moodymarshmallow:

frikadeller:

e-snuggle for the night

Happiness comes in different shades; it’s not all warm and ruddy orange, like sunsets on the Wounded Coast or good bottles of Antivan Brandy, nor is it dark and all-encompassing like the shadows and secrets that Kirkwall is built on. That works for some people, no doubt, losing themselves in the heady rush, the red and the black and the stark primary colors of simple, unadulterated joy, but there are in-betweens yet unexplored.
Cale is dark and stern; he does not move the way others do, with an open hand, reaching for the world to take it into his chest and hold it there, like it were a ball, a prize to be coveted until its won. The light soaks into his skin and he doesn’t notice how it makes him bronze and ebony, how he shines with it, or how it turns him into something soft and colorful,  hinting at the vision that only Anders’ sees.
What do you see in him?
Sundrenched, secret, ruddy brown.
There are shades that your eyes don’t see—like the Fade, shimming and sulfur just on the outside of waking; mornings punctuated with laced hands and quiet, no need for words, no sense in them. No sense in the garishness, the purples and golds, just the thin, clear light through the windowpanes that leave the world and its chaotic spin out where it belongs.
He never wanted the world; maybe just a taste of it, honey and amber on his tongue, sweet, warm and muted.  

/Iknewsomeonewouldwriteafic

moodymarshmallow:

frikadeller:

e-snuggle for the night

Happiness comes in different shades; it’s not all warm and ruddy orange, like sunsets on the Wounded Coast or good bottles of Antivan Brandy, nor is it dark and all-encompassing like the shadows and secrets that Kirkwall is built on. That works for some people, no doubt, losing themselves in the heady rush, the red and the black and the stark primary colors of simple, unadulterated joy, but there are in-betweens yet unexplored.

Cale is dark and stern; he does not move the way others do, with an open hand, reaching for the world to take it into his chest and hold it there, like it were a ball, a prize to be coveted until its won. The light soaks into his skin and he doesn’t notice how it makes him bronze and ebony, how he shines with it, or how it turns him into something soft and colorful,  hinting at the vision that only Anders’ sees.

What do you see in him?

Sundrenched, secret, ruddy brown.

There are shades that your eyes don’t see—like the Fade, shimming and sulfur just on the outside of waking; mornings punctuated with laced hands and quiet, no need for words, no sense in them. No sense in the garishness, the purples and golds, just the thin, clear light through the windowpanes that leave the world and its chaotic spin out where it belongs.

He never wanted the world; maybe just a taste of it, honey and amber on his tongue, sweet, warm and muted.  

/Iknewsomeonewouldwriteafic

moodymarshmallow:

frikadeller:

From today’s livestream XD Cale with his hair down and Anders. Chibi bunny Anders. Oliver and chibi bunny Anders. Fenris and chibi bunny Al.

Specifically for the Cale/Anders picture at the upper left: 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nobody looked at him that way, with that kind of intensity, that stern steadiness, that utter lack of shock. It was usually that apostate look, the one that was too much fear and hatred, just behind pretty eyes and lips pressed until they were white, or maybe just the filthy refugee look, which could have been ameliorated by a few more baths, or maybe less feathers and a new pair of boots, but that didn’t matter.

What mattered was how Cale looked at him, and how it made him feel like more than just some abomination—and there was a look for that too, but he didn’t like to think about it—more than just a mage, and less than that too, somehow, like in his eyes he was what he needed to be, and maybe what he wanted to be, like he was human.

His eyes were brown; they were not like the sky or like the ocean, or the forest, or any of those foolish poetic devices that some people try to use to describe someone they love. He did love him, but they were brown, good, solid brown, like Ferelden mud or mabari fur or something rough and harsh but familiar. They weren’t blown out with ethereal blue or tranquil and dead.

But that was Cale; he wasn’t poetic, but maybe the way he looked at him was. It certainly made him feel things, the sort of things that muddied up his waters and left him floating in them, grasping for something, finding something, holding to it like a lifeline.

When he curled his hair around his fingers, he gave him that look, so he did it again, smiling, giving him a look of his own.  

D’aww.

aivopesty:

Moodymarshmallow’s commission of her Warden Theron and Anders (and Pounce!). I worked on this in multiple periods instead of my usual one to three due to my super busy schedule, it was an experience!
I hope you are happy with this! :3

aivopesty:

Moodymarshmallow’s commission of her Warden Theron and Anders (and Pounce!). I worked on this in multiple periods instead of my usual one to three due to my super busy schedule, it was an experience!

I hope you are happy with this! :3

What One Needs [Fanfiction]

moodymarshmallow:

Prompted by chubbycinnamonfox, who wanted “Anders being lovely” possibly with F!Hawke. Totally safe for work, kiddies. 

In truth, he didn’t need to help her, just like she didn’t need to be the big spoon or kiss him on the nose in the morning when they woke up, but this was their thing, their little ritual that gave them a semblance of normalcy in middle of all the chaos around them.

Read More

I read to much angst, I’ve forgotten how warm and heart-melting fluff was.

Revised [Fanfiction]

moodymarshmallow:

Short bit of Varric and Anders, inspired by this picture by Hawkeward and this song by Tracy Chapman. I feel like I should put a warning for possible sobbing, or something. 

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And my heart breaks again. (But this is beautiful)

Fenders Friday, is it? Okay fine.

moodymarshmallow:

forfendersfans:

Happy Fenders Friday!

I wanted to say something clever, but I’m just…Anders’ nose! Look at it!

The apostate would be the death of him. 

It was beyond belief that one man could engender both such intense hate and desperate desire. In those dark, dusty corners of Fenris’ heart, there was something else. This niggling doubt, this unreasonable sort of pressure, like the pinch of a tack. 

Hawke may have backed him up against Danarius, but the apostate had been there, all glowing eyes and beautiful fury. For all their disagreements, he had been there, for all of his lack of support, he had been there, eyes tender when they weren’t blown out with blue light, that…look on his face. 

Maybe, maybe it would be okay to once kiss that hawkish nose, because he chose to, because he wanted to, regardless of anything else. Maybe, maybe once it would be okay to be wrapped up against that filthy robe, fingers in the feathers, nose against that aquiline nose.

Maybe it would be more than okay.