Gar Hawke Garrett Pillock Garrett,
You are the most
direct blunt pushy infuriating sexy direct man I have ever known, and I know you appreciate it when others are similarly forthright though I swear, if you tell me to “just spit it out” once more
I thought there was something you ought to know I wanted to tell you
Maker, why is this so difficult?
You make me feel You make me feel like a fumbling boy, like my skin is too tight and my tongue too thick and I just
I love you.
Please don’t bite my head off.
You are the most direct man I have ever known, and so I will try my damndest to be just as forthright. As much as you drive me utterly mad some days with your complete lack of delicacy, and your apparent habitual aversion to tact, you also send me round the bend with your adorable, crooked smile. You may be a horses’ arse, but you are always honest and never truly cruel and
And I love you. I shouldn’t, Maker knows I should not allow myself to feel this way about anyone, especially not some hard-headed ruffian with a sharp tongue and a personality as blunt as a maul to the jaw
and how’s that for “spit it out”
I should not love you, but I do, and I cannot think of a way to tell you, or even decide if I should tell you at all. You understand the cause I fight for, and I never thought to find an ally so adamant and forceful in his convictions, our convictions. You are so passionate and fierce it nearly unravels me,
and I cannot
I have so many thoughts screaming in my head, a cacophony buffeting about between my ears, and I know you would probably just tell me to shore up and get hold of myself but
I thought being with you would be a distraction, but this is worse. I can barely keep my head on straight at the thought of you, and it is tearing me apart. I have to tell you how I feel, and sod the consequences.
Do you know that you have the most incredibly masculine hands I’ve ever seen? All broad and callused, with those long, square-tipped fingers, and the tendons drawn like ropes down the back? And your forearms, Maker, they’re bigger than my calves, with that dark, coarse, heedlessly sexy hair cropping up all over like some kind of pelt. How is it remotely fair that you have burly hands, and shoulders so wide I’m surprised you fit through doorways, and that blighted rakish beard? They certainly don’t make Circle mages that look like you; none that I’ve met, anyway. How is that fair when I have been trying so hard to ignore the way you smile at me when you’re not growling, and ignore the smell of cedar and warm leather that follows you around like a bloody cloak of irresistible mannishness, tinged with the clean bite of lightning and lyrium? I’ll tell you now, it is not fair that you are so damned perfect
and I’m just a half-mad, broken down abom
You are a handsome, infuriating man, and I would like nothing more than to pin you down against your fancy feather bed and give you a demonstration of the many delightful activities only possible with extensive knowledge of kinky spells, and Grey Warden stamina. If you would like that as well, please send a return message to my clinic, then strip down to your smalls and wait for me
You are a ridiculous prat and a coward. Stop being such an idiot and just write something. Do your level best to avoid being perverse, combative, and self-pitying. Pull your head out of your arse before you suffocate.
Hugs and kisses,
For the past three years, despite all my better judgement, I have been falling in love with you. I have tried to keep you at arm’s length, and tried to keep my feelings in check, but you have never made that easy. Even at your worst, when your manners border on brutal rather than simply brusque, you are still the most steadfast, trustworthy, and deeply caring man I have ever known.
I cannot give you a normal life, nor a safe one. You deserve better than a fugitive with no future, but I am being consumed by the fire you light in my blood. I warn you off, and still you push and push; I am too weak of a man to resist forever. I never want to hurt you, but I am not sure I can go on without the love you promise.
I see it, you know, the tenderness you keep so well hidden. I see that I am not the only besotted fool plunging headlong into this madness. Some days, I feel as though I’ve imagined every soft glance and gentle smile, but those days are rarer now. Are you as tired as I am, my love? Do you ache for me as I for you, with a cold, miserable loneliness weighing down every step? If you are even half as frustrated as I am, then I cannot apologise enough for all of this.
You are the warmth and the light in my life, like the comfort of sunlight after a bitter storm. You keep me steady, while the rest of the world is in chaos. Pushing you away is now such agony, I feel as though I am tearing away a limb, every time.
If you come to me again, if you look at me with those intense, bottomless eyes, I will not be able to resist. That is a promise, and a warning. I am at the end of my tether, and I am also a selfish bastard who will cling to you before I am lost in this maelstrom. I will cling to you, and never let you go, and Maker help me, I am terrified. I don’t know if you are strong enough to keep me from dragging you down into the Void as well, but I am certain you are stubborn enough to try. That may be the worst part.
I wish I was strong enough to protect you from this, my love.
And I’m not sure you’d ever stop telling me off if I told you that.
With all my love,
Found this tucked away in all that jabbering manifesto business. Being the wise and caring friend I am, I snatched it and recopied the best bits. You’ve really got to work on keeping your papers neater, sweet thing.
Anyway, by the time you find this, I’ve likely already dropped the fresh copy off in Hawke’s post. You can thank me later, once you two are done ravaging three years of pent up frustration out of each other. Better yet, thank me beforehand by letting me watch.
PS: would have done a dirty sketch for inspiration, but I hear you shuffling around. Must be off.
PPS: nice pussy