highly new, slightly improved open post

[appliances]

assorted morons

☆ @ the muselist

optional prompts/ideas

☆ caught in the rain meme ☆ little steps meme ☆ affectionate physical contact meme ☆ picture prompt also acceptable but link them so it's tidy ☆ AU ideas: soulmates AU, reincarnation AU, Bad End AU, canon divergent/roleswap AU, dorky college AU, crossover AU, super indulgent high fantasy AU ☆ melodrama is ultimate tier ★ SHIPPING AND FUCC: ☆ non-fluffy relationship types I'm down for: codependent, master/servant power imbalance type ships, "we're bad for each other but worse for anyone else," other things I am failing to think of tbh ☆ things I am not into: noncon (includes "dubcon"), incest, tsundere shit if your tsundere is just verbally abusive, gratuitous torture porn, you'll probably have to ask me about harder kinks and they will vary by character ☆ I don't have a kink list so pitch me an idea if u thirsty ☆ if you would prefer a locked post I can also make that happen

Comments

[doggish]

[It's suffering in his mind, frankly, but then again, they have different experiences. And this city, Maker knows, is particularly suited to torment Fenris in particular. So no, maybe not suffering for Sebastian, but he's still going to stick by the word.

Anyway. He takes his hand, idly noting the difference-- his own is rougher all over, because wielding a sword requires more surface area than a bow. He thinks, too, about the touch itself: it's rare for him to touch literally anyone, so the shock of contact is, hm, unexpected, moonlancing side-effects aside.]

I expected they might be.

[But ah, thanks is-- he wrinkles his nose.]

You would do the same for me, I have no doubt. Or anyone else in our little group.

[quickprayer]

[Sebastian's fingers twitch against Fenris' when their hands touch and he studiously doesn't acknowledge it, for that would mean having to discuss the moonlacing and its many mysterious qualities. He's been told of it, and a friendly handshake here and there these past two weeks have made it less of a surprise, but Maker, if that isn't a strange sensation. There's a sermon or twelve in there to be made about temptation, and he's not going to, but maybe someone else could give it a whirl.

But ah, that aside, he glances at Fenris' expression and chuckles. You are all allergic to basic decency and it is remarkable.]

Against my better judgment, surely. [Like, is Anders the worst person to ever breathe? He's up there. Does he deserve to turn to stone? For sure. But Sebastian would probably still gingerly put a hand on his shoulder, at least.] Although I cannot picture myself getting through it unscathed.

[Varric doesn't like him, Isabela would have comments... the list goes on and on.]

Don't trouble yourself over it, Fenris. I won't tell a soul you're actually quite kind.

[doggish]

I'm not--

[Sometimes Fenris is very hard to trick, and sometimes he walks right into it. He scowls again, less upset and more a little petulant.]

You're mocking me.

[He's not-- or at least if he is, it's gentle, not cruel. The sort that makes the tips of his ears go a little red, because he doesn't know how to handle that kind of teasing between friends.]

[quickprayer]

Not at all.

[Well-- alright, in fairness, he is poking fun, but still. Mocking would imply he doesn't appreciate Fenris' odd brand of kindness, gruff and grumpy and yet so much more honest than most. Mockery, good gracious; that couldn't be further from the truth.]

I just believe in giving credit where it's due, that's it. Nothing extraordinary.

[Holding his hand is, in fact, a Nice Gesture. Endure it.]

[doggish]

[He huffs silently, but doesn't reply for a long few seconds. Just stares at nothing, holding hands with this man, trying his best to ignore the moonlancing as it courses through his system. Which is harder than it sounds, frankly, because it just sings through his blood.]

. . . it is extraordinary.

[He says it to the wall.]

You must know that by now. You've seen more than enough of the world, you're no sheltered choirboy. You must know how extraordinary it is to do something like give credit where it's due. Never mind--

[Well. Everything else about Sebastian, frankly.]

In any case.

[quickprayer]

[Fenris, don't talk to the wall, it's rude. Sebastian has a protest all lined up, something about the innate good in people, but Fenris is right that he's nowhere near sheltered enough to believe in something that naive. Maybe he would like to be; maybe it would be easier, but the world is cold and senseless tragedy happens to good people all the time. Here, he supposes, it's just more brightly colored.]

I'd like to leave the world a little better than I've found it.

[Which is in itself likely a fruitless task, but one must lead by example and so on and so forth.]

I wasn't much of anything to anybody when I was younger, so you could call it making up for lost time. Reminding you that compassion is its own reward is my good deed for the day.

[doggish]

Is that all it takes.

[It's a vague statement. He's still staring at the wall, though now it's less out of vague embarrassment and more because he'd rather not stare into Sebastian's eyes while they're holding hands.]

What were you like when you were younger? I can scarcely imagine.

[quickprayer]

[There, the inevitable question, and he's quiet for a moment to collect his thoughts on the matter. What was he like as a young man? Alone, unloved, useless to his family and anyone else who might have needed him, if he even noticed—]

Different.

[A beat.]

Wilder. Out at all hours carousing and carrying on, with no thought towards anything except my own satisfaction. My parents had every right to be ashamed of how I behaved.

[His expression doesn't go dark so much as overcast, almost bittersweet— emphasis bitter. It will never really be easy to parse through his relationship with his family, even now, years after they've gone; perhaps especially now. Perhaps their deaths are why some small part of him remembers his youth with something close to nostalgia for something so obviously broken.

He shifts in his seat, not uncomfortably, but as if to shake off the dregs of the past before he is uncomfortable. Wryly:]

They always would have sent me to the Chantry, I'm certain of that, but I did my level best to give them a proper excuse.