bakerstreet | The Love Confessions Meme

The Love Confessions Meme

THE LOVE CONFESSIONS MEME

Confessions of feelings are rarely as nice and romantic as they seem in the Hollywood flicks. Sometimes, they're screamed across an empty house as someone leaves. Others, they whispered across white pillow cases as bodies lie close together in the dark. Of course, these feelings may not be returned, but it may be the only shot you have.

If you even meant to spill, anyway.

How to Play
- Comment with your character, putting your information and preferences somewhere in the comment.
- Comment to other characters. Roll the RNG to get your prompt, or pick one.
- Play out the scene and take it whatever direction you'd like.
- Be cute and fun or sad and depressing.

Prompts

1. Planned: You've been planning to tell this person how you feel, and you know exactly the way to do it.

2. Spontaneous: Uh-oh, it just slipped out! Maybe you weren't thinking, maybe it was a fight, but somehow, your secret's out.

3. Heat of the Moment: What's better than calling someone's name out in the trows of passion? Why, telling them you love them, of course!

4. The Last Time: You're coming clean with your feelings because you're dying, moving away, leaving the planet, going to war, whatever. Might as well when you'll probably never see them again.

5. Jealousy: You've seen the one you love in the arms of another, and you just have to let your feelings be known so they don't end up with the wrong person! Selfish, what's selfish?

6. Drunk: A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts, so maybe you should be careful what you say, or you'll be telling your best friend you have the hots for her. Awkward.

7. Lie: You don't actually have feelings for this person, but you need them to believe that you do in order to use them, get something, or perhaps to not hurt their feelings.

8. Sweet: You confess...and they feel the same, and have wanted to say it for a while. Oh, how cute! Go on and enjoy your cute little romance.

9. One-sided: One of you confessed, but it's completely unrequited. Can you still be friends, or is that too painful?

10. Forbidden: Your love for this person is totally uncool - not allowed, even. But it has to be brought to light, preferably by you.

11. Unfulfilled: While you both love each other, you decided mutually that this can't go any further.

12. WILDCARD

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ That night... I can't stop thinking about it. Well, then I'll see you later. See you later? See Isabela later? For what? Of course he knew, but Andraste's damn, sodding ass, when had that begun? Not that it even mattered but... indiscretion, did they know nothing of it? For that matter, what of loyalty? Respect? He'd waited years, bided his time with patience and hope, telling himself that he couldn't rush or pressure the other, because he was skittish and turbulent with newfound emotions. That they would do this on his terms... and how was Hawke repaid?

Grumbling something bitter and broken into the lip of his mug, he tipped his head back and swallowed a gulp of piss ass ale. The Hanged Man's specialty, of course. It was the five of them; him, Varric, Anders, and the new couple, sitting at a far too large table. At one end, Anders, Isabela and Fenris were caught in a round of Wicked Grace, while Hawke sat at the other, idly drowning his sorrows and listening to the scratch of quill against parchment. Varric knew, as he did everything else and obviously, the dwarf had found some new interest in the supposed love triangle that was nothing more than a happy couple and him, watching from the outside, wondering how the blighted thing had slipped by him. Admittedly, Hawke wasn't exactly skilled at this romance thing, so between a detached, vengefully guarded elf and a pirate, who made a living out of being dishonest, he hadn't been exactly given a lot of hints of any genuine feeling going on between them.

Maybe it was selfish of him, to think he had some sort of claim – and he had the decency to wince at the word – over the elf, simply because he'd set his sights on him and flirted with him first. He was quite certain Isabela knew of his attraction, but Hawke hadn't been overly vocal about it either; actually, he'd made a point to downplay its significance, foolishly believing that it would overwhelm the smaller male if he came on too strong, too fast. In the span of six years though? He probably could have changed his pacing, and tried.

He'd always, sort of, maybe believed... when the timing was right, Fenris would have given him his cue.

But it was over. Done. The only cue Fenris was giving him was that there never had been and never would be anything between them. Maker, it had been bad enough to listen to them talk about it, literally, behind his back, but to watch Isabela lean and hook the fullness of her bosom on the edge of the table, prompting Fenris' gaze to lower to that near spill of skin...? He snapped his glass down, knocking it unkindly against the tabletop, before he pushed his chair back and climbed to his feet. ] I've had my fill for tonight. [ Of shitty drink and even shittier company; Varric tried however, to put a light spin on his abrupt departure, by describing the scene, right down to the tone of his voice, as he scribbled along. Hawke really hated it when he did that, but, securing his staff along his back, he rolled a shoulder and turned, pointedly ignoring the other end of the table – sorry Anders! ] Say what you will, but don't write it. [ Because he didn't want any of this immortalized in any of Varric's embellished stories. And with that, he left, bee-lining it out the door on only slightly wobbly legs. ]

Edited (Fancy talk :|) 2012-12-05 01:34 (UTC)

[This wasn't like Hawke. The night was young—and despite the smell of sour ale and vomit, it was quite agreeable. Hawke usually basked in this kind of ambience. It made him forget, if only but for a moment, that the world seemingly depended on him, and he could certainly appreciate a tranquil evening spent in good company. Tranquil... at least in comparison to his every day life. If altercations sometimes occurred, he wasn't the one doing the fighting, and that made all the difference. But nothing had happened. A game of Wicked Grace punctuated by vivid narration and an overload of alcohol—everything the man should have enjoyed... and yet he stood and barely glanced his way, intent on leaving.

He couldn't recall anything that could have caused his mood to decrease so drastically. It was usually Fenris who struggled to keep his even, and to watch the man walking away without so much of a word left a bitter taste in his mouth. Even now his chest constricted when he sensed trouble, and it was clear the man didn't have anything pleasant on his mind. It reeked of animosity, and Maker help him, he hoped he was wrong. It wasn't his business to interfere. They were close, of course, but there was a steady distance between them nonetheless, at least on his part. He enjoyed his company, and years spent by his side had transformed simple camaraderie into something more he couldn't allow himself to feel. It'd never disappeared, but it was controlled, kept at bay for the sake of his own sanity, and if he sometimes gave Hawke the cold shoulder... it was frighteningly strange to be given a taste of his own medicine. The kind of sensation that made his insides twist with a hint of dread, his pulse wilder.

Varric spoke. The dwarf earned himself a glare and a roll of mossy-green eyes—he had not been longingly staring at Hawke—and Fenris fanned the cards on the table, downing the last of his wine.] Consider yourself the victor, Isabela. I declare forfeit. [She looked at him with a curious glint in her eyes, as if she knew something he didn't. He ignored it, gathering his belongings as he pushed his chair and stood. She asked whether she would see him later, and not wanting to lie, he could only bring himself to offer an ambiguous answer.]

Perhaps. [It was as good as he could give, and truth be told, he just didn't know. His mind was as far from sex as it could possibly be, favoring instead a long lost dream that had quickly evaporated. He never chased after Hawke. He never chased after anyone, for that matter, but this seemed... urgent in a way he couldn't quite grasp, tormented by the look he'd seen on the man's face. He didn't have a good feeling about this, and if he could relieve whatever burden his companion supported, he would certainly try. He owed him that much.

He stalked after him, pushing the tavern's door open. The breeze was cool and the sky starless, the perfect night for the thugs of Lowtown. He grimaced and secured his weapon on his back, miffed that he didn't wear much of any gear at all. Only his markings protected him, the flimsy tunic he wore letting even the air tease the skin underneath, but he didn't let that deter him. He spotted Hawke climbing up the stairs nearby and he followed, focused on him yet still very alert of his surroundings.] Hawke! [He quickened his pace and reached him in no time, making a point to keep his mood light as to not aggravate him further.] Has the sour ale you always drink so fondly finally turned against you? [Because it was nothing more than shit, a poison he was surprised hadn't killed anyone yet.] I have quite a few bottles of wine in my possession, should you be interested in trying something more... palatable. [Subtle, Fenris? Rarely.]

[ He wasn't mad. Frustrated, yes. Sad, embarrassingly so. But the ties between him and Fenris were nothing more than figments of his imagination; there had never been any discussion or promise, just a one-sided, fool's hope to be there when the elf needed him. If he tried, really tried to see the good in this, Hawke could admit that there was something encouraging hidden within it; Fenris chose. That was what freedom was all about, wasn't it? The elf had spent years upon years trying to define his life and embody the kind of freedom most people took for granted, so even if it wasn't him the other wanted, he was... happy Fenris had found the strength to begin living, really living. With this first step done, perhaps Fenris wouldn't hole himself up in that decaying mansion day in and day out any longer; there wasn't much reason to anymore anyway, not with Danarius dead. And maybe, when Isabela inevitably claimed a new ship, she could take Fenris along and explore and plunder and show the rest of Thedas to the once confined elf. It was almost romantic and just begging to be made into one of Varric's stories.

The ex-slave and the pirate. He would make a pretty, little fortune with that. With Hawke's coin included. He'd buy a crate of those books, stack them nice and tight, and then light them on fire with one well aimed fireball.

Scoffing quietly, Hawke shook off the thought; obviously, his perceptions were twinged with a hint of spite and a whole lot of jealousy. He was happy for them. Really. Or he would be after a few nights of heavy drinking and a few years to cope with his already wasted years. He only needed to go home, lock himself in his room and wallow away the hours; the hangover tomorrow would do wonders to blot out all coherent thought and then he could simply repeat the routine until someone – his guess was Aveline – smacked him for being such a moping, waste of space. Then, once the alcohol binge was over, he could try the Blooming Rose; that had always lifted his spirits and taken his mind off things those first, brief months before meeting Fenris. Maybe it would work again?

Probably not; fool's hope had gotten him into this mess, so why would it get him out of it?

There was one, slight hitch to his plan however – other than the obvious, at least. Fenris himself. He enjoyed following him, sure, but to this extent? Last he'd checked, they were off duty. As far as Hawke was concerned, they were still friends; appearances aside, he wasn't a sopping mess or broken enough to break their camaraderie in turn, but the enthusiasm he would have had for that invitation a day or two prior, was severely lacking. ] What of your other plans? [ He kept his gaze forward as the stairs leveled out and they reached the top, merely continuing in his stride with no intention of stopping for a proper conversation. ] Threes a crowd, as they say... [ He clipped his teeth together, as though punctuating the point, but then lips spread and he quirked a smile that was neither genuine, nor forced. ] … Unless this is a clever ploy to bring in a third. [ Bitter amusement tainted the thought, but he tried to keep his voice deceptively light; he didn't want him to feel bad – would he even? – but for once in his life, Hawke didn't want to see him. ] Careful Fenris, she's rubbing off on you.

[ ~~GO BE A SLUT SOMEWHERE ELSE FENRIS.~~ ]

She...?

[It didn't immediately sink in. He was distracted, taken aback by the man's odd behavior, and he couldn't quite process his thoughts at the same pace he usually did. It was as if Hawke couldn't stand looking at him and Fenris languished at the unsettling impression, caught off-guard. He had expected a laugh. A frank smile, at least, anything but this cold delivery of subtext he wasn't even sure he understood. There was something to read between the lines there, and considering the man's mood, he doubted it was anything good. He couldn't shake off the ominous vibes pooling in the pit of his stomach and no matter how hard he tried, he was irrevocably left with one single option. He needed to think, and he needed to do it fast.

How many she did they know? One that Hawke could possibly resent? The bitterness in his tone wasn't clear, but it was there nonetheless. The only "plans" he had involved Isabela, and unless Hawke had overheard the pirate's blunt reminiscences...] Isabela? [Was that it? The man had heard of their occasional rendez-vous and he didn't approve? Fenris' eyes narrowed on the straight line of his jaw, wanting to understand. He couldn't tell whether his friend frowned upon his or her decision—or the both of them together—but one thing was sure. Hawke had never condemned his choices before and it rubbed the elf the wrong way, accentuating the crease between his brows.]

Do you truly mean to judge where I choose to give my attention? If I didn't know any better... [... he would think the man jealous. But he didn't say anything. He merely sighed, wisely choosing silence. It didn't make sense. Hawke could certainly be a flirt, but Fenris had learned a long time ago that the man didn't swing his way. With his many losses and responsibilities, it had never occurred to the elf that Hawke could wish for a love life, let alone with another male. Fenris was scarred and he knew what it was like to deal with demons he couldn't crush, namely his own. There had been a time he'd been tempted to give in, to seek and offer in return what the man made him feel in spite of himself, but he was too much of a coward. He couldn't handle losing him, for he knew he would also lose a part of himself in the process. It wasn't something he could afford, not when his heart was involved, and with Isabela... it was a mere matter of physical needs, nothing that went beyond the pleasure of the flesh. It was harmless, pleasant, and yet with the vibes Hawke gave off, he suddenly couldn't help feeling guilty. Why? Why indeed; since when did the man find necessary to dictate his life?

Fenris' focus on him sharpened, his pace matching his. There had to be something else.] Hawke. [He tried really hard to keep his cool, determined to get to the bottom of it. He couldn't imagine dealing with this unwelcome sense of dread for an extended period of time—it already ate at him.] What is it? [Truly?]

Edited 2012-12-06 02:31 (UTC)

[ If he didn't know any better what? Would he be so bold to claim ignorance of the twisted remains of Hawke's affections? He wasn't blind enough to not know, was he? Hawke scoffed with a low puff of breath and ground his teeth to quench the urge to sneer. He was being unfair, he knew he was; foolishly open and undeniably reckless, Hawke made a point to indulge in any pleasantry he could find. He teased and coaxed and played; he was a habitual flirt and he made no apologies for it... but considering he never, never took anyone up on their offers, he'd thought it was obvious. A promiscuous lead at the Blooming Rose, a surprisingly suave merchant on the street, a finely dressed noblewoman who wasn't quite as ladylike as she would seem... Hawke took the bait, sure, but he used and reused the same common lines until the other pushed too far and crossed the line that had Hawke backing off with the inevitable let down. His only genuine interest came with Fenris and the rare moments he'd actually gotten him alone and worked up the nerve to try nudging at that ever-presence guard, he'd been horrible. It was a difficult thing to show one's interest without showing it too much and maybe somewhere along the line, his haphazard attempts to woo the elf had become something else entirely in Fenris' eyes. Maybe he truly didn't know.

But did that make it any easier to stomach?

Perhaps. Before, it had felt hopeless. Irrevocably decided. It had been a wordless rejection and for what it was, Hawke had been unable to bring himself to want to change it. If that had been Fenris' choice – Isabela over him – then he refused to fracture the happiness the other had spent years trying to find by forcing him to reconsider. However, if Fenris did not know the extent of his feelings, then... what? He would betray Isabela in the way she did him? Coax Fenris from her arms to his? Why trouble the elf further when he was quite obviously content with what he had now? Was Hawke that much better for him? Well, actually...

Wrinkling his nose and giving his head a small, firm shake, he knocked the thought loose before he could travel too far down that thread. He'd always been too forgiving. Too giving to those who didn't deserve it. And with Fenris? He was too damn selfless to put this on his shoulders. So he bit back his sorrow and with it, pushed down the urge to say something, instead offering a far too simple-- ] Nothing. [ He wouldn't buy it. Hawke knew there was little to deter the other, especially here, when he was already curious enough to leave their friends behind and follow him instead, but blind determination often served him well, so after a pause, he amended his explanation with a still very shallow-- ] Nothing worth discussing. Leave it alone. [ Still walking. Still refusing to look. Maker, the one time he wouldn't mind the distraction of a band of foolish bandits crossing his path, they were nowhere to be found. Figures. ]

Edited (TENSES. I keep mixing tenses.) 2012-12-06 22:00 (UTC)

[Fenris knew when it was time to retreat. He knew when to keep his mouth shut, and he knew how to apologize if he failed to do so. He knew when he was needed, and he also knew when he wasn't. But he didn't know this, the first time Hawke showed hints that his company wasn't required at all. He'd always enjoyed his assistance, even when Fenris was unable to offer much of anything. Silence was a treat between them, and it had served many times as soothing balms when words couldn't heal. They understood each other during critical times, and even when solitude called, they'd never outright rejected the other. Until now.

It was so uncharacteristically strange of Hawke. Even after his mother's death, the man had never refused a helping hand, and this seemed so out of the blue that Fenris couldn't fathom just what had happened. They'd had their share of arguments. It was always he who left first, he who shut off, until the mage found a smile and re-established the peace Fenris usually ruined. Was this what he so often put them all through? Stubborn mutism, leaving them to fumble through solutions even when none graced the horizon? Fenris sucked his teeth and decided against everything he knew he should do. He couldn't leave him alone. He couldn't leave it alone, not completely. He didn't usually impose, but this was so out of the ordinary that he was left grasping at straws, frustrated that whatever this was panned out in a way he didn't know. He never did do well with the unknown.

He shook his head, hissing in mock irritation.] Vishante kaffar, Hawke! [He was exasperated, confused and mad that the man made himself so unreachable. The roles were reversed and he didn't like it one bit.] Fine. If this is what you truly wish, I will leave it alone. [It was but a lure, a momentary breather, because he wasn't done. He quickened his pace, enough so that he could walk slightly ahead. He only needed to see his face, catch a glimpse of his eyes and hope that Hawke would look at him as well.] But will you at least consider my offer? [Wine. His best vintage. He wasn't quite willing to give up just yet, his tone rough on the edges. He couldn't decide whether he should worry or merely smack him across the head.] Or are you stubbornly intent on behaving like a child?

[ It was foolish, so very foolish, that he'd actually believed, for those first, few moments, that he'd won. For all his eloquence and tact, Fenris was a horrid liar; he could hide through silence and behind abrupt gestures, but his words themselves had always carried a blunt sort of honesty that left little room for deception. There were only a few times he could remember outright dishonesty on the elf's part – the first of which to come to mind being Hadriana, and linking that bitter frustration to now probably wasn't beneficial for either one of them – but here was a new, sly trick, and Hawke couldn't bring himself to believe him at all. Fenris would dog him for an explanation; he only needed time and wine and the stubborn determination he carried around just short of constantly. It was a trap. A blatant one, and Maker preserve him, Hawke felt like playing up the extent of their reversed roles by breaking something as Fenris did so often.

Why now? Why?

He'd waited years for Fenris to want his company badly enough to demand it. Hours earlier, he would have doubled his stride and happily chatted those pointy ears clear off as he led and followed in turn, until they reached the elf's borrowed estate, but now... – he could act his way through the worst situations, the ones that dealt death, but through matters of the heart? He couldn't pretend. He needed time and space, all the things he'd given Fenris any time he so much as hinted at them; why wasn't he allowed the same courtesy? Hadn't he earned it? Their friendship was safe, he wasn't throwing it away, and maybe in time, Hawke would welcome a night of shared drink again, but not yet. Not now.

It was funny then... how someone, who knew the merits of respected privacy, could be so bloody selfish. The jab bit at his attention and Hawke gave in for the briefest moment of insecurity, gifting Fenris with a glance that was all startled features and betrayed eyes, before he stubbornly looked away. There was a huff and a wrinkle of those features, everything accumulating to a bitter spit of-- ] My apologies. [ He forgot he wasn't allowed a show of weakness. Ah well-- ] Must I spell it out for you? [ Spell. Ha! He made a funny! ] You're smart, Fenris, I'm certain you can figure it out. [ He drooped his chin down, not quite hanging his head but retreating, hiding with a tighter bunch of his shoulders and a stubborn stare forward. ] Or you could ask Isabela. She knows. [ A beat and a hollow chuckle. ] Perhaps you two can share that wine and have a good laugh about it later. [ Okay. That was a cheap shot, but he felt entitled to a little bitterness. ]

Edited 2012-12-07 07:09 (UTC)

[He didn't recognize the man he thought he knew. The venom he spat reminded him of his own, but there was a note so cruel to his tone that he felt it punch the air out of his lungs, appalled before him. He blinked, certain he'd misheard. Accusations flew aimlessly and he wasn't even sure what he truly referred to, but the moment Hawke hinted at him laughing over whatever tormented him, Fenris lost it. He moved before he could think. He didn't understand how such a cheery man could utter such bitter things, and he needed to make it stop, because it wasn't real. It couldn't be.

So he did. Fury erupted in him, a trifle desperate, and he lurched at the man with all the indignation he possessed. There was a faint glow teasing his skin and he didn't care that he wore no gear. His bare hands were strong enough to grab him, fingers twisted sharp around the collar of his leathers. His grasp was firm, merciless, and he rammed the man into the wall with no sign of gentleness. His breath came quickly from both anger and fear and he tightened his jaw, glaring up at him with an impressive sneer.]

Have you gone completely mad? [His grip hardened and he pushed him again, as if to shake some sense into him.] Do you think so poorly of me that you would truly believe for even one moment that I could make light of the troubles plaguing your mind? [With Isabela, no less? He snarled dangerously, holding his gaze with feral irritation. He was offended. Worse, he was hurt, because this dumb man he valued so much had somehow gotten it all wrong. He clicked his tongue, growling low as he abruptly let go of him. He could have said so many things. Instead he merely breathed, torn somewhere inbetween rage and disbelief.] Is this charade truly about that sodding rogue? [He scoffed, taking a step back with a shake of his head. Isabela... So the man had fallen for her despite her extreme dislike of commitment and he was blamed? Because she'd chosen his bed over Hawke's? He needed only ask; the blighted pirate would part her legs for anyone, so long as they could deliver. He was certain that Hawke would, a most unwelcome reflection. It caused him to groan, and he gesticulated towards him in such a fashion it was impossible to miss his exasperation.] Snap out of it, you blasted fool. [If he needed reassurance, he could give him that. But he wouldn't apologize.] I would never have slept with her had I known that you fancied her. [His jaw twitched as he said the last words, his impenetrable scowl now slightly cracked. Hawke's affections for anyone else was a reality he'd stomached a long time ago, but it stung to be reminded of it. Isabela didn't matter to him the same as the man did—little did he know that it was he who haunted his nights, no matter how much of her flesh he could taste—and it was the best he could offer. ~~bros before hoes~~ The lyrium on his skin faded and it was dark again, the perfect fit to his mood.]

[ Feeling and familiarity had colored his perceptions over the years, true, but while he saw Fenris in just about very good light he could, he'd never forgotten his standing or how easily the elf could destroy him if he so desired. Fenris exuded danger. Violence. He was worn and jaded and bitter from far too many wasted years, and at times, Hawke could admit he was a threat not to be trifled with. Still, for all this time, Fenris had only resorted to insult and dry observation to administer his brutality, never outright force. Funny that the moment the elf inevitably broke, it wasn't against the abomination or the blood mage; instead, it was against the one that forgave and accepted more than any other member of their ragtag group. Entirely unfitting, wasn't it? Holding tight to that shred of humor, Hawke focused on it to soften the slam of his shoulders and the twist of fingers at his collar; mutely, he took what Fenris felt justified to give and didn't fight the push or even the second, instead watching every sneer and snarl with all the courage he could muster.

Maybe he should have fought, actually. He was mad, wasn't he? Just as worn and jaded and bitter as Fenris was on a daily basis; wasn't it his turn to be selfish and make someone else hurt in his stead? Maybe he would have, if Fenris had clutched a little tighter, a little longer, but the anger he'd been shouldering throughout this entire endeavor, stilled as the other released him; even then, even as he watched Fenris card through his emotions and try to find a reason for all this rubbish, Hawke might have found his resentment all over again if Fenris hadn't relented with that final statement. Not an apology, no, of course not, but it was regretful nonetheless, and while it was completely backwards and wrong and not what he wanted at all, it left Hawke drained, slumped there against the wall with his breath catching on an exhale that was twinged with something close to a laugh. Maker, had he truly butchered six, seven, however many years enough so that Fenris couldn't see what was so obvious to the rest?

Dipping his chin and staring down the length of his body to find his boots, Hawke shook his head, as exasperated with his rotten luck as he was amused by it. No wonder Varric seemed exceptionally happy about writing their warped love triangle; the misunderstandings and broken prides were amusing even to him, and he was the one suffering from them. ] You almost had it. [ The right idea, but the wrong person, and he settled on a wry smile, indulging in how pathetic all of this was for the beat that followed, only to lose that humor as quickly as it had come. He could leave it. He couldn't play along entirely, but he could try ending it; say he didn't fancy her, but make up some lame excuse to perpetuate this idea that he wanted some piece of Isabela and Fenris was a hindrance to that. Would that salvage much, if any, of his pride though? Well, actually, yes, it probably would, at least more so than coming clean would, but... – he pinched the bridge of his nose and then slid higher, squeezing at the tension point between his brows. Exhale, inhale, and sigh – if he didn't say it now, he would undoubtedly regret it for the rest of his life... even though he'd regret saying it too. ] She isn't the one I want.

[He'd rarely ever seen the man looking so defeated. It pained him, and beyond the aggravation and the need to comprehend, there was a flicker of compassion he felt for him that he couldn't explain. Fenris didn't fare much better. After this burst of fierce adrenaline, his mind was blank, his body weaker, and he wondered why he stood there in the dark. It was clear the conversation would not lead anywhere, and while it wasn't necessarily their first quarrel, it felt a lot more personal than all the others. It felt deeper, chafing ancient wounds that had never truly healed, and Fenris sensed it wasn't a battle he could win. His jaw tightened and he absentmindedly swept resistant dirt off his tunic, looking up the stairs as he pondered whether he should just leave. For a long moment it didn't seem as though Hawke was even willing to say anything—he couldn't even read his expression, otherwise so painfully clear—and just as he shifted on his feet and reluctantly forced himself to move, the man spoke.

Confusion bloomed in his mind and he swiftly glanced at him, brows severely knitted together. The intensity of his gaze could have peeled wallpaper.] Then what is it that you hope to... that you hope— [His frown sharpened and his focus as well as he cut himself off, silent words rolling on his tongue. He snapped his mouth shut, lips pressed into a frustrated sneer as he quietly stared, visibly disorientated. And then it dawned on him. His thoughts reeled and his expression softened the more they unfolded, leaving a scowl of sheer perplexity.]

What? [He barked the question with a shake of his head, his tone harsh because he simply didn't understand. He was no imbecile. For the clues Hawke was giving him now, it didn't take a genius to find the right equation, but it didn't match anything else. All those years... He swallowed hard, not liking the way his heart had started pounding. He could feel it in his chest and his temples, leaving in his head a distracting buzz.] Surely you do not mean to say that I have wrongly believed your affections to be elsewhere. [In lieu of where he'd wished them to be for so long. The thought was frightening, dread and hope mixing together in a tangle of emotions he couldn't handle. He hated that whatever dormant feeling he had sprung at the mere glimpse of a chance, and he forced it back down with all the strength he could muster. It didn't work as well as he'd wanted. There was a glint of uncertainty in his eyes, contrasting with his untamed stance.] ...Do you?

[ And was he going to get it...? Fingers still pinched, Hawke peeled open one eye to stare over at the other and between the scowl, the bark and the inevitable softening of confusion, it seemed unlikely that he would. The potential was there, but Fenris was skirting around the obvious and Hawke couldn't decide whether that was through continued ignorance or disinterest. Maybe something else entirely? For how easily Fenris' emotions flipped and switched, they were quite difficult to discern at times and Hawke was having a difficult time reading between the uncertain glint and that strong, unyielding stance. Would he welcome Hawke's feelings or would he condemn them as he did most other things? Fenris hadn't seemed particularly upset at the prospect of ending his relationship – if it could be called that – with Isabela, so if the attachment wasn't there, did that mean there was room for Hawke to weasel in? As usual, Fenris' thoughts were well-hidden under the more potent cover of impatience and unwilling to test the limits of it, Hawke shied away from weighing the full extent of his options, instead choosing, as he usually did, to fly by the seat of his pants and shoulder on.

He was this far into it already, why stop now? Might as well, right? Squeezing both eyes shut once more, he rubbed his fingers in and teased the headache threatening to form, before he inevitably caved for an amused puff of breath. ] Andraste's ass... am I truly this bad? [ He shook his head, and pulled his hand free, only to press it higher and through his hair. Curling in, he lightly tugged at the strands already stubbornly sticking up and flicked his gaze open, still finding it in himself to smile despite the likelihood of this crashing and burning into one huge mess of embarrassment. ] Even now it isn't clear. [ At least, not enough to snuff out all careful diversions, and they both knew how talented Fenris was at those. But see, after wasting a few, good years of his youth, he was growing tired of this back and forth of mix-matched understanding. His patience was growing thin and with it, he was beginning to see that slaughtering his dignity with a blunt, overdue confession wasn't quite as bad as it had once seemed. It couldn't quite get worse at this point...

Well. When Fenris was involved, of course everything could get worse, but he'd already shoved him into a wall, so there wasn't much else the elf could do to top that. Flopping his hand down, it swung at his side and he lightly tapped it against the wall, as though to remind himself of how undignified he looked slumped there against it; straightening up, he squared his shoulders, breathed in and... immediately hunched into himself again. Pitiful. That summed him up nicely. ] It's you, Fenris. [ A pause and then he flicked his gaze to the elf, staring at him for the following beat before setting his features on something almost determined. There. A touch of spirit, though it was still shallow, hesitant under all the uncertainty. ] I want you.

[Fenris didn't know how Hawke chose to spend his nights. He'd been careful not to dwell on it, ignoring flirtatious gazes and naughty lines exchanged as they traveled, mostly aimed at the fairer sex. But there was one thing he hadn't fully acknowledged—perhaps because it cornered him into believing that Hawke could indeed feel for him—and it was his unshakable loyalty. The man could have killed a dragon with his bare hands had Fenris only expressed the desire to watch him do so. He always listened. Always tolerated him by his side in spite of his strong aversion to the very thing he was. He even went as far as vindicating and supporting his arguments over magic matters, no matter how spiteful the elf could be. As if he favored him and what he thought above everything else.

Those were facts he'd consciously overlooked, but it was hard to ignore them now. All those years, Hawke had showed nothing but devotion and acceptance, and if Fenris trusted his judgment, it seemed obvious now that he'd always been somewhat of an influence. It was as if his eyes finally opened and he felt his throat close as it all sank in, a decade worth of lost realizations.] Why? [It was a stupid question. His arms fell on his sides and his shoulders with them, as if liberated from an invisible burden. Perhaps he'd always known. He'd certainly always hoped, even against his better judgment, but reciprocation meant so many things he wasn't sure he could handle. There had been little room for anything but resentment up until Danarius' death, and he finally lived, as well as his progression allowed. But his newfound verve was lacking, and as he faced him with his heart in his mouth, it was clear that Hawke encompassed all the missing pieces.

He didn't know how he felt. He was dismayed, terrified, but there was something else inbetween that slowly carved its way to his chest. Warmth spread and he couldn't swallow properly, hesitation shrouding his eyes.] I've surged against everything you stand for. I'm an elf, broody at best if we consider any tale the dwarf enjoys depicting. I've followed you everywhere, yet even now it feels like I could never fully repay you. [Because Hawke had done so much for him, and in ways, Fenris felt like he'd contributed very little in comparison. It caused him to sigh, the sound muffled through the straight line of his lips. It was madness, and he wanted to tell him that he deserved better, that everything he could share, anyone else gladly would in his stead. That he certainly asked for more trouble than he'd already given him. But he couldn't bring himself to. It was but another selfish hope and he frowned with the thought, offering what seemed to be an apologetic shrug. He may have looked coy, softened edges and febrile capitulation, and he hoped the starless sky played in his favor.] I'm beginning to think that you wouldn't enjoy your life nearly as much were it not so grueling.

Edited (oh look i can still edit mine) 2012-12-11 04:17 (UTC)

[ Of course he was questioning it. Fenris made a day job of nitpicking sensitive subjects, so why would he refrain now? What did it matter if it was Hawke's heart laid bare? Stomping all over it by asking him how he could feel something for a bad-tempered elf, as though he was idiotic for it, seemed like a much better way to handle the confession. On the bright side, it wasn't a rejection, at least not yet, and for that, Hawke felt a small inkling of confidence take root, maybe even begin to grow. Confusion, exasperation, a shred of annoyance... Hawke could deal with those; anything that wasn't Fenris turning tail and fleeing the situation because it was too much, too fast, too much of what he didn't want, was good enough in Hawke's play book. So there was hope, right? Hope that this wouldn't implode and that maybe, just maybe, his feelings weren't as one-sided as he'd previously thought. He just... had to tread lightly.

Or actually—

It wasn't quite a joke, but it was a jab without the singeing heat, and while surprised, Hawke relaxed with it, muscling up the courage to smile in a way that was far more lighthearted than he felt. ] Possibly. [ His life had never been easy, even in Lothering when his family was whole, but yes, in recent years, it was progressively harder to get to the next day intact. He didn't know how to stop at this point though; sometimes, he felt as though he was burning the threads of his life at both ends, that one of these days he would buckle under all the loss and stress, but he supposed... testing his limits so continuously, gave extra light to the softer, more important moments in his life, making them all that much more worthwhile. And this right here? It had the potential to be one of those few, all too fleeting moments. Just... – he twisted his lips on a frown, briefly indulging in the fit and feel of having some semblance of defense back in place, but he shook it free far too quickly, sighing away his reservation to try for another smile. He glanced from one side, to the next and then nodded to Fenris, forcing his voice level on a far too casual— ] But this is particularly grueling and I'd much rather skip the attempt to sway my feelings, and get right to the part where you give me an answer. [ Okay, he hadn't actually asked, but... to one's confession, wasn't it societal protocol for the other person to offer an echo or a gentle let down in response? So... did he feel something for him or should he get on with that alcohol binge? ]

[He couldn't ignore his smile. Fenris' eyes slowly widened as he watched the other's expression brighten, darkness fading. It was weak, but it was there, and the air locked in his chest at the sight. He wasn't used to Hawke being so defeated. He'd gone through so much in what sometimes felt like so little time, and he never crashed. He seemed invincible in many ways, but it was something Fenris had taken for granted. He couldn't any longer. He'd experienced in the span of minutes what he'd never known of him in a decade, and it was enough to snap him out of his stubborn resignation. He stared at him carefully, his palms moist as the chilly breeze made him tremble. Goosebumps appeared on his skin, tingling at the same rhythm of his pulse. It was hard, even now, to admit that it was Hawke that affected him so, brushing off the sweet anxiety his confession caused. But he couldn't lie to himself when the man looked at him the way he did, his gaze alone sending whirlwinds of tender warmth spreading high.]

For years I wondered what it was. [He spoke evenly, giving the slightest shrug.] I was blind to it. [It was vague at best, and he mentally chided himself for it. He'd never spoken so freely, but it was a urge he couldn't deny. It didn't matter that he couldn't even express what had haunted his soul for so long; he just needed to, as if his whole life depended on it.] Thinking of you with anyone else troubled me, yet I could not believe that it could be otherwise. I didn't want to. It prompted questions I was not willing to answer, and even now I wonder how it can be. [He averted his gaze momentarily, staring at nothing in particular. He'd been a coward. He was still one, and it was such a shocking reality that Hawke could genuinely care for him that he felt like a fool for never acknowledging the obvious. Because it was an evidence, one that was difficult to stomach for someone like him, one he could hardly accept. But in that moment, it was the only thing he wanted, feeling weak and strong and mindless, swiveling his gaze back to the man with a hint of timidity in his eyes.] I was never sure what it was like to truly feel. To... want someone. I can't claim to comprehend any of this... [He shook his head, rolling his shoulders with an apologetic tug of his lips. His expression was clear, gentle, and he took a step towards him, holding his breath. His temples had never throbbed so hard.] ...but what I do know is that it feels a lot more when I'm by your side.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Love Confessions Meme

5! slightly au with no bitter pill action. act iii. /piles more tags on you.

we ttly didn't discuss this at all

shhh. i look cooler if people think i come up with all this stuff on my own.

no. you just broke my heart, i won't shush. but i need to write less 8|

Hawke's bishfit is coming. Just. Gotta go through the manly routine first, y'know.

i love his manly routine. his manly everything, actually.

Do you love his manly pain? :|||||||||||||| POOR. HAWKE.

i do. in a really twisted way. and i godmodded like a boss.

that little, violent ho :c roughing hawke up like that. he better pamper him later.

that could very well happen

Good. & ugh. There's nothing worse than seeing a typo in a tag you can't edit. IT'S NOT PERFFECT.

and how do you feel about typos in the subject line~?

I kept staring at it, and I was like. There's something wrong with it, but. :|

did you figure out what it was?