hiya! how about “Don’t worry. Everybody’s afraid of something.” “Even you?” “No.” for any DA2 characters of your choice (maybe Isabela?)
Yessss. Merribella feelings in my heart 2nite. @dadrunkwriting
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“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to just —” Merrill tugs her hand away, blushing over her apology, but then the dog barks again. Loud, rough and obnoxious as it growls through the small holes in the stone wall it’s cordoned behind, jumping up and down and chomping its teeth up into the air as they walk by. Not its fault, some of these Hightown weasels just don’t know how to treat an animal, but Isabella can’t blame Merrill for jumping again at the sound.
Isabella takes her hand back in her own, interlaces their fingers and pulls her along, a bit closer into her side, with a reassuring tug. “It’s alright, Kitten,” she consoles. Sidelong, she watches Merrill’s face absorb the comfort, blush spreading pink across her cheeks and breath releasing in a long stream through her pursed lips, and has to fight off a blushy smile of her own.
“I shouldn’t be so jumpy with them, I know. I mean, it’s not like we haven’t handled worse creatures, only…” Merrill is going on with her humble apology, rambling on with more reasons, but still holding Isabella’s hand; “some humans do train them to be extra nasty to elves, or so I’ve heard, but I’ve never been bitten or anything, and Hawke’s Mabari is a sweetheart of course, so it’s a silly thing to be scared of, really —”
“You can hold my hand whenever we pass that nasty yard, sweet thing,” Isabella hears herself chuckling over Merrill’s nervous chatter, because she’s right, it is a little silly — this great, powerful blood mage on edge over a rude hightown pet — but she’s heard the kinds of stories Merrill has in her travels too, and it’s only a sign of Merrill’s good instincts to be wary. The laugh is as much there to mask her own nerves, set off by something entirely else. “Everyone’s afraid of something.” Isabella soothes again, and now with that permission, Merrill’s grip on her hand tightens under a grateful gaze.
“Even you?”
Sweet smiles breaking through the grey of Kirkwall’s stone, laughter at her every joke. Green eyes peering out from under long lashes, looking her straight in the eye when she says it; vhenan purring from her lips. Moans that play in time to the beating of her heart, kisses that tremble with unspoken sentiment, and nights filled with honest, loving trust. Soft skin, dark hair, an open heart and a hidden strength that could tear her apart; Isabella looks at Merrill’s hand clasped with hers, and her breath catches over how much she wants for it to always be.
“No,” she says; a lying scoundrel.