andrastesbooobs

[andrastesbooobs]

who else thought zevran and antiva in general was arab while playing dao? Anyways happy ramadan to anyone who celebrates

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XI. JUSTICE

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while in my locked in madness of drawing yaoi for 3 days straight, a certain @andrastesbooobs has been a lovely oomf I'm crediting for part of why the burnout is over so I got their Surana kissing Alistair cause I could (it's also on twitter but I'm tryna keep up on putting my art here too)

LOVE YA OOMFIE

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The end of another, unknowable path. Once two flames, now one, alone. Flickering, faded by a choice.

"Ar lath ma, vhenan."

"Cruel to the end."

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King Alistair my beloved

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i think my game glitched

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When your grumpy cat finally lays on you and now you're stuck in the same position for the next five hours

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(not) Grey warden, (not) Explosion, (not) Blood mage

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Do NOT separate!! 5 grams of protein each...

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Our favorite unreliable narrator !!

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First Anders sketch of the year (ft. the HoF’s hand)

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Baby Jowan and Surana because we were robbed of their friendship pre-harrowing 🙁 they're just some scared little boys finding solace in each other 🙁

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Boykisser Alistair realness

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baby Leliana

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Dragon Age 2, Bethany and Carver.

[andrastesbooobs]

Leandra used to love to walk along Hightown’s narrow street of luthiers and other instrument-makers, the scents of wood and varnish, the rows of fiddles and mandolins hanging from the rafters, stretching all the way between her home and the theater district. She’d bought her lute from an Antivan woman who smiled little but could coax wood and strings into the most playable, beautifully-toned instruments Leandra could have wished for.

The first winter night in Amaranthine, when she starts to play, she looks up to find a wisp of light floating around her, gradually resolving into the shape of a bird, like something out of a dream. A lark to sing with her. And Malcolm watches the pair of them with a fond smile playing around his lips, so proud of himself for his little trick.

“What, not a hawk?” she teases.

“They can’t carry a tune.” He gestures to himself, self-deprecating; this Hawke’s no better.

And after a moment, he speaks of the lark that used to sing in the courtyard of the Gallows. Unusual for a songbird to make the trip across the water. He’d suspected one of the templars was feeding it.

And she’d never thought of the Gallows as a place anyone might be homesick for, but it had been a home of a sort. And she hasn’t seen any larks in Amaranthine, except for Malcolm’s.

The price she gets for her lute in the Amaranthine market isn’t half what it’s worth, and not nearly what Lord Amell’s daughter would have gotten for it back in Kirkwall, but it’s still more than enough to go to the Mages’ Collective and buy a templar’s silence. And Malcolm looks stricken when he realizes what she’s done, but it was just a lute, and it’s already gone, and there’s no use being silly about it.

And he kisses her, murmurs, “Brave Leandra. Is there anything you can’t do?”

There are quite a few things she can’t do. Laundry, for one.

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