Large tree-trunk dwelling Thomisids found in most parts of Australia, at least if you can actually spot them. Females can be over a centimeter long, which is actually pretty large for a crab spider.
At rest the front legs are stretched out in front of the spider - this one was a bit perturbed by the camera. Even within a species the colour is variable depending on the bark it is living on or under, from grey to rich brown. The egg sac is made in the folded tip of a leaf, which is secured by silk to a branch.
Here’s my main Inquisitors! I’m working on a character page but I felt like sharing them now too just to have them on my page. Their names and romances are in the captions so check ‘em out if you want.
Since they found out how serious she was about Bull, Isala’s closest friends noticed a few things.
After a battle he was there, by her side. A hand resting lightly on her hip, a joke or whole hearted praise followed by his booming laugh. There was a smile on her lips as she dismissed him, a blush that tinged her cheeks and ears when he buries his face into her hair and inhales deeply. His shoulders lifting as he pulled her close. He’d pull back slightly and fire off another joke, another line of praise. This time she wouldn’t brush him off, this time she’d squeeze his hand before moving away from him.
She fussed. There was no other word for what she was doing. She had shooed away healers, her hands glowing brightly as she poked, prodded, stitched and lectured her qunari patient. He would let her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched her. There was the occasional joke, the gentle teasing. But he never tried to brush her off, dismissed her concerns like he would anyone else.
At every tavern, ever stall, every cafe or dining hall he would steal a bite of everything before it touched her lips. A roguish smile and bolstering words to hide what he was really doing. But she knew, they both knew. Poison. It was in the slight frown between her brow, the way her smile wavered until he leaned in and kissed her hand. Then she would pick at her meal, watching him, waiting it out just enough for both their comforts. In return she kept his tankard full, paid his tab or brought him dessert. If they were in Skyhold or pre-arranged lodgings the meal was always to his taste in some way. A side dish, the drinks, or the desserts.
Blackwall still didn’t understand it, but that didn’t matter. They did, and it meant the world. Him with his dawnstone blade and her with her dawnstone infused staff. The standard dawnstone dagger that had worked its way into standard Inquisition uniform, nothing extravagant, but noticeable if you knew. Enough for Bull to grin when he saw new recruits stare at the blade puzzled, enough to invigorate him when they used it in the defense of villagers while she ran off to end Corypheus. Enough to mean something to them.
Everyone in the Inquisition had agreed that this was too much. But they couldn’t stop her, the advisors and closer friends tried to sway her but she wouldn’t budge. She had the biggest grin when he returned with the Chargers. A fire in her eyes and a bounce in her step. She was childlike. It almost soothed the dread in everyone’s gut. Seeing her so happy, so filled with life. She wasn’t much for grand gestures, overtly public displays of affection, but this time was an exception. The magic she usually held with tight reigns was dancing around her playfully, adding a warm to the breeze throughout Skyhold. His reaction upon learning what she had brought him made her practically glow. His laughter carried from the stables, echoing as far as the gardens. A dragon she had hatched a bloody dragon for him. It was needless to say that Blackwall moved out of the stables the night it happened. It was also needless to say that the lands she had scouted to the west of Skyhold finally had their tenant once the young dragon started spewing ice.
The Orlesian nobility always whispered of it, and for a time Josephine could not fathom the explanation of it. No longer were Andraste’s grace, lilies, or even roses decorating the Inquisitor’s stationary but frangipanis. It befuddled all the recipients of her letters, all except one. When Josephine found out, when she saw the way Bull’s eye lit up upon seeing the note she had left her with she knew. It was for him. When questioned Isala blinked owlishly, as if it was obvious.
“Because I liked them.” She had said, as if it was in no way tied to the fact that Bull frequently requisitioned them. That she did not have them growing in her room or decorating the shrine of Andruil. Leliana explained why, it made more sense than the simple reasoning of Isala favoring the fragrant flowers. She couldn’t show him that favoritism, couldn’t paint a target on reports for him or even a letter. When explained that way Josephine couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t thought of that.
I literally moved in and told my landlord I didn't have pets and when they did like an inspect like 6months later and discovered I had chinchillas I was just like oh I thought it would be okay?
Didn't have to pay anything extra just made sure the place was spotless when I left and as such I learned it's better to ask for forgiveness then permission on this issue cause finding a new tenant is harder then dealing with it lmao
I love with housemates so I can’t just grab a cat and force that on them, as much as I think it would be a blessing.
I’ll probably look into adopting a little guy when I get my own place. That’s a ways off in the future though!
Isala is sitting in her enormous claw foot Orlesian tub. She sits in only her breast band and shorts, a bottle of liquor cradled in her lap. The dying light outside the window keeps her from being surrounded in darkness.
She doesn’t look up when the door opens, ignoring Bull’s appearance as he leans against the doorway just watching her. The silence between them drags on, she brings the bottle to her lips and takes a swig. Her nose scrunches at the taste, the way it burns going down. Bull still says nothing, not even after the second, third, or sixth swig. She goes to take another, but her lips finds the bottle empty of the burning liquid. She drops it, letting it clatter against the bottom of the tub as she tilts her head back, staring up at the ceiling that has grown even darker now. She wouldn’t be surprised if she was barely an outline to him now.
“What are you doing here The Iron Bull?”
“Why don’t you tell me Boss. Why’s Krem twitching like a scolded kid after seeing you.”
Her brow wrinkles with a frown, her lips twist in something akin to distaste. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was the after taste or the thought that Krem was upset, that caused the wave of discomfort. Probably both.
“You know, I almost ended up like him.”
There is a long pause, a silent “Who?”, even her drunken hazed mind caught.
“That magisteerrr,” she frowns as the ‘r’ rolls too long on her tongue, but continues anyway, “Not in such a lit- literrrr- literal sense. But just the same. If those dark-. Kuh. Kuh. Dar-kuh. Darkspawn. If the darkspawn hadn’t come that day... I could have been just like him. Like Cal- Cal. Calper- Calpur-? Calpurrrrr... Calpurrrrrnia.”
She plays with the words yet stumbles and struggles with the woman’s name, her tongue heavy and slow.
“Had not. Shouldn’t say hadn’t.” Her brow and vallaslin crinkle further, “Should not. Had not. Whole words.”
Those last few words come out little more than a mumble as she looks towards Iron Bull. He’s still leaning in the doorway, but his posture is stiffer than it should be. Stiffer than it should be for someone who doesn’t care.
“My birth. Birth. Birrrrrr-th. Birth clan. My birth clan gave the same treat-. Teat.... Teat, treat. Treatment. Same treatment to their mages as Core- Cor.... Corrrr-. Coryshit did to that magi- magi. Magi. Maaaaagi. Magisterrrrrrr. Magister.”
Something flickers in his eye as he watches her, something she knows she should recognize but it just doesn’t click right now. Maybe later. She much rather be drinking right now, too much thinking.
“Chains were words though. The clan itself. I ever tell you that I was born an exile? Like your Tal-Vashok.... Tal-Vashot- Tal-Vashoth. Banned from the clans.”
He comes over while she’s stumbling over the word ‘Tal-Vashoth’. He sits on the stool behind her and she lulls her head back to look up at him. She can’t read his face, it's too calm, too flat. She huffs in frustration, reaching up to cup his cheek. She spreads her fingers across his cheek, brow lifting at how small it seems pressed against him.
A soft hum rumbles in her throat and as she wets her lips, “Banned means we couldn’t get new clansmen. No new blood. No mages. We were dying out... So when there was a new mage.... They took them from their pair- pier- pare- nngh. From their parents. The training of mages and firsts were never known by the rest of the clan. Once you were discovered to be a mage..."
Words failed her and she withdrew her hand from his cheek letting it fall to her lap with a sigh. They just sat there in silence until it grew so dark even her eyes could barely see her hands in front of her. When Bull collects her in his arms and makes his way upstairs, he remains silent as tears wet his shoulder.
So this is essentially my take on Isala and Bull’s first kiss. Not their literal first kiss, but the first kiss between them that actually means something more. This is roughly set after Demands of the Qun but before Wicked eyes and Wicked Hearts. For my headcanon there is a solid 5-6 months between those two events.
First Kiss
Soft was not the first thing one would use to describe Iron Bull. Gentle and tender were not the second or third thing to come to mind. Not for most anyways. Behind close doors, in the Inquisitor’s quarters, Isala had come to use many words to describe him. Come to think many things of him.
But gentle, tender, and soft were not within the first ten things she used for him. Something she was surprised to find were the very words to describe him in that moment. However, surprises were common with The Iron Bull, never something she was adverse to. Neither was this, but it was surprising nonetheless.
The Iron Bull was many things - a spy, a provider, a protector, a friend, a leader. What he assumed he wasn’t and would never be was a tal-vashoth, a traitor - a lover. What other word would he put for the feelings he held towards the elvhen woman currently in his arms?
He cradled the back of her head gently, fingers tangled in her wine red locks. His other hand supported her neck, his grip gentler than it had ever been before. She was so close, so slender, a thought that had crossed his mine on more than one occasion. Thoughts that had been casually followed with ways to use that if ever needed. But this time, they didn’t. This time the thought filled his chest with a tightness as she cupped his jaw. Her thumbs slide across his cheeks, running along his scars. Their lips moving gently against each other.
This time it was different.
There was no heat behind this kiss. No firm hands or growled commands. His hands were gentle on her skin and he shuddered under her light touch. This kiss held a sweetness she’s never had with him before. A sweetness that ghosted across her mind with familiarity. A flutter in her belly whenever he so much as sighed deeply, when his fingers twitched. She was so aware of him it startled her. Such feelings she hadn’t held for another in a number of years that she almost forgot she ever had. It was a warmth that vibrated through her whole being, a warmth she thought was lost to her.
Lost since Inan.
Wrapped in their own thoughts yet tangled together. They held their eyes shut, breath soft against the other’s cheek as the gentle kiss dragged on. There were no fireworks, no heat - just satisfaction, warmth, more.
Isala’s heart raced a mile a minute as Bull’s hand slid to her waist. Cheeks and ears flush, the giddiness of a young girl in love flooded through her. A tendril of panic snakes through her mind as she breaks the kiss. This wasn’t suppose to happen, this wasn’t suppose to be more.
Bull reinitiates the kiss, cradling her as he presses her flush against him. This was different, she was different. This wasn’t another session, this wasn’t passing time with the serving girls. This was dangerous. A part of his mind whispers the word like poison, but it dies as quickly as it rose when she breaks the kiss, pressesing her forehead to his. She drags his hand from her neck, kissing each knuckle softly, shyly.
This was right.
They’re lost in their thoughts, their wonderment kept as their own. Each touch remains soft, as if they held too tight the other would disappear. Hands never wander past broad shoulders or slender waists, as if asking for more would end the magic. They stand there each time a hand skirts the boundary, letting their breaths mingle. Remaining frozen in each other's arms til one cups the other’s cheek and brings them together.
Not a word was whispered, but their eyes never left each other. Questions burning between them and answers selfishly hidden. Standing outside, cloaked by the shadow of Herald’s Rest, they clung to each other. Their only audience the stars above them and the cool autumn breeze.
