#deimos amell

[trevelyanaccord]

//

[lumienyx]

For the DADWC: “You did not just compare me to a cat / mabari / nug / [Thedosian animal of your choice].”

Here, Kitty Kitty

Pairing: Male Amell/Anders | Rating: M | Word Count: 1889

Tags: Fluff, Banter, Idiots in Love, Humor, Anders is a Little Shit, Amell is So Done

Summary: "What," Amell gritted through his teeth, "did you just say?"

"Uh..." Anders tried for his most winning smile. Took an innocent sip of his coffee. Looked at Amell with the softest gaze he could muster under such circumstances, when it was all he could to bite his lip and not laugh. "What did I say? I was talking a lot, wasn't I? Saying lots of clever, wonderful things—"

"You did not just compare me to your fucking cat, Anders!"

🎶 Clean Bandit - Rather Be ft. Jess Glynne

A/N: LE VOILA I FINALLY FINISHED ONE OF THE MULTITUDE OF AMELL/ANDERS FICS IN MY DRAFTS

Meet the Warden:

Deimos looks like a cinnamon roll but can actually kill you, and in fact, if you annoy him enough, will reanimate your corpse just so he can enjoy killing you again. Chaotic, and neutral until pissed off enough—then evil. Favors Spirit and Entropy magic, threatened a demon once into teaching him necromancy. Starfang is his absolute favorite toy weapon in the entire world, even though he's not exactly any good at sword-fighting, but he makes do with lots of Force-magic-powered swishing. Ultimately: a dumbass.

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

@dadrunkwriting

~

"Anders?"

"Deimos."

An exasperated sigh got swept away in a gush of wind. "Anders..."

"Ye-es?"

"What," Amell gritted through his teeth, "did you just say?"

"Uh..." Anders tried for his most winning smile. Took an innocent sip of his coffee. Looked at Amell with the softest gaze he could muster under such circumstances, when it was all he could to bite his lip and not laugh. "What did I say? I was talking a lot, wasn't I? Saying lots of clever, wonderful things—"

"You did not just compare me to your fucking cat, Anders!"

Against all instincts of self-preservation from what would probably be suffocating bouts of tickling, Anders begged to differ,

"Why—that's it!" It was purely by accident that Anders gestured a bit too strongly with the hand holding his tea and ended up spilling some dangerously close to where Amell was lounging on the other side of the picnic blanket. It was, he supposed, fair enough that the apologetic smile he offered was met with a deathly glare. "That is something I said, yes."

It was suddenly impossible to stop smiling then.

"Anders—"

"Aw, you like the sound of my name that much?" Anders batted his eyelashes. "I'm flattered."

Deimos' magic gleamed forth from under his clenched fists in a dance of angry blue sparks to match the lyrium-blue of his eyes hovering just above pale skin. A beautiful dance to the mesmerizing tune of his mana.

(It was the first thing Anders had grown to love about him. After all these years, just the hint of it was still enough to spur Anders' own mana to rush to the surface, longing, aching to entwine with the force that exuded so much energy, and warmth, and light, even sizzling as it was now with irritation.)

"Yes, actually, I do," Deimos said slowly, flashing him a grin, "I'm imagining how pretty it would look on a gravestone."

"You know, I'm fairly sure that's also a habit you and Ser Pounce share. He has this glare every time I forget to feed him..."

"I am nothing like your stupid fucking useless bloody cat!"

"Hey! You gave him to me—what does that say about you?"

"That I made a huge mistake and you're never getting nice things again."

"Anyway, my point is," Anders ignored the blatant lie, "Ser Pounce is a noble beast. And, well, sure, you don't laze around and purr all day, but I was thinking more along the lines of how cute you both are—"

"I am not cute," Amell said, arms flailing and lips curling into a pout.

"And all this hissing when you're angry—see, you're doing it right now! Also, the pickiness about food, the soft fluffy hair, and really, it's uncanny—"

"Anders," Deimos growled in the cutest of possible ways, "I am not cute. I am strong, and intimidating, and—stop laughing—I hunt dragons for fun, void dammit, and I've killed an Archdemon, and probably more people than there are residents in this city!"

Anders recalled Amaranthine's population being somewhere around a few thousand, and he'd suspected Amell's list of victims to be ridiculously large, which... well, fair, considering his line of work and propensity for questionable life choices.

His very strong propensity for questionable life choices.

(Anders loved his questionable life choices).

Anders narrowed his eyes. "You sure it's not more?"

"Maybe more," Amell said, saccharine smile and all, which may have looked eerie to anyone else. Anders only smiled back. "And I might be tempted to add to that list. Promptly."

Anders finally let the laughter loose.

"What in the void is so funny, shithead?"

"Oh, how you wound me!" Anders cried. "Wasn't it 'honey' a minute ago?"

"A minute ago you weren't being a dick," Amell grumbled. "Don't test me."

"I'm sorry," Anders said, "so sorry, but I do have trouble buying into this fearsome and dangerous persona you're trying to portray." A dozen more sparks shot from Amell's hands, instantly fizzling out in the air. "I mean, come on—you can't even grow a bloody beard at what, twenty?"

"Almost twenty-one—"

"Now, how do you expect me to find you anything other than adorable? But listen, maybe you'll get whiskers one day..."

"I swear to the fucking maker, Anders..."

"Who you don't believe in, by the way."

"I will cut off your coffee supply," Amell seethed, "for an entire month."

Anders gasped, a hand shooting to his heart. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Anders countered, "You love me too much," his heart skipping a beat and brain catching up too late to what he'd said, what he'd implied, and curse him and his chronic inability to keep his foot out of his mouth because this was far from the first time this has happened and again and—

Deimos' glare at once softened into that gentle, almost indulgent, a bit distant look (that Anders loved so terribly and couldn't look away from, those eyes luring him surer than any demon into temptation).

"And that's why," Amell said, grabbing at the life-giving drink Anders clutched tight to his chest, "I'm only doing what's best for you—and for the whole Keep. You're too jittery and nonsensical on coffee."

Anders wiggled out of Amell's grasp and tumbled to the side, taking another sip in defiance. "I'm just having fun."

"Too much fun."

"No such thing."

"Is in your case."

"You could use a bit of it," Anders offered. "Look at you all sulky." Amell's glare, impossible as that may have seemed, turned even darker, he no doubt expecting Anders to follow with another feline comparison. And technically speaking, Anders didn't, but, "Come on over here, I'll pet you and you'll feel all better, I promise," he cooed, devolving into fits of laughter at the way Amell's face twisted into a genuinely adorable scowl.

(Anders loved that scowl.)

"You know what? Fuck you," Amell declared. "I have better things to do." He stood up quick enough to knock over his own cup of disgustingly strong tea Anders was sure would wither the grass where it spilled. "You sit here and wallow in your stupid fucking coffee."

"What is this problem you have with coffee? It's what keeps me alive and you like me alive, don't you?"

Amell was about to say something, then simply waved him off. Took a bit more time than strictly necessary grabbing his staff and carefully reattaching Starfang to his belt, and shooting more affronted glares Anders' way before actually heading off back towards the Keep.

Ten, Anders started his usual count, nine...

Amell didn't quite make it this far, this time. Made it all of five steps, and stopped. Took another step, came to another halt. And then, since he, apparently, didn't have anything better to do after all, turned round to face Anders for what would surely be another tirade, most likely, if only Anders hadn't beaten him to it,

"Here, kitty kitty..."

Anders dodged the obscenely huge snowball Amell launched his way, jumping up to swerve out of the gush of cold as it spurred back for a renewed attack, then melting it in a swift burst of flames as it swirled around and shot towards him once more.

Amell growled, "I dare you," his murderous glare positively catlike, really, "to say that again."

Anders bit his lips against a grin that he was sure showed through anyway. "See, you even growl like a little kitten," he teased, "so adorable."

Amell overreacting in some way was expected, but him tackling Anders to the ground, armor and all, really wasn't. A split second, and Anders found himself in a heap of tangled limbs and torn up grass, spilled coffee and bits of food clinging to both of them—dammit, Deimos—and dangerously spiky armor parts poking at places that really shouldn't be poked.

"Get off me!" Anders shouted through fits of laughter while Amell kept him still and kept grumbling something about foolishness and punishment and Maker forbid tickles, and try as Anders might to roll them over to get on top, his strength was no match for Amell's. The lean muscles imbued with force magic brushing along Anders' body—quite nicely, come to think of it. And really, come to think of it, he didn't quite want to escape.

And so Anders stopped struggling—and kissed Amell instead.

It was a tender press of lips, and then it wasn't. Another tentative kiss turning deep, and heated, so perfect, as Amell's tongue slid past his lips, and his hands fisted in Anders' clothes, and his mana seemed to latch right onto Anders' soul.

It wasn't always easy speaking with Deimos. Harder still to say the things he meant, the things Anders wanted to say but hid instead behind the safeguard of jokes and teasing.

Like this, though, Anders could say anything and everything he wished.

The kiss like a dam opening up to let his emotions through in a cascade of pure, blinding sensation—things Anders never would let, never could let himself feel when all his world was was the grey walls of Kinloch Hold. Things he still couldn't quite put into words, not completely, but could channel through his own mana and twine it with Amell's. A tentative hope laced with tingling affection and the strange ache of joy interlaced with something deeper that seemed so terrifying and yet felt so right.

A word Anders couldn't let himself speak even as the emotion overwhelmed his entire being, and so he simply drowned all that he dared not think in what he let himself feel.

Soft yet demanding lips moving against his own. Amell's drawing him close. Mapping his mouth as if for the first time. Drinking him like a man the last drops of water in a sun-glazed desert, as if they weren’t ending up tangled in each other's arms most every night at this point. Magical, beautiful nights that, though completely inconducive to sleeping, were worth the occasional fatigue because Deimos in his bed, and in his arms, and in his life was worth everything.

They drew away far past the point when breath became far too lacking, and still traded stray kisses, wet swollen lips meeting softly, lingering, perfect. And then Anders was smiling too wide to be able to kiss back.

"What were we arguing about again?" he asked, entranced by the paths of sunlight glinting against the black of Amell's hair.

Deimos scoffed. "Nice try. You're not getting off that easy, dickhead."

"I'm not?" Anders rocked his hips, feeling the distinct hardness in Amell's trousers and earning a muffled groan. And another fierce, messy kiss. "Speaking of dicks..."

And there was that adorable growl again, which Anders chose to leave sans comment this time, and instead licked his lips, slowly. Shot Deimos a meaningful look and a few scarce sparks of lightning through his clothes to dance and tease over the skin beneath.

"Fine," Amell relented, leaning down to bury his face in Anders' neck and mouth at the sensitive skin there, "fuck first, punish later."

"Or both?" Anders' attempt at a flippant tone could scarcely hide the shiver wracking his body at the suggestion. "Both are good, don't you think?"

Anders could feel Deimos' grin against his skin. "Oh, I love," he sighed, "the way you think."

~

me writing this:

[hitchell-mope]

Fancast for Olympian gods in a Percy Jackson Netflix show part 3

Calais

Zethes (I wanna see him in a mullet. Sue me)

Boreas

Midas*

Lityerses*

Phobos**

Deimos**

Medea

Medusa***

Phineas

* I think the look vaguely similar

** I know I chose Chris Pine for Ares and I know they’re twins but gods can choose whatever form they want. And if you could look like these two wouldn’t you?

*** I almost chose Ellen Pompeo for medusa. But I felt I’d be the only one to get the joke

[koreasahq]

Junior A — FC: Yang Jeongin // Codinome: Dash

Junior A — FC: Zhong Chenle // Codinome: Jack Frost 

Junior A — FC: Kim Yeri // Codinome: Cinderela

Junior A — FC: Park Jiwon // Codinome: Marie  

Junior A — FC: Cha Eunwoo // Codinome: Flynn

JUNIOR A FECHADO, apenas A1 com vagas (3).

Junior B — FC: Yeh Shuhua // Codinome: Mulan (LÍDER)

Junior B — FC: Huang Renjun // Codinome: Sebastião

Junior B — FC: Jeon Heejin // Codinome: Violet

Junior B — FC: Wong Yukhei (Lucas) // Codinome: Scar

Junior B — FC: Choerry // Codinome: Hino

Senior (solo) — FC: Zhang Yixing // Codinome: Mavin

Senior (dupla) — FC: Oh Yeonseo // Codinome: Trivia 

Senior (dupla) — FC: Hong Jonghyun // Codinome: Wolf

Senior (dupla) — FC: Stephen Amell // Codinome: Odin

Senior (dupla) — FC: Emeraude Toubia // Codinome: Victoria  

Senior (dupla) — FC: Woo Dohwan // Codinome: Deimos

Senior (dupla) — FC: Lee Jongsuk // Codinome: Riddler

Senior (dupla) — FC: Jung Haein // Codinome: Kumiho

Senior A — FC: Bang Sungjoon // Codinome: Noctis

Senior A — FC: Kim Ahyoung (Yura) // Codinome: Poison Ivy 

Staff — FC: Kim Goeun // Codinome: Xavier

Staff — FC: Eiza González // Codinome: Wasp 

[lumienyx]

WIP Wednesday

i was tagged this week by @pinkfadespirit (thank you💜), and i’ve got.... many things to share, but i’ll settle on a very silly snippet from a fic titled A Witch of the Wilds, the Hero of Ferelden, and an Old God Baby Walk Into a Tavern...

hefty title i know XD featuring mostly just... banter between my warden Deimos Amell, Anders’ ex and best friend, total menace; Morrigan who is surprisingly quick to team up with Anders to make Deimos’ life miserable; and bby Kieran whose secret is known only to the three of them, but the whole Kirkwall crew can see there’s something quite special about the boy👀 excerpt below the cut ⬇

(note: Varric nicknamed Deimos Frosty because his favorite element is ice)

tagging @apostatefrog @gingergreencoffee @storywestistrash @storybookhawke @magepride @nirvana-war-queen @magicsewerman @nobloodneeded @myucaloveschoclate @mywitchcultblr @tsuraiwrites @wardenari (pls tell me if i’m annoying you with tags dsjklfs) and anyone else who sees this and wants to join!

“Hey, Frosty,” Varric says, "tell me. How come every Grey Warden that’s ever killed an Archdemon ended up dead—and yet here you are. Sitting with us, drinking, cracking jokes—”

“And giving you all the opportunity to marvel at my dashing good looks?” Deimos says, somewhat of a too self-satisfied grin plastered on his face.

Varric chuckles. “And that. But stay on track, I’ve had enough evasive conversations with Blondie over there.”

This earns him a swat over the shoulder from Anders, which he ignores, too busy pinning Deimos with his most inquisitive glare. Deimos contemplates the question over the last remnants of his wine, taking a torturously slow sip, before saying,

"Trade secret, actually," which prompts a few groans across the table and a chuckle from his wife. "But I'm a fan of your works, Varric, so I'll share it with you."

Morrigan and Anders share a worried glare that the others are too busy to notice, while Deimos continues talking with his most serious expression in place.

"See, all those other Grey Wardens rushed head on with their swords and spears and got so fatally wounded by the Archdemons not any kind of healing could patch them up afterwards. That," he says with a sigh, "was monumentally stupid. I'm a strategist myself—Anders, stop laughing—so I kept my distance. Attacked it from afar. Used the most intricate spells in my arsenal. But most importantly, I brought fourth the enormous collections puns I've gathers during my year of travels—Ferelden's finest, by which, of course, I mean terrible—and annoyed the fucker with them till it dropped dead. They are sentient, you know. Worked wonderfully."

"Don't you mean," Anders cuts him off, barely holding in laughter, "worked pun-derfully?" Deimos shoots a stream of snow his way, which Anders is quick to melt in a burst of flames.

"I hate you all," Fenris groans, lamenting his state of sobriety, as Varric’s hopeful expression crumples into one of annoyance. 

“Frosty, I swear—”

“Just deal with it, Varric,” Isabela says, “he won’t tell you, and he’s too taken for me to bribe him with sex.”

"I would call your bluff," Hawke says to his cousin, "but I've heard enough from Anders about the shit you've been through to know that may well actually be the truth."

“Wait, he was lying?” Merrill says with a frown which Isabela rushes to kiss away.

Deimos rolls his eyes. "I assure you," he says, "whatever he's told you, I'm not that much of a fuck up."

"You are," Anders says.

"You're worse," Morrigan adds.

"True, that," Anders concedes. Morrigan clinks her glass with his.

“Hey! My best friend and wife can’t team up to bully me.”

“And why not?” Morrigan asks.

“Well—because," Deimos starts. "Well. I mean. You’ve known Anders for three bloody hours, damn you!”

Morrigan shrugs. “Kieran likes him. He's passed the most important test.”

“Well, Kieran loves me. He wouldn’t appreciate you tag-teaming me, isn’t that right, precious?” Deimos coos at Kieran, who gazes at him silently and dispassionately from Morrigan’s arms.

“Give it a few months and Anders will become his favorite uncle and father figure,” Morrigan says, ignoring Deimos’ indignant spluttering. Anders preens. “I think Kieran’s also quite fond of Justice, too, aren’t you, little man?” Kieran lets out a delighted giggle.

"Anders uses puns too,” Deimos says, trying for a scowl to suppress his pout, “that pisses the shit out of you."

"He uses them ironically," Morrigan explains like he dared imply the sky was green.

Anders nods. "You get me."

"Cheers,” Morrigan says, and they clink glasses once more.

Deimos sighs, sagging in his chair. “I’m not nearly drunk enough to deal with such treachery.”

~ ~ ~

lmao they can’t fucking leave him alone, guys he’s been through a blight have mercy. Alas, this whole mercy thing doesn’t seem to be Anders and Morrigan’s style x)

[koreasahq]

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