tiisshu

[tiisshu]

Whaaat the fuck, sinuses?...that hurts you ungrateful fucks D:

[tiisshu]

Dear morning sneezes,

Could you at least wait until I'm fully conscious?

With peace & love,

Me.

[tiisshu]

aphrosneeziac. is that anything.

[tiisshu]

Calling all snzblr artists! 🎨

Feel free to use these next month for any requests or inspo you may need. Let me know which ones you choose!

[tiisshu]

*Sneeze*

[tiisshu]

36, my favorite number and now, age.

Took obligatory bday pic, it's below

[tiisshu]

Tomorrow is my birthday. °_°`

That shit snuck up on me, only just realized the date.

[tiisshu]

Here's another old injured!jaskier/sick!Geralt . This was probably my shortest little drabble but I just reread it and remembered it fondly.

Taking your own advice

"If you knew when to shut your mouth, Jaskier, this wouldn't have happened", The Witcher reasoned.

The Bard in question lay prone on a spread of furs before a fire as the pair rested from another long days journey. He groaned and turned his head to face the fire and the Witcher beyond.

" and if YOU were doing your job, that Nekker wouldn't have had a chance", Jaskier huffed indignantly, cranky with discomfort.

A dark look passed over the Witcher's face as he closed himself to the conversation and turned his attention instead to cleaning some of the nekker guts off his gear. A silence grew between them punctuated only by the crackling of the fire, Roach's soft nuzzling of the grass nearby, and the occasional scrape of a whetstone on steel

. . . . . .

Jaskier had lapsed into a fitful sleep, the ache in his shoulder proving difficult to position himself well, when he was awoken by a sound he couldn't quite place at first until it swelled suddenly with staccato desperation and Jaskier opened his eyes in time to see Geralt pull in a sharp near-silent breath, canine flashing, as he ducked carefully into an armored shoulder with a practiced movement.

Hh... Hih'tsshhuh!... Snff..

Jaskier watched with fascination as Geralt raised his head, his yellow eyes obscured by dark lashes that blearily tried to blink away a feeling that obviously had left the Witcher feeling muzzy.

"Bless you", Jaskier offered quietly as Geralt raised a hand to paw at his face.

He didn't startle, Jaskier assumed the Witcher had known the moment he had awoken by his heartbeat alone or the cadence of his breath, but he cast the bard a brief side-eye before turning into his shoulder again.

This time he convulsed twice, the first sneeze silent and contained but followed by a single sharp inhale before a louder and significantly wetter sounding... -ght! hhh!…hhHEGSHUu!

Jaskier frowned, thought about it, then sighed.

This was out of place, he couldn't remember the Witcher breaking that impressive dignified silence over a couple of sneezes before. He realized that if Geralt was perhaps, say, coming down with something, that would explain the muddled senses and the need for the bard to be silent so he could focus better. Fuck...

Jaskier had enough sense to flush with embarrassment, reconsider his attitude toward his stoic companion, before carefully venturing into unknown territory.

"Why didn't you say you were unwell?". Geralt paused and regarded the bard with a tilt of his head and a raised brow.

"Barely worth mentioning".

His voice, surprisingly huskier than normal, sinking further down into a scrape of sound that had the bard wincing with sympathy and sending a silent prayer to the Gods that he didn't catch it himself.

Jaskier huffed and gestured toward himself, " might have made the difference. I... I didn't realize".

The bard watched as Geralt swallowed around a sore throat and set his kit aside, crossing his arms and leaning back against the outcrop with a hmmm.

Jaskier fell silent again when he realized that the witcher hadn't even bothered to deny it.

Surely that alone denoted how the brooding man must feel. Jaskier felt altogether endeared and exasperated.

He thought to make a quip about it when that hazy look crept across his companions face once again, it was almost too much how Geralt seemed to set his jaw and fight it the same way he did everything else like some silent war. This one however he was rapidly losing and even Jaskier could recognize the line of embarrassment that bisected that furrowed brow.

He could rightly assume the Witcher was once again wishing the bard was anywhere but right where they were, but he could sense no actual heat behind it.

"Hih... Huh... snff.. hih' fuh-fuck.."

Jaskier sighed and braced himself as he got to his feet, taking the opportunity to move himself and the furs around the fire while the Witcher was distracted. He dumped the furs beside his ailing companion just as the sneeze that had been eluding him rose to the surface causing the Witcher to pitch to the side furthest away as it scraped along his throat. The sneeze more vocal than the others had been thus far.

Hih'Eh!... H'AESSH! Ugh...Wuh- Jaskier...wud are y-", Geralt made a face at his own congestion forgetting for a moment to admonish the bard for his proximity and tried to clear his throat to try again when Jaskier held a hand up to silence him.

"Bless you, and Take your own advice, Geralt", Jaskier said with a smile despite the overly dramatic moan that followed as he took the spot next to the Witcher, his crude stitches pulling, and dragged the other furs across their laps.

When the Witcher continued to level him with a questioning gaze as he settled the bard broke out in a laugh, placing a hand on his shoulder to brace himself as he replied.

"Shut up".

[tiisshu]

Ebb & Flow

Forgot I didn't update the title of my current Da:i lyrium withdrawal fic. Anyway, here is chapter 3. C/ullen/ Female inquisitor (Non-mage) , descriptions of withdrawal cravings ahead.

3. To-and-Fro

He closes the door behind him as he steps into the sanctity of his office, the familiar surroundings providing a sense of peace. He leans back against the cool stone wall, closing his eyes for a few moments.

The withdrawal symptoms still linger, the headache now turned into a sharp throb. He can feel the tension in his muscles, the fatigue weighing heavily now. Maker… give me strength, He thinks, opening his eyes and looking around the office. It’s just as he had left it, the only difference being a few more reports on his desk. He looks over at the pile, but his eye is drawn to the wooden box on the shelf just beyond it, and for a brief moment, the cravings for Lyrium resurfaces. The urge to open the box, to give in to the familiar relief is strong, but he forces himself to look away. He clenches his jaw, his teeth creaking with the force, fighting against the temptation. “No”, He mutters, shaking his head as he tries to focus on anything but the box. With a deep breath, he forces himself to shift focus, turning his attention to the reports piled on his desk. He picks up a few, skimming through them in an attempt to get his mind off the box to his right. Though his focus is painfully split, he does his best to concentrate on the contents of the pages before him. He holds the report in his hands, his eyes scanning the written words. Suddenly he becomes aware of the slight trembling in his hands. The shaking is subtle, but it’s enough to give him pause. Maker…

He grips the report tighter in an attempt to control the tremors. Despite his best efforts, the shaking persists, a visible sign of the toll this day had taken on his body and mind. 

Feeling the need to escape, even just for a few moments, Cullen sets the report back down and leaves his office through the south door. He steps out into the now-quiet rampart, the cool evening breeze providing a welcome change from the stuffy confines of the tower. The fresh air seems to help a bit, calming his nerves, but the familiar ache caused by the withdrawal still lingers like a bad headache. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, his mind swirling with all that has happened that day. He finds himself pacing along the rampart, his footsteps taking him back and forth in front of the door to his office.

The sky darkened considerably, the moon casting long shadows across the stonework. Cullen’s mind is a storm of thoughts and emotions, a whirlwind of conflicted things like pieces of glass in his head. He continues to pace, his strides slow and purposeful, trying to focus on the physical act instead of the chaos within him.

As time wears on, his muscles begin to protest with every step, the effects of his withdrawal adding to his fatigue, but he continues to walk back and forth, the rhythm of his steps almost soothing in its monotony. Finally, after a few more minutes, he comes to a stop, his back pressed against the cold wall of the tower. He tilts his head back, looking up at the night sky, the stars sparkling faintly against the dark canvas. Cullen lets out a long exhausted sigh. The solitude of the night coupled with the cool breeze is almost calming. Almost. His thoughts wander back to the events of the day, the argument with Calliope, the conversation with Cassandra, the urge to give into the Lyrium, to the box sitting on his shelf… just a few short steps away. He closes his eyes tightly, his head starting to pound again with each beat of his heart. He pushes away from the wall and starts pacing again, the movement helping to keep his mind distracted a bit.

As he walks, he mutters to himself, trying to find some semblance of sanity and control of the swirling dark cloud inside his head.

  “Keep that up, Commander, and you’ll wear a hole through the stone”, comes an all-too familiar teasing tone. Cullen’s shoulders tense as he’s startled by Dorian’s sudden appearance at the top of the rampart steps to his right. He lets out a sigh before responding. 

“You could have announced yourself, Dorian, instead of sneaking up on me like that”, he says in an even tone, trying to mask the tension in his voice.

Dorian tilts his head to the side minutely, curious, “ I assure you, Commander, I didn’t exactly tip-toe up here. I called out to you, did you not hear me?”.

Cullen rubs his forehead, the pain of the headache a constant reminder of his current struggle. “I… must have been preoccupied”, He says finally, his eyes not meeting Dorian’s gaze. “... with… testing the effects of wear over time on the stonework?”, Dorian asks, his usual teasing tone returning.

Cullen lets out a huff of frustration, his patience starting to wear thin. “No, Dorian. I was thinking”. He doesn’t elaborate, hoping Dorian will leave it at that, but the Tevinter mage is not so easily deterred.  

“ My, you certainly are a sour puss this evening, Commander. I heard the mission was a success…?��Dorian comments, one eyebrow raised in mild confusion as to what could be troubling his friend. Cullen bristles a moment before sighing, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Yes, it… the mission was successful”.

“... and yet, you don’t look pleased. Is this… a Fereldan thing I don’t get? why you’re making that face when you should be celebrating with the others in the tavern?”.

Cullen clenches his jaw, breathing out a measured controlled breath to keep himself from snapping. “No, it’s… a personal matter”, He says after choosing his words carefully.

Dorian opens his mouth to comment further when Cullen’s patience slips. “ Maker, I don’t have the energy for this tonight, Dorian. I’m tired, I’m frustrated, and… and I simply don’t have the patience to explain myself to you right now!”.

Dorian takes a step back, his hands raised in surrender. “Alright, Alright! Get some sleep, Commander. You’re a real bear when you’re tired, you know that?”. Then the mage gives Cullen a nod as he leaves him to his troubled thoughts, heading down to the tavern in search of more pleasant company.

Cullen watches as he leaves, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. He lets out a weary sigh, the mage’s departure leaving him without distraction from his inner turmoil. Maker’s breath… He’s even snapping at Dorian now. 

With a resigned sigh, he closes his eyes and tries to settle his breathing and gather his composure. His body is tense, the muscles in his back and shoulders knotting together. He should try and sleep, as uncomfortable as an idea as that is. 

He forces his eyes open and with resignation, heads back towards his office.

[tiisshu]

Next chapter in lyrium story comes in a couple days.

[tiisshu]

did i ever post this particular j/askier/g/eralt allergy thing on here? its over on my ao3 and i had to read it before i remembered writing it lol.

Of Course

"Geralt! There you are, old boy!". Chirped a vibrant and cheerful Jaskier. He had been traveling down along this road for the better part of the morning, it had started out as a dreary and damp spring but it had dawned bright and warm and Jaskier had began the trek to some of the smaller villages along the western realm of Velen. He couldn't really remember ever coming this way at this time of year before, usually choosing to stay in the larger cities where warm fires and crowds could chase away the gloom of mud and the smell of the decaying leaves along some of the less maintained roads. But here he was delighted to have happened upon the stopped Witcher near a stream refilling his water bags.

The answering groan made the edges of his smile widen, " Ah there he is, knew it was that overwhelming charm I missed. What you up to, huh? On your way to another Adventure? Monsters to kill?". Geralt recapped the final water bag and straightened, looking the bard over and trying to remember how many years had passed this time in blissful silence. He supposed there were worse times to have run into the chatty and opinionated Jaskier.

Still, he knew he'd regret it as he often did, Jaskier just... never seemed to assess the danger in a situation with any real skill and Geralt was left with far more objectives in a fight than necessary. He was hesitant to send the bard away though, something that had remained a touchy subject but mostly left unsaid since what had happened in the Mountains

. . . .

In truth, it really didn't take long. The regret that is. After a couple hours of travel and Jaskier's incessant ramblings of this banquet and that woman, and various other tedious things the pair fell into a sort of rhythm with Jaskier singing various lines to himself and making adjustments to a ballad he was composing and Geralt riding atop Roach at a pace that allowed the Witcher to go over some details in his mind on a contract he was hoping to pick up along the way. Each of them lost in their own task.

Huh.. ihh...

Geralt snapped out of his thoughts instantly, for a moment scanning the countryside- wondering what had broken his concentration when Jaskier suddenly twisted to the side and aimed a trio of sneezes at the ground.

Hih'Isssh! Issshuu! Huh' ih'Shiew! "ah, Bless me. Hitting the ol' dusty road a little too hard perhaps", He joked as he dug through his pockets in search of a handkerchief.

He always seemed to have one or two on him, though he'd start out the night without one. Odd little mementos of a love affair, he had once quipped after a party had gone particularly well and somehow he had arrived back at their inn with three tucked into his lute case. He supposed adding the tears in while he played "Her sweet kiss" had been a bit much, but he had been well rewarded for the efforts. Thrice.

Geralt hummed and tried to regain his momentum with planning when Jaskier slowed in pace and tilted his head back, lips parting slightly as he hitched, searching with half closed eyes to see if he could catch a sun ray to help it along.

"Huh... Hih' ... Ahhk'SSSHU! Eh'Hisshiew! 'Tsuu! Gods, s..s-still?", he turned away from the path and blew his nose, huffing indignantly when he found it did nothing to quell the itch deep in his sinuses and he could already feel his breath catching. Geralt sighed heavily and leaned forward slightly, swinging his leg over Roach as he dismounted. Jaskier cast him a fleeting look before he was burying his nose in the handkerchief again, his shoulders shaking with each hitch.

Hae'esshiew! Hishhah!.. Hngkxxt! "I.. Hih'.. I was kiddig about the dusty ro-ah- road", Jaskier tried to explain, realizing that this sudden sneezing really could only be explained by some sort of allergy. Fuck .

It didn't take a Witcher's senses to see just how miserable the bard was. The area around his nose and eyes was beginning to take on an irritated pink hue that stood out starkly against his natural complexion.

After each volley of sneezes Jaskier would cough dryly as he tried to catch his breath, a wheeze was beginning to be audible as he scraped in each breath before he was off again sneezing helplessly into his handkerchief.

Hng-xsst! 'tsuu Snf ...hih'Tshiew! Huh.. Heh.. F..fuck...

"Jaskier".

Huh' Ehg... W-wud? D'esshiew

The Witcher plucked one of the vibrant red blooms from one of the towering shrubs along the path and unceremoniously shoved it up under Jaskier's nose. The bard only managed to tilt his head quizzically and look up at him with those watery blue eyes before realization and the dawning need to sneeze hit him.

"Fuh..fuck Gera-ah-AhhShiew! Hae'eh hih?... Hih'Isshuu! Hngk'tsuu huh.. Ahh'Sssshhiew!

Despite the growing nagging feeling that he should be more sympathetic, Geralt had to roll his eyes, of course the Bard would be allergic to the hardiest and most abundant plant this side of Midscope.

"Honeysuckle", Geralt said then, answering the bard's cut off question. He tossed the picked flower and turned to gather Roach's reins to keep the horse from wandering off grazing.

Jaskier had distanced himself from the offending flower and was mopping futilely at his face as his body tried to rid itself of the invading threat, great allergic tears running down his cheeks and soaking into the collar of his doublet where an angry red rash could be seen cropping up along the jawline.

Heh.. Oh cuh-come on- uH'Hisshiew!

Jaskier at this point thought death might be preferable.

Leave it to him to cause such a scene so soon after convincing Geralt to allow him to accompany him, it had taken absolutely ages, but here he was being a mess in front of a Witcher.

That Witcher, in particular.

He'll tell me to leave again, he thought glumly, blowing his nose as thoroughly as he could now that the sneezing was dying down and being replaced by a dry itchy feeling beneath the surface of his face and a thick oppressive stuffiness that left him needing to breathe out of his mouth exclusively. Lovely.

The next thing he knew though he was being hoisted to his feet effortlessly by the larger man and hauled over to the horse. Geralt managed to extricate the soiled handkerchief from the bard and toss it into an unused saddlebag with a concerning wet squelch.

"Do you need an invitation?", Geralt growled when Jaskier stared at him uncomprehendingly. His watery gaze ping-ponging between the Witcher and Roach.

Geralt prickled with what he assumed was Jaskier just being a little shit and clarified, " Unless... you'd rather stay here", he gestured to further down the path where another Honeysuckle shrub grew.

The Witcher had planned their route down by Pyke Isle where he had heard talk of a few contracts, but as the season was just beginning it's shift towards warmer weather, they'd be better off heading north...

He narrowed his eyes at the bard and gestured toward Roach. Jaskier cleared his throat and seemed to remember himself and clamored to raise himself into the saddle. As if to remind him of what exactly had led to this sudden shift in plans Jaskier felt that demanding tickle buzz to life along the sensitive walls of his sinuses for one last comment and he raised an arm to bury his face in the crook of an elbow.

Hih' Ih... Snf Hih' Isshiew!

Geralt decided that was enough, he pulled a simple square of fabric out of one of the other saddlebags and handed it up to Jaskier before stepping back and tugging Roach's reins gently to begin the trek back to the crossroads so they could travel north.

"You owe me", Geralt said for good measure, couldn't have the bard thinkin' he had grown soft in his old age.

But Jaskier only sniffled and for once was silent.

[tiisshu]

DA:I C/ullen/ Inquisitor (human, warrior) lyrium withdrawal fic - Part 2

Sorry it's taken a bit to get the second part out, we've suffered a tragic loss in our family and I haven't had as much time to edit as I need.

Here is the second part to my angsty C/ullen /Inquisitor sickfic... thing. Warning, there is the beginnings of descriptions of withdrawal symptoms. Please, if you are sensitive to such descriptions, unfortunately from here on out I would suggest skipping this.

Anyway, here you go...

2. Advice

Commander Cullen braces himself, knowing this conversation has the potential to be more heated than the last.

He takes a deep breath and looks at Cassandra firmly.

 “I did what I had to do to ensure her safety. As her Commander, it is my duty to protect her”.

“Just as her commander, huh?”. Cassandra’s face dares him to contradict her.

Cullen’s expression remains stoic but he recognizes the challenge in the Seeker’s tone. He straightens his stance and looks her straight in the eye.

“My personal feelings aside, my duty comes first, and I need not remind you of how stubborn She can be”.

Cassandra makes an emphatic noise of frustration. 

“Not the mission, Commander! It got done, and there were no losses- a clear victory”.

“But what I just heard…” .Cassandra gestures to where Cullen and the Inquisitor had been arguing.

“Such hypocrisy! I wouldn’t have expected that from you”.

Cullen’s jaw clenches, feeling the sting of Cassandra’s words. His voice remains stern but there is a hint of defensiveness to it now.

“You think I don’t know how it sounded? I know exactly how it looked”.

He takes a step forward to close the gap between them. 

“...when it comes to her… when it comes to her safety, I can't afford to stop and think clearly”.

“... Thinking clearly is the only thing you can afford right now, Commander. And soon, that too will waver- you still haven’t told her, have you?”.

He hesitates for a brief moment, his eyes darting away from Cassandra’s gaze. He takes a moment to choose his words carefully before speaking.

“... no, I.. I haven’t”.

He lets out a sigh, running his hand through his hair once more, frustration etched on his face.

“..You know why I can’t”.

Cassandra heaves a heavy sigh and gives him a look that he can only describe as disappointment. She comes around the war table to stand beside him. 

“You can’t keep putting yourself in unnecessary, reckless danger”, She quotes him.

Cullen stands there processing Cassandra’s words. He knows She’s right, the hypocrisy in his own actions. He lets out a sigh, feeling the weight of the situation press down on him.

Maker’s breath…

Cassandra gives his shoulder a squeeze and then excuses herself from his presence.

As She leaves, He’s left alone in the war room with his thoughts, the sound of the door closing echoing in the room.

His mind is a whirlwind. The argument with Calliope, The conversation with Cassandra, his own conflicted feelings on the matter.

He rubs the back of his neck, frustrated and on edge. After a few moments, he lets out a sigh, still trying to corral his thoughts when his blood begins its insidious call for the Lyrium.

It’s a familiar sensation, the urge to give in to the craving.

Cullen closes his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. He grits his teeth, fighting against the pull of the withdrawal. It takes considerable effort, but he manages to push the craving to the back of his mind, burying it beneath his discipline and determination.

“I won’t”, he says aloud to himself. A reassurance.

The intensity of his raised emotions from the argument only seems to further intensify the symptoms of his withdrawal.

He can feel a headache starting to form, a sense of weakness creeping in. His muscles tense as he fights against the physical and mental fatigue.

All of a sudden he desires nothing more than to retreat to his office, to wait out the symptoms and try and think.

With a new sense of determination, Cullen pushes himself off the table, forcing his body to move despite its growing fatigue. He heads out the door and through the hall, a bit unsteady as he tries to maintain his composure.

He’s almost to the main hall when Josephine spots him. 

“Oh, Commander! Do you have a moment?”

Cullen stops, turning to face Josephine. His expression is stoic, masking the ongoing struggle within him. He draws in a measured breath, trying to maintain his usual professional demeanor.

 “Of course, Lady Ambassador. What do you need?”.

“We have some visiting Dignitaries next week, I’ve been informed they would like to tour the ramparts, talk to the soldiers and the like. Are you amenable to this request?”

Cullen takes a moment to consider. The influx of visitors during a time of turmoil is less than ideal, but he understands the importance of diplomacy even if he detests politics.

He nods, his voice firm and steady, “ Yes, I think that can be arranged. We’ll ensure the ramparts are secured and the soldiers briefed on proper protocol for receiving dignataries”.

“Excellent, Commander. And… if I may be so bold as to add..”, She says hesitantly.

Cullen raises an eyebrow, curious what else Josephine has to say. He nods, signaling for her to continue.

“Speak your mind, Lady Josephine”.

The ambassador's face softens, “ Give her time, commander. Give both of you some”, she advises.

Cullen stiffens slightly, caught off guard by Josephine’s unexpected words. He had been expecting a comment about the dignitaries, but this was different.

He nods slowly, understanding her implication.

“I...see. Thank you for your advice, Lady Josephine”.

His thoughts are in disarray, the withdrawal and the current emotional turmoil warring within him.

Josephine gives him a friendly nod and goes back to her work, leaving him to his thoughts.

Cullen stands in silence for a few moments, trying to process his thoughts and feelings. The conversation with Josephine has only added to the complexity of his situation.

He rubs the back of his neck, sighing in resignation. He needs to clear his head, to collect his thoughts into some semblance of order.

He turns and begins to head to his office, to find solitude.

[tiisshu]

DA:I C/ullen/ Inquisitor (human, warrior) lyrium withdrawal fic - Part 2

Sorry it's taken a bit to get the second part out, we've suffered a tragic loss in our family and I haven't had as much time to edit as I need.

Here is the second part to my angsty C/ullen /Inquisitor sickfic... thing. Warning, there is the beginnings of descriptions of withdrawal symptoms. Please, if you are sensitive to such descriptions, unfortunately from here on out I would suggest skipping this.

Anyway, here you go...

2. Advice

Commander Cullen braces himself, knowing this conversation has the potential to be more heated than the last.

He takes a deep breath and looks at Cassandra firmly.

 “I did what I had to do to ensure her safety. As her Commander, it is my duty to protect her”.

“Just as her commander, huh?”. Cassandra’s face dares him to contradict her.

Cullen’s expression remains stoic but he recognizes the challenge in the Seeker’s tone. He straightens his stance and looks her straight in the eye.

“My personal feelings aside, my duty comes first, and I need not remind you of how stubborn She can be”.

Cassandra makes an emphatic noise of frustration. 

“Not the mission, Commander! It got done, and there were no losses- a clear victory”.

“But what I just heard…” .Cassandra gestures to where Cullen and the Inquisitor had been arguing.

“Such hypocrisy! I wouldn’t have expected that from you”.

Cullen’s jaw clenches, feeling the sting of Cassandra’s words. His voice remains stern but there is a hint of defensiveness to it now.

“You think I don’t know how it sounded? I know exactly how it looked”.

He takes a step forward to close the gap between them. 

“...when it comes to her… when it comes to her safety, I can't afford to stop and think clearly”.

“... Thinking clearly is the only thing you can afford right now, Commander. And soon, that too will waver- you still haven’t told her, have you?”.

He hesitates for a brief moment, his eyes darting away from Cassandra’s gaze. He takes a moment to choose his words carefully before speaking.

“... no, I.. I haven’t”.

He lets out a sigh, running his hand through his hair once more, frustration etched on his face.

“..You know why I can’t”.

Cassandra heaves a heavy sigh and gives him a look that he can only describe as disappointment. She comes around the war table to stand beside him. 

“You can’t keep putting yourself in unnecessary, reckless danger”, She quotes him.

Cullen stands there processing Cassandra’s words. He knows She’s right, the hypocrisy in his own actions. He lets out a sigh, feeling the weight of the situation press down on him.

Maker’s breath…

Cassandra gives his shoulder a squeeze and then excuses herself from his presence.

As She leaves, He’s left alone in the war room with his thoughts, the sound of the door closing echoing in the room.

His mind is a whirlwind. The argument with Calliope, The conversation with Cassandra, his own conflicted feelings on the matter.

He rubs the back of his neck, frustrated and on edge. After a few moments, he lets out a sigh, still trying to corral his thoughts when his blood begins its insidious call for the Lyrium.

It’s a familiar sensation, the urge to give in to the craving.

Cullen closes his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. He grits his teeth, fighting against the pull of the withdrawal. It takes considerable effort, but he manages to push the craving to the back of his mind, burying it beneath his discipline and determination.

“I won’t”, he says aloud to himself. A reassurance.

The intensity of his raised emotions from the argument only seems to further intensify the symptoms of his withdrawal.

He can feel a headache starting to form, a sense of weakness creeping in. His muscles tense as he fights against the physical and mental fatigue.

All of a sudden he desires nothing more than to retreat to his office, to wait out the symptoms and try and think.

With a new sense of determination, Cullen pushes himself off the table, forcing his body to move despite its growing fatigue. He heads out the door and through the hall, a bit unsteady as he tries to maintain his composure.

He’s almost to the main hall when Josephine spots him. 

“Oh, Commander! Do you have a moment?”

Cullen stops, turning to face Josephine. His expression is stoic, masking the ongoing struggle within him. He draws in a measured breath, trying to maintain his usual professional demeanor.

 “Of course, Lady Ambassador. What do you need?”.

“We have some visiting Dignitaries next week, I’ve been informed they would like to tour the ramparts, talk to the soldiers and the like. Are you amenable to this request?”

Cullen takes a moment to consider. The influx of visitors during a time of turmoil is less than ideal, but he understands the importance of diplomacy even if he detests politics.

He nods, his voice firm and steady, “ Yes, I think that can be arranged. We’ll ensure the ramparts are secured and the soldiers briefed on proper protocol for receiving dignataries”.

“Excellent, Commander. And… if I may be so bold as to add..”, She says hesitantly.

Cullen raises an eyebrow, curious what else Josephine has to say. He nods, signaling for her to continue.

“Speak your mind, Lady Josephine”.

The ambassador's face softens, “ Give her time, commander. Give both of you some”, she advises.

Cullen stiffens slightly, caught off guard by Josephine’s unexpected words. He had been expecting a comment about the dignitaries, but this was different.

He nods slowly, understanding her implication.

“I...see. Thank you for your advice, Lady Josephine”.

His thoughts are in disarray, the withdrawal and the current emotional turmoil warring within him.

Josephine gives him a friendly nod and goes back to her work, leaving him to his thoughts.

Cullen stands in silence for a few moments, trying to process his thoughts and feelings. The conversation with Josephine has only added to the complexity of his situation.

He rubs the back of his neck, sighing in resignation. He needs to clear his head, to collect his thoughts into some semblance of order.

He turns and begins to head to his office, to find solitude.

[tiisshu]

DA:I C/ullen/ Inquisitor (human, warrior) lyrium withdrawal fic.

This is just the setup chapter , so there is no real suffering yet. If you are sensitive to descriptions of d/rug cravings, maybe stop before chapter 3 and beyond as I don't want to upset/trigger.

I don't want C/ullen to suffer, I want him to be saved.

Also would like to add I don't know if the use of pulling rank is correct so just go with it lmao

1. Tastes like Boot

For a successful mission, this one had certainly gone bollocks up.

Things had been set with the missive for weeks on this one, with the determination that the best course of action was to split the forces sent with one detachment going to look for some of their troops that had been detained in the area..

That morning before the War party left however, The Commander delivered an alternative directive - essentially leaving the troops to fend for themselves in the meantime doubling the guard on The Inquisitor because of a rumor Red Templars had been seen in the area. A rumor their Spymaster couldn’t confirm.

The War party had set out, the directive secured, and what’s more a runner had arrived shortly after Noon with news the detained troops were spotted on the north road heading back to the keep.

The War council was fully aware of The Inquisitor’s - of Calliope’s ire that decision had invoked regardless.

When they’re in the field, in front of others, The Commander and the Inquisitor of the Inquisition maintain a very professional appearance - even if their inner circle knew what the two Warriors had going on behind closed doors.

Cullen decides this is the best decision they’ve made thus far in their relationship together because right now, across from him at the War Table, She looks ready to spit fire.

He closes the door to the War Room after everyone else enters and he leans back against it crossing his arms.His tone remains calm but has a stern undertone as his hazel eyes focus on Calliope.

“Inquisitor, I want to discuss what happened back there”.

She doesn’t immediately look up nor does she address him yet as She’s studying the Markers He had adjusted that morning.

He follows her gaze, noticing which ones have her attention. Taking a few steps towards the table, careful to maintain some distance. He speaks in an authoritative, clipped tone, when her silence spurns him.

“Look at me!”.

The air in the room suddenly feels like it’s charged with static, the rest of the council stunned into silence.

Cullen can see the way her jaw is working as she clenches and unclenches her jaw as she finally looks up into his face. Green eyes cold with fury look back at his own simple hazel with a look that can only be described as piercing.

He recrosses his arms and schools himself into his usual stoic expression trying to appear undeterred by the sharpness of her anger.

“You can be angry all you like, Inquisitor, you know I can’t standby and allow you to endanger yourself unnecessarily “. To his left, Cassandra winces slightly at his words.

Cullen notices the reaction, but he’s already got himself rolling with this and He’s just annoyed enough with this situation to lose his temper.

“You are The Inquisitor! You have a duty to fulfill and I won’t hear of you putting yourself in unnecessary, reckless danger!”.

He expects an instant rebuttal but The Inquisitor is not listening- Calliope is now looking at how stiffly Cassandra holds her posture.

Cullen glances at Cassandra, his eyes narrowing, knowing the secret they share. He understands the contradiction in his statement but continues, his voice firm.

“I understand that you want to get the job done, but you can’t compromise your safety in the process.

Calliope looks up then and speaks in a sharp tone she has never used before, it's tone even in this scarily measured way.

“ People’s lives are at stake. Time is not a luxury we have, and you reroute us so…what? You can spare me a hypothetical?”.

She begins to tap different markers with clipped angry movements.

“Tell me, Commander, How will you advise on the next mission - Western Approach? Can’t have the Inquisitor risking a sprained ankle running through sand dunes, better extend the mission by three days to walk the perimeter”.

She taps a marker in The Fallow Mire. “ Hmm, better hold off on this one too until the rainy season passes, better not risk “The Inquisitor” a head cold”.

Cullen takes in a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he struggles to keep his own frustration in check, “Yes, people’s lives are at stake, and that includes yours. I intervene to keep you safe”.

He gestures to the markers She tapped in her tirade.

“ I’m not asking you to just… sit around, I’m cautioning against needless danger and as The Commander, it is within my duty to adjust accordingly”, he explains as he shifts his posture to square his shoulders the way the title demands.

Belatedly, Cullen has a moment to realize he’s made some grave error before he notices a muscle jump in her cheek and he’s looking into startled, affronted green eyes.

“..are…are you pulling rank on me?”

The others in the room are staring at the edges of the War Table now as if idly wondering what kind of wood it's made from.

There is an imperceptible hint of regret that flickers across his face, realizing that perhaps pulling rank wasn’t the best choice, but she’s being flippant with his concerns and He was getting a headache for all his trouble.

“Yes. I.. am”.

He holds her gaze, unflinching, despite the tense atmosphere in the room.

“As Commander, it is my responsibility to ensure the safety of our forces and that includes you. It's done, I won’t speak on it any further ”.

Calliope stands there with her jaw clenched, looking like there is a wealth of things She wants to say to him, before she promptly slips on her more detached, impartial “Inquisitor” mask and gives him a curt, “Commander” and leaves the room.

Cullen watches her leave, with fresh frustration etched on his face. The others in the room exchange glances, the tension thick in the air.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Maker’s breath…

He shakes his head and turns to the rest of the council, his voice laced with resignation.

“Let’s…continue with the other matters at hand…”

...

No one moves to speak first.

Cullen notices the differing reactions from the others.

He can feel the disapproval from Cassandra, Josephine’s unease, and Leliana’s practiced neutrality.

He straightens his stance, trying to maintain his composure. He resists the urge to rub the back of his neck again and decides he better address this…

“I know you don’t approve of my decision, but I … -The Inquisition can't risk losing her”.

Cassandra turns to Lelianna and Josephine and in an even tone says, “Leave us”.

Once they’ve both made their retreats Cassandra crosses her arms across her chest and demands, “ What, in the Maker, was that, Commander?”.

[tiisshu]

Second chapter going up tomorrow night.

[tiisshu]

DA:I C/ullen/ Inquisitor (human, warrior) lyrium withdrawal fic.

This is just the setup chapter , so there is no real suffering yet. If you are sensitive to descriptions of d/rug cravings, maybe stop before chapter 3 and beyond as I don't want to upset/trigger.

I don't want C/ullen to suffer, I want him to be saved.

Also would like to add I don't know if the use of pulling rank is correct so just go with it lmao

1. Tastes like Boot

For a successful mission, this one had certainly gone bollocks up.

Things had been set with the missive for weeks on this one, with the determination that the best course of action was to split the forces sent with one detachment going to look for some of their troops that had been detained in the area..

That morning before the War party left however, The Commander delivered an alternative directive - essentially leaving the troops to fend for themselves in the meantime doubling the guard on The Inquisitor because of a rumor Red Templars had been seen in the area. A rumor their Spymaster couldn’t confirm.

The War party had set out, the directive secured, and what’s more a runner had arrived shortly after Noon with news the detained troops were spotted on the north road heading back to the keep.

The War council was fully aware of The Inquisitor’s - of Calliope’s ire that decision had invoked regardless.

When they’re in the field, in front of others, The Commander and the Inquisitor of the Inquisition maintain a very professional appearance - even if their inner circle knew what the two Warriors had going on behind closed doors.

Cullen decides this is the best decision they’ve made thus far in their relationship together because right now, across from him at the War Table, She looks ready to spit fire.

He closes the door to the War Room after everyone else enters and he leans back against it crossing his arms.His tone remains calm but has a stern undertone as his hazel eyes focus on Calliope.

“Inquisitor, I want to discuss what happened back there”.

She doesn’t immediately look up nor does she address him yet as She’s studying the Markers He had adjusted that morning.

He follows her gaze, noticing which ones have her attention. Taking a few steps towards the table, careful to maintain some distance. He speaks in an authoritative, clipped tone, when her silence spurns him.

“Look at me!”.

The air in the room suddenly feels like it’s charged with static, the rest of the council stunned into silence.

Cullen can see the way her jaw is working as she clenches and unclenches her jaw as she finally looks up into his face. Green eyes cold with fury look back at his own simple hazel with a look that can only be described as piercing.

He recrosses his arms and schools himself into his usual stoic expression trying to appear undeterred by the sharpness of her anger.

“You can be angry all you like, Inquisitor, you know I can’t standby and allow you to endanger yourself unnecessarily “. To his left, Cassandra winces slightly at his words.

Cullen notices the reaction, but he’s already got himself rolling with this and He’s just annoyed enough with this situation to lose his temper.

“You are The Inquisitor! You have a duty to fulfill and I won’t hear of you putting yourself in unnecessary, reckless danger!”.

He expects an instant rebuttal but The Inquisitor is not listening- Calliope is now looking at how stiffly Cassandra holds her posture.

Cullen glances at Cassandra, his eyes narrowing, knowing the secret they share. He understands the contradiction in his statement but continues, his voice firm.

“I understand that you want to get the job done, but you can’t compromise your safety in the process.

Calliope looks up then and speaks in a sharp tone she has never used before, it's tone even in this scarily measured way.

“ People’s lives are at stake. Time is not a luxury we have, and you reroute us so…what? You can spare me a hypothetical?”.

She begins to tap different markers with clipped angry movements.

“Tell me, Commander, How will you advise on the next mission - Western Approach? Can’t have the Inquisitor risking a sprained ankle running through sand dunes, better extend the mission by three days to walk the perimeter”.

She taps a marker in The Fallow Mire. “ Hmm, better hold off on this one too until the rainy season passes, better not risk “The Inquisitor” a head cold”.

Cullen takes in a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he struggles to keep his own frustration in check, “Yes, people’s lives are at stake, and that includes yours. I intervene to keep you safe”.

He gestures to the markers She tapped in her tirade.

“ I’m not asking you to just… sit around, I’m cautioning against needless danger and as The Commander, it is within my duty to adjust accordingly”, he explains as he shifts his posture to square his shoulders the way the title demands.

Belatedly, Cullen has a moment to realize he’s made some grave error before he notices a muscle jump in her cheek and he’s looking into startled, affronted green eyes.

“..are…are you pulling rank on me?”

The others in the room are staring at the edges of the War Table now as if idly wondering what kind of wood it's made from.

There is an imperceptible hint of regret that flickers across his face, realizing that perhaps pulling rank wasn’t the best choice, but she’s being flippant with his concerns and He was getting a headache for all his trouble.

“Yes. I.. am”.

He holds her gaze, unflinching, despite the tense atmosphere in the room.

“As Commander, it is my responsibility to ensure the safety of our forces and that includes you. It's done, I won’t speak on it any further ”.

Calliope stands there with her jaw clenched, looking like there is a wealth of things She wants to say to him, before she promptly slips on her more detached, impartial “Inquisitor” mask and gives him a curt, “Commander” and leaves the room.

Cullen watches her leave, with fresh frustration etched on his face. The others in the room exchange glances, the tension thick in the air.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Maker’s breath…

He shakes his head and turns to the rest of the council, his voice laced with resignation.

“Let’s…continue with the other matters at hand…”

...

No one moves to speak first.

Cullen notices the differing reactions from the others.

He can feel the disapproval from Cassandra, Josephine’s unease, and Leliana’s practiced neutrality.

He straightens his stance, trying to maintain his composure. He resists the urge to rub the back of his neck again and decides he better address this…

“I know you don’t approve of my decision, but I … -The Inquisition can't risk losing her”.

Cassandra turns to Lelianna and Josephine and in an even tone says, “Leave us”.

Once they’ve both made their retreats Cassandra crosses her arms across her chest and demands, “ What, in the Maker, was that, Commander?”.

[tiisshu]

Chapter one is up, after I posted I was going through my draft to section into chapters but then fell asleep.

So far, I count 9 chapters