#hawders

[geibaar]

Finally, I’m home.

[viciouscabaret-blog]

Anders calling Hawke "sweetheart" like/reblog if you agree

[mothdogs]

Anders never was much for sleep since his Joining--insomnia had been his sole companion through many of the past decade’s empty nights. Until Justice.

And until Hawke.

He watches half-lidded as she snuffs, makes as if to turn over, then settles back down against him. Anders smiles and flicks a lock of hair off her face, marveling. Here lies a contradiction: she is a human firecracker, his bulwark in battle, yet now she cups herself to his chest, almost more dove than Hawke.

The banked fire glows in the fireplace and he drifts, on the cusp of sleep now and musing--thoughts of Justice, pushed far back in his mind tonight, and of stories and names. She’d never asked his surname, and he’d never called her by her first. Not for three years. Not until this night

(Oh Maker -- yes, Marian, yes -- )

and he relishes the memory now, how sweet it was to call her and know her, the consonants and vowels of that name falling from his lips in a babble as he arched above her.

He slits his eyes open for one last look: the portwine birthmark splashed across her nose like blood, like fire. He wants to reach into that fire, close his fist through it and shape it, burn down everything that would try to take her from him.

Anders sleeps. For tonight, at least, she is safe. For tonight that is enough.

[hollyand-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Title: Hangover Cure  Rating: Teen and Up Audiences  Fandom: Dragon Age 2 Pairings: M!Hawke/Anders  Word count: 1,143  Additional Tags: Alcohol, Drinking, Hangover, Fluff   

Summary: 

Anders takes care of Hawke while he has a hangover. 

(AKA the fic I wrote on my phone as my M!Handers fic for March while getting drunk in a bar last night. Many thanks for my phone’s autocorrect -- for once -- and my sober husband who corrected all the errors before I posted, LMAO.)    

'Hawke, you're drunk.'

'I know, Anders. And I still want you.'

'Oh, love.' Anders couldn't help laughing; even in his clingy and inebriated state his lover still knew how to utterly charm him. 'Flattering as that is, I still feel we should wait until you're sober.'

'I don' wanna wait,' Hawke whined, tightening his grip on his mage – or rather, it would have been a whine if he wasn't slurring his words the way he was, the cloyingly sweet smell of alcohol on his breath. 'I want you now. I don't care. We're much too young to be sittin' around...'

'Yes, but...' Anders looked round him wildly; he could feel Garrett Hawke's hot breath on his neck as the other man clung to him, almost collapsing on him while Anders was pushed up against the wall. 'I don't want to take advantage of you. Not like this.'

'You won't be.' Hawke's breath was hot against his ear now; and despite himself Anders couldn't help laughing a little. 'We've done this many times before while sober; what difference does it make when I've had a few drinks?'

'A few drinks?' Anders laughed. 'Hawke. You're literally more drunk than I've seen you in ages. I can't take advantage of you in this state. You're going to have a glass of water, and then go straight to bed. Healer's orders.'

Hawke pouted. 'Anders. You're no fun.' 

Read more on AO3...

[tevintermage]

Anders x Hawke

[hollyand-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Written because @greensphynx challenged me on the Dragon Age Weird Shit Chat on Discord earlier today, as you see below: 

So here you go. Anders pegging, F!Handers, written and posted to AO3 before midnight in their timezone. CHALLENGE COMPLETE :D 

Title: The Masquerade  Rating: Explicit Fandom: Dragon Age 2 Pairings: F!Hawke/Anders Word count: 2,724  Additional Tags: Masquerade Balls, Canapés, Pegging, Femdom  

Summary: During a masked ball at the Hawke Estate, Marian Hawke sneaks away and pegs her mage.   

Hightown nobles’ parties were so boring. Marian Hawke could not have been less enthused about this one even if she’d tried – even if it was one that she herself was hosting, albeit at her mother’s request.

‘It’ll be a good opportunity for you, dear,’ Leandra had reassured her, as she laced up her grumpy daughter’s corset. ‘You never know who you might meet.’

Marian rolled her eyes inwardly as she stared at herself in the full-length mirror, being trussed and tied up into this ridiculous garment to fit an equally ridiculous dress. ‘Yes, mother.’

‘Seneschal Bran’s son will be there,’ Leandra continued, winking at her daughter in the mirror.

Now Marian let out a loud sigh. ‘Yes, Mother.’

‘He’s around your age,’ Leandra said hopefully, ‘and seemed very interested in you.’

‘So you already said, Mother.’

‘Well, anyway,’ Leandra said, sighing in turn, ‘it’ll do you good to meet other men of your station. You never know, you might even meet a suitable husband.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Marian, as she picked up her mask for the ball, and twirled it around in her hand. It was a pretty little thing: brown-black metal filigree woven into such an ornate delicate pattern that it brought out the blue of her eyes and the red of her lips beautifully, yet Marian couldn’t help being wistful it would be wasted on a whole ballroom of men and women she couldn’t muster any interest in.

The one person she was interested in – the one person whom she might have wanted to see her in this state – wouldn’t be here anyway; he would be healing the poor and downtrodden of the city in Darktown’s sewers, proving himself far more noble than any of the so-called nobles in attendance. 

Read more on AO3...

[mothdogs]

Through chaos as it swirls

It’s us against the world

[mothdogs]

Sometimes when I wanna feel rlly sad I’ll listen to “Foolish Love” by Altman Brown and imagine an AU where Anders is singing it to a Tranquil mage Hawke 😢