He looks a lot like his father, except the coloring of his hair and eyes. Hence – despite being equal parts Anders and Fereldan – he looked enough of a foreigner to be nicknamed ‘the Anders’.
That nose that we all love and cherish? His giant-ass forehead that’s only getting bigger as he slowly loses his hair? Very typical of the Anderfels people. It’s only when he opens his mouth do you realize that he’s full Fereldan in spirit.
If Anders had our same language, he definitely wouldn’t identify as cisgender. Man just oozes nonbinary.
When he was a young child, he was prone to allergies and minor sicknesses. He was born premature, and his compromised immune system gave him some trouble. It wasn’t until his teenage years did he finally stop getting the flu every four months. And with the Joining and Justice both, he now rarely gets ill.
He has innie nipples.
Sometimes, Anders laments his receding youth. He’s getting old enough that a trip and fall could sprain a limb. Grey is beginning to dot his temple and stubble. Before Justice, he took great care to look handsome. Nowadays, he’s lucky if he shaves once and a while. And he can’t help but regret his lost looks, on occasion.
He cannot cook for the life of him. Craft poultices and ointments, boil ingredients into tinctures, he can do all that no problem. But for some reason, he cannot even stir together a stew without messing it up. He tries though, and with Hawke’s help he one day managed to make half-decent pancakes.
Anders actually has good teeth, for some reason. Back during the plate armor days of history, you pulled teeth when they hurt. And by adult years, you were lucky if you had only lost two or three. Anders? Never had to pull one. Even his wisdom teeth grew in straight and smooth.
Despite what some might think, Anders is pretty brazen and fearless. He’s not scared of heights, or the dark, or blood and gore, or by terrifying bears or dragons. Partially because of his underlying depression, partially because that’s the kind of brat he is.
The only thing that can truly frighten him is anything that triggers his memories of solitary confinement. And it’s hard to pinpoint what they might be – once, it was from waking up with his jacket thrown over his face from the night before. Or an unexpected stretch of silence in his clinic for whatever reason, making his heart jump and his head seize.
He’s never been that fond of candy or sweets. But if he had to choose, he’d say that candied almonds are his favorite.
If he took off his coats and feather pauldrons, you’d laugh your head off at how large his head is, in comparison to the rest of his body. It’s kinda always been like that. And he’s embarrassed.
whitemanning critical 