Scripturient

This is my place to hang my DA II Fandom hat, either by reblogging my love for Fenris & Anders or passing on fics or amazing art.

Logo art by Jakface and msbarrows., from my request for Fenris in a suit.

Icon art from a commission of Invictus Hawke by hawkeward

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combination-nc:

pollencount:

A while ago I did this commission for the lovely combo. I wanted to post it at a later date, but now is a good time, I think.
I believe in you, sweetheart.

I think it is the perfect time - not only because it is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful and being reminded of that there is still plenty of beauty around when one is trapped in ugly feelings is something good, but also because… it is like a personal reminder to me that there is always more, since it is an illustration for M as in More.
I forget it, sometimes, when too many problems pile up at once, how there is more to life than those bad things that drag me down, and that I still have a lot of things left to do (like finishing editing that particular chapter, for example). It is good, to be reminded. Of the good things, of friendship, of support, of… everything that becomes so difficult to focus on when relapsing.
Thank you (everyone).

This is lovely… just gorgeous and heartbreaking.

combination-nc:

pollencount:

A while ago I did this commission for the lovely combo. I wanted to post it at a later date, but now is a good time, I think.

I believe in you, sweetheart.

I think it is the perfect time - not only because it is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful and being reminded of that there is still plenty of beauty around when one is trapped in ugly feelings is something good, but also because… it is like a personal reminder to me that there is always more, since it is an illustration for M as in More.

I forget it, sometimes, when too many problems pile up at once, how there is more to life than those bad things that drag me down, and that I still have a lot of things left to do (like finishing editing that particular chapter, for example). It is good, to be reminded. Of the good things, of friendship, of support, of… everything that becomes so difficult to focus on when relapsing.

Thank you (everyone).

This is lovely… just gorgeous and heartbreaking.

defira85:

combination-nc:

pollencount:

quick one for Threesomes Week

In the soft warm darkness of Isabela’s room there is a tangle of limbs in three different hues, all with their own scars scattered across them as pathways on the maps of their lives. The body in the middle, however, is marked with scars of such beauty that it is all too easy to forget that scars is what they are; the empty space where more flesh used to be filled with a materia that ought to kill its carrier but is instead used to kill others.
Anders does not kiss those scars, and Isabela does not trace the white paths with her tongue. There are other scars that will receive such care and such caresses given by lips and more, but not the lyrium markings, because this is about the person underneath them and who he is now, the person he became, and has nothing to do with the burden of past ownership. This is about the free man between them and what he wants now, not what he might have wanted before and where it got him. And so she meets his lips and lets tongue taste tongue instead, and Anders traces the skin between the white scars with his as his right hand searches for Isabela’s hair, as one of hers wanders downward to another’s hair of a different kind, as Fenris own hands finds and caress them both.
It is not about three lonely people finding solace in each other, not beyond the fact that lonely is one of the many things they all are at times. The act itself might have had something about wanting to escape loneliness about it at some point, but never how it has been performed. There is nothing about the desperate air of loneliness or the running from it over this; this is about admiration and of joy, of the celebration of freedom with passion’d breaths and soft, soft touches, of movements that no one wants to have come to an end, but when they do there is pleasure in that, too.
Not that the pleasure of bodies moving together towards a form of completion is the sole point of this, whatever it is, either; not when there are things neither of them have words for, not in a spoken language they all understand, but still wants to have said. And so they let their lips explain what they otherwise cannot in this wordless way; let their lips and the tips of tongues admire Fenris, softly at first, then hotly, and always with reverence. 
Reverence for the man who has not done the most running of them all but gotten the furthest, that by chance came to want a more so much more difficult to grasp than so many others; the man who started out as a tool to be owned but came to be so much more and the one of them who has truly gotten what was wished for the most.

“There are other scars that will receive such care and such caresses given by lips and more, but not the lyrium markings, because this is about the person underneath them and who he is now, the person he became, and has nothing to do with the burden of past ownership.”
Jesus, Combo, I don’t think I’ve ever read something that made me feel so much pain and joy as that right there. Even if I’ll never personally love Fenders as a pairing, you have put so much bitter glory and love into one simple sentence that it took my breath away. Brava.

This is beautiful Combo, simply, painfully, wonderfully… beautiful. Fenders + Isabela…
This…ah so many feels you have given me Combo, just …words, how do they work?

defira85:

combination-nc:

pollencount:

quick one for Threesomes Week

In the soft warm darkness of Isabela’s room there is a tangle of limbs in three different hues, all with their own scars scattered across them as pathways on the maps of their lives. The body in the middle, however, is marked with scars of such beauty that it is all too easy to forget that scars is what they are; the empty space where more flesh used to be filled with a materia that ought to kill its carrier but is instead used to kill others.

Anders does not kiss those scars, and Isabela does not trace the white paths with her tongue. There are other scars that will receive such care and such caresses given by lips and more, but not the lyrium markings, because this is about the person underneath them and who he is now, the person he became, and has nothing to do with the burden of past ownership. This is about the free man between them and what he wants now, not what he might have wanted before and where it got him. And so she meets his lips and lets tongue taste tongue instead, and Anders traces the skin between the white scars with his as his right hand searches for Isabela’s hair, as one of hers wanders downward to another’s hair of a different kind, as Fenris own hands finds and caress them both.

It is not about three lonely people finding solace in each other, not beyond the fact that lonely is one of the many things they all are at times. The act itself might have had something about wanting to escape loneliness about it at some point, but never how it has been performed. There is nothing about the desperate air of loneliness or the running from it over this; this is about admiration and of joy, of the celebration of freedom with passion’d breaths and soft, soft touches, of movements that no one wants to have come to an end, but when they do there is pleasure in that, too.

Not that the pleasure of bodies moving together towards a form of completion is the sole point of this, whatever it is, either; not when there are things neither of them have words for, not in a spoken language they all understand, but still wants to have said. And so they let their lips explain what they otherwise cannot in this wordless way; let their lips and the tips of tongues admire Fenris, softly at first, then hotly, and always with reverence. 

Reverence for the man who has not done the most running of them all but gotten the furthest, that by chance came to want a more so much more difficult to grasp than so many others; the man who started out as a tool to be owned but came to be so much more and the one of them who has truly gotten what was wished for the most.

“There are other scars that will receive such care and such caresses given by lips and more, but not the lyrium markings, because this is about the person underneath them and who he is now, the person he became, and has nothing to do with the burden of past ownership.”


Jesus, Combo, I don’t think I’ve ever read something that made me feel so much pain and joy as that right there. Even if I’ll never personally love Fenders as a pairing, you have put so much bitter glory and love into one simple sentence that it took my breath away. Brava.

This is beautiful Combo, simply, painfully, wonderfully… beautiful. Fenders + Isabela…

This…ah so many feels you have given me Combo, just …words, how do they work?

combination-nc:

pollencount:

watched Tangled the other day
It’s the return of sneaky Fenris for the lovely people at tumblr…thank you for caring!
PS: Yeah, he can do that with his tongue… AND the fisting thing, he’s a talented guy… oh, and he sparkles.
Why, no, I’m not trying to advertise Fenris here.
PPS: This is pretty much old school hand drawn animation, which means, it took me way too long to finish it. Somebody give me a light table, please!

Anders’ face. No need to be so horrified, imagine what else he can do with a tongue like that!
Old school hand drawn animation? That… that is so, so cool. I hope you are feeling better today.

omjeezus… I was eating when I saw this on Combo’s tumblr. I almost did a spit take all over my keyboard and screen. 
Pollen, this is fucking beautiful. The look on Anders face, priceless. oh Gods, I can’t … I just can’t with them anymore. I am laughing too hard to find words besides OMG LOL.
Thank you, I needed the laugh today.

combination-nc:

pollencount:

watched Tangled the other day

It’s the return of sneaky Fenris for the lovely people at tumblr
…thank you for caring!

PS: Yeah, he can do that with his tongue… AND the fisting thing, he’s a talented guy… oh, and he sparkles.

Why, no, I’m not trying to advertise Fenris here.

PPS: This is pretty much old school hand drawn animation, which means, it took me way too long to finish it. Somebody give me a light table, please!

Anders’ face. No need to be so horrified, imagine what else he can do with a tongue like that!

Old school hand drawn animation? That… that is so, so cool. I hope you are feeling better today.

omjeezus… I was eating when I saw this on Combo’s tumblr. I almost did a spit take all over my keyboard and screen. 

Pollen, this is fucking beautiful. The look on Anders face, priceless. oh Gods, I can’t … I just can’t with them anymore. I am laughing too hard to find words besides OMG LOL.

Thank you, I needed the laugh today.

combination-nc:

pollencount:

Fenris and Anders in traditional Chinese clothing (more or less) for stormdragon. I’m sorry, it’s not quite what you asked for, but I hope you like it.

(reference used for the anatomy, btw… and it still doesn’t look right)

It feels right. Anders’ thin body (this is what I imagine hiding under all those layers), the shading and their expressions, oh my goodness their expressions. I am mesmerised by them, and so very in love with your style.

Bare

Anders shies away from the kiss on his cheek. He’s unsure about the game he agreed to with Fenris now that he’s stripped bare, only a strip of red cloth wound around his wrists inadequate cover for how he’s feeling.

Fenris pulls back, unsure of Anders reaction to his affection. He’s wearing the clothes they picked up in their travels with Isabela, the simple garment suiting his lanky frame, especially if the looks he’d gotten since wearing it was any indication of just how well it suited him.

"What’s the matter mage?"

"You are still dressed, and I am… exposed."

"Would you feel better if I were to be as bare as you?"

"Possibly, why am I always the one who winds up stark as the day I was born?"

"Or I could use that red cloth to cover your face, then it won’t matter who’s bare will it?"

Anders negates that with a shake of his head. No, no blindfolds ever, too many bad memories come with the darkness. Kinloch Hold, Darkspawn, Deep Roads.

"It would matter, very much. No covering my face."

Something in his expression stops Fenris from reaching for the red strip, intent as he was on blindfolding his mage. Instead he’s pulled closer so Fenris can look him in the eye, see what he’s withholding with his words.

What he gets is a gaze stripped bare of deceit, lies, anything that belies the truth of what Anders wants from him. Yes, he agreed to the game, but he’d prefer to be on equal footing…for Fenris to be just as revealed as he is, just a exposed and open to his gaze as he is to Fenris’.

After long moments of staring into forest green eyes that have darkened by the time Fenris blinks and looks away, Anders is convinced that he will be alright in Fenris’ hands, no matter what he was wearing, or what he wasn’t… the game between them would always even out in the end, and in some way Fenris would be laid just as bare before him.

He closed his eyes and leaned in for a kiss… surrendering in that moment, giving all to his lover and hoping that for once, it would not end in ruin, his heart metaphorically ripped from him.

He opened his eyes and smiled at the man before him and whispered three words that the elf didn’t think he’d hear from his mage.

"I am yours."

combination-nc:

pollencount:

Just a little something for combination-nc, I hope you feel a little better.

They are young when Anders is first placed in solitary confinement. Both of them unharrowed; Karl on the threshold to adulthood, attempting to grow his first proper beard, and Anders either too young or in some way too fragile to remain unscathed after a week of cramped loneliness.

When they release him, he takes care to walk in the exact middle of the hallways, but the walls are still too close. Not as close as in the cell, of course, but he is haunted by their weight and the feeling that they are constantly moving towards him, little by little, waiting to trap him in an impossibly small space once more.

A week is not considered a large amount of time in most cases, but for this one and for him, it has been much too long, too much time spent wasted on staring at a dark ceiling. And after being deprived of the sounds of daily life for so long, the sudden presence of them causes his ears to ache; the usually so light steps of mages drumming in his head, the sounds of so many templar greaves painful like thunder.

The light, at least, should make him feel more at ease, but it does not. It is too bright and too faint all at once. After a week in the darkness below, his eyes are unaccustomed to light as strong as this, and it stings in his eyes. At the same time it is too dark, because it is not the natural light of the world outside the tower, not the light he wants. Beyond escaping, he his not sure of what he wants, if anything at all. The darkness of solitary has either left some kind of darkness in him, or, as implausible as it sounds, shed light on something that was already there to begin with.

He is not sure of where to go or what to do with himself. The to him so sudden proximity of so many people unnerves and overwhelms him, urging him to find somewhere safe to hide; there are no safe places in the tower, and only one safe person.

He has to find Karl.

He keeps his eyes out for a tall figure with light brown hair, light brown hair with a slightly reddish tinge. At more than a head higher than most, he should be easy to spot, but is nowhere to be found. Not in the hallways, not in the big hall, not in the library, not anywhere. The apprentices’ quarters is the last place he will search; if he had started there and not found Karl, he doubts that he would have been able to leave, the urge to escape from the too much of everything too great. There is not much left to do, now. His legs hurt and his head is spinning from the exertion; either being so still for one week has been enough to weaken him, or he is drained by the anxiety from solitary still clinging to him.

It is only when he finds Karl outside their dormitories that he realises that he does not know what he would have done if he had been unable to find him.

There is no falling into strong arms, because that would be too much touch too soon, and Karl knows. But there is standing close, there is a gentle hand against his jaw, and later, the softest of kisses on his forehead. There is no need to ask how he is feeling when it is so plain for all to see; so Karl asks him if he wants to talk, or to rest. He has been silent for so long that he is unsure whether his voice still works or not. It does, but after a week without hearing even one kind voice, he would much rather listen. Listen to Karl’s voice while resting his head in his lap, having his hair stroked, being allowed a moment of peace, of the comfort that only Karl can give him.

And so, Karl lets him have that. One hand in his hair, carefully stroking it, the other’s fingers interweaving with his own, and the kindest voice he knows telling him the things he wants to hear.

He does not feel good, not yet, but better, and he is not alone anymore.

Oh Maker… this is heartbreaking. Both for the art and fic. 

(via iapetusneume)