I’ve been very, very depressed lately, so late-night doodles of OTPs was an order.
oh the shit they argue about
i cant handle these two theyre hurting my heart
“Hey, don’t worry about the statue’s inaccuracy, though. As you remember I’ve got an inaccurate statue too—probably broken by now, but I’ve got one. Now we match.”
I don’t always draw lazily done mini comics, but when I do, my brother is responsible for spawning the idea. The whole: “What if Anders eventually got a statue in his honor.” idea. :V
well of course there’s a statue of anders. of course. and of course it stands against the cold better than flesh ever did. and of course it gets his nose all wrong—although, at certain angles, maybe it doesn’t do such a terrible job of it after all.
and birds perch on his shoulders, ruffling their feathers. looking like pauldrons. making, in brief moments, the stone come alive. almost as if a tired little man is sighing, yawning, shrugging.
and strangers leave garlands, little candles burning. and they toss flowers or drop chipped, round coppers or rest a moment in the shade he casts, touching him for only a second.
then moving on.
in spring, isabela can see it from the shore, steering close enough—but not so close that the hull of a stolen ship is dashed in the shallows. she lifts her hands, not in a salute, but to wiggle her fingers. electricity tricks and april showers. lightning, now and then, just before dawn.
in summer, the stone bakes, but it doesn’t change—not too much; not like varric’s narrative, which still can’t settle on a point of view. ‘writing,’ varric sighs, shaking his head. ‘all it really is, is making a whole bunch of difficult decisions.’ he leaves blank vellum, so it’s not like he’s really gone.
in the fall, leaves scatter at anders’s feet. the garlands lose their petals. the candles burn out.
and hawke comes, always in the winter.
because there’s a hole in anders’s coat. because the sculptor got that so very right. and because being alone is always so bloody cold.
Just what I need, to have my heart broken first thing in the morning.
im kind of ashamed of this but i’ll post it anyway, i hope someone understands it even.
friendly reminder that at every turn of his life, Anders had been actively denied any semblance of stability, love, and safety. Every time he dared to try and take them they were yanked away from him… until Hawke. ✿◕‿◕✿
I did a thing - my Hawke disapproves of the feels this friendly reminder induces.
And posting this on it own, because I happen to really like it.
Hawke painting Anders NSFWNSFWNSFW
it’s been very long since I practised drawing muscles so. LOL. “muscles”.
Oh my. c:
Thank you for dropping me a link to this.:D
I always take the time to leer at Anders.