#blackwall fanfic

[sorceresssundries]

The Herald and The Warden

Part 1 of 2

Pairing: Blackwall/Female Quizzy (My gal - Sparrow)

Warnings: Mentions of torture and trauma, death, angst. SPOILERS - HUGE SPOILERS FOR BLACKWALL'S STORY ESPECIALLY IN PART 2 - TURN BACK IF YOU HAVEN'T GOT THAT FAR.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Ok, so Part 1 takes pace during the 'In Hushed Whispers' wibbly wobbly, timey-wimey mission if you choose to side with the mages.

May be a little confusing if you haven't played that mission, time travel is SO HARD TO WRITE GUYS holy moly.

“You shouldn’t be here” 

For a moment, Sparrow could only stand there, frozen by the sight of him. She swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her throat as she forced herself to move closer.

He was huddled in the gloom of the farthest cell, his back pressed against the damp stone wall, head bowed. The man who had once stood tall and unbreakable now seemed shrunken, diminished. The armour he had taken so much pride in was battered and bloodstained, pieces of it missing or discarded. Light reflected off the jagged shards of red lyrium embedded in the bricks, throwing distorted, eerie shadows that warped the space around him, making it seem as if the walls were closing in, as if the prison itself was a living thing, flexing its grotesque muscles until all hope was squeezed into useless pulp. 

Sparrow waited for the breath to find its way back into her lungs, or for the muscles in her body to soften so she could move. She was frozen in a time that wasn’t her own, in a future she didn’t belong in. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be here either. Not in this twisted, fractured reality. He belonged wherever she was. Not here, not like this. 

He stood stiffly, and his eyes, dull and empty, flickered when they met hers.

“No. Not this. Please. The dead should rest in peace,” he said, but the words came out wrong. Hollow. Distorted. It was all wrong. That voice - his voice - had once kept her steady when everything else fell apart. It had rolled like distant thunder in the belly of a hot sky, rich and deep. It was so full - of warmth, of security, of certainty  - and now it was empty. His words sounded like they had bounced around some long-abandoned space and been bent and broken before finding their way to her; shattered echoes of something she had once loved. The shrapnel of them cut at her heart.

“Blackwall” Her own voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough to make him flinch. “I’m alive.”

He shook his head slowly, refusing to accept that she was really there, flesh and blood. Her feet were rooted, and her hand hung limp at her side; useless. Unable to pull him back from whatever abyss he was trapped in.

She had to fix this, she had to fix him. 

She stood in helplessness as Dorian explained how the portal Alexius had opened had moved the two of them forward in time by an entire year, and how they were trying to fix what had happened. The dulled scarlet of his lyrium-plagued eyes tried to understand. She missed the stormy grey of them, how in some lights they looked almost blue and sparkled like a sunlit seascape when he flirted and teased her. The way they crinkled at the corners when he smiled, that mischievous glint that promised trouble and adventure, had captured her completely. And on those darker days, when the burdens of his past weighed heavy on him, his eyes would cloud over and darken too. Even then, they were beautiful. He was beautiful. No man had ever looked at her the way he had, no gaze had ever held her so tightly. No one had looked into her with such intent and focus when she spoke, as though he was taking in every word and holding onto it for later. For when she needed them back again.

She needed them now.

This version of Blackwall wouldn’t look at her. He kept his gaze averted, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her, or worse, as if he didn’t recognise her at all. The distance between them was a chasm she didn’t know how to cross, and it broke her in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

“More punishment,” Blackwall murmured, speaking to shadows, "It is deserved... But this... her... too much. Too far." His words were being pulled from the depths of a mind long broken. They were heartbreaking untruths, twisted thoughts crafted by a tortured man.

She winced. It was easier for him to believe this was a nightmare. She had gilded above the horrors of this last year like a bird over a storm. She had taken the easy route whilst he had been dragged through raging waters, salt-stung and drowning. How he must hate her. 

“If what you say is true,” he rasped, his voice wavering as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself, “then this nightmare… everything I’ve been through… is a mistake.”

“I should have been here,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. We’ll set this right.”

His response was a dark, cruel laugh. “Now I know I’ve gone mad,” he said, shaking his head. “Set this right? You can’t imagine the things that happened after you...” His voice caught on something, and he struggled to pick it back up “...after you died. The Elder One had the Orlesian Empress killed. And in the chaos that followed, his demon army invaded. The Inquisition was crushed. Anyone who didn’t convert was slaughtered. There’s nothing left out there.”

“Once we go back, none of that will happen,” she said, trying to clutch at something. Some shard of light or hope or truth that would set him free. An offering, a plea, a chunk of her still-beating heart, anything, she would give him anything. None of it would ever be enough. 

“It did happen.” His eyes finally met hers, and the pain in them cracked her. She couldn’t hold his gaze, not with the truth of it staring back at her. He had lived it. She had not. And no matter how hard they fought to change things, what had been done to the man in front of her could never be undone.

Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the key to unlock the cell. When the door creaked open, she took a step back, giving him room to come out into a world that had left him behind.

“Come,” he said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact as he pushed past her, not sparing her a glance. “I know where they are keeping the Bull.”

—♜—

The further they pressed on, the more Sparrow learned about the horrors that had occurred over the past year, the harder it was to pull her determination out from the deep, hopeless place it had sunk to. They found Iron Bull in another cell. The smart and sassy Qunari, who was soft as a lamb beneath it all, was changed. Detached. Even his sharp mind and quick wit were not a strong enough barrier to hold back the taint of Lyrium.

And Leliana… 

Sparrow almost couldn’t recognise her. Emaciated, with a sharp, alien edge to her, Leliana was still terrifying—perhaps more than before. She had always been ruthless, the bard who was more of a blade, but now, she was something else entirely. The notes they had found about her torture were horrifying, detailing inhumane acts that would have broken anyone else. But Leliana hadn’t broken. If anything, she had hardened into something colder, more brutal.

Sparrow had wanted to stop when she read those notes—wanted to retch, scream, burn this cursed place to the ground. But she kept going, numb and angry, unwilling to show weakness when everyone else had been forced to endure so much more.

Leliana was straight to the point of what was to be done. There was no time to believe in nightmares and ghost stories. 

“You need to end this.” The spymaster commanded. Her cold eyes that sat in hollowed-out sockets bore into Sparrow’s. “The Magistar is probably in his chambers.”

“Do you not want to know how we got here?” Dorian had asked, confused. 

“No.”

But Dorian wasn’t ready to let it go. “Alexius sent us into the future,” he explained, his voice urgent. “This—his victory, the Elder One—it wasn’t meant to happen. We have to reverse the spell, undo all of this, if we could just get that amulet…”

Her stare snapped to him from the shadow of her hood. “Enough. This is all pretend to you. Some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.”

Dorian fell silent, taken aback by the venom in her words.

“Just finish it.” She hissed. 

The shame flooding Sparrow was unrelenting. Blackwall stood in the doorway, watching her, trying to work her out. A dying man visited by a ghost. 

He had always been a man guarded, by what she still wasn’t completely sure - but still, she knew him. Like few ever had, she liked to imagine. He planted seeds in the garden when no one was watching, he talked to the horses as he brushed their manes, he treated Sera like a sister and Cole like a person. She had coaxed smiles and laughter and softness from him on the days where he was weighed down and burdened. She had slipped through all those hard-built, self-assembled defences like rainwater - She didn’t force her way in, she didn’t need to. His heart had yielded to her in small, imperceptible ways and although there were many things unsaid between them, that didn’t mean they were unfelt. No matter how hard he tried to push her away. 

But that was in the time before. Before the world had turned cruel, and she had abandoned him. Those unsaid things had withered and left him, just as she had. This version of Blackwall should not exist to her, and so - this version of her should not exist to him. They were a universe apart, and she could feel it. 

Even his fight had gone. It was obvious as they moved through the bowels of the castle and cut down the agents of Alexius who stood in their path. 

A year ago, a lifetime ago, when they fought side-by-side it was an intuitive dance - her spells and his sword entwined. They could read each other so precisely they may as well have been strikes from the same blade. Now, it was clumsy. He was too close to her. She could feel him crowding her space, disrupting the delicate balance she needed to draw her magic. The air she tried to pull from felt thick and heavy, weighed down by his worried breaths. He wasn’t focused. His eyes were on her when they should have been watching his attackers. His movements, once fluid and sure, had become hesitant, as if he second-guessed each swing. And because of that, he was suffering more blows. The sharp, reassuring ring of steel on steel had been replaced by the sickening thuds of impact against his armour. He was slower, distracted, and she found herself having to cover for him, diverting her focus to shield him, to protect him. It left her exposed, vulnerable in ways she wasn’t used to.  

They had lost their rhythm, and so it was inevitable she would lose her footing and suffer a slice of an enemy's blade. The hiss of pain from her seemed to grant Blackwall strength from somewhere, and with a brutal kick to the chest sent the last abomination plummeting down into the pit below them. She gasped and clutched the wound, seeing the blood spill through her fingers and mix with the mulch on the dank floor. The sight of her blood, of something real, seemed to spark Blackwall back to life. She was a ghost no longer. 

“Are you alright, my lady?” 

She fluttered at the concern in his voice, a voice she had feared she'd never hear again, at least not with the warmth that had once made her feel safe. A different, deeper wound healed in some other part of her. “So, I’m still your lady then?” she asked, a smile tugging at her lips, the familiar flirtation slipping back between them like a lifeline, even now, even here.

“Always,” he replied, and for the first time since she’d found him in this twisted reality, his eyes met hers in a way that felt like him. He was in there, she could see him.

“There you are,” she breathed, her hand moving of its own accord to cup his face, her palm resting against his cheek. His whole body seemed to relax at her touch, as though he was finally allowing himself to believe that she was real, that this moment was real. “I was worried the Blackwall I knew had faded.”

But as the words left her lips, she felt a shift in him, something different, something unsettling. He reached up and took her hand, pulling it from his face and holding it between his own, clutching her small, soft hand as though it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

“My la… Sparrow,” he said, his voice faltering. He rarely used her name, and the sound of it from his lips sent a ripple of fear through her. She felt her heart begin to race, a gnawing sense of panic clawing at her insides. “My mind may be slipping, but I have enough wits about me to know what happens next. This is not my future, this is my present. Do you understand?”

“It doesn’t have to be. I can change it.”

“Of course you can,” he said softly, his eyes full of a sad resignation that twisted the knife deeper into her chest. “You could do anything you set your heart to. You’re the fiercest woman I’ve ever known.” He paused, steeling himself for what he needed to say next, even as it tore him apart. “But you’re changing it for that man who was waiting for you a year ago.”

“For you,” she insisted, her voice breaking as the icy realisation began to seep into the softest part of her bones, into the small, protected chambers of her heart that she had always kept empty. The truth was cold and merciless. 

Blackwall’s grip on her hand tightened as the castle rumbled and shook. “We need to move. Now."

As they pushed on, the horrors continued. The warping taint of lyrium grew heavier and more oppressive. Sparrow’s skin was so slick with cold sweat, she could barely grip her staff. The tinge of pulsing red was so present everywhere she looked, she began to think it must have settled into the whites of her eyes. The air was thick with it. Time was running out. 

They found Alexius almost too easily.

He knew they were coming and put up no fight. This was not an all-powerful magister or a blade of the Venatori, just a father who had failed to save his son. That was all. He had tried to bend the will of time, but she was indomitable, relentless, and unforgiving. And so, inevitably, time won, wins, is winning—always.

Alexius didn’t care about the Elder One; he never had. He just clutched at whatever hand held a cure for his child.

He had given up long before they reached him, and he knew the end had come. It was over quickly, another tragedy to add to Sparrow’s ever-growing list. Felix and Alexius both fell before them, and she hoped in this future, somehow, they were together again. She hoped in the past, they would be granted more time.

It was done. They had the amulet. All that was left was to cast the spell to take them back.

“Give me an hour to work out the spell he used. I should be able to reopen the rift.” Dorian’s eyes were wet, as he turned the bloodsoaked amulet over in his hands. 

“An hour, that’s impossible - you must go now!” Leliana shot back.

Then, the castle shook. A quake so mighty it knocked Sparrow off her feet as great chunks of the cursed castle tumbled down around them. A shriek like an ancient warcry rang around them, and trembled the very marrow of her bones.

“The Elder One.” Blackwall stated, helping Sparrow to her feet. “It’s coming.”

Him, Iron Bull and Leliana all exchanged a pointed look, and Sparrow knew what they planned to do before they moved. 

“No. Don’t you dare!” She grabbed his arm as he began to move towards the door, where the army of demons and dead would descend upon them at any moment. 

“Hush now.” He brought her to him, and she buried her face against his chest. He didn’t smell the same as he used to. He used to smell like the outdoors - woodsmoke and cedar and rain on a dry day. He felt thinner beneath his armour, the bulk of him had wasted away while she was gone. 

“I won’t let you die.”

"Listen to me," he whispered, cradling her head with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. His lips brushed against her hair, murmuring into the top of her head. "I’m already dead, and this is the only way to protect you.”

Her heart clenched painfully as she looked up at him, eyes searching his face for the right words—any words—that could make this moment stop. But nothing came. In the silence between them, her body acted before her mind could catch up. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a brief, chaste kiss. Even now, she didn’t dare assume he wanted her with the same fervour as she felt for him.

"I love you," she breathed, the words barely a whisper as she began to pull away from him, to let him go. 

But Blackwall’s response was immediate. His arms encircled her waist with an urgency that surprised her, pulling her back against him. This time, the kiss was not chaste. It was deep, deliberate, and slow—his lips tracing hers as if he were committing the shape and taste to memory. Each lingering moment felt like a lifetime, every gentle press filled with a quiet desperation. This was their first kiss, and he knew, with heartbreaking certainty, that it would be his last.

Time stopped. 

She could feel him trying to hold onto her, as if he could make this moment last forever, but forever was not theirs to keep.

“My lady—my fierce brave lady,” Blackwall’s voice was steadfast. “I have loved you for more than a year, and I will love you for far longer still. If there is another lifetime where I… where we…”

His hands came up, gripping her shoulders, holding onto her as everything he knew came to its end.

“There are truths to be told. But not here. Not now.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I am undeserving of you, I always have been. But if there is another life, a future where I could stand in your shadow for even a moment longer… I would die for it”

She tried to move her hands, to clutch at something, anything. To cling to him like a broken wave on sun-warmed sands, but he kissed her wrists and let them go. 

“Go,” he commanded, his voice hoarse, “Thrive. And know that every time I look at you—from wherever I am, whether it be the stables or the battlefield, or just sat beside you—I am loving you, just as I am now.”

Still, she stood rooted. 

“Don’t worry” he smirked slightly, and it reached all the way between her ribs and squeezed her heart. “You will see me again, very soon” 

“But… you…” Her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat.

“Have the love of a woman worth dying for,” he finished for her, “And that is enough.”

He left then, turning away from her without another word, his broad shoulders set with determination as he faced the oncoming storm of screeching monsters and twisted magic. His sword gleamed in the dim light, raised high like a hero from a storybook, ready to face whatever horrors awaited him. The sight of him standing against the darkness tore at her heart.

“Sparrow.” Dorian’s voice cut through the haze of her thoughts, pulling her back. “I need to cast the spell, we must go. Now.”

His eyes, usually so warm and full of mischief, were now hard and focused. She started to follow his gaze over her shoulder, but before she could turn to look, his voice stopped her.

“Don’t look.” He was firm, sad. “Don’t look back.”

And she didn’t.

—♜—

She sat back at Haven, out in the clean, fresh air and stared unblinking into the flame of the campfire. There was an ice in her that wouldn’t melt.

Alexius was imprisoned. That horrific future was prevented. And the people she had met there… Blackwall and Leliana and Bull.. well, they were dead or nonexistent. She should feel relieved. But somewhere, somehow, there was a man she loved and who loved her, and he had suffered terribly. He was still brave and kind, right to the end. The thought wouldn’t leave her. 

Curse this key. Curse the breach. Curse the Elder One and the Maker and the Divine. All of them. All of it. The mages, the templars, the wardens—everyone who had ever had a hand in bringing her to this moment—were all to blame. She wasn’t a herald, she was a harbinger. She had bathed three times since returning, but the smoke and doom of what she had seen still clung to her skin. 

She wanted to let the rest of today plod along next to her. Slowly meander through each hour as though they were fresh paths never walked before. She didn’t want to think that there was a future predetermined, where her failure had made itself inevitable.

A warmth suddenly enveloped her, as a thick blanket was draped over her small and weary shoulders along with the scent of Cedar and Petrichor. Blackwall sat next to her, and threw some more wood on the fire. 

“You want to talk about it?” The steady, rich timbre of his voice was warmer than any blanket. It was a relief to have it back in her life. 

“No. Not yet.” 

He loved her, he had said so - but that was a broken, evaporated universe away. One that never existed, so… he had never existed? Those words had never been said. His lips had never met hers. Except they had. Her head hurt from trying to work it all out. The only certain thing to her was, she loved him; and it was not the time to tell him. She wanted to offer her love to him wrapped in joy, and not scorched by grief. 

“I understand,” he replied. For a while they sat there, as she slowly thawed out next to him. He didn’t press, or push, like the others had done. He sat beside her, and adjusted her blanket when it slipped, and passed the spiced wine he had made for her. But he kept quiet, letting her breathe. 

A feeling like sunlight passed over her, and she turned to see him gazing at her. He quickly looked away and cleared his throat, as though caught doing something he shouldn’t be. Sparrow smiled, for the first time since she got back. 

“I am sorry, for all the times I have pushed you away.” He was solemn. “You deserve an explanation, about who, what, I am. You should meet me tomorrow, at the Storm Coast. There is something I wish to show you” He gave her a final, soft look and for a moment she thought he would lean forward and brush his lips against hers, but he didn’t. 

There were truths to be told, and weights to be lifted. But it wouldn’t be tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, Haven would fall. 

[the-nameless-nerd]

I'm now working on a Dragon Age fic in which grey warden Bethany Hawke becomes the Inquisitor.

I'm currently susceptible to influence regarding who she may romance:

[wardenrainwall]

First time in a long while that I've had thoughts in my head to write. So continuing on that same line this morning - that already needs reworking and I don't know why I didn't realize it before. It'll likely never turn into a real fic, so it is what it is

But alas, SMUT. (another thing I haven't written in ages, so be kind)

Blackwall and Charlotte.

Charlotte pressed her lips to Thom’s and it took everything in him not to grab her, pin her to the wall and ravage her. “You’re drunk,” he said, his voice coming out a rasp as he turned his head.

Charlotte let out a soft laugh and shook her head before leaning in to nuzzle his now-exposed throat. “I most certainly am not. I had half a glass of mead with dinner over an hour ago.” 

“My lady,” his voice was tight as his hands fisted at his sides.

“You already told the owners I was your wife-”

“Maker,” Thom groaned as teeth gently nipped at his ear. “You’ll regret this,” he reached up, cupped her jaw, and rubbed his thumb along her lower lip. “You’re a little tipsy and missing your husband-” 

This time Charlotte’s laugh was full of derision. “Our marriage was nothing more than a contract between him and my parents, and I was nothing more than a broodmare to him. Every night he came and mounted me found what little pleasure he could in the act and left. I think we were both grateful when my monthlies ceased and we realized I was with child.” 

Thom groaned and slid his hand to the back of her neck, angling her head so he could look into her eyes. Maker, he was going to regret this. But when was the last time he’d- too long. He thought he just might spill in his trousers if she kissed him again. “What do you want out of this?” he asked, hoarsely, because Maker’s balls, he wasn’t going to be able to tell her no.

Charlotte blinked, licked her lips and his eyes darted down for a moment imagining having the right to claim her mouth with his. “I…” she let out a breath and her brows pinched together. “I want to know what it could be like. If the women in the Lady’s parlors at the galas and balls were all lying when they tittered about their lovers.”

Just for this one night, he would allow himself the indulgence. Show her how good it could be. And in the morning they would go on their merry way to Skyhold never to speak of the act again. “Are you certain?” 

“I have never wanted anything more in my whole life.” 

With a groan, Thom lowered his head and kissed Charlotte. Her lips parted beneath his with gentle urging and he swept his tongue inside. His fingers found one of the pins in her hair and he gently removed it, never breaking the kiss. She melted against him, kissing him back with just as much enthusiasm while her hands curled in the hem of his shirt. 

Charlotte whimpered when he broke the kiss, drawing back enough to ensure he’d removed all the little pins that held her hair up into the neat braid. Now it fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and she looked up at him, eyes wide and lips pink and parted. Thom reached for the tiny pearl buttons down the front of her blouse and hesitated a moment. “Yes?” he asked and he saw something flare in her eyes.

Then she drew back, tugged free the top buttons and yanked her shirt over her head, and threw it to the floor at their feet. “Yes,” she said emphatically and reached up to cup the back of his head and tug it down to claim his mouth once more. Thom moaned, banded an arm around her waist, and lifted her off her feet as he made quick strides to the bed where he tumbled her onto it beneath him. 

Her breathing was ragged and gasping as he made his way down her throat, while his hands slid over her hips, found the little buttons on her skirt, and released them. Thom reared up onto his knees and dragged the skirt down her legs, leaving her in a delicately thin chemise with the softest lace trim he’d ever felt, and a pair of pale pink silk stays that looked like they’d cost a fortune. “Maker,” he considered trying to talk her out of it again, despite his desperate desire, he worried that the cold woman he’d met that first day would reappear come morning.

“Let me see you,” she breathed, her fingers catching the hem of his shirt and pushing it up. Thom obeyed, yanking the tunic over his head. He watched her face, the way her eyes skittered over him. 

–

“What are you-” Thom parted her folds and licked her. “Oh!” her soft cry was music to his ears. And when he repeated the action one of her hands found its way into his hair, again and her thighs twitched on either side of his head. Again and again, he lapped at her, devoured her, and suckled her clit until her slick coated his chin. Then he slid first one finger inside, then two. “Thom, oh, oh, Thom,” she gasped, panting and writhing beneath him. Curling his fingers forward, he felt her entire body go rigid, her back arched and she cried out. Glancing up beneath hooded lids he saw her slap her free hand over her mouth to stifle the next cry as he continued to tease her clit. 

A quiet sob escaped her lips when Thom finally relented and she struggled to release her grip on him. Shifting up her body he knelt between her thighs and braced one hand beside her head while the other stroked away the damp trail that ran down her temple. “Are you alright?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“I didn’t-I didn’t know it could-” her voice hitched. Silently Thom cursed her husband and only felt a little guilty about being glad the bastard was dead. Lowering down to his elbow, he kissed her slow and soft as he let his free hand slide down her side, over her bare hip to tug her thigh around his waist. Her hands slid along his ribs and he couldn’t help but moan at the simple pleasure of her naked body against his. 

Thom rocked his hips against hers, felt the hot, wet heat of her core against his length, and couldn’t help the low groan of her name. “Charlotte.” 

“Yes, yes, Thom, please,” she begged softly and it nearly undid him. Cursing softly, he took himself in hand, rubbed the head of his throbbing cock against her slit, and looked into her eyes. It took all his restraint to go slow, to not slam into her with all the grace of a raging bull. “Oh, Thom,” it was a reverent whisper that tore at something in his chest as her nails bit into his back. Buried to the hilt, Thom knew it was a mistake. 

It had been too long, and he was an utter bastard, unworthy of her, or this pleasure. The Inquisitor would hand him his balls if they ever found out, of that he was certain. Rocking his hips back, he withdrew almost completely then so slow, to torment himself, he pushed back in. Measured strokes, Thom focused on not spilling himself and making him no better than her husband. Fuck, he thought. “Give me your hand,” he said, grazing his fingers along her elbow. Her other hand clung tighter, her nails digging deeper into his skin. 

She watched him beneath heavy lids, as he licked her fingertips. He felt her inner walls clench around him and groaned, his body reacted, thrusting harder, deeper. “Yes!” Charlotte gasped, her legs tightening around his hips. Thom sucked her middle finger into his mouth and enjoyed the way her body reacted. Her lips parted and her breathing grew more ragged. 

“Touch yourself for me, love,” he said when he released her finger from his mouth. Then he guided her hand between them, “stroke your clit, and come on my cock,” her cheeks flamed red, but she shifted her hand and he felt it like a bolt of lightning through her body when she found her clit. 

Thom kissed her, and slid his hand to the small of her back, tilting her hips just so. Charlotte gasped against his mouth, but she didn’t shove him away, instead, she tried to pull him closer and kissed him back harder. Self-restraint snapping, Thom pounded into her and prayed he could hold out just a few moments longer. Just another minute- 

Charlotte’s hand jerked between them, he felt the ripple through her whole body as her knees pulled up tighter and her nails raked over his skin. “Gods-Fuck- Thom!” She threw her head back, and her inner walls went vice-tight around him. Not done yet, he thought, just a few more- He hooked his elbow beneath her knee. “Yes! Yes! Oh fuck!” her shout echoed in the room, off the walls, and in his head. His cock pulsed, and he pushed deeper, knowing he should pull out, and stroke himself to release on his own stomach. 

But he’d tell himself that her grip was too tight, she held him too close, so instead he buried his face in her throat and let out a bellow of his own as he poured himself into her. His mind felt empty of everything besides Charlotte. The feel of her warm and soft beneath him, the way her fingertips now traced delicate shapes on his back, and how her thighs were still locked around his hips.

[nelkenbabe]

*shrugs* (nsfw wip)

Thom tore from her after what felt like minutes, and Amaryll’s lips followed the movement as if to catch him again. His breathing was ragged, heat radiating from his body same as it must’ve from hers. “My lady-” he began, his tone apologetic, only to be interrupted by her hand on his lips. “Fuck me.” He made to protest, and like it was nothing, Amaryll slipped three of her fingers in his mouth. Thom stilled immediately, eyes visibly wide even in the dim light. His next breath out was strained, all air leaving his lungs until it had to burn, no doubt. She didn’t move. Then, she saw his nostrils flare, and with a shivering thrill up Amaryll’s spine, she felt him suck. A moan rumbled around her fingers, underneath her in his chest, and she moved her legs to straddle his stomach, lowered herself down to kiss him right below his ear.

[ar-lath-ma-cully]

CULLY BELOVED welcome to DADWC :3

for Cullen/Lis or Blackwall/Akasha: ❛ would things be easier if there was a right way? ❜

happy writing bb<3<3<3

Hehehehehe I love you <3 I think I'll go with Blackwall/Akasha for this one. It's been a while! @dadrunkwriting for the reblog! Rating: M

-

Laying on his side, propped up on his elbow, Thom watched her sleep. She slept soundly with her legs twisted within the blankets, her naked breasts exposed to the cool night air. 

If things were different, he would lean down and take one in his mouth. If things were different, he would pull the covers back and sing songs of worship into her trembling thighs. He would praise her very name as he slid inside her. He would find his salvation within her arms.

But things were not different. Things were impossible. 

There would be no saving him, but he could still save her.

Thom stood quietly and began to dress. He dared not look at her now, not with his hands shaking as they were, struggling to even pull his shirt over his head. 

It wasn’t right, he knew that much. None of it was. He shouldn’t have spoken to her as he had, flirted with her, allowed her in, to grow close, to think that he had even deserved so much as a second of her precious time. To think he had even deserved a moment of love, of her love. 

It wasn’t right, what he was doing. This, and what he was about to do. The end result would be right, at least. This, maybe, Thom could find a bit of forgiveness in. Maybe when the noose he was destined for finally found him. 

It wasn’t right, the way he wished he found it easier to leave. To walk away, to not look back, to let her go with no remorse. He wished it were so simple. He wished he could have been a different man, the right man. For her. 

Would it have been easier if there were a right way?

Thom closed his eyes and sucked in a shaky breath. He held it, until his chest ached, until his lungs screamed, until his eyes began to tear–and then he let it go.

He did not look back.

[lavender-laudanum]

Lord Inquisitor Geth Trevelyan's Inner Circle: In His Own Words (File 1/12)

*After Geth Trevelyan's death in 9:45 Dragon in Minrathous, the former mighty Lord Inquisitor's journals were found amongst his possessions left behind at his home in Skyhold, deep within the Frostback Mountains. These journals, unedited, were brought into circulation with the help of the Viscount of Kirkwall, Varric Tethras, and by Trevelyan's husband, Dorian Pavus. Along with entries detailing his time leading the Inquisition and much of his life beforehand, which had been shrouded in near-complete secrecy until these documents' release, there were files on each of the members of his so-called "Inner Circle." These dossiers were put together as a standing testimony to Trevelyan's extremely candid nature and radical approach to leadership.*

THOM RAINIER – The Resolve

*There's a neat, careful line crossing out the name ‘Warden Blackwall,’ replacing it with another, 'Thom Rainier,' then another, quicker edit, smaller, that simply says 'Warden' beside it*

I know there was much concern over Warden Blackwall, or as we know him now, Thom Rainier. I also know there was something of an upheaval when I allowed him to stay with the Inquisition as he was; instead of forcing him to truly join the Grey Wardens, allowing him to hang in Orlais, or even simply banishing him from the Inner Circle, Skyhold, and the Inquisition as a whole. I could have done any of those things, and I assume it would have been far better received than my actual decision. There were even those amongst the Circle itself, who had considered Rainier their friend before his gallows confession, that objected to my 'mercy.' It was perhaps one of the only times I was disappointed in them, though eventually, I am happy to report, they each amended their positions in time.

I know something of redemption, and that was the essence of my decision to allow Rainier to remain with me, with the Inner Circle, and the Inquisition. To this very moment, as I write this very entry, I know I made the right decision because not once have I regretted it. Even before we learned his true origins, Thom Rainier was and remains now, one of the most honorable men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, of working with and fighting alongside; a warrior of such caliber that if there were more men of his like, Thedas never would have reached the point of needing the Inquisition. This, of course, isn't to say that I wasn't upset at the truth, but not because of what he'd done, or because of that paltry cost to the Inquisition itself for the reveal, no. I even knew he was hiding something, and something terrible; call it intuition. I was upset that it took a gallows confession, a suicide if I had ever seen one, for him to speak his truth. My friend; a man who stood by me at Haven and faced down death countless times without hesitation, would have rather hung than own his truth.

Rainier is, like many I have encountered over my life, a complicated man. Men are not made to be simple, of course, that is what truly makes us men. But his story in particular, told me the tale of a man who simply could not make a choice, and in the end, that damned him. Much like the dog hung from a tree in his childhood, while he simply stood and watched, Rainier hanged himself in the same way. He allowed himself to be caught up by his own decisions and did a terrible, terrible thing. But as complicated men are, Rainier chose to follow the true Blackwall, a Grey Warden, and become one himself – and though he did not become a Warden in a Warden’s sacrifice, he became one in his actions thereafter, something few men, if any, would have done if given the same chance.

If I had any doubt, however miniscule, of Rainier’s desire for redemption, of his drive to be a better man than the one who murdered children in cold blood on the order of a traitor and a liar, let there be no question now that I would have seen him hang. As much as I know something about redemption, I know something of a far more dangerous ideal: retribution. Not vengeance, no, but true retribution. Rainier’s actions were damn near unforgivable – and in my life I have seen the truly unforgivable. However, the difference between Rainier and those others in my life, is that Rainier never justified what he had done, and to this day, his greatest fear, as we saw in The Fade at Adamant, remains nothing but himself. And he ran, yes, for so many years he ran, and he will live with that knowledge, that cowardice, for the rest of his days, but I do not believe that decisions are zero-sum - I do that Thom Rainier earned his recompence for his actions by what followed in his life, even before coming to the Inquisition, to me.

When I met Rainier, he was teaching men how to fight, to defend their homes. That is, in essence, the man he is, the man I know, the man I see. He is at his core a noble, fierce protector, and a friend to those who accept him as he is now, not as he was before. In the Inner Circle, he was one of my most loyal confidants, and through his own stalwart honor, kept me, as Lord Inquisitor, grounded in the real cause, questioning my actions more than anyone else – not just my actions, but the reasons behind them. And for that, because of him, I am a better man, too.

[gil-galadhwen]

Baldur's Gate 3 | Misc

Our Paths Will Never Cross Again - F!Tav X Shadowheart X Karlach X Lae'zel

BBC Merlin | Merlin x Arthur

The Labyrinth of Gedref

The Last Dragon Lord

The Crystal Cave

The Poisoned Chalice

Be Merry Sweet Lord, On This Yules Day

Devouring Glory

BBC Merlin | Morgana x Gwen

The Shadow of Your Heart

Dragon Age | Misc

Lazarus - Dorian x M!Inquisitor

The Seer - Dorian x M!Inquisitor

The Gesture - Blackwall x M!Inquisitor

The Key to a Kiss - Zevran x F!Greywarden

The Rings of Power | Elrond

Carrier of Messages (Lore Master Pt 1)

Edraith (Lore Master Pt 2)

I Will Never Get Enough Of You (GN Reader, NSFW)

Tell Me What You Want (GN Reader, CDS)

A Glimmer of Hope (LOTR-verse OC)

The Rings of Power | Galadriel x Halbrand / Sauron

Without Humour

Can I Be Him?

Your Secret is Safe with Me

I Told You That No Matter What You Did, I'd Be By Your Side

She Found Me Just in Time

What Strange Claws Are These, Scratching At My Skin

Do You Want My Blood? Am I Just Too Damn Hard To Love?

Forever Entwined

If I Can't Take You Down, I'll Never Forgive Myself

The Rings of Power | Gil-galad

Touch Yourself (GN Reader, NSFW)

The Witcher | Wiedźmin

The Lady of the Marred Moon [Eskel X Fem OC]

Everything can also be read here....

[robin-in-the-tulip-tree]

The Haunting of Skyhold

Chapter 1: Trials and Troubles

“You have your life.”  It was simultaneously better and worse than hanging.  “You are free to atone as the man you are, not one you were, and not the Warden you pretended to be.  Take your post, Thom Rainier.” 

With his hands still chained, he made a couple steps toward Lyn on her throne, as if to say something, but the Inquisitor put a hand out, silencing him.  “I know how you love your speeches and grand gestures, but save it.  We both have work to do.  

She turned him loose.  

She stood bolt upright, like the chapel’s statues of Andraste, and looked at the small crowd that assembled, silent and staring.  “Nothing left to see here, everyone.  I suggest we all just… um… move along.”  

The crowd may have taken a long time to disperse but Lyn didn’t stay to watch.  Within the hour she was back in her regular clothes and pacing the battlements, daring anyone to come within a country mile of her.  The steady thunk of wood being chopped echoed across the courtyard, but she worked hard not to hear it.  Instead, she stared out across the mountains and heaved a deep sigh.  She would have cried if she could remember how.  

On that Saturday morning, Cremisius Aclassi considered himself the luckiest man in Orlais.  He had survived a killer of a week, and for once, had an easy duty schedule for the day. It was his turn to show the new recruits around as they turned up.  Sometimes the job was crap, like when an entire band of Orlesian merchants arrived at once and immediately began complaining about the state of their lodgings.  (The lodgings were just fine, of course, and even better once you considered that they had been nothing but rubble and pigeon shit a week prior.)  That morning, though, promised to be slow.  Word was still just barely getting out about Adamant, after which, naturally, recruitment would pick back up.  As it was, he had the time to sit on a bench by the gate, feel the nip in the autumn air, and watch the steam rise off of the strongest, hottest tea the kitchens were able to brew.  Between that and a hearty breakfast (burnt bacon aside), the fuzz in his brain was starting to clear.  

Up in the main hall there was a small but intense din.  It was audible even where Krem sat, and he silently thanked the Maker he was spared from it.  From the amount of racket being kicked up, it was probably about Maker-Damned-Thom-Rainier.  At this point, Krem was ready to execute the man himself.  Not just for his crimes, but so that people would finally shut up about it already.  It was a good story for gossip but not that good.  

The door to the main hall opened and shut.  Elsewhere, higher up, a door slammed.  Krem leaned over for a better look.  Rainier was walking out.  Alive.  Alone.  Unbound.  The slamming door was probably the Inquisitor then.  

“Huh,” Krem said.  He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.  He didn’t quite have time to figure it out, though. 

“This the Inquisition?” 

Krem nearly startled right out of his boots.  The visitor was taller than him, broader than him, and carried a wood-cutting axe over one shoulder.  Beside her, a brawny black Mabari sat patiently with a quizzical look in his eye.  

“S-s-sorry, um, yes. Yes.  It is,” stammered Krem.  “What can we do for you?”  

“I’m signing up,” she said.  It wasn’t a question.  “And so is Pig Iron.”  Here, she gestured at the dog.  

“Okay then,” Krem said, trying to push his voice a little deeper.  The newcomer was intimidating.  And pretty.  But mostly intimidating.  “You got a name?”

“Yeah.  Valerie.”  She was like a stone wall.  Solid.  Impenetrable.  Inscrutable.  

“Valerie, and the dog’s named Pig Iron?” 

“Yep, because he’s about that stubborn.” She half-smiled.  It was enough to unleash a full smile from Krem.  

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Riel,” Valerie replied.  “Or what’s left of it, anyway. I guess I’m not from anywhere.”

“The war?”

“Believe it or not, no.  The war killed my mother, but the demons burned the village.  So now I’m here.  No better place to be right now.”

Krem let out a low whistle.  “And so you just walked here?  Just you and the dog?” 

“Yep.” They were walking towards the barracks.  

“So what is it that you do?” Krem asked.

“Depends on what you need.  I can hunt. I can build.  I can garden.  I’m pretty handy with this chopping axe.”  To demonstrate,she rolled the haft off her shoulders and spun it around her wrist expertly.  “It’s pretty good for fighting, actually.  Snapped a shade clean in half back over by Emprise du Lion.”  

“I think you’re going to fit in just fine around here.  Now, normally, I’d introduce you around, but this isn’t really a great time for that.” Krem’s eye caught the Inquisitor on the battlements, pacing and glowering.  “We can probably try that tomorrow. You want to come spar with the Chargers though?  I’m interested to see what else that axe can do.”

Valerie’s eyebrow popped up.  “The Chargers?”

“We’re a mercenary group. Got in at the beginning for the paid gig, but at this point I think a lot of us would stay for free.”

“Yeah okay.  Do you have a spare kit of armor that’ll fit a big one like me?”

“Um, you could borrow one of mine if that’s fine with you.”

“That’s just fine with me,” she said, half-smiling again.  “Pig Iron can come too?”

“Are you kidding? Of course! The guys would love it! I don’t think some of them have even seen a Mabari in person.” They were at the barracks door now.  “So come meet me behind the Herald’s Rest when you’re ready for practice.  Look for a bigass Qunari with equally bigass horns.  He’s the chief.  He’s also easiest to find.  I’ll let you get settled in.  Just pick out a bed that looks empty and make yourself at home.  Let me know if there’s anything you need.” 

“Thanks,” said Valerie.  “Just one question though?”

“Shoot.”

“Is it the real deal? The Inquisition, I mean.  Is it really gonna fix things?”

“ As real as anything gets these days.”  

“Good.” Valerie turned and left Krem at the door.

As he turned and left for the practice ground, he shook his head.  “See what else that axe can do.  Andraste’s tits, Krem Fraiche, you’re hopeless.” 

[artfulusername]

There’s nothing quite like the satisfaction of writing out a scene that’s been rattling around in one’s brain for literal years.

In other news, there’s a new chapter up for my Dragon Age: Inquisition fic, Omission (Blackwall/Female Inquisitor; Rating: M), on Ao3.

Here’s Chapter 8 - An Interlude. Enjoy a POV change for a brief look into where Blackwall’s head is at going into the upcoming shenanigans.

[isk4649]

2022/10/12 WIP Wednesday

Happy Wednesday!

Thanks for tagging, @kittynomsdeplume and @a11sha11fade!

I’ve been obsessing over my modern AU finale fic, so today will also feature an excerpt from that. I am really excited to post it eventually.

In my modern AU, Cullen and Blackwall served in the U.S. Navy together. Cullen met Tharin, who then introduced Josephine to Blackwall. Now, they are all living in Seoul for Tharin’s and Josephine’s careers. And Cullen is in a bad mood - definitely related to the reason why he asked Tharin for a divorce two WIP Wednesday posts ago.

It’s on the longer side, but I think it’s worth it just for the friends’ interaction.

From Jamwon Station, Josephine and Thom’s apartment was five minutes on foot.

Gangnam was drafty. The gale coming from the river was relentless, emitting a shrill noise as it bypassed high-rises and swept over the streets. People in masks and padded jackets rushed by, their bodies scrunched and their heads looking down. Only the thin white breaths rising like smoke let Cullen know they were living beings. Before venturing out from the sheltered entrance of the subway station, Cullen zipped up his own padded jacket and exhaled harshly.

In no time, Cullen’s eyes teared up and cheeks turned numb, forcing him to cup his own masked face with his gloved hands. He was nonetheless grateful for the cold. Fretting about the cold helped him push away the predicament he faced. The more he thought of it, the more insurmountable it seemed to get, and so, being distracted enough to forget for a few minutes was a blessing.

He exited a narrow street and stood in front of a thoroughfare. Cars zoomed past him, worsening the gale. The complex where Josephine and Thom lived stood tall across the thoroughfare, looking intimidating. A veritable fortress of affluence and privilege.

It was higher than other apartments in the area, and the design was different too. Refined, tony, and minimalist, the upscale apartment in the heart of Gangnam was a testament to the Montilyets’ wealth.

Well, it had to be Josephine. Thom was a country boy from Montana turned a sailor turned a househusband. Cullen could not imagine he was the one with the money.

When Cullen rang the doorbell to the unit on the thirtieth floor, a little boy with a mop of black curly hair peeped through the door. It was Guillem.

“Hiiiii!” The boy immediately hugged Cullen, his head bobbing just below Cullen’s navel.

“Hi, Guim.” Cullen chuckled and bent down to dispense a firm hug to the boy.

Thom followed, looking domestic with a worn kitchen towel slung over his shoulder, his shaggy hair pulled into a bun, and his beard well-groomed. He asked in a voice half an octave higher than his usual, “Have you brought anything? A cake, maybe?”

Cullen knew Thom was simply being jocund, yet he could not muster any joviality. In fact, he spoke harsher than he intended to, “No. You explicitly told me not to bring anything.”

Josephine, who managed to look stylish even in a knitted sienna sweater and fitted sweatpants, pushed past Thom and leaned against the front door. With one corner of her lips raised, she droned, “He was being polite obviously. You make a terrible Korean, not bringing any gift…”

Cullen could not help but be sullen. “Good thing I’m not, then.”

Thom and Josephine looked at each other. When he turned back, Thom had a divot on his brow, worry transparent. “Did something happen?”

Cullen merely looked down at Guillem as the boy wrapped himself around his leg and looked up. The boy’s face broke out in the sunniest smile, and Cullen felt his heart break a little.

Ending the silence, Thom reached and lifted Guillem into his arms. He bounced his son, making him giggle. After placing a quick peck on the boy’s cheek, Thom declared, “Right, let’s go for a walk. The river park sound alright?”

With his gaze still glued to Guillem’s beaming face, Cullen mumbled crossly, “Sure.”

Thanks for reading! I would like to tag @jonogueira, @tessa1972, @kemvee, @raflesia65, @noire-pandora, and anyone else who would like to participate!

[enasallavellan]

Gif Convo Monday

Taken/inspired by Perchance's Incorrect Quote Generator here.

Enasal: Why aren't there friend pick-up lines? Pick up lines to make friends like-

Annason, to Enasal: Hey, that's a cute outfit. You know where it would look better? On nobody else, because you're a beautiful individual.

Shiral, to Blackwall: Be my friend or I'll set your entire family on fire.

Varric: There are two types of people.

Enasal and Annason:

Shiral and Blackwall:

[meganmoonlight]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Male Cadash (Dragon Age), Cadash (Dragon Age), Male Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Cole (Dragon Age), Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi, Josephine Montilyet, Blackwall (Dragon Age), Sera (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Dorian Pavus Additional Tags: Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Short & Sweet, Napping, Friendship Summary:

Inquisitor Edric Cadash was roused from sleep by a loud snore. As he looked around, the corners of his lips tilted upwards at the sight.

[wardenrainwall]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Blackwall/Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Blackwall/Female Trevelyan (Dragon Age) Characters: Blackwall (Dragon Age), Female Trevelyan (Dragon Age) Series: Part 10 of The Disaster that is Evelyn Trevelyan Summary:

Evelyn continues to struggle with her feelings for Blackwall, and how to express general emotions.

-

It was late, quiet and so utterly peaceful. Evelyn lay on her bedroll in her tent, and Blackwall snored away, quietly beside her. Their bedrolls were as close as they could be, and Blackwall always made sure he lay on the crease between the two. Taking that small discomfort, because he thought he deserved nothing more, or simply to save Evelyn from it - Gods she knew it was both. Because the idiot man loved her. 

Evelyn blinked at the sudden wetness in her eyes and gritted her teeth, suddenly ridiculously angry about it. She barely resisted the urge to turn and bite the arm beneath her head. Her favorite pillow, if she was honest, which she never was. Usually, she found the most respite on these nights. Far from Skyhold, tucked into Blackwall’s side, basking in the heat his body put off even in the coldest weather. 

She sat up abruptly, and angrily wrapped her arms around her middle as the blanket pooled at her waist. Beside her Blackwall made a quiet sound, the arm that had cradled her head reached out, calloused fingers skimming up her spine. “What’s wrong, love,” his voice was rough with sleep. 

“Gods, I fucking hate you,” she spat the words out and heard him grunt quietly, his hand curving around her hip. 

“It’s the middle of the night, love, can this wait till the sun is up?” 

He accepted it. Expected it, and that only made her more angry. “Move,” she commanded. “Get on your own bedroll.” 

Blackwall’s hand immediately recoiled. “Ev,” he said quietly, cautiously as he obeyed. “What did-”

[stephlynndrawings]

Chapter 10 (9) of Heralds of a New Age is up!!

After two arduous weeks, the Inquisition and their scouts make it back to the Hinterlands to begin their search for the Grey Warden Blackwall before going to Redcliffe. The scouts spread rumors of possible love and the Inquisition grows just a bit larger.

[ladystoic]

Some Astarion and much more to come 🥰

[baku-usagi]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dagna/Sera (Dragon Age), Blackwall/Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age) Characters: Blackwall (Dragon Age), Sera (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Fluff, Light Angst, Hair Brushing, Tenderness, Canon Compliant, OTP Feels, Fem!inquisitor - Freeform, Short One Shot, Drabble Summary:

Fem!inquisitor brushes Blackwalls hair for him, just a ton of fluff, mild sibling death mentions. mostly just fluff and quips between hair brushing

tadaa this is my AO3 i did a little drabble. I’ve been very uninspired but i want to keep creating so have at thee.