#freckled anders

[olillskio]

While my artstyle is doing backflips with details have some more Anders fanart xD 

Btw this is the bright version- there will be another one for Justice soon >:D also- I love how his eyes turned out can we pls appreciate them? xD

[liltaireissocute]

[tobythewise]

Today I’m busy thinking about Anders’ hands. Specifically the fact that he’s got adorable FRECKLES on the back of his hands 🥺 those freckles deserve little kisses and I’m not sorry for saying it!

[demigoddessqueens]

small moments

Summary: they appreciate your touch, but know the feelings are a risk

➡️ a little bit Valentines-inspired for next month, but also because I like these characters and their narrative foils!!

➡️ also here on MASTERLIST 9

Writing prompts (found here) —> “Brushing your lover's waist/shoulder as they pass”

“Instinctively pressing your hands against your lover's cheek as they passionately rave, only for them to stop talking and gape, completely distracted by the lack of distance

“On a whim, pulling your lover into an alley and pressing your lips firmly against theirs, getting lost in each other's touch while the streets bustle outside”

Anders welcomes their touch as if it’s a salvation for him.

The mage hunted down by Templars desired so fervently by the Hero of Kirkwall. Gentle, brushing touches leave him ravenous and Hawke teases him so. A grab along the waistband, or carelessly letting their hand ghost along the his freckles.

As the guards pass by, Anders can barely hear them look for the Apostate. Hawke has him pinned against the wall, their lips and tongue try to keep the besotted mage quiet as he tries to keep his moans low.

Sebastian goes against every rational thought that tells him this is wrong. Hawke plays a dangerous game with the brushing touches against him, especially in the open view of the Chantry.

Despite the verbose warnings Starkhaven’s prince has to offer to Hawke, he’s suddenly mute when their armored hand caresses his face. How can an innocent touch be loaded with a searing, underlying intent?

Losing any last shred of inhibitions, Sebastian lets Hawke crash their lips onto his before he surrenders and reciprocates. It’s wrong, forbidden and he could get caught, but Maker’s Breath it feels too perfect to pull away.

[storybookhawke]

camboy handers au where hawke recognizes his hospital coworker anders as a camboy but only because he's been subscribed to that recognizable freckled ass for several years

[kaija-rayne-author]

Okay. I draw and do graphic design, but I'm not at the level of a professional artist.

I'm confused as to why so much fan art of Solas has him with dark hair. (Note: I've not yet played Trespasser or read the books/comics so I may not have all info. Please no spoilers!)

Don't get me wrong, I love almost all fan art for the Dragon Age world and am so grateful people who draw better than me do it! Draw him however you want, and thank you!

I just find it strange and wonder at the whys. I'm always wondering at the why's (and the who's, what's, and howe's, Yes I romanced Anders, can you tell?😂).

I mean, look at him!

Pale skin (no joke, when he first came on screen I squinted the dude is so pale).

Blue eyes

Red-brown eyebrows

And he has freckles!

Wolfy likely has medium to deep auburn hair with gold or copper highlights and brown lowlights.

I do see him drawn that way, but it’s almost like I have to look to find it. It just feels like an odd ratio given his in game colouration.

My blog has become a trash fan-by (fan enby) account for Solas and I couldn't be miserably happier 😅💔😂. Bloody sneaky wolf kidnapping my emotions.

[clearphilosophercandy]

All stories can be found on AO3. Just click on the link and there you go. Have fun.

I'm also open for requests.

Napola - Before the Fall (2004)

✖ Bliss

Albrecht gets his first boxing lesson - and something else. (Friedrich x Albrecht)

✖ Cloudless

After an incident, Albrecht is shipped off by his parents to another psychiatric clinic in Berlin, where he meets the young trainee Friedrich. He falls in love with Friedrich - and wonders why the latter already seems so familiar to him, even though they do not know each other. (Friedrich x Albrecht)

✖ Only the moon knows

Albrecht finally can't keep his thoughts for himself anymore, and pays Friedrich a late night visit. (Friedrich x Albrecht)

✖ The Mirror

Albrecht observes something very interesting in the mirror at the showers. (Friedrich x Albrecht)

✖ The Bathtub

Friedrich has taken Albrecht to his home in Berlin, and worries whether Albrecht will be able to find his way in this simple life. While bathing, however, Albrecht shows him how much he can cope. (Friedrich x Albrecht)

✖ On his knees

Albrecht can finally give Friedrich back what he himself got a few days ago - and doesn't hesitate to hold back. (Friedrich x Albrecht)

✖ Als wäre es nie anders gewesen - Deutsche OneShot Sammlung 🇩🇪

Hier findet ihr all die Sachen (die meisten zumindest), die ich sonst auf Englisch poste, auch in Deutsch. OneShot Sammlung & andere Dinge. (Friedrich x Albrecht)

Peaky Blinders

✖ Thin Lines

After an attack, Arthur decides it's time for Tommy to get a bodyguard. But Tommy decides differently than Arthur wanted - and besides, not everything turns out the way the Shelby family thought it would. (Tommy x Alfie)

✖ Frail Little Birds

Two stories - two different wars. About finding and losing, about hope and loss. (Tommy x Alfie)

✖ The Devil comes with hornes

Tommy receives a nocturnal visitor at the door whom he had believed to be dead. But it soon becomes clear that nothing has changed - except for Tommy's wish, so that he might forgive him at last. (Tommy x Alfie)

✖ Serendipity

[noun] The effect by which one accidentally stumbles upon something truly wonderful, especially while looking for something entriely unrelated.

or: Tommy and Alfie find love, even though they expected something completely different. (Tommy x Alfie)

Inception

✖ Freckles

It was irritating to be so close to Arthur, so damn close that he could even count the fine freckles on his nose. There were seven, finely distributed. No mirror, just Arthur. (Eames x Arthur)

✖ Out of place

Eames knows he does something very wrong when he takes Robert home - but he can't get over the pain Arthur left him with by leaving again, when things were about to get serious. (Eames x Arthur, Eames x Robert Fischer)

[lesetoilesfous]

Happy Friday! “I still remember the way you taste.” for whichever pairing you'd like to write 💖

Thank you so much for the prompt!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Anders/Fenris

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: mild sexual themes, they're definitely friends at this point

Rating: Mature

It’s been three years. Three years since one ill advised dalliance upstairs at The Hanged Man which for all the whores in Kirkwall, Fenris has not been able to forget. And now the mage has had the gall to take his coat off, leaving him in nothing but a loose linen shirt and his threadbare pants. He stretches with the easy grace of an oversized cat, exposing the russet graze of hair on his lower belly, framed by a sharp V of muscle that leads tantalisingly below his waistline. Fenris’ fingers tighten around his cup as he glares at his own blurred reflection in his wine. He knows it is not possible to curse someone like this, not in a way he wouldn’t have noticed. But he cannot help feeling bewitched by the infuriating man in front of him as Anders tilts his head back, red-blonde hair wavy with the humidity, loose and soft in the candlelight. 

He’s saying something to Isabela, and when he laughs his stubble-grazed throat ripples in a way that Fenris resolutely tries to ignore. He finishes his wine in one long gulp, ignoring the sting burning through the sweetness of it, and gets to his feet with an angry scrape of his chair on the wooden floorboards. Fenris ignores Varric’s mild chastisement and the burning of his ears, muttering a half-hearted excuse about getting another drink as he storms downstairs to the bar.

The Hanged Man is busy tonight. It’s always busy. Thanks to Varric’s spies, it’s the only place in Lowtown where it’s possible to get a drink without a knife to the stomach for your trouble. Fenris presses through the mostly human crowd easily enough, taking a certain pleasure in shoving aside men almost twice his size and ignoring their shouts of embarrassment and anger. He’s as safe here as he ever is anywhere in Kirkwall. Moreso, thanks to the shroud of Varric’s favour. They might want to start a fight with him, but they won’t, not where Corff can see them. 

Mouth and nose full of the taste of sweat and liquor, Fenris finds his way to the splintered bar, tattooed with a few dozen wood carvings. He recognises Isabela’s work in a particularly lewd piece and takes a moment to snort, before setting his cup on the bar and waiting for Corff to attend to him. Someone tall and, unusually, clean-smelling, squeezes in beside him. Fenris refuses to look at him. “What do you want, mage?”

Anders is more relaxed than usual - a rare victory in itself - and his smile comes easily. “Tell me, do you practise being that disagreeable in the mirror?” He arranges his fox-like features into a poor approximation of gravitas and deepens his voice. “Death to the imperium.”

Fenris raises an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be me?”

Anders crows, flinging his long arms into the air. “Hey, you recognised it, I’m counting that as a victory.”

Fenris scowls, turning away from him. “Are you here for any cause other than to mock me?”

“Yes, actually. ‘Bela wants some Antivan tequila. And I wanted a word with you.”

That’s unusual enough to give Fenris pause, and he shifts his attention away from the merry jig of the tavern’s regular band, at last giving Anders his full attention. In the candlelight, his freckles look like gold dust, and his brown eyes are copper coins. “Are you well?”

Anders’ face does something complicated before he laughs, covering his mouth with a scarred hand. “Oh, ah, no. No, I’m fine.”

Fenris’ frown deepens. “The clinic, then?” He lowers his voice, stepping closer to avoid the prying eyes and ears of the pressing throng around them. “If it’s threatened, you must know Varric would aid you in protecting it.”

Anders’ broad shoulders visibly relax, and Fenris is all-at-once all too aware of the sweet, clean, warm smell of linen and elfroot that clings to him. Anders doesn’t move, doesn’t breach his personal space. But Fenris feels the weight of his gaze like a kiss. “I know, Fenris. Thank you.” Anders’ mouth twists, and the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth crease as he glances across the bar, where Corff is deep in a conversation about pigeons with a Fereldan woman. 

After a moment, Anders returns his attention to Fenris, and his expression is uncharacteristically nervous. His long fingers tap the rough, soft, worn wood of the bar. “I just…wondered whether you might be interested in some company. From me. Tonight.”

Fenris sways backward, taking in the length of Anders’ body as he does so and trying to ignore the coil of heat in his belly at the memory of it. Anders, on his knees, a smile pulling at his lips, even stretched obscenely around - “What gives you the impression that I should desire it?”

If Fenris had wanted Anders to take his answer as rejection, it has the opposite effect. Instead, his eyes become hooded, darkening in the low, warm light of the tavern as he leans forward, tall body curving like a sapling in the breeze. When Anders speaks, he does so directly into Fenris’ ear. His breath is hot as it falls down his neck. “Because you haven’t been able to take your eyes off me all evening. And-”

Anders touches him, long fingers trailing lightly over his shoulder and bicep, deftly avoiding the lyrium lines as they do. Fenris shivers, feeling his skin prickle at just the touch of him. When Anders speaks, his voice is barely a murmur, “I still remember the taste of you.”

Then he withdraws his hand, picks up the tequila Corff has just poured for Isabela, and saunters away into the crowd. 

“You alright Fenris?” Corff says, amicably, filling Fenris’ cup from an earthenware jug of Tevene wine. “Look like you’ve been struck by lightning.”

Fenris doesn’t bother to reply. He takes his cup, murmurs a thanks, and weaves his way back into the crowd. He has no intention of sleeping alone tonight.

[potatowitch]

Sims 4 Anders Lookbook

I love playing dress up with my favourite blorbo in the Sims, so I thought I’d put together a lookbook with CC links to show off his current outfits. I fiddle with what Anders is wearing and the skin details and things I have for him all the time, but this is what I have for now. Big shoutout to the Better Exceptions mod that has a function that shows you all the CC your sim is currently wearing.

I have all of the Kirkwall companions, as well as a couple Origins and Awakening companions in my game too, I may throw together lookbooks for them in the future. And maybe a Pounce lookbook too bc the little guy is stylish as hell.

Base sim (includes DA2 hair, skin details, brows and facial hair) || Default skin || Default eyes || Body blush || Body freckles from Growing Together || Scars || Awakening hair || Wedding ring || Earring

Everyday 1: Top from Realm of Magic || Pants from Strangerville || Shoes and socks base game

Everyday 2: Top from Discover University || Pants from Laundry Day

Everyday 3: Top and wristband from base game || Pants || Nails

Fomal: Top || Pants from Romantic Garden || Shoes || Nails from base game

Athletic: Top || Pants from University

Sleepwear 1: Shorts from base game

Sleepwear 2: Shirt || Pants || Slippers

Sleepwear 3: Panties by Wistful Poltergeist but I cannot for the life of me find a working download link || Stockings

Party: Shirt from Realm of Magic || Pants

Swimwear: Shorts from Island Living

Hot Weather 1: Shirt || Shorts from Get to Work || Nails from base game || Socks

Hot Weather 2: Shirt || Pants || Shoes from base game

Cold Weather: Coat || Pants from Laundry Day || Boots from Realm of Magic || Scarf || Hat

[meowmeowmage]

(I accidentally answered this yesterday with an unfinished ficlet and had to delete the ask, so here's a screenshot instead)

28. “I could spend hours counting all your freckles.  And I would enjoy every second of it.”

The whole gang was at the Hanged Man, drinking and playing cards. Well, some were drinking way more than playing, namely Hawke. He had always been an affectionate drunk, but while he had spread his affection among his friends before, now that he had a lover, he was focusing it completely on Anders, and it had translated specifically into overly romantic sweet talking and touching.

He had already gotten into the other man's personal space earlier, their legs pressing against each other. Now he had turned completely towards Anders, cards forgotten in his slack grip while he was gazing at the freckles peppered on Anders's nose and cheeks.

“I could spend hours counting all your freckles.  And I would enjoy every second of it.”

Anders was stone cold sober but his world had narrowed down to just Hawke nonetheless. His cheeks blushed beautifully making the freckles pop even better. Hawke was tracing them with his free hand, counting under his breath, his smile obvious even when he spoke.

The pair looked every inch the infatuated lovers.

"Do your think you could divert time from you busy schedule to play a hand at least, Hawke?" Fenris asked, earning a snort from Varric, and a snicker from Isabela when he was completely ignored. He didn't seem surprised at all though.

"I think his busy schedule takes priority," Isabela commented with a grin before leaning over the table and plucking both Hawke and Anders's cards from their hands. Neither of them as much as noticed.

"You should include that in your book, Varric," Merrill piped up, "They're adorable!"

Varric shook his head before replying.

"No way, Daisy. People would just criticize that it's too unrealistic."

The whole group gave the pair one last look before leaving them to Hawke's drunk and quite wrong counting.

[inquisimer]

Helloooo hap Friday! For Loghain and whomever else of your choosing, "❛ i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile. ❜"

hap friday sterling💜 it ended up Loghain & Merrill, which I did not see coming but feels right🥺

for @dadrunkwriting

wc: 844

~~~

Despite its distance from the blast, Kirkwall’s alienage suffered disproportionate carnage. There were any number of causes to point to, from the shoddy construction of their buildings to their exposure to the bay to the lack of income for repairs. But what mattered wasn’t the causes, but the outcomes.

Loghain grunted, bracing a fresh beam against his shoulder. Tendrils of green, vine-like magic snaked around its middle, supporting what his physical strength could not bear. Together, he and the elf hefted the beam into place, the last step before rebuilding the roof.

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” gushed the older, gaunt-faced elf. His arm was in a sling and a gash under his eye bore stitches, but his lips curved upward as he clasped his hands together. His eyes sparkled with tears.

Two blond-haired elf kits with freckles and bright hazel eyes wrapped around his ankles, looking up at the new, solid wood with wide eyes.

“It’s nothing,” Loghain grunted, bestowing a rare, crooked smile on the children. “No trouble at all.”

He slipped off to other tasks before they could give him gratitude again.

“It’s not nothing, you know.” Merril snuck up behind him, moving nearly silent in her footwraps, deftly avoiding the splinters and burning embers on the cobblestone. “It is quite literally everything, for them.”

“I know.” Loghain took up a broom and swept shattered glass and assorted rubble to the side as he spoke. “But that is not what I meant.”

“Oh?”

“It is nothing—to me.” He grimaced, searching for the words, it was always the words. If there was somewhere that communicated in surly grunts and wrinkled brows, he’d go in a heartbeat. “You know, I assume, of my history with—“

He gestured about the corner of the alienage, not quite able to give voice to his missteps. The elf regarded him not unlike a puppy, head cocked to the side as she sorted out what to do with him.

“Anders had some stories,” she said carefully. “But—“

“But?” He raised one bitter eyebrow. “All due respect, but I cannot fix enough roofs or set enough bricks to undo the mistakes of my past.”

Merrill looked down at her hands. They were wrapped in bandages, disguising burns too severe for any magical healing. Her long fingers flexed and she quirked her brow at them like a particularly stubborn puzzle.

“None of us can undo the mistakes of our past,” she finally said, blowing a stray hair from her forehead as she looked up. “That’s not the point. It’s not a ledger where you make up for all the wrongs and you’re free and clear. It’s—you do the good thing because it’s right, and it’s right regardless of whether you’ve been good or evil.”

She gestured at the two little girls, who were now chasing each other about the Vhenadahl.

“They do not care about your past,” she said. “They simply know that you have given them back their home. That is how we move forward, ser Warden. That is what we are doing.”

Speechless, Loghain looked at the girls and their tree, then back at Merrill. Her eyes were wide, bright, with a bit too much understanding. There was a depth of loss and anger and he felt something in his gut unclench.

He’d come here at the behest of a memory. A commander he respected above all others, and whom he hadn’t spoken to in far too long. He knew where she would have gone and he’d followed as if bidden, straight to the alienage slum. She’d said something similar to him once, with a haunted look in her eye:

You do not need to be redeemed to go on.

Perhaps—perhaps—there was something else in him. Not goodness, nothing redeemable, but this: the inclination to go forward, ever upward. Not to be better, but to do better.

An unbidden smile curved the corner of his mouth as he swept the pile of debris into the dustpan Merrill held for him. When he looked up, she was regarding him with something akin to curiosity.

“What?” he asked gruffly.

“I…don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile.” She graced him with one of her own, a bright, toothy grin, full of eagerness that belied what he knew of her skills. “It’s nice. I think—well. I think I see where Hawke is coming from, now.”

After all these years, Loghain thought he’d lost the ability to blush, but her simple, matter-of-fact declaration brought color to his ears like a schoolboy before a cleric. He cleared his throat and gestured for the dustpan.

“I’ll take that,” he muttered. Merrill handed it over, oblivious. “And my leave,” he added, angling for a swift exit.

“Of course!” Merrill chirped. She was already turning to an unsorted pile of clothing, on to the next task. Loghain took the dustpan, his revelations, and his burning neck and made his escape.

Luckily, there were plenty of fires he could put out until his ears cooled enough to return to the Keep.

[thedragonagelesbian]

Anders opened his mouth to protest, but he realized that Cyrus was looking at a series of small portraits strung along the mantle. They were clumsier than the profile of Leandra in the hall, brushstrokes smudged and stray and faded with age, but loving attention had been paid to the details of each face of the Hawke family— the dimples around Leandra’s smile, the matching whorls of deep brown in Bethany and Carver’s eyes, the splash of freckles across the long nose of a man Anders could have mistaken for Cyrus were it not for the shorter hair.

Cyrus’ eyes were wild cinders in the firelight staring at something halfway between a mirror and a memory. “My father,” his voice smoldered, quiet but intense, “would have given anything to keep Bethany from seeing the inside of the Gallows. I cannot give any less.”

Anders crept close, and when Cyrus didn’t pull back, he touched a hand to his shoulder. His thumb dipped beneath the collar of his robe to graze the scar that Ser Alrik had left there. “No one is asking you to give anything.”

“I’m asking it of myself.”

“To what end?!” Despite himself, Anders’ voice pitched into something like a plea. A cry. But he was running out of things to say to stop Cyrus from clenching his jaw like that, clamped tight against the possibility of caring about himself. “You nearly got yourself killed trying to save Bethany the last time. Is that really what you want? To sacrifice yourself for something no one asked for?”

Shoulders hunched, arms folded across his chest, Cyrus yanked away from him. “It would be worth it.”

Anders glanced at Cyrus’ own portrait. He must have been a decade younger at least, still boyish and auburn all the way down his single long braid… and he still had a scar splitting the left side of his face. The bright line of red cutting across his eye suggested that the wound hadn’t yet faded to white when Cyrus sat for the painting.

How long had Cyrus been measuring his life in the scraps of it that could be given away?

“Don’t say that…”

“It’s the truth.”

[waltwhitmansbeard]

go on, claim my heart: chapter thirty

see my masterpost for what came before this. for some additional context, reading turned my water into wine #30 is recommend but not required. tw: suicide

Percy doesn't hesitate. He wheels around and fires, arm and finger and gun all moving as one, as if he has always held this weapon, as if it were as much a part of him as his eyes or his lungs. He empties the barrel into Delilah Briarwood, except he doesn't; his blood goes cold when he once again sees his bullets scatter into various directions off of an invisible wall of some kind.

The tiger that is to be his future sovereign roars, pouncing to the left, where she is buffeted off of yet another unseen obstacle, Pike barely clinging on for dear life. Hand shaking, Percy stretches his arm out and touches a fourth, and he now knows that they are trapped, some arcane cage from which they are to watch this horror show.

Delilah's teeth gleam in the dim light from the torches behind Percy. "It seems you've arrived just in time to watch yet again, Percival." Her steps are slow, deliberate, as she circles around them, one corner of her mouth turned up in a smile that makes Percy see red. "I hope you enjoy this evening's entertainment as much as you did our last encounter."

The screaming. The blood. The teeth. Percy does not take his eyes off of her as he shoves more ammunition into his gun. "I will enjoy seeing the life drain from your eyes," he hisses, and he isn't sure he's even audible over the Keyleth's frantic pacing. Vax is pressed up against the invisible wall closest to the altar, and Percy's stomach sinks as Delilah saunters up to the dais, where Professor Anders deferentially gives up his space for her to stand behind the residuum glass. Her nose wrinkles at the sight of the bawling babe, but her disgust is not enough to stop her from beginning her work.

Keyleth's snarl echoes through the cavern as Delilah picks up the athame, but just when Percy is convinced she's going to swing it down into Vilya's tiny body, she instead slips off her gloves, brings the tip of the blade to the inside of her own arm and begins to carve into the flesh. His stomach flips, but he manages not to vomit. Delilah starts up a chant, low, guttural, in some tongue he cannot understand. He is mesmerized, he is horrified, and he cannot look away.

Keyleth hurls herself at the wall and bounces off harmlessly. Pike, the only one among them with sense, slides off of her back but keeps a hand twisted into her fur. "Keyleth! Shed this form and resume your natural state!"

The tiger's eyes narrow into slits, but after a beat, the tiger shrinks, white fur giving way to freckles and fiery hair, and there Keyleth is, shaking so violently it's a wonder she can stand. Pike grabs one of her hands in both of hers. "We need to get out of here." Keyleth opens her mouth, as if to snap at Pike for stating the obvious, but Pike continues. "If we combine our magic, I believe we can break free."

There is skepticism in Keyleth's face—and likely in Percy's too, if he were to guess—but she allows Pike to weave their fingers together. Pike settles one hand on the wall closest to the altar and nods for Keyleth to do the same on the wall adjacent. They both bow their heads, and Percy's attention is torn between them and the ominous chanting coming from the dais. After a few moments, he reaches his fingers out once more, touches the invisible wall to his side. It is hard beneath his fingertips, just a few degrees cooler than the already frigid air around them. He waits, his heart pounding with each passing second, sure that this isn't going to work, sure that he is about to watch his friend's child be sliced open like a pig at slaughter—

—and then he stumbles, the arcane wall no longer supporting his weight. They are free. Keyleth and Pike's heads snap up simultaneously, both of them aware of their success, and then everyone moves at once. Vax tears off first, heading not for the altar, as Percy would have guessed, but rather the cage Percy noticed when they first came into this heinous place. Vex's bow is raised in a heartbeat, arrows flying one by one through the cavern, and Percy is just a breath behind, raising his gun to fire at the center of Delilah's forehead. He curses under his breath as, with a simple wave of her hand, a smaller arcane ward appears before her, slightly shimmering in the torchlight, and once more their arrows and bullets are useless. Still he fires, satisfaction burning hot in his chest when Delilah turns to Professor Anders and snaps, "Do something!"

Keyleth and Pike charge forward together, and Percy and Vex continue to offer them cover. Professor Anders steps around in front of the altar, and in an officious voice, resonant and too loud for one so frail, commands, "STOP!"

Percy is horrified as his muscles seize up, his trigger finger stilling along the barrel of his weapon. Slowly, his gun drifts down, and he sees Vex's bow doing the same just beside him. They look at each other, confused and aghast, as their bodies obey Anders's command. They stand, frozen, as they watch Keyleth and Pike continue on with their assault.

Keyleth gets about halfway to the dais and throws a hand forward. A thick, green vine bursts from her palm, curling around Delilah's arcane shield to wrap around her wrist. She yanks on the vine, and Delilah lurches forward, barely catching herself before her face bashes into the edge of the altar. The two begin a furious tug-of-war just as Pike snags the mace off of her hip and swings it toward Anders's midsection. All Percy can do is stand there and watch as the women battle the two on the dais. Pike is far more formidable with a mace than Percy ever would have guessed, and his heart leaps into his throat as Keyleth tugs Delilah off to the side, farther away from the baby.

Delilah once again shrieks, "Anders, stop them!" Nothing thrills Percy like the clear desperation in her voice. If Keyleth can kill her, surely Anders will surrender, and they can get the baby and go to Cassandra and be back in Zephrah before Lord Briarwood can regain his strength and come for them, and everything will be fine again, he's sure of it—

Anders kicks a leg out, sending Pike sprawling backward down the slope to the dais. At the same time, the cage door in the far corner of the cavern swings open. Percy doesn't know what Vax has planned, but he knows it won't happen soon enough as Anders straightens with a huff, tugging on his waistcoat. He points a trembling finger directly at Percy. "Kill yourself."

The world stops. Pike's body comes to a standstill, Keyleth freezes, Vex stops breathing. Percy's muscles understand the words before his mind does. His right hand shakes as the gun comes up to rest below his chin, the barrel pressing up into his jaw. There's a tear leaking from the corner of one eye; is this really the night the Briarwoods finally accomplish what they failed to do all those years ago? Will they come for Cassandra next, vulnerable even with Grog and Scanlan by her side? Does the de Rolo line truly end here?

He sees her, in the corner of his eye. Her face is wet, glimmering in the torchlight. Didn't he promise her? Didn't he tell her he would come home with her, that she would not lose him in this quest? Such fear in her eyes, such horror as the metal shivers beneath his skin. He sees her lips form words—Percival, no—but he cannot hear them over the rushing of blood in his ears.

A thousand things to tell her. No breath left in his body. She is crying. Her tears are the last thing he sees before his finger squeezes the trigger and the world goes black.

[lexadovah]

Hero of Ferelden Info Sheet

(Stolen from @dreadhorsegirl )

Basic Details

Name: Astrid Amell

Nicknames: Asta

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Bisexual

Age: 19 at start of events in DAO

Height: 5'5

Build: Slim

Race/Ethnicity: Human-Free Marcher

Skintone: Pale with some freckles on her nose

Hair: Strawberry blond

Eyes: Blue-grey

Game specifications

Class: Mage

Specialization: Primal and Entropy, later on Arcane Warrior

Origin: Circle Mage

Religious Beliefs: Agnostic, later on she becomes more interested in what the Old Gods could be (basically follows Morrigan’s line of thinking) and how this connects to the Fade etc

Major Game Decisions

Love Interest: Alistair

Broken Circle: Mages Supported

The Arl of Redcliffe: Isolde sacrificed for the blood magic ritual, Connor alive and not possessed

Nature of the Beast: Brokered Peace

The Battle of Denerim: Warden killed archdemon & alive and well—Alistair made an Old God Baby with Morrigan

Ruler of Ferelden: Anora

Character Attributes

Timid to Assertive scale:

Timid ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ● Assertive

Logical to Emotional scale:

Logical ◦ ● ◦ ◦ ◦ Emotional

Introvert to Extrovert scale:

Introvert ◦ ● ◦ ◦ ◦ Extrovert

Biggest Strength: Fearlessness, not afraid to face anyone head on. Has a very “I’ll do it myself” attitude

Biggest Weakness: Acts without thinking, can come across as careless

Relationship to Family: Doesn’t know who her father is, never met any of her siblings (she’s the youngest of five) and has vague memories of her mother but doesn’t really remember ever feeling safe or loved by her. She has vague memories of her cousins from her childhood and later reconnects with Bethany in the Wardens

Closest Relationships: Jowan and Neria were her best friends during her time in the Circle. She had a relationship with Anders and a mutual crush on Cullen. Alistair and Morrigan during DAO. She was also good friends with Leliana and Zevran by the end of DAO and had mutual respect with Sten.

Core Desire: To have a family and a place to call home

Core Fear: Losing Alistair

Character Arc Theme: finding her place in the world. She’s “too big” for the Circle, she never knew her real family, (besides the Hawkes). She just wants to find her purpose and live happily with her found family

Backstory

Revka had left Kirkwall far behind when she gave birth to Astrid. On a small farm outside of Highever, Revka kept the tiny Astrid strapped to her chest while she tended the gardens and fed the chickens. But when she saw the Templars coming up the road, she disappeared.

The mother and child did not remain in any one place for long after that; she worked where she could to make enough coin to get by, be that collecting herbs for the nights stew in a tavern, or mucking out the stables at a crossroads inn. She never gave her real name, and never let the child spend too much time alone in the company of others.

One stormy night, when Astrid was just five years old, Revka appeared on her cousin Leandra’s doorstep. Tired from running, she hoped to find sanctuary with her estranged family, and remained for a few weeks. Her paranoia kept her at odds with her cousin, and Malcolm Hawke observed that Astrid was already showing signs of magic at an early age—the same as his daughter Bethany. The two young girls were of an age together and became fast friends in that time, the difference being that Bethany was taught to control her magic whereas Astrid was told to ignore it and pretend she wasn’t a mage.

After a heated argument between Malcolm and Revka—in which Malcolm had offered to teach Astrid how to control her powers and Revka forbade him to even look at her child—she disappeared again, Astrid in tow. A few days after this incident, the Templars finally caught up; to Astrid, alone, sitting on the side of the road bundled in nothing but the clothes on her back and a dirty old cloak wrapped about her tiny shoulders. No one ever saw or heard from Revka again.

Her time in the Circle was mostly uneventful. Astrid struggled to make friends and was behind in terms of knowing her numbers and letters. She was adamant that her mother would come back for her, which the other mage children teased her about, as no one’s mother was coming for them.

She eventually made friends with Jowan, a year older than her, who helped her catch up with her reading and writing. She was bunk mates with Neria Surana, who was the closest thing to a sister she had ever known. And despite her early struggles, she had remembered her cousin Malcolm’s words about taking control of your magic and not letting it rule you—she studied hard and gained a firm grasp on her powers, exceeding many other kids her age.

She became defiant as a teenager, asking questions about why they couldn’t be free and finding the rules of the Circle oppressive. She didn’t want to remain in this cage forever and longed for a life outside the Circle walls. Her instructors believed she could be an Enchanter one day, but that just Wasn’t Good Enough. Regardless she started buckling down and studying hard in the hopes of passing her Harrowing and opening opportunities to leave the tower for Circle related business.

It was during this time she felt a rift between herself and her two friends. Neria had become distant, choosing the company of other elf mages, and Jowan was often nowhere to be found. When she did speak with them, they found her constant studying annoying, claiming she was “giving in” to the system.

Astrid was excelling at most schools of magic, but was struggling with healing spells and was soon set up to be tutored by Anders (who was given the tutoring job as a punishment for his latest escapades and a hope to keep him busy). During long hours studying together and her loneliness she started a friends-with-benefits affair with Anders that carried on until he escaped a fifth and final time—but not before she had grasped healing magic enough to take her Harrowing…

[transprincecaspian]

Another Trystan Shortfic

basically just here to introduce his dynamic with his cousin, Jurian Amell :3 very mild themes of gender envy/dysphoria like you have to squint

Jurian. Tricky Jurian, lovable Jurian Amell. Everyone adored Jurian. That much had long since stopped being a secret for Trystan Hawke. He’d grown up desperately herding Bethany away whenever Jurian tried to show her his magical tricks too close to the line of sight of the Lothering Templars. Just because he’d made a dashing escape from the Circle didn’t mean that Trystan was allowed to risk the same for his little sister. That didn’t stop Bethany from fawning after him whenever he visited; it was once a year, maybe twice if the Templars to the north were hot on his tail.

When the Blight started, Trystan hadn’t been sure what would become of his second cousin, and for a long time, he hadn’t known. It really shouldn’t have come as any surprise to him to learn that he’d made friends with Naoise Cousland and Alistair Theirin, the Heroes of Ferelden. It should have come as less of a surprise that he was already familiar with Isabela and Anders. Lovable Jurian, friendly Jurian; why can’t you be more like our cousin, Trystan?

Jealousy pooled in the pit of his stomach as Jurian crossed across the room in front of him to curl up in one of the plush chairs by the fireplace. Even with Anders nestled at his side, Trystan felt the urge to wrap his arm around him as if to make a point. Jurian looked exactly like an Amell grandchild should; long black hair that pooled down his shoulders like ink, dark and thick lashes that framed blue eyes, naturally red lips that stood out against his pale and freckled skin; if Trystan didn’t know better, he would say Jurian could have been a spitting image of his mother Revka, from the portraits that he had seen.

Trystan was anything but. He looked too much like Malcolm, and he knew it. Brown hair that was too flyaway for him to tame, brown eyes that had been likened to mud before, Malcolm’s prominent and aquiline nose that was crooked from one too many breaks that hadn’t healed properly. He didn’t look anything like an Amell, and he could never have the courage to sit like Jurian does, with a short bathrobe that rose up past his thighs and that plummeted down at the neckline to reveal the valley between his breasts. Lovely Jurian, he recalled, Jurian from the forests, Jurian in the poems. The thought of revealing himself like that made him nauseous in the pit of his stomach.

Isabela had done a triple-take, he knew, and even Fenris had paused to watch him walk across the room. If it wasn’t for the fact that Anders eyes were closed, exhausted from long hours in the clinic, Trystan knew he would be wondering if Anders’s eyes still followed his cousin like they did when they were younger, in the Circle.

Guilt was always quick to follow those thoughts. It wasn’t Anders’s fault, and if he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t Jurian’s, either. He had no business wishing for his cousin’s life. At least he still had his family; Jurian had no one to lean on but the rare times he would come to visit the estate in Kirkwall. It wasn’t like he lived there, a part of the family. Jurian had done anything he could to survive.

FIN

[pinkfadespirit]

All Falls Away - Chapter 13

Pairing: Anders/Male Hawke Rating: Explicit Chapters: 13/25 Words: 59,565 Tags: canon divergent AU, circle mage Anders, noble born Hawke, forbidden love, secret relationship, blood magic, eventual smut, canon typical violence, background Carver/Merrill Summary: When their youngest son falls seriously ill, the noble Amell family can see no other option than to turn to the Circle for help, despite the risk they take exposing the magic in their family. Circle healer, Anders, is sent to help. At first, his only intention is to use this opportunity to free himself from the Circle’s hold—but when he meets the Amell’s eldest son, Lord Garrett, he finds it harder to walk away than he thought.

Chapter Excerpt:

“Do I have something on my face?” Anders asked, because he had to say something to break the tension he was feeling or he’d end up doing something drastic and possibly inadvisable. 

“Ah, no. Sorry,” said Garrett, flushing. “Just freckles… I never noticed them before.”

He was staring at his… freckles?

“Oh… right. I suppose they come out a lot more in the sun.” 

Was this really what they’d come to? Anders was going mad from sexual frustration and Garrett was staring at his bloody freckles. They were never going to get anywhere at this rate.

Not that he was supposed to be trying to get anywhere. 

Read from the beginning