Imogen, 24, from the UK. I'm here to post my mediocre game fanart, see other people's wonderful game fanart, and try not be a dick.

Thing I like a lot: AI and robots, elves, ladies and stuff

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My Art
Samantha Traynor
Mass Effect
Dragon Age
Alexandria Shepard
Faolan Mahariel
Cera Hawke

 

thoughtsupnorth:

I think it’s done! My first Grey Warden, Rael Surana, vanquishing the Archdemon, even though he knows that he dies with it. (I love this ending in Origins, even though the actual epilogue is kinda meh since you’re, well, dead. I wish your party members would speak at your funeral dammit!)

Did this for fun between and after classes, entirely in photoshop. Hope you guys like it! xoxo

I’m abandoning this WIP of a lady adventurer feeding a cormorant because I was annoyed by how flat it was. I’m going to redo the whole picture but I still thought this little portion was quite cute :) I like her

I’m abandoning this WIP of a lady adventurer feeding a cormorant because I was annoyed by how flat it was. I’m going to redo the whole picture but I still thought this little portion was quite cute :) I like her

I thought I’d be drawing loads in my week off but so far I’ve been ill. Here’s Josephine Montilyet though! I can’t wait to meet this sweetheart :)

I thought I’d be drawing loads in my week off but so far I’ve been ill. Here’s Josephine Montilyet though! I can’t wait to meet this sweetheart :)

rayeliann:


- “So … did you have fun last night with the guys?”- “Sooooo briiiight…. “ 

When Rys goes out drinking with 2 Giant Krogan, Garrus, Joker and James Vega, anything could happen.  Maybe it was a dare.  Rys never could turn down one of Joker’s dares. Background: Rys is a Sole Survivor Shep (which is why the thresher maw tat.  I imagine her bonding with Grunt over beating the one on Tuchanka for his loyalty mission/ Rite)

rayeliann:

- “So … did you have fun last night with the guys?”
- “Sooooo briiiight…. “ 

When Rys goes out drinking with 2 Giant Krogan, Garrus, Joker and James Vega, anything could happen.  Maybe it was a dare.  Rys never could turn down one of Joker’s dares. 

Background: Rys is a Sole Survivor Shep (which is why the thresher maw tat.  I imagine her bonding with Grunt over beating the one on Tuchanka for his loyalty mission/ Rite)

spicyroll:

A famous explorer once said,that the extraordinary is in what we do, not who we are.I’d finally set out to make my mark, to find adventure.But instead, adventure found me.
s6 | fb

spicyroll:

A famous explorer once said,
that the extraordinary is in what we do, not who we are.
I’d finally set out to make my mark, to find adventure.
But instead, adventure found me.

s6 | fb

april-polyverse replied to your post: fffffffff why did I order a (fake) lea…

I feel that way every time I try on wet-look black leggings, but I find it hard to believe you would not look cool in a pleather jacket. It feels less daft once you’re used to it, promise!

Yeeah, wet-look black leggings are several cool rungs above leather jackets. I’m pretty sure you could do it though.

Once I dress up and put on some makeup I’m sure I’ll feel better wearing it than I do just putting it on over my work clothes, hah

fffffffff why did I order a (fake) leather jacket, I am NOT COOL ENOUGH to pull this off, omg

My new CPU came with a dodgy cooler and it’s running craaazy hot, so I can’t draw on anything larger than a tiny canvas and not for too long without my PC shutting itself down. So here is a small, very fast Zevran. :’)

My new CPU came with a dodgy cooler and it’s running craaazy hot, so I can’t draw on anything larger than a tiny canvas and not for too long without my PC shutting itself down. So here is a small, very fast Zevran. :’)

Toad Words

ursulavernon:

            Frogs fall out of my mouth when I talk. Toads, too.

            It used to be a problem.

            There was an incident when I was young and cross and fed up with parental expectations. My sister, who is the Good One, has gold fall from her lips, and since I could not be her, I had to go a different way.

            So I got frogs. It happens.

            “You’ll grow into it,” the fairy godmother said. “Some curses have cloth-of-gold linings.” She considered this, and her finger drifted to her lower lip, the way it did when she was forgetting things. “Mind you, some curses just grind you down and leave you broken. Some blessings do that too, though. Hmm. What was I saying?”

            I spent a lot of time not talking. I got a slate and wrote things down. It was hard at first, but I hated to drop the frogs in the middle of the road. They got hit by cars, or dried out, miles away from their damp little homes.

            Toads were easier. Toads are tough. After awhile, I learned to feel when a word was a toad and not a frog. I could roll the word around on my tongue and get the flavor before I spoke it. Toad words were drier. Desiccated is a toad word. So is crisp and crisis and obligation. So are elegant and matchstick.

            Frog words were a bit more varied. Murky. Purple. Swinging. Jazz.

I practiced in the field behind the house, speaking words over and over, sending small creatures hopping into the evening.  I learned to speak some words as either toads or frogs. It’s all in the delivery.

            Love is a frog word, if spoken earnestly, and a toad word if spoken sarcastically. Frogs are not good at sarcasm.

            Toads are masters of it.

            I learned one day that the amphibians are going extinct all over the world, that some of them are vanishing. You go to ponds that should be full of frogs and find them silent. There are a hundred things responsible—fungus and pesticides and acid rain.

            When I heard this, I cried “What!?” so loudly that an adult African bullfrog fell from my lips and I had to catch it. It weighed as much as a small cat. I took it to the pet store and spun them a lie in writing about my cousin going off to college and leaving the frog behind.

            I brooded about frogs for weeks after that, and then eventually, I decided to do something about it.

            I cannot fix the things that kill them. It would take an army of fairy godmothers, and mine retired long ago. Now she goes on long cruises and spreads her wings out across the deck chairs.

            But I can make more.

            I had to get a field guide at first. It was a long process. Say a word and catch it, check the field marks. Most words turn to bronze frogs if I am not paying attention.

            Poison arrow frogs make my lips go numb. I can only do a few of those a day. I go through a lot of chapstick.  

            It is a holding action I am fighting, nothing more. I go to vernal pools and whisper sonnets that turn into wood frogs. I say the words squeak and squill and spring peepers skitter away into the trees. They begin singing almost the moment they emerge.

            I read long legal documents to a growing audience of Fowler’s toads, who blink their goggling eyes up at me. (I wish I could do salamanders. I would read Clive Barker novels aloud and seed the streams with efts and hellbenders. I would fly to Mexico and read love poems in another language to restore the axolotl. Alas, it’s frogs and toads and nothing more. We make do.)

            The woods behind my house are full of singing. The neighbors either learn to love it or move away.

            My sister—the one who speaks gold and diamonds—funds my travels. She speaks less than I do, but for me and my amphibian friends, she will vomit rubies and sapphires. I am grateful.

            I am practicing reading modernist revolutionary poetry aloud. My accent is atrocious. Still, a day will come when the Panamanian golden frog will tumble from my lips, and I will catch it and hold it, and whatever word I spoke, I’ll say again and again, until I stand at the center of a sea of yellow skins, and make from my curse at last a cloth of gold.

Terri Windling posted recently about the old fairy tale of frogs falling from a girl’s lips, and I started thinking about what I’d do if that happened to me, and…well…