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

Fenris | Dragon Age 2 | OTA

[vishante]

 

Rolled a 5

[bloodytalons]

[Hwoarang jealous? What crust! Jealousy was for weak men with a stalker complex...and besides, it didn't fit into the tidy frame that was his personality. Not. One. Bit. His defaults included the following: clowning, hustling, swaggering, and raging.

How the hell did jealousy fit into that inventory of sorry character traits? It didn't, so he wasn't.

He wasn't stalking either, they were in the same area by coincidence, except Hwoarang was alone and Fenris wasn't. It's not like he could bring a date anyway, not with the rough crowd he ran with, but in a saving-face situation like this a date might have been choice. It would have spared him the embarrassment of sitting there with his eyes fixed like daggers on the back of Fenris's head.

It was rage, definitely rage...and by now your I'm-being-watched senses must be tingling, if you're sensitive to that kind of thing.]

o/

[vishante]

[oh, he is sensitive to that kind of things, although perhaps it is the ragey kind that prickles his skin this time. fenris is well-versed in anything wrath-related, and as he kisses his lover goodbye, he can't help but feel exposed—vulnerable—a sensation he's more than accustomed to. to keep one's guard up at all times is a necessity in the life of a fugitive slave, and fenris is no exception. he's alert—perhaps overly so—but it pays off, and when he finally turns around, he spots the man staring his way, the sight of him a peculiar vision amidst the otherwise peaceful scenery.

maker, does he look pissed. fenris approaches—he recognizes him for having shared together quite a few bottles of wine at the hanged man, but he can't say he knows him all too well. greatsword secured on his back, the elf walks in his direction, wriggling his nose at the foul stench of fish filling the air. he really ought to meet his lover away from the docks.]

Are you lost, my friend? [because really, what is he doing here? fenris offers a brief smile, slightly crooked as if to poke fun at the other. it doesn't last, and the impassible look he usually sports returns quickly as he scans his surroundings.] Or perhaps on your way to the Hanged Man? It's early yet. [and he can't decide whether it is the alcohol you may have drunk already that makes you look so terribly irritated.]

[bloodytalons]

[He was ragey at the sight of the two of them, the kiss only exacerbates it so by the time Fenris's eyes do find him he is pissed. Officially. Still, it's a better emotion than jealousy, much easier to identify with which also makes it easier to suppress and deny other feelings...because he's not jealous.

...But enough with this line of thought, however, it wasn't as productive as action which was something he was more than ready to take until the lover in question vacated the premises. Hwoarang wasn't the biggest guy around, but he could cut a pretty intimidating figure at almost six feet and his physical prowess was nothing to sneeze at...not to mention he'd fight at the drop of a hat.

Fortunately an unsightly scene was diverted just as soon as Fenris was alone and, well wouldn't you know, he was headed this way. So he hadn't completely forgotten the martial artist after all...which could be considered a plus. The question now was how should he play this? Though mention of the Hanged Man sparks an idea and it also moves the hustler inside of him causing his irritated expression to become less so making him appear approachable if not downright amiable. After all when you set fights up in the hustlers arena you always put your weakest players up first, lull all of those betting pigeons into a false sense of security...and then you bring in your toughest character...or a guy like Hwoarang...and that's the game...

So, best to send the weakest player out, or in this case a friendlier version of the irritated man from before.]

Fenris, right? It's really a coincidence that I'm here...I can't say I've got the lay of the land down entirely. [Alright, so admittedly the whole nice facade isn't a total sham, it's difficult trying to force agitation with someone you're physically attracted to at least.] And now that you mention it, how far is the Hanged Man from here? It's got to be walking distance.

[vishante]

[Why yes, that's his name. Fenris can't pretend to recall his, unfortunately, so he doesn't say anything. It isn't that he doesn't remember him—he does—but nights spent drinking in his company may have made him forget a thing or two. They're acquaintances if nothing else, but he makes a silent vow to learn what people call him.

As for the Hanged Man?] It is. [He nods, shifting on his feet as he briefly glances around him. A glass of wine doesn't sound too bad—it never does, really—and yet he can't linger, duty awaiting.] I can walk you there if you wish, but I cannot stay. [At least not for long.] I have... unfinished business to attend to. [Which mostly includes giving a hand to save the world, usually.]

Hello, rolled a 4

[spellmight]

[ time really had flown by since she'd first come to kirkwall on a possible lead. that lead had turned up something interesting, but it had fallen completely out of safe hands and another contingent of wardens was out looking for it. as for her? she had begun to enjoy her "vacation" in the city of chains a little too much. it had been foolish to think that her fellows wouldn't find her.

now, they had. recalled to weisshaupt by the blighted first warden himself. no matter how much she thought he could sod off, it didn't change the fact that she had stayed too long. what had kept her here? contrary to the belief of some, it wasn't the long lost blood kin she'd found here. and it certainly wasn't anders, as good friends as they'd been.

there was only one reason why she was still here, and she was loitering in front of his door like a fool with a bottle of wine in hand. he hated mages, didn't he? then this would be mercifully quick, and she could leave with a clear head. she knocked once at the heavy door and awaited his response (or lack of one). ]

such a sad number 8(

[vishante]

Le-et—Lath—Le-e-ath...er—Vishante!

[Fenris closed the book with a snap, finally giving up. He'd been reading the same page for the past two hours and it was clear that his many attempts at returning his attention to it were doomed to fail. His mind was elsewhere. He usually enjoyed Varric's questionable prose, but he couldn't for the life of him understand the words presented to him now, even ones he'd learned long ago. Leather certainly was the dwarf's personal favorite—or lack thereof—and if Fenris was more than familiar with its pronunciation, his thoughts didn't care a fig. He didn't. Lack of wine and lack of sleep kept him on edge, and he slouched further down on the settee, feeling perfectly lazy and vaguely discontent. It was too calm, too serene, and he needed more action.

Like someone knocking at his door, perhaps.

His brow arched in suspicion, head tilted towards the entrance. None of his companions ever bothered to knock. This could be a trap—envisioning the worst possibly came with the scars of being a fugitive slave—and he didn't immediately move, wondering if Hawke hadn't, perhaps, come up with another one of his silly plans all in the hopes of catching him off-guard. It usually worked, and he hated it as much as he appreciated it.

He stood with a sigh, careful to grab his weapon of choice. He didn't wear his usual gear—no gauntlet, no breastplate—but with a hint of lyrium glow and a well-timed swing of his sword, a potential enemy would fall before him. He reached the door in time for the third knock, sword on his back and flames in his eyes... which drastically faded the second he saw the woman on the other side. Confusion grew instead, and he simply stared, clearly at a loss.]

Solona. [There was a faint question in his voice, as if unable to grasp his mind around the reason why she was there. Hawke wasn't here, and... wait. In her hand. Was that...?] You... have brought wine? [He couldn't possibly sound more unsure even if he tried.]

agreed :(

[spellmight]

[ solona looks up when he opens the door, and automatically holds out the bottle. the vintage isn't bad, and maybe it'll take away from the fact that she's tongue tied long enough for her to snap out of it and find something to say. that's why she's come here, after all. to speak.

however she's a little shy. the last conversation on the subject she'd had, it'd been initiated by someone else. and the circumstances somehow hadn't seemed as sad. who knew? doom, destruction and almost certain death pale in comparison to being recalled to the sodding anderfels.

oh and there are her vocal chords! about time. ]

Hello, Fenris. [ progress! ] Yes. I'd like to share it with you.

That is if you don't mind.

would yooou rather fenris share her feelings or are you expecting him to reject her?

[vishante]

[If he minded? It wasn't that he minded—wine was always more than welcome—but this was... unexpected, to say the least. Solona, like any other mage, had gone through the same harsh evaluation Fenris subjected them to, and if he was still a little wary, he didn't completely distrust her. She was Hawke's cousin, after all, and he had proven his strength time and time again, a sense of discernment that neither the abomination nor the witch had ever inspired. He didn't feel the need to reject her offer, but her presence there at his front door did beg one question: what was she truly doing there?]

No. I... suppose I don't.

[The grip around the hilt of his sword loosened and he took a step aside, eyeing her carefully. It was the first time she came here by herself, and Fenris wondered if she was somehow looking for the Champion.] Did you have any unattended business with Hawke? [The question was blunt, perplexity in his eyes as he made room for her to walk in. She'd always seemed harmless, even charming. Perhaps dangerously so.] I'm afraid he isn't here.

I'll leave that up to you!

[spellmight]

[ to say the least, yes. solona hadn't bargained on someone new taking a place inside her heart when she'd arrived in kirkwall. and that someone not even being aware of it. she is rather awkward here as her interactions with him have mainly been in the company of her cousin or one of his friends.

this is the first time she has sought him out on her own. ]

Oh, good!

[ the flash of relief and joy in her eyes lasts long enough to be noticeable. it swiftly turns to amusement and then something else as she's reminded of her cousin and the fact that he's not here. solona suddenly becomes even more unsure of herself as she carefully steps past him into the mansion. ]

Actually, no. [ she's already said her good-byes, and she still feels the sharp pang on sadness in her gut at that and the next farewell she's having to make here. ] I came to see you.

pressure on my frail shoulders D8

[vishante]

[To see him? This couldn't bode well. The girl gave off vibes he couldn't quite pinpoint, his default reaction always prompting him to be wary. What could she possibly want from him? The wine she'd brought suggested that she intended to stay long enough for a thorough conversation... the kind that obviously needed alcohol. Unless she merely meant to make him feel more at ease.

Fair enough. He could give her the benefit of the doubt, at least for the time being. If he felt uneasy, he barely let anything show, gaze impassible as he finally placed his sword against the wall. There was, however, the ghost of a smile curling around the corner of his lips, perhaps the slightest bit apologetic.] Then you will have to forgive my poor decorating skills. [Corpses, broken furniture, cobwebs. A terrible lack of warmth. But this was probably nothing compared to the horrors one used to the darkspawn must have seen. He cleared his throat, rolling his shoulder on a brief shrug.] There's a foyer upstairs if you wish for a more pleasant scenery. [With fire and everything.]

[spellmight]

[ well er, yes. but she never would have thought to do so if she hadn't been recalled to serve somewhere thousands of miles from here. solona doesn't just want to leave without saying something. she'd never said a proper farewell to the last man she'd cared for before leaving ferelden, and it still sits badly with her despite everything. ]

[ grateful to be granted entry, solona carefully rests the bottle in the crook of her arm and gives the place a good look around. immediately, her nose wrinkles. but she has to laugh quietly. ]

Trust me when I tell you I have seen worse.

[ this place needs a thorough cleaning more than some redecoration, but this isn't why she's here. she nods, and out of respect for the man and his space, elects to follow behind him up the stairs. ]

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

[dragonfetish]

[ 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. ]

we ttly didn't discuss this at all

[vishante]

[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.]

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

[dragonfetish]

[ 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. ]

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

[vishante]

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?]

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

[dragonfetish]

[ 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. ]

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

[vishante]

[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?

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

[dragonfetish]

[ 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. ]

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?