The Love Confessions Meme

[grinded]

 

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

Comments

2 with a side of 6

[bloodyantivan]

[Zevran's been an off-and-on member of Hawke's little entourage over the years, passing through en route between Antiva City and Denerim when he needs to shake the Crows and helping earn a little quick coin. He and Fenris are not exactly close friends, but they get along well enough, and they both love wine. Zevran's visited more than once to grab some fine Tevinter vintage and give Fenris gambling tips, or even to spar and practice.

They've been drinking well into the night, talking mostly about weapons and this or that satisfying kill. It's an offhand comment, as easy as a yawn.]

You know, Fenris, I really love you.

[Zevran does not really realize he's said it, stretching out in front of the fire.]

zevran <3

[vishante]

[Fenris is in dire need of another bottle. He throws his glass into the fire, following it immediately with the decanter, relishing the sound of breaking crystal and the way the flames flare high from the alcohol. It's a gift he's never wanted, a thought from Varric to encourage his corpse-and-cobwebs-filled mansion to feel more like home. He doesn't need fancy decoration. It feels, and that's enough for him. Anything of importance he usually carries, and it's clear that his elven companion doesn't care much for show. They've been drinking in amiable silence, and Fenris enjoys the quiet evening, shifting on the settee to grab more wine on the table nearby. It's much better to drink from the source and his lips curl around a lazy smile, eagerly pressed to the bottleneck.

He isn't drunk, not quite, but there's a pleasant warmth teasing his senses and he feels comfortable. There's a faint buzz enveloping his thoughts, foggier than usual. They've exchanged a few words, and Fenris isn't surprised to hear Zevran speak again, although the words he says leave him slightly disconcerted. He downs a mouthful of wine, eyebrow raised in mild curiosity.]

You... do. [It isn't a statement, nor is it a question; it's something in-between. He doesn't read too much into it—knowing Zevran's tendency for unattached promiscuity, he figures it's nothing more than a compliment of sort, the kind only a drunken mind would allow—and he reaches out to share his alcohol, impassibly waiting for the elf to grab the bottle.]

[bloodyantivan]

[Zevran takes the bottle. He's used to being able to drink other people under the table without much thought. He has a terrific tolerance to all things toxic and has been drinking since an alarmingly young age. Yet Fenris is besting him tonight, which is probably one of the reasons why, in his hazy, happy mind, he is so very fond of him.

Zevran doesn't believe in love, not really. Not when he's sober, at least.]

I think I do. I've never really loved anyone, nor been loved, not in the way of songs and such.

You are beautiful, and clever, and deadly, and quite funny, all things I very much prefer in a person.

And... you are brave, in your honesty.

I very much admire that.

[Zevran's hitting the bottle pretty hard. His cheeks are flushed, and his accent is very thick. But at least he's still making sense... sort of.]

[vishante]

[Fenris has grown familiar with Zevran's lewd folly. One minute often suffices to get the gist of his character, at least of what he lets transpire on the surface. All those words, he's heard them before—perhaps even in that same order—but they were never directed at him. It is a rare occurrence to catch him off-guard, but he's momentarily taken aback, staring at the other with all the concentration he can muster.

Deadly? Yes. Brave? Haha, perhaps in his wildest dreams—he still considers himself somewhat of a coward in too many cases. And beautiful? That causes him to frown, a frank scowl lost in confusion. He speaks of love and it doesn't quite suit him, and Fenris ultimately snorts, a vague sort of amusement dancing in his eyes.]

And you, my friend, are drunk. [Either that, or he's trying to get his expert hands in his underclothes again. Fenris leans over and takes the bottle away, oblivious. Zevran has never given him—or anyone—the impression that he could ever settle down, and he takes this odd confession with a grain of salt. Uttering nonsense under the influence of alcohol isn't unheard of, and he knows that very well.] May I suggest the Hanged Man? [There's a feeble grin tugging at his lips, cheeks warmer after he swallows yet more of the wine.] Isabela never does grow weary of your peculiar sense of... flattery.

[bloodyantivan]

If I told Isabela I loved her she'd probably punch me in the cock, steal my things and say she was fair enough to do it, since clearly I'd gone mad and all of my belongings would be better suited to her in my madness.

And I don't love her, besides. She is a dear friend, like a sister to me. [Like a sister he makes no secret of sleeping with. Ah.] Well, not exactly like a sister.

I meant what I said, anyway. I may be drunk, but that doesn't make you any less beautiful.

[Zevran reluctantly hands over the bottle, steadying it with both hands.]

[vishante]

[Fenris isn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it isn't anywhere near what Zevran offers. A laugh would have been welcomed, but his sloshed monologue drags on with a sort of insistence he isn't used to from the elf, as if intent on crushing all clues leading towards this odd situation being a joke. Fenris can't believe it is anything more than that, and it rubs him the wrong way that Zevran seemingly refuses to let it go.]

You jest, surely? [He's already tried getting comfortable with Hawke; he could be trying again through him. The potential ploy triggers a rush of heat that makes him scowl—it isn't how anyone should want to warm Fenris—and he grouses with notes of annoyance, reined in by the wine he's drunk.] Do you think me incapable of showing the same courtesy? [He really has no qualms about punching anyone, although he much prefers fisting.] What is it you hope to gain from this nonsense?

[bloodyantivan]

In fact I imagine your courtesy would be far more brutal. Though it would be a poetic way to go, a supposedly heartless former Crow becoming quite literally heartless. [Zevran laughs at the mental image. He finds Fenris's fist trick to be quite fascinating, though he does wonder at its other uses.]

I... really hope to gain nothing from it. [Zevran sounds surprised to admit it.] I barely understood why I said it in the first place. Ah, drunkenness! It's an adventure, no?

[vishante]

[Zevran earns himself a roll of green eyes, Fenris' lip pulled in irritation.] An adventure I would certainly enjoy more if it were quiet.

[The words are hissed through gritted teeth, but he doesn't act on his annoyance. He glares at him for a few moments, pondering, studying—perhaps the man is simply too inebriated—and ultimately decides to sit back and relax as fingers thump the arm of his chair. He feels much too comfortable to resort to violence, and he isn't sure he wants to know the source of the elf's thought. He brings the bottle to his lips, swallowing down warmer liquid. It soothes him, and for one brief moment he looks as if he was in trance.

A change of subject is in order. He shifts on his seat, eyes vacillating between the elf and the bottle. He stretches his arm and gives it up with a muffled groan, the fire reflected in his gaze.] Tell me. Do you miss your former... occupation then? I've heard great tales of the Crow you speak of, but nothing of value. I'm assuming you never joined of your own volition.

[bloodyantivan]

Do I miss being a Crow? No. Not really. [A pause, like Zevran is considering something, and then:] No. It was nice to be an object of fear and respect in Antiva - and an object of desire - but even the most prized object is still, alas, only a thing. And that is what people are to the Crows, especially elves. Little more than tools for them to earn money from, and play their politics with, all but the finest and sharpest discarded as garbage. While all of those things can be expected of such a large enterprise, I did take an issue with their retirement plan. As they say in all the best tales, the only way to leave is in a coffin.

Or by being recruited by a mark who decides to spare your life, which is comparatively rare. [Zevran chuckles lightly.] You assume correct. The Crows bought me as a child of seven. It was quite a change from the brothel I was raised in.