I'm dying to know about Iona's best friend! Who are they? When/how did they meet? What sort of crazy shenanigans do they get into together??
Okay, sorry it took me a couple of days, but these were awesome questions to help me story build more!
Iona’s best friend’s name is Catalina! She has long, straight black hair, brown eyes, and tan skin. She also has a tattoo of ivy wrapping around her right ankle, a couple basic ear piercings, and a nose piercing. She has a raven familiar named Itzel. She has been a witch for many, many years already.
Iona meets her shortly after she leaves the Conservatoire of Magic, the academy all witches must go through in order to hone their powers. She is traveling around, wanting to find what sparks her interest in life, and finds herself in Pamplona, Spain. She obviously attracts attention with a moose at her side and word spread quickly that a witch was passing through. Itzel appeared at the inn that they were staying at on the edge of town and extended an invitation for them to come and meet Catalina.
From there, it was basically a case of an extrovert adopting an introvert. Iona was soft spoken and unsure of herself and Catalina exudes confidence and fun. She takes her around and shows her sights, even takes her and Marvin to Madrid for a time. Iona was hesitant being around her at first and sharing anything personal, but the longer they were together, she could tell that Catalina was a good person and could be trusted. Catalina was the one who taught her that she could go out and do whatever she wanted, wherever she wanted, and not be judged for it. Iona stuck around with her in Pamplona for a long time, apprenticing and seeing how she ran her shop and services for the people. The two became so close that they went out and got tattoos together, the ivy symbolizing friendship. The two are definitely now thick as thieves, close as sisters. Catalina is really the only person who sees Iona’s true side and she will travel as far as she needs to go and visit her from time to time.
As far as shenanigans, they really just get into your typical things - they enjoy going out to pubs every once in a while, going and having spa days, but they mostly just like hanging out together in each other’s company. Catalina drags Iona into the city, Iona drags out Catalina out for hikes and the like!
How are you so excellent? Like, you're just out there, being amazing and inspiring and the bee's knees, and making it look effortless 😍😳 Thank you for being you ❤️
Wah thank you for this little note, friend, you are too sweet to me. I feel like we’re all out here right now just doing our best so if I offer even one tiny fleck of inspiration to you or anyone else than that is all the motivation I need. Ily really
UM, PLEASE TELL ME EVERYTHING ABOUT VALERIAN?!😍😍😍 ....I also wanna know everything about Sable, too, but I figured one at a time would be more manageable 🙃😅
Just gonna be Valerian in this ask because…. I just know this is gonna get long!
- Has many names ‘across the wall’ that separates his world from the human world. The Night King, The Horned King, Talespinner, Wishgranter, ect.
- Valerian has a younger brother by the name of Mazus, and once had a younger sister named Sage. Sage was killed by human men for daring to intercede in their affairs. Being the youngest, she was also the weakest in terms of power.
- Valerian has never forgiven humans for this. Or himself – he was the reason Sage was across the wall to begin with.
- His brother, Mazus has ALSO never forgiven him.
- Valerian can be called across the wall by desperation and will bargain with humans. He enjoys doing this – because he enjoys giving humans enough rope to hang themselves with. Either by granting their desires or by tormenting them with the price he asks.
- Genderfluid, in a sense. He can shift his form to suit his needs or desires, and someone decides to become a woman – though he prefers the masculine form and has worn it the most.
- Mostly when he shapeshifts, it’s to take the form of various birds. Ravens, Magpies, and Shrikes. Though mostly he’s associated with the raven.
- He will never lie to you. But he also doesn’t always tell the whole truth. ‘Exact words’ are his forte. He is, after all, an Archfey.
- On the flip side, he loathes liars. In particular, those who try to back out of deals with him.
- Crafts nightmares, and can walk the world through them. He used to craft dreams as well, but once Sage was murdered lost the knack for pleasant fantasies.
- Fond of children of all kinds, even humans. Stories of him stealing away children always seem to miss the part where it was more of a rescue. He’s perfectly content driving those who would harm a child completely mad. Or, if time is an issue, merely killing them.
- An excellent dancer.
- A sensualist. He takes his time with various lovers – though since the death of Sage, has had very few of them.
- Was originally in a higher position of power in his own country – but was banished to the borderlands he now rules for questioning authority. His siblings went with him out of a sense of loyalty and love, seeing him more as a parent than their own parents.
- Sometimes catches glimpses of the future.
- is a follower of Somn Ahn, and Ikol insomuch as someone like him can be.
Thanks for the prompt! Platonic Shaelin Cadash & Josephine Montilyet for @ladylike-foxes @honestly-wilde @talesfromthefade @dadrunkwriting
“Oh, Shaelin.” Josephine coos and it catches the dwarf off guard, to the point of stiffening, as the Ambassador stands to embrace her in a puffy-sleeved hug. “No need to hold back tears, nena, you can let it out.”
“I’m not...” Shaelin huffs a bit and rubs quickly at her eyes, allowing herself one sniffle before meeting Josephine’s honey gaze with a steeled one. “I’m not gonna cry, it isn’t worth crying over, I’m not a child. It’s just a dumb letter. One I was expecting anyway.”
Taking the fact that Shaelin stayed in her embrace as a good sign, even with arms hanging stubbornly at her sides, Josephine moves to close her office door and lead the young Inquisitor to one of the armchairs by the fire. “A dumb letter, of course, but one you want to talk about, yes? Tea?”
“No. I just came here to tell you because I thought...” Shaelin looks up from her hands folded in her lap and melts at the easy way Josephine’s head is tilted. She settles even more so in the comfortable chair and allows a nod. “One cup is fine, I guess. If you want. Cream and three—”
“Three sugars, I know, you heathen,” Josephine chuckles and pours cups for the two of them. “Now start from the beginning. Spare no details.”
“There are no details,” Shaelin says with a roll of her eyes, warm cup in hand as Josephine moves to settle in the armchair opposite her. “You wanted to invite the Carta to Skyhold now that we’re—”
“Your mothers. I suggested that you should invite your mothers to Skyhold, if that’s what you wanted. You agreed.” Josephine corrects gently and sips at her tea. Shaelin huffs.
“Yeah, well, whatever. I did.” She looks down and stirs her tea absently, remembering how many rolls of parchment she went through drafting that dumb letter, how many inkwells she spilled and knocked over and threw against the wall, how many quills she turned to darts and hit bullseyes with. She shakes her head. “Skyhold is fixed and finished and all pretty now and I thought it might impress them to...or, well...”
“It’s true,” Josephine says after a moment of hesitant silence from the other woman. “The renovations you personally oversaw have come along rather well. The herb garden is sought after by many, the sparring ring is a wonderful place for training and soldier bonding, and the mage tower is an impressive source of research and study. All places and decisions to be proud of. Your mothers would be as well.”
“Right, well, maybe I thought so too.” Shaelin stares deeply into the fireplace and tries to forget the way she would pop in on Leliana every chance she could, wondering again and again if any new mail had arrived, specifically with a certain double-axes wax seal. “Doesn’t matter. I sent the letter seeing if they’d come. They sent a letter saying they wouldn’t. You wanted to hold a whole dinner-party-dance-thing to welcome them, so I figured I’d come by to say it’s unnecessary.”
“Did they give a reason for their refusal?”
“Pfft. Of course not,” Shaelin puts down her tea in order to sprawl out in the chair, arms and legs extended and head thrown back. Josephine notes the similarities to Sera’s posture when she’s just as frustrated. “All I got back was nondescript Carta jargon. Like I was some pathetic buyer too beneath them to afford a proper response more than the usual cookie-cutter refusal. Like they didn’t even...ha! I bet they just had our scribe write something up! Probably didn’t even write it themselves.”
“Do you have the letter with you?” Josephine asks and almost forgets to dull the steel in her voice. Torn between offense at such a rude rejection and an itching need to reply to the letter herself, she only just remembers that a shunned daughter sits before her, dismissive of her hurt feelings as she is. Josephine offers a gentle hand to Shaelin’s shoulder.
“Sure. Here.” The dwarf says simply and fishes something out of a hidden pocket before handing over a single page of hasty handwriting. Josephine reads it quickly and finds Shaelin’s description to be accurate. She stops herself from crumpling it in her hand as she turns back to the young dwarf. “It’s not like...I mean, it’s been so long since I’ve seen them now, I thought...after the Temple of Sacred Ashes...a-and Haven...”
“It’s alright,” Josephine says gently and offers out her hand. She smiles with pleasant surprise as Shaelin takes it and squeezes once, even if the dwarf doesn’t make eye contact.
With a quick, deep breath, Shaelin quells the wavering in her voice. “It just seems like common sense to me. Your one and only daughter is assumed dead, several times over the course of a few months, so maybe you take a few days off to see her.”
“Of course. Sounds sensible to me.”
“And, I mean, even if you want to take out the whole ‘conventional families love each other’ crap, I’m also still their only heir!” Shaelin growls and moves to get up, but a warm squeeze from Josephine’s hand stops her and she takes another deep breath. “Whatever. Last I checked, continuing the Cadash line was important to them. Maybe they changed their mind. I don’t know.”
Josephine tsks softly and moves to crouch down in front of her, taking both hands now and tilting her head. “Tell me what you need right now,”
“I want to hit something,” Shaelin says in a small voice and Josephine just laughs.
“Of course, why am I not surprised?” She stands and Shaelin stands with her, walking into the hug before Josephine can wrap her in another involuntary one. “I’m afraid I’m not the one to help with that. Go see if Iron Bull isn’t too busy, though I’m sure he’ll make the time regardless. In the meantime, leave the letter with me and I’ll see if I can’t find the perfect reply.”
Shaelin nods. “Sure. Just...don’t send it until I read it.”
“Of course. Now run along and put the new shipment of training dummies to good use.”
“Smile, Marrow, Kind” for Darva+Dorian pretty please? ❤️
Totally! I love writing these two :D
Pavellan | 1144 words | Angsty fluff? Angsty fluff
for @dadrunkwriting
--
Darva slowly--achingly--finds his way up the stone stairs, the weight of the day heavy in his bones. Meetings after meetings, day in and day out, all of it turning to a mind numbing mess in his head. Their forces still waylaid in the Arbor Wilds, still gathering themselves back up for what would come next. Darva feels the anxiety in the air, anticipation in every day. It’s a waiting game now, nothing more left to do; it’s Corphyeus’ turn. All they have to do is be ready for the retribution he would bring.
Darva reaches the top of the stairs, the sharp glare of the setting sun catching in the glass, leaving fractals across the bookcases lining the walls and the stone floors. Darva finds Dorian exactly where he always is, ankles crossed and lounging deep in his favorite chair. He runs his fingers across the top edge of the book propped against his stomach, his other hand tracing mindless circles across his temple. His jaw clenches and his lips fuss, his thoughts almost visible in the air from how hard he’s concentrating. A smile breaks across Darva’s face and he leans against a bookcase, content to watch Dorian. A quiet breath in the chaos, a moment where nothing else exists.
A yawn escapes Darva’s lips and it doesn’t take long for Dorian to look up and spot him. His brow creases and he slowly shuts the book, the two of them still sheltered between each other.
“You look exhausted.”
Darva laughs briefly, shoulders sinking.
“I’m that obvious, hm?” He shakes his head, another yawn threatening to rise over him. He holds it back, but his eyes still water and he quickly wipes it away.
“Ghastly business having meeting after meeting all day. We’re just waiting now...” Dorian shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “I don’t entirely know how you manage it.”
“Well, I’m managing...well enough.” Darva half lies even though he knows Dorian will see right through it. He’s far to transparent nowadays, the facade he builds up crumbling down when he sees Dorian. A vulnerability he’s come to appreciate, a soft candor.
“You’re too kind, amatus.” Dorian stands, one, two steps to reach Darva. A weak chuckle spills from his lips, hands reaching out for Dorian. He takes them in his own, ten fingers pressing against Darva’s eight and a half. Warmth tickles Darva's palms, the smell of books and magic washing over him. Familiar, comforting, warm. A reprieve.
“Maybe to them. But never kind enough to you.” Darva mumbles, taking Dorian’s face in his hands to press a kiss to his cheek. Chaste and soft, but he’s close enough that Dorian wraps his arms around him, pulling him in close.
Before Dorian would tense, wouldn’t have stepped nearly close enough for Darva to touch him. His touches--no matter how chaste, no matter how much they would appear to be friendly and nothing more--were too much. Fear used to overrule any desire, any thought Dorian had to touch Darva and let himself be touched. People would see, people would talk--reputations would be ruined. A magister consorting with the elf, taking advantage of him, his nativity. Using him to take control of the Inquisition, learn their secrets. They would tear him apart, surely, but wolves chewing on his bones for the marrow center below would find nothing there. No secrets to keep when there were none...or at least ones kept between them, not only his to have. But, they would still come up with thousands of reasons why the two of them were so close, but none would come close to the actual reasons why. Reasons that took Dorian far too long to accept, far too long to let himself feel in earnest.
Darva did much the same, letting the game run between them like a gamble, a game of chance, letting the pieces fall wherever they would land. A back and forth, give and take, half truths and words left unspoken in the spaces between kissed lips. It took him far too long to say they both had lost the game, the objective long gone with breathless words and soft lips; love before they both knew it was love.
Darva pulls away and holds Dorian’s face in his hands, runs his thumbs across the curve of his cheekbones and down the shallow planes of his cheeks, arriving at the hard line of his jaw. His nail catches there across the prickly stubble, rough as he sweeps his finger back towards his ear, smooth as he traces a line back to his chin. Darva repeats the gentle motion over and over again, slower and slower each time. Taking his time, face relaxing with each motion, green eyes tracing the paths he loves over and over again.
“You spoil me.” Dorian breathes, just between them and Darva tsks.
“I could never spoil you, vhenan.” Darva murmurs and Dorian’s forehead presses to his, nose bumping nose.
“I beg to differ.” Dorian jests and Darva snickers.
“Well I beg otherwise.” Dorian rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t object, letting the sentiment be--learning to let the sentiment be. Dorian presses a kiss to Darva’s forehead, letting his lips rest, letting them stand in peace, letting the moment slide by. There are fewer and fewer of them lately, chances to breathe, to be close, to be in love. Dorian didn’t know he would miss it, crave it, fear for it, not until now--not until the threat of danger hung over them like a cloud.
“Are you afraid?” Darva speaks, warmth ebbing away into trepidation. Jests rise to Dorian’s lips, but they don’t slip past his teeth. He can’t lie to Darva anymore, can’t put up his front.
“I am.” He answers in earnest and Darva nods, lifting his head to look up at Dorian.
“We’re going to make it out alive. We're coming back from this fight alive and we’re going to be together.” Darva doesn’t question, doesn’t hope. He speaks it like it will make it the truth and it could almost be enough to still the fears that worm their way into Dorian’s stomach. He spent too many long nights imagining all the ways he could lose Darva when retribution came down on them. Darva is tough, but Dorian knows he can’t bear all that fury on his own; he would try, blasted, how he would try. Darva is too stubborn for his own good and Dorian knows it. Hopes it won’t get him killed.
“Well, we can at least be afraid together.” Darva chuckles weakly and Dorian shakes his head, forcing a smile. Darva sees right through it and he knows it, but he still puts it on--if not for him, for himself. Dorian presses another kiss to Darva’s forehead and then his lips.
He had too much hidden knowledge, and one day, it would all incinerate him.
His secrets.
Her secrets.
He watched her as she sat cross-legged on the couch, one that he knew from personal experience was not the most comfortable. Tendrils of that satin-soft hair had escaped from where they had been pulled back into a ponytail, and framed a face that was deep in focus. Her head was buried in yet another book, the firelight from the sconce dancing across the many scars that decorated her face - decorated and not marred, never marred, never, never, she was beautiful, wonderful, she was-
A Dalish who was not Dalish, an elf who knew cities but was not from them, but she was not one of his people- she wasn’t, she wasn’t-
She wasn’t, and that was infuriating, for she was better than many of those who had walked the land during his time.
but she wasn’t
She looked up, caught his gaze. “Solas.” her voice, quiet as always, but he was warmed at the trust and affection it held - then he remembered the truth of him that she knew not, and that warmth turned to a bitter chill. “I could use your help.”
“Of course, da’len,” but she was no child, not his woman - and when had that happened? She was not his, not his, not his, despite what he knew of her past, despite what he knew of what she’d done - no, she could not be, she could never be-
Could she not? that traitorous voice in his head murmured. You know what she tastes like.
It was a memory of a dream, but even as faint as it was his lips burned as he recalled the softness of hers. The gentle flare of her hips. How his hand fit so perfectly in the lovely dip of her waist. He both hated and loved that she had been the first to make the move- hated that it felt almost like an offering to a forbidden god, loved that she had made herself vulnerable only to him.
He wanted, he wanted, he wanted- but no, he should not, he could not, he could not...
could he not?
Oh, but everything about her burned in every way it was possible.
“What it is?”
“This word here. Harellan-” he felt his blood heat up at unwelcome recollections, “is it related to harel? Rebel?”
“Indeed. The ancient meaning of harellan was rebel, not the action, but the people undertaking it.”
“Hmm.” She drew her lip between her teeth. He wanted to lick his tongue there.
“I sense you have something else on your mind.”
She turned her leonine gaze, suddenly fierce, suddenly rebellious, up to him. “If harel means to rebel, then Fen’harel would mean rebel wolf, and not trickster. And if he truly was a rebel, then... then I am glad that I follow him.”
Oh, she would end him, set him ablaze with desire and pride, and-
