Protector Of The Forest.

Yes. And it's a modded versions of all the Shepards I've made. I've had painful longings since the release of ME3 for mods to "fix" Shepard but it took years, help from friends and money to finally afford the tools needed to mod and I've kept the results on my phone since.

Is your phone wallpaper a fictional character?

Reach

Female Tav x Halsin

(Just a personal headcanon for one of my Tavs)

The Imp patagium laid on the highest shelf, just a few inches out of her reach if she went on tiptoe. Normally, not a terrible inconvenience if she floated a bit, but with the lambent flames cooking the suspensions and the steam of the sublimates, she was reluctant to risk an accidental brush with her robes. She tried approaching from the side, but the distance just felt longer. She tried placing a knee on the edge of the stone slab used as an alchemical workspace, but the shelf was behind the arrangement of vials and flames and stinging steam.

"Let me, my heart." One long, broad arm reached above her head to pluck the small vial. Looking upwards, she could see the smile on his face.

"I could have gotten that."

"Indeed you could." Wrapping one arm around her waist, Halsin laid a gentle kiss on her head. "But I figured this was easier for you."

Luth could feel herself relaxing into his embrace, swaying with him as they often did during their moments alone.

"Thank you. Really." She turned around, smiling as she reached up to take the patagium from him.

He kept it out of her grasp.

Puzzled, she extended her arm, all the while looking at his broadly grinning face that never changed. He inched it further from her hand. Dawning comprehension revealed the mischievousness in his smile as he leaned a bit further back.

"You're almost there," One step, then two before he had already led her away from the alchemy bench and had sat down on a nearby slab. Every time her fingertips grazed the glass, he'd swap hands with it.

"How-" She let out a huff of laughter. "-how are you so tall?!"

Frustration had her gripping his forearm with both hands, hands that still could not encircle his arm completely, pulling herself further up until she finally snatched the elusive ingredient with a triumphant cry.

"Aha!"

"Very well done, my heart."

His grin had never faded and she had now realized, that he had maneuvered her so that she'd be draped all over him. Only the clothing they wore separated them from fully feeling the length of each other's bodies. From his vantage, he had the satisfaction of watching his beloved's face flush redder and redder, mere inches from his.

"You planned this."

"Mm-hmm." Thick fingers had already slid under her embroidered robes, rubbing circles on bare skin. "Whatever should be done about that now?"

"You-" Luth could not even pretend to be mad, not with growing evidence of his interest beneath where her legs were straddling him. "This is why we're behind on our potion stock."

"By all means, don't let me stop you, my love."

Luth had to laugh. "You are dangerous."

His chuckle joined hers as the vial of patagium fell to the ground.

That moment of feeling old when you hear a word you don't recognize and you have no idea if it's an app, a service, a product, a brand or a new slang term, etc....

NPCs

Sometimes my mind keeps going back to that one Bhaal cultist who wanted things to be quiet and I wonder what if she was a far more tragic figure than anyone would ever know. It's no surprise that most are sadistic, most are mentally ill or simply craved power, but what if that one's desire was born from trauma? What if she had once been a child, born in an abusive environment, unable to relax because it'd make whoever she was around angry? What if her days had consisted of fear and pain, a constant theme of screaming and yelling that scraped her nerves raw while she was silently wishing for things to be quiet? What if she had been praying for the gods to answer, only to be met with shattering glass and deafening thumps of pottery and metal hurled at her head?

Day in, day out.

The noise just won't stop.

Why won't it stop?

Why won't they be quiet?

When will it stop hurting?

Until one day, something snaps and before she knows it, she's standing in the middle of the room, hands bloodied, her tormenter(s) dead.

And for the first time, it's quiet. So blissfully quiet.

A lost soul that begged for mercy and peace. And Bhaal was the only God who answered her pleas.

This.

Carbonara preparation under pressure....

Day 10: Favorite Romance

Fair Warning: This is an incredibly long essay with tons and tons of flycammed screencaps.

Obviously, my fav romance is Shakarian. It’s my favorite for many reasons, but I think the reason that I like it best is simply because it is actually a romance. I honestly love it so god damn much that I’m having a hard time focusing on what I want to talk about with it, because its that damn good.

I think I’m going to talk about the development of it, because there’s lots of essays out there already about why they’re suited for each other or what makes them such a good pairing. What I think is particularly interesting about the way the Shakarian romance is set up is that so much of the romance is not in what they say – it’s in how they say it.

Keep reading

people are like "no one wants to work anymore" when every job application is like upload your resume and cover letter. okay now manually type out your resume and cover letter in our text boxes. okay now answer these 10 riddles. okay now take a rorschach test. okay now upload a photo of your childhood bedroom and explain the relationship between its layout and the adult you are today. okay now show us your youtube watch history. okay now define the color "red." okay now walk into a patch of poison ivy and take a selfie of you holding up a paper saying "i <3 ivy." okay now wave your hands in the air if you just don't care. that one was a trick to cull the applicants who don't care. okay now choose a loved one to sacrifice. great! thank you for submitting your application we will not be calling you

Ok, so I've been giggling like a loon for the past hour at the thought of a Paladin decked out in full wartime armor, with fury in their heart and the wrath of heaven in their eyes, declaring in a voice that will command the heathens and sinners to listen:

"GET READY FOR MY ALMIGHTY SMITE-Y!"

Bonus points if they're smacking a wooden paddle in one hand while shouting that.

What is it about laying on the floor when you're overwhelmed that makes everything feel so much better?