#they're talking about killing templars and being free together

[luadrawsferal]

Day 4 #andersweek2025 : Past relationships / circle days

they were so tiny...

@andersweek2025

[mdhwrites]

Diane and Kat: My Original Lesbians

Diane and Kat: The Bound Bands (available for free until the end of the 15th! A decision I made while writing this. XD) was my first original story. Released on August 5th, 2016, it was my first book ever released and worked on over the course of four months. Today I just feel like talking about them and what led to them.

So first... Going original wasn't my idea. It was something I was considering but it was actually someone else in the MLP Fandom that first talked to me about how they wanted to do original works. The two of us had tried to work together in the past, they liked my work and I like to attempt to collaborate. By the end of the day, I had the main concept for the two main characters already written up.

Now mind you, I say ATTEMPT to collaborate. I have literally had more success collaborating in the TOH fandom, the fruits of which no longer are publicly available, than I did in five years? of being the MLP fandom. I would always get brought on for a project, have a ton of ideas and write my portion quickly and then NOTHING WOULD HAPPEN. So for about a week the two of us lightly brainstormed and then it just kind of... died. I think maybe the first chapter had been written by me, maybe part of the second, but they never contributed to the writing of it and a lot of the brainstorming was primarily my own because of how fast my brain works.

The big contribution I remember they added was a piece of advice: "Don't make it about their sexuality." It's a line that stuck with me because you can actually see how it manifests in the second chapter. The mayor who is supposed to pay them is presented as a bigot trying to stiff them. However, his prejudice isn't because they're lesbians. It's the idea that couple adventurers get 'distracted' and so potentially did shoddy work, despite them having done the job just fine. A tongue in cheek subversion that also helps make it clear the sort of world they're living in. People will still try to short change and scam you but it's not going to be by sexual preference.

However, due to the collaborative nature of it, the story went fallow for a while. I think this technically first happened late 2015 when it was first brainstormed and my brain kept buzzing about it on and off but, well, I had other things to worry about like my declining mental health. It only really came back to the forefront when in March of 2016, Walmart threatened to fire me and something in me just... broke. I ended up having to quit due to the void it introduced in me and made plans to move to Colorado to live with my parents. At the same time, as a way to potentially try and make up for the lack of a job, I asked my friend if it was okay if I took Diane and Kat and ran with them. They said yes and so their story began.

But who were they? (I actually have character profiles on a doc for them from that original drafting and there was a SEVERE temptation to just copy and paste for this)

Diane Maxwell:

A priestess turned sorceress who was almost killed by templars for having been found out to have incredibly powerful magic in her veins, she has a fairly serious, focused personality. She is mildly sarcastic, especially with Kat, and would be content in life if not for the fact that the teachings she was raised with push her to want to continue doing good. That and adventuring pays the bills. She wears a dress robe over normal leather armor and specializes in lightning and fire magics due to having an affinity to both and being shockingly bad at any form of healing magic, much to her own disappointment. Is awkward about public affection though it's purely a personal thing and has nothing to do with how deep her love for Kat runs.

Kat Wolfcry:

A self proclaimed knight who is the daughter of the chief to a barbarian clan, she is stubborn, enthusiastic and on the face of it what you would expect from a barbarian who is a bit on the shorter side, especially when compared to her tall girlfriend. Her fiery red hair and heritage hide who she really is. She cares about innocents more than any barbarian literally can for the job. She even almost failed the ritual to imbue herself with a wolf spirit because it required her to kill in cold blood a wolf she knew to become one with it. To give her the sort of magical rage a fantasy barbarian has. It was saving Diane from the templars and their lone journey to bring her back home from a failed pillaging raid that made her decide she needed to leave home and at least try to be a knight, even if she still fights like a barbarian. But uh... Just because she cares about innocents doesn't mean she's defanged. She just can't get mad 'for fun'. If you hurt people, expect her to be all too happy to show you why her clan was known for brutal slaughters of their prey, like a pack of wolves on a moose.

So there are your two bases. The classic dynamic of tank and sorcerer, though only the latter can only do field medicine so they need to be careful. Plenty of backstory potential and plenty of just general potential for good fun between the two, with their first book even mentioning old stories I had in mind for them because I was just so enthusiastic about the ideas I had for them.

So... Why only the one book?

Well, that kind of comes down to format? Amongst a lot of other things but something that has always made me nervous is that I conceptualized the series as being stand alone for the majority of the books. One might reference another book but you didn't need to have read it to get a complete story with whichever book you read. The only book that should have ever broken this would have been the final book in the series because it would have been a celebration of what had come first.

That's also why Bound Bands is the way it is. It was just meant to be a fun dungeon crawl that could be a part of a series, but didn't have to be. I literally have the layout listed on that old doc of 2 beginning chapters, four dungeon layers, three night chapters to serve as quieter breaks, then the boss and epilogue effectively. A simple but effective structure that was based on one main premise: A dungeon meant to stress and push whoever came in's bond with themselves and each other hard. I won't spoil why since you can go check it out yourself, at least if you're reading this when it comes out.

BUT this format is also kind of nerve wracking in that it means having to reintroduce a lot of elements of a character each time and avoiding repetition in that, finding new ways to introduce them and what not, is something my brain has hissed at me each time I've tried starting another book of theirs. I actually don't even know how much I have to worry about this since this style isn't actually something I ever engaged much with as a kid. I never read the old Sherlock mysteries as an example. I don't know how much they rely on you knowing who Sherlock is even if each story is standalone. I read series or single books as a kid, never something in this sort of field so it maybe is something I just need perspective on to help me out.

But just for fun, I'll share the immediate pitches for some of the books I'd considered:

Holy Town Mage Tournament: A small church town belonging to the same faith Diane used to be is holding of all things a tournament for black magic users. While normally something Diane wouldn't be a part of, two things push her to join. The first is the one favored to win, a mage who claims to be an archmage, which is no simple feat in this world. Diane should know: She qualifies as one after all due to having mastered the ability to duel cast. The other? A mute priestess who is the final opponent for the winning mage and her mother who are raising money for the town through this blasphemous act and who claim to have been friends with her father, Avatar Maxwell.

A Feral Circus: After a night of hard drinking that Diane skipped but that Kat went out to enjoy, Kat doesn't make it back to the room they were staying at. Meanwhile, the circus in town's beast master claims to have a new wolf as part of his menagerie who he shall reveal to all in one week's time. With it being the closest thing to a lead Diane has, can she infiltrate the circus and find Kat? And why is the beast master waiting so long to reveal his new prize?

(Side note: I always felt like I had an easier time to figure out stories for Diane to be the lead than Kat. *sigh*)

Test of Mettle: In the middle of a town lies a large stone rock with hundreds of nicks taken out of it by various warriors, knights and swordmasters who wanted to test their might against it. When Kat goes to do it though, she is stopped by an old samurai type who says that a barbarian has no place in testing themselves like this. When she tries anyways, she destroys her sword as if it were nothing. That's the last straw and Kat makes it clear they aren't leaving until she's not just hit the rock but shattered it entirely, with this easily being one of their earlier stories.

(Also yes, I watched the anime take on Thundercats. Why do you ask?)

And finally, of course:

Diane and Kat: On her first raid, Kat Wolfcry chooses a monastery on the edge of the lands dominated by the Kesral faith. It's an easy target but one with plenty of loot to make her father proud. She doesn't know that a squad of templars are there, having been brought in to judge Diane Maxwell, daughter of the old leader of the monastery, for her newfound black magic. They throw her in a well cell beneath the monastery as they finish getting the black powder that they'll be bringing back to the capital. Powder kegs waiting to go off and help start these two girls' destinies with a bang.

The one I've tried starting the most often is the holy town tournament one, with their true origin story of meeting and falling in love being the only other one I've actually tried to start. Feral Circus has always been LOW priority because it's the sort of story I'd want to do as like a fifth book since that one genuinely just removes Kat for the entirety of it while at least the holy town one is simply more focused on Diane. I've never forgotten them though. They always come to mind, asking for when their turn will be and I keep just not quite managing to return to them.

UNTIL NO- No. I don't have an announcement like that to make. I might try to sometime soon, and maybe publish some one offs I made for the two on Ao3, including when Diane first cast magic, but for the moment they are just the two lesbians I want to someday return to. As such, if you have questions about them and the like, please, let me know. I'd love to answer what I can and who knows? Maybe it'll help me get more motivated about them.

And since I did in fact decide to make their book free for a bit, a reminder that Kindle e-books do NOT require an e-reader. They are available to be read on literally anything with a browser. So if you're reading this, you can almost certainly pick it up and check out their first story: Diane and Kat: The Bound Bands.

[heniareth]

Okay, so Duncan, right? The guy who saves your life at the beginning of DA:O, the guy who is like a father to Alistair, who is arguably a very chill brand of lawful good, and who is the first Warden-Commander of Ferelden since the Grey Wardens were allowed back into the country under king Maric. He's also the guy who conveniently neglects to tell you that the Joining might kill you, that you'll only have 20 or so years to live if you survive it, that you'll die by becoming one of the very creatures you're fighting (just veeeeeery slowly), and that most Wardens end their life on a suicide mission in the Deep Roads. That Duncan. What if he had a good reason to keep all that from the Warden?

Imagine you're a young Duncan in 9:10 Dragon, just recently allowed back into Ferelden as a Grey Warden with some of your Orlesian (or otherwise Theodosian but sure as heck not Fereldan, as per the wiki article) Grey Warden buddies. They're a good bunch, most of them are your age, and you set out together to rebuild the Grey Wardens in Ferelden (which had been thrown out around 7:5 Storm. That's a very long time with zero Grey Warden presence in Ferelden).

It goes... adequately. People don't trust you or your fellow Grey Wardens. It doesn't help that some of you have a noticeable Orlesian accent in a country just recovering from being subjugayed by Orlais. The only recruits you gain are some new faces sent in from Weisshaupt, or Orlais, or the Free Marches, but the Fereldans don't really warm up to you. That's okay, you think, you can work on it. And so you focus on slowly changing the populace's image of your order. It's hard work; Fereldans are a stubborn bunch and not overly threatened by darkspawn; services you could provide to regain their trust are scarce. As per the same wiki article, "by 9:30 Dragon, [the Grey Wardens'] presence remained light and the Order was neither well known nor held in high regard by Ferelden's people". And you grow older, and begin to feel the effect of the Blight coursing through your vains. Your companions start feeling it too. You refocus, try a different approach, and manage to track down some old Warden treaties that will at least secure you some allies, should the need arise. Maker give that it doesn't. And then you finally manage to secure a recruit, a young templar in training by the name of Alistair. Maybe there is hope yet.

And then, the dreams grow worse. You want to dismiss them at first, but you send out scouts all the same because you're a responsible man. Some don't come back; others confirm your fears. Darkspawn are gathering in the south of Ferelden. You sound the alarm among the political authorities and send word to Orlais, but reinforcements won't arrive until it's too late if you don't take action. By some miracle, you manage to convince Marric's young son of the realities of the dangers at hand--although you're not quite sure how seriously the young king is taking this threat. You look around yourself and see your companions; good people, loyal and willing to see this through to the bitter end, but also weary, few in numbers, and, most importantly, Blight-struck. The rise of a new Archdemon has sped the process up. You don't expect to survive the year. You desperately need new recruits.

And so it comes to pass that the Warden-Commander himself scours the young country for promising young people. And you find somebody; you make them an offer they can't refuse because you can't afford to have them say no. You hide the terrible truth about your order's nature, and forbid every other Grey Warden from talking about it. They obey; there is too much on the line. The Joining was likely always a secret (one doesn't want people experimenting around with it, or for the populace to start considering the Grey Wardens with the same disgust and terror they reserve for the darkspawn; you desperately need their trust. This is also why you kill ser Jory; you can't afford the truth to be known). Your recruit finds the Grey Warden treaties and survives their Joining; you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, there is still hope for this Blight to end soon. You keep them away from the battle best you can, them and the youngest Warden, Alistair. Should something happen to you, the recruit will have a fully fledged Grey Warden to fall back on. And you step onto the battlefield next to the king. The plan is foolish, your army outnumbered; the song of the Blight sings in your veins. Right behind you are your fellow Grey Wardens. They grip their weapons, grind their teeth, and march with you into battle. And the enemy rushes at you, like the plan predicted, but with much more force than expected. You look for the lughted beacon, tremble and worry because the tower remains dark--what is taking them so long? Are they still alive?-- until the bright flame pierces the night. Maybe it won't be so bad.

But then Loghain leaves. King Cailan is crushed to death. You keep a hold of your swords as your men, your companions for a lifetime, fall all around you. And finally a blade finds you too and you join them on the ground. Your last thoughts fly towards that tower, where the flames have grown brighter than they should and from where a dark shadow swoops over the sky. And you can only pray, pray that it'll ve enough. That the two only Fereldan citizens you have managed to recruit in twenty years have survived and will continue the fight you have lost.

TLDR; Duncan desperately needed a new recruit because all of the older Grey Wardens (except for Alistair) were dying; and in his desperation, he looked for a candidate who couldn't say no and made sure nothing would scare them off.

[lunavadash-creates]

Your The real pleasure story got me idea of AC character walking on reader changing clothes and getting surprised and embarrassed, but spotting a tattoo on reader's ribs and since it surprised them even more, they couldn't help but checking out reader?

Could you make it for Altair, Edward and Shay, since they're my favorite and maybe for someone of your choice?

Since I have tattoo on my ribs myself I know it makes people peeking on it without even knowing. And let's be honest, tattoos since forever were relating to outlaws and God forbid any normal and decent woman has one. My granny refused speaking to me for 4 freaking days after she found out I have tattoo because in her opinion I look like someone who is straight out of prison..

🔪

Hello Knifey! 

Sorry it took a few days I’m a bit slow lately ;; Also when I start writing it, it turned out a little bit different but it’s still about a reader with a rib tattoo. I hope you will like this little thing. 

Also, I don’t have a tattoo myself but I adore looking at other people tattoos because they are all little works of art. So don’t worry about people being weird about it. It’s your skin, your tattoo and you can do whatever you want with it! Don’t let others tell you how to live your life!

Ayyway - here is the lil thing:

Altaїr

“Why would you stain your body like that?” Altaїr looked at you with a frown, after he spotted a tattoo covering a good part of your ribs. He was unfamiliar with that practice and people around tended to call tattooing a sin that was changing the Gods creation. Altaїr had never been a believer, especially since he saw the Apple, but he couldn’t help the disapproving tone of his voice.

“Stain?” You asked, mimicking his expression. “It’s not a stain! It’s a work of art!” You exclaimed angrily. He wasn’t the first person disapproving of your life choices, treating you like a worse kind of person only because you had a little bit of ink inside of your skin. You knew they were all wrong, but you had hoped that a person like Altaїr wouldn’t judge you. Yet, it appeared you were wrong.

Altaїr hadn’t said another word and let you leave the room.

He came back to you after a few hours, when you were preparing to go to sleep. You were still angry at your friend for his words, and it led to a minor injury during training that left you a little bruise on your arm.

“I never intended to upset you.” Those words knocked you out of your thoughts, so you turned around with an accusing look on your face.

“Don’t you knock?!”

“I did,” Altaїr was still standing near the door with a bowl of dates in his hands. “I came to…apologize. I’m not familiar with people stai- tattooing their bodies. But I am not judging you nor think lower of you.” He promised as he finally came closer, to put dates on your nightstand, next to your weapon.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t outburst at you like I did. I just heard people accusing me of the weirdest things because of that tattoo.”

Altaїr nodded, accepting your apologies and soon you were sitting on the floor, eating fruits and talking about the future, novices, assassins, war, crusades… It was until Altaїr finally asked you the very thing he wanted to ask since he saw your tattoo.

“Can I see it again?” He asked and you, after a second of hesitation, raised your clothes to show him. Altaїr stretched his arm towards you and then you felt his warm fingers tracing the lines of your tattoo.

“It suits you well.”

Shay

“Oi, were you a pirate?”

With a frown you looked at Shay, that was casually leaning against the doorframe, watching you change your clothes. You really didn’t want to walk around in those kinds of clothes among the crew. You preferred the casually, comfortable clothes you could work and, most importantly, fight in.

“Why? Are you afraid I will steal your gold and sell it for a bottle of rum?”

“Ha! Very funny! As if you could steal from me! But I saw ya tattoo. So, were you a pirate?” He asked again, watching you like a hawk, After all, so many people wanted and tried to kill him, no wonder he was cautious around everyone, except Grandmaster. You joined the Templars only a few months ago.

“No, I have never been a pirate, but I saw them. When I was little I saw them with their bodies covered by tattoos, they looked like giant maps of undercover secrets and I just… I just wanted it too.” With a shrug, you put last piece of clothing over your body.

Shay had been looking at you with a grin, sparkles in his eyes as he finally took a few steps closer. His fingers brushed over your tattooed skin as he pulled you closer.

“You wanted to become a map of undercover secrets… Well, I have always wanted to be an adventurer. I think we may actually have a lot of fun together.” Just as he said it you felt a shiver going through your spine.

On that day you discovered he was both an adventurer and an owner of a tattoo kink.

Edward

“Nice ink you have there!” Edward said with a grin. You were both messy and tired after a fight and your clothes got torn, so now they were exposing part of a tattoo on your ribs. “Watcha got there?”

“Why? Want to copy me, pal?” You asked, dusting off sand and dirt of your skin. You could really use a bath, but you had to wait for Jackdaw to get the hell out of this godforsaken island.

You earned another grin as Edward suddenly took of remains of his shirt, exposing his tanned skin, almost fully covered in ink. You hardly suppressed a gasp as you saw his handsome, muscular body. You knew the bastard had a lot of tattoos but not that many.

“If ya find some free space.”

“Yeah, I guess your pale ass has some space on it,” You said and almost immediately regretted those words as you saw Edward turning around.

“Jaysus, mate, don’t you dare flash your ass at my face!” You screamed and throw a fistful of sand at him when you heard his loud laughter. Fucking pirates.

“So, now it’s your time. Show me what you got there.”

After a roll of your eyes, you finally tore off your shirt. It was hanging on a few threads anyway and way beyond saving point. Edward examined your body, looking at the tattoo with interest sparking in his blue eyes. It took him a little bit of time and you were about to throw another joke at him when he finally spoke.

“Suits you well. Not really my type of a tattoo but it’s perfect for ya.”

“Oh yes. Because you prefer to have a giant fucking hourglass tattooed on your nipple. Your taste in ink is questionable, Kenway.”

[clavicuss-vile]

4 and 8 for ask meme, if u still doing them! 💙

:OO thank u!!

4. A character you rarely talk about?

ajshahsja i rarely talk about all of them seeing as ive only just started actually posting! but i'll do the one i know the least about! Lokir (yes, that one) and his husband Lund (yes, that one) lived in Rorikstead together pretty happily until the civil war began in skyrim. havent figured out the details here but Lund ends up killing himself (like in game) probably because of something like inability to pay for the rapidly increasing tax/prices bc of the war, and Lokir falls back on the only thing he knows - thievery. Man joins the thieves guild + works his way up to being guildmaster, but he completely severs all ties with maven black-briar, the dark brotherhood and any political figures, converting the guild to a robin hood, oblivion style faction. he doesnt become a nightingale tho, thats another thief called Nightingale/Crow, depending on their gender presentation (they're genderfluid). they do end up forming an alliance with a dissident faction of the dark brotherhood lead by Icarus but thats because they shared the mission of only using their factions to aid the common folk, just in different ways.

8. Do you RP as any of your OCs? If you do, introduce one of your RP OCs here!

uhhh, technically! i dont rp with anyone or on servers or anything but seeing as dragon age and elder scrolls are roleplay games i assume they count! probably my most roleplay-heavy character would be my hero of ferelden, Ara'kian Surana. He's an ex-circle mage turned warden, who over the course of the game goes from indoctrinated and VERY pro-chantry, pro-templar (even though hes scared shitless of them) to completely opposing the chantry, poisoning the sacred ashes, etc. after awakening, him and Zevran are reunited, and he becomes the leader of the Free Revolt (which includes the main mage rebellion - Fiona's redcliffe mages were only a small section of that - and quietly on the downlow, the tevinter slave rebellion, which is mostly spearheaded by Fenris).

[sidhelives]

Leather and Lace

Fen'Harem Gift Exchange 2020

For Jukkari 💕

Full text under Read More

They had spent months beating around the bush. Months of short, professional meetings punctuated by playful jabs and coy smiles. There was something there, even if no one else could see it, she felt it. Like flint and steel they struck against each other and made sparks. They had spoken about it once, agreed that the sentiment behind the flirting was mutually genuine, and… nothing had changed.

Julseithe wanted it to change. She wanted to cup that precious face between her hands and find out what her lips tasted like. She wanted to share a moment that wasn't surrounded by dozens of other people watching her, worshiping her.

She didn't want to be the Inquisitor and Scout Harding, she wanted to be Julseithe and Lace.

Seeing her in the courtyard, Julseithe made the sudden decision that today would be the day it changed. She didn't know how long the scouts would be in Skyhold: they were always moving, brushing in and out of the fortress with more regularity than she did herself, which said a lot. It had to be today, and it had to be now, before she lost her nerve.

Her legs felt heavy and awkward as she crossed the yard, like a newborn halla learning to walk, and she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. She opened her mouth to call out a greeting and found her tongue bone dry. Before she could wet it and try again, Lace noticed her and waved. Julseithe saw a brightness come to the dwarf's eyes that she wished beyond hope was because of her.

"Scout Harding. Good to see you somewhere not infested with Venatori for a change," Julseithe managed, finding her voice.

"I do need the occasional break, and the free drinks are nice." Lace grinned, nodding her head towards the Herald's Rest.

She had such a beautiful smile. Her eyes sparkled like dew covered grass at dawn. "Would you care for one now?" Julseithe plowed ahead, not allowing herself time to think about the words spilling from her lips. "Since it's my treat either way."

If the invitation surprised Lace, she hid it well. She was, Julseithe reminded herself, the Inquisition's lead scout, it would be more strange if she did visibly react.

"I think I would. Thanks, Inquisitor."

"You can call me Julseithe you know." She spoke too quickly, her nerves creeping up on her.

"Oh? How about Jules?"

"You can call me whatever you want." Julseithe bit her tongue. Too much.

Lace chuckled. "Well alright then, Jules. Shall we go in for that drink?"

She was sure her cheeks were pink, she could feel the heat radiating from them. "Let's." She got the door, holding it open for the scout, and they wordlessly drifted to a table set into a nook in the wall. It was the closest thing to privacy the tavern contained.

"You a mead or an ale woman?" Lace asked as Julseithe sat.

"Mead. Thanks," she responded.

With a curt nod, the dwarf turned and headed for the bar. This left Julseithe alone with her thoughts, which was quite possibly the worst-case scenario. Anxiety ricocheted inside her, colliding with the butterflies in her stomach and making her momentarily nauseous. Get it together Lavellan, she chided herself. It was only Harding after all. They had flirted and joked together dozens of times before, this was no different.

Except that it was different. Different was the entire point.

"Here we are." Lace plopped the full tankard in front of Julseithe with a clank that made her jump. The dwarf laughed apologetically. "Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you. Can't really figure out how to turn off the sneaky anymore."

Julseithe returned a shaky laugh, uncomfortable with her own discomfort. She was the mother-fucking Inquisitor, this shouldn't be this hard. "What are you drinking?"

Lace slid into the seat opposite her and shrugged. "I'm an ale woman myself. Mead is just too, I don't know, sweet for me I guess."

You're sweet enough all on your own anyway. The words were there, they were perfect, but they stuck to Julseithe's tongue like raw nut butter. She cleared her throat. "So how are things going? I haven't seen you since the Hissing Wastes."

"Well, I'm still cleaning sand out of places it has no right being." Lace smirked. "But good otherwise. What about you?"

"Me? Oh, I've been keeping busy. Even when I'm not out closing Rifts and fighting dragons, Josephine keeps me busy with diplomatic meetings."

Lace made a face of disgust. "That sounds worse."

Julseithe laughed, some of her unease receding. "It is. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the Orlesians. No matter how many I meet I never get used to the masks."

"It's weird, isn't it? Like they're always hiding something from you. How do you have a real conversation with someone when you know they're keeping something from you?"

Lace's voice was casual, but Julseithe's anxiety spiked. She laughed, hoping it didn't sound as uncomfortable as she felt, and took a drink, hiding her expression with the tankard. She wasn't keeping anything from Lace, for Mythal's sake she was trying to tell her. Her diversion backfired as Julseithe choked on the thick, sweet mead in her haste and she ended up sputtering like a fool, one fist held against her mouth.

"You okay there, Inquisitor?" Lace tipped her head to one side.

"I'm fine," Julseithe coughed again. "Completely fine. What happened to Jules?"

A flush crept up Lace's cheeks. "Right. Jules. Old habits I guess." She rubbed the back of her neck in a way that reminded Julseithe of Cullen's awkward manner.

The blush made Julseithe's heart race. Do it now.

"There was something I wanted to talk to you about."

Lace recovered her composure, the blush fading, seemingly relieved for the apparent change in subject. "Of course, what's on your mind?"

"I know you said we should talk more about… things after Corypheus was defeated…" Julseithe took a deep breath before plowing ahead. "But I was thinking that we could talk about them sooner than that, like maybe now, or maybe not now but soon, just the two of us."

All the color seemed to drain from Lace's face. "Like… a date?"

Julseithe backpedaled as quickly as she could. "Only if you wanted to, of course. This is fine, just talking about not that, I don't want to put you on the spo—"

"Yes." Lace cut her off, color rushing back to her face until she appeared plum, washing away her freckles.

"Oh," Julseithe caught her breath, leaning back slightly. "Great."

"Where did you have in mind?" Lace didn't look at her as she asked, eyes trained deep into her tankard, and the blush had not faded.

Shit.

Julseithe had not considered that far out.

"I, well, I hadn't actually gotten that far," she blurted honestly, feeling her face approaching a similar hue to Lace's.

Lace peeked over the edge of her tankard at the other woman. "Maybe we could just, take a walk?" She gave an awkward shrug. "The ramparts are usually deserted."

Julseithe blinked at her, dumbfounded. "You mean now?"

Lace nodded, making the whispy curls around her face bob merrily. "I have nowhere to be."

Don't lose steam now Julseithe.

"That sounds perfect." Her voice sounded sure. Hearing it almost made her believe it. She pushed up from her seat too hard, making the chair bump roughly into the wall causing them both to start. A chuckle bubbled out of her throat.

The great Inquisitor, Herald of the Illustrious Andraste, making a fool of herself over a pretty girl.

The laughter was contagious and Lace's blush faded as they both fell into peals of giggles.

"Sorry about that," Julseithe offered, wiping her eyes.

Lace laughed again as she got to her feet. "Don't worry about it. Now when I trip over my own feet and fall on my face it won't seem so dramatic."

They left the tavern, silent except for the anxious buzzing in Julseithe's ears. She cleared her throat to break the strange quiet, which drew Lace's eye. "Do you really think you'd trip?"

"Nerves turn my feet to nugs," she offered as explanation.

Julseithe slowed her pace as they began to climb the stairs. "You're more nervous around me than when you skulk past enemy lines?"

Lace laughed, her perfect teeth catching the sun and making Julseithe's heart flutter. "No competition. The worst a bear or rogue Templar could do is kill me."

"What could I do that's worse than that?" They reached the rampart's peak and, clear of the walls, a gust of wind pushed Julseithe's nut-brown hair across her face. Sputtering, she brushed it aside to find Lace looking at her with a sweet, warm smile.

"That for one." She laughed, then sobered. "Or the way you chew on your lip when you think. The way your hands flutter around your dagger sheaths when you're nervous. You smile and everyone around you can't help but smile too. A million little things that stop my heart."

Julseithe was so red her mouth couldn't find words, she gaped at the dwarf, lips opening and closing before she swallowed hard and found her voice. "You're much better at this than me," she admitted.

"I've been… preparing for a while I guess you could say." Lace's smile was a mixture of sheepish pride

"You're definitely better at that than me." Julseithe remarked and they both laughed.

As Lace had guessed the ramparts were empty except for the two of them, and Julseithe found herself chewing on her lip as they walked. "Could I— I mean, would you be alright if I—" she floundered. Lace had known exactly what to say and she couldn't get out a whole sentence. "Creators save me. May I hold your hand?"

"I'd like that." She offered her hand.

Julseithe knew she looked like an idiot as she took the smaller woman's hand, wearing what Varric called her "shit-eating grin," but she wasn't much concerned with how she looked. Lace's hand bore the telltale calluses of bow work but between these rough patches was soft as silk.

"I haven't been preparing," Julseithe admitted. "So I don't think I can be exactly as eloquent as you were…" She glanced down at Lace's face and found her smiling encouragingly. "But I— well, I just think you're the kindest, prettiest, most interesting person I've ever met. I miss you when I'm gone, or you're gone, or even when we're both here but not together. I love your eyes, and your freckles, and your smile. I think about you all the time, I want to kiss you—"

She inhaled sharply and clenched her eyes shut, feet stalling midstep.

She'd said too much.

Dirthamen take her, she should have known she'd flub it up.

"I think you should."

Julseithe's eyes fluttered open in surprise. Lace was pink, one foot tucked behind the opposite ankle, nervously rubbing up and down.

"You do?" Her heart was hammering in her ears.

Lace nodded quickly. "I don't know if it's really allowed, you're the Inquisitor after all, and I'm, well I'm nobody, but I'd like to kiss you too—"

Julseithe cut off Lace's words, leaning down to press their lips together. She let her eyes drift closed and Lace squeezed her hand in surprise or excitement, but she didn't pull back.

Her lips were so soft and she smelled like fresh rain.

Julseithe relaxed into the kiss, letting her free hand drift up to cup the woman's face, thumb trailing ever so softly over her cheek.

It was better than she imagined, and she had imagined it often.

Reluctantly Julseithe broke the kiss and looked into Lace's clear green eyes. "How was that?"

"Better than I imagined," Lace replied with a breathy chuckle.

Julseithe couldn't stop the laughter that spilled from her throat, water coming to her eyes.

"What's so funny?" Lace tugged on her arm, blushing again.

"I was thinking exactly the same thing." Julseithe confessed.

The slight frown creasing Lace's brow cleared and she echoed Julseithe's laughter. "Do you think it gets better?"

"I think we should definitely try to find out."

[thereluctantinquisitor]

for the prompt thing, if you want and have time, can I ask for Desi and Maaras, maybe the first time maraas sees Desi's scars on his wrists? Maybe... because... they're in bed... naked... > v >

Between The Lines

Desi x Maraas, approx 2700 words, most under the cut

Taking place a decent way into their relationship, when they are both comfortable enough to share some of the secrets they have kept for a very long time.

CW: Mentions of blood magic related self-harm.

There were a lot of things Maraas didn’t know about Desi.True, a lot of the time he was just willing to let it slide rather than risklighting the fuse beneath his red-haired firecracker. But as Desi let out aquiet hum of contentment and settled against Maraas’ bare chest, still coveredin a light sheen of sweat, Maraas found his gaze repeatedly drawn to the smallmage’s forearms. They were uncovered for the first time, but he had been solost in the heat of the moment that Maraas hadn’t even noticed right away. Theshame that washed over him was secondary only to the concern scraping at thewalls of his chest. Concern he would have to word very, very carefully as he eyed the series of red scars that ran like anangry ladder up his lover’s forearms.

“… Hey, Desi?”

“Mmm?” The mage barely stirred, heavy-lidded and exhausted.He huffed out another warm breath, index finger drawing an absent pattern onMaraas skin. “Fuck, you want to talknow, don’t you?”

The remark that would have usually coaxed a chuckle out ofMaraas was met with silence. Instead, he couldn’t seem to keep the frown off hisface as he eyed those marks. You see, what he was about to do went against one of Maraas’ long-heldbeliefs, which was that other people’s problems were none of his business. Thatif they wanted his help or his input, then they’d ask for it. He knew it was a prettyflawed view of reality, sure, but it was one that had served him well thus far.It had kept his nose out of trouble and his heart out of disarray more timesthan he could count. But for the first time, lying there with Desi nestledagainst his side, the prospect of saying nothing felt infinitely worse. Infact, it felt impossible.

“You look good with that shirt off, you know,” Maraas saidslowly as he moved his hand, brushing his fingers up and down the curve ofDesi’s back. “Feel too warm tonight?”

Desi snorted, eyes still shut. Maraas could feel the mage’sheartbeat slowly coming down from their previous ah… engagement. That frantic thrumming gradually softened intosomething almost peaceful the longer they lay together atop the soft mattress.

“Hm. It was about time, I suppose,” Desi replied eventually. His offhand tone, clearly aiming for flippancy, just managed to miss the mark.It wasn’t easy to pick up, but Maraas caught it like a slightly mistimed notein a familiar song. There was hesitance to the words, their façade of nonchalancebrittle around the edges. Maraas shifted slightly, eliciting a frustrated groanfrom Desi, until he was sitting propped up against the bed’s backboard. Mutteringsome choice oaths, Desi slid his way upwards too, belligerently determined totuck himself beneath Maraas’ arm like a particularly grumpy birdling. Maraasraised his arm in invitation and settled it back around the mage’s small form,drawing him in close. After all, he wanted him held tight for what was to come.For what he knew he had to ask next. He wanted him to know that he was wanted,no matter what. That he was…

… well, loved.

“Got a decent collection of scars, there. That why you’realways wearing those long sleeves?”

“Yeah.”

The simple directness of Desi’s reply actually surprisedMaraas. He had been expecting something harsher; something that bit hard enoughto leave a mark. Instead, he felt Desi’s chest fill with breath then release itin a long, slow rush. He continued in a tone so flat it was like listening tothe weary confession of a man condemned.

“Suppose you want to know what they are, huh.  Why I’ve got them.”

Maraas eyed Desi for a moment. Well, eyed the back of themage’s head, at least. His face was hidden, turned towards his chest, chintucked downwards. He had also shifted so that his once-visible forearm was pressedagainst Maraas’ skin, those red lines angled to conceal them from view. Whetherhe had done it on purpose or subconsciously, Maraas couldn’t say. He wasn’tsure it really made a difference.

“Of course I want to know,” Maraas began, brushing hisfingers up and down Desi’s bicep, tracing a gentle line from his shoulder tothe bend of his elbow. “Look, I’m not gonna force you, but I do care. I won’t lie about that. If it’ssomething…”

Maraas let the sentence die on his lips and Desi snortedhalf-heartedly in response. He moved, naked body brushing against Maraas’ untilhe was also propped up against the backboard. Slowly, he raised a hand andpushed it through his hair, sweeping the stray strands off his face, eyesclosed. When he opened them, they were resigned, possessing thatbattle-hardened look of inevitable regret. That worried Maraas more thanany marks on the skin.

They were the eyes of a man as he stepped up to the noose and waited for the floor to drop.

“I… did things. In the past,” Desi began. His voice wasn’tfeeble or hesitant. It was just quiet. Solemn, the way one farewells a lovedone on the dock. “At the Circle. During my Harrowing…”

“I’ve heard of that,” Maraas said when Desi trailed off fora moment. He continued to caress the lines of the small man’s back as Desi tooka few small, steadying breaths. “Damn nasty trial. Aptly named, frankly.Someone had a dark sense of humour.” He paused thoughtfully. “Or no sense of humour.”

Desi nodded absently, his eyes now on the arm he had drawnin towards his chest. Slowly, as if expecting something horrible to happen, heturned his wrist until the series of red lines were visible once more. The pairstayed like that in silence for a while, tracing the marks with their eyes asthough they could be read like letters on a page. Right to left… left to right…and one that ran vertically through them all, breaking the pattern, cutting itlike the knife that made them.

“I was nineteen,” Desi continued slowly, regarding the darker line, “when I did that one. The long one. At my Harrowing.”

Maraas closed his eyes for a moment, but opened them againjust as quickly. “Blood magic?”

Desi hesitated for longer this time. Then, stiffly, henodded. Just once; a tight, almost pained gesture. Maraas could feel the wayDesi’s muscles tensed at the words, then even moreso after his silentadmission. He was like a wounded animal waiting for the killing blow, backedinto a corner, too tired even to raise its hackles and bare its teeth. Thatoverwhelming sense of resignation seemed to grow around Desi’s small figure, stilltucked protectively beneath Maraas’ arm as they lay side-by-side.

No… that won’t do at all.

Quietly, Maraas hummed and reached out with his free hand, taking Desi’s wrist in loose, surprisingly gentle fingers. He raised itslightly until it was bathed in the nearby candlelight and regarded thosemarks, arranged like a lattice across his pale skin. Sharp cuts. Frantic. Donein haste. A last resort. A final chance.

Yes. Maraas knew their kind. Perhaps not as well, but well enough.

“It… must have been hard for you, locked up in the Circle.”

A frown flickered across Desi’s face and he glanced up,meeting Maraas’ eye for the first time since they’d begun their dreadedpillow-talk. “Well, yeah. They had usall locked up like fucking caged animals. I just… had to do something. Maybe I just wanted to pissthem off, I don’t know. I hated them. The Templars. The Chantry. They saidblood magic was evil so I said why thefuck not.” He snorted, this time with true derision, bitter like a penny underthe tongue. “Might as well, after all. I just knew I needed to make sure. If… shit, if I fucked up my Harrowing, I…”

He broke off into a frustrated sigh, and balled his handtightly, the tendons standing out against his skin. Maraas, still caressingDesi’s wrist, shifted his grip, sliding his hand up until he could wrap itcomfortably around the mage’s trembling fist. As he spoke, he slowly worked histhumb beneath the smaller man’s curled fingers, coaxing his nails away from theflesh of his palm. Even after such a short time, they had left crescentshaped bites in his skin.

“Hard to tell yourself it’s worse than dying, or being madeinto one of those Tranquil, huh?” Maraas agreed, then shook his head. “Shit,they dangle you in front of a demon then kill you if it goes south. That’sfucked up no matter how you look at it.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Desi said, then swallowed. The motion wasalmost sickly, the way a man unused to sea swallowed while clutching the sideof the boat. “Do you, uh… I mean… because of…?” He trailed off again, eyespeeling away from Maraas to fix on his wrist. The question he failed to finishvoicing was obvious, and it burned in the quiet air.

Do you hate me?

The fact that Desi couldn’t even say the words told Maraasthat words alone would not be enough to reassure him. One by one, he uncurledhis fingers from around Desi’s fist and spread his hand wide, palm facingtowards the candlelight. Lit by the glow, the lines across its surface – theones read by fortune-tellers in the dusty back rooms of taverns – seemed off. Wrong. Too deep and too ragged inplaces, almost silver and raised against Maraas’ skin. For a time, Desiregarded them with a perplexed tilt of his head, his brow pulling into hisusual chronic frown. Then, without warning, he reached out and traced a fingeralong the lines of Maraas’ palm, hesitating the moment he felt the knotted skin. That frown slackenedslightly, and Maraas offered a somewhat rueful smile.

“Had to keep it low-key, travelling around with theValo-Kas. If Templars or the Chantry caught wind of it, I’d be in a whole worldof shit. Worse if word got back toPar-Vollen.” Maraas watched the tip of Desi’s finger follow the lines back andforth, shifting to a new one wherever the scars met like water flowing througha channel. “Can’t say I like the idea of having my mouth sewn shut, as much asyou might prefer it.”

“… How often?” Desi asked, choosing to ignore Maraas’attempt at deflection, those bright eyes flicking up to meet Maraas’ own.“How often did you do it? The scars are so…”

“Ah, not all that often,” Maraas admitted with ahalf-hearted shrug. “The scars are only bad because I’m a lot more used tocutting other people than myself. Plus I was always in a hurry, and didn’treally have time to be all precise about it. But hey, better that I lose a bitof my own blood if it means stopping someone else from losing all of theirs,right?”

Desi said nothing for a moment. Eventually he lowered hishand back down to Maraas’ chest, only this time he did not bother trying toangle his arm to hide the scars. He nestled himself back against Maraas’s side.The Vashoth watched silently for a moment as Desi stared at nothing inparticular, his gaze distant. Then, as if tickled by the memory of a good joke, Maraas let out alow, rumbling chuckle.

Desi attempted to ignore it at first, but his frustrationand curiosity got the better of him.“… What?”he demanded, tilting his head up. “This isn’t exactly something to laugh about, you know. We’ve bothbeen a pair of royal fuck-ups this whole time, and we didn’t even bother tofucking tell each other.”

“C’mon, you don’t find that funny?” Maraas asked, mouthcurving into a fond smile. Before Desi could fire back a reply, he scooped thesmaller mage up and onto his chest. The move elicited a yelp of surprise fromDesi, but his only act of defiance was to half-heartedly thump Maraas’ chestwith the flat of his palm. Then he settled back down against him, seemingly content with his new position. His small form rose and fell gently in time withMaraas’ chest.

“Yeah… a real bag of laughs,” Desi grumbled, voice oozingsarcasm, but Maraas could feel the tension spilling out of him as hepractically melted with boneless relief. Thatmust’ve been damn hard for him, Maraas thought as he reached out to cardhis fingers soothingly through Desi’s hair. Toput it all out there like that. Wonder what he thought I’d do?

It was a good question. One Maraas should have probably leftfor another day, if he possessed a single bone of restraint in his body.

Unfortunately, he didn’t.

“So… what did you think I’d say?”

Desi stirred at the sudden question and Maraas felt thetickle of his lashes as he opened his eyes. “You really have something againstletting me sleep, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” Maraas laughed, his hand ghosting down the back ofDesi’s neck before continuing to trail along the length of his spine. “Guess I was justwondering… well, why now?”

There was silence for a moment, and Maraas swore he could feel Desi chewing over his words,formulating response after response and discarding them all like poorlywritten notes. He waited patiently, not wanting to rush him. After all, it wassomething that genuinely puzzled Maraas. Had he done something right? Or hadhe just not done anything particularlywrong?

“I just… you know…”Desi fidgeted uncomfortably, but made no attempt to distance himself fromMaraas, which the Vashoth took as a good enough sign. After a moment, Desi justrepositioned himself instead, scooting up a little to tuck his head beneathMaraas’ chin. “Figured if you were going to ditch me, it would be better if youdid it now. But… fuck… I mean, it would still…”

Maraas didn’t need to hear the words to know how thesentence ended.

It would still hurt.

He felt the rumble of Desi’s groan before he even heard thesound rise from the smaller man’s throat. It was part frustrated, part mortified.“Shit… see? If you’d just let mesleep I wouldn’t have to lie here and make an ass of myself!”

“Nah,” Maraas drawled,hoping that he sounded encouraging but probably treading more in the realm offond amusement. “So… what? You thought I’d run for the hills screaming at a bitof blood magic? Well shit, I’d say sorry for not living up to expectations, but you know howmuch I love disappointing people.”

Desi snorted, shaking his head, but Maraas was almostcertain he could feel the corner of the mage’s smile against his chest.  Or maybe it was a smirk. It was always hard totell with Desi, even when Maraas could see his face clear as the moon in thesky.

“Should be your profession, Mar-ass, considering how good you are at it.”

Yeah, okay, it was definitelya smirk.

Maraas laughed in response to the jibe, then let out acontent sigh, reaching up to drape his arm across Desi’s back, his hand coming torest at the small mage’s opposite hip.

“Y’know, I kinda like it when you’re like this,” Maraas mused,tracing circles on Desi’s bare skin with the tip of his finger. “Makes you seemmore human. Less like a demonic littleshit.”

Desi yawned with all the enthusiasm of a lounging cat. Evenhis reply was lethargic, as though he only gave it because it was required ofhim by some unspoken contract.

“Fucking b—” asecond yawn shivered through him, breaking up an otherwise satisfying insult, “—astard.”

Maraas grinned. He tilted his head down and pressed a kissinto Desi’s tousled hair. The red-head breathed out a long, slow hum at that,and Maraas felt his lashes flutter a few times before coming to an almostpeaceful rest. Grin softening, Maraas eased himself back, hand absentlystroking the side of Desi’s hip. A fond smile settled upon his face as he lethis own eyes drift closed.

“Yeah… love you too.”