#ZevWarden fic

[mothsandbees]

colored doodle in honor of these two goobers and how i will not be playing awakening with Lirel

(it's also a companion piece to this)

[crabs-with-sticks]

Eyo my dragon age friends. I was wondering if anybody had any recommendations for some longer zevwarden or solavellan fics?

I'm going on a family vacation soon that is going to Be A Lot with No Escape From Familial Socialisation and no connection to the outside world, so am probably going to need my emotional support blorbos to get me through it T-T

[shivunin]

Dragon Age Fic Recs

In honor of the Just Leave a Comment Fest, and with no particular theme, here are a few of my favorite Dragon Age Fics:

(If you wrote one of these fics and want me to tag your blog, please let me know and I'm happy to do so!)

**Always check the tags before jumping in; this list is no exception.**

Origins: 

be my mirror by ella_vellan: (T; 5,798) Alistair & Morrigan. Alistair meets Kieran for the first time in Orlais. The dialogue in this feels so well-paced and authentic, and it really navigates a fraught situation with grace. One of those fics that feels bittersweet in the most cathartic way. 

a gentle, beating heart by rynleaf: (M; 5,115 Words) Warden/Zevran. The Warden finds out she is pregnant sometime after Origins and puts off telling Zevran. The epistolary pieces of this frame the underlying story so well, and the flow of the fic itself is extremely well-paced.

A Man’s Word is His Bond by howlsmovinglibrary: (M; 35,135 Words/9 chapters) Zevran/Warden Soulmate AU. Honestly? This Surana cracks me up and I adore this fic. She is just having absolutely none of his nonsense. No thank you. Also, the implications of a soulmate-identifying mark are really well-explored here.

Dragon Age II:

see me bare my teeth for you by calypsid: (T; 2,978 Words) Fenris/Hawke vampire AU. This one has really good pacing and Fenris’s POV is really effective. Would absolutely read way more about the dynamic between this Hawke and Fenris. 

to hold you by the edges by vesperics: (T; 4,059 Words) Fenris/Hawke wound-tending set sometime in Act 1. I am a sucker for wound-tending anything, but I really enjoyed the way this fic explores Hawke and Fenris’s early dynamic and the way she navigates his boundaries about magical healing. 

River Stone by loquaciousquark: (M; 45,633 Words) Fenris/Hawke. Hawke is captured and subjected to a botched Rite of Tranquility. Hawke survives by pretending it worked while Fenris tries to find her. The pain in this fic is so delicately and thoughtfully depicted; it might be my favorite hurt/comfort fic ever. There is an art to writing something that hurts like this while still making the catharsis of resolution feel earned, and this author absolutely knows how to do it right. 

Inquisition: 

Portrait of a Man by Dulcidyne: (T; 3,136 Words) Cullen/Inquisitor. Cullen sits for a portrait. Love the dynamic of person vs. role here, and the idea of how someone is depicted potentially outliving who they actually are. A fic I would hug if I could. 

Truth-Telling by todisturbtheuniverse: (M; 3,988 Words; CW: Fantasy Racism) Adaar/Josephine. Adaar tells several stories about how she lost her horn, but saves the truth for Josie. There are so many great pieces in this about the faces shown to people we trust vs. people who pry for information. Love the almost-but-not-quite together state of their relationship here, too. Yearning, my beloved. 

Port in the Storm by kvella: (E; 89,445 Words/19 Chapters) After nearly hooking up, Cullen and Josephine navigate their tensions while trying to build a memorial for Haven. A lovely slow burn! Characterization is enjoyable and consistent, smut is well-written, and the tension is palpable. The sections involving Josie’s family were some of my favorites.

[zevswarden]

I don’t talk about my love for Zevran nearly as much as I should 🤧 second time playing his romance and damn I love.him.so.much 🖤

[antivan-beau]

to eat the flaring sunbeam

Zevran/Female Cousland, T, 2896 words (complete)

They haven't known each other long, but Beatrice and Zevran could die any day here in the Brecilian Forest. Zevran's massage offer and what could come next aren't complicated. Right? In which two intelligent people are careful with each other's feelings, while doing their best to look super fucking casual about it all.

Read on AO3.

For Zevwarden Week 2023 - Day 1: “Tradition and Trying New Things.” @zevraholics

An unorthodox take on "tradition and trying new things," but it takes an upset to the flow of battle to bring Beatrice and Zevran closer. And damn is "explicit communication about being friends with benefits" a new thing for both an assassin and a noblewoman.

[inquisimer]

mer mer mer hi for Zevran and Ariya, perhaps:

But like earth heaped over the heart Is love grown perfect. Like a shell over the beat of life Is love perfect to the last. So let it be the same Whether we turn to the dark or to the kiss of another; Let us know this for leavetaking, That I may not be heavy upon you, That you may blind me no more.

ro ro ro hap friday beloved💜 I looked at this prompt tonight and it suddenly clicked as exactly the right way to explore Alistair's unrequited love for my Tabris, so here we go :3

for @dadrunkwriting

Alistair thought Ostagar would be his Great Reckoning. He thought that nothing could lay him so low as the loss of a family so recently acquired, the knowledge of Duncan’s corpse half-devoured and forgotten on the battlefield, the isolation that sank into his bones outside of the witch hut in the Wilds. All of the Wardens had them and he would need one so that someday, gray and grizzled, he could swig ale and bark laughter at foolish recruits who were eager to bathe their blades in darkspawn blood.

He thought it would be Ostagar.

As they set off, he anchored himself to Ariya. The only two Wardens left facing the Blight. If he was a bit too clingy, she didn’t seem to mind—surely she was as adrift and uncertain as he and he thought perhaps she clung to him in comfort just the same. She was the dagger in the back of his enemy and he was her shield against their swords. They were a perfectly matched pair.

Until the assassin came.

She’d lost her mind, for sure. Helping the elf up from the ground as though he hadn’t just laid a trap to kill them. Was she crazy? Alistair asked her as much and she gave him such a derisive eye roll that he wished he could shrink into his armor like a turtle.

“Half the people in Denerim would have killed me for less than however much gold Loghain offered him,” she said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

And suddenly things were different. Ariya no longer came to finish off his opponents in a fight; she stood back-to-back with this Zevran, her style mimicking his more and more each day. There was no more crouching about the fire with her to cobble together a stew over the coals—at night the pair of elves snuck off together and they took the same watches, leaving a rather disgruntled and increasingly jealous Alistair with Leliana (if he was lucky) or Morrigan (if he wasn’t).

Still, not all hope was lost. Even if the assassin was warming her bed there were things he could never share with her that a fellow Warden could. Alistair was more interested in her  heart, anyhow. He thumbed the faded rose and stared out into the darkness of the woods, thinking of how things had been before Zevran came and wishing things weren’t so desperate, so she would have agreed to leave him behind.

Weeks, months passed. Despite the pitying looks and thinly veiled derision from their companions, Alistair wasn’t oblivious. Ariya and the assassin grew closer, as time was wont to make them, but Alistair knew the truth. Her eyes were warm when he managed to steal a moment of her time and she fit perfectly in his embrace when the nightmares wracked them both. Perhaps she just didn’t realize the extent of his feelings, he thought one night, a great epiphany. After all, it wasn’t as though he’d told her. Likely she was with the assassin because he’d been open with his affection from the start.

In the end the rose stayed in his pocket until Eamon brought them to Denerim. He just couldn’t work up the nerve. But now there was tension between her and the assassin and he knew the inevitable decline of that misadventure must be nigh, so he seized the moment. When they trudged back in from a day’s worth of running errands about the city, he drew her into one of the empty guest rooms and shut the door.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. She was loosening her braid and Alistair’s breath caught. He so rarely saw her with her hair down and the fiery halo the flickering torchlight gave her felt like a sign that the moment was right.

He produced the rose and spun a metaphor of beauty and faith that he’d only half rehearsed in bed at night. When he’d finished, he looked up with a hopeful smile and held the faded flower out for her to take.

“Alistair…” her voice broke on his name, and not in the way he’d imagined a thousand times before. She bit her lip.

“I—you know I’m with Zevran, don’t you?” she gave an uncertain laugh. “I mean…we haven’t exactly been hiding. Literally everyone else has noticed, trust me.”

“Well, yes, but that can hardly be serious.” Alistair gestured aimlessly, confident in his assumption until he saw how her gray eyes went cold and flat at his words. “I mean—we’re the Wardens, Ariya, he can hardly follow—“

“We don’t even know how this is going to end,” she snapped. “Don’t presume to tell me what can and can’t be done.”

Lithe fingers twisted her hair back into a braid and ran an aggrieved hand over the plait. Just like that, the moment broke. Alistair’s hand dropped back to his side and the rose crumbled in his fist.

"You should go, Alistair," she said around a clenched jaw. "Just....go."

They didn't talk much after that. She left him to stew in Eamon's study, taking Leliana or Sten in his stead. One day they came back covered in blood as usual, but her smile was just a bit brighter, her shoulders lighter than they had been in weeks.

(He wished he could stop noticing such little things about her).

When she finished her report to Eamon and turned to go, Alistair caught sight of the little gold loop glinting in her ear and he slumped so low that the arl snapped at him to stand up straight.

He thought it would be Ostagar. Instead, it was the Landsmeet.

Whatever their personal drama, Alistair had no doubt of Ariya’s capability. Denerim was her home and she was in her element here, so it hardly surprised him to see her standing over that traitor as he knelt and gave himself over to her mercy. Alistair held his breath; justice, he thought. Duncan was about to have his justice.

Except—

“He’s right.” Ariya dropped her blades at Riordan’s objection and stepped away. “Put him to the Joining.”

“What?” In his white-hot rage, Alistair didn’t even realize it was him speaking. But all the Landsmeet turned to stare at him and for once the attention didn’t stagger him. He stared directly at Ariya and she stared back for the first time since that awkward, heart-wrenching moment at the estate.

“Alistair and Anora will marry and rule together,” the elf said. Her eyes never wavered from his, even as her voice carried around the chamber. “For his crimes, Loghain will be given to the Wardens, his fate left up to the Joining.”

For a moment, he was absolutely frozen. King? Marry Anora? Why hadn’t he heard of this plan before? Eamon had been talking about putting him on the throne all along, of course, but he’d thought that when it came down to it he’d had some say in it. Or Ariya would and she would ask him, at the least.

But they hadn’t been talking. And that was his stupid fault, but in the moment he couldn’t accept that. He felt nothing besides blinding anger.

“Absolutely not—“ Alistair stormed forward, close enough that only Ariya and the few closest to her could hear his hushed anger. “What are you doing? This man betrayed our entire Order and blamed us for the crime! He’s the reason Duncan is dead! And you would welcome him to our ranks?”

“We are not judges,” Riordan interjected. “Wardens have historically been thieves, beggars, murderers, criminals of all kinds. The Blight does not discriminate and so neither do we.”

“He’s right, Alistair—“

“No.” He cut her off, heartbroken and angry and desperately wishing he could truly blame either of those things on her. “If you do this, I walk. You all may force the crown upon me, but I’ll sever all ties with the Wardens and they’ll have no claim on me, if this is your decision.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “This is my decision, Alistair. If that’s yours well…you’ve made it, at least.”

And he had.

A week later at the coronation he stared out at the crowd. Even amongst all the nobles, she was infuriatingly easy to spot. Ashy white hair in her usual braid, griffon-stamped leathers freshly oiled and looking like they hadn’t been recently spattered in darkspawn blood.

And hanging off the assassin’s arm, of course.

He scowled at his boots.

“Chin up, Alistair,” said Anora without looking at him. He turned his scowl on her instead.

“It is good that you’ve been disillusioned,” she continued, unphased. “It was hardly going to work out between you two. Besides the political implications, just use your eyes for a moment and look at her. Really look.”

Alistair stared out across the crowd, watched how the assassin looped an arm around Ariya’s waist and pulled her flush against his side. She canted her head to let him whisper in her ear and a smile spread across her face, warm and adoring and just a hint scandalized. He couldn’t see it from here, but he could imagine how the tips of her ears were gone pink as she pressed a kiss to the corner of Zevran’s mouth.

“You see?” Anora said crisply, directly contrasting the warm smile and wave she was giving the crowd. “She is in love.”

Alistair frowned. Of course she was; that was the problem, wasn’t it?

She was in love.

And so was he.

[bluerose5]

A commission of my Hero of Ferelden & Inquisitor, Darrian Tabris, along with his husband, Zevran Arainai by the talented @redreart . Definitely recommend getting a commission if you can. I love this so much! 💙

With a deep breath, Darrian told him, "I love you, too." He paused, reminding himself of the change. The thought alone brought a sunny smile to his face. "Zevran Tabris."

And while they might not have a sunset to ride off into like in the stories, they did have a sunrise to watch from a distance.

Together, they could welcome a start to a new day.

Hopefully, the first of many to come.

[periwinkle-warden]

Zevwarden week 2023 - Day 2 - Secrets, Kept and Told

Read on Ao3

———

Excerpt:

This was far from the first time Zevran had seen Eirian cry, nor was it the first time the mage had cried on his behalf specifically.

He thought back to the first time their group trekked up the Frostbacks. The two had just begun to express interest in one another, shared a tent and a bedroll for a few nights. Zevran had briefly brought up how he was trained in seduction, implied it was when he was perhaps too young or when he wasn't willing, and Eirian caught on all too quickly. He had that same look in his eyes then- shock and sadness, tears already budding - as he swore he would never touch Zevran without his permission. 

He was surprised, to say the least, as no one had bothered to offer such courtesy before. But he had survived this long without it, he assumed he didn't need it.

But perhaps he didn't mind it.

[scribbledquillz]

WIP Wednesday

Oooooo it's that time again! Thank you to @greypetrel for tagging me this week, and for being so kind and considerate - you're a lovely person and I hope you find enough cash to buy yourself a nice iced beverage of choice the next time you do laundry. <33 Thankfully this week I've been able to get some work in on the angst fic I mentioned being tempted by here, and lord am I loving regretting every second of it. :' ) Please be sad with me.

It was only when the fire had dwindled to ashy coals and the first threads of pale light began to slip above the horizon that Revka pulled away from him. The grim certainty of the night had settled into the shadows of her face, eyes which once shone brightly as polished obsidian now distant beneath a milk white haze.  "'S time, Zev." Zevran found he suddenly could not speak, his throat bound up in knots of rough spun rope. Instead he only nodded, the creases at the corners of his mouth worn in by years of laughter carved deeper by tightened lips. A hand that felt more a stranger than his own pulled a waiting bottle of brandy and two stout glasses from the bedside table. Then the slim vial he had tucked away in a drawer only the day prior, the pretty blue sheen of its glass in the dim light at odds with the nature of its contents. A voice within his mind - the piece of himself still foolish enough to pray for miracles - shook the bars he had locked it behind at the sight of the horrid, precious thing. They had staved off Death before, had they not? Why not again? The Inquisition had expanded their net of informants and scouts considerably. Avernus still carried on his studies, perhaps soon he might- He shoved the voice down. Drowned it out beneath stone and rubble and willed it to match its prison in silence. Decades of searching had turned up only dead ends and false hope. Whatever cure there was - if such a thing could exist - would not arrive in time for them. The song had become too loud, too alluring. Zevran was a selfish man, yes, but he was not cruel. Not to her. And to speak of such things now would only trouble her further at a time when she could at last begin to set her burdens aside.   Instead he poured them both a heavy measure of the brandy, setting aside his own to take up the vial in its stead. He could feel Revka's eyes on him as he pulled the stopper loose, the sharp scent of the herbs lost quickly to the warmth of the liquor as he poured them into her glass. They mixed together expertly, as he knew they would. The only sign of their presence was the empty vial and a faintly darker hue to the drink.  He forced his hand to offer it to her even as he felt the last of his strength begin to fail him, the steel and leather he had placed about his heart starting to tear and crack against the onslaught of black grief. He ignored that looming threat too, trusting it would hold just long enough to see this through. What came after did not matter.

Tagging: @blarrghe, @heniareth, @siriskulksnerding @oxygenforthewicked, @rosella-writes, @demandthedoodles, @transprincecaspian, @cullenvhenan, @wild-houseplant, @icylook, @bumblewarden, @asaara-writes, @melisusthewee , @m-m-m-myysurana , @shivunin and YOU. <3

[potatoesandsunshine]

me: the people do not need you to write about da2

also me: oh i get it. i should write about origins

[trans-ruffboi]

A Hundred Days, Just Like This

everybody listen to A Hundred Days by the Bengsons

282 words

Zevran wasn't doing anything special; just sharpening a blade next to him. And maybe all these sharp objects so close to his torso should worry him, but then Zevran bit his lip a little and sat in such a way that the fire shined off him just so.

He was so beautiful sometimes that Renlin thought he might cry for it. Beautiful and shining and golden. And he got to have him, as long as Zevran let him.

"And why are you grinning at me so, Warden? Have I done something so dastardly?" Zevran was smiling at him; he loved it when Zevran smiled, sarcastic or anything. Anything for that sharp little glance of teeth, that laugh. Absolutely perfect, in every way.

He leaned over, a little close to the knife Zevran was still sharpening, but what did that matter, really? If he got cut he could fix it, and nothing like that was anywhere close to making it not worth it. He turned his face into Zevran's neck, where he was sharp and gleaming gold and utterly perfect.

He muttered into the juncture of Zevran's neck and shoulder, laying a brief kiss onto the mark he still saw from a night ago first. "I want a hundred days, just like this."

He got a laugh for it, like a bright light, just for him. "Just like this, Warden? With the darkspawn and the Blight at all corners?"

"If you were there? Yeah. Yeah, just like this." And maybe his voice still caught to say it, but he wanted to say it. He had to.

He meant it. Any amount of darkspawn was worth being out here, in the light, with Zevran.

[blarrghe]

Strange Feelings in the Party Camp

Ch. 6: Friendly Advice

Rating: M | Category: M/M/F | Words: 16215 | Chapters: 6/?

Alistair is in love with Violet. Violet is sleeping with Zevran. Zevran is too good a friend to Alistair. Violet is too good a friend to Zevran. And can love even really be on the table, when you're all probably going to die?

Chapter Snippet:

"There is no shame in virginity, dear Warden," Zevran intones smoothly, pushing Alistair's composure further askew to keep the distraction up. 

"Hey! I mean. I know. I suppose. Or, well. Maker —" he is blushing so pink " — but I've never even kissed anyone before," he finally mutters, quiet and shamed. 

Zevran cannot help but bear a few teeth through his next smile. "Would you like to?" 

[immawraffle]

I have no time to work on anything Zevwarden rn—school has consumed my life—but I might try and upload some stuff after it’s over, during reading week break (Nov 13-17).

[shivunin]

In the Quiet Dark

Zevran/Arianwen Tabris | 1,633 Words | M | CW: Mild/implied sexual content

I originally started writing this to go with this piece I commissioned from pinayelf (thank you again!) but I did not finish it in time to post them together. It may be a little late, but here they are in all their messy, sharp glory c:

Zevran sat on the other side of the campfire from Arianwen. 

She knew this without looking, just as she had known approximately where he was all day. It had been a traveling day, uneventful, and they’d made their way through the Brecilian’s outskirts with little trouble. This annoyed her almost as much as her new awareness of Zevran did, for she would have dearly loved the distraction of a fight.

Instead, she…itched. 

Nowhere in particular. Under her skin, perhaps; she did not know. She knew only that she had gone a very long time untouched and uncaring and now she could feel every inch of her skin where he was presently not in contact with it. There had been some barrier, perhaps, some veneer that had kept her from noticing such things. Now, she could not stop feeling the precise distance between them. Every scuff of his boots grated against her skin, every laugh felt pressed directly into her eardrums, and whenever she caught his eyes—

“Are you alright?” Alistair murmured next to her. Tabris dropped her fork, grimacing, and set the plate aside. It clattered in indignation against a loose rock and fell silent sooner than she would have liked. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been scraping your fork against the plate there for minutes on end. Just thought I’d—don’t give me that look! I’m only asking.”

Arianwen stopped glaring at him and glared at the fire instead, which was a poor replacement for looking across it at Zevran. 

All sorts of people lay together all the time and still the world went on turning. It was nothing; ought to be nothing important. She certainly shouldn’t feel any different than she had when she’d woken up yesterday. Wen ran sharp nails over her forearm, but it made little difference; this wasn’t that sort of itch. 

“Ugh,” she said, slinging her leg over the other side of the log and walking away without any more farewell than that. She didn’t have the words; had left them all behind in Zevran’s tent the night before, it would seem. 

Her own tent was dark and cool, a welcome contrast to the fire outside. When the flap of fabric fell closed behind her, Wen pulled the tie loose from her braid and combed the plait to loose waves with harsh fingers. Disarming took some time, her knife belt set less neatly in its place than usual, the knives in her boots cast aside with an equal lack of care. Her armor fell into a dark corner readily enough when she was done. She retrieved her final dagger from it the moment before it thudded against the bottom of her tent. Wen tucked the scabbard into her waistband and loosened the ties of her tunic, as if doing so would help her breathe more easily. 

She had just cleared her plate, but she was hungry. She needed to run, to climb, to fight. She wanted blood, the thrill of battle, wanted to bite into—

“Warden?’ 

Wen hissed between her teeth before she could stop herself, the exhale of relief whistling and sharp instead of the soft thing she supposed it ought to be. 

“You seemed as if you may want company,” Zevran said, his voice low. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she said, short and clipped. 

Firelight painted her tent with fingers of gold and red when he ducked inside, but when the fabric fell again the two of them were left in near-complete darkness. 

Touch me, she thought, and leave. Her hands flexed until they ached, then curled into fists at her sides. 

“Why did you come?” she asked him. 

The words felt almost detached from her, for they were nowhere near the things she wanted to say instead. 

A pause. She could almost feel him weighing his answer.

“Because,” he said at last, the words very slow, “I wanted to.”

She didn’t see him move, but she felt his callused fingertips when they trailed along her forearm. For a moment, she thought she might cry out at even so little contact. All day, she had been thinking of this and now—it was like an itch. She had been scratching at the absence of him all day and now she had finally dug her nails in deep enough to find relief, but too deeply for it not to hurt a little.

Arianwen pressed her hand over his, deepening the contact and stopping the gentle motion at once. 

“Then stay,” she said. 

When she breathed in, the air was sharp and too much. She wanted; she wanted far more than was safe. Knowing that she could have this almost made it worse—because who was she, to want to be touched? Who was she, that she couldn’t stand knowing she’d already forgotten the way his bare skin felt under her hands, the precise texture of his hair—who was she? She did not know. 

A stranger, she thought. 

“If you’d like,” she finished, because even now she would not say please, and he laughed somewhere before her in the dark. 

“Yes, I think I would,” Zevran said. When he touched her hair, he was gentler with it than she’d been, the touch a caress instead of a rebuke.

“I have never seen it loose before,” he murmured. 

His breath skimmed her cheek–too close. Not close enough. 

“You still haven’t.”

“I did for a moment—in the light,” he told her. Wen let go of his other hand and he found her jaw with it instead. His palms were warm and rough and perfect. She vowed never to tell him so and pressed her cheek against his hand instead.

“How lovely you are, mi vida,” he went on. 

His lips pressed against her ear, moving so slightly that she almost didn’t feel it at all. Wen reached between them and found the leather tie in his own hair. It came loose with little effort, but the tug it took to free his braids seemed somehow momentous. She had half-undressed him last night, but she had been too distracted then to think of doing this. It felt…intimate, somehow, as Zevran seeing her hair unbound had felt intimate. 

“More,” she said, and he laughed again. 

When he answered her, he murmured directly into her ear. 

“More flattery? I am sure that I can think of a few such things to say, my dearest Warden, but I did not think you were the t—”

“No,” she said, impatient. When she turned them both and tripped him onto her bedroll, he fell so easily that he must have done so on purpose. Arianwen did not care. She cared only that she could finally feel him pressed against her at last. A relief, though it was relief that did not lessen the need at all. 

“More,” she told him again, and caught his laughter on her tongue when she pressed her mouth to his. Zevran felt just as good as she remembered—better, perhaps, because she had already begun to doubt her own memory. He moved with her whenever she shifted, tilting his head when she angled hers, tucking his fingers beneath her collar when her fingers trailed across his cheekbone. 

“Impatient,” he murmured when she abandoned his mouth in favor of his neck, his voice low and breathless. Wen grunted in response and nipped at the warm skin there. His pulse thrummed against her mouth, frantic as her own heartbeat and twice as precious. She traced the skin with her tongue when she was finished, soothing the small hurt she’d set against his skin.

“Perhaps I am impatient, too,” he said. She did not know how he had grown so skilled at kissing her in the dark when he had only a night’s practice at it. She hovered on a dagger’s edge, much as she had the night before; unlike the night before, she knew she would not run from this. When it was almost too much to bear, she twisted a lock of his hair between her fingers and found herself anchored again. 

Zevran’s hand slipped lower, lower down her back. The knife she’d tucked behind her shifted slightly. 

“You should be more careful,” he said between kisses. “Leaving your blades where anybody can find them. Someone dangerous could take it, yes?”

Wen nudged his nose with hers, searching in the dark for what little she could see of his face. The faint light flashed in his eyes, there and gone in a heartbeat. 

“But not you,” she said. 

After a moment, he squeezed her hip. His hand slid away from the knife, tracing the length of her spine instead.

“Not me, no,” he agreed. She could feel his voice now as much as she had felt him not touching her earlier. She wanted his words and wanted them to stop in equal measure, but silence was the easy choice. It had always been kinder to her. 

Wen leaned forward to kiss him again. If she shut her eyes very tightly, she could feel his body wherever it touched hers, could focus more completely on his hair wrapped around her fingers, on his fingernails where they dragged lightly against the base of her skull. 

If she had left them open, she might have seen the way he looked at her all the while—might have known that he watched her as intently as she had not watched him before. 

In fact—she did not think of her dagger at all.

But this was not something she was ready to see. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut as tight as they could go.

Zevran rolled her onto her back several minutes later, the motion as natural and obvious as the moon rising somewhere outside her tent. When he set her dagger to the side, Arianwen neither lifted it from the blanket nor drew it from its sheath. 

[dragonagefanevents]

Dragon Age Fan Event Listings

The beauty of fan events is that they are run by fans.

Including you.

▸What are the types of fan events? - #education

▸Start a new event! - #how tos (coming soon)

▸Ask Box - send us advice, or ask for it!

▸Blog Tag List

Below is a list of all Dragon Age fan-run events we can find. The links should bring you to the most recent iteration of the event. Where possible, the time period the event covers is listed next to the event.

Want to get an event listed? Check out the link and submit. Look here for multi-fandom events, or more events in general.

Event Masterlist - #compendium

Bangs

25k Big Bang (July - November)

10k Big Bang (March - April)

Dragon Age Reverse Bang

Exchanges

Arlathan Exchange (April - June)

DA Polyshipping (August - November)

Handers Exchange (March - May)

Templartations Exchange (March - May)

Black Emporium Rare Pair Exchange (June - September)

Platonic Ideal Gen Fic Exchange (December - February)

Smutquisition (January - March)

Theme Weeks/Months

Krem Week 2024 (July 22 - 28)

City Elf Week (August 5 - August 11)

Zevwarden Week (2024 dates TBD)

Tranquil Week (August 25 - 31)

Sera Appreciation Week (Oct 13 - 19)

Kink Memes

Dragon Age Kink Meme (Dreamwidth) | DAO | DA2 | DAI

Zines

Dragon Age Flower Zine (Creation Period)

Wanderers Zine (Creation Period)

Dragon Age OC Zine (Mod Apps Open)

Alistair Zine (Creation Period)

Special Events

Dragon Age Drunk Writing Circle

Dragon Age Annual (2025 Production Period)

Dragon Age Create-A-Thon (Begins Sept 15 2024)

Reddit Weekly Dragon Age Writing Prompts

Unofficial Dragon Age Day (Dec 4)

Solavellan Day (April 11)

Past Events

Retired Bangs

DragonAgeBB (last: 2015; formerly on LJ and elsewhere)

Retired Exchanges

Demands of the Qun (Qunari)

A Paragon of Their Kind (DA Dwarves)

Solas Lovers

Hightown Funk (Varric/Hawke)

Retired Theme Weeks/Months

Autumn of Anders (Anders Appreciation Event)

Dalish Week

30 Days of Dorian (Dorian Appreciation Event)

Dragon Age Fan Week (2013)

Cullen Appreciation Week (2019)

Cullen Week (2021)

14 Days of DA Lovers

Fenris Appreciation Month (2017)

Rylen Appreciation Week (2018)

Sera Appreciation Week (2019)

Sub!Solas Week (2016)

Past Zines

Adoribull Fairytales

Age of Romance Zine (Incomplete)

ApprovesGreatly (Incomplete)

Andoralis Zine

Arcana: A Dragon Age Zine

Arlathvhen Zine (Incomplete)

Beyond the Veil Zine (Zine)

Bring Down the Sky Bioware Fanzine

Dragon Age 2 10th Anniversary Zine (Zine)

Dragon Age Codex Zine & Myths and Legends Zine

Fortitudo Dorian Artbook

Good for Each Other (Adoribull Zine)

In Peace, Vigilance Zine

Insufficient Skill Fanzine

Legend Mark Zine

Lotus and Root OC Zine

Love Across Thedas Zine (Zine)

Na Via Lerno Victoria (Fenris Zine)

Patron of the Arts Zine

Rebel Hearts Handers Zine (Zine)

Road to the Imperium Zine

Solasmancy Zine

Sunlight (Anders Zine)

The Coming Storm Zine (Ukrainian Zine)

The Dragon Age Zine (Russian Zine)

The Keeper's Codex Fairy Tale Zine

The Unsung Dragon Age Zine

The Zevran Zine (incomplete)

Thedosian Archives (incomplete)

to be happy (FenHawke Zine)

Wicked Eyes: A Dragon Age Finery Zine

Year of the Mabari (Incomplete)

Other Past Events

Dragon Age Calendar 2018

Dragon Age Calendar 2021

For Fans by Fans - Fan Forge

[antivan-beau]

candied orange peels ch 2 - ghosts

Zevran/Male Surana, M, 5263 words

"It's funny," Edric mused, "for almost all of my life, I’d watch storms from the Tower imagining what it'd be like to be outside. And now being indoors while it's raining feels like a luxury." Zevran pressed a lingering kiss against his neck. "One it would be foolish to take for granted, hmm?" That was enough to shake Edric from his thoughts and stir something in the pit of his stomach. Mornings with a real bed, no obligations, and deafening rain were rare. The feeling of Zevran’s skin against his own soothed an ache he'd tried to ignore during his lover's absence. It was easy to miss him. But, well. Missing him was the problem. Where did you go? Edric gently pulled away, turning back towards the bed. "Not right now," was all he could say.

Read on AO3.

For Zevwarden Week 2023 - Day 2: “Secrets, Kept and Told.” @zevraholics

The follow-up conversation to a missing scene/fix-it fic I wrote ages ago where Zevran and Taliesen meet up in Denerim and talk about a few things, rather than have their first encounter be the ambush in the alleyway.

Edric and Zevran finally get to talk through some things, too.