HAPPY 15TH BIRTHDAY FARSCAPE (19/03/1999 - 21/03/2003)"There’s life out here, Dad. Weird, amazing, psychotic life. And, uh, in Technicolor."
- young engineers activating music player on their omni tools instead of overload
- young adepts filming biotic explosion vids for the extranet
- young vanguards sneezing and accidentally charging
- young sentinels showing off to each other with their customized tech armor
- young soldiers getting knocked out by the recoil of the concussive shot because they are still not used to it
- young infiltrators not knowing how to fully cloak themselves and getting caught pulling pranks
Assassins: anyone can kill for money, but those who follow the Antivan traditions know how to do it with style. While every assassin is different, some favouring up close and personal kills and others striking at range, they are all deadly predators and skilled and exploiting their foe’s weaknesses.
boyface let me on his ps3 to play the last of us yesterday and I was really unprepared for that level of emotion…
important: robots whose vocal systems glitch when they get too excited
The combination of sleek and powerful shapes with the ornate gold and fine fabrics gives Vivienne a pretty unique appearance. [x]
Re: Favorite game quotes
→ Alistair, Dragon Age: Origins
Referred to as Madame de Fer, “the Lady of Iron”, Vivienne lives up to her title. A leader among the mages and official enchanter to the Imperial court, she is renowned as a fearsome woman who achieved her position through guile and deft political maneuvering. Vivienne allows nothing to stand in the way of what she desires—not those who claim she is a social climber, not those who seek to restrict her power, not even her fellow mages who would conscript her into a rebellion with which she disagrees. Vivienne fights to restore order in a world gone mad…so long as that leaves her among those left standing, once all is said and done.
❒ single ❒ taken ✔ waiting in stasis for about 155 years for Kaidan Alenko to become a young adult
Fenris would be awkward and stiff, unsure how to respond. A jerky pat on the back, a slight tension in his shoulders, and then he’s drawing away, coughing and stating that it’s time to move on, a slight flush of embarrassment on his cheeks.
Sebastian would be difficult because of the bulk of his armour stopping any real closeness, but also because he’d probably put as much distance between bodies as possible so nothing even vaguely sexual touches. that said, all his hugs would be sincere, with a kiss to the temple or a comforting squeeze to set the mind at ease before he pulls away.
Isabela would be all boob and quick hands, reaching down to grab a handful of ass before laughing and darting away, all flirtatious charm. A person in need of comfort would have a gentle hand on the back of their neck, another pressing loosely against the small of their back, as a mother holding a child.
Merrill would be over excited, a little bit nervous and very chatty, only letting the hug go on for the barest of moments before she’s flitting again to do something else, her mind going at a mile a minute. She’d hug often, once she knows the person, to make up for how short the hugs are.
Aveline would reserve hugs for very special people or occasions, and even then getting anything more than a one armed hug would be difficult; only Donnic and Wesley have ever gotten full bodied hugs from her, because she’s not a very touchy-feely woman, and will only let down her guard for the man she loves.
Varric would have the problem of just being too small to hug without having to bend down, and as a businessman would much prefer a handshake over a hug - not that he doesn’t allow it, of course, just that someone else has to initiate it, and even then he might brush it off with a joke; he’s much better at fatherly hands on shoulders, anyway.
Anders would draw a person in and cling to them like a lifeline, as if it’s the last body contact he’s ever going to get. He’d grip them tight and hold them flush against his body, holding on for as long as possible before reluctantly letting go, his fingers lingering against their skin just to make sure it’s real before stepping back once more.
Alistair hugs like he laughs, automatic and without thought, hands to arms to gathered closeness, ducking his head with a laugh at himself before he draws back, but his hands would linger on the shoulders or the arms, every bit as warm and sincere as the smile he bites back, because this isn’t fodder for his jokes, he won’t let it be.
Morrigan hugs stiffly, awkwardly, hands come up to grip at the receiver’s back, clenching and releasing to drag, to hang slack, uncertain of what to do or where to position herself, quickly growing uncomfortable at the contact and self-conscious at her own response, and breaks away quickly, darting back and away with her back bent, hands coming up to toy with her necklaces before turning away, though her words are weighed with the memory of touch when next she speaks.
Leliana hugs easily and often, pressing cheek to cheek or burying her face down where the shoulder meets the line of the warden’s neck, hands coming up to grip and to hold, a brace for every laughing moment to follow, wheresoever they go.
Sten’s hugs could be counted on the fingers of one hand, with some to spare, but when they are initiated, they are slow things, sure things, hands coming up to cradle those places that need shoring up, or, just as likely, those places that keep him from flying apart.
Oghren very rarely initiates hugs, standing stock sill when he receives them, clearing his throat with an awkward laugh and making light of it with a joke and a wave of his hands, because hugs are greeted as an old friend gone stranger, remembered only in the twist of his mouth, because if he doesn’t dismiss it that means it matters to him so much more than it may have been meant, every moment falling into place with the softest sound. There are times, though, when he does give them. When he tugs the receiving person down if they’re too tall and wraps his arms around them in a squeeze that’s just this side of being too tight, burying the lower portion of his face against their shoulder so he won’t be tempted to speak. It would be short and hard and layered, like the man himself.
Wynne hugs are always warmer than you remember, fingers rising to rub circles on the warden’s back, as reassurance or to steady herself, breathing out an inheld breath on a low laugh, breathing in air gone lighter.
Shale hugs with the cant of a rocky head, flickering witchlight eyes that the warden might have thought was a wink, in words that came harder than even Shale’s fists, crumbling away at a touch to reveal something brighter.
Zevran’s hugs are private things, stolen moments spent in breathing, in bending to press his face in close to the warden’s, hands coming up to sketch careful lines around the person, the love, in his arms, released with a laugh or with silence, smiles fading away to an expression that hurt more than any blade.