#isala stuff

[old-archivist]

Isala for TMI Tuesday; Does she tease Bull throughout the day, if they don't have any time for anything until later? If so, how does she tease him, and how does Bull react to it?

Okay, so this was a difficult question. Not because I didn’t know the answer but more of I couldn’t articulate a short answer like I wanted to give you. So instead you have me going into length about this because it’s Bullala, I have no chill.

So the first part of your question:

Does she tease Bull throughout the day, if they don't have any time for anything until later?

Yes. Both friendly jibs and in ways that leave a heated promise of later between them.

Isala is a rather cantankerous lover, naturally flirty, and someone who enjoys slow burn teasing. Yet for as mischievous and cantankerous as she is, she prefers to keep her flirtatious teasing from being broadcasted across Skyhold. Isala prefers to keep their roles as Boss/Employee and Lovers separate. It is more so others don’t have fuel to undermine her. It’s part of the reason no one knows about their romance till much later.

How does she tease him, and how does Bull react to it?

When she teases Bull in a way appropriate for friends and her inner circle in general, she is light hearted. Her jabs following in the same way as Varric, Dorian, or Cassandra. She teases him about his hideous pants, jabs at his lack of shirts, preferred ale, and when they spar how shabby his technique is. All things that Bull takes in stride, a smirk and chuckle lighting up his face. There are some jokes that Isala makes that has Bull raising a brow, the ones that toe the line of professionalism and hold a seed of intimacy that if you paid close enough attention it would raise questions. Jokes about dragons, his cooking skills, and rumbling snores all said with a smile that is just a bit too wide.

Her more flirtatious teasing is done in darkened corners, empty halls, dusty wine cellars and ancient libraries. Words hinting of an intimacy closer than friends, with lingering looks and warm cheeks. This is probably Bull’s favorite sort of teasing. It’s when Isala allows her stress to leave her for just a moment, when she makes him forget all of his doubts for a moment as he focuses on her beyond their scheduled interludes. He treasures these random encounters. Where he can see the woman that she traps in her quarters walking the halls of her home freely.

But the teasing Isala loves, the one that she finds she gets the strongest reaction from him are the rarest of moments. Behind the tavern, in the woods by the pastures, among the stalls in Skyhold’s marketplace. They start with a heated glance, a firm hand pulling the him into a shadowed corner, or staying just out of reach as she starts a playful game of chase. Where hands slide across clothed hips, and lips meet. The briefest of thrills of getting caught running between them as teeth gently skim flesh. Then it’s over too soon as she slips from strong hands, eyes glittering and lips swollen. A heated gaze and soft panting filling the space between them. Bull will sometimes let out a throaty grumble as his nostrils flair. It only serves to widen Isala’s grin as her ears twitch in anticipation and she steps further out of reach. The heat of the moment lingers as a soft later chases her while she makes her escape.  A heated promise that doesn’t always promise a continuation, but a moment to be wrapped in caring arms. Whether she’s reading reports, they’re watching the stars, or Bull is asking her about her clan. It’s the promise of ‘I’ll be there later’.

[old-archivist]

The Way They Say “I love You”

Bullala fluff. At the request of @faslaidir

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.

[old-archivist]

...what?!

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.

Thanks for asking!

Drunken Confession meme

[old-archivist]

If you squint hard enough it’s fluff...I think...

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.

Kind. Comforting. Understanding. Strong. Firm. Commanding. Observant. Intelligent. Unmovable. Unexpected.

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.

[old-archivist]

34: "How they greet the sun in the morning" for Isala, please!

Thick furs slide against her bare skin, the pale morning light filters past the sheer curtains. She lays in bed, languid and out stretched as she basks in the fading warmth of a dying fire. When the last of the flames die down, leaving nothing but embers and the encroaching morning chill does sleep finally release her from its grasps.

Slipping from her mountainous bed of furs, she descends down the few steps leading from her bed as she runs her fingers through tangled locks. She collects it all into a hurried braid, sleep still clinging to her fingers as she moves towards her washbin. A splash of water across her face before she crosses to her northern balcony and enters into her morning ritual of stretches and meditation as the sun crests the mountains before her.

Thanks for asking!

Response for Description Meme

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For the OC meet: Cyrlen has a hard, expressionless face when he meets new people, and even a bit after that. But he's extremely caring and loving, if not quite a bit awkward. He's a nurturer at heart and will always take care of someone if they need it. (Oh, and he blushes quite often. Especially when complimented, flirted with, or simply any dirty talk.)

First off thanks for the ask! I hope I did Cyrlen justice. 

Second I fell asleep while getting ready to post this, sorry. ._. It’s been a long week.

I went with Isala for this and somehow ended up with two drabbles for him but I feel this one probably reads better. However, I didn’t want to do anything too formal, so this is it. Believe it or not this is how Isala meets most people outside of formal settings, getting caught with Bull or in any other compromising scenarios involving animals. So thanks again!

“…pin you. Then I’m going to trace your vallaslin, every inch.“ There is a flash of skin and dark red markings curling along her ribs. Cyrlen’s ears were bright red, cheeks flushed, and eyes blown wide with shock. He couldn’t maintain his usual expression when hearing or seeing, such things. However, the redhead elf receiving these forward comments was another matter entirely.”… tie you down and do things to your body that you won’t believe.” They must have thought themselves alone, or simply didn’t care who stumbled upon them. Cyrlen was currently too embarrased to move. Being discovered was also something he wished to avoid.Hidden behind the tavern, was Iron Bull and a redheaded elf. She leaned against the wall, Bull’s hand on her hip as he murmured more filthy words in her ear. Words that barely reached his ears yet still renewed his blush. He should turn on his heels right now and walk back into the infirmary. But his body refused to move, it was instead rooted in place. Leaving him partially concealed by a bush.The elven woman pushed Bull back, cupping his face as she dragged him down for a dirty kiss. Cyrlen ducked his head, cheeks warm and eyes wide. Why was he still standing there? A rough smack pulls his eyes from the ground in mild alarm. The woman gives Bull’s shoulder a rough shove, shooing him away while rubbing her posterior. Yet he swaggers away, smugness spread across his face.If Bull sees him, he makes no notice of it, the woman stares after him fondly for a few moments. Once Bull disappears from sight she moves away from the tavern, cheeks a soft pink as she shakes her head. Heading in his direction. Before Cyrlen could move his feet, she’s rounded the bush and freezes mid step. Large silver eyes lock with his and an awkward silence drops between them. What was one to say to a complete stranger after having been caught in the middle of a tryste?She is the first to speak, her voice catching in her throat before the words fall out in a thick accent. “Um….. Hi….You are the guy Dorian has been preen- er seeing right?”As her words falter, censoring the thought that had almost escaped, his brow crupled. Blush forgotten as his usual expression slipping back in place. “Yes, Cyrlen.” He holds out his uninjured hand. Calloused fingers envelope his own, giving him a firm shake as he watches her search for words.“Isala….How much did you see?” The question reawakening his blush as their hands fall and he bashfully ducks his head. His silence speaks volumes, earning him an exasperated groan in response. “Let me buy you a drink, please. To make it up to you. I’ve got some wine stashed in the Tavern….We can share lunch and act like this never happened. You get a free meal and I get to ignore my guilt and act like I did not play grab ass in front of a stranger.”Both their stomachs rumble in unison at that moment, pulling a short laugh from Isala as she watches him. He wordlessly stares at the ground, the silence dragging on a touch too long. She moves to dismiss the offer, only to remain quiet when he offers her a small smile.“Um….I think I will take you up on that.”His words echoed by another sting of rumbles and a soft laugh from Isala as they make their way to the tavern.

Ask for OC Drabble

[old-archivist]

Oh I love oc memes! Meet Shiloh Surana a small, cheery elvhen mage who loves animals and interacting with others. While not helping others on adventures, she works as a traveling healer of animals- a traveling veterinarian. She is five feet even, with a healthy tan, freckles, short reddish-brown hair and magenta eyes. Her nose is squished into her face and pointed upwards. She has a cheery disposition, and gets along well with most anyone- enthusing about the latest animals she'd seen that day!

So I keep passing out as soon as I get home to post these things. Forgive me for the long wait. This was fun to do and Shiloh is just a delight! Thank you for introducing them. :)

I hope I did Shiloh justice, I hope you enjoy it.

In all her travels, Shiloh had never seen a stable so grand nor diverse. When she had asked for the Inquisitor’s personal stables, the guard looked at her with pity and fatigue. A look that she had come to expect malnourished animals or unlivable conditions. For once, she was pleasantly surprised to find that was in fact not the case.

Her eyes meet with a man of more advanced years, cheeks white with a clean cut beard. Relief swells his chest, tension dissipating from his form.

“Thank the Maker, you must be the new hire. Ms. Surana yes? Name’s Dennet, I’m the Inquisition’s ‘horsemaster’.” 

The quotations around the word ‘horsemaster’ were almost visible. Dennet lips press into a hard line before continuing. 

“We got two horses down with colic, nothing too serious that I can’t cure. But, ‘mm not sure what exactly is wrong with the uh….”

He trails off with disdain as he looks over his shoulder. There were…Well reptilian horses for the lack of better words. Mountainous beasts with the face of a drake, razor teeth, and thick hide. But, their build was similar to their equine neighbors.

“Well they aren’t something ya see everyday!” Shiloh can barely contain her excitement as it adds a bounce to her step.

With bright eyes and curiosity steering her steps closer, she stops at the gate to get a closer look at the mounts.  It is with closer inspection, that she finds their hide is not quite scales. Instead, it was thick like a bronto, small scales cover its legs and underbelly, trailing up its throat to its jaw. Firm cartilage spikes pebble their shoulders and flank. They were dark in hue compared to the rest of their multicolored hide. 

Shiloh turns to address the moderately grouchy horsemaster. A multitude of questions swelling behind her lips. But she finds they’re no longer alone. Towering over Dennet was a Dalish woman, hair a rich wine red, with a vallaslin of matching hue. Her features sharp, accentuated by the smooth curves of her armor. Red ropes and thick green cotton weaving its way around her form.

Shiloh felt dwarfed by this woman already, and she was standing nearly 30 feet away from her. A thought that found her teeth rolling her cheek between them. But the new woman held her attention for mere seconds once the mount behind the woman moved. An audible gasp rattles past her lips as she takes in the behemoth.

It was a giant horned nug.

“Where in Thedas did you find this? Is this related to nugs or do they share appearances only? What is it called? How did you find this? Is this their usual temperament? Where- By the gods you’re her!”

The woman she had looked over, The Herald of Andraste, The Inquisitor, laughed. For a moment Shiloh was unsure if it was at her or at her. Nonetheless it was a rich sound that warmed her cheeks. Dennet stood by her looking as unamused as before. Taking the reigns from the Inquisitor, he leads the giant nug away.

“Please, just call me Isala. Josephine said you had arrived, you must be Shiloh.”

Isala shakes her hand, offering a warm and tired smile as they follow after Dennet. Shiloh noticed she was tall before, but standing next to her was startling. Isala dwarfed her more than she anticipated. She was a good head taller and not quite as intimidating as she imagined.

“To answer your questions, I bought their location from a frivolous Orlisian. He thought no one would ever be able to afford it. It was the only thing in his shop actually.”

She offers a wicked grin. A glint of mischief in her eyes as they stopped next to Dennet as he began unsaddling the mount.

“We call them nuggalopes, they are actually pretty friendly and do not startle easily. They are some of my favorite mounts. This girl’s name is Idrilla.”

She picks up a soft brush and begins brushing down the nuggalope. A soft throaty rumble comes from somewhere deep in it’s chest. With the answers sprung new questions as she watched Isala care for Idrilla. An almost comical yet disturbing sight to see the tall woman dwarfed by her mount.

“As fascinating as this….mount must be Miss Surana, the Inquisition didn’t bring you here to see her zoo.”

Dennet shot at her from the other side of Idrilla. This caused a note of mirth to escape Isala and Shiloh’s freckled cheeks to flush.

“Yes! Of course, my apologies Inquisitor. I tend to get a little too excited.”

Embarrassment colors her words as Shiloh sets her bags down on a nearby table. Rifling through her things before extracting a notebook. Turning towards Isala and the horsemaster, Shiloh reigned in her burning curiosity.

“Please Shiloh, call me Isala, and ignore Master Dennet. He can be a stick in the mud, I have been taxing this man with my menagerie of mounts. He gets a little testy when they fall ill and he can do nothing to aide them, understandable of course. Though I hardly think there is much to be concerned with. I think this weather lately is a touch too cold for them.”

Shiloh stifles a giggle at the indignant look Dennet shoots her from beside Idrilla’s flank.

“It’s more than the damn mounts. First you bring those - those dracolisk and just last week you tried to smuggle in two dragon eggs. I’m a horsemaster Inquisition, not a zoo keeper.”

Shiloh’s brain came to a complete halt, her hand shooting out to grab Isala’s arm, magenta eyes glittering with awe. Her hold on Isala is tight and shaky. The Inquisitor laughs with an expression akin to a cat who got into the creme.

“You want to see them? They’re Fereldan Frostbacks.”

She felt her knees go weak, so it was true, the Inquisitor had recovered dragon eggs. Shiloh felt dizzy.

“You have a dragon- no you have two dragons. Plural. Two.”

Her words came out breathy. Isala smiles wider, looping their arms together. Leading her away from the nuggalope and further into the stables, past harts and hallas. Had she passed on? Was this a figment of the fade? Surely this wasn’t real, no way was she this fortunate to see so many beautiful and rare creatures.

“If you stick around, you might see a wyvern here soon. We cleaned out a nest and there were some youngins that just hatched.”

This stopped her in her tracks, mouth agape, she stared at Isala. Searching her for a hint of a joke. She was serious, completely serious. Either this was real or Isala was a desire demon. By the gods Shiloh hoped it was the former.

Answer to OC Drabbles

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Codex Entry: Avvar Warning - Silent Woods

Up until the later years of their decline the Avvar avidly avoided hunting or stepping foot in the Revassan’s territory, speaking tales of their fierce skills in combat and their terrifying mages. A warning often spoke over fire, a warning to young hunters and traders, later making its way to the bards of the lowlands. These tales and the warning were renewed with vigor after Inquisitor Lavellan earned her legend-mark. 

“Be wary of the silent woods,

of hazy fog and siren’s song.

Listen not to their honeyed tongues.

Be leery of the trees for they have eyes.

Their moonlit gaze, you should heed.

Watch for red death caps bloom.

They track the hunter, stalk the thieves.

For the foolish, who heed no caution,

crimson seals their fate.

Their Gods are with them,

huntress Andruil, vengeful Elgar’nan.

Be wary of the hazy fog.

Shun their siren song.

Pay them heed or you’ll be done.

Fangs of steel, touch of winter.

Be wary of the death caps and sirens’ song.

Their gods are with them, while yours are gone.”