#meraadwrites

[wardenrainwall]

while working on my Time travel au for Blackwall/Disaster!Evelyn I'm struggling. I love my angry evelyn. And I'm trying to figure out how much of that would change with them living. She was never the outgoing, friendly type. Losing husband and son made that so much worse and she hated the world. But now they have lived and I cannot find her voice. damnit.

[fandom-age]

text overlaid atop the dragon age logo that reads "I want to show my appreciation for @andaran-atish-an/@meraadwrites. Her stories are so vibrant and beautiful, and I love the way her prose just pulls out all the feelings in me. She and her work are both amazing!"

[wardenrainwall]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: Mature 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) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Temporary Character Death, Angst Summary: When Evelyn Trevelyan is killed in the battle with the Qunari at the gathering of the Exalted Council, Thom Rainier decides he will do anything he can to prevent her from ever becoming the Inquisitor, no matter the cost.

--

Evelyn grinned listening to Isaak as they rode along on her horse towards the lake. He jabbered on and on about how excited he was to go ice skating and Evelyn was overjoyed to take him. She’d been home for a few months now, relieved from her service. Alexander was eager to get her with child, which made her enjoy those intimate moments far less now. It wasn’t fair of her to refuse him, she reminded herself. It was all he wanted, and it was her duty as his wife to abide. Or lose everything.

Drawing the horse to a stop, Evelyn simply sat there and stared at the lake, surrounded by beautiful white snow. “Mama,” Isaak wiggled in front of her. “Let’s go!”

“Alright, my baby,” she ducked her head and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and then dismounted and helped him down as well. Then she dug into the side pack and withdrew their ice skates. “Find a good spot to sit and put these on,” she told him and let him lead the way to a fallen log near the lake.

After helping him put on his skates, she sat and tugged on her own. “Wait for me,” Evelyn said as Isaak stood and inched his way toward the ice. The moment his skate touched the surface, his feet went out from beneath him and he landed on his rump. Evelyn chuckled and stood. “I said to wait for me.” Crossing the short distance she reached down, helped him to his feet, and grinning at his giggling excitement, she helped him onto the ice.

They skated around and around, both of them taking more than a few tumbles, all the while laughing and having fun. These were the moments, Evelyn thought, that made everything worth it.

“Mama, watch!” Isaak shouted as he skated away from her, did a little spin, and looked at her with a grin when he didn’t land on his backside. Evelyn clapped and let out a whoop.

“I think it is time for a break,” she told him, “how about some lunch?” They could build a little fire, have some hot drinks and food, skate a bit more before they had to pack up, and begin their way home once more.

“But I don’t wanna stop,” Isaak whined and Evelyn shook her head a little.

“Skate until lunch is ready,” she told him as she sat and tugged off her skates and laced her boots back on. Evelyn began to gather pieces of wood to build her fire, her eyes drifting to Isaak over and over again, watching him skate and fall and get up and do it all over again. Dropping her wood into a pile, she looked up again, and it all happened so quickly.

There was a pinging sound, loud in the quiet of the winter day, Isaak twirled, and then he vanished. Evelyn screamed, “Isaak!” then she was running, slipping on the ice in her boots as she raced to the hole in the ice. “Isaak!” she screamed his name again, feeling the ice cracking beneath her, but she couldn’t see him in the dark water. “No, no, no, no, no.” Sucking in a breath, she slid into the water, desperate to find her son.

Continue Reading over on the AO3

[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.

[wardenrainwall]

I am at a point where I feel like I am not going to ever write again, because brains and jobs are stupid, and for all the WIPs I have, I'll be 80 before I ever finish them.

Those bursts of inspiration are so few and far between these days that I'm grateful for the opportunity to actually sit and let the words pour out.

But I digress.

A snippit! A wee bit of writing, for Inquisitor Cerridwyn Lavellan.

--

A laugh exploded from Cerridwyn’s lips as her gaze met Blackwall’s across the dead body of the dragon they had just felled. They were alive. 

“Anyone injured?” Cassandra’s voice sounded very distant, as did the chorus of shouts from her companions. Her eyes stayed locked on Blackwall as he walked around the massive beast to where she stood.

“Are you alright?” he asked, taking one of her hands in his, it was then that she realized she was trembling. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” she managed to get out, “though, I think my hair is standing on end.” 

His smile was gentle as he reached up and smoothed a hand over the top of her head. “No more than usual,” he assured her, and she let out a laugh, but she couldn’t seem to get herself to take a step.

“Inquisitor, are you-”

“I’ve got her,” Blackwall called glancing away for a moment before looking back at her. “I’ve got you,” he said and she nodded and scooped her up, carrying her like a child, one arm behind her back, the other under her knees. “No, no go on ahead, we’ll catch up.” 

“Are you hurt?” Cerridwyn asked, lifting her head from where she’d rested it on his shoulder. He shook his head. “I can’t-” she started, feeling the trembling in her limbs getting worse. “I can’t go back there like this, they can’t see me-” falling apart. Because she was. They had taken down a dragon, with what seemed like minimal injuries, though her insides felt scrambled, and her skin was buzzing from the electricity it kept spewing out at them. 

Blackwall remained silent as he walked, and then she heard the sound of rushing water and knew they were some distance from camp. With a quiet groan, he sunk down onto a large flat rock, her still in his arms. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, and knowing they were alone and that he wouldn’t judge her, she cracked. A strangled sob escaped Cerridwyn’s lips and she pressed her face into his throat as she wept.

All the while he offered quiet words that soothed her, not empty promises that everything was okay, but realistic ones. That they had survived, they had done good and saved lives, and that he was there for her. 

It was a long time later that she shifted off his lap and onto the rock beside him. “How bad is it?” she asked, turning her face up to him. His gaze searched her face and then he jerked his head toward the running river a short distance away.

“Go splash some water on your face and they’ll never know.” Cerridwyn obeyed the directive and when she returned Blackwall held a glass vial out to her. “Drink up.” She opened her mouth to insist he do the same, but he waggled an empty one at her. “Already did,” he said and she smiled, then popped off the cork and downed the contents, and tucked the now empty vial into her own hip pouch before they began walking up the path and away from the river.

“Thank you,” she told him. “I…” glancing over she laughed slightly with a shake of her head. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you,” Cerridwyn told him and saw his cheeks go red as Blackwall ducked his head down. Leaning over she bumped him with her shoulder. Blackwall had been there for her after her first kill. He’d found her sick in the bushes, barely able to breathe, because she had killed another living, breathing person. 

In the beginning of her time with the Inquisition it had been all demons and monsters. But going to the Hinterlands, that had changed everything, and while she’d been surrounded by so many Inquisition troops, she’d had no other options finally. They’d only just met Blackwall a few hours earlier, but he’d seen it and he’d comforted her, and from that moment on he was the only one she wasn’t afraid to show vulnerability to. “You’re my best friend,” she told him and bumped his shoulder again, this time he let out a snort of laughter and bumped her back.

They arrived back in camp and found The Iron Bull celebrating their successful slaughter of the dragon with the others. Drinks were passed around, and loud stories were told, recounting the experience for those who hadn’t been there. The hour grew later, and everyone began heading off to tents and bedrolls, but Cerridwyn still sat there, now alone, staring into the fire. She still felt as if that dragon’s electricity was in her veins. 

Blackwall appeared at her side and held out a flask. “You need rest,” he said and Cerridwyn looked up at him, and eyed the flask before taking it and downing a quick swig. It burned a warm trail all the way down her throat and into her belly. “Everyone is alive, just some bruises and minor cuts, and we head back to Skyhold in the morning.” 

Perhaps that was part of her reluctance, going back meant all eyes were on her, more than when they were out and about. She’d had to make difficult decisions and lead a massive group of people who didn’t even believe in her Gods. Who believed she was chosen by a God she’d barely even heard of before going to the Conclave. “Yeah,” she said softly.

Blackwall shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then cleared his throat and when she looked up he was looking out past her, his cheeks beginning to turn pink. “And I’m sure there is at least one person waiting for you that will be happier than any of the others for your return,” he coughed again and she felt her own cheeks burn hot and laughed quietly. 

“Maybe,” she said and then took another drink and handed it back to Blackwall before pushing up to her feet. “You should get some rest as well,” she told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before retiring to her own tent, a soft smile curving her lips at the thought of her reunion with Cullen. They’d only been gone a week, and it was all still so very new, but the reminder was enough to withdraw her from that space she’d been in, the one of dread and worry and she crawled into her bedroll with gentler thoughts buzzing around in her head.

[wardenrainwall]

Hi! For the wip meme, i'd love to know more about the nightmares one and Lou and Bae

Okay, so the Nightmares is an attempted rewrite(with plot!) of one I'd done a few snippets of. Cullen has a daughter, who everyone in the Inquisition adores, including the dwarven inquisitor who is struggling to come to terms with her new lot in life, along with the very vivid dreams and nightmares.

“It wasn’t real,” she murmured to herself in quiet reassurance. “This is what is real. You’re not trapped in the deep roads. You’re not in a cave. The sky is above you and you can breathe-” her breath hitched on a half sob. Flexing her left hand, she held it out before her and stared at the green glow. “This is real, and it fucking hurts.” Tipping her head back, she looked up at the sky, took in the twinkling of lights, the glow from the terrifying rift, and let out a quiet, bitter laugh. This was the reality. “Wha’s funny?” a voice asked from beside Litha, surprising her. A little girl, who couldn’t be more than five or maybe six stood there, head tilted up and at an angle as if trying to figure out what Litha had been laughing at.  “What are you doing out at this hour?” Litha asked, stunned. Certainly, this little girl’s parents would be terrified to find their child gone, unless her parents had perished in the temple.  The girl held a finger up to her lips and quietly shushed her. “Papa doesn’ know.” Then the girl with long light brown waves sat down beside Litha. “You’re Harold,” she said, matter-of-factly.  Litha blinked in surprise, then laughed quietly, and this time it held genuine amusement. “The Herald, at least that is what some people call me, but you can call me Litha.” “‘M Gwen, ‘cept when papa gets mad. Then it’s Gwendolyn Mae.”

Lou and Bae is probably the 5,000th attempt at writing my Modern Girl in Thedas story, in which Blackwall claims the strange woman caught in the bowels of Skyhold is his wife whom he abandoned years ago.

Blinking, she tried so hard to get her vision to focus, but all she saw was a shadowy figure in front of her. No place like home, there is no place like home, she chanted in her head, clenching the eye that wasn’t already swollen closed shut. The hand on her jaw moved to grab her short hair and yanked her head back. Her already battered body screamed out in pain, but Eloise could only whimper.  “Who are you?” the figure leaned closer. A woman? Eloise wondered. Her voice was soft and accented but held a knife’s edge. “How did you get into the catacombs?” A tear leaked from the corner of Eloise’s swollen eye. She had no idea how she had ended up in the catacombs and had tried to leave silently and unnoticed, only she had been seen and fled from the soldiers wielding swords and daggers. “What are you doing here?” “Looking for me!” a voice cut through the din around her, and Eloise tried to look, but the woman’s grip tightened on the strands. But then, just beyond the woman, she saw him and Eloise would have laughed if she could have. Everything around her was fuzzy and unfocused. But she saw him. Felt that odd pull deep inside of her chest. She lurched forward as if she could free herself from her captors. It was him! Pain exploded up her leg as Eloise tried to pull away, to step toward him. “What have you done?” it came out an angry snarl and she flinched. “Take your hands off my wife.”

[wardenrainwall]

Tagged by the oh so lovely @illusivesoul, thanks so much! I suck though and haven't been on here much at all lately, and don't know who writes anymore. So please, lemme know if you wanna be tagged for this! I love this idea and would love to see yours!!

Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

We won't discuss how long it's been since I've touched some of these and the scribbled out ones are crochet patterns(not mine, ones I've found online)

[wardenrainwall]

a little something - I miss doing the writing on the regular.

Halina Adaar stood in the War Room, the small leather-wrapped parcel spread out on the massive war table that still held a map of Thedas. It contained three items. A beautiful white feather, a folded-up piece of parchment that looked as if it had been carried for a very long time, and lastly, a metal and leather badge that bore the Grey Warden’s sigil. The mark of the Warden-Commander, with a smear of old dried blood. 

She knew what it meant. Had suspected for some time even. But there had still been hope. But now, that hope had vanished. Unfolding the piece of paper with trembling fingers Halina began to read.

Dear Halina, My Love,

Tears filled her eyes and she struggled to swallow the sob lodged in her throat. 

I never expected to find love, to find a purpose, to find you. It wasn’t enough time. The few short years I’ve known you. The few months we spent together. A lifetime wouldn’t be long enough.

A tear rolled down her cheek, dripping onto the map spread on the table. The handwriting changed slightly, the flow of the ink, a little more unsteady.

It has been months since I last saw you at the Winter Palace since you nearly bleed to death in my arms. I’ve wished for things to be different. That you hadn’t sent me off to join the Wardens. Don’t get me wrong, I value the comrades I’ve made, and the purpose you’ve given me. But I’m wholly selfish and wish I could have found purpose at your side.

Halina’s jaw trembled and she regretted ever giving the command. Declaring that Blackwall would join the Grey Wardens before a room full of people had been a mistake. Because she was selfish too.

The color of ink shifted. The ink bold and crisp, words written much more recently.

They have found a cure. The Wardens are no longer condemned to a death in the Deep Roads. I leave for a mission in the morning, then I plan to return to Skyhold. I made you a ring and I plan to ask for your hand, well, the one that you’ve left.

You made me want to be a better man. You made me feel hope and love, and so much more than the pity I felt for myself for so many years. I can only hope that you’ll do me the honor of becoming my wife. 

The sob tore from her throat and with the letter clutched to her chest Halina hit her knees and began to wail.

Alistair walked at a fast clip toward the open door of the War Room. One of the scouts had informed him that was where he would find the Inquisitor. The package had been sent before he could stop them. He had wanted to deliver it in person, wanted to present her with the rest of the items found on Warden Rainier’s body in the hopes that it might offer some small comfort.

And he had wanted to be there, to offer a shoulder or an ear as someone who had lost a love to the Wardens as well. 

The sound that came from the War Room split his heart in two. He ran, sprinted, that remaining distance and when he burst past the doorway he found Halina, doubled over. She screamed, a sound full of the deepest of pains. Tears filled his own eyes, at remembered loss, at her palpable agony. Seeing the letter in her hand, he felt the tips of his ears burn hot with guilt. Alistair had read the letter, as he’d been there when they prepared Rainier’s body for burning. 

The letter and the ring had been tucked into a leather pocket inside Rainier’s gambeson. He’d carried the ring ever since so that he would be able to deliver it safely to the Inquisitor. Reaching up to the chain around his neck, he fingered the ring, the band of metal and stone and wood. Alistair had wanted to present them to her, with his deepest condolences, but now, he stood awkwardly a few short feet away from the woman mourning, unsure of what he should do. 

They weren’t friends, they had been mere acquaintances, companions in a few fights. To interrupt her now - his ears burned hotter. Alistair had no place here. He stepped back, eager to flee now, to find her later when these private tears had dried, and then he’d give her the ring. 

He took a step back, then another, quiet as a mouse. Alistair turned to continue his silent journey, but he didn’t see the chair until it was too late. It scraped loudly across the wooden floor as his knee crashed into the seat of it and in his attempt to right it, to silence it, he teetered, tipped, and ended up on the floor, with his legs tangled around those of the chair. The pink of his ears had turned to a crimson flush over his entire face as the sobbing woman went silent and reluctantly he looked up and met her eyes.

He scrambled to his feet and set the chair upright once more and looked at Halina as she blinked up at him. “I’m sorry,” he said tugging at the hem of his jacket. “For Rainier.” Her face crumbled and tears rolled down her cheeks again. “I had meant to-” he gestured to the unfolded parcel. “Deliver it in person. To offer my condolences.” Alistair took a step back, kicked the chair again but just managed to catch himself. “I’ll just… go.” Then turning, he fled, mortified by the scene he’d made.

Remembering the ring he almost turned back, but decided that no, he’d humiliated himself enough for one afternoon, he’d find her later and perhaps she will have forgotten the scene he had made in the War room.

[wardenrainwall]

Cullen woke with a quiet moan, to the feel of lips trailing down his chest, his stomach. “Briar,” he murmured, eyes still closed as he slid a hand into her hair. With her soft hands on his thighs, Cullen lost himself in the feel of her warm wet mouth. Long minutes later when she began to trail her lips back up his stomach, he finally opened his eyes and looked at her.

And the last several days came rushing back to him. Blackwall. “Briar,” he repeated her name, this time sharper as he gripped her bare hips to halt her movements. She gave him a small smile and leaned down to brush her lips against his.

“I love you,” she breathed against his mouth. And oh, Maker he wanted to give in. But they had already tried this, and she had stopped them. She reached up, slid one hand into his hair at the nape of his neck, and rubbed the tip of her nose against his as she pressed her chest to his.

“I know,” Cullen said, his voice a little ragged and strained with want. He brought a hand up to gently grip her jaw, to look into her eyes. “You have nothing to prove to me, Briar,” he insisted. Because the last thing he wanted was for her to feel guilty the next time she thought about Blackwall.

Briar turned her head into his hand and kissed his palm. “I love you, and I have missed you. I want you,” she looked up and met his gaze once more. “Don’t you want to make love to your wife?”

Cullen let out a groan as she shifted her hips against his. “Maker,” he rasped. “Briar, you know I do,” he couldn’t help but rock his hips. “But I cannot bear you regretting-” 

She kissed him, cutting off her words. “Cullen, my husband, I love you,” her jaw quavered, “Blackwall is alive, and I love him. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about anything anymore, but I know that right now, I want you.”

Staring into her eyes for long moments, Cullen waged a war with himself. His desire and love for her. And if she chose to leave him, then he’d have these memories of her. He skimmed a hand down her thigh, over the tattoo that matched Blackwall’s he drew in a breath. Tumbling her onto her back, he kissed her fiercely and her legs hooked around his waist.

continue Reading on AO3

[wardenrainwall]

Last Line Monday Whenever

They had survived. Against all odds, they lived, and they would live. “I love you,” she told him, the words no longer so hard to say. The dam seemed to break when she nearly died at the Winter Palace. Thom’s answer was a soft crooked smile. He shifted up, brushed a kiss against her lips, and echoed the words back. Then he sat up and grabbed the prosthetic leg he’d leaned against the edge of the couch when they had stretched out.

I haven't been writing much lately, which makes me incredibly sad, I miss it so, and was desperately wanting to write something soft and tender, and Disaster!Evelyn and Thom deserve it.

Tagged by @kojottek and I'll tag.... @illusivesoul and I don't even know, it's been so long I've no idea who else to tag anymore.

[wardenrainwall]

A WIP

(That will likely stay that way for all eternity)

The initial idea of this story came to me a while back. Blackwall is sent to fetch the Inquisitor's sister and her spouse, they have an affair, the husband finds out, much drama ensues. BUT a new idea came to me while I was crocheting that involved Charlotte using her Sophisticated Lady Embroidery knowledge to tend Blackwall's wounds --- and this was born. That doesn't involve that imagery. But nonetheless.

--

Thom Rainier rode behind the elaborate carriage, with a small retinue of the Lord’s soldiers accompanying them. He hadn’t been certain what to expect when he had arrived at the behest of the Inquisitor. The mansion was gaudy and pretentious, something he’d seen often in his younger days when he’d been in Celine’s army. The Lord fit the bill, barking orders, snapping fingers, and curling a lip in disgust when Thom had introduced himself. 

The Lady of the house, the Inquisitor’s sister had been the surprise. She was nothing like the Inquisitor. They were friendly and always wore a smile for the public. They were kind and Thom knew how often they had gone out of their way to help someone in need. But Lady Charlotte bore none of that kindness, no hint of a smile, and though her eyes were the same pale brown as their sibling’s, there was no warmth. 

He had watched her descend the stairs in an elaborate gown not fit for weeks of travel, though there were a number of chests attached to the carriage, probably filled to the brim with more of the atrocious outfits. Lady Charlotte stopped for a moment in front of one of the servants who lined the walkway to bid them farewell. The servant held an infant in her arms while a child toddled at her feet. The Lord and Lady’s children. Neither spared a glance at them before they climbed into their gilded carriage.

It made Thom’s stomach twist in knots, and a part of him cursed the Inquisitor, his friend, for asking him to do this task. Finding ‘suitable’ lodgings for the Lord and Lady would be more difficult near the middle of their journey, and a part of him hoped to be able to make them stay in a barn overnight for shelter, among the horses and pigs. It was where the likes of them belonged.

Ducking his head, he allowed himself a moment of pleasure in that image and hoped that the Inquisitor wasn’t too hurt by the realization that their sister was no better than the other nobles who had come calling since the beginning. 

An arrow whistling through the air had him whipping his head around. No, he thought, horrified, as several rides came from all directions to surround their troop. Another arrow struck his shoulder, lucky, considering he watched an arrow cleave through the head of another soldier. At least the children were safe. 

Mockingbird, mockingbird.

He heard a scream from inside the carriage and yanked on the reigns of his horse. He’d promised to see she arrived at Skyhold safely- pain exploded in his head and his vision went black around the edges and he felt himself falling, falling.

Thom’s head ached, pain throbbed through his shoulder and the acrid smell of burning filled his nose. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but it all felt too bright. Then he remembered. Accompanying the Inquisitor’s sister and her husband. The riders who had attacked. Rolling over with a groan of pain, an arrow protruded from his shoulder, just below his collarbone. Fuck. The carriage was little more than a smoldering pile of ash. Fuck. His stomach twisted, and bile burned his throat. The Lord’s men lay slaughtered around him. Fuck. 

A quiet sound reached his ears and he whipped his head around, nearly vomiting from the pain. But just a few short feet away sat Lady Charlotte. Her hat sat askew on her head, and her gown, once a pristine pale pink was stained with grass and dirt and blood. 

“Ser Rainier, I am glad to see you live,” she slowly turned her head and he saw a tear run down her cheek.

“Are you injured?” he asked, struggling to get to his feet. 

“No, but it would appear you are. We should find someone to tend to that wound.”

Thom felt woozy as he took the few short steps to where Charlotte sat. “I’ll see you back home, and send word to the Inquisitor-”

Charlotte shook her head, seeming to tear herself from the daze she’d been in. “No, no, we continue on to Skyhold.”

He frowned, “your children-”

“Are safe right where they are. I wish to speak with my sibling.” he was surprised by the force in her voice, and was very curious about this woman. “But first we must see that you are able to travel.”

[wardenrainwall]

I think I have finally completed the last chapter of the Disaster that is Evelyn Trevelyan series.

I still want to write the angsty AU version in which Thom time travels in an attempt to save Evelyn from all the misery. But until then...

--

Evelyn let her eyes slip shut, utterly content. The small house was quiet, save for the pop and crackle of fresh-cut wood in the fire. Stretched out on the couch, Thom lay over her, his head resting against her stomach, one arm curled under her, around her waist, the other rested on the edge of the couch, holding the book he was reading in the dimly lit room. Her hand was in the hair at the nape of his neck, while she rubbed the stump of her left arm absently against the couch. 

It had become one of her favorite routines since they had returned one last time from Skyhold several months earlier. Quiet nights curled up with Thom after supper. “You’re fingers itching?” he asked and she frowned at the top of his head.

“How did you know?”

“You’ve been rubbing your arm on the couch for twenty minutes,” he said, closing his book and tossing it onto the table he’d made. Evelyn’s arm went still, pressed into the soft fabric. Thom lifted his head, met her gaze, and despite the frustrating sensation in a limb that no longer existed, her heart gave a happy little kick in her chest.

They had survived. Against all odds, they lived, and they would live. “I love you,” she told him, the words no longer so hard to say. The dam seemed to break when she nearly died at the Winter Palace. Thom’s answer was a soft crooked smile. He shifted up, brushed a kiss against her lips, and echoed the words back. Then he sat up and grabbed the prosthetic leg he’d leaned against the edge of the couch when they had stretched out. 

Evelyn sat up when Thom stood and she rubbed the now tender spot on her arm and envisioned fingers flexing, curling into a fist, and spreading out once more. She listened to his retreating footsteps and stared into the fire. She thought back on when she’d first met him in the Hinterlands after she’d fled Haven and their desire to make her out to be some Chosen One, sent from Andraste to save the world.

Thom returned, sat back down on the couch beside her and he reached out, taking her left arm in one hand, he used the lush lotion that had some magical medicinal properties and with gentle hands rubbed it in, soothing the irritation of the stump and distracting her from the sensation of fingers long gone.

He was greyer these days, his hair longer, but his beard trimmed just a bit shorter. He had creases around his mouth from smiles, and lines around his eyes that deepened when he looked at her so fondly. Thom was her own little miracle. She’d stopped believing in the Maker long ago, but Evelyn was so grateful for whatever had brought Thom into her life. “Share my bed tonight,” she said and Thom’s hands stilled. 

Looking up at her, there was a slight lift at the corner of his mouth. A phrase they’d thrown back and forth for years. “My lady,” he murmured, setting aside the jar of lotion.

“Share my bed tonight, and every night,” tears suddenly stung her eyes. 

Thom’s gaze softened and he tucked his fingers under her jaw. “You’re awfully sentimental tonight,” he said and Evelyn laughed softly and dashed away the tear that escaped the corner of her eye. “Every single night,” he said and Evelyn looked back up at him. “For the rest of my life.” 

She nearly burst into tears at that, but instead, threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him soundly. Thom kissed her back, one hand banding around her waist, the other he tucked under her knees and then he stood up. Evelyn let out a yelp of protest. “Thom! Your leg-” 

“Is strong enough to support the weight of five Qunari, according to Dagna, I think I can carry you to bed.” So she quit objecting and just looked at him as he carried them through their small living room, and around the wall to where their bedroom was. Then Blackwall grinned at her and she didn’t have a chance to react with anything but a screech as he tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed. 

“You ass!” She exclaimed, indignant, but then she was laughing as Thom sat on the edge of the bed and tugged up his pants leg to begin releasing the leather fastenings that secured his artificial leg. “You’re such a jerk,” she told him, crawling over to him. Evelyn grabbed his shoulder, pushed him back, and kneeling beside him she reached down and deftly unbuckled the straps single-handedly. 

Leaning it against the nightstand, Evelyn climbed over him, straddling his stomach she leaned down and kissed him. 

Much, much later, utterly spent, they lay together, Evelyn’s head resting on Thom’s chest, the steady beat of his heart against her ear as he danced his fingers up and down her spine. “You’re a stubborn ass,” she murmured and Thom let out a quiet grunt of agreement. “And I’m so grateful for that. You never gave up on me.”

“I considered it, a time or two,” he grumbled and Evelyn turned her head to look up at him.

“Liar.”

Thom let out another grunt and then looked down at her. “Fleetingly,” he said. “But it never lasted more than a second or two.”

Evelyn let out a contented hum and rested her cheek over his heart once more and let sleep take her. No longer did she dream of how things could have been different. After decades of misery and self-loathing, she’d found her place. She’d found joy and happiness.

In a small cabin in the Hinterlands, with a man who had simply loved her, in spite of all of her flaws.

[wardenrainwall]

Briar looked up from the paperwork in front of her and felt both relief and sorrow. Blackwall had finally relaxed and now slept looking small and fragile in her bed. It had taken some work to coax him from his quarters again, but she’d guided him along the servant’s halls and backways to get him up to her room. Then he’d paced and wandered and inspected various trinkets. After a time he’d sat on the edge of her bed, watching her working at her desk, when Blackwall had started to nod off she’d insisted he lay down. “You’re safe here, I’m not going anywhere, you need rest.”

She desperately wanted those dark bruises under his eyes to fade away, to see his ruddy cheeks full again, to watch him throw his head back and let out a loud belly laugh, but Briar knew that was going to take a long time. And now that he finally slept, she watched him, forgot about the reports and missives she needed to reply to, and just watched him sleep with burning eyes. 

As the hour grew later and later, Briar debated. Share her bed with Blackwall, or sleep on the couch. She felt that niggling guilt at the mere thought of sharing her bed with Blackwall. Would Cullen be jealous? Of course, he would. Regardless of the fact that nothing would happen. It wasn’t fair, to any of them, this limbo she was leaving them all caught up in.

But Briar made vows to both of them. How could she possibly turn her back on either of them? A sound caught her attention and she reacted instantly, was on her feet and moving to put herself between whoever was coming and Blackwall - as if there were any threats to him here. When Cullen’s head crested the top of the staircase she deflated. “Oh,” she breathed out and felt that sickening twist of guilt in her stomach once more.

Continue at AO3

[wardenrainwall]

the idea popped into my head while I was working today, and I have no business starting anything new right now, and I'm not... not really, but the idea is there and I haven't written in so long and I had a quiet house to myself so....

Blackwall frowned at the Inquisitor. “I’m not entirely sure I understand what you want from me.” The Inquisitor knew the truth, they had pardoned him, let him stay at Skyhold, and despite the crimes he’d committed, hadn’t thought less of him, though he believed they should.

“My sister and her husband will be joining us at Skyhold. My niece and nephew as well,” there was a pause, a hint of annoyance slipping into their voice. “As well as several servants. Cullen has agreed to allow a small retinue of soldiers to travel to their home and accompany them to Skyhold. I’d like you to join them.” When Blackwall’s brows drew together and his frown deepened, they smiled. “I trust you, implicitly and I haven’t seen my sister in the five years since she was married. I want you to see that she and the children arrive safely.” 

He heard the words that weren’t spoken. “And your brother-in-law, of course.”

Blackwall did know some about their family, a noble one, well-to-do with snobbish parents who had immediately begun trying to curry favors on the sudden importance of their child. 

They offered a tight smile. “Of course,” their voice was sugar-sweet. “Please, Blackwall?” He couldn’t deny them. Inclining his head, their smile transformed into a real one. “Thank you.” Blackwall couldn’t help but wonder if the sister was like the parents or the Inquisitor. 

Blackwall suspected he got his answer when he arrived with the soldiers and found two carriages waiting. Lord and Lady were dressed in attire befitting a ball, not several days' travel. She met no one's gaze and didn’t even spare her children a glance as servants wrangled a screaming toddler and wailing infant into the second, slightly less ornate carriage. 

nothing is set in stone, beyond blackwall and the inquisitor's sister having an illicit love affair and then living happily ever after.

[wardenrainwall]

Whoa, look at that, I actually wrote something. A bit of angst for Cullen.

--

Cullen had spent the last three days trying to figure out how he would tell her, and as she stepped into the doorway of his office, a slight smile on her face, he regretted not killing the man on sight. Briar crossed the room, threw her arms around his shoulders, and kissed him. Cullen wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her closer, kissed her back and he could only hope that he was able to convey just how much he loved her with that simple meeting of mouths, while he also tried to memorize every minute detail. 

Breaking the kiss, Briar drew back just enough to look up at him. “I missed you, too,” she told him, amusement playing across her features. Cullen gazed into her eyes, the brown that was so dark it was nearly black, and he wondered if it was possible to die from heartbreak.

Briar hadn’t. 

Nearly two years ago, when the man she loved had sacrificed himself to save her and others, she had stayed strong. 

She had mourned and grieved and moved on.

Canting her head to the side, Briar frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Maybe it wouldn’t mean anything to her, the reappearance of this old man. The years had changed them both and maybe, what she felt for the Warden Blackwall would end in gratitude and relief. 

But more likely, the vows that Cullen and Briar had exchanged nearly six months earlier would turn to dust the moment she found out that her old lover had returned. 

“Cullen? Are you alright?” Briar cupped his jaw, and he closed his eyes and leaned into the caress. Just… just another moment.

He let out a breath and looked into her eyes once more. “Our scouts found someone a few days ago.” 

Full lips parted and he saw the worry on her face. “Friend or foe? Do they live?”

He had to tell her, he couldn’t hide it from her, no matter how much he wished he could. “He was injured and mentally…” Cullen shook his head. “He has been through a lot, it is apparent he isn’t the same man he was when you last saw him.” Briar’s brows were drawn together, her features hardening in annoyance and perhaps fear. “Warden Blackwall is in the infirmary.” 

Briar’s face paled, her eyes were suddenly glassy and she opened her mouth but no sound came out. She staggered back a step and Cullen held out a hand to her, but she shied away from it, away from him. Moments passed and he watched, worried she might faint. But instead, without a single word, she ran out the door.

Cullen rubbed his hand over his face and drew in a slow, deep breath before he followed, to witness the reunion between his wife, and the man she loved.

[wardenrainwall]

Okay, so I have literally had these scenes in my head for over a week and yet cannot bring myself to write them down. So I sketched them out in hopes of inspiration…

Briar is very much stuck between a rock and a hard place.