“Oh please. Slap fight? That was more like a handshake, darling.”
It is his way, after all.
And so many never get past those first few tentative steps: his bitterness, strong-steeped and assailing to the senses, and no amount of saccharine charm makes it any more palatable for the rightfully disinclined. “You grinned far too much for someone actually put off by all my teething overtures. I could hear it in your voice.”
His lofty mirth there ebbs a bit, just in the aftermath. Content as he is in satiety and warmed by the heat of her presence, arms wrapped fast around her shoulders, it's so easy to let everything slip down into true, utterly undisturbed contentment. No more nagging fears for the moment, no more overwhelming undertakings.
Just them.
“But...that’s how I knew. No one laughs like that except for the ones who understand just how deep suffering can run. The ones that’ve tasted horrors so unconscionable that everything else— even the stupidest or most nonsensical of jokes— winds up mattering all the more simply for being misery's antithesis. I saw that first,” he liked that first, how she knew he was all bark in his mischief, “then I met you, and noticed the scars. Whatever tried to hurt you, whatever you’d been through, it failed. And you weren’t weak or weeping, you weren’t shattered in withdrawal. You were strong, and sharp, and clear-headed about exactly what this world wanted from people like us.”
The same mind. The same thoughts. The same embittered conclusions, each and every step of the way.
“And you stayed. Throughout everything you stayed, and you fought back— and you made them bleed time and time again, powerful little thing that you are.” Sentiment punctuated by a muted kiss set against her temple, leaving a ruddy little smudge amongst the rest.
This battle was a wretched one.
“So yes. All the differences between us still exist, but you and I, darling? Birds of a feather. Always.”
Astarion, who believes in so very little, believes in that.
“And we’ll bite every reaching hand until they learn better than to even think about muzzling us.”
no subject
It is his way, after all.
And so many never get past those first few tentative steps: his bitterness, strong-steeped and assailing to the senses, and no amount of saccharine charm makes it any more palatable for the rightfully disinclined. “You grinned far too much for someone actually put off by all my teething overtures. I could hear it in your voice.”
His lofty mirth there ebbs a bit, just in the aftermath. Content as he is in satiety and warmed by the heat of her presence, arms wrapped fast around her shoulders, it's so easy to let everything slip down into true, utterly undisturbed contentment. No more nagging fears for the moment, no more overwhelming undertakings.
Just them.
“But...that’s how I knew. No one laughs like that except for the ones who understand just how deep suffering can run. The ones that’ve tasted horrors so unconscionable that everything else— even the stupidest or most nonsensical of jokes— winds up mattering all the more simply for being misery's antithesis. I saw that first,” he liked that first, how she knew he was all bark in his mischief, “then I met you, and noticed the scars. Whatever tried to hurt you, whatever you’d been through, it failed. And you weren’t weak or weeping, you weren’t shattered in withdrawal. You were strong, and sharp, and clear-headed about exactly what this world wanted from people like us.”
The same mind. The same thoughts. The same embittered conclusions, each and every step of the way.
“And you stayed. Throughout everything you stayed, and you fought back— and you made them bleed time and time again, powerful little thing that you are.” Sentiment punctuated by a muted kiss set against her temple, leaving a ruddy little smudge amongst the rest.
This battle was a wretched one.
“So yes. All the differences between us still exist, but you and I, darling? Birds of a feather. Always.”
Astarion, who believes in so very little, believes in that.
“And we’ll bite every reaching hand until they learn better than to even think about muzzling us.”