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
The first thing I remember was my skin, or rather, the feeling of light being reflected on it. I had never consciously realized this before, how blue the light was in this room, how it made my skin itch in some places. How my forehead itched a little as well, from the scar.
I remember my eyes wandering along the stone wall, following a crack there, my consciousness right behind them. Everything was so quiet. Peaceful. Unlike the ceremony. It is curious how all of this seemed to matter so much just a moment ago.
I still wonder to this day, yet I simply watch. I am now an observer, looking at the past and the present; at myself and other mages and those armoured Templars. One day at a time.
;__; my heart
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.
It wasn’t him. /mylamenessisbeyondcomprehension
Dragon Age 30 Day Challenge, Day 13
There are a handful of templars in this game whose actions make it clear that you don’t need magic to abuse the power you do have in horrible, destructive ways. If you need a Circle, fine, make it a Hogwarts. Not an environment of suspicion, fear, and guilt.
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
combination-nc asked you:Requests still open, you say? How about Karl Thekla and Niall, being very, very serious?tea is serious business 8’I
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.