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.
Please Note: I'm currently unfollowing for untagged Inquisition spoilers, but plan to follow back after the game comes out. It's nothing personal. I just really want to keep spoilers off my dash.snagged this from heretherebdragons tumblr info
Logo art by Jakface and msbarrows., from my request for Fenris in a suit.
If you seek my usual online haunts, check the link for my other online hangouts.
For my friends who are Fenders Fans: For Fenders Fans Tumblr
tl;dr - I’m like the Hulk, I’m always angry. I just don’t have a big green smashy form to release any of that anger.
I had to cancel my...
defira85 replied to your photo: “Inspired by cypheroftyr, I finally downloaded and modded DA2 on the…”:
Wow she’s GORGEOUS
I’m pretty much law and order when it comes to most things, but like her letting Hawke get away with stuff, I’m the same with friends.
Remember those prompts I took on my birthday? Finally starting to work on them, in between poking at my WIPs…
"Please, someone stop him!" the red-headed elf begs, eyes wide and fearful as she looks past Fenris’ shoulder at them.
Aveline swayed, torn between moving closer and intervening, or allowing Fenris to make his own decision in the matter. Hawke speaks up while she is still undecided, voice studiously casual, tone light. “Go ahead, Fenris, if this is what you really want.”
Varania’s eyes widen as she looks at Hawke, she pales at what she sees in Hawke’s expression, then looks at Fenris. “If this is truly what you want…” she begins to say.
Fenris shudders, like how the skin across the shoulders of a dog or the withers of a horse will shudder sometimes, reacting to a touch or a buzzing fly, and then he moves. A movement so fast, Aveline has barely started to step forward, to open her mouth, to lift her hand, to try to intervene but it’s already too late, Varania makes a little broken noise and falls to the floor, already going limp, dying. Broken. Too late.
Aveline’s ears are ringing, and she knows her own cheeks have paled. She can see Fenris’ mouth moving, hears Hawke’s sardonic “You still have friends,” hears Anders’ cutting disavowal of any such feeling for the elf. And then Fenris turns, and walks out, leaving a trail behind him, a blood trail, of little red droplets dripping off of his clawed metal gauntlet.
Randomly found this again and my heart broke all over again.
I love their dynamic and how they are friends underneath it all. I just wish it was an option. Alas, that is what fanfic is for! And omg Corker writes delicious Aveline/Isabela.
Debts come due for Invictus, Fenris gets his payback but was it the coin he wanted? There can only be one takes on a whole new meaning for Justice and Anders.
Fenris slept in until the smell of food made it impossible to sleep further. He crept down to find Arden and both Anders talking quietly at the table. He wouldn’t have said anything until he had a plate and a mug of coffee in front of him but the way Arden was favoring one hand as he ate caught his eye. “Arden, where did that bandage come from?”
“I caught my hand on the Eluvian four? Five days ago? It’s nothing - it’s healing,” he said, dismissing it. “Your counterpart stitched it for me.”
“Stitched it?” echoed their Anders. “It shouldn’t have needed stitching, you’re a healer, nearly as good as I am.”
Arden shrugged. “There was a splinter; it took some digging to get it out.” He felt reluctant to admit to blood magic being part of the reason, even if it had been unwitting blood magic. Anders would have been horrified - he didn’t want to imagine Fenris’ face if he’d mentioned the whole of how he’d gotten there, never dreaming that Fenris knew far more than he did.
“Would that have been before or after Merrill tricked you into touching that damned Mirror of hers?” Fenris said frostily and held his hand out to see the wounded hand.
“You - you knew?” breathed Arden, holding his hand to his chest, the palm curled in towards himself.
“Yes, we did. Now give me your hand Arden.” Fenris didn’t waver and if his lover kept trying to hide his injury he’d get cross before breakfast.
“Arden, don’t try to act as if you don’t want him to look. You know how he can be.” The right Anders said between bites.
Wordlessly Arden began to unwind the bandage, stripping it off before holding out his hand, never taking his eyes off Fenris. The black silk stitches stretched taut across the shiny new-formed skin, the flesh around the edges puffy and inflamed.
Fenris frowned as he inspected the wound then grunted at the well done stitching. “Seems my other self is a decent field medic. I’m satisfied, thank you.” the elf went back to his meal, his mood dark until he’d cleared most of his plate.
Both Anders craned their heads to look at Arden’s hand.
“I don’t like the looks of the skin around those stitches,” said the alien Anders.
“Mmm, probably ought to be removed,” agreed the other. “Let me get a sharp knife.”
“Where do you keep your elfroot tincture?” asked the other as he pushed himself up from the table.
“Shelf in the pantry - left hand side, third up.”
Arden blinked as the two Anders swung into action. They were both calm, competent, professional; the one with a gold hoop at his ear, selecting a sharp knife, cauterising it with a wash of flame before bringing it over to the table with a bowl of hot water; the other with a small bottle of tincture, coming to seat himself at Arden’s other side and holding out his hand. He took Arden’s wrist and held it steady as his counterpart passed him the knife. As he gently sliced through the silk, the other Anders readied a pad of cloth, moistening it with the tincture.
The first Anders laid down the knife and took up the small set of tweezers the second Anders had laid out, and deftly tweaked out the stitches before the second Anders quietly wiped the wounds with the pad.
They bathed and dressed the wound between them, then cleared away everything in silence.
Arden blinked and glanced at Fenris. The two Anders had worked in perfect harmony together, each almost sensing the other’s next steps - because it was precisely what they each would have done next if working alone.