#dai:v

[lyriumechoed-blog]

“please look at me.”

&. SOFT ANGST STARTERS.

status / accepting

EVERYTHING was spinning, head heavy in his palms and maker does he know how EASY it would be to just take the lyrium, to feel his body warm from the substance and his mind to clear- it would be so easy so WHY DOESN’T HE JUST DO IT? because it would shatter everything cullen has worked so hard to control, it would prove that he was as weak as he feels.  he’s not a templar anymore- and he knew taking it would mean going against everything he’s strived to leave behind.  in his wake was ruins- past ideologies that never quite fit, trauma’s that kept him awake at night, memories scratched out and left to collect dust- he’s the amalgamation of what can go wrong when you walk blind for too long.

but then there is her, her voice soft as it fishes him from the depths of his own shambling mind, like an anchor she stations cullen firmly, brings him back up for air despite the storm that rumbles along his breast and destroys everything in it’s path.

he can feel his bones rattling in the cage of his flesh as he turns to look at her, i am here, he thinks, she is here- and it’s more than just comforting- for he finds refuge in iyla, the way her hair curls against her flesh, the way her full lips are pulled down, gaze tight with concern- and then there is GUILT, he doesn’t like it when she looks to him in such a way, lost and confused as to how exactly she can help him- because maker knows if cullen understands how he can help himself. 

a shaky breath is taken in, and then out, arms dropping to his sides he rises to his full height with some minor struggle of balance, back leaning against the cobbled wall behind him as cullen tries to appear as if there was never a problem to begin with.

“i...” he clears his throat, eyes squeezing shut as he focuses on the light fuzzes in the darkness before reopening them.  “i’m alright.”

what a bold faced lie that was.

[lyriumechoed-blog]

“Are you dead?” //lol just blunt HEY YOU DED?

CHARMED SENTENCE PROMPTS 

status / accepting 

     PROBABLY if he’s being honest- he feels like death.  of all the times for cullen to go waist deep in his drink he has to ask himself why as he holds onto quite the hangover, mind a soggy mess as he groans into his hand.  he finds himself somewhat thankful that he hasn’t spilled the contents of his stomach- at least, has not spilled it yet.

      “was there something you WANTED from me?”

[lyriumechoed-blog]

"what if i promise to be careful?"

     “well then i wouldn’t believe you” he pivots on his heel, turning to face her as a look of reluctance plays along his features, lips pulled into a tight line.  she was not known for being careful, her track record being recorded in feint white lines along her physique- and she knew that just as much as cullen did.  “it’s a rather RISKY mission- dare i say outlandish.  allow me to send my men in for investigation- see what we can find.  i’d hate to send you into the fray of something we know little about.”

[lyriumechoed-blog]

@urulxce

     "interested in combat training?” 

     he looks up from his reports- fingers stained in ink falling to his lap.  it’s not that it was necessarily a RARE thing for those to ask for his aid on the field, the commander being known for his prowess, but it still always threw cullen for a loop, a brow rising as he stares the man down with some consideration.  “whats brought this on?” 

[lyriumechoed-blog]

Legs kicking stifling air from the seat she's taken for herself atop her lover's lap, Ilya watches with vague commitment the drag of his pen across its page. Ink bleeds into his skin and the twirl of his fingerprints becomes incredibly interesting, so snatching them to press hard against her wrist ( the black mark of his uniqueness that it leaves looks enough like a tattoo to sate her ) should've been expected. "Neat."

@sugarchart

he’s not very good at this, all this touching, this physical affection.  not that he finds her presence discomforting, far from it really, he’s just not accustomed to such close quarters, skin to skin touch- for she was only a breath away and that alone caused his heart to skip one beat, two- no, he wasn’t used to it at all really, and there was no way he would get any work done with her sitting atop his lap.  so, he plays make believe, makes it seem like he’s in perfect control of his feelings as he writes maker knows what on the report (there would certainly be some reviewing of the article once ilya had left his office) beneath his fingers.

‘ilya-” he starts small, quiet. “-is there something i can help you with?”  there is amusement to his tone, an eyebrow raising as he admits defeat, allowing her to steal away his fingers from their original task.  he finds himself smiling, too late to wipe it away, and so he allows it to blossom, lopsided and entertained.

[lyriumechoed-blog]

“They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?”

‘Stardust’ sentence meme

status / accepting

sometimes she spoke in her sleep, and sometimes cullen heard what she had to say.

most of the time it was nothing- illegible slurs or half baked sentences- never anything concrete, tangible.  it was cute really, the way she rolled around, her little words cutting through the quiet of the night.  the man seldom slept most days, so it was almost as if she was keeping him company while he lay awake, mind full of past regrets and soggy memories.

so try as he may, cullen could not help the chuckle that slips past his lips, the man rolling to rest on his side so that he may watch her sleep, her lips slightly parted as she mumbles this and that- how endearing, he thought. 

he finds himself pressing his lips against her crown, a grin playing along the corners of his mouth.  “not if i have any say in it.”

[lyriumechoed-blog]

“i can’t sleep.”

&. SOFT ANGST STARTERS.

status / accepting 

     most nights, neither could he.  

     for his mind was often too full for rest, full of possibilities, the inquisition, his work- everything acting a stressor as he lies awake in contemplation, thinking through tactics and war table banter over and over again until he’s satisfied- or rather, until he’s semi-pleased with the results.  then there were the nights where he lie awake in a cold sweat, withdrawals causing his body to tremor as all that occupies his mind is the notion that if he could only have one hit- a sample a mere MORCEL- all his pain would dissipate and he could finally get some REST-

     but he couldn’t do that, he knew he couldn’t- so cullen opted for lying awake, eyes fixated on the open spot in his room as he let his body move in waves of pain- for what else could he do?

     then there were nightmares- the nightmares were positively dreadful- plagues of the past resurfacing, eating away at his conscious.  all cullen can do is fester in his sleep as he tosses and turns in that of discomfort, eyes squeezed shut as cries for help can barely pass by his locked lips. 

     so he understands- as best he can her words, and he can sympathize with her as well.  “i am...  sorry to hear that...  perhaps a trip to the apothecary will be of some use?” 

[lyriumechoed-blog]

@myricds

     “ I STILL think it’s much too dangerous, inquisitor.  though i admire your BRAVERY, we do need you alive. “

[lyriumechoed-blog]

@wardened

he felt his fingers twitch, shifting beneath the shackles of his gloves as he watched his men from a distance, cullen gnawing on the inside of his cheek.  he’s BARLEY satisfied by their performance- always wishing for more- always wanting to be prepared for the worst.  after haven his nerves have been completely shot- of course they’ve made good head thus far in skyhold, the inquisitor doing quite well in their duties- but nonetheless these thoughts will not cease to plague him-the what ifs, the buts- no, they were the work of the devil as they crept up his spine and coated his mind full of doubt and fear. 

     feeling someone at his side he pauses, brows narrowing- an aid he supposes? “ you there, what- “ then he blinks, a flush creeping up his neck and overtop his cheeks.

     “ alistair- oh, uh- “ he clears his throat.  “ i didn’t see you there. “

[lyriumechoed-blog]

@sugarchart

he’s not as taken aback as he would’ve been had they not become so close, cullen’s eyes closing as he takes her lip- well deserved, he thinks, because how could he possibly understand the weight of the world to the capacity she does.  he can scarcely relate to her, hardly fathom the amount of injustice that comes with her position.  though MIGHTY as it may be she is nothing but a beacon of hate- where loyalty comes and goes, where reverence and title act as her shooting star soaring her through positions and rankings that far surpass any most have seen in decades, it also comes with pure spite, jealousy, MALICE- a totem of blame for those who do not understand their cause, or rather, choose to remain ignorant.

so he shifts gears, swallowing the lump that began forming at the back of his throat as he approaches her cautiously, one arm out-stretched so that he may graze her shoulder.  “i apologize” cullen starts off small, look sympathetic, a tad guilty.  “you’re right, i don’t know how you feel, i don’t think i ever possibly could.” he looks down, then back up, licking his bottom lip in nervous anticipation- a habit, one of many.  “but- i am here for you despite it all, if you would have me.”

[lyriumechoed-blog]

@honnleathrose​

he was still, quiet as he worked with only the sound of idle fingers tapping along his withered table, the subtle noise doing well in interrupting the stillness in his office.  one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four- he counted in his head as the pitter pattering of rain could be heard from outside.  the day was dreary- dark clouds eating up the sky as it’s only real source of light came from the rift- it’s bright green glow foreboding as it acted as a reminder for everyone that peace was but a mere notion- a trivial idea to many. 

he sighed, breathing out through his nose before standing tall, hands finding themselves to his side- an old habit of his.

it was always paperwork, too much of it with too little time to clean it all up.  he had no idea how josephine found solace in her piles of reports- for cullen was more likely to feel his head throb, rather than feel any satisfaction from it all.

but no matter, he picks up a sliver from the pile and begins examining it, not hearing the quiet footsteps outside his office door.