Iâm a big fan of taking everything thatâs not bolted to the floor, even en route to the final boss. Youâre never going to need this again â seriously, you canât solve this by throwing an item called âOrnate Vaseâ
at a literal god.
I was thinking about dragon age and bg3 here, but it kind of applies to a lot of games, so... my mind always goes to: dysfunctional adventuring group of weirdos used to having very little in the beginning and surviving by taking everything that they can â armour, potions, weapons.
So what if they are no longer that desperate? they have gold, they look like the kind of people you hear about in the great tales, hell, they are the people from the great tales. All that doesnât change how they started out, though. âwhat if we need it, it worked so far, right?â
Also, as the player, you know youâll probably never ever use these items again â and yet, you donât waste that potion, and you still donât sell all the stuff cluttering your inventory. Maybe itâs about remaining in this world; About staying in these characters heads a little longer, because it is the last time.
Ok like. Imagine life without ads. You wake up, check your messages across a variety of apps, no ads. You get up and put on the tv while you prep your breakfast, no ads. Maybe you drive somewhere and switch on the radio, no ads. Maybe you drive a long distance, yet somehow, not a single billboard on your path. You pick up a newspaper or magazine to pass the time, no advertisements only articles. You turn on your game console, the home screen is just about your games, no ads to buy more. You open a streaming app, you don't pay extra for no ads, there's just no ads ever.
Think about how much of your time is spent looking at ads. "Download ublock" yeah I know, I have. But that doesn't change that the world is covered with endless advertising. Imagine never seeing that again. How much better our lives would be.
I know people have been joking since 2007 that Shepard is a bad driver because of the Mako's wonky physics, but I've always seen it as another sign of her competence. This woman can land a backflip trick shot in a fucking *tank* that she whips around like a go kart, the same tank that she uses for an unplanned FTL jump after redlining it through a field of killer robots and artillery fire. That's Battlefield levels of insanely reckless carkour shit. Teen Shepard absolutely got in trouble with the cops for joyriding at least once regardless of her background.
Might have found the weirdest place to think about about the ME-trilogy today: the inside of a chemical reactor. I mean, my air tank pressure was getting kinda low and my first thought was "you know what this reminds me of? Mass Effect 2!" Why brain, just why? Could we focus, please?
Imagine Spacer Shepard as a teenager: Always in trouble but rarely caught, going from station to station with her mother and leaving a lasting impact with the resident kids; more a legend than a person after sheâs gone. Still, at the end of the day â there are not many friends who stick around.
From experience, she treats the people she works with the same way later on; here for this mission, gone the next and never to be heard from again. Â She does her best, always, so when any of her former crew members is asked about her, they tend to have something good to say.
So when she gets command of the Normandy, its supposed to be the same thing. But it isnât routine, and she canât rely solely on herself for this. So she has to go for more than a skin-deep connection, and for the first time, it does become more than that.
Eventually, she is the Commander Shepard, and she makes the final sacrifice - once again more legend than person. But for those few she let in, she is way more than that; not a memorial stone or an infallible hero â sheâs Shepard. Just Shepard.
Summary: Anders thinks about what it would have been like to meet Hawke at a different time in his life
Word count: 925
Ao3 <3
-----------------------------
The image came sudden and unbidden to his mind, and it was Marian Hawke in Circle Robes. Anders paused for an instant, frowned, then continued to rummage through the clinicâs supply, ticking off a list of all the missing and nearly empty ingredient bottles as he went.
The second thought came naturally. Marian Hawke â a circle mage. âNever,â he said under his breath, though he didnât stop entertaining the idea. Hawke, who couldnât sit still for a minute, Hawke who could get on anyoneâs nerves, if it pleased her to do so â that same person trapped the way he used to be.
The way he-
Donât go there, he reminded himself.
And just like that, she was there with him, in the Circle. And there wasnât much he could do about it as that imaginary past unfolded before him.
He knows no more of her than her name, Marian.
She had gone through the harrowing not too long ago - she made no fuss about it. Maybe, he thought, that was what draws half of the other mages to her; that ease amidst their cage of structure and rules.
It was almost embarrassing how well it worked on him.
They hadnât exchanged more than a few - hardly meaningful -words. Yet every accidental touch lingers, every quick glance lasts longer than what would have been appropriate â she lets him catch her wanting, over and over and-
âAnders?â Marian was never one to hesitate; when she finds him alone in the library, she takes her chance. Her hand wraps around his wrist. She pulls him into an aisle between two tall bookcases which block out the last tired sunbeams streaming in through the windows - it used to bother him how they were too high up to look out of. Now, making out Marians shape in the near-dark, he couldnât have cared less.
They canât take their time, canât allow themselves to be caught unaware. No time to undo all the laces; half-dressed in the dark, trying to keep quiet. He whispers against her neck, burying his face there, taking in her scent. âMarian-â
âHawke.â She corrects swiftly, her voice no more than a breath.
â...not made to be kept in a cage.â
She hums in â what he hopes is â agreement. Hawkes lips brush against his again.
Illusions of romance tend to die agonizingly slow in this place â but they always do in the end.
And for a while, that was enough. Tension, he told himself, no more than that. It will fade.
Then, that one night, Hawke simply holds him. She tucks a strand of honey blond hair behind his ear, draws the line from the gold earring there to his jaw, up to his lips, and lets her index finger follow the bridge of his nose. She whispers his name and chuckles when all she gets in return is a contented sigh.
âYou escaped once.â Itâs a statement, not a question. Hawke doesnât do questions.
He nods, leans back against her. Sheâs warmth, and light and safety, he doesnât want to ruin this.
âYou could try one more time.â
He tips his head back to look up at her. âNot alone.â
It feels impossible, still, he needs this to work. They exchange scraps of paper filled with hastily written notes. Hawke reads and incinerates them between her palms, then pens a reply. Sometimes they meet up after dark. It is the time of charcoal imprints all over his body.
There is no room for failure.
She wields her magic as if sheâd used it in this way all her life. Lightning cracks, fire scorches the tapestries lining the cellar walls, a single precise downward motion of the staff in her hand crushes the only Templar standing in their way. Anders can barely keep up with the force that is Marian Hawke.
They dash out into the night, their respective phylacteries tucked away safely into their robes, they donât stop running until dawn breaks.
âWait!â
Anders halts. Theyâve slowed down a good deal, being more careful now that they were out of the towersâ immediate vicinity. There was still a hurry in their step, though.
Hawke is still breathing hard as she finds the map in her pocket, marking where she estimates them to be. âWe should rest. I need my strength, so if anyone finds us-â she pauses as a fit of laughter overtakes her âI can just pick you up bridal style and carry you all the way to safety.â
âYou can carry me right now, if you want. If I trip over one more branch, I might just set this entire forest on fire.â
âYou might just need some sleep.â Hawke unceremoniously plopped down on the mossy ground in an alcove between two particularly wide tree trunks. She patted the space beside her.
Anders settled against Hawke, leaning his head against her shoulder. He was vaguely aware of the sweat-drenched robes and the smell of smoke in her hair â didnât matter. He nuzzled his nose against the bare, damp skin above her collar. He felt the warmth of her lips against his forehead. I didnât take much for him to admit it out loud now. âI love you, Hawke.â
âI love you, Hawke.â - Louder than intended. Anders slams the cabinet doors shut, he repeats it, silently so no one has the chance to overhear it again.
Thatâs enough, he reminds himself, because she would never say it back, because she could never love him, and even if she did-
knowing when someone online is engaging with you earnestly vs. in bad faith with the sole intention of starting a fight is such an important skill to cultivate. the temptation to prove your innocence in some imaginary court of law is soooo high but 9.9 times out of 10 the judge and jury are also the same weird self-deputized cop that decided to interrogate you in the first place.
like, someone on reddit tried to engage with my comic about sparrows by pointing out the "irony" of my driving 200 miles for "eco-tourism" in a comic that touches on habitat loss. i thought about telling them about how consumer-level emissions are not the driving force of habitat loss, how a tank of gas is not the equivalent to a 500-acre office park complex being developed and then subsequently left empty with the lights on, and how regardless of that for two decades i did use exclusively public transportation or just walked places, resulting in lifetime emissions that someone who literally moderates the /r/carliving sub and has an AI-generated avatar probably shouldn't be criticizing.
but it's not about making comparisons or seeking information, is it? it's about making me feel bad and sucking the joy out of something that was clearly meant to be uplifting and lighthearted. there never would have been a point in which they said, "you know, you're right, i was being needlessly judgmental". that's not what happens. don't dignify engagement like that. all it's meant to do is waste your time.
the problem with Kaidan Alenko is he would 100% work on me irl, my other fictional boyfriends/husbands/etc. are usually people i find conceptually hot (e.g. tragic) but unfortunately Kaidan is exactly the type of man where i'd be giggling and kicking my feet over him
My friend said this so credit to her but I think the most refreshing thing about Dungeon Crawler Carl is that itâs nice to read a book series about adults, for adults, where the adults act and communicate like adults, that is still humorous and fun to read.
writing your fave having sex with with their love interest is OUT writing your fave shamefully jerking off and coming pathetically fast at just the idea of fucking their love interest is IN
a character shaking their head in disbelief or disgust with hand on their forehead, looking down
that kiss animation used since origins and in every mass effect game where they very slowly go in, hesitate, bop their heads around, and really go in for the kissÂ
when a character, usually female, talks and puts their two hands in front of them like a robot and shakes them to illustrate their point
a character leans back on one leg with their arms loose
the exit-stage-right an NPC does after a conversation ends
angry limp wrist pointing
neck/collar bone scratchÂ
a slow crossing of the arms in times of suspicion
that punch animationÂ
drinking alcohol and violently shaking head
a character gives a half smile with an eyebrow raised
pointing behind with thumb, body turns very slightly
stormborns
kianamaiart
prguitarman
snowghoul
2087
gummygunk
vaporwave
andulkaphoto
izzy806
blakekathryn
origamiaround
