#14dalovers

[knuttydraws]

Day 14 (with a little delay 😅) of @14daysdalovers 2023 - Free choice

After making them work hard throughout the whole Valentine's period, I decided it would be best to let them finally rest. Thank you for all the love my submissions have received so far. 💖

Please remember that Farie Lavellan is not an Inquisitor.

[shivunin]

Through the Window

CW: Near death experience

(Here is the song Hawke is singing in the second scene c:)

Healing Hawke had taken several hours and what seemed like years off of Anders’ life. 

As far as Fenris was concerned, they were years better spent, but he wisely kept that opinion to himself. The mage had staggered off to sleep in a spare bedroom perhaps an hour ago, and the others, for various reasons, had also gone away one by one. Varric had left to ensure the nobility wouldn’t be a problem for Hawke until she was ready to face them; Merrill had said something vague about herbs and gone away soon after. Aveline had never shown up, not that anyone was surprised given the state of Kirkwall, and Sebastian had gone to the Chantry for a change of clothing—as his things were still covered in Hawke’s blood. 

And Isabela—Isabela had managed perhaps an hour in this room, the shortest of all of them. Fenris could not blame her for leaving. Every single time Hawke had woken, her first words had been “Bela? Did they take her?” as if she remained stuck in the moment of the Arishok’s death, certain the other Qunari would take her friend regardless of what Hawke did. 

Isabela had managed a joke each time, but the jokes had become more wooden, then more quiet, and at last she’d retreated to the sitting room below with a bottle of strong rum. 

Fenris had told the rest that he would watch over her; that he could manage well enough by himself. This was true, but he was not watching her at the moment. Instead, he sat before the window, looking out at the destruction in the city. Dawn was rising now, lighting the clouds of smoke in bands of pink and lilac. How strange, that something so horrible should be remade into something beautiful. 

How strange that the morning should dawn as it always had after such pain and death.

“Fen…ris?” Hawke said from the bed behind him. 

Fenris did not turn at once. He stayed slumped in the chair, looking down at the city. If he was going to speak to her, he would need to school his expression first—and he knew he could not yet manage to do that. 

“Ah,” she said, very quietly, “As…leep.”

Her breath sounded like it hurt; there was a faint whistle to it, high-pitched and strained. Fenris closed his eyes and clamped his lips together. He would need to stand in just a moment; stand and tend to her. As soon as he could keep himself in check. As soon as he could—

“I’m…glad…it was…you,” she said, and her sigh crackled through the air, “I…loved you…you know.”

Fenris’s hands curled hard around the arms of the chair, knuckles standing out paler than his tattoos. She thought him asleep; she would not say such a thing to him waking. He could not stand now; could not show her he’d heard. It would be…would be…

“I’m…glad…you stayed…” this time, her breath dragged in her throat, as if she couldn’t quite manage it, and Fenris sat up in alarm. 

“...can...be…happy…someday…” she said, and didn’t seem to notice that he’d scraped the chair back from the window, nor that he was gripping her hand and bending over the bed. 

“Hawke,” he said urgently, “Hawke. Look at me.” 

The corner of her mouth curled faintly, but she was looking past him at the corner of the room. When she took a breath, her chest hardly moved. 

“Maria,” Fenris said, squeezing her hand, “Hawke!” 

It was no use; he knew that already, and turned for the door. 

“Anders!” he bellowed, “ANDERS!”

Thundering footsteps on the stairs; Fenris bent lower over her, cupping her cheek in his hand. She was so cold—yet her pulse still beat in her neck, however thready and weak. 

“You stay here,” he ordered her, bending low over her body, “Stay here, do you hear me? Hawke!” 

“Move, move,” Anders said, jostling him out of the way. Fenris moved as quickly as he could manage, feeling the tingling of magic already unfurling from the mage’s body. 

He could do nothing; only stand here and—

Fenris’s hand, the one he’d used to touch her cheek, curled into a fist at his side. The other reached for the neat bottles of lyrium on the bedside table, shoved one toward the mage. 

“Drink,” he said, but he didn’t need to; as soon as he held it out, Anders was taking it, popping out the cork and downing it in one swallow. 

Fenris focused past him, where Hawke still lay. Her eyes were open, her mouth still fixed in that horrible half-smile. Breathe, he willed her, moving to the footboard and curling one hand around the post there, Breathe. 

Hawke closed her eyes—and gasped. 

|

Six Years Later

Hawke has gone to Weisshaupt now, Varric’s letter had said, and she’s still in one piece. Maybe you’ll catch her on the road. Won’t be too far from Tevinter, right? 

Perhaps the dwarf had even believed it—but Fenris had known better. 

He stood on the path now, peering past hedges and trees to the cottage tucked inside. When they’d chosen this place, he hadn’t understood why. If she wanted to be in Ferelden, why not closer to Lothering or one of the cities? Why here, of all places? Hawke had just shrugged and gone on nailing a board back in place on the wall.

Because it looks like home, she’d said after a moment. That had been the last time she’d spoken of it. 

Fenris took a breath, his hand on the cold iron of the gate, and swung it open.

Hawke—or someone—had kept up with the garden. He’d expected it to be overgrown, as it had been the last time he’d been here. Instead, the flowerbeds had been weeded and the bushes beside the path were neatly trimmed back. He ran a hand along one as he walked and then, by force of habit, turned to the right and walked around the house instead of using the front door. 

If there had been any doubt in Fenris’s mind that Hawke was here and not somewhere in the mountains, it would have been dispelled as soon as he rounded the corner and heard her voice.

“Ay, quién pudiera/Besarlos más,” her voice sang, trailing from the open kitchen window. Fenris braced a hand on the side of the house beneath and just—listened, for a moment. Her voice was sweet—he’d heard it before, more here than he’d ever heard it in Kirkwall—but she’d never sung this song for him. 

And—how long had it been since he’d heard her voice? Six months, a year? How long since he’d seen her face? 

It was too much all of a sudden; the sunlight, the birdsong, the buzz of insects in the garden. Her voice, so near and yet still distant. Fenris discarded his pack right there and headed for the back door, his feet speeding up as he went. He moved silently, now, used to staying quiet until he wanted to be heard, but her song cut off when the back door slammed shut behind him. 

“Hello?” Hawke called warily, and Fenris stepped into the kitchen. 

They stared at each other for a moment, Fenris breathing hard, Hawke holding a spoon with some sort of batter slowly falling into the bowl below. 

“Fenris,” she said, his name all but a gasp, and dropped the spoon. It splattered something onto her dress—white, embroidered around the neckline—though she did not seem to notice it. She took one step out from behind the counter, then another, and one hand moved to her chest. 

“Are you really here?” she said. Fenris could see her pulse racing at the base of her neck, the way she braced herself on the counter as if she didn’t trust her own legs. 

He nodded once, words momentarily beyond him. She took another step, then another, her eyes wide and wondering. 

He’d thought—the note she left had been terse. He’d thought she had wanted to leave him behind. But the way she was looking at him now—

All at once, Hawke flung herself at him, her arms wrapping tight around his waist. 

“You’re here,” she said, over and over again, “You’re here. You came back; you’re here.”

“I—yes,” Fenris said. He’d lifted his hands when she came close, but he set them on her shoulders now, carefully and slowly. Her curls tickled his neck, loose as they were, and she smelled like bread and herself—anise and sweetness and smoke and how had he forgotten—

“I’m so glad,” she said, pulling away enough to look at him without letting go of his waist, “I’ve missed you. So much, Fenris.”

“But you left,” he said, and his hand rose without his permission, knuckles brushing over the curve of her cheek, “You didn’t tell me where you were going. You left.”

“I didn’t want to…” she sighed, her eyes tracing his face over and over again, lingering on new scars, “Your hair is…different.” 

“Yes,” he said, lifting a hand to touch the shaven side of his head, “and you—it was a bad fight, then?” 

He nodded to her neck, scarred in a strange pattern of whorls and lines. Hawke let go of him to touch the ridged skin, then turned away, back to the table and bowl. 

“Yes,” she said, “It was. Do you…I was just about to bake a cake. Do you…want tea?” 

This was not going as he’d expected. Fenris moved to brush off his armor by force of habit and touched the sticky dough she’d left behind, the smears of flour. 

“...yes,” he said after a moment, “Do—”

He caught the cloth she tossed him, wiped himself clean, and braced his hands against the counter opposite her. Maria avoided his eyes, and she’d moved her hair to cover her neck. A bad wound, then; in that part of the neck, it would have been. 

And she’d left him behind to receive it alone. 

“Where did you go?” he asked. 

Hawke bit her lip and poured the batter into a pan, then tapped it against the counter twice. 

“Lots of places,” she told him, “Everywhere, really. Orlais, Ferelden, the Frostbacks.”

When she walked away to slide the pan into the oven, he saw that she was barefoot. What was it she’d told him back in Kirkwall all those years ago, drifting off to sleep together in her bed? Ah, yes.

I want a home where I can wander around barefoot, she’d said. I want to pick berries right off the bush and eat them till my stomach aches. I want to fill the house with laughter and music and sweetness, and I don’t want to think about death or duty ever again. 

Fenris ignored the clutching feeling at his chest and curled his fingers around the wood of the counter. 

“Hawke,” he said, chiding, as he had a hundred, a hundred hundred times before. 

The scars along her neck were not the only ones; there were more along the side of her calf and around one wrist. There were burns, too, over her back; he could see the shiny edges of them in the sunlight pouring through the open window. 

It wasn’t that Fenris had really wanted to know where she’d gone. All those nights since he’d come back here and found her note, he’d really wondered—

“Why? Why not wait for me?”

“It was urgent,” she said, her back still to him, “Stroud…said it couldn’t wait.”

“Then why not tell me where you’d gone?”

He’d had enough of distance; Fenris strode into the kitchen and stopped before her, standing where she could not help but see him. Maria pursed her lips. 

“Why?” he said again, standing close enough to touch but leaving both hands to hang at his sides. 

“I didn’t want…” she sighed, twining her fingers through the kitchen cloth she held, “It was my problem. I didn’t want you to be forced to follow me into another one of my—”

“Forced?” Fenris interrupted, scowling, “What do you mean?”

She would have looked away from him again, but he set his hand along her cheek and held her gaze. 

“Hawke,” he said, “Tell me.”

Her breath shook when she drew it in, but her fingertips brushed over his. 

“We both made promises,” she said quietly, “I…didn’t want you to think you were bound by them when you had other things, more important things—”

“Bound—Hawke, what are you—” 

Ah. 

Yes. He knew the answer even before he finished asking the question; it was in the angle of her eyes, the tightness at the corners of her mouth. More than that, the answer was in her fingertips and the magic that hummed there sometimes, though it was quiescent now. 

What has magic touched that it does not spoil, he’d said to her once in a moment of pique. She’d always been so careful; never ordered him to do things, always asked, forever cautious not to remind him of the days before they’d known each other. 

Fenris might have told her long ago that Hawke might be a mage, but she was nothing like the magisters he’d known. If he doubted her in the slightest, he would have walked away long ago. Did she think he didn’t know exactly who she was, down to her very bones?

“I didn’t want you to be trapped,” she said, and took another breath, “I…love you, Fenris. I always have. But I won’t hold you here when you don’t want to be held. Explaining what I was doing would have forced you to help; I know you too well to think otherwise. If you thought I was in danger—you would have left what you wanted to do behind. That wasn’t fair. You left because you had to and—I couldn’t make that choice for you. I wouldn’t.” 

The words came too quickly; they collided with each other, trapped in his throat, and trying to clear it had no effect. Fenris held her instead, wrapping one arm around her waist and backing her toward the counter. Hawke moved with him readily, her face tilted up and watching. 

She’d never told him she loved him before; not waking, not in so many words.

Fenris didn’t kiss her—not yet—but his mouth skimmed her cheek, the edge of her ear. He spoke there, where she could not help but hear him, where she could not be distracted by looking for answers in his face. 

“Listen to me,” he told her, “You did make the choice for me—by not allowing me the information to follow you. I do not choose you because I must or because you have forced me to, Hawke. I stay because I cannot imagine wanting to be anywhere else; needing to leave for a time does not change that. Not for a moment.”

Fenris could feel her breath against his ear, uneven and labored. He did kiss her now, on her jaw, her cheekbone, the soft skin over her temple. 

“You,” he said, cradling her face and pulling back to look at her, “I told you I would follow where you lead. I meant it then and I mean it now. Let me choose that for myself.”

Hawke closed her eyes. Fenris kissed the delicate skin of her eyelids and tasted salt. 

“Do you believe me?” he said. 

“You aren’t mad?” she asked, “I thought you would be…If you came back, I thought you would be angry with me.”

“I am,” he said, “There is plenty to say about that later. I never want you to do that again. But now…I find I am grateful just to have you here. I am certain I will find time for anger later.”

Maria laughed, as he’d meant her to, and at least lifted her face to be kissed. 

They stood there in the sunlight for a long, long time, touching and being touched, holding and being held. After a year or more, Fenris was, at last, precisely where he wanted to be.

The badly burned cake, when they finally ate it much later, was covered in fresh berries and honey, and it was very nearly perfect.

(Day Fourteen of @14daysdalovers, which was a free choice. I, of course, chose a little pain and a little sweetness. Thanks to the organizers of the event! I've had a blast and it was really cool to see all the neat stuff others have made. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!)

[shanaraharlyah]

Chant

I'm having a hard time focusing on writing right now, but I wanted to share the piece I had been working on for this years 14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers prompts before the month is out.

After a long day on the road again, Sarovanya settles down with Leliana and asks her to share more of what she knows about the Maker and the Chant of Light. Leliana happily obliges, singing a version of the chant she'd learned as a lay sister.

Setup and rendered in DAZ Studio 4.21. Postwork in Photoshop Elements 8.0.

@14daysdalovers

[14daysdalovers]

Hello All!

Can't believe how fast February came and went!

Sorry I have been a bit slow to get your wonderful submissions reblogged to the event page; I have had a nasty flu for the past 2 weeks and it kicked my butt.

Today is the last day of the event and also to submit your pieces to be reblogged to the event page.

Thank you so much to everyone who participated and created such wonderful fan art and fanfiction for this year's prompts event!

I can't wait to see you all next year, and hopefully by then we'll have some new DA content to look forward to as well.

Cheers,

~ SchaRoux 💜💕

[wickedwitchofthewilds]

14DA Lovers

A Fool’s Errand [Explicit]

prompt by @14daysdalovers​

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Pairing: Abelas/Makenna

Read on AO3

Abelas was resolute in his purpose, his mission. He knew without a doubt why he stood in front of her, fingers curled around the hilts of his daggers, yet he hesitated. Perhaps one might find him foolish for planning to assassinate a goddess. But he knew Makenna as more than just The Morrigan. He knew her as the woman who had burrowed into The Dread Wolf’s heart, and the only voice that made Fen’harel falter and question his purpose, his goals.

She couldn’t be allowed to stop him. Couldn’t prevent Fen’harel from bringing down the veil and ushering back a new age for elves. Abelas needed home. Needed the crystal spires of Arlathan as a beacon and needed to feel the world vibrate with magic and spirits. He craved home, having suffered the effects of being sundered for far too long.

“I’ve come to kill you,” he declared, the metal growing warm in his hands.

Makenna raised an eyebrow, wine glass resting on her bottom lip. “Oh?”

“Yes.”

She sipped the fragrant blood-red liquid, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, until the glass was nearly empty. Glass clinked on the dark wood of the table. Her fingers remained curled around the stem. Purple eyes stared into his. Plush lips curved into a small smile.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, melodic voice tinged with amusement.

“Why else would I have come?”

Makenna crossed one knee over the other, the slit of her dress revealing miles of creamy calves and thighs, and leaned back in her chair. “You are lost.”

Abelas swallowed. “I am.”

“Unmoored.”

“Yes.”

“You are craving something to cling to.”

He didn’t respond, and Makenna smirked. She stood from the chair, nearly as tall as he was, and crossed the room—completely unperturbed by his declaration and the daggers in his hands—to grab the bottle of wine and another glass.

“Mythal asked you to guard the temple, the well, and you did so for many long years,” she said, walking back in front of him, his eyes glued to the graceful curve of her neck. “You did everything she asked without question. A loyal soldier to her causes. And she abandoned you.”

Abelas’ hands shook. “You don’t know anything,” he hissed.

Makenna uncorked the bottle. “What don’t I know? Mythal walked Thedas, plunging her fingers into this world whenever and however she thought fit, but how many times did she come to you? Her loyal sentinel.” She filled both glasses. “Now she is entwined with another you must follow, your pledge all those years ago robbing you of choice.”

“N-no.”

She turned back to him, holding both glasses. “How long did you wait for orders? For Mythal to return and tell you what she needed of you. How long did you wait to worship your patron once more before you realized she had abandoned you?”

“She did not abandon me,” he whispered, but even he did not believe his words.

“If that were true you would not be here.”

“I have come…” he trailed off, faltering in his conviction. Had he come to kill her? Truly?

Makenna held a glass up to her lips and he watched as she quietly spat into the wine. A trick of hers he had seen before. He had watched how easily she could climb into another’s head and take control of them. Take what she needed and dispose of them. She handed him the glass. Abelas kept his fingers curled around the dagger, eyes boring into hers as he waited for the feeling of her entering his mind, coaxing him to drink the wine and submit to her control.

She didn’t.

The dagger into the sheath, and he curled his fingers around the stem. He didn’t drink. Makenna left him standing there and sat back in her chair, her body appearing relaxed, but her muscles were coiled with tension. Perhaps to stop him if he did try to kill her.

“Are still you going to kill me?” she teased, sipping her wine.

“I should.”

“Probably.”

“Why aren’t you controlling me?” he asked.

“Do you want me to control you?”

Abelas’ eyes flicked to the wine. He still did not drink.

“Why did you come, Abelas?” she asked, softly, more Makenna than The Morrigan in that question.

When he didn’t answer he felt the whisper of fingers against the back of his head. They cradled his neck before sinking into his hair, pushing through his scalp into his mind. He shuddered, his eyes fluttering closed. He had expected it to hurt. Expected her to tunnel into his mind and take over, but her touch was soft, almost reverent. Multiple hands ghosted across his skin, tracing the bones of his face and neck and chest. They drifted lower and he gasped.

They fled and he ached, mourning the loss of the tender touches.

His eyes shot open and he watched as she tipped her head back and laughed. He licked his chapped lips, throat growing parched. “You mock me.”

“Oh, Abelas,” —she pressed her fingers to her mouth to hold in her laugh—“I adore you. A lost sentinel built for worship with no one to worship. Abandoned by his gods. Searching for purpose. You are wanting and I can provide.”

The dagger he hadn’t sheathed clattered to the floor. Abelas sank to his knees before her. Wine spilled over the edge of the glass as his hand trembled. He had not come to kill her. He had come so the goddess of Life and Death, War and Destruction, and Shadow and Secret, would unearth the desire he had tried so desperately to lock away deep inside. He had come for guidance, a firm hand, and if Fen’harel’s lover was the one to deliver it, he could only be so lucky.

She curled her fingers under his chin and he leaned into her touch. “Drink, Abelas, and offer yourself to me.”

The glass seared his lips. Wine sluiced down his throat, thick and pungent like blood. He drank every drop. The glass shattered onto the floor between them. Makenna framed his face with her slender fingers, her lips claiming his, more wine dripping from her mouth and into his until he thought he might choke. He felt her. Sinking under his skin. Traveling through his veins. Latching to his mind. Overwhelming him. Claiming him. She stole the very air from his lungs and he only wanted to give her more.

She leaned away, smiling as his mouth chased hers. Her fingers traced the roots of his vallaslin down his chin and throat, stopping at the collar of his shirt. “Show me the whole of your devotion, Abelas. Show me what you pledged to Mythal.”

He stood, careful to avoid the shattered glass at his feet, his fingers trembling as he undid his armor. Each piece hit the floor with a hollow sound. Her gaze dragged down the roots that carved down his neck and chest. They swirled around her arms and wrapped around his hips. Abelas had given every bit of himself to Mythal only to end up alone in a crumbling ruin, clinging to the echoes of memories in the halls.

Glass crunched under her boots. The pads of her fingers gently traced the old carvings spanning his body. He shivered under the touch, waiting for the firmer hand. Her lips brushed his shoulder, the fabric covering her chest scratching his back, her hand drifting down his abdomen.

“Beautiful,” she breathed the words into his skin and he sighed. “So much devotion. I will not waste it.”

“Please,” he murmured, choking back a cry as her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and stroking her fingers up and down his length, thumb swiping away the pre-cum that beaded on the flushed head of his cock.

Her mouth latched onto his neck, sucking the tender skin while he leaned his head back against her shoulder. His knees shook, threatening to send them both crashing to the floor, but he leaned into her. Anchored himself to her. Her fire swirled in his abdomen. She called to it to her hand with each stroke until Abelas felt swollen and achingly full. He whimpered.

“Come for me, Abelas,” she cooed, her lips brushing the sensitive shells of his ears. “I have you. I will keep you.”

Thighs shaking, tears gathering in his eyes, Abelas did exactly as she ordered. Release spilled over her fingers. He shook, shivering against her as she held him to her. He waited for the sharp sting of regret. The bittersweet taste that would linger on his tongue. The voice in his head that would remand him for giving away devotion to a goddess not from this land, and certainly not Elvhen.

She kissed his cheek. “Still come to kill me, Abelas?” she teased.

His lips curved into a rare smile. “I have come to worship.”

[bumblerhizal-art]

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Surana Characters: Female Surana (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai Additional Tags: Foraging, Gift Giving (Attempted), Accidental Drug Use, Minor Visual Hallucinations, Low Wisdom High Intelligence Character, 14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers, Not Beta Read

Summary:

In a bout of poor decision-making, former shut-in Neria Surana makes off by herself to collect samples of a hallucinogenic plant for a certain assassin.

Day 14 for @14daysdalovers It was for the free choice, so i decided to revisit a prompt from last year that i got about one paragraph into before i realized i didn’t have time for it that year (and even this year is just barely in time before it turns to march lol)

[thejabberwokk]

14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers

Prompt: Frilly Cakes

For @14daysdalovers writing prompts :D

Pairing:  (Bards Drabbles au,) Warden Inquisitor Isabeaux x Solas

Rating:  PG - Heavy Innuendo

Once in the larder, the two elves startled to see Cole already there, his hands opened, daggers falling into a barrel that was formerly the home for pickled herring.

Isobeaux let out a startled laugh, her eyes glittering as she watched the spirit look between her and the flustered man a step behind.

“You better not have taken mine, Cole,” she said with a feigned glare.

“You said your daggers had a flesh sheath, how could I take that? It’s not hurting people…”

Isabeaux turned beet red, then let out a mighty cackle. Laughing so hard she doubled over while Cole looked at her perplexed. Solas, for his own good, kept an air of calm embarrassment while she continued to cackle and shake.

“I knew you enjoyed sparing, but I did not expect you to bury blades into flesh yourself, Inquisitor.”

His seriousious caused her laughter to double, tears streaming down her face as she grabbed his shoulder for support.

“Inquisitor, do you not want to share the frilly cakes with Solas, you thought the sweetness would make the stabbing more pleasant…” Cole’s innocent tone sent crimson across Solas cheeks.

“Oh Cole, your sweet bluntness puts my husband to shame. We most assuredly need some frilly cakes, care to help me gather them up?”

“Of course, Inquisitor! Er, I mean Izou.” He appeared by a cabinet, flinging it open in excitement, plates and cakes floating around him.

Izou watched him fondly, and her smile grew into a grin as Solas wrapped an arm about her waist.

“You truly surprise me, Ixobeaux,” He murmured into her shoulder, lips linger as he smiled

“Because I can appreciate a spirit's purpose?”

“No, because you can turn such an erotic evening into one that is full of laughter and warmth.”

She flushed, her hand clasping his on her waist. As Cole continued to load up plate after plate of sweet confections, Ixabeaux smiled softly, 

“Thank you Solas, you make my time here worth while”

“As does yours, Izou.”

[olliwrites]

Fighting Together

(Rewrite)

An expansion on Day 6 of the 14DALovers fills that I've wanted to do since posting. Finally had the spoons and decided to make it birthday gift to myself! Enjoy! This is a companion piece to chapter 5 of my 2016 Bull/Inquisitor week fills

“Lovely party.”

Dorian turned with a grin for another round of pleasantries. The Game, thus far, was turning out rather tedious. Planned murders, insults behind smiles. One might think he was home. The woman who had spoken to him smiled from behind a feathered mask. Her green eyes and auburn hair offset the white of her outfit in a pleasing way. A minor noble, possibly foreign.

[Read on Ao3]

[marshsano]

I’m definitely NOT going to do all of the prompts because of midterms, but i really want to practice couple stuff (and i need an excuse to draw my inquisitor and dorian) sooooo!

day one: hart! (I am found out about this last night so a tad bit late)

@14daysdalovers

[spiretdoom]

Prompt 1: Hart for @14daysdalovers

Though I don't think I'll be able to get through all the prompts this year the first prompt for this event really sparked my creative juices so here we are~

[ninapedia]

13. Ravish

“Given my druthers I would say I prefer a soft and shapely woman...“

- Zevran Arainai

Starting out with a bang for @14daysdalovers my other pieces probably won’t be as polished because I’m having art difficulties lately but i do like how this one came out!

[knuttydraws]

Day 7 of @14daysdalovers 2023 - Tangled  Pure fluff to balance out the angst of Day 5 😁🥰 Please remember that Farie Lavellan is not an Inquisitor.

[shivunin]

At the Dead Drop

A letter in an elegant, curling hand which seems to have met with some incident in its sending; it is dotted with water spots and features several crossed-out sections:

16 Guardian, 9:37 Dragon

Carver, 

Checking in, as always. Will leave this letter in the usual manner; let me know if this is no longer the acceptable way to pass messages on. Or—flames—let me know anything at all. It’s been months since I’ve heard from you. Your big sister worries. 

The manor is fine. It’s held up against the snow after the repairs, and there was minor damage, really. None of your things were ruined, and Mother’s room remains in the same state. As for my own bedroom—a little water damage means little. All the important things are downstairs, after all. We did find an unused corner of the wine cellar, though—sold off the really fine stuff after I let the others peruse it for their choices. I’ve plenty of ideas for what to do with the money. 

I suppose there is one thing that I needed   that you should   Flames, I’ll just say it. Fenris and I are together. For good this time.

I am not seeking your approval. I know what you’re going to say. I know how many letters I sent you three years ago, and I know how much of a mess I was then. But—stop making that face right now—this is different. 

I’m not looking for your approval. But—I would like to have it anyway, Carver. You’re my only family left except for—Andraste’s elbow, I haven’t told you—Gamlen and his daughter. Yes; Charade is her name, if you can believe it. Entirely beside the point. I know you hardly ever get these letters, and then it’s all at once, so I’ll write another letter about that when I’m done with this one. 

Things are bad in Kirkwall at the moment. I know you can tell already from other things I’ve said. But Fenris is…he is the only good thing I can count on without reservation. Everyone else has other concerns and other loves. They aren’t wrong to—of course they aren’t. But I need someone who wants me, and not what I can do for them and who will choose me first.

Perhaps that’s selfish of me, or unfair to say. I cannot say I don’t know that. But Carver, maybe it’s time for me to be a little bit selfish. Selflessness didn’t save Bethany, and it didn’t save Mother either. I can carry them with me forever, along with the whole of Kirkwall, or I can live. I know now that I can’t do both.

Maker, how maudlin this is. Oh, well. I’ve heard that you Wardens love a good melodrama, or—maybe just the Ferelden ones. I hope this finds you well, regardless. 

Write back soon. I mean it. 

Your beloved, clever, self-absorbed sister, 

—Maria

A scrap of paper torn from a larger piece; there is writing on one side and what appears to be a section of schematics on the other:

M—

Since when have I given two figs about your relationship drama? You want my approval, you have it. Do what you want, M, you're a big girl and you don't owe anyone shit. Just don’t come crying to me if it goes tits-up again. I’m busy. 

—Carver

P.S. Charade? Say you’re joking.

Another scrap of paper; the drawing on the other side lines up with the schematic on the first:

Fenris, 

If you break my sister’s heart again, I’ll kill you myself. Fair warning.

—Carver

A crisp-edged and carefully folded square of parchment, sealed thickly with charcoal-colored wax. The handwriting is meticulously neat:

Carver:

If I break your sister’s heart, I will let you.

—Fenris

(For day 8 of @14daysdalovers: Approval.)

[smashingpigeons]

@14daysdalovers day 1: Hart

*shuffles in 9 days late with a Dutch Bros*

I have absolutely 100% not been in a good headspace for actually quite a long time but I guess I’ll come out of my hole for these two 😂 this is probably the only piece I’ll end up doing for this years event but we’ll see.

Happy 14 Days guys!!! I’ve thoroughly enjoyed all that I’ve seen! Keep up the fantastic work!

(Referenced the art “la Belle Dame sans Merci” cause I have not had a single original thought in my head 🤣)

[14daysdalovers]

Welcome to the Fourth Annual ‘14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers’ Prompts Event!

I am so excited to be back to host this event for the fourth year in a row. I have a fun new list of prompts to get into the spirit of Valentine’s Day with some of our favorite Thedosian characters, and I cannot wait to see what this years list sparks for all of you!

As always, please make sure that you read through the events rules page (which is outlined below the cut) before you decide if this event is for you.

Let’s start with the basics!

How does the event work?

It’s pretty simple!

Step 1: Post your content

Step 2: Make sure to tag the event page (@14daysdalovers)

Step 3: Add the tag #14DALovers (don’t forget to add the prompt and pair tags)

It’s that easy! I will reblog all contributions to the event page for everyone to enjoy in one easy to find location.

I am hosting this event solo, so please be patient with me for reblogs. If I have missed your post and it hasn’t been posted on the blog page by the following day, don’t hesitate to DM me here with a link to your post. I will do my very best to make sure any content contributed is added in a timely manner so it can be viewed + enjoyed by the other participants!

Who can participate?

Anyone over 18 years old can participate! This event will allow adult themes and NSFW content, so unfortunately minors are asked to kindly please not to participate. Please make sure your posts are tagged as NSFW (lemons, etc) if they fall into that category, and tag anything potentially triggering.

How long does the event run?

The event will run for the month of February. Even though the prompts list only has 14 prompts, I want it to be a fun and relaxed event, so I am not putting deadlines on content submissions. Don’t have a piece of fan art/fanfiction finished on the 1st for the first prompt? No big deal! Just submit your content when you finish it and I will reblog it regardless of the date. The last day to submit your pieces for the event will be the 28th so make sure you post them before the end of the day to have them added to the event page.

Which fandoms & pairings will the event cover?

The event will be open to pairings from any of the Dragon Age games, novels, etc. Any pairing from the fandom as a whole, including rare pairs, are allowed and encouraged as long they are respectful to the character. Please make sure you tag your posts with your ship pairing!

What kind of content is allowed?

The event is open for original works of fanfiction, fan art, 2D and 3D rendered pieces. No mood boards or playlists please for copyright purposes. NSFW content is allowed as long as it is between two consenting characters. This is supposed to be an uplifting feel good event, but I understand the need for conflict, angst and drama in certain pieces to build a mood. However it should go without saying that any ‘dark’ content will be frowned upon and will not be added to the event page. 

Here is a list of content that will absolutely NOT be permitted for the event;

• Content that changes a queer character to a straight character.

• Graphic violence/torture or angst for the sake of torturing a character.

• Any content that is racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic, ageist, etc.

• Incest

• Underage

• Non-con/rape

• Kink-shaming

• Basically if it’s not respectful don’t submit it!

The purpose of the event is to most importantly have fun and uplift your fellow content creators! Comments and reblogs are encouraged, but please keep them respectful. Anyone leaving negative comments or tags on content posts will have their content removed from the event page and be blocked from participating in the event further.

That about sums it up! My ask box and inbox are open for any questions or concerns you might have so don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any.

I can’t wait to see all the wonderful romantic Dragon Age content!

[wickedwitchofthewilds]

14DALovers 2023 Masterlist

Prompt list by @14daysdalovers

1. Hart 2. Frilly Cakes 3. Chant 4. A Fool’s Errand 5. Lyrium 6. Encouraged 7. Tangled 8. Approval 9. Longing 10. Captured 11. Murmurs 12. Crimson 13. Ravish 14. Free Choice