#lyriurn

The same picture of Cullen’s bare ass...

light snickering in the distance

NGL I see him as about 95% straight

Send ✧ for a dream my muse had with your muse in it, or send ✃ for a nightmare my muse had with your muse in it.

     She stood with her hand pressed on the door, the nighttime air of Skyhold feeling flat and dense. Through echos, the sound of crashing furniture, falling objects, and shouting was heard from the other side of the door. Josephine didn't want to enter. The sounds alone were terrifying. But somehow, she progressed further, opening the barrier between herself and the man who she thought she knew. At the start, all that was visible to her was the assortment of books and chairs now scattered among the filthy floor.

     After a moment of scanning the room for a person, a silhouette of Cullen could be faintly made out in the corner. The candles were all blown out, only the dim light of the evening sky from the dysfunctional roof above helping with visibility. The loud clap of a book violently thrown to the wall made Josephine jump, immediately giving her the urge to leave the commander's room as quickly as possible.

     Her legs fought to carry her body out, sprinting until her lungs began to burn. But she could only move slowly, no matter how hard her body pushed. Cullen began to move to Josephine, his gentle pacing compared to her efforts in moving inexplicably faster.

     ❝I cannot do this.❞      

     He uttered, the usual softness in his tone of voice missing. Without further explanation, Josephine already knew what he was speaking of.

              ❝Cullen, lyrium will n-❞

     ❝I cannot do this!❞

     He bellowed, hands firmly pressed on her shoulders with force pushing her opposite direction, causing her to stumble backwards the way she came in. Being pushed back out the door at an alarming speed made her want to scream, but even with a mouth gaping open and eyes tight shut, no sound left her lips. The interaction was so quick, no logical thoughts on the lack of citizens among the town or the reasoning for entering Cullen's room in the first place came to mind. Only the worry that he would, in fact, kill her.

     Please, stop! Cullen, look at yourself! Help!      Help!

     She had words prepared, but somehow, her vocal cords forbid them from being spoken. In a matter of seconds, the much stronger man had pressed her to the ledge which bordered the walkway to his room and the ground far below. Tears running down her cheeks, she found no sympathy in the face before her. Only dark, blank, tired eyes staring directly back at her.

     With no more words spoken, or an explanation given, Cullen pushed Josephine to her death.

And then she woke.

     Josephine thankfully had not screamed in her sleep, though it was evident from the wet marks on her pillow that the crying was genuine. Her heart still pounded, not quite adjusted to the real surroundings. Unsure if going back to sleep was a good idea, she sat up, hoping to get the recent thoughts out of her head as soon as possible. After resting her face in her hands for a moment to consider reality, she hastily grabbed a book by her side, opening to the first page.

     ❝Just a dream. It was only a dream.❞

          The reputation of The Inquisition precedes them by far, and separating fact from fiction among the wildly circulating rumors has not been an easy task. Nor one she’s much troubled herself with, up to this point—Why would she, when she was halfway across the world? But plans change, and here she is, walking the Battlements, trying to wrap her head around the situation. There are new faces at every corner, and old ones, too, haunting her past, bringing about memories from times that have long since lost relevance, not since the Blight.

          Leliana as a spymaster was easy enough to believe. Cullen as the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, however… It was a stark contrast to the last memory she had of him. People change, she knew that, she was testament to that. It did little to dull the surprise, however, nor the sense of dread that sunk in the pit of her stomach like a stone. But she’s heard nothing but good things about him since her arrival, she must remember, she must not let the sour note of their last meeting spoil this opportunity. She’s reached the door to his office by the time her inner ramblings have come to a head, and she paces there, unusually unsure of herself. It is unbecoming of her. If she can slay an Archdemon, she can confront an old friend, the past be damned.

          Surana runs a hand through her hair, hoping to tame the pesky flyaways that constantly plague her and make her look less like a Warden and more like a woman of the wilds, and opens the door in a sudden motion to cut off her conflicting thoughts before she loses her nerve. She straightens, then, folding her arms behind her back, almost as if she was a soldier in formation.

            They’ve been avoiding each other ever since they fought.

    Bruised, blistered skin and bandages. That was what Cullen’s life consisted of the past few days. A newfound lack of sleep, a pang in his chest every time he could feel her magic around the corner. It was fear, heartache and guilt festering inside him like a god damn infection.

      {      If I ever see you, I will want to kiss you.

                        But I am at the moment—-

                                  —Quite emotionally unavailable.     }

    Being alert had its downsides. His senses frayed when her erratic energy presented itself near his door. The barest signs of a cold sweat broken out of anxiety formed on his brow and he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding when a paper was slid beneath the door. The energy fades and part of him wants to run after it, but the other part kept him cemented to his seat, holding a death grip on the hilt of his sword.

    A few minutes slide by without action and in a sudden flurry of motion he’s up and stalking towards the door, reaching down to pick up the paper. Two words and it’s all that it takes to make his eyes water. His neck has been more of a bother than he thought it would— vehemently avoiding the healers gaze and melting the ice himself was going to leave the nastiest scar he’d ever have in his life, not to mention the pain he’d endure just to let it heal properly without the use of magic— and he prodded the sore discolored tissue carefully.

Cullen owed her an apology. He knew he did, among other things, at the very least apologize for his deception. So he’d leave the confines of his office, eyes held low in search for her instead, the torn paper folded up and clutched in his palm.

Her feet had taken her, hurried steps, away from his door. She could not see his face. She could not see what she had done to him. But she had known, oh she had known. The soldiers reminded her of it every waking moment. Their glares, the harsh looks. She was alone again, people she thought she had befriended, turning their back.

She deserved it, deserved every second of it every drop of venom laced smiles, of poisonousness words behind her back. She had hurt their Commander. She had hurt their friend—her friend. Pain had clenched in her chest and she had pushed it aside weakly already knowing that frosted tears could not fall for she had cried and cried until she could cry no longer.

Her throat was hoarse, dry, lips cracking and skin pale—tales of sleepless nights and waking nightmares written across her face like words on a page.

She had ended up on the battlements, the wind brushing at her cheeks as she glanced out at the scene in front of her. She wasn't in her armour, his armour—she didn't feel worthy to wear it after what had happened—and so she was wearing just regular clothes, a tunic and trousers.

She took a step closer to the edge, peering over it with a look of curiosity.

Lani had never met a mage afraid of heights. She wasn't afraid of heights, growing up in the Tower had seen to that. She took a step closer, the wind pulling her hair free from it's loose tie, whipping it around her face.

It was exhilarating, despite her sense of better judgement she climbed upon the stone wall, toes just barely poking out over the edge, the edge of the abyss.

For a moment she didn't think, she couldn't think and she loved every second of it. Blood rushing in her ears, heart pounding in her chest.

Her eyes fluttered shut as the wind whipped her face.

She forgot everything, lost in the moment.

Send me ಠ_ಠ to know an inappropriate thought my muse has had about yours.

this is adorable omg;; also coding rip. im learning c++ and i know enough about html to make a few themes. all the trial and error ends up in cute things accidentally happening

rip all my free time wait this is my backup career plan

i know a fair bit of html and javascript, but i've also learned a bit of python and ruby and papyrus [the scripting language bethesda uses in their games]