Professional Bull Rider

I am a dragon and figurative Bull shit is my hoard • Iron Bull/Bullmance reblogs • occasional original content • personally don't ship AdoriBull but I'll defend to the death your Maker-given right to it

[lelianasbong]

thinking about how bull would've made an excellent tamassran in another life. the way he dotes on his chargers, goes out of his way to put the people around him at ease and minimize the threat of his physical presence with boisterous laughter and easy acceptance. even the way he advertises himself as a service top - 'if it's someone you care about, you give them what they need' - tells me bull could've had a softer life. tama tending to the imekari.

but instead they sent ashkaari to seheron where he became hissrad and when that broke him they sent him to orlais where he became the iron bull or died trying.

[mxfitforge]

I’m absolutely geeked for the new installment of Dragon Age coming out later this year, so I finally managed to squeeze in some time to finish coloring this piece of my Dragon Age: Inquisition faves, my “Canon” Inquisitor Trevelyan and The Iron Bull. Had a blast with this one. Here’s to more “MAYHEM!” 🧡💜

[bullmancer]

the iron bull: a master tactician, expert manipulator, literally named liar, always knows what to say to push the situation exactly where he needs it to be for the course of action he's taking

also the iron bull:

[badgertastic]

Horns up for 2021, lovelies.

[senseandaccountability]

If you'll take another one from the poetry prompts, how about #50 (“With a memory all fragmented but inclined to miracles”)?

Small secret spaces  Iron Bull’s Tamassran reflects on the boy she raised.  Also on AO3: here

This is soft, okay? I’m soft for tiny babies and their not-mothers. * * *

They call her Aqun, a nickname that sticks through the years, though to all the children in her care, her flock of imekari, she is Tama. Tama with the stories, with the stern reprimands, with the cool hands in the middle of a sweaty nightmare. Some of the women work with paper and quill, some with breeding administration, yet some can be found in the temples and the hospital wings tending to those with the broken minds that qamak leaves behind. She has friends that re-educate and friends that deal with nothing but death, its final stages, its remains, its practical matters. Aqun considers herself lucky that her place is to work at the other end of things. Imekari are life, messy, brutal life that shakes her up every day, at every turn. It keeps her awake, it smashes her heart open. She will lose them. She will lose them all, but some will carry pieces of her with them as they go; it’s a thought that sits well with her, a flash of pride that she allows herself. A Tamassran’s job is to evaluate and educate; she isn’t meant to have favourites but she always has. She considers it a rebellion, a reward, or both. * Ashkaari is a big baby, arrives loud and dark-haired and screams for half a day when they place him in her arms. He’s the genealogical product of a Sten, now lost to glorious battle, asit tal-eb, and a re-educator nicknamed Asta though Aqun does not know this. The Tamassrans in charge of recording never show her the notes of the children given to her house. It would cloud her judgement, upset the scales. Aptitude triumphs over inheritance, as it must in any civilized society. Because he will not settle at night she rubs his back and stomach, sings to him to drown the screaming. He is meant to cry it out, they all are; infancy is a test, one of her old instructors echoes in her memory. But Aqun’s head hurts from listening, so she sings. A made-up song of a made-up nug, the king of all nugs, living in a cave. She feeds him another bottle of milk, mutters a rhyme she vaguely recalls from her own childhood and places her mouth against the crown of his head. A snug little nug, small as a bug. The baby looks at her, blinks, and falls asleep. The warm weight of him in her arms, the softness to his mouth, his tiny fists against her palm. That swelling in her chest, its terrible gentleness. The Qunari don’t have motherhood; she understands why.

* The streets boil in the afternoon heat but the heart of the classroom is cooled by heavy stone and clever architecture. Some of the smaller children shiver as they huddle over the letters, painstakingly forming them with mouth and quills. Baqo sits near Ashkaari and Vasaad, one head shorter than the boys but her mind is sharper, her feet faster, her capacity for mischief endless. They love her, magnificently; Vasaad and Ashkaari would both lay down their lives for the troublemaker with the red eyes. Words have always wielded themselves easily out of her,  her mind is strong and supple and she makes up stories where the Qun ends, follows its logical conclusions into tales of dragons and war, of ancient times and endless knowledge. “Tell me about the green dragons in the desert again,” Ashkaari implores, big and towering but gentle, his hands shields rather than weapons. He’s apt at storytelling himself, prone to the fantastic and the untrue. Vasaad heeds them both, moving around them like a protector.

Tama allows them slices of freedom when she can. Moments of play, of pretends. Soon enough they reach their true calling and get scattered across the North but days like today, there are green dragons and friendship, willfully blind eyes and make-believe. *

The Arvaarad comes for Baqo only months later, in the middle of the day, as the other children make equations and build models. Four men march in and lift her up, without a word. Her eyes are wide with fear, her mouth open in a silent scream and Vasaad holds Ashkaari back - or perhaps it’s the other way around, perhaps it will never truly matter. They are two now where they used to be three. Aqun shoves the children back into the classroom, hands on their shoulders, their backs. Herding them like cattle. It’s not a bad metaphor; cattle, too, are meant to serve. “She will serve the Qun with honour,” she tells Ashkaari; his eyes are narrow and dark. “She has found her purpose,” she tells Vasaad who stares back at her, his lower lip trembling. They do not cry over saarebas, she reminds them. They do not cry over finding one’s place, wherever and however that place may appear. The one who was called Baqo takes the chains, takes the stitches and Aqun thinks she can feel them, every single one. 

*

The one who was called Ashkaari becomes Hissrad, becomes a grown man so tall and broad of shoulder that Aqun ages a decade just looking at him. He still calls her Tama, still comes by to see her though he has no reason for it anymore. She tells him this once and he scoffs. They share a mindset, she knows, a flair for the inappropriate, a disregard for the brutality of absolute truths. Some days she thinks that it is her greatest failing that she has allowed it to slip into him, a poison in his soul. 

* She learns that Hissrad has been given command. That he’s tracking down Tal-Vashoth. That he’s transferred to Seheron. What an honour, she says to everyone who needs to hear it. Basks in the knowledge that she had been right, that she had seen the boy’s cleverness behind those fists, the sharp wit inside the body of a warrior. The other Tamassrans nod and tut, the way they do. All of them know there is also regret, unspoken, treacherous regret for every name they put down on the lists for the positions that will take their imekari far away, into danger and death. The one that was called Ashkaari, who slept soft-faced and defenseless in her arms when no one was looking, takes the orders he is given and Aqun thinks she can feel them, every single one, the devastation of them rattling inside her chest. * Once, he comes to visit.  He’s in Par Vollen, temporarily liberated of the burdens of Seheron, his face cut in stone but his embrace is tight and warm and Aqun smiles into the crook of his neck when he lifts her up from the ground. He’s brought cocoa beans and spices; she makes supper and refrains from staring at him like an overbearing old Tama. They don’t speak much at all; he stays the rest of the day. * Once, in the Viddathlok of Qunandar, she sees him when he has returned. He’s shipped from the island of asala-taar like a caged beast, rumour has it; he arrives in chains and is accompanied by soldiers on each side of him. The gossip is unremorseful, crisp, but it tastes of ashes. They had found him surrounded by so many dead they had lost count. That’s a lie, Aqun knows, they always count. The Qun is nothing if not a balance. Ashkaari who used to fear demons, his teeth clattering in the dark, his hands tugging at hers. They get inside your mind, he says. I don’t know how to hit things that live in my head. Hissrad who spends two months with the re-educators but they refuse his request for qamak. It’s partly her fault that they send him off, his faith broken and his mind all fragmented but inclined to miracles. The one that got away. * The one who was called Hissrad becomes the Iron Bull and Aqun first hears it in the queue outside the baker, waiting for her daily bread, then from an agent with red eyes and a hoarse voice. 

She hears it and all the way home, her heart hammers the rhythm of the words. He got away, he got away. The Ben-Hassrath agents frown over her, towering like conquerors before a bas and Aqun looks them in the eyes and says: “yes, I failed. I should have seen. He was unfit for the job. I will do better, allow me to make amends.” Says it, while she thinks run, Ashkaari, there is much to struggle against, you always knew. There’s a note, deep and low, singing of her own defiance and she thinks one of the agents can hear it because he holds her gaze for so long Aqun begins to prepare for her own re-education. Then he lets her go. She’s old, she’s beginning to lose her rough edges and her patience shrinks with every passing day, they don’t count on her to rectify her mistake; they let her go. They will go after him instead. * Years later, she hears the news in the streets outside the market. This time, no one deems her in a position to have the reports so she has to make do with gossip. They tell her the attack that Par Vollen loudly condemns while sending resources to Orlais, sneaking ships and coin past all boundaries, has been a failure. That the Inquisition still has the Tal-Vashoth in their midst, that he had not listened to reason or respected the chain of command. They tell her the Viddasala’s direct orders had been refused by the one they once called Hissrad. Nothing but a savage now. His soul is dust. He’s lost.  The words sound like curses but they fall like relief in Aqun’s chest, fall like tears on her aging hands that used to hold him. She has educated her last flock of imekari, told her last batch of night time stories. They have been so many, her body is full of their voices, their faces, their nicknames. She has been theirs. Some of them, like Ashkaari, have been hers. She will lose them all but some will carry pieces of her as they go and she has given him her heart, as much of it as he has ever dared to give and loved him in all the small, secret spaces she was never allowed.

[bullmancer]

New decade, same Freddie.

[numbaoneflaya]

come get yall juice

[rhunae]

The Iron Bull

[bullmancer]

I find it hilarious that this blog is all about pillowy man-bosoms and BDSM and so far it’s been passed over by the inept tumblybots.

[azphael]

STH to fight the artblock.

Small Doodle of the best husband from Dragon age inquisition. - The Iron bull.

Based on his tarot card. Gonna color it later (and gonna fix things, for example : his nose D: )

[just-one-string-in-a-silent-sea]

Iron Bull Romance Canons

If the inquisitor is a dwarf:

Bull loves their small size compared to his own hugeness. It makes him feel like he can protect them

He loves having the Inky be the little spoon because he/she is so small and easy to maneuver around

He likes that his inky has a little meat on their bones, after all, there aren’t many skinny dwarves

He sometimes traces their Face Brand, and it makes the inky a little more proud to have it

During sex, it’s very easy to toss his inky around, which gets him going very quickly

He sometimes gives them noogies just to irritate them

He finds the dwarven religions and traditions very interesting, and often asks her/him random questions about her culture

He wants to visit Orzammar someday

He respects the Kadash family immensely, due to being a spy himself. The Carta life interests him

He goes out of his way to look for things that might remind inky of their family, even if that means killing somebody for a dagger that might remind her of the Carta (I have this canon that the Kadash inquisitor misses their family immensely and wishes they could return)

He sometimes wonders what would have happened if he had been spying at the conclave with the inky

He loves to pick them up for kisses

He loves the pick them up from behind and scare them

Sometimes, though they’ll never admit it, the inky asks Bull very very nicely to pick them up on his shoulders, just so they can be tall and see the world the way he does

He uses the word “Salroka” a lot since inky taught it to him

If the inquisitor is an Elf:

Bull found out very quickly, that rubbing the inkys ears puts them to sleep very quickly, and he takes advantage of it often when he wants to just lie down and cuddle for a while

He often asks the inky for back rubs. Those long lithe fingers work wonders on his kinks and knots that he gets carrying that big sword all day

(I have a canon) Elves are ticklish, and Bull takes advantage of this fatal flaw often, because he loves to hear them laugh

The elven inky is the only one who has ever successfully snuck up on bull and scared him, due to their growing up hunting in the wild and the natural light footed nature of elves. What the inky doesn’t know, however, is that Bull has memorized their footsteps, and now he just pretends to be scared because he likes the attention

Bull gets very on edge when the elven inky is jumping around on the storm coast cliffs. He knows if they fall they’ll land perfectly, but the idea of them falling still scares him, they’re so thin and delicate

Bull asks the inky about Dalish life a lot. He’s most interested in the halla and all the different deities

The inky can always outrun bull. She’s just more agile than him he can’t figure it out.

Bull often asks the inky to “teach” him elven. Secretly he just likes the way the words sound when she says them.

Teases inky about their phrases such as “by the dread wolf!” And when inky gets so mad she/he starts speaking elven

Inky has been known to hang things on his horns while he sleeps. Only they have the softest hands to not wake up the Qunari spy

He will never admit it, but Bull often thinks about what their children would look like with little tiny horns and pointed ears

Bull gets very angry and protective when anyone calls inky a “Knife ear” or when she/he is addressed as simply “Elf.”

Sometimes Bull asks his inky to tell him the stories of the elven gods, or the story of her clan, or even stories about Tamlen or Merrill

If the inquisitor is a Qunari:

Bull is a firm believer that nobody looks better with horns than his inky

Bull is satisfied immensely by the fact that he’s still taller than the inky

The two often speak in Qun when they talk about the other party members

(Another one of my personal canons) Bull And Inky often use the hand signals taught to them when in warrior training to communicate strategy during battle leaving the rest of the party completely lost

Bull becomes incredibly angry when inky falls depressed because of their Tal Vashoth status

The sex is very rough. There’s always something being broken.

The chargers call inky “Blossom” (regardless of gender) because while drunk and teasing their chief’s relationship saying that their “dad boss” had finally found a “Boss Mom”, the joke morphed itself into “Blossom” And it stuck.

Bull secretly keeps a small box under the Inkys bed that they have yet to find. Inside the box is little relics Bull has collected on their travels, because he knows his Inky misses home sometimes.

Bull keeps one scale from every dragon/dragonling that the two of them face

Inky was the only one to understand what he screamed at the high dragon, and they were the only one that almost keeled over laughing in the middle of battle

Bull loves having someone who understands to talk to about his culture and how he feels about it

If the inquisitor is a Human:

Bull has an appreciation for the simple things in life. And in a world where the sky has a hole in it and the world is at war with itself, he enjoys the simple fact that his inky is a human, and so is not near as small or delicate or complicated

He enjoys listening to Inky explain politics. It’s so very different from Qunari antics and that fascinates Bull

Human inky sometimes hides Bulls Eyepatch just because he thinks Bulls eye looks hot, and Bull doesn’t really care he wares the patch out of consideration for others not himself. So sometimes he will go without it just to get his inky all riled up

Sex is a little easier because (though he’s still cautious) Bull isn’t quite as scared of breaking the inky

Bull listens to the Inky tell him stories about the blights and the Grey Wardens and he loves watching the way the Inkys eyes light up a little in excitement

Bull has secretly been carving a wooden mabari for his inky because he knows his inky misses her family dog

Bull has a subconcious fear that human inky will freeze, so it’s not uncommon for a sweaty inky to wake up in the middle of the night sometimes with every blanket in Skyhold stacked on top of them

Bull likes to give Human inky backrubs, since his hands fit pretty well on their shoulder blades

Human inky loves to dance with Bull and hug bull and pretty much do anything that gives them an excuse to rest their head on Bulls chest and listen to his heartbeat

[uthxnera]

[gayvakarian-deactivated20240719]

@ Bull any time he’s on screen: Listen to me. I love you. I love you so much. I’d do anything for you. Are you listening to me? You’re not listening to me. I would die for you. I love y—

[bullmancer]

You know... after your last post now all I want is to hear constantly Bull saying those lines haha xD because "Today is a very GOOD day"

I KNOW RIGHT?!

Best motivator to start the day everrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

[snottiesnot]

Today’s a good day… Today’s a VERY good day.

[christinasketch]

You are perfect…

[eightmonkeys-deactivated2022090]

bull’s voice going soft when he talks to the inquisitor during tender scenes……reblog if u agree