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google show me a fictional character who wants love so badly but they can’t tell the truth to save their own life and they have like sixteen complexes that stem from their childhood and probably just as many vices to offset those complexes and ideally they’re a bonafide yearner underneath it all but my god to say so would be too vulnerable so they never get what they want ever. google show me that
Hey, I managed a second one-shot! Another combined prompt, this is for Day Four: Exploration and Day Six: Mourning.
Scar Tissue
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x F! Lavellan
Word Count: 2,211
Notable Tags: POV Cullen Rutherford, Flashbacks, Cullen Rutherford Has Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Battle Scars Discussion, Post-Coital Pillow Talk, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mage-Templar Relationships, Name Undefined Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Kissing It Better, Cullen Rutherford in Love, Almost Smut, Cullen Rutherford's Lip Scar, Lorebuilding
"Was this an arrow wound?"
Her hands were playing softly over the skin of Cullen's arm as they dozed together in the fading light pouring in from an open balcony door. Safely ensconced in her quarters and happily tangled up in each other in the afterglow of her return to Skyhold, he could scarce understand how he'd earned the good fortune to be here—laying abed with his lover in his arms. Lavellan's lithe body curled into his, her head tucked under his chin and her leg thrown easily over his hip, their sweat-damp skin cooling from the faintest movement of chill mountain air from outside. Her slender fingers toyed with the golden hair on his arm, utterly fascinated as she was by the myriad differences between human and elven bodies. How amusing was her wonder, how endearing!
Cullen looked to the diamond-shaped scar in question halfway up his bicep.
"Yes, it was," he smoothed his palm over her hip as he spoke, because even he could admit that moments like this—touches like this—had been what he missed most while Lavellan was away, "That is from my first field outing, after my assignment to Ferelden Circle. One of the mage apprentices there had a knack for… well. Perhaps that's a tale for another time. Needless to say, the other greenhorn knight who came with us could have stood for much more practice before declaring herself an archer."
Her smile crinkled the corners of her vibrant eyes, setting her willowy vallaslin to dancing. It warmed him through to see it.
"Are all of your scars accompanied by similar stories?"
He hummed and focused on the smooth, warm skin under his hand; petted her from her ribs to just under the curve of her bottom. All of this, it still felt so new to him, so fragile. Like this kind of intimacy was not really meant for one such as him. Like he was taking advantage, an interloper on someone else's deserved happiness. He recognized, however, that this was the shadow of guilt and regret still clinging to him; still serving him falsehoods. And that was a start.
All the more reason to revel in, indulge in, and adore her need to touch.
Or was it his closely-held wish to be touched?
While he often marveled at the notion—and occasionally disbelieved it—he was beginning to understand he was truly wanted here, wanted by this beautiful, incorrigible, inexplicable woman. The heavy, earthen scent of lovemaking lingered in the close air around them, the heat and damp of her sex still palpable against his thigh. If he could burn a memory into his psyche so that it might never leave him, it would be this moment.
"Most of them, yes. I imagine it depends on whether I can remember how I got them anymore. Some are very old."
And some I do not wish to remember.
Lavellan propped herself up in his arms. "Could I ask you about some of them? I have guesses for a few, and I'm just so curious!"
"Of course, sweetling," he swallowed, "but I should warn you, many of the stories are… unpleasant in their nature."
"I know, vhenan, but aren't battle scars ever thus?"
"Well…"
The unease in his belly was surprising. Lavellan knew much of his life already, in broad strokes at least; even his ugliest secrets—his weakest, most cowardly, most shameful moments. Nothing he had shared with her so far had sent her running, so why did the fear persist? Would a more specific examination of his faults and deficiencies really give her pause? Turn her cold? Make her hate him the way he sometimes believed she ought? Would they row the way they did in Haven?
"How about this. If I ask about a scar and you'd rather not tell the story, you can pass and I'll move on. And you can ask me a question, if you want. I've got a few scars of my own, you know."
"Oh, I'm well aware," he laughed, "I am made to learn of your injuries via field reports." Cullen breathed in a centering breath. "Alright," he smiled softly, "The proposal seems fair. Where would you like to begin?"
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I love DA2. The shitty graphics. The horrible gameplay. The story so unavoidably devastating and beautiful and horrible. Everyone hates each other. Everyone loves each other. You’re constantly filling the streets with bodies and there are no ramifications for this. There are ramifications for everything you say and do. Everyone’s bisexual. There’s a dragon in the mine. You lose everyone and everything you love and care about and it’s inevitable. Isabela gets an STI at one point. Merrill is a blood mage. You go from rags to riches to going on the run. You have a dog. You set your friend up on a date with the guy she likes. You hunt down a serial killer who takes the last member of your family away. Your doctor friend is possessed and loves cats and commits domestic terrorism. You have no control. You control everything.
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Desperately want to write a time-loop DA:V fic but with the "dear gods, I'm tired" trope.
Just a Rook who has run the same journey hundreds, if not thousands of times. They've tried everything, gone through every possible major and minor decision variant. They've saved everyone. They've killed everyone. They've killed themselves. Nothing changes. They're so so so tired. They're old in their spirit if not their bones.
Maybe even make it worse, maybe each time they start again they're someone new. New body, new origins, sometimes magic, sometimes not. Just a true identity mindfuck of a time-loop.
And no one remembers but Rook.
Maybe they figure out how to end the loop over the course of the fic's cycle. Maybe not. I kind of just want to put them in the torment nexus.
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areudirty
snowghoul
2087
turnnoffyourmind
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
