#hissrading

The other workers thought she was mad, and told her as much. Rather frequently. No one with any sense would take an Overseer as a client, and especially not one with so fearsome a reputation as the Iron Bull. It was an excellent way to end up in an interview at the Abbey (or worse.) They all thought she must be out of her mind.

They would have thought it doubly if they knew Aphrodite fancied herself in love with him.

He had some sort of arrangement with the doorman. He was allowed in through the cellar entrance sometime before business hours, to give him time to settle in Dite's room without someone noting his size. (Even without the Overseer coat and mask, not many men in Dunwall were so tall and well-built.) She could always hear his footsteps up the stairs in the quiet before the crowd, heavy and rhythmic, heralding his arrival. She had intended to greet him icily—he had missed his visit the week prior without telling her—but instead, she went sailing into his arms in a flurry of pale pink silk and dark curls as soon as he opened the door.

Anon or not, make me choose between (and I’ll draw it):

It wasn't a full trial; the only people in the grand hall as witnesses were her three war advisers and a few soldiers. And, of course, the defendant.

Leliana had found Dite's plan to be very clever—having the Iron Bull sworn in for a 'trial' so he'd be under oath and therefore, hypothetically, discouraged against lying—although Josephine had attempted to delicately point out that it was highly unlikely the Iron Bull would respond kindly to such treatment and would likely withhold the information out of spite. Well, that was fine with Dite. She was highly annoyed with him anyway. Anything that inconvenienced him was suddenly a much better plan in her book.

That was why, partly, she wore her riding leathers instead of her silks as she reclined on her settee-style throne. Bull could never tear his eyes away from the way it hugged her thighs and hips. She'd even worn rouge, which Cullen seemed to notice immediately, judging by the way he watched her mouth as she directed him to read off the offense.

Potential conspiracy. It was a crime she'd made up on the spot and, to be honest, she was rather proud of it. Vaguely worded, but indicative of something malicious that would sound malicious when read aloud. And it did. Although it might have been more effective if Dite hadn't looked quite so smug during it.

If they had a kid meme || ALWAYS ACCEPTING

Name: Neto CygnusGender: MaleGeneral Appearance: Extremely tall for a human, short for a Qunari at about 6′ 8″; No horns (lucky for Dite) and might could pass for human except for a few features like his ears or his heights. Dite’s coloring, his father’s build.Personality: Maladjusted; bit of an outcast considering his parentage on both sides. Quiet and withdrawn.Special Talents: Mage. Aptitude for blood magic that Dite tries to quash. Very clever (since both his parents are.)Who they like better: Dite. I can’t see him getting on well with Bull WOOPSWho they take after more: Bull, I guess?? Neither really thoPersonal Head canon: His grandad on Dite’s side adores him in spite of his stigma.Face Claim:

@hissrading

She waited with every nerve wound tight, expecting the mutilation at any minute. Was this the room in which they would hack off her hair? Was this the Qunari that would sew her mouth shut? Was this the one that would strip her of her clothes, throw her in a cell, or just put her to death and be done with it?

None of that happened. Much to her surprise. Her clothes, bloodstained and tattered and hanging off her slim shoulders as they were,  were not removed. Neither were her eyes or her hands or her hair or her tongue. Her lips remained unsewed; but so did her magic remain missing. She should have questioned how they managed to nullify her magic—the Qunari didn't have Templars, everyone knew that—but her current predicament kept it from her mind. Worry about captivity first, magic later.

Her questions and demands went ignored as the pair of Qunari hauled her indelicately down various halls and tents and alleys of cloth—before finally coming to a stop. They exchanged rapid Qunlat—she didn't know if they were aware she understood the tongue—and mentioned something about her father. Well, that explained it a little.

One of them hefted her over his shoulder as easily as if she were made of sugar, and she immediately set about to thrashing and shouting until the other cracked her hard across the face with the back of his hand. She fell silent then, but she made note of his face. Just in case.

When they dumped her on the ground, she was put in mind of the foreign queen that had hidden inside of a carpet to be taken to the Archon. Of course, that queen had been taken by loyal servants and wasn't a prisoner, but the posing was the same as she looked up to the Qunari seated on his wide... chair. (It was difficult to call something so plain a throne, once the Archon's throne had been viewed.) One of the Qunari grabbed a handful of her hair to yank her head back and directed (in poor Tevene) for her to state her name.

Send me a word and I will write a drabble || Accepting!

Aphrodite Cygnus had abandoned the Inquisition and gone back to Tevinter upon the death of her father. And as much as Bull liked to think that abandoned was the truth, the reality was that he was the one she abandoned.

Discarded, really. Like a toy used too many times, a sweetcake that someone had touched with a dirty hand or left out to dry for too long. She'd barely said a decent goodbye. He suspected she would have been perfectly content to sneak away like a sailor, making him some portside whore left alone without his dignity or his night's payment.

And so he was surprised when he was invited to visit Minrathous. Less surprised when he noted the letter wasn't in her hand, and that everyone in her inner circle had also received one.

He wasn't sure why he went. Maybe the protection of the other Inquisition members, or the priceless look on the Vint faces when he set foot on their soil as a protected guest of Magister Cygnus, the former Inquisitor, or maybe a desire to sample the local cuisine.

Or maybe he was more of a masochist than he thought.

The city was, admittedly, breathtaking. With its glinting spires (like fangs) and its sleek marble and gold and polished stones (the loveliest spiders were the most venomous,) Bull could see where the lot of them got their insufferable high-maintenance streaks. The slaves pointedly refused to serve him (fine by him) even as they served the others without complaint, but he wasn't paying attention to that. He was too busy dissecting every aspect of the Cygnus manor.

The place was old. Old and elegant and tastefully decorated, laden with portraits and statues detailing the line of Cygnuses dating back to the original, the first king relegated to Magister. All the men featured bore the same dark coloring and haughty tilt of the chin that Aphrodite bore, but with none of her slim, delicate looks. Her portrait was similar; just as rich, just as bold. In her hand was clutched a plum, a large bite removed and staining her lips dark purple. He was put in mind of the old (useless, untrue) signs of devilry and demonsaying, the ones that were used to find hidden mages in towns—fruit rotting from the inside out was the most easily recognizable one.

She swept into the room then, a flurry of pomegranate and cherry silks, graciously receiving her guests with laughter and brushed kisses. When she came to Bull, his hand moved to the back of her neck out of habit as he bent his head to kiss her.

She turned her head away artfully and disentangled easily from his hand with a dismissive, casual laugh. His teeth grit painfully and he reached aimlessly for the fruit bowl on the table, finding any excuse to use his hands and cover his sudden embarrassment. His fingers wrapped around an apple, a bright grass-snake green. He took a bite and spit it out immediately.

For every “♡” I get I’ll give a tip on how to win my muse’s heart.

Offer to rub her feet when she seems tired. Farris feels most comfortable when walking barefoot - something she picked up from the Dalish and it just kind of stuck with her. She worked out some spells to keep them from freezing or getting hurt too much, but they are still sore at the end of the day. She might or might not let you touch them, but she will appreciate the offer nonetheless.

She very much likes to read. Offer to give her something interesting to read, give her a name of a good writer, talk with her about something she read about.

Tell her stories. She rather enjoys Varric’s tales, but will listen even more intently if you choose to tell her something about your life, be it the story of how you ate your first potatoes or how you slaughtered a village out of spite, as long as she believes they’re honest, you have her full attention.

Farris likes shiny things. Give her shiny things.

She also likes powerful things. Give her powerful things.

The mage picked up pranking people from Sera. When she does pull a prank on you she will always blame Sera, even if you catch her red-handed. You too should blame Sera. Even if you happen to be Sera.

Farris likes to watch people, taking notice of how they move, how they dress, what they say. She especially likes watching people shirtless. Engage in some physical activities without your shirtwith a your favorite training dummy - she will contemplate the way your muscles flex under your skin for hours.