What he'd say if he were there, or Leto here. Sensed only like the absent thought it is that twitches in his fingertips.
And ends there before it hits the nib of his quill.
It's one thing to whisper I need you, I love you— everyone says that. Plenty of people say it without ever meaning it, and for centuries Astarion was one of them, trying it on like a blouse to see how it'd fit. If it'd satisfy. If it warmed him. Some things you just don't want to leave a trace. Don't want to see the proof of, now or ever.
Breathed out into open air? It doesn't scar.
Writing it down makes it confirmation eternal. There whenever he or Leto crack open that book to look back on their conversations: thank you stamped down in response and it might as well be yes, I was weak. Yes, I was stupid. Scared. Yes, I was lonely and frightened and still can't stop from buckling in the dark. Whatever you imagine on kneejerk instinct, you're right.
And yet it's unavoidable, isn't it? Like the topic well at hand, or the little ghost by Kirkwall's docks, or the memories he fights so hard just to forget, running doesn't change a thing.
He learned that early, after all.
Gods know they both did.]
That I could live again.
That much in the way of cursed princes and childish fantasies, a monster might just go back to being a person, if given half a chance.
[Tsk.]
Riftwatch had a knack for bringing me back to my senses.
no subject
What he'd say if he were there, or Leto here. Sensed only like the absent thought it is that twitches in his fingertips.
And ends there before it hits the nib of his quill.
It's one thing to whisper I need you, I love you— everyone says that. Plenty of people say it without ever meaning it, and for centuries Astarion was one of them, trying it on like a blouse to see how it'd fit. If it'd satisfy. If it warmed him. Some things you just don't want to leave a trace. Don't want to see the proof of, now or ever.
Breathed out into open air? It doesn't scar.
Writing it down makes it confirmation eternal. There whenever he or Leto crack open that book to look back on their conversations: thank you stamped down in response and it might as well be yes, I was weak. Yes, I was stupid. Scared. Yes, I was lonely and frightened and still can't stop from buckling in the dark. Whatever you imagine on kneejerk instinct, you're right.
And yet it's unavoidable, isn't it? Like the topic well at hand, or the little ghost by Kirkwall's docks, or the memories he fights so hard just to forget, running doesn't change a thing.
He learned that early, after all.
Gods know they both did.]
That I could live again.
That much in the way of cursed princes and childish fantasies, a monster might just go back to being a person, if given half a chance.
[Tsk.]
Riftwatch had a knack for bringing me back to my senses.