#blackwall x m!inquisitor

[yourworsttotebag]

Tresses

Blackwall/Lavellan ~1.3k words general

“My hair has been short for so long I worry it might seem silly any other way," the Inquisitor said. "Like I was pretending to be someone else.” Blackwall thought of her hair in a thick braid down her back, the shorter layers around her face drifting with the wind. A curtain of hair spilling over her shoulders as she bent down. Running his hand down the silvery strands, knotting his fingers against her scalp, gently tilting her head with his hold. Long, gleaming hair spread across his pillow. “It would suit you,” he said.

[fereldanwench]

started thinking about what worldstate i wanna create for my first run in veilguard because of course i have.

we can't import past saves and we won't be using the keep anymore, so I'm not sure how detailed we'll be able to get with it but I've got a few possibilities to play with:

the first and most likely is my mostly canon-compliant worldstate with these bbs:

lorelei cousland [rogue; double-wield] warden / queen of ferelden / li: king!alistair

daphne caron [rogue; double-wield] warden commander / ruler of vigil's keep / li: warden!bethany

ansley hawke [warrior; board & sword] champion of kirkwall / pirate / li: isabela

melisande trevelyan [rogue; archer] herald of andraste / inquisitor / li: cullen

rosalind hendry [mage; knight-enchanter] former chantry scholar / inquisition agent for leliana / li: blackwall

the second is my slightly less canon-compliant worldstate that i never brought into inquisition because i didn't want to have to choose between alistair and my favorite hawke in the fade lmao:

karina amell [mage; i do not remember her spec] warden-commander / li: warden!alistair

rhiannon hawke [force & elemental mage] champion of kirkwall / temp viscount of kirkwall / li: cullen or fenris*

*last summer i did replay da2 with an iteration of rhiannon that actually romanced fenris and i loved it and I've complicated shit for her, lmao. rhiannon x cullen were my goro x valerie of 2013-2014 and making her officially with someone else feels wrong bc i loved them together so much. but i just can't enjoy cullen anymore. so do i do i give rhiannon a boyfriend upgrade? do i make a whole 'nother hawke inspired by her? do i just let rhiannon x cullen and rhiannon x fenris exist in different AUs? i don't know!

and the third is kind of the opposite of the second one: a worldstate i made just for inquisition in the keep with some choices i had never made in the previous games. i don't even have the worldstate in the keep anymore so i don't remember everything but i think it was like this:

default f!mahariel [rogue; archer] no li / recruited loghain / made alistair marry anora

default m!hawke [mage] li: anders / sided with mages

keagan trevelyan [mage; knight-enchanter] herald of andraste / inquisitor / li: cullen (although i headcanoned a polycule with her, cullen, and josie)

one of my conundrums with all of these is, as i mentioned, i can't enjoy cullen anymore. he was obviously a big fave, i think his arc is fascinating especially in da2 and especially if you side with the templars and he has to contend with the shit he's done for meredith, and i enjoyed all the different shipping dynamics with all different kinds of ocs. but i can't separate him from his dipshit VA at this point. hearing his voice is just an instant NOPE for me now

i am 99% positive cullen will not be in veilguard for 2 reasons: 1) the writers said during inquisition that they were no longer trying to work in characters whose fates could be too varied depending on player choice and 2) that twitter shitstorm a few years seemed to guarantee ellis will never work with bioware again lmao

now i suppose there's a possibility that ellis could have recorded lines before that happened and somehow they would be able to be used despite all the changes that happened, but I'm trying to be an optimist here

nevertheless, all of the inquisitors i played were with him, and it sounds like we'll be able to engage with our inquisitors in some capacity in veilguard so do i even want to have a passing mention of cullen? idk. i mean, my disdain for his VA isn't so bad that this would ruin the game for me or anything, but i also feel like this is an opportunity to enjoy another character

between keagan and melisande, melisande was definitely my more developed OC, but i just loved playing as a knight-enchanter gameplay-wise so keagan is actually the only one of the two who did trespasser and jaws of hakkon. i never did the descent--the only DLC in all the games that i haven't played. I've been debating firing up my inquisitor!valerie game again to play that with her but i know the descent recommends a pretty high level and i can't remember how far i got in the story with her (I think i just reached skyhold that last time i played)

so anyway, i've got some decisions to make!

as for what i'm leaning towards playing in veilguard: at this point in time, i'm pretty sure my first rook will be a mage of some kind and lucanis sounds like he was made specifically for me lmao so odds are looking good that'll be my first ship

[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

In Another World - Solas x F!Lavellan

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

Haunt Me (Wuthering Heights AU)

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....

[burned-enigma]

another dragon age request. i’m 20, turning 21 next week, so i require that you’re 18+. i’ve been drained from summer class work, so i’m looking for something more along the lines of semi-lit to literate (between 200-400 words). a warning: i’m new to the fandom, so i’m not fully caught up on all of the lore and am working on playing the games all the way through. the closest i have to completion is da2.

in terms of pairings, i prefer m/m and very rarely m/f. the ships i’ve listed below (with the bold being the character i’d like to play) are what i’m looking for. my inquisitors are still being developed. if interested, message me here on tumblr or add me on discord (burnedfreedom).

pairings:

- anders x m!hawke (most wanted)

- dorian x cullen

- blackwall x f!inquisitor (lavellan)

- dorian x m!inquisitor (lavellan)

- the iron bull x m!inquisitor (adaar)

[jawsandbones]

hi lisa! would it be possible to request a fluffy blackwall x m!inquisitor? i love how you write and haven't seen this up until now

His eyes are fixed heavenward as he walks, murmuring to himself under his breath as he goes. An outstretched hand moves upon some unseen abacus, parting into patterns. His gaze is so drawn to distant celestial bodies that he doesn’t notice the one drawing near. He startles as Blackwall captures counting fingers, and laces them with his own, swinging arms between them. “I didn’t expect to catch you up so late, Inquisitor,” he says as he slows to match his pace. Lavellan smiles as if a cat caught in mischief, curling himself against Blackwall, his other hand wrapping over theirs, head resting on his shoulder.

“Solas has been teaching me to traverse the Fade in my dreams,” Lavellan says, a fingertip moving over the back of each one of Blackwall’s knuckles, “but sometimes it gets difficult to tell what’s real and what isn’t. If you look close enough, you can see how the Fade lies, certain details it doesn’t get quite right. I check the constellations to make sure I’m awake. What are you doing up?”

“Not a night for sleeping,” he says. Blackwall takes another step, Lavellan doesn’t. Still hand in hand, Lavellan pulls him back to him.

“Thom,” he says, “you’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” Blackwall forgets, sometimes, that he’s forgiven. It doesn’t erase the guilt, but it does ease it slightly. They stand alone in the middle of Skyhold’s courtyard. Against the backdrop of the night sky, Lavellan cuts a brighter figure. Brilliant swaths of red and gold, deeper purple. Muddy red hair falls against olive skin, and perhaps if they had the time to count, they might find his freckles outnumber the stars. Blackwall wants to find that time. He gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I would. Tell me about your constellations,” he says. Lavellan is trying to give him a harder, searching glance, but that fails at the excitement bubbling through. Side by side, heads close together and Lavellan raises his free hand upwards, paints stories between dotted lines. He whispers quietly, enthusiastically knowledgeable. Magic makes no sense to Blackwall. It does to Dorian and Solas, and the racket the three of them together – and where that once might have made him feel inadequate, insecure, he now knows Lavellan speaks to him of things he can with no one else. He quietly lords over this privilege. This privilege of him which no one else knows.

He could listen to him speak for hours. He’s explaining Eluvia and Solium, and Blackwall is watching the shape of his mouth, devouring every detail Lavellan gives him. “Equinor has sometimes been seen as a seated griffon,” Lavellan says, long delicate fingers showing Blackwall the outline, “but others sometimes see it as a halla.”

“For Ghilan’nain, the Mother of Halla?” Blackwall asks. Lavellan’s fingers twitch, suddenly surprised. Oh that book was well worth the gold pieces for the look on his face. Eyes wide, eyebrows raised, and Lavellan’s hands are cupping Blackwall’s face, pulling him into the rough and persistent kiss.

[maltdrawings]

Inktober Day 25

Hello everyone, I hope you’re fine!

Today I’ve drawn Blackwall with one of my inquisitor, Dragomir Trevelyan.

I hope you’ll like it and have a nice day! :D

[trvelyans-archive]

madin awakes to horses’ hooves on the cobblestone street outside his window. 

it’s a noise he knows well and welcomes. ever since he moved into this new estate in markham, he’s felt surprisingly safe, which means he sleeps easily and often, and most mornings the city wakes before he does. not that he’s complaining, of course - there are worse ways to wake up and worse things to wake up to than the sounds of bustling city on a sunny day and a soft, snoring man behind him.

he looks over his shoulder to where blackwall is sprawled out across their bed. in his sleep, he occasionally scratches his bare stomach or mutters something incoherent, but, even though he’s stretched out, his arm is still wrapped snugly around madin’s waist.

madin smiles and shrugs out of his lover’s grasp with great reluctance, peeling back the silk bedsheets and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

the last of their belongings were set up only a few days earlier. they have their own individual wardrobes, but a collection of their clothes lies together in an ungodly heap on the floor. three swords of blackwall’s are displayed proudly on the wall next to madin’s first staff (though it’s in two separate pieces, he remembers with a wince, since corypheus destroyed it during the battle in haven), and a well-worn shield adorns the wall across from the chest at the foot of their bed that’s filled with mementos from various members of the inner circle.

warmth blossoms in madin’s chest at the sight of it all. it feels right. it feels like home.

but, as happy as he is, there’s work to do. he’s leaving for orlais in three days and he hasn’t even begun to pack, let alone read leliana’s most recent letters of what route will be safest for him to take from jader once . with a sigh, he heaves himself out of bed and stands up unsteadily. he doesn’t know where to begin. if he had his way, he’d crawl back into bed with blackwall. but he can’t. he shouldn’t.

he starts slow and silent. he drags his travelling pack out from underneath the bed and opens it; he takes out what was inside during his last journey and sets it aside to sort through later. he’ll need several changes of clothes, he thinks to himself as he sits cross-legged on the floor beside their bed. money. food. lyrium. his journal.

he doesn’t want to go. if he didn’t need to, he wouldn’t.

madin looks around the room helplessly, holding back a sigh. he’s debating whether or not to wait until blackwall wakes to strap his new arm on - it’s hard to do most of these tasks with only one hand, after all. and yet... he should be better at it. he needs to be better at it, to learn how to do it on the road by himself. 

so he grits his teeth and reaches to where it sits on his bedside table. dagna fashioned the leather specifically to be gentle on his skin and he still hates the feeling of it between his fingers; the buckles are cold to the touch and send a chill coursing through him as if they’re are made of ice. it gets the job done, however. and his need for it outweighs his dislike.

he grits his teeth as he removes his shirt and tosses it in the pile with the rest of them, holding the base of the metal arm to where his own cuts off an inch below his elbow. sweat is already beginning to bead on his brow at the thought of struggling to get it on. he shifts, sitting with his back against the bed, focusing on trying to pull the straps up over his shoulder, but he can’t do it. he can never do it. a hiss rises in the back of his throat that he fights to fend off, and he squints at the contraption as if it’ll help, trying his best to just tug the strap over his muscles enough to sit comfortably until blackwall awakes.

“come on, come on, come on...”

except it’s impossible. “shit.” he rips the arm away from his body and throws it across the room, letting out a cry of frustration before abruptly flattening his other palm against his mouth and going rigid. the last thing he wants is to wake blackwall up to an unpleasant sight. he’s already done that one too many times. their home is supposed to be peaceful - he can’t change that.

unfortunately, blackwall is already stirring.

“nnn... huh?” the man pushes himself up from the bed and looks around the room as his vision struggles to adjust. “madin? that you?”

“yes, it’s me,” madin answers from the floor, drawing his legs to his chest and pressing his forehead against his knees. his eyes flutter shut. “i’m sorry for waking you.”

there’s a pause, a brief moment of silence. “i - what?” blackwall sounds tired and concerned and it makes madin’s chest ache even more. “you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. are you alright?”

if he says ‘yes’, maybe he can convince blackwall to go back to sleep. he feels bad for bothering him, because while madin turned in early the night before, blackwall stayed up late working on new carving for their room, and he only crept in shortly before dawn. he could use a few more hours of rest. he deserves it.

but he thinks about it too long. by the time he comes up with an answer, blackwall has already inspected the scene and the sheets rustle as he creeps across the bed towards where madin is sitting on the floor. “you could’ve woken me sooner,” he suggests with a quiet chuckle, placing a hand on his lover’s shoulder. “you could’ve just asked.”

“i didn’t want to,” madin answers as blackwall stands up. “i... i have to learn how to do it myself. you’re not going to be with me when i travel to orlais, after all.”

“‘spose you’re right.” blackwall crosses the room, footsteps receding the further away he moves. “but... i’m here now, aren’t i?”

madin stifles a laugh. “yes,” he murmurs, “i ‘spose you are.” 

silence envelops them. it feels a like a long time before blackwall settles down on the bed once more, and it’s even longer before he reaches out to touch madin’s shoulder. 

“come here,” he says, his voice a low rumble.

“no.”

and then blackwall sighs, the bed creaking as he leans back against the headboard. “you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he tells him. “i hope you know that.”

he’s wrong. madin has everything to be ashamed of. he’s fended for himself his whole life and done it spectacularly, and now he can’t even do half the things he used to easily without blackwall’s help. and he supposes that’s what a partner is for, isn’t it? to hold and to help? but... not all of the time.

“you’re as strong as you used to be. stronger, even.”

“no, i’m not.”

“yes, you are.” blackwall places his hands on madin’s shoulders, his thumbs caressing the slope of his neck. “this doesn’t make you weak. i don’t think you could be weak if you tried.”

madin chuckles, letting his legs slide to the floor as he leans into blackwall’s touch. despite himself, despite his self-loathing, he leans into it.

“what you can do instead...” blackwall pulls madin’s right arm away from his legs and presses the base of the metal one against it. “... is direct that strength, that hatred, at your enemies. not yourself.”

madin can’t believe he ever thought blackwall was nothing more than a soldier. he may be the wisest man of them all.

“i learned that the hard way,” he says with a grunt as he finishes securing madin’s arm into place. “and i don’t want you to. not when you have me here to tell you different.”

madin pushes himself up from the ground using both of his arms, the right a little weaker than the left but gets the job done just as well, and yet he doesn’t even have to turn around before blackwall pulls him down into his lap. he’s warm, and he’s firm, and he feels like home. whatever struggles madin has left to push through, whatever enemies are lying in wait for him in the shadows... here, in their house in markham, they have nothing to hide from.

and they still have a few days left until he has to leave for orlais. and a big estate all to themselves.

“i love you,” madin whispers as he starts dotting kisses down the front of blackwall’s throat, easing him backwards until he’s lying flat on the bed. “i love you more than anything.”

“maker...” blackwall’s eyes shut as he reaches down to latch his fingers on madin’s waist. “i love you, too.”

[magerightsyeah]

Canon OTPs

Cullen x Trevelyan

Josephine x Adaar

Iron Bull x Lavellan

Sera x Trevelyan

Blackwall x Lavellan

Non-canon OTPs

Solas x Adaar

Cullen x Cadash

Blackwall x m!Trevelyan

Cassandra x f!Lavellan

[a-gay-bloodmage]

—A Match Made in Heaven—

Pairing: Blackwall x Male-Genderqueer Trevelyan

Pairing Type: M/M

Words: 4,031

Warnings: NSFW, Body Dysphoria, Bisexual Forty-five-Year-Old in the Midst of a Silent Sexuality Crisis, Mild Angst, Everyone is Trying Their Best, It's Not Great, Bull Knows Better Than Anyone Else and is Not Impressed

"Rainier?" Bull started, pulling out a bar stool next to Thom. "Surprised to see you here alone."

"Ah, yeah," Thom nodded. "Mallie's sleeping right now."

"Oh? Is she?" Thom rolled his eyes at Bull's intrigued smirk. "Tired herself out?"

"Not in the fun way, Bull," he sighed. "I went up to his room an hour ago and he was shitfaced again." It was ten in the morning.

"Damn." Mallie's drinking seemed to be getting worse, though Thom wasn't sure if it actually was or if he was just stumbling upon it more often. Ever since Mallory Trevelyan had come out as a cross-dresser, Thom was allowed more intimacy than he'd ever dreamed of with the Inquisitor. Once he'd seen him with his makeup off, Mallie stopped giving as much of a shit, apparently. "It's not even noon."

"I know," he sighed. "I'm getting worried. I'm a heavy drinker, yeah, but Maker..."

"She rambles when she's drunk," Bull said. "What was on her mind today?"

"Stupid shit about his cock again," he sighed.

"I hate how she's managed to turn that into a negative," Bull grumbled. "Let me guess, it was a whole bunch of I don't deserve you's and I'm a terrible, filthy liar who deserves to die's?" Thom nodded. "You two are really a match made in heaven, huh?"

"Oh, shut it," Thom said, glaring into his ale. "I'm worried about him."

"We all are, Rainier." Bull shook his head with a sigh. "How do you calm her down? Talk her off the ledge?"

"I just kind of, I don't know, get him onto my lap and let him cry into my shoulder. Rub little circles on his back," he said.

"You don't... talk to her?"

"Words aren't my forte," Thom cringed. "I don't know what to say."

"Of course," Bull said. A few moments of silence passed before either of them spoke. "So, how's your sex life?"

Thom nearly spat up the ale he was drinking. "Is that really an appropriate thing to bring up right now?"

"Absolutely."

Thom sighed. Bull would get his answer eventually. It was easiest to just give it over willingly. "Great, honestly. He's always initiating it, so I never get anxious about asking. He knows all sorts of positions and has a brilliant mouth." He couldn't help the fact that his face softened whenever he talked about Mallory. He was in love and all too willing to talk about his Inquisitor forever.

Bull hummed in thought. "Is she in or out of skirts in bed?"

"Huh?"

"You know, does she get all done up lady-like or is she actually naked when you two go at it?" Thom paused.

"Uh, usually he's all dolled up," he said. "It makes him a lot more confident, expressive. He's more into it as Mallie." The expression on Bull's face wasn't great.

"Go-to position?"

"Hands and knees."

"Second best?"

"Over the side of the bed. Or the desk."

"And the third?"

"Him on top, riding me." Bull smiled at this one. "It's best on a chair." Bull's smile faded slightly. "Maker, the muscles on his back are amazing." Bull's smile was gone, replaced by exasperation. "What?"

"Rainier. Have you considered that maybe, just maybe, the fact that she's so insecure about her dick is because every position you two are in has her facing away from you so you can't see it?"

"Oh." Thom was silent for a moment. "I don't suggest-"

"Doesn't matter who initiates it. All she knows is that you've never made an effort to both fuck and kiss her."

"Ah, shit." Bull smiled slightly.

"Hey, it's fixable," he chuckled. "All you have to do is get her on her back," he said. "Prop her hips up a bit and just watch her melt. Jerk her off." Thom nodded. "She'll love it. Get to see all those cute little freckles, too." Thom smiled at the thought. He loved Mallory's freckles.

"Thanks, Bull." He paused. "I mean it."

"Anything for the Boss," he smiled. Thom knew that Bull cared for more for Mallory than he did Rainier, but it didn't exactly hurt. Cross-dressing and killing an entire family were two completely different offenses.

• • ♡ • •

"Sundown, no makeup." Mallory froze as Thom whispered into his ear, a large, warm hand on his shoulder. Thom smiled to himself as he noticed how the Inquisitor's ears went slightly red at the sudden switch in role. It was unusual for Thom to be the one to initiate anything. He heard a soft alright come from Mallie's shimmery pink lips as he walked toward the barn, leaving the Inquisitor standing outside the tavern.

It wasn't what he was used to, but damn did it feel good to tell the Inquisitor himself what to do. Of course, he'd probably go weak in the knees the next time Mallie threaded his fingers through Thom's beard and whispered filthy desires into his ear where everyone could see them. It more often than not left him sitting at his table for far too long as he tried to think of less arousing things.

Men. Thom narrowed his eyes at his reflection, dragging a comb through his beard. Mallie is a man. And you love him. Andraste's tits, Rainier, you are in love with a man and it feels perfectly natural. It was unsettling.

He couldn't deny the fact that sometimes he caught himself thinking about Mallie the way he used to—soft curves beneath armor, large, soft breasts, and a plump, beautiful cunt between soft thighs. But that wasn't the real Mallie. She was a fantasy contrived in the mind of a depraved man longing for a woman to lie with that looked at him with love in her eyes. Mallory was strong arms and pudge on his muscled body, freckles and a chubby backside. And a frankly impressive shaft.

Your man-girlfriend's cock is almost as big as yours... His hand paused in its task for a moment. And you're fine with it. He shook his head and moved on to combing his hair. I think. He didn't like the doubts he had. Not in his affection for Mallory—no, that was unquestionably there—but the doubts of whether or not he liked other men. He reasoned that since he'd never taken it up the ass or put a cock in his mouth, it didn't really count. Mallory was a one-off. A little anomaly in his sexual history. Sure, that's it, the voice in his head thought, sarcastic. Mallory's just special. You keep telling yourself that. Maybe it'll be true one day. He shut his eyes and shook his head, trying to flush the feelings out. Mallory was what mattered right now, not the nasty voices in his head. He placed the comb on the table, tossed the black cloth back over the mirror, and left the stables.

• • ♡ • •

Mallory wasn't in his room. The door was unlocked, however, so Thom knew he was in there. Somewhere. Though unlocked usually meant Mallie. When Mallory was without his precious makeup, the door was rarely unlocked, lest someone come in and see him freckled. Or masturbating.

"Mallie?" Thom called out, his hand on the banister as his eyes scanned the room. Candles were lit, meaning that someone had been in here incredibly recently—the sun had set less than ten minutes ago. "Come on, sweetheart." He managed to make himself a little flustered as the little petname so casually slipped out.

"Just sit down on the bed. I'll- Just for a minute." Mallory's voice made Thom jump. "I'll, I'll be out in a second, honey." Thom sat down on the large canopy bed, the soft mattress feeling heavenly when compared to the hay bales he slept on in the loft. He was still too shy to ask for a permanent place in the Inquisitor's bed. A loud, anxious part of him still screamed that he was unworthy of such closeness, such intimacy. He hated that part. And many others.

The door to the Inquisitor's private bathing chambers opened slightly, and Mallory popped his head out, hesitant, smiling nervously at the man on his bed. Thom smiled back, giving him a quick wave of hello.

"I- Sorry I took so long," he said, pretty blue eyes avoiding looking at Thom. He was wearing a loose pair of trousers and a shirt with the sleeves cut off. He looked quite good. "I, I guess I got caught up on the whole no makeup thing," he said, smiling nervously.

"Mallory, I've seen you without makeup before," Thom smiled. He placed a hand to Mallory's soft cheek. "You look very handsome." The skin beneath his palm grew hot as the Inquisitor's face turned pink.

"Shut up, no I don't," he said, averting his eyes.

"And why would you think that?" Thom asked, fingers gently tracing the lines of Mallory's jaw.

"Because it's true?" He shrugged.

Thom shook his head, in a sort of disbelief that Mallory Trevelyan had the capability to think himself ugly. The way the orange candlelight danced in his blue eyes, the unreal softness of his face, and the beauty of his body made such a statement utterly ridiculous. Thom leaned forward, kissing the Inquisitor gently on his warm, freckled cheek.

"Come on, let's just get to it," he chuckled. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"It's been, like, four days," Mallory laughed softly.

"But it's been over a month since I've seen you like this," Thom offered, his eyes slowly going down Mallory's body.

"Oh..."

"Hey, don't sound so disappointed," he chuckled, his free hand coming to rest on Mallory's waist. "Honestly, when we're in bed, it's your body I'm focusing on, not the makeup." Mallory seemed almost relieved by that. Contradictory.

"Well thank the Maker you're not focusing on my face," he laughed quietly, sounding both relieved and nervous. Thom's eyebrows creased.

"Actually, that's why I came here," he said. "I want to see your face. I don't want to just keep seeing your back."

"Oh, Thom..." Mallory's smile was sad, like he knew something he wished he didn't. "You really don't want to see my face."

"Yes... I do."

"No, no." Mallory shook his head. "I look... so ugly during sex, sweetie," he smiled, moving to drape his arms over Thom's shoulders. "Besides, my back half is the most important one, isn't it?"

"You're all the important one," Thom said, looking up slightly at the Inquisitor. "I don't want just half of you." Mallory was silent. "And besides," he smiled, "how would you even know what your face looked like during sex, anyway?" Mallory kept his lips shut tight, nervous. "Mallie?"

"I... lost my virginity in front of a mirror," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. He seemed to regret speaking as soon as he finished.

"Okay," Thom said, decently confused. "I'm going to ask you to elaborate on that."

"Uh, yeah," Mallory nodded, managing to stay distant despite still having his arms around Thom's shoulders. "I usually had sparring practice with dad at seven, and he sprained his wrist—so practice was off, of course—and I decided to spend the rest of the evening with my dresses and makeup and..." He swallowed hard. "And I forgot the servants did laundry at half past seven." Thom listened closely to every word. "And he, he thought I looked... nice, I guess. But he didn't like men, and, and I ended up on my hands and knees in front of my mirrors. He wanted to pretend I was just a woman. I ended up with carpetburn on my knees..."

"Hold old were you?"

"Seventeen." Highly impressionable. Thom knew from experience that opinions about oneself formed at such an age were difficult to shake. Hands and knees. Just a woman.

And there we have it, Thom thought. Only in a dress, only facing away. Damn idiot thinks that's the only way he's desirable. He shook his head, and felt Mallory tense. "I still don't understand why you're against me seeing your face, though," he said, tilting his head in confusion. "You have a beautiful face, Mallie."

"I have... ugly expressions," he cringed.

Thom paused for a second. "Were you in pain?"

"Kinda," Mallory shrugged. "I don't know why you're asking that..." Thom sighed, moving both his hands to grip Mallory's waist tight. He moved to pin him to the bed, the movements of the Inquisitor implying to a degree he was willing to go along with it. "Thom?"

"I won't make you if you really don't want to," he sighed. "But please, just once?" Mallory hesitated, and then nodded. Thom smiled.

Clothes were taken off slowly, with Thom being the first naked. Mallory was far more hesitant, still so painfully insecure about bedmates seeing him without his usual female facade. Rugged hands traced the lines of softly defined muscles on the Inquisitor's abdomen, making him squirm. He was slightly ticklish. Kisses on his neck, his chest, and his stomach made him sigh, hands gripping at Thom's hair. He was gently pulled back as soon as he neared the lower half of Mallory's stomach, kept away from what was between his legs.

Thank the Maker, Thom thought, I do not think I am at that level yet. Oil was taken from the nightstand, slicking three of Thom's fingers.

"Can I...?" He asked, holding his hand between Mallory's legs. They were both fully aroused, and Thom couldn't help the fact that his eyes kept flickering back down to the thing the Inquisitor was most insecure about. It was impressive. Mallory nodded, hooking his legs around Thom's waist, feet falling on the small of his back. He jolted slightly as a finger pushed in, his eyes closing. His hands gripped the quilt beneath him, fists closing around bundles of fabric. "You alright?"

"I look awful, don't I?" He smiled nervously. Thom pushed in another finger, watching the way Mallory's chest rose and fell, his lips falling open slightly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Thom chuckled, pumping his fingers in and out of the Inquisitor's beautiful body.

"Oh, don't fuck with me, Thom," he sighed, too distracted by the way he was being pulled apart to put any weight behind his words.

"Don't worry, I'm not," he smiled, leaning forward to press his cheek against Mallory's. The fact that he didn't have to worry about rubbing Mallie's makeup off onto his beard was certainly a positive.

As he backed off slightly, he curled his fingers, trying to see if he could hit Mallory's sweet spot at the new angle. It didn't take long.

"Thom!" Mallory's eyes flew open, his lips apart as he writhed on the bed. Thom loved it when he could get the Inquisitor like that—distracted by pleasure, only focusing on his body. Because when Mallory focused on Thom's body, he wasn't focusing on the man that he'd once known as the Warden Blackwall. On the battlefield and in bed, just being the man at Inquisitor's side was best. Or, in this case, the man on top of the Inquisitor.

I mean, I can see why he thinks the way he does, Thom thought, smiling to himself beneath his beard. Mallory's eyes were once again squeezed shut, his mouth wide open and slight bits of drool on his bottom lip. But he still looks adorable... Even if he kinda looks like he's going to retch. He pushed a third finger in, watching the muscles on Mallory's abdomen twitch.

"For, for the love of the Maker, Thom! Hurry up!" Thom lovingly rolled his eyes at the Inquisitor's insistence. With his free hand, Thom managed to coat himself in oil, not realizing how needy he was until he felt that first contact of his hand on his shaft. He removed his hands, wiping excess oil on the bedsheets, and lining himself up with Mallory's entrance. "Fuck!" Strong legs squeezed Thom's midsection like a corset as he slowly pushed in. The feeling was decently foreign, the new position allowing him to feel his lover's desperation far better. His hands held tightly to the quilt on either side of Mallory's shoulders.

"You have no idea how nice this is," he smiled, groaning slightly under the strain of not simply thrusting in without hesitation. He knew he wouldn't break Mallory, of course, but he didn't want to ruin the experience for the poor man by shoving in like a brute.

"Don't even start," Mallory said, voice deeper than usual in arousal. "Don't spew some bullshit about me being cute or shit, just fuck me!"

"I can multi-task," he laughed, speeding up his thrusts.

"You really don't have to... Oh, fuck," Mallory moaned deeply, catching Thom decently off guard. "Just shut up and fuck me, please."

Thom did as he was asked, still slightly rattled by how masculine Mallory sounded. It was rare for the man to do a single masculine thing on any given day. Well, I suppose it does make sense, Thom thought. I am sleeping with a man, after all. He shook his head and took comfort in the fact that Mallory's eyes were closed—that he wasn't watching Thom's small internal conflict. Soft moans laden with Thom's name were constantly spilling past Mallory's soft, pink lips.

"Faster," he whispered, almost too quiet to hear over the sound of their bodies hitting together and the creaking of the wooden bed frame. Thom sped up his rhythm, his breath beginning to be become strained at the way Mallory stayed tight in pleasure around him, his warmth heavenly along his length.

The minutes rolled by, the white noise of lovemaking constant in their ears. Thom delighted in their newfound position, and spent most of his time gazing at the Inquisitor's face. He found himself smiling at how blissed-out the man looked—eyes half-closed and looking back toward the headboard, lips apart and slightly drooling, and his meticulously maintained eyebrows pushed together.

To think I can make him look like that... Thom felt his abdomen tighten at the thought of having the Inquisitor himself melt in his hands. In my hands... His mind wandered back to what Bull had mentioned in the tavern.

Prop her hips up a bit and just watch her melt. Jerk her off.

Fuck it. His right hand wandered down to between Mallory's legs. Just grab his cock, Rainier. Maker knows you've jerked your own a million times. He attempted to keep his thrusts at a consistent rhythm.

As soon as he touched him, Mallory jumped.

"Thom!" He gasped, legs managing to tighten even further around Thom's waist. Before he could apologize for his wandering hand, Mallory came hard onto Thom's stomach. "Oh, Rainier!" His eyes were wide open, blue eyes black with lust, and his mouth open as he moaned. Loudly. It felt like his entire front was covered in semen, but he really didn't care. What truly mattered was the fact that Mallory got really tight when he came, and that it felt amazing.

"Mallie!" Thom groaned, his thrusts halting as he buried himself deep into the Inquisitor, finishing into him. He felt sweat rolling down the side of his face, neck, back, everywhere. He was utterly drained. Pulling out, he fell to Mallory's side, trying to catch his breath. For a minute, everything was quiet.

And then he heard a soft sniffle come from his right. When he looked over, he saw the Inquisitor rubbing at his eyes, bottom lip quivering.

Shit. "Are you alright, Mallory?" A quick nod. A pause. A shake of his head. Thom instantly sat up, reaching down with his cleaner hand to cup Mallory's soft face. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he whimpered, his face covered by his hands. "I'm sorry, I'm ruining things again!"

"Hey, no, don't do that, you're not ruining anything, sweetheart," he said, trying to coax the hands away from Mallory's face. "Did something happen?" He asked again.

"I don't know," he repeated. Circular conversations with Mallory were nothing new. Thom sighed and laid back down, gently pulling him against his chest. Neither minded the residue left between them. "I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," Thom said. "Take your time."

"I'm sorry, Thom." A slight pause. "I- You have all this shit you need to deal with, you have all this, this Blackwall baggage, and I know you're tough and you don't need me to help you so much, but I'm just making everything about myself, and-"

"Hey," Thom said, cutting Mallory off. "Don't talk about that like you're not helping me." Mallory rolled over and looked up at Thom, his eyes ever so slightly bloodshot. "Do you not realize how much you're doing for me?" He sighed. "You call me Thom and you love me just the way I am. Even I don't call myself Thom sometimes, least of all love myself." Mallory seemed to shrink into himself. "You do more for me than I could have ever asked for. The least—the absolute least—thing I can do in return is to help you get over this insecurity you have with your body."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," Thom said again, smiling softly. "I love you, Mallory."

"I love you, too, Thom."

They were quiet for a moment. "Do we really have to clean up?"

"Nah," Mallory smiled. "I can call for the sheets to be washed tomorrow."

They ended up under the covers, bodies pressed together. Neither of them desired to do anything else. Despite the recent activity, Thom could still smell Mallory's rose perfume soap in his hair. His hand rested on the Inquisitor's soft stomach, his eyes heavy as his breathing slowed.

"Thom?" His eyes blinked open slowly at Mallory's soft voice. "I... thanks," he said, shy.

"No problem," Thom smiled, nuzzling his face into Mallory's soft blond hair. "It was my pleasure."

"Yeah," Mallory said, his smile audible. "You seemed pretty into it."

"Hey, I'm into it every time," Thom chuckled, pressing his body closer. "You just saw me this time. It goes both ways."

"You- oh, shut up," Mallory groaned, a smile on his face as he turned over in bed to weakly push at Thom's chest. "Stop doing that sweet thing!"

"Wasn't it you who told me not to lie?" He asked, pinching a flawless, freckled cheek. "I'm sticking to my word, you know."

Mallory buried his face in Thom's beard, his ears red. "Stupid," he muttered, muffled slightly. Thom smiled softly and ran his hands through the pale blond hair, the warmth of their bodies making the bed not uncomfortable but cozy. "You're being stupid."

"No I'm not," Thom sighed. For someone so obsessed with his looks, Mallory was seemingly unable to accept compliments on anything other than his feminine appearance. And you're not any different, Thom thought. Well, Thom couldn't take any compliments except for the ones about his physical strength on the battlefield. He ruffled Mallory's hair, making him squirm.

"You're messing up my hair..." he whined.

"I think your hair was already messy."

"Yeah, but you're making it worse."

"Sorry, then," he chuckled.

"Mhmm," Mallory groaned, yawning.

"You should probably sleep."

"You too," he mumbled. "Goodnight, Thom."

"Night, Mallie." He paused. "Mallory."

"Shhh..." A sleepy hand wiggled its way up to Thom's mouth, weakly covering it. "Mallie is gonna sleep." Sometimes, it was difficult to tell if he was drunk or tired. Thom really hoped it was just tired this time.

In a matter of minutes, the Inquisitor was completely asleep. His slow breathing pressed his chest against Thom's. It wasn't uncomfortable. The candles in the room had gone out ten minutes or so ago, leaving them in complete darkness, the moon blocked by the thick clouds gathering over the mountains. In the darkness, the Inquisitor was nothing but a warm bundle of muscle, with Thom not much different. Old and new identities meant nothing when it was just skin on skin in the silent darkness, eyes unable to see whether or not one was wearing makeup, and ears unable to hear false names.

You two are really a match made in heaven, huh?

Yeah, we are.

[mango-parfait]

More OCs! I should try and replay DA2 because I barely remember anything about it 

Part 1 here!

[emmavakarian-theirin]

I wanted to explain why I couldn’t be with you, but you found Blackwall’s badge and I… I lost my nerve. You wanted me to be him… *I* wanted to be him.

[a-driftamongopenstars]

from that moment on; inquisitor x blackwall fic;

From That Moment On (also on ao3) rating: M; 953 words; Inquisitor Lavellan x Blackwall; finally got around to writing some purple prose about my favourite oc and her loving man <3

Sylani knew from the moment she saw Blackwall awaiting on her balcony that she would not sleep alone that night.

Catching breath in-between their kisses, she gently touched the fronts of his coat. It was an invitation that she couldn't put to words, but could show him. 

read on ao3

[jawsandbones]

I've never prompted you before, so I don't know if this is the right way to do it, but what about a Blackwall and Sera friendship shenanigans?

They sit together, side by side,underneath the towering shade of Skyhold. Sera holds a bowl of marshmallows ofher lap, which Blackwall happily helps himself to occasionally. They watch asMahanon once again adjusts the bow in Dorian’s hands, places the arrow for him.Standing behind him, drawing back his arm. Sera chortles to a snort when thearrow flies pathetically into the ground. “Who do you think approached who?”Blackwall asks.

“Well, it’ll be Nan, innit?”Sera says, one cheek filled like a chipmunk.

“Really? But Dorian seems like thesort of person to flirt first.”

“Flirt, ye, but askin’ bout serious things? Makin’ things serious? That’sall Nan. He’s got all the guts,” Sera says, shoving another marshmallow intoher mouth. They watch as he rocks with laughter as Nan hands over the arrow toDorian, and he snatches it away, slaps it against the bow to try again.

“Dorian has plenty of guts,”Blackwall says, “he risked his life to come to Ferelden and help us, if youremember.” Sera vigorously shakes her head, the chopped bits of her hair flyingwildly. She speaks with her mouth still half full.

“Not those guts. He’s plenty brave ‘n’ good, if it ain’t about him. Personalstuff, yeah? It’s easy t’fight, not so easy t’be vulnerable like that, withanother person,” she says.

“You’re surprisingly insightful,”Blackwall says, reaching over to steal one of the few that’s left. Sera shrugs,tilts her head, a wide grin on her face.

“I know.” They sit in mostlysilence, watching as Nan whispers into Dorian’s ear, puts his hands over his inorder to guide the arrow. They pull back the bow together… and this time itmakes its mark. It lands solidly square at the bottom of the target, but it’son the target nonetheless. Nan cheers the loudest, wrapping arms around Dorian’swaist in order to pick him up and spin him. Even from so far away, Sera andBlackwall can hear Dorian’s half-hearted protests.

Two heads turn and follow thesingle figure which makes its way across the courtyard, past Nan and Dorian.Solas carries books in arms, pays no mind to all the rest. “Oi,” Sera says,putting the bowl down on the stone beside her, “d’ye think he ever, you know –”she makes crude thrusting motions with her hands “– spirits in the fade?”Blackwall instantly erupts into wild laughter, holding his belly as though it mightburst, taken with delight.

“Oh, next time I get the chance, I am asking him,”he says.

[trvelyans-archive]

he should be better at this by now. all those years of dueling and fighting and he still can’t manage to patch himself up after a battle. either his hands are too shaky or he’s too tired from blood loss - a thought that doesn’t really do any good to calm him down, either - and he ends up piercing himself with the needle or tying the bandages too loose. one day he’s going to bleed out, he thinks.

maybe he deserves it. he supposes he does.

normally, he starts by soaking the bloodied cloth in stagnant alcohol and cleaning the point of the needle and unraveling the bandage so that it’s strewn across his lap for easy access and then works and works with gritted teeth until the wound is wrapped up and he can move without feeling faint, but this time he’s struggling - the gash is on his back, and he can barely reach it no matter what way he contorts his torso or angles his arms. he’s about to give up and let himself die when he hears the door to the cabin creak open.

“blackwall?”

he can place the accent’s origin at once - ostwick - and he knows without looking that it’s the herald. blackwall shoots up out of his seat and crosses his arms self-consciously across his hairy, scarred chest - he can’t remember the last time someone saw him wearing anything less than a full suit of armor, especially not someone so... fit and handsome himself.

maker, is he a fool, but he continues to cover himself up nevertheless.

“what are you doing in here?” madin asks, standing in the doorway with the sun shining so brightly behind him to the point that it’s nearly blinding and blackwall has to raise a hand to block it out.

“trying to... patch myself up,” blackwall answers with a hollow laugh. “i shouldn’t have agreed to that last round with the recruit, i think. they were more than a match for me - to my surprise, as you can probably tell.”

madin had entered the cabin as he spoke and is now reaching back to close the door, but blackwall clears his throat. he’s already flustered at the sight of the other man - anything more will be too much. “erm - what are you doing?” he questions, fearing, almost immediately, that it sounds too much like a demand.

“i’m going to patch you up, of course,” madin answers, repeating the phrase with a teasing lilt and the sound of a smile in his voice that makes blackwall begin to feel a smile growing on his own face, too.

he quickly shakes it away, however. “you must have better things to do than take care of an old man like me -”

“i don’t,” madin insists, smile turning into a grin that stretches from ear to ear as he reaches blackwall. “i help my friends. and don’t call me ‘herald’, please.”

blackwall tries not to think about madin’s hand cupping his shoulder and easing him back into the chair as he struggles to come up with a good reply. “what should i call you, then?” he asks as the other man and his hand disappear behind him and begin to tinker with the bandages on the table. “’mage?’”

it was meant to be a joke, but it’s not a good one - blackwall regrets it as soon as it leaves his lips. thankfully, madin is smart - or perhaps tolerable is a better word - and takes no offense. “no, thank you.” when he touches blackwall next, his fingers are gentle and gliding. “my name is fine.”

“i quite like herald,” blackwall grunts.

“would you like me to call you ‘warden’?”

“... fair point.”

madin pulls up a second chair and, after settling down in it, runs his newly ointment coated fingers over the older man’s back. “you’re rather bruised. aren’t wardens meant to be fighters?”

“darkspawn are different than soldiers who are barely even adults,” blackwall answers, “though i expect they have the same size of brain.”

“watch your tone,” madin says with feigned ferocity, “i’m barely an adult.” as if blackwall needed a reminder - which he says aloud without even realizing until madin laughs, and the sound is round and ripe with youth and blackwall feels bad for just listening.

“you’re different,” he replies with a ambivalent wave of his hand.

madin’s fingers stop their slow-moving work. “oh, am i?”

blackwall’s heard that suggestive tone in his voice before - it’s sweet and sultry at the same time and, maker, it’s enough to make the old warrior’s knees buckle out from underneath him which, he realizes quickly enough, was probably the point. it’s a good thing he’s sitting down. a blush creeps onto his cheeks as he struggles to reply with a strangled “yes”.

he needs to get better at flirting, he tells himself, immediately followed by: this isn’t flirting. 

... but, while blackwall doesn’t know much, he knows when someone is making him look like an absolute fool.

“try to take better care of yourself,” madin suggests then, his voice now soft, earnest, the same as the touch of his hands which are now wrapping a bandage around blackwall’s torso (after a little urging for the man to raise his arms). “i don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

blackwall isn’t sure if the friendliness is worse or better than the flirting. “i wear myself out doing most things nowadays, i’m afraid,” he replies as casually as he can manage. he isn’t that old, realistically, but he sure feels like it, especially when someone so much younger than him is in charge. “something i’m sure you won’t understand for a long time.”

madin secures the bandage with a small silver pin and pats it down until it lays flat. “i’m not that young,” he replies with the slightest hint of indignation. “i’m probably older than you imagine.”

“you don’t look it.”

after the words leave his mouth, blackwall’s blushing again, and madin can only tsk behind him. “you’ve been doing a lot of inspecting, then, have you?”

it was a meaningless enough statement, but everything feels scandalous when blackwall’s flirting - no, not flirting, he tells himself, talking - skills are under what feels like such close scrutiny from such an outrageously handsome man. “are you finished, then?” blackwall asks. ���if you are, you can... go ahead and leave. i mean... because you probably have things to do and i, erm...”

he sighs and runs a hand through his hair, noting, to his own horror, the sweat beading at his hairline. “and i need to get my foot out of my mouth.”

madin just laughs again. “i’m sure that will be quite the ordeal for such an old man like you.” he pushes his chair away and stands up, placing a hand on blackwall’s bare upper back. “let me know if your bones start crumbling. we’ll need to make different arrangements for our trip to the fallow mire tomorrow, if so.”

“ha-ha,” blackwall replies mirthlessly. “when i turn into a pile of bones and skin with wrinkles, you’ll be the first to know.”

“i had better be,” madin says as he turns on his heel and slowly begins to cross the room. “good day, blackwall.”

“good day, hera -”

madin whirls around and shoots him a playful look.

“... trevelyan,” blackwall finishes finally.

madin heaves a dramatic sigh. “we’ll work on it.” 

despite his previous movements to go, his playful look lingers until it turns into a stare, and then all of a sudden he’s shaking his head, turning around again and tossing a wave over his shoulder. ‘i hope to see you at the tavern this evening’ is the last thing he says before pushing through the door and letting it slam shut behind him with a force that leaves blackwall’s ears ringing.

a few seconds pass before blackwall blinks himself back to attention and reaches to where he had thrown his shirt onto the floor. “blast it all,” he grumbles as he dresses once more, cursing himself for being such an idiot. now there’s more than one thing he needs to get better at.

[witchofthewild]

Y’all I’m clowning so hard ig I’m a m!inquisitor x Blackwall hoe now aghsjfj

[a-gay-bloodmage]

—Not Mal. Not Mallie. Mallory.—

Pairing: Blackwall x Male Trevelyan

Pairing Type: M/M

Words: 1,534

Warnings: Cross-dressing, Angst, Implied NSFW, Thom Rainier is Surprisingly Blind for someone who lived under a fake identity for Years, and As If Blackwall is Actually Straight, I am Bisexual and I can Smell a Fellow Trash Queer, my Inquisitor is a Bundle of Anxiety and I Love Him, Just a Big Gay Mess

Every footstep seemed to be louder than the last as he stepped into the barn. That lovely, homey barn full of those pretty carvings. Blackwall, no, Thom, stood behind his bench, and set down his tools as he heard Mallory come in. Or, perhaps, in his mind, Mallie.

"Ah," he said, looking up. "It's... it's nice to see you, my Lady." The lump in Mallory's throat bobbed under his pink scarf.

"Blackwall-" He caught himself. "Thom," he said, shifting from foot to foot. "Can we... talk?" The faux Warden sighed, nodding soberly as he stepped out from behind his table.

"Of course, my Lady," he said, looking up at Mallory. An inch taller. Six foot even.

"Could you, uh, do me a favor?" He asked, staring at the floor.

"Of course," Thom nodded, a hesitant hand resting on his Mallie's arm. Mallory's stomach turned. "What do you need?”

"I- we need to talk." The warm hand fell from his bicep. "In my chambers. Alone.”

"As you wish, my Lady," he nodded once more, always so hesitant around the Inquisitor. Thom, he walked on eggshells where Blackwall had walked on ice. Careful, always, but now, so much more so.

Mallory led the way, walking slowly through Skyhold, avoiding the passages with the people. He didn't want them to see their Inquisitor's lip quiver as it did, their Herald's eyes watering. He kept his back to Thom.

The door creaked open, and shut behind them, locked.

"My Lady," he sighed, head hanging. "If you wish for my lying self to go, just say it." Words hung heavy in the air. "There's no need for ceremony.”

"This isn't about you, Thom," he said, bright blue eyes looking anywhere but at the other man. "I've already told you, I love Thom just as I loved Blackwall."

"Then what's going on?" He asked, hunched shoulders and fidgeting hands.

"When I learned about your past," Mallory said, eyes fallen to the cold, stone floor, "I understood. What it's like to live like that, I, I know.”

"Please, my Lady," he said, breath heavy. "Mallie. You're the Herald through no fault of your own. People believed in the story, you went along with it, it's real. I lied.”

"I'm not talking about Andraste!" Mallory flinched at his own tone. Far too loud. Unladylike. Thom's bearded face knotted in confusion.

"Then what-?”

"I understood because I know what it's like to be someone you're not," he said, hand shaking. "Because the lie is easier to believe than the truth.”

"I don't follow." A black teardrop rolled down Mallory Trevelyan's face, eyeliner dripping to the floor. "Inquisitor, what's going on?" Another black droplet. "Please, my Lady-”

"That," he said, quiet and yet so forceful. "That's the problem. That's the lie." He leaned back against the end on the bed.

"My Lady?" Thom Rainier fell silent as he watched quaking hands slowly unbutton the little white buttons on the pretty pink blouse.

"I love you," Mallory said, almost numb as button after button came undone. "But I lied like you. I lied-" A button. "- and I lied-" Another button. "- and I lied some more." A lacy white bra and a tightly done corset. A pretty pink blouse fell onto the quilt. "A name, a past, I understood." Carefully braided hair came undone, falling past his hunched, shaking shoulders. "And a title.”

"I don't understand," Thom whispered. "This, this strip show," he stuttered, "what are you doing? You're the Inquisitor, even if your ruddy shirt's of.”

"Not Inquisitor," he said, light blond hair waving as he shook his head. "My Lady.”

"My... Lady?”

"I'm, I'm not your Lady." Hands reached back, grabbing the hook on the lacy white undergarment. "I'm not that. I'm a, a-" Words caught in his throat, choking him. "I'm an undesirable, mad, stupid, lying-" The offensive undergarment was tossed to the floor. "- man." Thom was silent as shameful black tears fell onto a pretty, white skirt. Such shameful contrast.

"You're... You're a man...”

Mallory nodded. "I'm a liar. I lied to you. You liked a lady. A nice, pretty lady. Who wore pretty things and talked with her hands and cried over jewelry.”

"And Mallie?" Thom asked, making the Inquisitor look up. "What's the real name beneath it?”

"Mallory." He paused. "Mal," he spat, quiet, but venomous. "Mal is a little princeling. He sits up straight and behaves like his father wants. But... not as he wants. Mallie," he sighed, "Mallie is a princess," he said, a sad smile on his painted lips. "Mallie wears pink and white, and she smiles, and all the pretty boys think she's pretty, too. They love a lady who's ladylike, who likes, no, loves what she is. Girly. Wearing that pink and white, that lace and frill. It makes her feel pretty and loved. And as much as she wanted that special boy to love her back, Mal got in the way," his voice broke. "He always gets in the way.”

"Take it off." The command jarred him, his body going rigid.

"Huh?”

"The clothing. Take it all off. All the makeup, the Mallie." Thom's eyebrows pressed together as he spoke. "I, I want to see Mallory." Not Mal. Not Mallie. Mallory.

"Of course, Thom," he whispered, head hung in shame. He stood, weak arms pushing himself from the bed. He walked slowly to the small vanity in the corner of the room. Dangling pink earrings and a pretty silver necklace were placed carefully on the dark wooden surface. "Just, turn around, please," he said. Thom complied. "I always liked surprises," he said, dipping the washcloth in the basin. "I guess this is the last one I can give you. I, I hope it's not such a bad one." The room was silent save the dripping of water into the bowl. The basin was slowly turning from clear to the colour of pale skin, of pink, and of the black eyeliner.

A corset fell to the floor, soon covered by a pretty pink scarf and a ruined skirt. He dried his face, refusing to look in the mirrors. His soft footsteps echoed in the still chambers as he moved to stand behind the faux Warden.

"I- you can turn around now.”

It was instinctual, those two steps back as Thom Rainier saw Mallory Trevelyan for the first time.

"I-" He paused, his pale, stormy grey eyes running down the length of the Inquisitor's exposed body. "I said everything." Mallory nodded, nervous hands slowly removing his linens, leaving them discarded on the floor. "I, uh..." Mallory's face lit up in red-hot embarrassment as he hugged himself, looking anywhere but at the man staring, mouth slightly agape at the thing that made so many men what they were. Men. "I can't believe..." His voice sounded almost... impressed. "How in the Maker's name do you fit that thing into those tight trousers you wear?" Blush spread to his torso, his blue eyes wide as he realized what had just came out of Thom's mouth.

"Uh... carefully?" He said, shrugging as his heart quivered.

He jolted as he felt gloved hands grab his waist, looking into Thom's eyes as he was pushed into the grand bed.

"I'm sorry," Mallory offered, not sure what to say as he was held to the bed by his waist, soft corners digging into the small of his back.

"I will admit, it's... not my pint of ale," he sighed, looking down at the Inquisitor's body. Mallory's heart sank. "But," Thom continued, "what sort of man would I be if I turned down a perfectly good pint?" Wide blue eyes met hesitant grey, staying open even as the greys closed and their lips met. Mallory kissed back, his hands moving to wrap around his knight's back.

"Thom," he sighed as their lips broke apart, bodies still pressed together. "I..." I don't know what to say.

"Have freckles," he said, finishing the sentence Mallory never meant to start. A soft leather glove brushed against the smooth, freckled skin. "They're... quite pretty." A soft smile appeared on the Inquisitor's lips.

"You... want this?" He asked after a moment, hesitant. "Me?”

"I'll take whatever you want to be," Thom said, his words like a Warden's vow. "Mallie or Mallory. It's the same person, isn't it?" Mallory nodded. "Trousers, skirts, they... they both look good on you, my La-" He paused, pursing his lips. "My... Whatever." He smiled, shaking his head. "My Whatever.”

"Your Whatever," Mallory nodded, a grin splitting his face. "I like it.”

"Me too.”

• • ♡ • •

Mallory couldn't remember the last time he woke up in somebody's arms without a hangover. He doubted that it had ever happened. But, as he looked over, and saw the man beside him, burly, rugged arms draped over soft, carefully shaven skin, he smiled as the morning light shone without consequence. He rolled his eyes with a wide, stupid smile, settling back down on the pillow, feeling the coarse black hair of his lover's body rub against his skin. He loved it—such delightful features. And even as he lay bare of all clothing, bare of all lies, he couldn't help but feel like Mallie had always wanted to.

Loved.