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thiefbird · 11 months

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for anders and justice? 'one person meticulously doing something entirely for the other’s benefit without expectation or need of reciprocation'

JustAnders, talks of current Handers/JustHanders and past Kanders for @dadrunkwriting

Anders and Justice had a rhythm, after nearly seven years as one. Wake up with the sun, or before it, heal anyone who needed it until they ran out of mana (a rare occurrence, with Justice augmenting their connection to the Fade), chug a few lyrium potions, and continue until there were no more patients or no more lyrium. Then they would sit at the desk Anders had cobbled together out of rotten boards and work on the manifesto until it was too dark in the clinic, even with a candle.

Their routine had changed, somewhat, since Anders moved into the Amell estate. They awoke later, ran out of lyrium less, and usually ate at least one meal a day. They went out with Hawke, to the Storm Coast or whatever mercenary work he'd picked up that day, more often than not, and slept in a real bed instead of a cot in the corner of the clinic. The desk in the clinic's back room had been replaced, and there was a second, grander one in Anders' office at the estate.

But still, Anders slept little, and slept peacefully less.

Justice had considered it an inconvenience at best, in the beginning. An indulgence at his worst. A luxury they could ill afford. But even with Warden stamina, three months of little to no sleep had caught up with them, and Justice had realized just how important sleep was to mortals, and he'd begrudgingly accepted that Anders would need at least six hours of downtime a night.

Anders had always had nightmares; life in a Circle was more than enough to trigger them, and the Joining hadn't helped, although Blighted dreams were something Justice couldn't touch, much as he tried. But ordinary nightmares were of the Fade.

And so Justice had begun his blueprint.

It had started small; even before he was thrown from the Fade, he had not had his own demesne, so he had nothing to build from. He hadn't needed one, seeking out instances of justice to draw from instead of pulling them to him as most of his brethren did. Tethered so firmly to Anders, re-learning to manipulate the Fade as he had was slow work, but time passes differently in the Fade.

In a few months of Anders' time, he had constructed a facsimile of the clinic, a perfect replica down to the mice and rats that occupied its mortal realm inspiration. He drew from Anders' memories for the next rooms: the quarters he and Karl had shared with two other mages after Anders' Harrowing, a field of wildflowers from his childhood, the chapel in Vigil's Keep (it was so much more vibrant to Anders' living eyes than Justice had realized through Kristoff's).

He drew from every instance of peace he could find, few as they were, finding the justice in his mortal's safety from his oppressors. Hawke's bedroom; Hawke's library; their office at the estate; the place at the Storm Coast where Hawke had given Anders the Amell signet ring and a promise.

Once each room was finished, as closely as he could with the changing nature of the Fade, he filled them further: Anders' lost kitten; a pressing of Andraste's Grace he'd sent Karl, before the night in the Chantry; the soft scarf the Hero of Ferelden had given Anders; the signet ring; his mother's pillow; any sign Anders was loved he could find.

And then, once he deemed himself finished, he waited for Anders to fall asleep, pulling his resting mind gently from the Fade at large and into his finished demesne.

#justice #anders #justanders #justice dragon age #anders dragon age #kanders #handers #i love the idea of Justice building a safe place for anders to dream so much #dadwc #thiefbird writes

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bluerose5 · 11 months

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Stuck in my thoughts about Justice experiencing all of life's ups and downs with Anders in the clinic, how he sees through his eyes, how he feels so much because that's simply how Anders experiences emotion. Yes, they feel extreme sorrow when a patient passes in their care. Part of them feels as if they failed, but then they remind themselves that they comforted the patient in their final moments. They held their hand when they had no one else. They listened to them relive their greatest memories. They eased their pain to make their death feel like just another slumber. Together, Justice and Anders find beauty, even in death.

Then, there are those moments of extreme happiness. Lirene mentions what Anders has done for the refugees, how he has delivered their children. He and Justice never get used to it. After taking so much life throughout their journey together, they can't even begin to describe how it feels to help bring life back into the world. Each child is so innocent, so precious. Justice specifically gets super protective. He marvels at how small the babies are, in awe of all that potential wrapped up in one little bundle of joy, and Anders doesn't even realize they're crying until the tears are already pouring down their cheeks, their breath caught in their throat.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #da justice #anders #justanders #bluerose rambles

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mistycrunch · 11 months

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More bottom anders pls?? ❤️❤️

I hope this is something to what you meant anon ❤️

#anders #da2 #justanders #im so sorry i couldnt do more #life has been busy lately #lemon #i love the idea of justice being able to create sensation in anders body #making him break completely down when he wants to #bonus if hawke or whoever walks in on him like this #also sorry for shit quality of the camera idk whats wrong with it

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nebulousmistress · 6 months

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An Anatomist's Notes on Abomination

Written less as a story and more like the Scrolls of Banastor as snippets of research that might be found in some later game.

This one was written in late 9:37 Dragon, soon after Justice Fell to feathered Vengeance. Anders attempts to catalog the pattern of feathers that drape his torso. He doesn't get far.

The feathers that drape my shoulders and back are strange.

The idea of feathers isn’t itself strange. I remember before the Fall, when Justice stood upon the precipice of change. Each feather grew from a certain point on my body, from the lines of scars that

I have interjected. He does not understand how beautiful he is. This body he grants me permission to wear is covered in scars Unjustly given and Unjustly earned. His shoulders, spine, and upper chest are latticed with the exacting lines of a Templar’s lash. Every scar was forced upon his skin, his wrists shackled and arms tied down. His ankles shackled and his legs tied down. His mouth was not gagged for they enjoyed his screaming.

These Unjust actions were followed by more. For any normal scars will not survive a Spirit Healer’s magic. Even incidental use of this magic will strip the scars from a body. These Unjust scars were altered, to prevent them from ever being healed. First, they were painted with magebane as we might use an antiseptic in the clinic. Then they were each painted with hot pine tar. Pine tar sealed the magebane into the scars, ruining the flesh for channeling magic permanently. It also sealed the injury against sepsis and prevented natural healing. During long periods of captivity the scars might be reapplied and then repainted in the same way.

We are not wearing a feather cloak. We have not grown the feather collar of a cockerel’s throat. I have Seen what my form would become were I to Fall, my mortal husband at the time considered me so beautiful in that form that for Ages the mortal’s depiction of me did not depict my benevolent blinded Self. The Chantry’s depiction of Winged Justice is what we should have been, Anders.

Instead every beautiful scar of yours grows a line of feathers. You have so many they drape us like a cloak.

Do not Despair, my love. I know you will when you read these words. But I implore you, keep reading. Your scars, your anger, these made you beautiful. I have loved you from the moment I Felt you in the Fade and Felt the Unjust scars that you carried even there. I Wanted to Offer you my Cause, though as I was no demon I knew not how to make such an Offer.

I have always wanted you, my love.

Then why can I still see the scar on my chest? No feathers grow from the scar where Rolan stabbed us.

I will not grace such a scar with feathers. The sword of “mercy” is a mockery of a sacred sacrificial cut, I will not grant it beauty. Instead I would wear it as a warning to any Templar who might see it: their greatest weapon

means nothing.

Yes.

#fanfiction #whatever i'm going to end up naming my da world state #vengeance #anders dragon age #justice dragon age #post DA2 #the peanut gallery #justanders

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pierogipie · 1 year

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👀

this is from an as-of-yet unpublished justanders wip from Justice's pov! I love them :) that is the only explanation I have for it.

“Do you miss your home?” Anders laughs.

“What, Kinloch Hold? You weren’t here when the Commander found me, but I was trying to get <i>away</i> from that place.” Anders flicks his eyes to the ground down below him, watching the people of Vigil’s Keep awake and start their chores. “It could be swallowed up by the void tomorrow and I wouldn’t care.”

Justice is alarmed. He believes Anders to be a good person, a Warden fighting for his fellow man, but to speak so callously about all those souls—

“Andraste’s tits, Justice, it’s an expression,” Anders puts up his hands in surrender. “I don’t really want everyone in Kinloch Hold to die. Well, maybe the templars. And Irving, conniving bastard.”

Anders looks to the sunrise. The rays make his eyes look gold. Distantly, Justice is aware that they make quite the pair. Justice, in Kristoff’s rotting corpse, and Anders, young, whole, and golden.

“Even then, as much as the templars…as much as they might deserve it, I don’t want all of them to die. I just want all of them to—” he makes a dismissive gesture with this hand—” go away.”

“How would you accomplish this?” Anders shrugs.

“I don’t know. It’s hard, isn’t it? Really, I just want the templars to stop being templars. Go home. Knock up their local shopgirls and pop out a thousand pious brats who know the Chant by heart. Is that so much to ask?” Anders stretches and yawns. Justice is made aware that he has pale brown freckles on a small patch of white skin above his hip. “I guess it doesn’t really matter what I think. It’s not like I’ll ever have to make that decision anyways.”

Justice doesn’t say anything. He has many thoughts, but he knows Anders. Instead, he says: “It is unjust. What they did to you.”

Anders’ eyes widen for a moment, then he scoffs. “You’re telling me. Still, what’re going to do? Can’t fight the Chantry. Can’t fight the templars.”

send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of art/writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p)

#justanders #justice da2 #anders da2 #daa #dragon age awakening

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libartz · 1 year

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Let’s play a fun game I like to call “do I actually ship them romantically, or do I want their relationship to be acknowledged as extremely close and among the most important in their lives and calling it romantic is my way of achieving that?”

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potatowitch · 2 years

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you are teaching me to love - for Justice/Fenris/Anders

Finally got around to finishing this one after far, far too long. Have 1728 words of Justice figuring out what love feels like for @dadrunkwriting

Justice is learning about love.

Kristoff’s memories are faint, more like impressions of feeling and flashes of images than actual memories, but in them he sees a woman. Aura. Kristoff’s wife - and he tries to understand what that means.

It is … a nice concept - the fractured memory of Aura’s soft palm in Kristoff’s calloused own, the casual press of her lips against his cheek. The commitment they made to each other, that they honoured even as the warmth of infatuation cooled in the months they would spend apart from one another. Justice wonders what that kind of companionship would feel like, friendship but more, he supposes - though he’s certain he’ll never know past the fragments he feels from his decaying host’s mind.

Anders’ memories are so much more real. In the moment they merge, Justice feels them wash over him in a tidal wave, and he worries he may drown in them. They are so visceral - blinding, deafening; and he is subsumed in feeling - fear and pain and grief and loneliness and anger and hate, so much hate - and Justice feels it too, all on his own, rage at the injustices his host and friend has suffered.

Justice tries not to pry too much into Anders’ memories, but they are one, now, and his host’s subconscious is laid out to him like a tapestry that he cannot tear himself away from, and woven through all that pain are threads of brilliant golden light. Anders is so full of good, more so than Justice ever expected - so much compassion, and joy, and determination and love. Anders is lit up like a star. Justice wonders why he could never see it before.

He’d asked why they were going to Kirkwall, specifically. Anders had said he wanted to help a friend. Now, Justice sees that Karl was more than a friend, in so many ways. They were … physical. In a similar way to how Kristoff and Aura were physical, though Karl and Anders could never be as free in their affections, and Justice can’t tell if it’s because Anders is a living being but his feelings for Karl were - still are, after years apart - so intense. So much more than what Kristoff ever felt for his wife.

Anders never let himself call it love. It’s a sad thing, Justice thinks, because love between mortals is so beautiful, but he thinks he understands. He feels Anders’ fear as his own; can see how Karl was ripped from his hands. Justice feels Karl’s warmth, feels how Anders admired his quick mind, his quiet rebelliousness, the way he’d hold Anders’ hair and rub his back as he threw up magebane after suffering terrible abuses. Feels how Anders would have endured it all, just for Karl. Feels how he still aches for him.

And so Justice feels Anders’ grief when they slit Karl’s throat, too. Feels the despair, the rage, the hate, and he hungers for vengeance with a voracity that scares them both - because how dare the templars do this to any mage, any person, but more than that: how dare they do this to Anders.

This is what happens when you care, Anders thinks, lying on his back in the dark of the clinic’s backroom. They take and they take and they take, until there’s nothing left. He hasn’t slept in three days - every time he drifts into the Fade he sees Karl’s face, the raised brand on his forehead; his dull, lifeless eyes. Justice wishes he could hold back Anders’ nightmares, but he cannot.

They will never take your mind, he tells Anders instead. I will not let them. They will never have you.

He surprises himself with how much he means it - beyond simply preventing the injustice of Tranquility, beyond the need for self-preservation. Justice finds himself desperate to cradle all the bright parts of Anders with his presence, wants to protect that fire within Anders with everything he has.

---

The years slide past. Justice watches the people Anders comes to consider friends: Hawke, with her strange eyes and even stranger sense of humour, who never questions his merge with Justice, never fears them, but instead pushes them forward in their cause. Varric, who pays to protect the clinic and pretends the baskets of supplies that show up at the door never come from him. Isabela, who pretends she doesn’t care for anyone but herself but always greets Anders with open arms and a warm grin that makes him feel less alone. Even Merrill, though she consorts with demons, is unfailingly kind, and her criticisms of the Chantry have made Anders laugh more than once.

And Fenris. Fenris, with his distrust of mages and his ability to push all of Anders’ buttons with a single scathing remark. Fenris, who Anders argues with, who protects Anders in battle, who is the only member of their little group aside from Hawke who still tries to discuss the liberation of mages with Anders, even when they disagree. Fenris, who rips the hearts from slavers, who has fought tooth and nail for his own liberation, who flinches at the slave statues in the Gallows courtyard, whose markings were born of a horrible injustice and yet sing so sweetly of home.

Justice watches Fenris closest of them all as the years go by. It is not just the lyrium, he realises. Fenris is special in so many other ways - he stands firm in his principles, he stands for freedom, though it takes him many years to even consider the liberation of mages. He is an admirable man - and Justice is not the only one who thinks so.

Anders is beginning to admire Fenris for his own reasons. Justice can feel Anders’ surprise whenever Fenris’ dry wit draws an involuntary laugh from him, how Anders’ belly flutters and his chest warms when Fenris shoots him a lopsided smile, how Anders marvels at how quickly Fenris takes to reading and writing. It helps that Anders finds Fenris appealing physically, too.

Anders refuses to admit this, of course. Even after he and the elf fall into bed together, over and over, waking up in each other’s arms with soft smiles and the brush of lips over temples and the carding of fingers through hair, Anders tells himself it’s nothing more than physical.

It is a shame, Justice thinks, that Anders once again refuses to admit his feelings to himself.

“There are no feelings, Justice. We’re just … allies with benefits.”

You have had an “allies with benefits” arrangement before. It did not feel the same.

“No, it didn’t. Nate and I actually liked each other outside of the bedroom. Fenris hates me, Justice.”

Many people have hated you. They have never looked at you the way he does. Justice sends a stream of memories flickering through Anders’ mind - Fenris bringing lunch to Anders’ clinic and ordering him to sit down and eat. The stony fury in Fenris’ eyes as he cleaves a Templar’s head from their shoulders just before they can drive a sword into Anders’ belly. Fenris turning up at Anders’ door to apologise for the way he spoke after killing Hadriana, his eyes big and green and remorseful.

“That’s -” Anders scoffs. “I don’t. We aren’t … No, Justice.”

Justice drops the subject, for a while. Days turn to weeks, to months, to a year, and Fenris still snorts when Anders makes a terrible joke, still brings him lunch, still holds him in the dead of night when dreams of darkspawn and the cold stone of a Circle dungeon haunt Anders in the Fade. There’s a shift in their dynamic - Justice can feel it. Fenris has begun to listen, to understand - and, incredibly, so has Anders.

---

“I love you,” Anders chokes out.

His heart slams against his ribcage, his lungs aching and his stomach twisting as Fenris stares up at him, eyes wide and mouth open. Justice squirms fretfully underneath Anders’ skin, just as terrified of what Fenris might say as Anders is. The mansion is eerily quiet around them, the only sounds the flapping of curtains in the breeze pushing through the cracks in the window as Fenris’ silence stretches on and agonisingly on.

For Anders, love has always been intertwined with fear. It is an injustice, it should not be so, but it is, and no matter what Fenris does with those words, Justice is so incredibly proud of Anders for saying them.

They watch as Fenris’ hands clench and unclench at his side, once, twice, until Fenris takes a long inhale through his nose and looks Anders in the eyes.

“I love you too,” Fenris says, then his hands are in Anders’ hair and yanking him down to crush their lips together.

The kiss is messy, uncoordinated; their teeth clack and their noses bump, then Fenris is tilting his head to the side and deepening the kiss, warm lips sliding over Anders’ own, drawing a little moan from Anders’ throat. Anders’ hands clutch at the back of Fenris’ shirt as he presses as close as he can to the solid warmth of Fenris’ body, and Justice feels the sheer elation rushing through his veins. It feels like the hum of magic in their blood when they cast and the pulse of the Fade as they draw on their mana, and it feels just as right, just as natural, just as joyous.

Justice pushes as close to the surface of their skin as he can, feeling the heat of Fenris’ body and the rough skin of his palms, tasting the sweetness of wine and honey on his tongue. Fenris has always sung of home, but he feels like it too, feels and tastes and smells like it, and Anders and Justice are both lost in the movement of Fenris’ lips down their jaw, his hands tugging open the clasps of Anders’ coat.

As Anders’ bare legs wrap around Fenris’ waist and Fenris’ mouth marks a wet trail down Anders’ neck, Justice is alight with hope and adoration and devotion, overwhelmed with gratitude that Anders has shown him this brilliance; has taught him how to love. He knows with an ironclad certainty that he would tear this world asunder for these mortals if he had to. Nothing will touch either of them again - no magister, no templar shall have them.

He will not allow it.

#my writing #dadwc #fic #fenders #justfenders #justanders

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