When for the first time, I was very nervous.
I was sitting on his bed while trembling.
He said to me that’s all right.
However I remember, I was sore his short beard..
And, that my body was bag of bones was embarrassed.
Still, he was very gentle. Very.
However, he no longer exists..
Because, I killed him.
Feels everywhere. :c
Artist name: cheesiestart
Author #1 name: DarkspawnHorrorAuthor #2 name: rytings (tumblr)
Art Theme/Description: Anders has had a hard life, this is obvious to everyone, but not everyone gets to see the scars on his back.
Scars, by DarkspawnHorror (Anders/ Female Hawke)
his body; a canvas , by The_RyRy (Anders/Karl Thekla, Anders/Nathaniel Howe, Bethany Hawke/Nathaniel Howe)
Anders and Tranquil Karl
My poor baby. :c
If someone knows this artist, please reblog and add name
sketchy doodle dump and shit.
A while ago I did this commission for the lovely combo. I wanted to post it at a later date, but now is a good time, I think.
I believe in you, sweetheart.
I think I know where Anders learnt the electricity thing now
Kindling the Flame
It wasn’t his fault all the titles of all the tomes they were all supposed to study were practically interchangeable with the naughtier romances that made their way around the tower.
‘Just don’t ask about the stains,’ a spotty mage just past her Harrowing had told Anders the first time she stuffed an old book into his hands.
‘Not even the brown ones?’ Anders had asked.
Apparently especially not those.
‘I had no idea you could suck on a fireball without your tongue falling out of your head,’ he told Karl later. ‘Also, I think the brown stains are chocolate. Isn’t that a relief?’
‘Just learn the fire spell, Anders,’ Karl replied.
Autonomous Prodigy, Volume 3: Hexes
The trouble with an overabundance of autonomy was the lack of privacy. The trouble with an overabundance of prodigy was the tower itself, the high walls, the windows far above the ground, the twisty tunnels in the cellars underneath. The rooms that were too full or too empty. The silence under the tent of his bedclothes and the spell he never quite knew how to weave when he was that alone—closing his eyes, picturing what it was like to fly, with a hand between his thighs and using the cotton of his smalls to make things feel better.
That was what a healer did, at least for a little while.
Strained Wrists and Stiff Necks
Anders had hidden under Karl’s robes only once, but that wasn’t the extent of uncomfortable positions he’d discovered—as many of them as there were varieties of elfroot in the garden, or stains on the old romances now, most of which Anders had kept in his own private library between the mattress and the bedframe, or under the loose stone in the floor at the foot of his bed.
He read them at night.
He used the fire spell and he’d only singed his socks twice, never burned the tower down.
Well—not yet, anyway.
There was the time on the barrels in the cellar, hopefully without the sudden appearance of a giant spider turning the affair into an unwilling threesome—and there was the time in the library after lights out, the time in an actual cupboard, or the time under Karl’s bed where there was so much dust and Anders didn’t know if he was coming or sneezing. Maybe a bit of both.
‘I can’t do that spell today, Senior Enchanter,’ he said, doing his best to use the face Mr. Wiggums wore when he was hungry, or about to be ill on your boots, or asleep with his eyes open. ‘I’m afraid I’ve sprained my wrist.’
Lightning Storms in Your Room!
‘Karl,’ Anders said. ‘Karl, I’ve been practicing.’
‘Are you going to light me on fire?’ Karl asked.
‘I’m going to kindle your flame,’ Anders replied. ‘Using the very serious techniques laid out in a fun activity book for young apprentices.’
‘You’re not that young anymore,’ Karl said, ‘and you aren’t an apprentice, either.’
‘Well…’ Anders shrugged, fingers sparkling. ‘Nobody’s perfect.’
Anders: Senior Professor of Spirit Healing, and Magical Right’s Activist.
Fenris: Senior Professor of Tevinter History/artifacts and Broadsword Specialist.
>Anders has worn the same vest every day for the last 4 years. Some of the students call him nuts. Anders wears it because it was Karl’s favorite.
Aww, Anders wearing the same vest. /feels
Happily ever after.
Karl and young Anders doodle.
That was one of the most beautiful stories ever.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SYBER sorry this is so small (i will give you more later ;))))
syberfag has one of my favorite styles ever, draws amazing porn, and is a super awesome person to boot. LOVE YOU BB HOPE IT WAS A GOOD ONE<333
shimmy made an awesome karl sweater collection that you guys should check out ;w;
Karl has a collection of sweaters, each one more magnificent than the last, though Anders uses the term loosely. One of them has a cat on the front, a cheetah in sunglasses, but that’s not Anders’s favorite—no, the one with the little knots and pulls is, the puffball sweater, a fine charcoal gray color its only redeeming quality. That, and it’s soft—but everyone knows it isn’t about how comfortable something is. It’s how ridiculous it isn’t.
‘Karl,’ Anders says, ‘Karl, I’ve found something horrible. You have to come here immediately.’
For once, he isn’t talking about a present left by one of the cats on an innocent corner of the rug; it’s the sweater Anders holds up by the limp arms, spread somewhere between Anders’s laughter and Karl’s patient disbelief, and hiding face from face.
Anders peers over the loose collar. ‘It’s my halloween costume for next year,’ he says. ‘Do you know what I’ll be? You only get one guess.’
‘Warm?’ Karl says.
‘A fashion disaster,’ Anders replies.
Karl chuckles but he he looks tired, reaching out to touch the hem of the sweater’s sleeve. He rubs it between two fingers, like a handshake reserved for an old friend. Haven’t seen you in a while, he might as well say. How’re the moths treating you?
It’s ugly, but it’s soft—which is why Anders doesn’t mind wearing it the next day, bare legs sticking out from beneath the thick hem, waiting for Karl’s key to turn in the door. He hears the rustle of grocery bags set down and the twin uneven thumps of outdoor shoes toed aside, pressed up against the wall in parallel place.
‘Happy halloween, Karl Thekla,’ Anders says, finding his place in the circle of Karl’s arms, sweater rubbing against sweater.
It’s the middle of December. Karl’s nose is cold as they kiss and smile.
Totally inspired by a chat with shimmy, modern AU Anders and Karl all cosy and domestic lol
talking about karl and anders with syber always makes me want to write them more, and we were discussing modern stuff today, and, well… i can’t help it, it’s sweater weather!
first give me a kiss
Karl likes Horace better than Catullus. ‘Only not really,’ he admits. ‘Actually, it depends on the weather.’
‘I see,’ Anders says, then laughs, because he does and he doesn’t.
Anders likes Catullus better than Horace, and not just because Catullus is generally funnier, or because of the weather. It’s because of the sound of Karl’s voice when he reads the words: sly little things that get under Anders’s skin the same way a cat digs its claws through the fabric of his jeans. You can unhook them, but the feeling remains, lasting sharp far longer than it should.
Anders brings the cat home unannounced. It’s not that he meant to—but someone left it in a box and it was the last one, not the smallest or the cutest, obviously not, or else someone else would have taken it first.
‘I’m allergic,’ Karl tells him, shaking out his umbrella. He leaves it, open, by his shoes to dry, shoulders speckled with rain.
‘Shh,’ Anders replies. ‘You’ll wake him. He’s sleeping.’
In the middle of a dream, the cat shudders, all the way from his whiskers to his paws, a fine tremble against his taut belly, and kneads the denim in Anders’s lap over and over, while Karl goes to get tissues from the bedroom.
There’s an acupuncture technique to help with allergies, Anders tells him later, the cat on his thigh while his cheek rests against Karl’s. Karl’s nose is just a little bit red, but that might as well be from the weather, the dust on the binding of the old book he takes down.
‘Horace or Catullus?’ Anders asks, what it all depends on suddenly more important than not.
‘It’s a surprise,’ Karl tells him, tucking a curl of Anders’s hair under his ear, while Anders chuffs the cat’s chin and the rain patters on the window. ‘Just like a new kitten. Apparently.’
Anders kisses Karl’s thumb, and it smells of poetry, the good stuff: the paper, the other books nestled in tightly, and the glue in the binding, holding all the pages together.
this is so freakin adorable. amazing job to the both of you ; ; <3333
I was going to post this last night, but my internet died. :(
I…am sorry for all the pantless Anders lately. But that’s kind of the point of this week? IDK MAN JUST—JUST…WHAT DID I DRAW?! Why haven’t I lost followers. Why am I getting more followers asdfghljl.
Cardiganders. This is for Choowy! T3T
Someone take this tablet away from meeeee…
Karl gives Anders the book, but he doesn’t give him the sweater.
Anders finds both of them near the bed, the former open under a pair of reading glasses and the latter tossed over the back of the chair—he snoops when Karl’s out, down the block at the local grocery, probably checking all the apples for bruises. When he brings them back, big and organic and glossy green, he slices them into eighths instead of biting straight into them.
The first time Anders cut triangles into the tips and gave them ears, Karl laughed.
‘Not that rabbits are inherently funny,’ Karl explained.
‘But a man in his twenties turning apples into bunnies is,’ Anders said.
They had sex that night with Anders up on the kitchen counter, jeans somewhere around his ankles and boxers somewhere around his thighs, t-shirt pushed up over his chest. Afterward, Karl suffered the usual moment of shadows and a clenched jaw, a slew of pointless misgivings, working through the issues of sleeping with a very persistent student, but a student nonetheless.
‘Grad student,’ Anders explains, far too often. ‘That makes all the difference.’
But those aren’t the theories that Karl feels the need to mark with an A+.
Karl likes it that Anders reads, that he doesn’t spend most of his time on facebook updating statuses or giving thumbs up to idle posts. He told Anders once he could open any book in the apartment he wants, so long as it keeps him from opening drawers, and most of the time, it works.
When Karl comes in, cheeks pink from the cold, itchy scarf wrapped tight around his throat, Anders has the heat turned on full blast, looking up at him from the couch.
‘Sometimes,’ Anders says, as Karl puts the groceries down and unbuttons his coat, ‘I don’t know if I like the books half so much as the sweaters.’
‘That’s not something I can teach you,’ Karl says. ‘You’re going to have to figure that one out for yourself.’
ahhhhh i’m sorry i’m so sorry i just had to. i love this picture so, so much.
Also something I’ve reblogged before, just not with the fic.
For the courtesy of new followers/people at work/people who plain do not want to see, porn is under the cutWHATEVER
dedicated for lemon-kiss for assisting me with some very interesting refs :’D