So I’m back in Helsinki and had a meeting regarding apartment things (not an interview for an actual apartment, but some assistance for the whole search process). It went better than expected, especially since I was so nervous. Definitely got some assets that MIGHT help me with finding an apartment of my own.

At least I did something. I was being active and productive. That rarely happens lol.

spicyshimmy:

syberfag:

My one track mind is why I can’t draw anything nice

‘Your one track mind is why we can’t do anything nice,’ Hawke says, but only as a joke offered just over the supper table–while just below they bump boots, toe to instep. It’s almost as though these flirtations still matter when there’s no one else to see them. 

Bodahn, Hawke explained once, doesn’t count. Neither does the dog, but only one of the two is allowed to sleep in the bed with them–and can Anders guess which one he means? 

Hawke touches Anders’s arm between two place settings, thumb against wrist. Time, urgency, need, passion and foreboding all narrow to a single point, the dagger callus on Hawke’s fingertip, the bare skin above the frayed cuff of Anders’s coat. 

He’s going to have to get a new one. Soon–soon. 

Anders satisfies his hunger with meaning these days, not with food. It isn’t the meal on his plate that matters but the slide of Hawke’s socked foot against Anders’s knee, right after he shucks off his boot and kicks it into the nearest table leg.

They’re up the stairs and in the master bedroom and unbuckling too many buckles before Anders realizes Hawke didn’t mean the usual thing, the mage thing–and can a one track mind have two familiar grooves, two scoured courses running in parallel side by each? 

He opens his mouth to say there’s no way to bring it all back, to bridge the space between each urge and every restless thought, where want muddies the waters of conviction, where bodies come together but not quite. But Hawke always slides his hands around to Anders’s belly to help with the final buckle, to peel cloth away layer by layer, finding little more than impulse and skin and freckles beneath. Some muscle–jumping with every touch–but not much of it, because Anders keeps too many other strengths. 

‘It isn’t my fault,’ Anders says. ‘You wear those short leathers every day. What am I supposed to think about? Varric’s chest-hair?’

‘You’re right,’ Hawke tells him. ‘I’m doing it on purpose. I want my only healer constantly distracted by my thighs.’

Anders takes him by the wrist, the backs of his knees hitting the bed, the same gesture this time as the first time–only stripped down, somewhere more familiar and so much more naked, the raw lines of leather-roughened skin soon to be healed by quick fingertips.

But that can only happen once Anders stops clutching the sheets, the flush on his flesh from another man’s heat, the smile on his lips to see that man’s face. 

ahhhh forgive me. slept only a bare few hours last night and i’m experiencing that rush before the crash. thank you syber, for all the beauties on my dash this morning!

Source: syberfab

I’m having breakfast while enjoying a lovely view of Stockholm’s archipelago. I’ll go to the city in a couple of hours, although I have no plans to do anything but shop for sweets and maybe have lunch.

un-shit-yourself:

steampoweredshine:

i have no idea to what Hawke is doing to /or about to do to Anders. If someone got information, write the story 😮

Anders’ breath catches as Hawke’s thumb traces his lips, so carefully, like he’s afraid Anders would break under his touch, as if he hadn’t broken already after their first night together. He waits for Hawke to close the distance between them, but the man just waits, eyes travelling over Anders’ face as the blond’s cheeks flush in anticipation. It was unnerving how easily Hawke could disarm him, igniting desire with just a touch, just a look.

“What?” Anders asks when he remains silent and staring, breath hot against Hawke’s thumb.

Hawke smirks and says nothing, cupping Anders’ jaw with his forefinger, stubble scraping against his skin as he tilts Anders’ head slightly. Anders is hardly breathing under such scrutiny, doesn’t want to disrupt whatever this is. The nail of Hawke’s thumb trails across his bottom lip and he resists a shiver, dark eyes meeting his finally; his mouth parts slightly, enough for the tip of his tongue to tease the pad of Hawke’s thumb, and Hawke lets out a low hum of approval.

“I was just thinking of what I wanted to do to you tonight,” Hawke says, voice almost a purr that Anders can feel through the man’s touch. “But I’ve changed my mind.”

“Oh?” Anders wonders for a moment if he should feel disappointed, until the thumb pushes insistently between his lips and into his wet mouth, and suddenly all he can do is whimper and lave his tongue over it obediently.

Hawke grins, finally stepping forward to press against Anders. “I think I want to do them now, instead.”

Source: delancet