much into it, ok?  It just seemed like a good idea at the time.”  She’s not the kind of woman who sits on a castle wall, bow in hand, planning and waiting.  Fools rush in, after all.

**************

Fenris has been trained to be a living weapon, a bodyguard and a pet.  So much of his power is based in lyrium and anger.  Not for him, the precise, measured strokes of the duelist, the fencer, the show-swordsman.  Not for him the concentration of the ranged attack.  Like isabela, Fenris is in-your-face, but where she ducks and dodges, he leaps, rends, smashes, destroys.  The power of his markings is the power to crush hearts, to lash out with spirit force, years of harsh conditioning pushing him to go on even when he’s exhausted, muscles screaming for respite.  

He fights in broad strokes, application of massive force both physical and magical, and it simply wouldn’t make sense to give him a shield, to look to him to fight defensively.  I think it’s telling that Isabela and Varric wonder if he can pick pockets or perform amateur surgery with his markings, and he’s completely bemused at the thought.  It’s as if he’s never considered more delicate applications of his power.  And a person wielding a giant weapon swings and follows through- there is no pulling the blow, no second-guessing.  Maker help the person in melee range, friend or foe, who fails to dodge his strike.

Fen is like that in his romance as well- once committed, it’s an all-or-nothing proposition that goes from verbal to physical in the space of a night.  He doesn’t know how to tread delicately, and when he retreats he does so just as completely.  Like picking pockets or pulling out blades or reading a book, it takes him three years to learn to dance the steps of love, to acknowledge his own weakness and fear and that he might need to take a relationship in steps, instead of trying to embrace all the wonder and terror of love in a single fearless strike.

*************

Aveline is one of the most balanced characters in-game- she has her moments, her fears, her weaknesses, her tendency to be over-protective and overbearing, so absolutely sure that she’s in the right and that only she can get the job done.  But for all of that she handles the loss of her husband and the events at Ostagar with strength and fortitude.  Everything Aveline does relates to personal strength and protection- I’m neither surprised that she starts with 2h weapons nor that she takes up the shield and keeps it.  

She’s above backstabbery or trickery, and at the same time she must be in melee to step in front of and take the hits for those she cares about.  You could hand Aveline a ranged weapon and tell her to stand back, but at the first press of enemies you’d find her at your side, shouldering you behind her and bringing up that shield to protect- that’s simply who she is.

**************

Merrill has spent years studying lore, magic, stories, fragments of the past, analyzing lost artifacts under Marethari’s tutelage.  Nature magic seems to be her forte, with the control and use of blood as a reagent and weapon in herself and others a recent addition.  Blood magic seems to inhibit the ability to heal in both DA:O and DA2, and the codex entry for the school of Creation seems to imply that Entropy might also be involved:

Opposition in all things:
For earth, sky
For winter, summer
For darkness, Light.
By My will alone is balance sundered
And the world given new life.
—Threnodies 5:5.

The School of Creation, sometimes called the School of Nature, is the second of the Schools of Matter, the balancing force and complement of Entropy. Creation magic manipulates natural forces, transforming what exists and bringing new things into being.

Creation requires considerable finesse, more than any other school, and is therefore rarely mastered. Those mages who have made a serious study of creation are the highest in demand, useful in times of peace as well as war.

—From The Four Schools: A Treatise, by First Enchanter Josephus.

Since Merrill has access to Entropy, but not Creation, and Anders vice-versa, I am inclined to think that a strength in one school generally precludes power in the opposing school, and thus, Merrill can’t heal because she’s naturally inclined towards Entropy.

***************

Anders, oh, Anders.  Why does his tree feature both great powers of healing and self-harm?  Isn’t that his very nature?  People have postulated, and I agree, that (one) of Anders’ study specializations at Kinloch was Spirit Healing.  His tree says he’s “always had a knack for healing,” and is it at all surprising that a brash boy, used to thinking that he can control Fade Spirits- (because he’s learned so much and they very clearly break down into certain types, and all of those sacrificed years behind stone walls have to count for something, don’t they)-is it at all surprising that he’d make a deal with Justice?

Spirit Healing (Specialization, DA2):

Few mages are watched more closely by the templars than spirit healers. For all the good they can do, their consorting with any denizen of the demon-infested Fade is a matter of intense suspicion. Still, the benefits outweigh the risks, if only just. 

There’s a reason for his Panacea/Vengeance duality that I think has less to do with Justice and more to do with Anders himself.  He’s a damned powerful mage- in a world where some mages can barely light a candle, we see his mastery of Fire in Awakenings.  We can also assume that Fire is his base element, since his magic first manifested in the barn-burning incident when he was twelve.  He alludes to his command of “that electricity thing” which is very, very finely-tuned Lightning.  And calling upon just enough Lightning to titillate and not to harm is actually damned hard.  As an exercise, sing.  Then sing softly, piano.  Then softer, pianissimo.  Go as soft as you can.  It’s easier to just yell then it is to control your volume.  Same thing with controlling the smallest bit of Lightning as an exercise in bedroom antics.  Then you add in a healer so powerful that even Merrill says “Anders, you can heal anyone!”  Then you add in a bit of Spirit with that Spirit Bolt to Keran.

And Justice gives Anders more mana, but Justice himself is a Fade Spirit, not a mage.  And since Kristoff was not a mage, that pretty much means that any of Anders’ magical knowledge comes from Anders himself.

Anyway, back to Panacea/Vengeance- there are two sides to Anders, even before his merger with Justice.  In Awakenings if you are pro-mage, you see one side; the cheerful, snarky guy with a knack for jokes and healing, harmless, right?  His codex entry implies as much:

Anders has a rocky history with the Circle of Magi. Taken from his family when his talents first manifested, Anders was still a boy the first time he ran away from the Circle. Recaptured and returned dozens of times, Anders was still considered only a reckless scamp by First Enchanter Irving, who thought his easy temper and sense of humor made him no true threat.

That’s the public face he wears- the one that’s gotten him out of major trouble, most of the time, the one that makes casual friends and lovers with ease.

But if you’re anti-mage in Awakenings, you see Vengeance.  You see the angry, bitter man who’s seethed for a decade or so in his stone prison.  You see the powerful, dangerous revolutionary who leashes both his magic and his temper.  You see the man who was locked up for a year with only his anger, along the occasional presence of a cat to keep him (relatively) sane.  There is the fire, the lightning, the spirit and the power.  Anders doesn’t speak about the Harrowing much except to decry the practice in general, but I don’t get the sense that it was any great trial for him.  He’s spent his entire life learning to control himself and his powers- of Anders’ weaknesses, willpower isn’t one of them.  Pride, perhaps, and rashness, a glib tongue, a compassionate heart and a fiery temper:  these are the things that get Anders in trouble.  

************

I don’t know if I could go back to Origin’s flexibility- the choice of weapons in DA2 seems almost integral to the personalities of the characters, and in the end I love characterization more than anything.

JFC I’M NOT WORTHY OF THE PERFECTION OF THIS ANALYSIS, NOT WORTHY I TELL YOU *prostrates before katiebour*

@1 month ago with 97 notes
#there are just so many quality people on my dash okay #ugly sobbing #da2 #tagging this as fic recommendation even if it ain't a fic #because i would want to read it again and again and agaaaaaaaaain #fic recommendations 

PROMPT: Father Eirik/Flemeth, here we go again

qunrapah:

She smelled the smoke before she felt the heat, the burn. The crowd was raging down below. The common rabble of the Tevinter Imperium knew her only by reputation. The Archon looking on from the gallery was silent. His eyes were on her, but they were not cold. He had spoken to her. He had learned something of the woman behind the legend. As her dying wish, she had requested her ashes be returned to her people. In his sympathy, Archon Hessarian had promised to grant this.

The fire touched her feet. To keep from screaming, she sang. She sang to her people. She sang to the Maker. Her brother. Her lover. He to whom she owed so much. Tears poured from her eyes. A thousand lifetimes could not prepare her for such pain—such necessary pain—and, still, she sang. When the flames played in her hair, the order was given. The sword was drawn. Her song stopped, cut short by an act of mercy.

When the pyre was cold, her followers were allowed to gather her ashes into an urn and take that piece of her back to Ferelden. Just a piece—a small piece. But it was enough.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

The sermon was as impassioned as ever, though it had been some time since she’d last heard it. Flemeth kept to the back of the congregation, a cowl shadowing her face, while Revered Father Eirik delivered an antiquated version of the Chant of Light. Her lips quirked in a small smile. This village was probably the last place in all of Thedas where her song was still sung, in whole or in part, completely unadulterated.

She didn’t always like to remember, but she saw no harm in being sentimental.

The canticle concluded. The worshipers dispersed. It was just Eirik and herself left in the Chantry, and his hard eyes were on her.

“A stranger has been among us? How did you sneak past the watch?”

Flemeth chuckled lowly in her throat, pushing back the cowl to reveal her silver hair and golden eyes. She hadn’t bothered with the petty, magical disguises. Not this time. “The watch recognized me, Revered Father. It insults me that you do not.”

“Forgive me!” the old priest exclaimed, falling to one knee in reverence before her. “Had I anticipated your arrival—”

“There is no need for babble, Eirik. It’s a good thing my Morrigan doesn’t take after you.” She stepped over to the shabby collection of books that served as the Chantry library, her eyes passing over the faded spines with a distinct lack of interest. “I have come to warn you. True strangers approach—Grey Wardens and their allies. They seek the Urn. You will allow them entry.”

Eirik stood and braved a few steps closer. “You would risk this, Mistress?”

Flemeth chuckled again and shrugged.  “Why not? It’s not like I’m a dragon usurping the role of a martyr.” The priest’s face flushed when she moved near to him and twirled a finger in the scraggle of his beard. “I am the dragon. I am the martyr. And don’t you ever forget that.” Her voice was a purr. A low, dangerous purr.

“I cannot forget what is burned into my memory, Mistress.”

The witch’s ghost of a smile returned. “See that you don’t. For all the degradation I have seen here, it would be a shame for the Chantry to lose its last vestige of truth.” She returned to pondering the books. “How far have the others fallen?”

Eirik shook his head. “The Reavers at the temple have been blinded by false hope. The ruse…is no ruse to them. If they could get past the Guardian, all would be lost. But there is no risk of that.” His smile was almost wicked. “You saw to that yourself.”

Flemeth nodded. As time could heal wounds, so could it harm and corrupt. She was losing her most faithful to a beast lesser than she, and it was her own fault. But her continued absence was necessary. The world was not yet ready—the one called Hawke still had so far to fly. And Flemeth could only rely on the loyal, on the strong. The beast was succeeding in its dual role: exposing the faithless and destroying the weak.

It was only a matter of time.

A bell tolled somewhere above them, a dull droning within the cold stone walls as it filtered through thatching and wooden rafters.

“Second morning service,” Eirik explained needlessly. “Mistress, I must attend to the duties you have assigned me.”

“And here we go again,” the Witch of the Wilds replied with ironic laughter. “Someday, Eirik, you will learn that ritual matters little to that which you worship.” Her hand reached out and caressed his face almost fondly. “But I will remember how very loyal you were.”

@1 month ago with 10 notes
#dragon age #fic recommendations 

Fic - Find Comfort in the Homeworld's Skies 

ladysmaragdina:

ladysmaragdina:

Title: Find Comfort in the Homeworld’s Skies

Fandom: Mass Effect

Rating: G

Pairing: None

Warnings: Character death, SPOILERS FOR MASS EFFECT 3 (albeit vague)

Summary: “He sees the giant ship beside theirs break open, scatter into a million little shards and pieces to rain down upon the blue-green seas of the planet below. The Homeworld. It is something his mother always spoke about, when she was home, when they were alone, when she was alive.” Jona’Hazt of the Migrant Fleet has seen his mother and father die at the hands of the geth, fighting for a home, but it still is not something he understands.

*****

In the chaos, at least, there is one small blessing: he is forgotten. He has been crowded in with others for as long as he can remember (there is no space in the Migrant Fleet, he recites to himself, silently, we are all one family, we have no room for privacy. It is something the geth took from us).

It is always something the geth took from us.

(Read more)

Reblogging for those who missed it yesterday. Free complimentary virtual tissues are included.

now if you need me I’ll be just lying down on the bathroom floor weeping my heart out T A T

@2 months ago with 11 notes
#ME3 #fic recommendations #UGLY SOBBING #Y U MAKE ME CRY LIKE THIS YOU QUARIAN ORPHAN #WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY 
Sten Alphabet - R is for Remain

maybethings:

maybewriting:

Sten stood alone, blind and broken in the darkness. Blood—his own, his enemies’, his brothers’—ran down his chest, cold and foul and sticky against his skin. The faint rasp of his breath and the cold clouds of mist in the air lulled him into something close to a trance.

He winced and shook his heavy head. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t fall. Behind his eyes lurked images that would sear themselves on the inside of his skull, given a chance.

Read More

I saw the last one cut down, too late. I fell…I am told no others survived.

This is for the seven, the brave Qunari sons who died far from home.

And this, by the way, is your blood, guts and/or gore warning.

RIGHT IN THE KOKORO ARGH

6 days ago
#sten #sten alphabet #dragon age #fanfic #tw: violence #fic recommendations 
Exiles All The Longer [15/15] (Nathaniel/Cauthrien, m)

serindrana:

[1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 :: Ao3 :: fst

The inspiring promptfic, by Maybethings.]

.

Chapter 15

.

She was still there when the sun rose.

He had woken twice in the night, fearing she might disappear, but each time when he reached out he could find her. The first time she was still tucked warm against his side. The second, she had moved away slightly, but he couldn’t find it in himself to blame her. He hadn’t shared a bed in some time, and his arm had fallen asleep from being trapped beneath her earlier.

At dawn, though, she had returned to his side, lying beside him with an arm draped over him. He wondered if she had woken and moved, or if it was something done in sleep. He watched her as the sunlight began to filter in through the window, catching on her hair - not black, it turned out, but a very deep brown. She had a surprisingly delicate jaw, and the slight lower curve of her nose kept his interest for longer than it likely should have. Her shoulders were broad and he could make out the lines of muscle there, even faded as there were.

He counted scars while he waited for her to stir. The bedding had fallen down to their waists while they slept, tangling around their legs, but his eyes didn’t linger on her (full, lovely) breasts; they went to the little raised lines and puckers of a life spent fighting. Her skin was surprisingly smooth for it all, though it showed her age. Armor, he supposed as he traced the path between her ribs down to her navel.

She started at the touch and he pulled away, flushing.

“Just me,” he murmured.

She opened her eyes, blinking blearily and stretching against him. Her toes brushed his shins and he felt it like a jolt through him. “Good morning,” she said, and then she pushed against the mattress, sitting up and rolling her shoulders.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, and she paused, then shook her head.

“Habit,” she said, lowering herself back down.

Read More

ALKDJHAKXCMVNALKJDSFHALKSDJHLDKJ IT’S ONLY 7:08AM AND I’M ALREADY DYING OF THE FLUFF THIS IS PERFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECT THE ENTIRE STORY IS PERFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECT

1 week ago
#exiles all the longer #nathaniel howe #ser cauthrien #dragon age: awakening #dragon age #fic recommendations 
Tony Stark plays Mass Effect

fighting-false-hope:

“No.  No… no no no no no.”

Tony Stark, billionaire playboy philanthropist, threw his Xbox controller across the room and dove for his cell phone, which he was relatively sure he set next to his liquor glass on the table.  After some digging and rummaging through important documents and old pizza boxes, Tony discovered the device.  He quickly dialed up a number and held it to his ear.

Pepper Potts’ voice came through.  “Tony, it’s four a.m., what are you –“

“Pepper, I need to buy a video game company.”

That drew silence from the other side of the phone; before the red head could recuperate, Tony continued.  “Now, I know that silence, that’s the ‘Tony has another bad idea’ silence, but really this time it’s not a bad idea and it’s for a genuinely good cause –“

“What are you going on about, Tony?”

“It’s this game, okay?  Mass Effect, it’s all Rhodey’s fault, blame him, he gave it to me – well, he gave me the first one, and I bought the other two – Collector’s Editions, every DLC –“

“Tony.”

“So, the games – they’re great.  Mostly.  Got some problems, what doesn’t, but I like them.  Love them.”

“Okay, and that means you have to buy their company… why exactly?”

Tony was standing and pacing now.  “They’ve got problems.  Nothing’s perfect, unless I made it, and I didn’t make them so they’re not perfect.  See what I’m getting at?”

“Your ego is still larger than the island of Manhattan?”

“I need to buy the company so I can have some input!  I mean, Pepper, if you’d played this game – you would not believe what they did with the ending!”  Throwing his free hand in the air, Tony paced around the couch, moving for the sake of moving.  “It’s the worst, moronic, empty plot device I’ve ever seen, and the SCIENCE – god, what did they do to science!”

“Tony you’re not making sense.”

“That’s because I’m talking about the ending and the ending didn’t make sense!  There was this kid and these three stupid options and junk science and Buzz Aldrin and it was the worst thing ever.”

“…”

“Worse than Loki.  I would take fighting Loki without the suit rather than that ending.  I would sell my soul to Reed Richards – wait, scratch that - I would have a heart to heart chat about feelings with Prof. Xavier before accepting that ending.  It’s terrible.”

“… so you’re buying the company to…?”

“Well, it’s obvious they were rushed and out of ideas and EA is a total bag of dicks, so I figure – I buy the company, I finance the games, and they’ll release an ending where my FemShep and Garrus ride off into the sunset to raise Krogan babies and everything’s hunky dory.”

“… are you high?”

——————————————————

Nick Fury was sitting in his office, working diligently on something not world threatening for once, when his personal phone rang.  He’d given all the Avengers his personal number for emergencies, though he was very close to blocking certain team members from calling him.

The man’s phone buzzed; he set his pen down and removed it from his belt, looking at the name.  “Speak of the devil,” He grunted, reluctantly putting the phone to his ear.  “Stark.”

“Fury, hey, how are you, nice day?”

“Get to the point.”

“Right.  There’s a big problem – BIG problem – that needs your immediate attention or else the entire galaxy is going to succumb to an evil alien invasion.”

That raised the man’s eyebrows.

“So what you need to do is help me convince Pepper to buy a video game company –“

Stark.”

“ – or at least help me vanquish it so that it’s capacity for soul-crushing, science-ruining badness is forever destroyed!”

Click.

——————————————————————

“Why am I down here again?”

“Because we’re friends, and everyone knows friends play video games together.”  Tony smiled in a totally innocent way as Bruce cocked an eyebrow.

“I thought we were more of the doing science friends than the playing video game friends.”  But he still took a seat on the couch.

Tony shrugged, sitting beside him, holding the controller in his hand.  “Why can’t we be both?  Don’t worry, this series is fun, completely stress free, and the third game just has the best ending…”

————————————————————————

When the Hulk attacked E.A.’s headquarters a week later, everyone knew it was Tony’s fault.  He paid for all the damages, but that was okay – if he couldn’t have his ending, he could at least have his vengeance.

“Sometimes, I really hate you.”  Bruce mumbled from the other side of the couch.  In his hand was one of his ruined shoes, destroyed by his last transformation.  He stared at it with a forlorn yet irritated look.  Tony wasn’t really paying attention to him.  From the way he was staring at the news coverage of the Hulk’s attack, he was still thinking about his little scheme.

“Maybe next time they’ll think twice before ruining everything with SPACE MAGIC SCIENCE and glowing children and Buzz Aldrin.”

Bruce threw his shoe at him.

-=-=-=-==-=-=-=—=-=

I don’t even know okay don’t judge me.

OH MY GOD YOU DO NOT KNOW HOW HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES ME I SWEAR THE ENDING I WAS DANCING ALL AROUND THE ROOM AND CACKLING MADLY AND OH MY GOD TONY STARK YOU ARE A MOTHERFUCKING GENIUS LET ME LOVE YOU ZVNLAKDJFHALKDJFHLKJD

(via middlemarching)

1 week ago
#Mass Effect #The Avengers #The Hulk #Bruce Banner #BASICALLY #YES #THIS #THIS IS A MARVELOUS IDEA AND EA SHOULD BE GLAD THE HULK ISN'T REAL #AND HE PLAYS F!SHEP WITH A GARRUSMANCE TOO AKSJDF;LAKSJDFHLAKDJSF #MAEKR TAKE ME I'M DYING #I'M DYING OF TOO MUCH HAPPINESS #KILL ME NOW #fic recommendations #more like BEST FIC EVER 
The Ash Land Girl, Cinderella

hamburgerjack:

“Who gave us this?” the little boy asked, walking along side a stooped woman.

Her skin was brown and many times wrinkled, and she had wisps of white hair poking out from under a brilliant blue scarf.

The boy too had a blue scarf, tied around his arm.

In the comings and goings of people around them, there were blue scarves every where.

“She gave us this.”

“Who?” he asked again.

The old woman pointed up and out, towards a summit.

There among the ruins of demolished castle stood a massive statue of bronze and glass of a young woman with a flag in hand and broken chains in the other.

“Who is that?”

“The greatest among us. The Fable Cinderella.”

“And what’s she done?” the boy asked, staring upwards at the statue.

“She freed us. She freed us all.”

“But what about the Godmother?”

“What about her?” the woman chuckled. “She just helped.”

“But… but you were there, right?”

“I just helped. Come on, we’ll go see it.”

And so they went.

“Tell me what happened to her!”

“Oh… you might not be old enough for that.”

“But I want to know!” he whined, skipping along. “Tell me? Godmother?”

“I guess I can tell you… about her.”

**

*

**

Read More

4 weeks ago
#fic recommendations #A QUEUE A QUEUE 
Stitches (Dragon Age II fanfic, Aveline, Merrill, others)

maybethings:

apeacebone:

Title: Stitches
Fandom: Dragon Age II
Word count: 3968
Characters: Aveline, Merrill, m!Hawke/Anders, Varric, Isabela, Fenris, Sebastian, minor characters
Rating: G

Summary: An unusually cold winter descends on Kirkwall. One of Hawke’s gifts to Anders has unintended consequences, and a little-known hobby of Aveline’s causes a stir.

Also here @ AO3; here @ Dreamwidth.

* * *

Aveline did not normally give much thought to how her friends were dressed. She noticed things, certainly—when Sebastian’s belt buckle disappeared for three days (to Isabela’s exaggerated surprise and barely-concealed satisfaction), for example, or the way that Hawke’s color coordination had dramatically improved around the same time that he and Anders had begun exchanging saccharine glances and honeyed smiles whenever they thought no one was looking—but she had more important matters to dwell on than other people’s personal grooming. How to keep the fools from being killed or arrested, mainly. If some of Hawke’s companions were too thick to dress properly, it wasn’t her responsibility; she was the Guard-Captain of Kirkwall, not their mother.

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THIS IS THE SWEETEST THING

THE SWEETEST

BRB CONTAINING MY DIABEETUS

Never even knew it was possible to drown in fluff *hacks up a fluffy ball*

1 month ago
#fic recommendations #da2 #aveline #merrill 
Truth in the Lie - a Kaidan mini-comic

commandercocktease:

darkisthenight:

artsyneurotic:

For full effect, I recommend listening to this while reading.

Click the image for Full-Size!

OMG, my heart……..

I just spent an hour look through Kaidan posts, and I’m ending with this beautiful artwork..  asdlfksadkfjsdaf Kaidan.. ;~;

OhThePain <333

Why… why would you make this… i don’t…

MAKER NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

(Source: eji.deviantart.com)

1 month ago
#UGLY SOBBING #GROSS CRYING #WHY #WHY WOULD YOU POST SOMETHING LIKE THIS #I DON'T EVEN #S #DFJKSLKAJHDFLKJALVJKABHLDFKJH #WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #Mass Effect #tagging this as a fic recommendation because i want to read it again and again and again #fic recommendations 
hamburgerjack asked: Sten, Cat Shelter, have ever you want else be there

maybethings:

maybethings:

He didn’t look like an ex-con, Wynne noted. No piercings, no tattoos, no missing teeth. Just a large, solemn, dark-skinned man with an expression bordering on a permanent scowl, and hair almost as white as her own pulled into large, tight cornrows. His faded jeans and dark T-shirt could have come from any store in the area. His boots were patched, but sturdy and clean. He stood before her, arms folded behind him at ease like a soldier.

“So you want to work with the Grey Wardens?” she asked.

“I was assigned here to seek my atonement,” he responded in deep, formal tones. Odd choice of words. Perhaps he was an immigrant. She immediately chided herself for such thoughts and pressed on.

“Well, we are short on staff at the moment. Are you good with animals, um…”

“Call me Sten. I am uncertain how to answer your question.”

“Then you’ll have to show me, young man. Follow me.” She rose with a grace that belied her age, and led him out of her office. He followed at a short distance, matching her pace step for step as she took him through the shelter. On one side, Leliana and Zevran were showing a boy and his mother how to care for their new acquisition, a marmalade kitten with ears like sails; on the other, Alistair was supervising their new intern, a girl with dark hair and an insouciant air.

She took him into a back room, past the meowing and purring, and shut the door behind her. The air was cool and still here, and smelt of animal. Under a window, in a pool of light, a skinny blond man was making unintelligible noises over a box of kittens. His hair was pulled back into a rough, short ponytail, and his Grey Warden T-shirt fit loosely on his spare frame. He looked up at the sound of the door, and smiled a watery smile at Wynne.

“Good morning, milady.”

“Hello Anders. You’ve been here all morning?”

“Yeah.” He fingered the furry collar of his jacket, the one he hadn’t had time to take off. “Came in for the small ones. Didn’t want to leave them alone too long.”

“What are you doing with them?” Sten interrupted.

“Bwuh?” Anders suddenly realised there was a third person in the room. “Oh. Uh. Someone left a box of kittens on the doorstep last evening. In the rain. These poor things are too little to be left alone.” He indicated the towel-lined box he was straddling, full of balls of tiny, mewling fluff.

Sten loomed over the kittens, brow creased as if deep in thought. “These are too small.”

“Of course they’re too small!” Anders snapped. “Some jackass probably didn’t spay his pet, or didn’t know enough—or care enough!—to keep them until they could survive without their mother! Right now, we’re all they’ve got.” One of the balls of fluff mrowled. “Shh, there there, Pounce.”

“…Anders, you named them?” Wynne sighed.

“Here’s Pounce, and this one’s Izzy, and Merrill and Greg—”

Anders.”

“Sorry. I know. No naming anything.” He looked so crestfallen Wynne almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Sten prodded the kittens with blunt fingers, listening to the tone and timbre of their squeaks. The last, a silvery grey all over, put out a paddy paw and clung on to this new and interesting object, gumming it enthusiastically at the same time. Anders’ eyebrows went up as he glanced at Wynne. Wynne glanced at her job candidate. And Sten’s eyes did not leave the wriggling kitten. Slowly, he ran his hands down its spine.

“They will live,” he intoned slowly, not so much a statement as a promise. Wynne knew right then they’d found their man.

Felt like reblobbing this again!

1 month ago
#dragon age #fic recommendations #A QUEUE A QUEUE 
qunrapah:

He couldn’t stop the dreams. He was even pretty sure that they were getting worse. Maybe it was the food. Three weeks on this forest-covered rock, and he was still restricted to whatever turian field rations remained in the Normandy’s cargo. Despite EDI’s prodding to “try the fish—they’re a curious consistency with an intriguing flavor,” he didn’t want to risk it.
He didn’t even feel hunger the same way anymore, and he was sure that was feeding the nightmares. No. Not nightmares. They didn’t frighten him or fill him with dread. They were more like memories…memories meshed with now-abandoned aspirations. Shepard was in every one, dark haired and smiling. No Reapers. No Cerberus. Just her living a life she would never know.
Garrus sat straight-backed against the tree trunk. His favorite rifle was caught in his grip, subject to being cleaned for the third time that morning. Its surface was marred by scratches left by a Marauder on Palaven, the withered husk of someone he had probably once known. A former comrade. Maybe even a friend. He traced the jagged lines with his fingers. His stomach twisted at the tangle of thoughts that would probably always eat at him.
Where were they?
What happened to Earth?To the others?
What of Palaven? Tuchanka? Sur’Kesh?
Why was EDI even eating? She didn’t have the hardware for that kind of thing.
Or did she?
He looked down at his hand—probably for the thousandth time since they got here—squinting to make out the faint tracings that wove along his carapace. He felt different. They all felt different. Joker limped less. EDI could eat and feel sensations other than hot and cold. James—
“Yo, jefe!”
Garrus’ eyes shot up at the voice, the deep green coming to focus on the broad form of James Vega as the soldier came plowing through the underbrush. The turian’s danger sense never really diminished after the war with the Reapers, but the same could not be said for the younger human. Vega had sobered since Mars, sure, but the time spent on this planet had lessened his caution. He almost treated it like a vacation. Either that, or it was his own way of coping with the undeniable truth that they didn’t know where they were…and neither did the rest of the galaxy.
“You are not going to believe what I found in the Loft. Did you even know about this?” He held out a data chip that looked too big for an omni-tool but too small for a terminal. “I figured that, if anyone would want to see it—” James hesitated, his boisterous demeanor trickling away. It was first evident in his eyes as the deep brown caught the light. There was the glisten of tears, perhaps, but it was impossible to tell. He recovered quickly. “If anyone would want to see it, it would be you.”
He pulled a black box out of his belt pouch, a smooth thing of plastic and metal with a glass circle on the top, and inserted the data chip into the side. He then placed the box on the ground and pressed a button. There was a sputter of light and crackle of static. A vague form blipped into view, fuzzy, but the voice was unmistakeable.
“I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite spot in the universe. Looking good, soldier.”
Garrus could only stare for a moment. His throat had gone dry while his jaw and mandibles clenched. He gripped his rifle tightly, his focus shooting from the box to the glow of the VI’s face and back again. He struggled to his feet and practically staggered over. The image was sharpening as the transmitter warmed up.
“There’s nothing this galaxy can’t beat if we all work together.”
“Shut it off.” His voice was low, dangerous.
“But I thought you’d—”
“Except the Reapers. Ever see the size of one of those things?”
“I said shut it off!” Garrus primed his assault rifle and aimed it at the transmitter box.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” James dove forward and knocked the gun barrel toward the deep woods before Garrus could fire, the echo of the rapid shot seeming to carry on much longer than it should have. His foot shot out and kicked wildly at the transmitter box until he managed to hit the power switch. Shepard’s likeness blinked out. The voice stopped.
Garrus didn’t move. He stood there, James’ hands clamped to his wrists to keep the deadly weapon pointed in a non-lethal direction. His breath was short and ragged, his eyes burning with rage and an overwhelming sadness. He inhaled deeply and forced himself to relax. James took the gun from him when his arms fell back to his sides.
“I’m sorry,” the human said, genuine concern carried in his tone. “I thought that…maybe….”
Garrus turned to look at him. “I appreciate it,” he said, hesitant but honest.
“But too soon?”
“Yes. Too soon.”
1 month ago
#UGLY SOBBING MAN #GROSS UGLY SOBBING IT'S RUINING MY EYE MAKEUP #ALL THE SHAKARIAN FEELS I GOT IT #WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #fic recommendations #Mass Effect #Garrus #sdfjksldkfjaslkdjfhalkjdffvnbasd 
Spending the afternoon trawling the ME3 Kmeme

stumble onto FemShep’s Sassy Gay Friend

die of laughter

1 month ago
#oh u fandom #oh u #XDDDDD #Mass Effect #fic recommendations 
DA2 Companions, Personalities and Abilities

katiebour:

I was writing a post on the BSN about character abilities.  Hit a wrong button, browser went back, and entire essay vanished.  BLEARGH!

However, I was on an interesting train of thought regarding companion specializations.

In DA:O, we could equip our party members with just about any armor and/or weapon.  We had overall schools that they studied, but there was flexibility.  Everyone could have a ranged weapon.  Warriors could use any weapon they wanted.  Mages could learn any school.

DA2 restricted us, and a lot of people were irate about that.  Why couldn’t we give Isabela a bow, or Varric a pair of daggers?

BECAUSE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, that’s why.

All of these characters had other things to do in life besides practice a martial or magical art.  They might spend a decade or two honing skill with one weapon, but that doesn’t make them a master of all.

And I kind of love that.  As much as I love and hate Seb, one thing that I unequivocally love about him is that backstory- how he got up every morning before dawn to practice, to make his grandfather proud.  Like Nathaniel whom he replaced, there’s a history with bows.  Sebastian isn’t an archer because we gave him a bow- he’s an archer because that’s WHO HE IS.  Give him a pair of daggers and tell him to stab someone, and the prince in his lily-white armor might recoil in disgust.  Ask him to stab someone in the back and he’s likely to lecture you on the rules of warfare, and how backstabbing is a dirty, underhanded tactic and he’ll have none of it.

*****************

Beth is pretty flexible, although in the Entropy/Creation dichotomy she falls on the side of Creation.  She’s Sunshine to everyone, kindness, forgiveness, healing of all sorts, but I find that her major personality trait is her fondness for “what-if?”  What if Varric had stayed in Orzammar?  What if the Hawkes had grown up in Kirkwall?  What would Carver have thought of everything?  What if she’d gone to the Circle?  In a way, she and Seb are almost a perfect pair, the boy who can’t make up his mind and the girl who wonders about everything.  That flexibility of “what-if” is reflected in the fact that you can spec her from the beginning of the game in just about any way you wish.

After she goes to to the Wardens or the Circle, she’s granted the Force Mage spec, and at the end of the game she seems to have graduated from “what-if.”  Her entire speech of “For years I tried to understand why Andraste needed to lock us up, but now I know that the system is wrong” shows a stronger, more determined Beth.  The what-if girl becomes a Force to be reckoned with.

**************

Ah, Carver, compensating for something?  He’s so emasculated by his older sibling, by always being the second best, the middle child, the little brother always outstripped by Hawke the elder.  His bitterness in his personal quest, the pointed dialogue where he sneers at the thought of any of his father’s letters being for him (after all, if he lives, he’s the only non-mage child in a houseful of mages) and it’s really not surprising that he chooses the biggest weapon he can swing to say “I’m not a mage, SO WHAT.”  

******************** 

Bianca is more than Varric’s crossbow.  In my mind, she’s a symbol of his love/hate relationship with his heritage as a dwarf- for all of his ridicule of typical dwarves and their water-clock inventing paragon ancestors, he’s uncommonly fond of the wonder of his repeating crossbow.  And Varric, spinner of stories, keeper of secrets; how could he not have a mysterious, anthropomorphized weapon who keeps others at a distance, who acts as a convenient excuse to push away those who get just a little too close?  Asking him to put Bianca down for a pair of daggers is more than a simple swap of weapons- it’s a contradiction of his character.  Varric may kill people, but he does it to their face, with style, singing Bianca’s song under his breath as he takes on all comers.

********************

Isabela wields daggers because they’re hidden, a secret power, her tendency towards back-stabbing both a literal and figurative habit of years.  You can’t haul around a bow and quiver of arrows while climbing rigging in a storm- bowstrings have to be oiled, wrapped, and you have to have two hands free to use one.  A dagger you can fit between your teeth, in a thigh-sheath, in a tall boot, at your waist, on your back.  Perhaps all of the above.  She’s used to being backstabbed, first by her mother, and she carries that forward.  Isabela’s not one to hang back and shoot from a distance, unless it’s with a cannon on her ship- she’s either up close, in your face, unapologetic, acrobatic, stunning and lithe, or she’s behind you, with a dagger in your kidney, and you never see her coming at all.

In a way it’s like the woman she used to be, invisible to her husband, a trophy behind the scenes to be exhibited at will, and the woman that she became, the strong, amazing, self-confident pirate who keeps friends and enemies within arm’s reach, melee distance always.  Step one- do something, step two- ???? step three- profit!  There’s little or no forethought to Isabela, and she says as much- “Don’t read too much into it, ok?  It just seemed like a good idea at the time.”  She’s not the kind of woman who sits on a castle wall, bow in hand, planning and waiting.  Fools rush in, after all.

**************

Fenris has been trained to be a living weapon, a bodyguard and a pet.  So much of his power is based in lyrium and anger.  Not for him, the precise, measured strokes of the duelist, the fencer, the show-swordsman.  Not for him the concentration of the ranged attack.  Like isabela, Fenris is in-your-face, but where she ducks and dodges, he leaps, rends, smashes, destroys.  The power of his markings is the power to crush hearts, to lash out with spirit force, years of harsh conditioning pushing him to go on even when he’s exhausted, muscles screaming for respite.  

He fights in broad strokes, application of massive force both physical and magical, and it simply wouldn’t make sense to give him a shield, to look to him to fight defensively.  I think it’s telling that Isabela and Varric wonder if he can pick pockets or perform amateur surgery with his markings, and he’s completely bemused at the thought.  It’s as if he’s never considered more delicate applications of his power.  And a person wielding a giant weapon swings and follows through- there is no pulling the blow, no second-guessing.  Maker help the person in melee range, friend or foe, who fails to dodge his strike.

Fen is like that in his romance as well- once committed, it’s an all-or-nothing proposition that goes from verbal to physical in the space of a night.  He doesn’t know how to tread delicately, and when he retreats he does so just as completely.  Like picking pockets or pulling out blades or reading a book, it takes him three years to learn to dance the steps of love, to acknowledge his own weakness and fear and that he might need to take a relationship in steps, instead of trying to embrace all the wonder and terror of love in a single fearless strike.

*************

Aveline is one of the most balanced characters in-game- she has her moments, her fears, her weaknesses, her tendency to be over-protective and overbearing, so absolutely sure that she’s in the right and that only she can get the job done.  But for all of that she handles the loss of her husband and the events at Ostagar with strength and fortitude.  Everything Aveline does relates to personal strength and protection- I’m neither surprised that she starts with 2h weapons nor that she takes up the shield and keeps it.  

She’s above backstabbery or trickery, and at the same time she must be in melee to step in front of and take the hits for those she cares about.  You could hand Aveline a ranged weapon and tell her to stand back, but at the first press of enemies you’d find her at your side, shouldering you behind her and bringing up that shield to protect- that’s simply who she is.

**************

Merrill has spent years studying lore, magic, stories, fragments of the past, analyzing lost artifacts under Marethari’s tutelage.  Nature magic seems to be her forte, with the control and use of blood as a reagent and weapon in herself and others a recent addition.  Blood magic seems to inhibit the ability to heal in both DA:O and DA2, and the codex entry for the school of Creation seems to imply that Entropy might also be involved:

Opposition in all things:
For earth, sky
For winter, summer
For darkness, Light.
By My will alone is balance sundered
And the world given new life.
—Threnodies 5:5.

The School of Creation, sometimes called the School of Nature, is the second of the Schools of Matter, the balancing force and complement of Entropy. Creation magic manipulates natural forces, transforming what exists and bringing new things into being.

Creation requires considerable finesse, more than any other school, and is therefore rarely mastered. Those mages who have made a serious study of creation are the highest in demand, useful in times of peace as well as war.

—From The Four Schools: A Treatise, by First Enchanter Josephus.

Since Merrill has access to Entropy, but not Creation, and Anders vice-versa, I am inclined to think that a strength in one school generally precludes power in the opposing school, and thus, Merrill can’t heal because she’s naturally inclined towards Entropy.

***************

Anders, oh, Anders.  Why does his tree feature both great powers of healing and self-harm?  Isn’t that his very nature?  People have postulated, and I agree, that (one) of Anders’ study specializations at Kinloch was Spirit Healing.  His tree says he’s “always had a knack for healing,” and is it at all surprising that a brash boy, used to thinking that he can control Fade Spirits- (because he’s learned so much and they very clearly break down into certain types, and all of those sacrificed years behind stone walls have to count for something, don’t they)-is it at all surprising that he’d make a deal with Justice?

Spirit Healing (Specialization, DA2):

Few mages are watched more closely by the templars than spirit healers. For all the good they can do, their consorting with any denizen of the demon-infested Fade is a matter of intense suspicion. Still, the benefits outweigh the risks, if only just. 

There’s a reason for his Panacea/Vengeance duality that I think has less to do with Justice and more to do with Anders himself.  He’s a damned powerful mage- in a world where some mages can barely light a candle, we see his mastery of Fire in Awakenings.  We can also assume that Fire is his base element, since his magic first manifested in the barn-burning incident when he was twelve.  He alludes to his command of “that electricity thing” which is very, very finely-tuned Lightning.  And calling upon just enough Lightning to titillate and not to harm is actually damned hard.  As an exercise, sing.  Then sing softly, piano.  Then softer, pianissimo.  Go as soft as you can.  It’s easier to just yell then it is to control your volume.  Same thing with controlling the smallest bit of Lightning as an exercise in bedroom antics.  Then you add in a healer so powerful that even Merrill says “Anders, you can heal anyone!”  Then you add in a bit of Spirit with that Spirit Bolt to Keran.

And Justice gives Anders more mana, but Justice himself is a Fade Spirit, not a mage.  And since Kristoff was not a mage, that pretty much means that any of Anders’ magical knowledge comes from Anders himself.

Anyway, back to Panacea/Vengeance- there are two sides to Anders, even before his merger with Justice.  In Awakenings if you are pro-mage, you see one side; the cheerful, snarky guy with a knack for jokes and healing, harmless, right?  His codex entry implies as much:

Anders has a rocky history with the Circle of Magi. Taken from his family when his talents first manifested, Anders was still a boy the first time he ran away from the Circle. Recaptured and returned dozens of times, Anders was still considered only a reckless scamp by First Enchanter Irving, who thought his easy temper and sense of humor made him no true threat.

That’s the public face he wears- the one that’s gotten him out of major trouble, most of the time, the one that makes casual friends and lovers with ease.

But if you’re anti-mage in Awakenings, you see Vengeance.  You see the angry, bitter man who’s seethed for a decade or so in his stone prison.  You see the powerful, dangerous revolutionary who leashes both his magic and his temper.  You see the man who was locked up for a year with only his anger, along the occasional presence of a cat to keep him (relatively) sane.  There is the fire, the lightning, the spirit and the power.  Anders doesn’t speak about the Harrowing much except to decry the practice in general, but I don’t get the sense that it was any great trial for him.  He’s spent his entire life learning to control himself and his powers- of Anders’ weaknesses, willpower isn’t one of them.  Pride, perhaps, and rashness, a glib tongue, a compassionate heart and a fiery temper:  these are the things that get Anders in trouble.  

************

I don’t know if I could go back to Origin’s flexibility- the choice of weapons in DA2 seems almost integral to the personalities of the characters, and in the end I love characterization more than anything.

JFC I’M NOT WORTHY OF THE PERFECTION OF THIS ANALYSIS, NOT WORTHY I TELL YOU *prostrates before katiebour*

1 month ago
#there are just so many quality people on my dash okay #ugly sobbing #da2 #tagging this as fic recommendation even if it ain't a fic #because i would want to read it again and again and agaaaaaaaaain #fic recommendations 
Two-Handers

maybethings:

sehnsuchttraum replied to your post: Prompt Day, Prompt Day

*squeeeeee* <3 How about a bit of Fenris and Carver having a conversation about swordplay that Merrill thinks is dirty XD

BAD TUMBLR, not showing anything after the ‘<’! 

“Don’t SQUEEZE it like that,” snorted Fenris. Merrill looked up from her apple, shocked to hear a voice she recognises all the way down by the Wounded Coast. “Just…try and relax. I promise not to maim you.”

“Easy for you to say,” grunted yet another familiar voice. Carver! Hawke’s brother, with the lovely arms and the lovely sword. If a voice could drip with sweat, his certainly would. “You’ve had experience.”

“Far too much. Not by choice. Now. Relax, and follow my lead. Forward—ow! Gently!—and back. Forward, and back. Slow. Fast. Yes, right there, from the hip. Lengthen your stroke. Pace yourself, pace! This is no race!”

“I’m—trying—aieuuurgh!! Oh balls, it’s too hard!”

“If it’s not hard, it’s not worth it!”

Merrill’s head slowly edged over the top of her rocky hideaway, a peachy flush spreading across both cheeks. Dusting some errant sand from her shins, she trotted up to the source of the noise, darting behind rocks and scrub as the noises got louder and more…grunty.

She jogged into the clearing to find Fenris and Carver, glistening with sweat, much of their clothes in a messy pile and…sparring, swords drawn. Oh.

“What are you doing here, mage?” Fenris snarled, and she saw the lyrium tattoos spark, from the tips of his fingers and toes all the way up to his nut-brown throat.

“Merrill?” Well, at least someone remembered her name. “Er, um. Don’ttellmybrother,” he blurted out.

“Why would I?” she responded. “You two seem to have your hands full of each other already. Oh my!” she exclaimed, as Carver’s jaw fell open and Fenris’ mouth contorted into a horrified shape she couldn’t describe. “Did I say something wrong?”

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SO MUCH I DON’T EVEN

Isabela would be so proud of you, May XD

1 month ago
#UGLY LAUGHTER #XDDD #da2 #fic recommendations 
PROMPT: Father Eirik/Flemeth, here we go again

qunrapah:

She smelled the smoke before she felt the heat, the burn. The crowd was raging down below. The common rabble of the Tevinter Imperium knew her only by reputation. The Archon looking on from the gallery was silent. His eyes were on her, but they were not cold. He had spoken to her. He had learned something of the woman behind the legend. As her dying wish, she had requested her ashes be returned to her people. In his sympathy, Archon Hessarian had promised to grant this.

The fire touched her feet. To keep from screaming, she sang. She sang to her people. She sang to the Maker. Her brother. Her lover. He to whom she owed so much. Tears poured from her eyes. A thousand lifetimes could not prepare her for such pain—such necessary pain—and, still, she sang. When the flames played in her hair, the order was given. The sword was drawn. Her song stopped, cut short by an act of mercy.

When the pyre was cold, her followers were allowed to gather her ashes into an urn and take that piece of her back to Ferelden. Just a piece—a small piece. But it was enough.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

The sermon was as impassioned as ever, though it had been some time since she’d last heard it. Flemeth kept to the back of the congregation, a cowl shadowing her face, while Revered Father Eirik delivered an antiquated version of the Chant of Light. Her lips quirked in a small smile. This village was probably the last place in all of Thedas where her song was still sung, in whole or in part, completely unadulterated.

She didn’t always like to remember, but she saw no harm in being sentimental.

The canticle concluded. The worshipers dispersed. It was just Eirik and herself left in the Chantry, and his hard eyes were on her.

“A stranger has been among us? How did you sneak past the watch?”

Flemeth chuckled lowly in her throat, pushing back the cowl to reveal her silver hair and golden eyes. She hadn’t bothered with the petty, magical disguises. Not this time. “The watch recognized me, Revered Father. It insults me that you do not.”

“Forgive me!” the old priest exclaimed, falling to one knee in reverence before her. “Had I anticipated your arrival—”

“There is no need for babble, Eirik. It’s a good thing my Morrigan doesn’t take after you.” She stepped over to the shabby collection of books that served as the Chantry library, her eyes passing over the faded spines with a distinct lack of interest. “I have come to warn you. True strangers approach—Grey Wardens and their allies. They seek the Urn. You will allow them entry.”

Eirik stood and braved a few steps closer. “You would risk this, Mistress?”

Flemeth chuckled again and shrugged.  “Why not? It’s not like I’m a dragon usurping the role of a martyr.” The priest’s face flushed when she moved near to him and twirled a finger in the scraggle of his beard. “I am the dragon. I am the martyr. And don’t you ever forget that.” Her voice was a purr. A low, dangerous purr.

“I cannot forget what is burned into my memory, Mistress.”

The witch’s ghost of a smile returned. “See that you don’t. For all the degradation I have seen here, it would be a shame for the Chantry to lose its last vestige of truth.” She returned to pondering the books. “How far have the others fallen?”

Eirik shook his head. “The Reavers at the temple have been blinded by false hope. The ruse…is no ruse to them. If they could get past the Guardian, all would be lost. But there is no risk of that.” His smile was almost wicked. “You saw to that yourself.”

Flemeth nodded. As time could heal wounds, so could it harm and corrupt. She was losing her most faithful to a beast lesser than she, and it was her own fault. But her continued absence was necessary. The world was not yet ready—the one called Hawke still had so far to fly. And Flemeth could only rely on the loyal, on the strong. The beast was succeeding in its dual role: exposing the faithless and destroying the weak.

It was only a matter of time.

A bell tolled somewhere above them, a dull droning within the cold stone walls as it filtered through thatching and wooden rafters.

“Second morning service,” Eirik explained needlessly. “Mistress, I must attend to the duties you have assigned me.”

“And here we go again,” the Witch of the Wilds replied with ironic laughter. “Someday, Eirik, you will learn that ritual matters little to that which you worship.” Her hand reached out and caressed his face almost fondly. “But I will remember how very loyal you were.”

1 month ago
#dragon age #fic recommendations 
Ficlet - From The Life That You Always Knew

ladysmaragdina:

Title: From The Life That You Always Knew

Fandom: Mass Effect

Rating: G. Brief mention of child abuse.

Word Count: 962

Summary: “Alexandra became Alex became Shepard and found the stars and searched them.” Self-indulgent character study piece. 

*****

She doesn’t dream anymore.

Not the old dreams, the good dreams, good-person dreams. The Alexandra dreams. She is not Alexandra anymore, just Alex: a new name that had been won at enlistment age eighteen with a buzz cut and razor scars on her scalp and the laugh of new recruits, all her matted-hair past shoved down the drain.

Her mother had named her Alexandra. Her mother had insisted.

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Sometimes I just want to hug Alex and hold her until all the sad goes away

But then I get scared because it’s Alex so I just flail from afar and squeak

1 month ago
#Mass Effect #fic recommendations 
Fic - Find Comfort in the Homeworld's Skies→

ladysmaragdina:

ladysmaragdina:

Title: Find Comfort in the Homeworld’s Skies

Fandom: Mass Effect

Rating: G

Pairing: None

Warnings: Character death, SPOILERS FOR MASS EFFECT 3 (albeit vague)

Summary: “He sees the giant ship beside theirs break open, scatter into a million little shards and pieces to rain down upon the blue-green seas of the planet below. The Homeworld. It is something his mother always spoke about, when she was home, when they were alone, when she was alive.” Jona’Hazt of the Migrant Fleet has seen his mother and father die at the hands of the geth, fighting for a home, but it still is not something he understands.

*****

In the chaos, at least, there is one small blessing: he is forgotten. He has been crowded in with others for as long as he can remember (there is no space in the Migrant Fleet, he recites to himself, silently, we are all one family, we have no room for privacy. It is something the geth took from us).

It is always something the geth took from us.

(Read more)

Reblogging for those who missed it yesterday. Free complimentary virtual tissues are included.

now if you need me I’ll be just lying down on the bathroom floor weeping my heart out T A T

2 months ago
#ME3 #fic recommendations #UGLY SOBBING #Y U MAKE ME CRY LIKE THIS YOU QUARIAN ORPHAN #WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY