#dangeress

he stared, and stared, and stared. daphne ; only thinking her name elicited a delightful thrill. everyone around them disappearing the moment he laid eyes on her. uncertain, complicated feelings unfortunately following suite. unsure where they stood. incertain what were her thoughts on the proposal that had been made. a valentine's day segment about the two greatest mysteries solvers, they had gloated. he had wanted to say yes immediately. not because the idea what particularly appealing, but because it would involve daphne. maybe, they would be able to talk, to figure things out.

⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       …     ‘    requested by @dangeress :       still accepting !    ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾

" daph ! " he practically skids around the corner , paper in hand . without asking , he jumps to sit next to her on the couch , one arm around her shoulders as the other thrusts paper towards her . " they published that article about us - about the gang ! it's not half bad either . " he sits there with clear excitement over expressions , basically vibrating as he waits for her to read through it herself .

trust. astarion wants it to mean something to him. a deeply buried piece of him wants to take that trust and nurture it, to let it grow into something more. he can't completely betray daphne's trust, of course. she'd drive a stake through his heart, and if she didn't live to do it, then one of their other companions would. the tiniest ember ignites in his chest at this blatant display of trust—or stupidity. perhaps she has a death wish. if she does, astarion won't be the one to fulfill it. for his own safety, of course.

“my, my...” ruby red eyes take in the sight of her, fiery hair swept behind her neck, exposing slightly flushed skin. he saunters away the distance between them, his gaze holding hers until he gets too close to keep that connection. his fingertips trace the curve of her cheek while the opposite thumb brushes the slope of her neck. he flashes a roguish grin. “darling, you shouldn't have.” he leans in, taking in the soft, sweet scent of her skin.

sharp fangs sink into her rosy flesh and he sighs as her heart beats, pulsing scarlet onto his tongue. he imagines the sound of her heart beating, quickening a little at the initial bite and slowing as he drinks—stopping altogether if he keeps going. he doesn't. he swallows a few generous gulps and pulls away, nearly breathless. she outdoes the local wildlife by miles. he feels happy. sated.

his nose brushes her jaw, his bloodstained lips pausing near her ear. “how should i thank you?” he coos.

          A MOON HOOKED AT THE BASE OF HER THROAT,   MORE AN OMEN THAN INJURY.   on occasion the scar throbs with the ache of a past becoming.   her true body just beneath the surface although whatever she was did not adhere to conventional identity of perfection.   beauty in all its forbidden hues she can hear the sweet,   honey-suckle sigh on the other end of line.   for a moment,   it is the same cadence of her own breath.   an echo sung back to her as she grasps at her own through,   vines unwinding within her lungs,   unspooling up her esophagus   (   what a morbid centerpiece she would make a rotten limbs and skin veined with lichen   )   

          ❛   no love everything is as peachy as can be…  ❜   a hissing whisper,   clove smoke and bile she can feel herself turning inside out but laughs across the static   ❛   how long have i been missing this time?   were you worried about me,   daph?   ❜   the name reminds her of the myth,   the assumed delicacy of what grows leaves around it…   WE'RE NOT LIKE THAT ARE WE?   sighing she adjusts herself on the bedroom floor,   dirt strewn and mold-ridden.   she could just sink into the ground now but she could not afford to give the minotaur such satisfaction.   ❛   don't worry i won't die before that sodding bull sees the sharp end of my scissors.   ❜   a heavy gulp travels through the receiver then, putting her faith in the putrid tasting witch's brew.   then she coughs up a garden of oddities,   spilling from her lips are the soft gills of chanterelles.   once golden now wilting under the acidity of stomach fluid.   

          ❛   come pick me up already,   i'll be fine by the time you get here.   ❜   a voice raw from sick and yet she still manages to temper a tone that should be far more dire.  

Astarion's jaw tenses as Daphne speaks. Her words hit him in a way that burns him from the inside, like a magma mephit trying to claw its way out of his chest. He wants his voice back. It's been centuries. When will it be his turn? The magma mephit inside burns a sickly green. He clears his throat and imagines what it would be like to crush Cazador's. One day. Hopefully, one day soon.

"How wonderful. Well, darling, when you're finished getting your voice back, perhaps you'd like to help me get mine." He tries to sound unbothered, but his lip curls into more of a sneer than a smirk as he eyes the other elf.

THEY   JUST   FIT   TOGETHER,   DAPHNE   AND   JASON.         dick   says   so,   and   the   first   time   it   makes   jason   want   to   punch   him      —      punch   him   and   run   away   and   never   call   daphne   again.      but   it’s   different   now;      it’s   been   long   enough   that   it’s   different   now.

JASON   CAN’T   HELP   THE   LILT   OF   A   SMILE   AT   THE   COMPLIMENT.         he   can   see   daphne’s   face   in   the   mirror,   where   she   hugs   him   from   behind.            “      yeah,   well,   you’d   better,      ”            he   replies,   fastening   the   cuffs   of   his   sleeves.            “      it’s   that   fancy   shit   you   bought   me.      ”