anders what are you doing

no but you know what i’d love to see more of?? selfless villains

villains who are genuinely compassionate, who despise themselves for what they do but keep doing it anyway simply because they can’t see any other option. villains who take extreme measures to achieve their glowing ideals, behaving reprehensibly in the belief that the ends always justify the means. villains with rigid moral codes who desperately want to build a better world, who lie and cheat and steal and murder because no fight was ever won with pretty words and meaningless gestures, and anyway, it’ll all be worth it in the end, won’t it? won’t it?

selfless villains, you guys. i’m into it. 

“…The Circle, though it has originally referred to the Tower or Circle of Magi, is now a reference to the shape of the field in which the mages compete. It is the most widely known aspect of a mage’s life, a spectacle that anyone can attend, should they have enough coin to purchase the tickets. Naturally, the prices of these tickets fluctuate widely depending on the nature of the battle- a commoner can purchase a seat with just a few coppers should the mage in question be battling wild animals. Mage on mage battle have been known to cost as much as hundreds of sovereigns…”

“…The challenges given to the mages are most often arcane in nature- demons, possessed creatures, or other mages, and therefore their armor serves as little else than as costumes, designed to entertain and appeal to potential patrons…”

“…A harrowed mage earns the right to compete in the Circle though few get the choice of when and who. By competing in these gladiatorial battles, they have the chance to appeal their talents to potential sponsors or even the king or a commander, however rare these cases might be. Solona Amell has been the first mage in the last fifty years to have been recruited by such, a Grey Warden. Understandably, sponsoring a mage out of the Circle is not something even a king should take lightly. The Chantry levies heavy tax on the family that does so press on this point, the only exception being the Grey Warden who retain the Right of Conscription…”

“…Nobles families will often choose a mage to sponsor, as a winning mage in the Circle will bring prestige to their name. Though most do not choose to sponsor the mages out of the Circle, they will gift enchanted weapons and armor to the mage of their choosing, hoping to give their chosen an edge in the Circle. It is not uncommon, however, for these houses to sabotage their mage champions by sending them faulty equipment under the guise of gifts. They have also been known to sponsor their own blood should they have a mage in the family, despite the monetary responsibility though the mage does not regain their title…”

“…A battle is not usually fought to the death, but death due to extensive injuries are not rare…”

“…Purchasing a mage for a single day, or night’s service is frowned upon but not forbidden by the Chantry, and while no Circle will release the exact amount of profit made on these services, it has been estimated to be a significant portion due to the unwillingness of the Circles to cease such practices…”

“…Escape attempts during such battles are rare due to heavy security surrounding the arena and the threat of immediate death from the challenge at hand. The last attempt to revolt by Uldred of Kinloch Hold has led to the Annulment of the Circle…”

- Excerpts from Circle of Magi, an Alternate History

im just putting it out there that while anders in awakening states that he has escaped seven times his codex entry in da2 says that he had to be recaptured and returned dozens of times

so im just going to go ahead and ponder 2 alternatives. either

a) seven are the times that he actually got to be free long enough to catch his breath so he counts dozens of others as failures


b) his escape attempts are something of a legend that inspires templar recruit training to this day kind of like that math problem guy who buys 213 melons and has to share them equally between his 78 friends only with a more mcgyver-esque twist: “your charge is notorious apostate anders. you have located him but he has a staff, 4 friends in the brothel and half of a templar armor. what do you do?”

When people make arguments against ace people being “not on the same level as gay people” because the death penalty exists for homosexuality in some countries, it makes me really pause because like…..thats like saying one form of trauma is more valid then the other, like “oh i was physically abused which makes your emotional abuse null and void” like
Just because Ace people arent put to death for being ace (gay ace people exist lmao) doesnt mean they face a world of sunshine and lollipops
Also, real quick–Why the Fuck do y'all Care?? Just because there are some shitty people on Tumblr and Twitter that are like “mm im ace and im better than the Gays” doesnt mean you should be fucking mean to all ace people on the sheer principle of it. The fact that people are literally like “mm well sweety if you dont face the death penalty then you dont matter” like shut the fuck up oh my god

little Fenris and Anders friendship things that we missed out on:

• Fenris waltzing up into the clinic and Anders bracing himself for impact when Fenris mumbles, “Do you have a cure….. for hangovers.” Anders giggles and shakes his head. “No one can know about this, mage.” Anders ultimately helps him with his alcoholism.

• After they set up camp for a night, Fenris stays on watch first, but Anders can’t sleep of course so he sits near the fire and writes. They both keep glancing at each other. “What are you writing?” “My will for when you finally kill me.” “Fair enough. Where’s your negative amount of coin going?” “All to my cat.” Fenris chuckles, and clears his throat.

• Either that same night or another, Anders asks, “Do you mind if I try something?” “What, like stay quiet?” He reaches out for Fenris’s neck and naturally Fenris gets in an aggressive stance, but Ander’s raises his hands, “Healing magic. That’s all, promise.” Fenris clenches his teeth as Anders lays a hand on his neck and illuminates the tattoos. “What’s that… what’s that feel like?” Fenris sits back down and gazes forward. “Get back to your writing, which is also too loud, by the way.” Anders grins. It had felt relaxing.

• Them getting tipsy with the crew in the Hanged Man and what starts as an argument turns into them doing impressions of each other, which turns into them making fun of themselves and everyone can’t stop busting a gut laughing. Before they leave, Anders comments, “We sound… ridiculous, most of the time, don’t we?” Fenris smirks. “Only you.”

• They get so used to each other’s movements in battle, for whatever reason Fenris blurts out what he’s expecting his comrades to do, and that includes Anders. “BURN THEM TO ASH, ANDERS.” Afterwards Anders just, “Did you…… did you really scream ‘burn them to as–’” “No one can know about that, mage……….. ” Varric from the sidelines, “Literally everyone knows about it, broody.”

• Anders apologizing about saying anything regarding Fenris and Hawke’s relationship. “Happiness… is something we both haven’t had much of.” “Well… thank you, mage.”

• Anders asking how Fenris carries his massive sword. “I’ve carried a heavier weight for years.” “I… I get that.” “Also my seething rage fills me with might.” “I… also get that.” Fenris asks what’s it like twirling a pole around. “Well… Hawke doesn’t seem to mind my skills.” Fenris slaps Anders upside the head.

Justice expressing his intense opposition to slavery in front of Fenris, sparking a long, involved discussion between Fenris and Anders about their beliefs, where they came from, why they did the things they did, do the things they do, and coming to somewhat of an understanding of each other.

The Healer’s Heart - (f!Hawke x Anders)

Aha! I thing! And a not bad thing! And it’s a thing that could become A THING if I feel like putting anything into it. I could see it being a slow burn with some Varric lovin’ throw in. But who knows.

Rating: Teen

Words: 2,465

Warnings: blood

Summary: Stasia Hawke has found herself in need of a healer.

Stasia took a deep stabilizing breath and knocked upon the lantern-lit door on the edge of Darktown. She pressed the bunched up robes to the gash on her left thigh and tried not to think about her throbbing right arm where it hung uselessly at her side. It was bad enough that Anders would berate her this time for sure.

She’d already been to the clinic six times this week, but always as a bit of a joke. She came in with bruises and skinned knees claiming she needed expert healing. Anders’ lovely mouth twisted into a knowing smirk as she asked him ridiculous questions: ‘How serious is it, healer? Am I going to die? I think I’m bleeding out!’ He usually played along too: ‘Oh, this looks bad. I’ll need to amputate for sure.’ Sometimes she believed the lovely blonde man was seeing right through her. Stasia visited often just to see him. Scrapes were her thin guise as she bid for his well sought after attention. Anders was patient with her and he made the time, even if all she got was a quick touch of healing magic and a warm smile. It was worth it for the precious minutes she could steal. “Take care, Hawke,” he would murmur to her every time, turning away to tend to a needier patient. He made her warm. And she just never got tired of hearing those three simple words. But she needed more. More time to talk, more time with him. So she made her visits more frequent, more colloquial.

But Stasia was here in the middle of the night now, with a dislocated shoulder and a scrap of fabric wrapped around her leg as a makeshift tourniquet. The fun and games had come to a halting end. If Anders wasn’t in tonight, she’d probably die.

She knocked again and leaned heavily on the door frame. Please be here. Please help me. And when she was starting to feel she would collapse, the door cracked open.

“Hello? Hawke?!” Anders pulled the door wide and caught Stasia as she swayed forward on her bad leg.

“Help,” she said feebly as pain lanced up her entire left side when she moved.


Keep reading

“My Mage” || Fenris x Anders || NSFW || (Cross-posted on AO3)

“Take it out,” Fenris growls, causing Anders to momentarily freeze in his tracks, startled by the unexpected company. Was it already his turn to take watch again?


“The hair-tie, Mage,” the elf repeats impatiently, gesturing to the small leather strip Anders has just used to resecure his still damp strawberry blonde locks.

They’ve been fighting their way through demons, spiders, Deepstalkers, and Darkspawn for weeks since they first left with the expedition, and now they’ve finally broken the surface again after Bartrand left them all to die and they’d been forced to hand Carver over to the Wardens. They’re all exhausted, and none of them, not even Varric are saying much yet. Kirkwall is probably only another day and night’s journey but the large stream near where they’d set up camp, a chance to be clean once more, had simply been too tempting for him to resist. “Take it out,” Fenris says again.

“Why,” Anders demands. “What in the name of Andraste do you care if-” but the rest of the healer’s words are cut short as the dark-skinned elf surges forward, closing the distance between them with a frustrated growl, grabbing a fistful of hair and tugging sharply, yanking Anders’ head backwards in a way that’s just this side of painful.

Fenris’ mouth immediately latches on to the soft, sensitive skin of the other man’s neck, sucking and nipping over his pulse point, as his fingers unfurl, combing through his hair before they reach their destination, grabbing the leather tie and ripping it out with a growl that makes the mage’s insides writhe in a way that’s positively delicious, making him gasp, arms wrapping around him, fingers grasping blindly for any part of the elf he can reach to pull him still closer, anchor him to him.

“Maker’s breath,” Anders exhales breathless, the curse hardly more than a whisper. One gauntlet covered hand slides a little lower down his back, over his hips to grab a fistful of Anders’ ass making him moan appreciatively as the pointed fingertips bite just a little bit into his flesh.

Long shoulder length locks tumble forward in waves about this face, and the elf hums appreciatively, free hand that isn’t busy groping sliding up the front of his chest, pausing for just a moment over his neck to squeeze, applying just a hint of pressure for an instant, making Anders cock twitch appreciatively. The hand moves on to comb far more slowly and softly, reverently, through the now loosed strands, before cupping his jaw as he draws him in to a hungry kiss.

“Fuck, Fenris,” Anders whispers, his knees suddenly feeling weak.

“Mhm, not just yet,” the elf purrs, licking a long careful stripe up the mage’s neck, pausing only to nip at his Adam’s apple, drawing out another needy whimper.

“Say it again,” Fenris instructs, eyes with pupils blown wide blink through heavy lids to look up at him in confusion. “My name Anders,” Fenris rasps, breath hot against his skin, still cool from his icy bath. “Say it again,” the elf repeats, one long, lithe leg sliding between the mage’s two and pressing in, rubbing up against the growing evidence of his arousal beneath the thin barrier of his tunic and sleeping trousers.

“Fenris,” Anders gasps, voice dripping now with desire and need, as the Mage writhes and rubs in wanton abandon against the warrior’s body.

“What,” Fenris’s voice snaps impatiently in a tone so out of character from what’s just been happening, so much more like what Anders has thus far come to expect of him, the mage stops short, confusion flooding him.

“What,” the elf demands once more. “What the hell do you… Anders,” Fenris continues growling angrily. “Mage. Wake. Up.”

Anders jolts a little, feet hopelessly tangled in his bedroll, which, at some point in the night he’s managed to shift until he was pressed right up against Fenris and his own. Oh no. No. No, no, no, no. Maker no, Anders thinks, an icy rush of fear suddenly coursing through him as he awkwardly scrambles, still in his bedroll to put as much distance as he possibly can between himself and the elf who’s staring wide-eyed at him looking somewhere between grumpy from being woken up and a bit confused.

“Mage- Anders,” Fenris corrects, and the blonde thinks just maybe hearing his actual name might be even worse. “Was that- were you… aroused,” the elf asks. “By me?”

“No,” Anders replies immediately, far too hastily to be believed. “No, I-“ Maker, Anders thinks racking his brain. Say something, anything. Just some bullshit about everyone waking up with morning wood now and again, and it not being anything personal. Maybe if he’s lucky he didn’t actually moan the elf’s name at a volume the other will have heard.

“You talk in your sleep,” Fenris interrupts, cutting him off before he can come up with what will no doubt be a weak explanation and making the other’s heart stutter to a stop. Shit. “Did you know that?”

“Oh Maker,” the mage mutters, any remaining color draining from his face. “Fenris, I- I’m sorry. I- I’ll make sure we don’t have share a tent ever again. I’ll-“

“Shut up,” the elf snaps, throwing back his bedroll and crossing the tent with the kind of speed Anders has only seen when they’re fighting.

“F-Fenris,” the mage stammers, wide-eyed as the warrior crawls over his legs and sits, pinning him where he lies with his lithe, smaller, but surprisingly strong body. Anders knows better than to try and wrestle him off of him, though he’s probably in too much shock to manage it even if he were strong enough to do so, because the subject of his recent and baffling fantasies is currently straddling his hips, and… Fuck, is that? Sweet blood of Andraste! He’s still dreaming, he must be, there’s simply no other explanation for the bulge in Fenris’ leggings bumping up against his abdomen with every panicked, shallow breath. “But you hate mages,” the blonde whispers stymied.

“I hate what was done to me, by mages,” Fenris replies firmly shaking his head. “But you are not those mages. These last few months, you’ve proved that, even though- I tried my best to make that impossible or ignore the evidence.” Anders doesn’t know what to say, continuing to stare wide-eyed and gob smacked at the white-haired elf above him, shaking his head. “And I’ve seen the way you look at me when we aren’t busy antagonizing and pretending to hate one another. I could pretend to be offended, but-“ he continues, glancing meaningfully down between them to the evidence of his arousal with an awkward sort of cough. “The admiration is obviously mutual.”


“Mage, flattering as it is to hear, you’re going to eventually have to say something else besides just repeating my name. Particularly since I’ve not yet done anything worthy of making you say it so often,” the elf replies with the hint of a chuckle, leaning down close enough their noses almost touch. “One word and this stops. I’ll not ever bring it up nor bother you again. We pretend none of this ever happened,” Fenris promises solemnly. “So what’s it to be Mage? Do you want this- want me? Yes, or no?”

Maker, yes, Anders thinks, mind all but screaming it, even as somewhere in the back of his head Justice raises his usual protests. “Are you really going to keep calling me that,” the mage manages finally, attempting to dodge the question, if only for a few more seconds to wait for the return of his senses.

“That rather depends on your answer. I could go on calling you that,” the white-haired elf whispers in that low half-growl sort of voice that’s positively sinful and absolutely not fair. “Or,” he continues, an eyebrow disappearing beneath his white fringe. “I could start calling you my mage,“ Fenris offers possessively, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“Your-“ Anders chokes, eyes growing impossibly wider. “You would do that? You’d tell Hawke and the rest of them about us?”

“You would prefer to keep this quiet?”

“I… Maybe,” Anders admits hesitantly, searching the large green eyes staring down at him for some sort of sign of what Fenris might be thinking or feeling about his response. They’re both softening now, but it may not be such a bad thing: the conversation not being- or at least not entirely being dictated by impulse and the heat of the moment. “Just for a while, at least,” the mage qualifies hastily, because the elf isn’t one to let his guard down to show much emotion besides perhaps anger, but Anders thinks perhaps he’s misjudged the other’s emotional depth up to this point, because Fenris seems almost… disappointed. “Fenris, we haven’t known one another for all that long, and we’ve spent most of it mutually pretending we can’t stand one another. I just think maybe, it might be better if we’re sure before we start telling all our friends.”

“Sure,” Fenris repeats curiously, pulling back a little to sit up and better study the mage’s face.

“That this is going to work, that we are what each other wants,” Anders elaborates after a deep and steadying breath, nodding. “We should- get to know one another better first,” he offers, “If you’re serious about making something more of this than just sex.” Fenris seems to consider this for a moment, before carefully extricating himself from where he sits atop the mage to kneel on the floor of them tent beside him, still studying him curiously.

“Is that what you and Karl did?”

“I never told you-“ Anders begins startled, quickly sitting up to face the elf, taken aback by the mention of the other man’s name. It’s been some months now, but the memories do linger, still ache.

“You didn’t have to,” Fenris replies shaking his head, clearing the mage of any momentary suspicion and feelings of hurt that Hawke might have betrayed his confidence. “When I was a bodyguard it was my job to see everything, particularly secrets- anything Danarius might be able to twist to his advantage- I was always encouraged and rewarded for finding such things,” the elf continues softly. “I am sorry, about Karl,” he adds sincerely, looking up from where he had been staring unseeing at the ground to meet Anders’ coppery gaze.

“Thank you,” the blonde nods softly. “I- Yes, I suppose it was like that for Karl and I,” he admits finally. “I set a barn on fire when I was twelve,” Anders exhales, bracing himself for the inevitable comments about the dangers of mages. “It was accident. I didn’t even know how I’d done it. My mother tried to convince my father it was her doing- knocked over a lantern or something like that, but he didn’t buy it. He locked me up in my room and the Templars came and dragged me away the next day.”

“I wasn’t the youngest one there,” Anders continues when the elf doesn’t try to cut him off or interrupt. “But I hated it all the same. Hated my father for sending me away. I missed my mother. The other children I grew up with. My friends. I scarcely spoke a word to anyone my first few months there. There didn’t seem any point. I was going to get out of there, to go back home. I made it as far as the opposite shore of the lake before one of the Templars caught me and dragged me back. Next time, I thought, I’ll do better. I’ll make it. I’ll finally be free,” he continues, shaking his head.

“First Enchanter Irving must have thought I was harmless. A pain in the ass, maybe, but harmless enough. He never did much more than scold and give me additional chores and duties around the tower. But the Templars put me in solitary after the sixth attempt… for a year,” he adds in a voice that’s scarcely audible.

“A year,” Fenris repeats, eyes widening as the mage nods in confirmation.

“Karl- after the fifth attempt he took me under his wing. I suppose Irving might have told him too, at least at first. But he helped me with my studies and looked out for me. We became friends and then…” the blonde shrugs. “But then they sent him to Kirkwall shortly after he passed his Harrowing. I broke out again, sold my gold earring to try and buy passage on a ship to the Free Marches before they caught up with me again, threw me in solitary. Made my seventh attempt- a little more successfully a month or two after I was out again. Well,” he corrects with the first hint of a smile since beginning his story. “I got caught, but then there was a mess with some Darkspawn and I was conscripted to the Wardens by the Hero of Ferelden. Even I couldn’t just leave them to fight that whole mess by themselves. Not after she stuck her neck out for me like that,” he admits. “When it was all over, she helped to maintain the fiction I died in all the fighting so I could come here,” the mage continues, before his smile and gaze slowly drop to his hands where they twist in his lap. “But… well, you know how the rest of it turned out.”

“I’m sorry,” Fenris repeats, feeling particularly frustrated with how foolish and useless the words seem. Anders nods slightly, swallowing down hard on the lump that’s formed in his throat.

“When you grow up in the Circle, everything is all about order, rules, the Templars, the apprentices… so you find ways to make things bearable. Karl made it all seem more bearable. The Circle and the Templars were still terrible, but you could almost forget, even if it was only just for a little while. I didn’t really think about trying to escape then. I didn’t want to be anywhere he wasn’t. We weren’t together very long-“

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t entitled to mourn him.”

“We were both mages. We weren’t entitled to anything so far as most people are concerned, except a life-sentence in the Circle,” Anders shakes his head.

“So,” Fenris hedges, curious, but not entirely certain as to whether it’s too soon to shift the topic a little for his query. “Has it… always been men for you,” the elf manages softly.

“I’ve always believed people fall in love with a whole person. Not just a body. Why would you shy away from loving someone, just because they’re like you,” the blonde replies. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was love-exactly, but no, I haven’t always had male partners.

“That I’m an elf doesn’t bother you?”

“I should think the answer to that would have been obvious, given the state you found me when we woke up this morning,” Anders chuckles softly, shaking his head. “There weren’t many elves in the village where I was born, too small and out of the way, I expect, but there were more than a few in the Circle. They were mages the same as me, it never really occurred to me to see them any differently. Does it bother you that I’m human,” Anders asks turning the question back on the elf. Fenris shakes his head. “What about you,” the mage continues, though it’s impossible to miss the sudden twitchiness and visible discomfort that comes over his companion at the prospect of questions suddenly being directed at him. “Has it always been men for you?”

“I-“ Fenris hesitates, palms clenching a little where they rest over his knees. “I don’t know,” the elf admits. The truth seems, after all, only fair after Anders has been so candid with him.

“You don’t know,” the mage repeats rather surprised. “So then you’ve never-“

“If there was ever someone before Danarius, I don’t remember them,” Fenris confesses. “I’m not certain whether it was something he did, or just the pain of the procedure, but being branded- I’ve forgotten everything that was or came before it.”

“But Danarius was your master. That’s not- You couldn’t refuse him.”

“I could,” Fenris argues. “I did, at first, until I realized that was exactly what he wanted, that he enjoyed it. Eventually I stopped protesting or trying to fight him off. Then he’d be gentle, kind, manipulate and bide his time until I wanted it. Until I asked for it,” the elf continues, spitting the word as though in a rush to be rid of it from his mouth. A week ago, perhaps even yesterday, before Fenris knew even just a bit more of what the mage had endured in his time at the Circle, he wouldn’t have believed it possible, but there’s something more than simply pity in the way the other man is looking at him now. A kind of understanding and kinship of what it is to be desperate for touch and intimacy, no matter where it might come from. “Until he’d convinced me that no one else could, or ever would want me. That I was lucky he felt sorry for and could stand to be with me,” Fenris concludes hanging his head, face disappearing behind the fringes of his white hair.

“Maker, Fenris, and you still want me? Even after all that? Even though I’m a mage? You don’t worry that I’d-“ the blonde trails off, seeming to lose the ability to give voice to exactly what concerns the elf should have, although it is easy enough to guess at them.

“It wouldn’t be like it was with Danarius,” the elf replies calmly shaking his head.

“But how can you be so certain of that,” Anders presses.

“Because this would be my choice,” Fenris points out. “And because, this isn’t the first time you’ve talked in your sleep about me. Your requests were… pretty specific, not anything I’ve done before,” Fenris admits- not that he can remember at least- “But nothing I would be opposed to trying with you.”

“Andraste’s nickerweasels,” Anders squeaks, cheeks rapidly flushing pink. “Is there even any point in keeping quiet about us, or does the whole camp already know?”

“Why do you think I pitch our tent farther away from the rest of them? At any rate, you have nothing to worry about. It’s not as though you have been doing much sleeping while we were in the Deep Roads,” the elf replies with a knowing look. “I believe last night is the longest you’ve slept uninterrupted since we started this expedition.” He’s right, of course, though the mage feels a bit guilty at the thought that he’s been robbing the elf of a good night’s sleep these last few weeks as well because of his Darkspawn-fueled nightmares.

“We don’t always see eye to eye,” Fenris says, smile twisting at the corners of his mouth as Anders snorts softly at his words. “I don’t suspect you’ll ever convince me your offering to play host to this ‘Justice’ was ever an intelligent decision,” he continues before Anders can interrupt him, undeterred by the mage’s frown. “But your intentions were honorable ones,” Fenris acknowledges taking the blonde by surprise. “You left the Wardens for a reason. The dreams and some of it haunt you still, but because of you Hawke still has his grumpy younger brother. I know the refugees pay you whatever they can for your skills, but I also know you drink on Varric’s tab at the Hanged Man and are perpetually broke,” he goes on, as Anders blushes a little, looking away from the other once more, embarrassed. Fenris, however, is having none of it, long thin fingers grasping his chin and slowly steering him back to meet his green eyes once more. “Because you put every copper you have into that Clinic,” Fenris smiles softly.

“You could never be Danarius, and I should never have suggested otherwise. That was allowing fear to speak for me, unworthy of me,” the elf says, gaze never leaving Anders’. “You could never be like him, because unlike Danarius, you are a good man.”

“I-“ Anders manages to stammer after a moment of his mouth hanging open. “I’d really like to kiss you,” the mage admits a little breathlessly. “May I?” Fenris blinks, then smiles, wider and brighter than the mage has ever seen before, and Anders thinks that just maybe he’d like to keep making him smile like that for the indefinite future, maybe almost as much as he’d like the elf to take him up on whatever sorts of sexual suggestions he’s been making while he’s unconscious.

“You may,” Fenris nods.

Despite whatever brash comments about Fenris being the one in charge the mage may have made in his sleep, the elf seems content to let Anders come to him and dictate the speed and methodology of their first kiss. It’s not until they are several seconds into it that it occurs to the mage, perhaps Fenris is learning, that this might be another aspect of intimacy he either doesn’t remember, or hasn’t experienced before. He’s on the verge of asking when the elf takes a more active role, mimicking some of Anders’ earlier moves and adding a few of his own, tongue darting out and gently licking across the seam of his mouth, earning a moan from the other before Fenris’ tongue takes advantage of the opening. The faint, but undeniable way the elf tastes vaguely of Lyrium is enough it seems to temporarily silence any would-be protests from Justice, as Anders presses closer into the elf’s arms and lap their previously neglected and wilted arousals returning full-force.

It’s Fenris that breaks away first, gently resting his hands on Anders’ shoulders to push the mage back a little. A soft, entirely embarrassing whine of protest escapes from Anders’ throat before he can stop it, and seems to temporarily stun the warrior who stares back wide-eyed, pupils blown wide. He did that.

“You wanted to get to know one another better,” Fenris reminds him finally with a small smile as he begins slipping into the various pieces of his armor with effortless speed and ease. “And if you want any food before Hawke’s dog eats it all, and aren’t ready for them to know about us yet we should probably get out there,” he gestures towards the entrance of their tent. “Besides,” the elf adds, eyes darkening with lust and mischief that makes Anders’ insides twist and positively cramp with hunger and need, voice dipping once more to that roughened note that makes him feel weak in the knees. “The mansion may not be much, but if we’re going to do this right then the first time I have you will be in a proper bed, Mage,” Fenris promises, winking at him before ducking out of their tent to ask Hawke and Varric about what remains of breakfast. Anders groans trying to will away his erection even as he watches the elf’s perfect and perky little ass as he retreats until the tent flap closes again.

“Your mage,” Anders corrects breathlessly, despite the fact the elf is well out of earshot now.

 Thank the Maker they’re only a day or two at most away from Kirkwall.

anonymous asked:

Oh I loved the Anders and Cassandra banters (though that word feels too light to describe what was really going on lol)! I loved all the banters you've done and I was wondering if you'd be up to writing Anders and Solas then? If not, totally ok! You've just captured everyone's voices so well, it's like hearing them in game - thank you!

Anonymous said: The companion dialogues you write are amazing! Something in the Cassandra/Anders dialogue caught my interest though…what would Solas and Anders have to say to each other? Would they like each other, or despise each other?

Thank you to both of you! Since you both requested the same banter partners, I’m answering both of your asks in the same post. 

Just like the Anders and Cassandra banters, I’m writing this under the assumption that Anders joined the Inquisition as a member of the Inner Circle. If he seems a bit more combative than usual, it’s mainly because of his circumstances after the ending of Dragon Age 2.

Anders: Do you have anything to say to me?
Solas: Pardon?
Anders: Everyone else seems to be taking the opportunity to condemn me. So what is this? The silent treatment?
Solas: I did not see the need to offer commentary. If you wish to know my opinion, you need only to ask for it.
Anders: I did what I did for people like you - like us. The least I could ask for is for someone in your position to show at least a little gratitude.
Solas: I understand your desire for action, Anders. You saw a problem and hoped to address it, no matter the cost. And while there may come a time in which the death of others is a necessary sacrifice to achieve a better world, I would ask you, truthfully - do you feel your actions in Kirkwall succeeded? Have you created the world you desired?
Anders: The Circles have fallen. The Chantry is scrambling to regain control. That should count for something.
Solas: The mages rebelled as an act of self-preservation in the face of Templars who now hold proof of every claim they have ever made against our kind to justify their abuses. They believe that apostates are dangerous, that their magic is a threat to innocent lives. You fulfilled those fears. You have become the embodiment of everything they claim to be true. You have not healed the wound that was already festering. You merely added more fuel to a fire that had been building for generations. Rebellion was inevitable. Your role within it was not.

Anders: I heard you have always been a hedge mage. Is that true?
Solas: Do you find it surprising that I might evade the Templars for so long?
Anders: Maker knows I don’t have much faith in their intelligence, but they always managed to track me down no matter what I did.
Solas: They were looking for you. It is far easier to hide if you never draw attention to yourself in the first place.
Anders: I didn’t exactly have a choice. My own father reported me when he learned I was a mage. I was only twelve at the time, but it’s not like that mattered to him.
Solas: No amount of sympathy can change or undo so intimate a betrayal - but I am sorry. No one should have to experience what you have. Not for the crime of merely existing as you do. Bearing a stronger connection to the Fade is not a curse. It is a gift. One that should be treasured.
Anders: (bitter laugh) Oh, the Enchanters would have gotten a kick out of you. I wonder how long you would last in a Circle before they locked you up for such talk.
Solas: There is a reason I never allowed myself the opportunity to find out firsthand.

Solas: At least these spirits will be at peace, once the rifts are closed.
Anders: Why do you insist on calling them spirits? These things we keep killing are clearly demons.
Solas: I would not expect you of all people to draw such stark distinctions between the two.
Anders: Have you actually taken the time to study demons? They clearly align with the world’s various sins. They may have been spirits, once, but they’re something totally different now. The Chant teaches that they-
Solas: I suppose it is only natural for your kind to fabricate a sense of order and reason, however artificial, to make sense of that which you do not understand. Otherwise, the Fade would seem entirely chaotic, would it not? Why not force the world to fit into small, comfortable definitions than accept the notion that perhaps your view is too narrow?
Anders: And a hedge mage is supposed to be more enlightened, I suppose? As if I haven’t spent years of my life studying the Fade?
Solas: You have spent years of your life studying texts others have written about the Fade. I walk those paths each night as I sleep. There is no comparing the two. I know that a spirit may become corrupted in the same way that I know a good man may convince himself to do terrible things given the right circumstances. Is he no longer a man, after what he has done? Neither truth is comfortable, but that does not make them less true.  

After All New, Faded for Her-

Anders: I am sorry about your friend.
Solas: Thank you.
Anders: I… know what it is like. To befriend a spirit, I mean. And to watch them become… something else.
Solas: Justice entered this world against his will, yet that did not change who it was. It was lucky, in that sense. Most spirits do not have that luxury… to hold onto that sense of self when the shock of this world overwhelms them. Justice… Vengeance… these names you give it are simply two shades of the same entity, the same driving desire to impose order where there is none. You may have played a hand in shaping him, but your actions are not the same as those who hurt my friend. You did not summon Justice. You did not bind it to your will, you did not enslave it. As I said to Cole, I will say to you - to both you and the spirit within you - what you become is ultimately of your own choosing. You either give in to that anger, to that driving need to repay pain with pain - or you do not.
Anders: And what if I… if we… I don’t feel like it’s something I can control.
Solas: Action or inaction - both are a choice. Both have consequences. You cannot escape a problem by running away from it. At some point, you must face it directly - or it will do nothing but continue to chase you.
Anders: But how? I turned my friend into a demon. I made him into this.
Solas: Begin by accepting that Justice is a spirit, a person unto himself - not some curse you bear upon your shoulders. As long as you hold on to the belief that a demon is something beyond salvation, something so changed that it is no longer a spirit - you will continue to shape it to fulfill that belief.

After an instance in which Vengeance takes over-

Anders: I tried, Solas. I tried what you said… but it didn’t work.
Solas: You cannot heal this as you would a broken limb. It is not a matter of will. It is a process that requires patience and diligence. It has taken years for you and Justice to become what you are. You cannot expect that to change in a matter of days.
Anders: What am I supposed to do in the meantime, then, hmm? Just go on like everything is fine, knowing I might kill someone if the mood strikes?
Solas: Trust those around you, Anders. We stopped you from doing any real harm. We will stop you again, should it be necessary.

[my original banter tag]