You Can't Save the Spider *and* the Butterfly
Dragon Age, Doctor Who, MCU, Final Fantasy, cats, etc.
Feel free to add me as a friend on any site profile I link to on here, but do keep in mind that my Twitter is a private account. This doesn't mean I won't add people back, just that if your Twitter name and your Tumblr name don't match, I might need you to shoot me a message so I know where I know you from!
(Current avatar is cropped from a painting of my Elissa Cousland by roryseviltwin.)
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necromorph-slayinglovemachine:
I’m not sure but I think I just accidentally created a legendary Pokemon
holy...
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I don’t know…can he?
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I’m trying to remember/decide if this is right or not: Jory is shorter than Daveth (even though I’m pretty positive their models...
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Actual Conversation at my HomeMe: I sculpted a werewolf out of oven bake clay. See?Dad: Hey, that's cool!Me: A teddy bear had it's eyes gouged out for this.... ...
“How very fitting that they would build a prison for mages in the middle of a lake and make it look like a giant phallus.”
I feel better already.
(via merilsell)
(via fearliath)
Morrigan sans coat/hood and Leliana in her chantry robes.
moodymarshmallow Asks:
brennacedria Said:
- Who I pair them with - m!Warden, m!Hawke (And yes, her with m!Hawke in this picture is the ENTIRE basis of that ship. I mean damn, just look at them.)
- Who I hate them with - Alistair. Alistair, Alistair, Alistair.
- Why I like/hate them - Her voice. Her (sometimes too sharp) wit. Her dedication to your success, even if her initial motivation is selfish. The way she can grow to love your Warden, romantically if male or as a sister if female. Should I go on?
- Favourite physical feature - Her hair. I’ve considered modding her to have her hair down from time to time, but I can’t decide how thick it would be or how much wave it would or wouldn’t have, so I haven’t been able to pick a “down” style that I’m happy with for her, that would really be her.
- Least favourite quality in the character - I honestly can’t think of any negative trait of hers that I can’t explain away with meta knowledge. I do think, though, that if you play a f!Warden then Morrigan’s treatment of Alistair should have been much different. I understand that’s too draining on resources but knowing her end game, with him as the only she could count on fathering that child on her, I think she’d have been more supporting of him. It wouldn’t have been genuine at all and it could be a huge source of conflict with the Warden, but it would have been very interesting.
- 3 Headcanons - (1) SHE CAN TOTALLY TAKE OTHER HUMAN FORMS. She may choose not to, and thus “this is the only human form I have” is not a lie, but if she wanted to do it—if she saw something to gain by it—she could do so. (Why yes a rather large element of other head canons why do you ask???) (2) She, Leliana, and even Wynne bond very briefly when Zevran first joins the group over concocting something to make the Crow a little less… talkative… those first few days. Once the initial shock of Zevran wears off, the alliance swiftly falls apart again. (3) In spite of her one snide remark about rescuing kittens, she does rather like cats and probably would rescue a kitten from trouble before she rescued a random person from the same trouble. After all, cats don’t ask annoying questions, they tend to fend for themselves, and they don’t beg for reassurance. Basically, they’re everything that Alistair isn’t, in her eyes. (Which is funny because I find her attachment to the mabari is BECAUSE of all the opposite reasons, and liking the dog in spite of those things irritates her more than all those reasons combined.)
- My OTP for said character - m!Warden, Tabris if generic but for a specific Warden, from what I’ve seen of Edric and Morrigan (which isn’t enough) I love them.
was a long time since i drew morrigan… needed to change that<3
A witch is the crookedest stitch. The fly in the ointment. The snake in the grass. The claws in the honey.
The hitch.
And, ‘tis true, so often, of her own designing—sewn from the misfortunes of short-sighted men—the bitch.
She’s sticky on your heart and your tongue, on the soles of your feet, in the mires and the bogs of the cage in your ribs. Like the spread of pitch.
Not the torch. She’s the switch.
When the shadow falls over your shoulder or sweat drips down the narrowest furrow to trace the length of your spine from nape to hips, there she is. The whisper. The chill. The space between flesh and bone. The colors of blood. The tickle. The twitch.
What aches between the surface of the mirror and the blink of an eye. The reflection in the water, whenever the wind shifts. If ‘tis magic you seek, ‘tis magic you’ll make. But remember it’s you who called on her, to scratch your wicked itch.
