#get-anders

Things I want: Accepting

Touch Meme

     Eyebrows perked when there was a hint of mischief in the doctor’s eye. On the couch, where they sat opposite one another on either side, (though his legs exceeded the length from his calves downward) Morrigan’s legs were crossed at the ankles and came to rest against Anders. It was utterly typical when she kept her feet tucked between the crevice of his hip and the couch cushion, retaining warmth wherever she could. But instead of spending the early evening quietly reclined on the sofa, a book in Morrigan’s lap while Anders might tuck his head inward and nap, the blonde had other plans.

     There was a slight shift in movement, the woman’s eyes never leaving the text in front of her while intently focused on learning the arrangement of gardenias. Even when her legs were lifted and there was the slightest caress along her shin. Before there was even the slightest moment of realization of what was occurring, Morrigan instinctively twitched her legs, toes curling inward when there had been the lightest brush on the surface of her feet. 

     “Don’t. You. Dare.” The threat was sincere, even though the intent was not. And Anders saw it as a challenge. Coming to sit up, the doctor gave one firm tug of her leg, pulling her towards him. And his opposing arm pins Morrigan down by the waist, the woman yelping when she drops the book. “You ass- ahahaha!” 

nsfw starters; fifty reasons to have sex

This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. He’d stopped at the store and his card had been declined. His credits were running out (how did he manage to blow through them so quickly?) and the door to what had been his apartment was locked when he got there. Shit.

There was the standing offer of a couch in the back of the clinic; he hadn’t needed it until now, and his shoulders hunched in with shame as he trudged back towards the place, rapping on the side door. “Hey -- Anders? ‘s me,” he called, waiting for the door to open, and offering the doctor a tired smile when it did.

Shout At My Muse

     ‘Twas everything she dreaded every waking day for the past decade. Having laid his heart bare and bleeding once before, Morrigan did not flee from it. In fact, she had all at once embraced it— embraced him, for she acknowledged no one else once Anders had invaded her thoughts. That is, until Kieran, her son. Their son. Wanting only the best for the spirit healer that a child would only impede his progress, the woman fled the Free Marches without a word nor indication that she had once been. 

     And now, in the Frostbacks, somehow they were brought together once again by circumstance. Perhaps destiny— no. Morrigan believed in no such thing. There was reason in seeing his face again, although battle worn and furious with her. Alive but oh so angry. 

     In the halls, she had reclined her head. Averted her gaze for there were more important matters to attend to. Morrigan was apathetic, lending an ear to the advisors and their stoic leader. But hazel eyes pierced her like the thrust of a sword. Hardly the time to stare. Now, the hushed spout had been going on for quite some time, as Morrigan tip-toed sheepishly when Anders was in pursuit of the truth. The mountain chill paled in comparison to this visage. She didn’t dare look at him… until now.

     A plume of mist exhausts from her and evaporates when those words rob her of breath. Amber gaze braves the man before her, at the mercy of one who sought to redeem himself rather than mages of the world. 

     “Oh, but you can, Anders.” Should lies harbor hatred in the end, then baring your heart for another had been void of all meaning. But love was not meaningless. The child… Morrigan loved her child more than any mother could love. It was certainly, emphatically possible to love. “The man I know before me was no pessimist. I would be damned to know of such. For if I…”

Send me “I’m here” to hear their last words to yours as my muse dies.

     Quivering hands made haste when they search for something— anything to mend. Hazel eyes search frantically for a solution. But to no avail. Anders fulfilled his duty for the Inquisition, as did many of the mages proudly joined together under his wing. The knowledge and power gifted to Morrigan by vir'abelasan were not forsaken; she, too, served her purpose after all. The beast corrupted by red lyrium had at last fallen, as did Corypheus. The chanting and hollering rang true. And the voices from beyond stir.

     Ah, so it was true. Truly he was here, at her side. ‘Twas proving burdensome to remain wise in Morrigan’s state. Golden irises glimpse from beneath dark lashes, seeing the utter frenzy in the renegade’s handsome face. Must he fret so? 

     Cracked lips of her’s tug at the corners in the slightest, black strands matted together in crimson to her forehead. He has yet to notice her watching him so candidly and so hazily. “And...ers, please.” Morrigan croaked hardly above a whisper, breathing shallowly, painfully as one feeble hand pitifully seeks to touch his moistened cheek. Quite the endeavor and it nearly drops until he catches it. Anders squeezes; he finally looks at her. 

     You’ve done well, their eyes convey to one another. It’s all over. But her lover cannot bear to be without her again. Not like this. So forlorn. Such was Anders’ entire life. But she manages to offer his hand the slightest reassurance, even when she cannot bring herself to weep for him. For Kieran. 

     “I...” The usually incessant chatter of the Ancient Ones dissolve into a hum. She can only attend to hear her own, over and over. To have spoken them to him would be a phenomenal triumph indeed.