#getanders

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

He’d been careless. Pride had blinded him to how brutal and strong those men were. He hadn’t realized his mistake until a blade nearly cleaved his arm off at the shoulder. The collar bone was definitely broken and he was bleeding all over the place. To top it all off, one of the bastards hit him in the thigh with a crossbow bolt. Said bolt was still embedded in the meat of his thigh. He knew better than to try and take it out without proper medical aid. Thankfully, he knew where to go.

@get-anders

He preens at the gesture, offering his hand as if a maiden to be kissed. His face is the hard apple of his glee, even if he blooms doubly in fierce fluster in the act of his embarrassment. He thrives on this embarrassment, and he leans forward with hooded eyes and a grand, expectant expression for Anders to continue.

"Ah, my love, in some cultures---” and then he shrugs, “In most cultures,” he corrects, “the mirror is the window to another dimension. For thine hand I could have indeed asked the mirror.” In a tender gesture doth he rub his thumb along Anders’ fingers. Roland’s eyes gleam. “A pondering of thy heart and soul, a wonder if I could snatch thee as quickly as the hardy root.” And he scoffs adoringly, placing a hand on Anders’ stubbled cheek.

He melts in his love, adored and awed and heart-touched. He scoots closer in his seat, mimicking, making the act comically obvious. “I asked the mirror,” he says, making his voice low, in a conspiratory whisper. “How should I charm this mage? Should I give him compliments; heavily-mired seeds of truth? Should I tell him: I am fond of thee? I admire thee?” He scoots closer, bobbing on the swollen cloud of this playful sky.

Trapped in Your Arms: Accepting

It’s one of those rare nights where things are actually peaceful. No worries or troubles plague his mind. Chocolate eyes stare out into the deep void of space without a fog of uneasiness for once. He leans casually against a wall. All in all, Neil just feels content, and he plans to enjoy it for as long as he can. Knowing the way the universe worked, this wouldn’t last.

Bring the Pain: Accepting

Hawke staggers away as if slapped. His face is twisted with confusion and hurt, chocolate eyes beginning to water in the corners. He forgets where he is, the only focus of his attention is the tall mage in front of him. Those words shake Neil to the very core. He doesn’t want to believe them. This is all just some nightmare, but he can’t remember when he fell asleep. But he’ll wake up anyway. He’ll wake up and Anders will be laying next to him, kiss his nose, and tell him the opposite of what he just heard. 

But the nightmare doesn’t end. He doesn’t wake up. He’s forced to face this ugly reality; this world that seems to enjoy taking everything from him. Neil doesn’t know how long he stands there, trying to find his voice. When he does, it’s a pitiful, broken thing, “You… You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that. Anders… Please.” Hawke can’t recall the last time he ever begged like that. He always thought himself above such things. But in the face of losing the only person he cared about, he will beg. 

“You’re staring again.”

“Huh?”

“I said, you’re staring. Again. It’s awfully distracting, you know.” 

Anders’s tone lacked any scolding or annoyance. Neil blinked, and shook himself. It was hard not to stare when Anders was working so hard. He got this adorable crinkle between his brows. Nothing made Hawke shiver more than the fire that entered those amber eyes. How could someone be so adorable and so damned hot at the same time? More importantly, how was this amazing man his?

“Neil? Are you alright?” 

Neil blinked again and was met with a concerned Anders. Ah yes, he was always more concerned with others than himself. Just another reason why Neil was so head-over-heels for him. Smiling, the mage got off his stool and crossed the small room. He sat himself right on Anders’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck with a warm smile.

101 Was to Say I Love You: Accepting

This Winter was an extremely cold one, even for Ferelden. In many places the snow had gotten up to their waists. They really needed a horse. When they’d spotted the little cabin at the foot of the trees, both mages had sprinted to it regardless of the snow. It was abandoned, if the dust and cobwebs were anything to go buy. A fire was lit in no time, and both men were curled up by it. Neil huddled against Anders, letting his magic soak through his skin to warm them both up a bit. Thank the Maker for making him a pyromancer.

The blizzard raged outside. Both mages listened to the wind howl. Neil’s thumb traced circles over Anders’ hand, but the taller mage didn’t seem to notice. After spending years together, Neil was better at sensing Anders’ moods. Judging by the look in his amber eyes and the way his brow wrinkled, his love was particularly sullen tonight. Hawke bumped Anders’ shoulder lightly. “Okay, I know that look. Why the long face, love?”

He could see Anders struggling to voice his thoughts. But Hawke waited patiently, holding his hand. “I just… We both knew what being on the run meant, but I thought… I just want you to be happy.”

Ah. Spending their days huddled in a cabin that didn’t belong to them wasn’t what either of them expected. Neil had fantasies of a little cottage by a lake, a few dozen cats, maybe a few mabari, some sheep, and a horse or two. But fantasies weren’t called fantasies for nothing. While it was a pleasant thought at night, Hawke knew it would be a difficult dream to meet.

@get-anders

“There can be no peace.”

Roland’s face is very, very white. He moves frantically, mechanically, limbs jerky like a puppet on tangled strings, feet too large and clumsy for his dexterous ankles. His lips burn and feel bruised from his kiss, and the clammy wrist in his grip touches a cold finger to his already bright nerves. His spines feels as if it would leap from his body to run faster than him. His stomach growls in hunger, in stress, in primitive fear to run and flee.

He flees: he grips Anders’ wrist as if ‘twere a lifeline, a sealed limb not ready to detach. He has no room to mention, to depart of primal urge and truly think on what has happened.

So much has happened.

“Anders,” his lips are numb. He detaches his soul from his bones, and looks down at his body fleeing, at his mouth moving and sounding words, at the white wrist in a white-knuckled grip that seems too hard. “I love you. I am so sorry this had to happen. I am so sorry I didn’t make you leave when it was important to leave.” No poetry runs through his veins. He is stone-cold and sober in verbose.

His mind bumbles in elvish, sounding off in his Father’s hard-gritted voice, debasing back to simpler, childish importance to drown out the sound of demonic, warping voices and cindering, falling buildings. He reforms beneath his skin to feel tears burn his eyes. Roland flees, and breathes rapidly, eyes flicking from place to place, finding nooks and crannies in important places.

He takes them to Darktown. He takes them to the Clinic. Roland pauses before the doors, the welcoming lantern extinguished, and an almost childish confusion warps Roland’s face as he breathes, breathes, blinks rapidly. He turns to Anders’ like a lightning strike, eyes bright and face white.

Another Kiss Meme: Accepting

A Comfortable Kiss

It was one of those rare mornings where Hawke didn’t have to be anywhere. No one needed him until late in the afternoon. The weather was actually bearable for a summer in Kirkwall; cool enough to warrant the use of sheets, but warm enough to leave the blankets off. A sheet was the only thing between Neil and Anders. Neil could feel his love’s steady breathing on the top of his head. He could also feel the rise and fall of his chest against his back. One of Neil’s arms was tucked under his head. The other was entwined with the healer’s and their hands were latched together.

Finding Anders asleep -and sleeping well- was always a rare thing. The man always worked so hard for little reward. A good night’s rest would do him wonders when he could get one. Neil couldn’t help but notice the mage always seemed to sleep better with him. He knew he certainly slept better with his love in the same bed. Anders huffed behind him and stirred. Neil chuckled and rolled over, facing Anders and pressing their chests together. “Morning, love,” Hawke murmured. He received a garbled response in reply. Neil smirked and nuzzled Anders’ beak of a nose.