shikadainosaur asked:

Cullen x Lavellan and “I can’t let you do that.” :)

Anger boils inside of him, bubbling deep within the contours of his mind like the magma that lies in wait in the depths of a volcano. The tips of his ears appear burned, bright red in color, streaking down either side of his face, tinting his nose and cheeks. His upper lip curls upward in a snarl, eyes burning holes in the wooden box he holds in his grasp.

The pad of his thumb glides across the wood finish, the smooth sensation against his skin sending chills down his spine. His fingers grasp the edges of the lid. He’s struggling – struggling with the temptation clawing at his lips, craving the warmth that coats his throat as the liquid seeps down past his tongue. He’s so close – so close to ending the terrors that haunt his mind, the endless pain that courses throughout his body, the voices of the fallen that speak to him at night. The temptation is too much, driving him to lift the lid away from the carefully crafted hollowed out wood. Within, thin layers of velvet line the flooring of the box; indentations carefully carved into the wood allow the fabric to dip in various shapes, shapes that hold several different items within.

The various tools and instruments fail to capture his interest, his golden brown gaze instead being enthralled by the small glass bottle housing an all too familiar liquid. His fingers enclose around the slim neck of the bottle, pulling the object free from its housing. The blue liquid swishes against the glass at the movement. The liquid begins to settle in its housing, the waves brought on by sudden movement slowly coming to a calm. He removes the cork and sets it aside upon his desk. He brings it just inches away from his face. The familiar aroma that wafts out of the bottle trickles past his nose, and he inhales the scent long and slow.

Every inch of his body is set ablaze, the cravings becoming too much to handle now that the aroma has entered one of his senses. The scent – somewhat foul with a hint of sweetness similar to that of a rather weak smelling fruit – sets off his taste buds, and he is certain he can taste what he craves for so much. An herbal taste, bitter and tangy, sweet, yet impossible to allow linger, like that of strong liquor. It isn’t the tastiest thing in the world, but it helps the Templars – helps him rid of the unbearable symptoms that plague his body.

His arm lowers just enough to place the rim of the bottle at level with his lips. The smell has become intoxicating, and he cannot bare the temptation much longer. The glass is against his lips. He hesitates.

Soon the bottle begins to rise toward the sky, and the liquid lyrium drains from within and glides with ease down his throat.

His throat warms and his stomach is soon to follow. It is unlike the warmth of wine – not pleasant in any aspect, but rather long, lingering, and much, much warmer. His mouth tingles, the awful taste of the lyrium having made its home upon his tongue, a reminder of his failure to resist temptation.

The fix of lyrium has supplied him with a sort of ease. The cravings have been rid of, the pains slowly fading away from his limbs. Mentally, he is ready to conquer anything that comes his way, and yet it isn’t enough to push out the guilt creeping upon him.

In just a few seconds time, he has managed to throw nearly four months of sobriety down the drain.

It is then that he realizes that, not only has he failed himself, he has failed her.

His grasp upon the glass bottle tightens to an extreme, the force cracking the object and soon shattering it within his hand. The shards that have no lodged themselves within his hand have fallen to the ground, blood trickling from his palm, dripping on the cool floor beneath him. Shards of glass are soon stained red.

The pain registers and a grunt escapes from his throat. He examines the damage he has caused to himself; thankfully, the few cuts he has received are shallow. He quickly takes to extracting the glass pieces lodged into his skin, placing them delicately upon his desk. Those beneath his feet crunch audibly as he moves in search of bandages.

Keep reading


Another box I painted as a gift :)

Kinda Halloween/haunted house themed, but with a sneaky Weeping Angel.

Acrylic paints on wood

My other painted box is HERE

I built this “modern” gramophone yesterday evening. It basically amplifies music from my phone and looks cool in the process. The wooden box is a 1930s DuPont explosives container. It uses no electricity except that of your charged phone. The inside of the box can still be used as storage for anything you wish to hide. Please listen and enjoy.