#chaises longues bois

[westillwriteincursive]

Deck - Contemporary Deck Modern side yard deck container garden idea in a medium size with no cover

[witchelbi]

Deck - Contemporary Deck Modern side yard deck container garden idea in a medium size with no cover

[facetsofthecloset]

i'm sure it's been said but i feel like both Raxtus and Ronodin can be argued as "the only gay kid in the family and consequently shunned/rejected" and it's like. so weird bc Mull is so Mormon he'd probably rather eat his shorts than even acknowledge the possible existence of gays but

i mean. Raxtus literally has a fairy form. he's a fairy dragon.

Ronodin was just emo lol

and they both get so thoroughly rejected and sidelined by their families their whole lives and it turns Raxtus into an awkward but basically decent guy who runs back to the approval of his family once he's performed masculinity/violence enough to be accepted, only to then realize that he's basically just being used and still not fully trusted/accepted and having to betray them to save his real friends

(who sadly are probably actually homophobic but that's ok bc they're not dragon-phobic so that works out for him)

while Ronodin's like "fuck it. chaos and murder then!" and can you really blame him? he spent his entire life trying to conform to the "right" (in this case, Light) way of life, started spending time with the outgroup and learned to question things, then was told he was "too corrupt" to remain in his home

like. the symbolism is right there.

it's so funny, because sure Raxtus isn't a bad guy, but Ronodin definitely is and he pretty much gets sent to a type of hell at the end of Dragonwatch

and while Raxtus gets kind of a happy ending, like, him becoming an effective killer in a war and being accepted by his dad for being Good At Murder in the first Fablehaven series is presented as a happy ending. if Celebrant didn't wind up being the main villain for Dragonwatch, that probably would've been the end of it! gay kid learns how to soldier and is finally accepted by his homophobic family bc he's finally aggressive enough for them to love him

(i mean i have MANY issues with Celebrant being the main villain later and the reasons he's framed as bad but like. that's a separate rant lol)

the queer reading is right there. but also it's very bad and you can tell completely unintentional. or at the very least highly repressed. idk man i don't look into Mull as a personal individual bc i doubt i'll like what i see and i don't care that much but Dragonwatch was SO MUCH MORE MORMON than Fablehaven already was and it's so weird, seeing the fingerprints of it all over.

i feel like he either has a new editor or he's been doing this for long enough and sold enough books that he has the clout to veto changes made by editors or SOMETHING, bc i feel like? he's gotten worse?? and more unfiltered?? that or something happened and he's like. even more religious than before or something idk

like fablehaven was just kinda generic/bland fantasy with some fun ideas for magic items/powers/one sentence character premises, with just a hint of sus Mormon ideology, and then Dragonwatch just went. Full Mormon.

but then there's somehow even more weirdly queer shit. like. he's repressing so hard he's approaching queer from the other side??

idk man i wish this deeply mediocre man's writing wasn't a formative piece of middle school reading, leading to me still giving more of a shit than i really should over questionable children's literature now

[sweetdecoseo2023]

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[racingatthespeedoflove]

Infinity Marseille

Large tuscan custom-shaped infinity pool photo with decking

[emmagibney]

Nice Mediterranean Pool An enormous, custom-designed infinity pool in the style of the Tuscany.

[foodfalls]

Montpellier Deck Uncovered

An illustration of a medium-sized, modern deck container garden design without a roof

[allisonragents]

Montpellier Deck Uncovered An illustration of a medium-sized, modern deck container garden design without a roof

[thejoshlange]

Pool in Marseille Photo of a large, modern, rectangular infinity pool with decking

[yauchfilms]

anything with logan and being back in florida ? would appreciate!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

sunburn ✢ logan sargeant (18+)

pairing: logan sargeant x reader (established relationship)

warnings: smut, porn with plot (lots of exposition sorry i got carried away), one use of y/n, soft dom!logan, switchy!reader, fingering, edging, unprotected p in v, lots of pet names, begging, lots and lots of praise, body part worship if you squint, cursing, logan’s a simp, reader is implied floridian, implied childhood friends to lovers, sunburns, fluffy intimacy

summary: it’s been too long since y/n has been back in the states and she is NOT used to the florida sun like she used to be, but don’t worry, logan knows how to take care of her.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: sorry i got soooo carried away with this i don’t know what came over me. this was NOT supposed to be smut but im just a florida girl crushing on a florida boy here y’all lmao. i’m down so bad for this man that i just went kinda crazy. also this was my first time writing smut so pls bare with me. this is inspired by my friend (and fellow logan girly) who just acquired a nasty sunburn lmaoooo. enjoy!!!!

it had been quite a while since you and logan had been back home together. well, not really, but the weather was typically a lot nicer in the winter months than in the spring and summer, and you were not used to it. after you and logan moved to london together full-time, you rarely saw the sun anymore, and your matching pale complexions certainly reflected that sentiment. 

obviously, the miami race weekend was a big deal for the whole sargeant camp. aunts, uncles, cousins, childhood friends, and grandparents would be making their short trip down i-95 to see logan race, but it also meant that you and logan could spend a week together at home, in the sun, in each other’s company. a free vacation of sorts. logan’s parents were busy getting the house ready for the hordes of guests that were to soon occupy the space, so you and logan were more than happy to get out of their hair and into the back yard for some relaxation. 

it was sunday, and you found yourself lounging out on the dock, lost in a romance novel that was probably making you lose brain cells, when you heard a familiar voice calling out to you.

“y/n!”, logan yelled from where him and coco were playing on the grass. “have you been applying sunscreen?” 

you put your book down, letting out a small huff at his question. logan often took a rather paternal role over you, not in a weird or demeaning way, but rather in the sense that he always has your best interest at heart. and you loved that about him, loved how he always wanted to take care of you without being asked. 

you looked down over the chaise longue you were laid out on, thinking there was a bottle of SPF next to your drink, but all that was there was the can of sparkling water you had been nursing. 

“don’t have any; i’ll be okay!” you called back, hoping that would be the end of it.

“you want me to bring you some? it’s no problem,” logan replied, positioning himself to get up off the ground.

“don’t worry about it; i’m coming inside soon anyways!” you half-lied, knowing that logan usually respected your wishes when it came to things like that. you knew you weren’t necessarily telling him the truth, but he knew you and your stubbornness, and he knew it was not his business to try to fix it. 

another few hours had passed, and logan and the dog had long gone inside to find something else to do. you had stayed out, vowing to finish your book in one sitting. as you closed it, you stood up from the lounger, grabbing your long-abandoned can from the ground, wrapping yourself in the towel that you had been laying on, making your way back into the comfort of the house – and the air conditioning.

walking in through the kitchen, you pass logan’s mom, who was cooking dinner for the family. 

“oh sweetie, looks like you got some color on you!” she exclaims, chopping up some vegetables. 

“yeah, it’s been a minute since i’ve had time to tan! i missed the florida sunshine too much.”

“well, logan’s in his room, and dinner’s in about an hour if you’d like to freshen up,”  mrs. sargeant said sweetly, motioning towards the hallway towards logan’s room.

upon your arrival, logan moved his laptop out of his lap and onto the bed next to him. you took the towel off your shoulders, leaving you in just your bikini, when logan’s eyes went wide with shock.

“what, it’s not like you haven’t seen me in a bikini before?” you quipped, reacting to his sudden change of expression. 

“y/n, you are bright red, like ferrari red,” logan replied, serious as a heart attack. you make your way to the vanity over his dresser, taking in your current state. logan was right. you were burnt. 

“what the fuck dude, i swear i wasn’t out there that long,” you snapped, poking and prodding yourself in the mirror, letting out a wince when you stumbled over a particularly sensitive area.

logan gets off his spot on the bed, making his way towards you, joining you in front of the mirror. his hands immediately fall to your hips out of instinct, but he makes sure not to grab too tightly due to your new look.

“baby,” he says, placing his chin onto your shoulder. you let out another wince, reacting to his touch. “i told you to wear sunscreen. now look at you, my little lobster…”

“this isn’t funny,” you pout, and he leans forward to place a chaste kiss on your lips. you spin around in his arms, now facing him face-to-face rather than through the mirror. 

“stop pouting baby, and go hop in the shower, please. the sooner you get some cold water on you, the better you’ll feel. i can feel the heat radiating off you from here,” logan said with a giggle. his hands linger around your ass, and he gives a slight smack to send you on your way, which elicits a shrill yelp from you due to the sensitivity of the area. 

“are you at least going to join me?” you question as you make your way to his en suite, stopping in the door frame with your arms crossed across your chest. logan lets out another giggle.

“and listen to you whine the whole time? no thanks, plus i showered like an hour ago,” he replies, which garners a predictable whine from you.  “if you make it quick, i might have something that can help you,” he adds, and you turn on your heel into the bathroom, shutting the door with a slam. 

and he was right; the shower hurt like hell, but you know that had he been there, you wouldn’t have been able to properly soak in the cold water, so you silently curse him for being right. 

you walk back into logan’s room, wrapped in your towel, when you see him sitting on the bed, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. he hears you approach, putting his phone down and grabbing the clear bottle off the bed next to him. 

“i found you aloe; well, my mom did. she said your burn is one of the worst she’s seen,” logan said, presenting the bottle to you like it was a participation trophy. 

“is that supposed to make me feel better or worse, logie?” you questioned, feigning offence from his comment. 

“well, the comment probably won’t, but hopefully the aloe does,” he replied. “c’mere, baby,” he cooed, his arms outstretched, welcoming you into his arms. you take your spot on his lap, legs draped over his thigh, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep you in place. logan places a kiss to the bridge of your nose, and along your cheeks, leaning in to admire the newly-formed freckles that were threatening to peak out from underneath the harsh redness of your skin. 

“your freckles are back; reminds me of when we were little, trying to catch fish with my dad in the backyard. you were so bad at it; still are to be honest, but it’s okay because you still look cute trying to bait a hook,” he laughs, his breath giving a cooling sensation to your cheeks, and you wish he would keep talking just to feel his breath against your skin. 

“logan, baby, the aloe?” you suggest, knowing that the time he’s wasting is killing you. all you crave is the feeling of the lotion on you, and his hands being the ones to apply it. 

“sorry, didn’t mean to get sentimental on you, just being here with you makes me think about stuff like that. i sometimes wish we could go back…” logan trails off, and you know what he’s thinking about. he often thinks about the memories of you growing up, how much he missed you when he moved away to the uk, and what it meant to get you back. you like to think of those moments too, sometimes, but he often gets in his head about it. 

“i know,” you coo, lifting a hand up to card through the longer hair on the back of his neck, as a way to soothe him.

he lifts the bottle of aloe up towards you. 

“may i?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow up in an inquisitive way.

“of course you may. how do you want me?” you ask, a mischievous look in your eye.

“do not say it like that, you minx,” logan shot back, your innuendo catching him by surprise. 

“keep talking crazy like that, and we might have a problem,” he snapped, although with no actual malice behind it. “you can lay on your tummy first, though, and i’ll go from there, if that’s okay,” he said, his expression softening as he looked at you. 

you climb out of his lap and onto your stomach on the bed next to him, and he straddles your back to get the proper angle. 

“this okay?” he asks, tugging slightly at the towel that is still loosely wrapped around your back. 

“log, you’ve seen me naked countless times; of course it’s okay,” you quip, turning your head so he can see the side of your face. he leans down, planting a sloppy kiss to your cheek, blowing a raspberry there. this elicits a giggle from you, wriggling underneath him. 

logan drags the towel down your body slowly, his fingers barely grazing your warm, sensitive skin, standing up on his knees to pull it out from under you. 

“i know we aren’t having sex or anything, but could you at least take your shirt off or something? this feels too clinical,” you say, causing logan to burst out laughing above you.

“you are not a real person, i swear to god,” he quips, pulling his shirt over his head in one quick motion. “is that better, princess?” he says sarcastically, using the nickname he only gives you when you’re acting like a handful. 

between your fits of giggles, you let out a “mhm” that signals to logan that he is free to proceed. this evokes an eye roll from logan that you catch out of the corner of your eye. 

his attitude doesn’t last long, however, because before you can protest, his lips find your shoulder blade, peppering kisses along the top of your back, feeling his stubble graze across your skin. it burns, but feels so good at the same time.

“so sweet for me, logie,” you groan, melting into his touch. he reaches for your hair, still damp from the shower, to move it out of his way, as he makes his way across the plane of your body.  

all he can manage is a drawn out “hmmmmm” as he feels the warmth of your skin along his cheek. 

he pulls away suddenly, and you whimper at the loss of contact from him. 

“i know, i know,” he cooes, and you hear the bottle of lotion being opened just out of your periphery. 

his hands make contact with your skin again, feeling the sensation of the cool liquid as he massages it in. his strong hands make their way up and down your back, causing you to arch only slightly, if it wasn’t for him sitting squarely on your ass. 

“you’re killing me, logan,” you half-whisper, his actions genuinely taking your ability to speak at a regular volume, the intimacy of it all being just a little too much for you. 

“feels good, huh?” he asks, and although you can’t see it, you can tell that he’s cocked his eyebrow at you, and you’re surprised he’s been able to behave himself this long. 

his hands work swiftly, massaging the liquid in with long, deft fingers, the sensation driving you crazy.

“logan, i want you, please,” you whine, looking up over your shoulder to meet his gaze, your eyes softening in an almost begging manor. 

“i thought you said we weren’t–” 

“i lied. i’m a liar. i need you right now,” you beg, as logan stands back up on his knees to allow you to roll over underneath him, him now settled on your thighs.

“fuck, baby, i can’t say no to you,” he huffs, not sure exactly how to make the next move. he looks down at you splayed out in front of him, taking in the sight before him. a hand reaches down to caress down your chest, fingers grazing slightly over your nipple, causing your breath to hitch. 

“we have to make it quick, okay? can you be good for me?” he asks, his hand lingering on your left breast. 

you let out a whimper, shaking your head slightly.

“words, baby,” he sighs, his fingers massaging into the tissue of your chest. 

“yes, i’ll do whatever you want,” you whisper, unable to find your voice with how turned on you were. 

“that’s my pretty girl,” logan cooes, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips, adjusting himself so he’s slotted between your legs. the kiss deepens, his tongue finding its way into your mouth, as he swallows your muffled moans, trying to avoid the awkward conversation with his mom later. 

“gotta be quiet, baby,” he whispers, his hand running up and down your side, the warmth of his hand searing your sensitive skin.

“god, i feel like we’re in high school again,” you say, rolling your eyes at him.

“except i wasn’t nearly as good then as i am now, though,” he smirks, diving down to leave a trail of kisses from the corner of your mouth to the base of your neck, softly nibbling on your pulse point. 

“are you gonna prove it?” you ask, trying to rile him up.

this question evokes something in him, his breath against your skin coming hot and sudden, and you could feel the deep exhale from his nose.

leaning up to your ear, he whispers, “you are such a brat.”

the sensation from the whisper mixed with the sting of his words sends a shock straight to your core. he’s not always the best at dirty talk, but he still somehow knows exactly what to say and when to say it. 

“touch me, logan,” you manage to squeak out, your breath growing heavier the more you took in his words, and he was eager to oblige.

with that, the hand that found comfort on your hip trailed its way down between your bodies, grazing the softness of your stomach, fingers oh-so-gently teasing your folds. 

“so wet, huh? so worked up for me? you drive me so fucking crazy, you know that?” he growls, his voice rasping as he begins rubbing small circles against your clit with his thumb. “one or two, baby?” he asks, and you know exactly what he means. 

“two, please”, you whine into his mouth, body arching up into him before he even has the chance to touch you properly. 

“good girl, take it so well,” he groans, sliding two fingers into your cunt, almost too slowly. his voice is almost unrecognizable, the threat of being too loud taking over. his thumb continues its pattern on your clit.

you feel the tension building as he fucks his hand in and out of you, but not before you feel him slowing his pace down.

“i know you wanna come now baby, but we don’t have long. i’m gonna stop, and we can come together, okay?”, he half-whispers. 

his hand moves from its spot between your thighs back up toward your lips, as he rests his fingers on your bottom lip, cocking his eyebrow at you. 

“o-okay,” you squeak out, and with that, his fingers push past your lips, urging you to suck them clean, and you oblige, swirling your tongue around his digits, tasting yourself on his fingers. 

your hands trail down between you two, your fingers dipping underneath his shorts and boxers, toying with the waistband. 

logan removes his fingers from your mouth, opting to move back to your jawline, planting lingering kisses along the bone.

“quit teasing, baby, want you on top. let me see those pretty tits of yours, yeah?”, he smirks, knowing that him complimenting your body drives you crazy in the best way. 

you oblige with a searing kiss to his lips, opting to pull his shorts down in one motion, cock bobbing free and slapping across his stomach. he reaches down to finish taking them off, throwing them on the floor with your long-abandoned towel. 

he rolls you both over with ease, you now on top. your fingertips graze his chest, down to his abs, grabbing his cock and giving it a few quick pumps to make sure he’s ready. 

“ready, log?” you ask, your hands now on either side of his head, his blue eyes sparkling back up at you, your hips and ass now up in the air waiting for his cue. 

he leans up to chase your lips, trying to kiss you, just out of his reach. 

“please, baby, i can’t take it much more,” he begs, using his arms to pull you down to him, sinking down on him, and meeting his lips with yours. now it’s his turn to moan into your mouth. 

“fuuuuuck,” is all he’s able to get out, his hands finding their way to your hips, trying to help you relieve the lack of sensation. Your hips roll for the first time over him, and his hips immediately buck up into you.

“patience, baby. i thought i was the desperate one?” your words go right to his cock, making him buck up once again, making you speed up your motions. you feel the effects of his desperation on your body, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with every bounce on his cock.

“fuck, you’re close, baby; so am i,” logan pants, the physicality of it all catching up to him. he knows your body so well; he can always tell when you’re about to come. 

with his observation, you lean back with your hands behind you on his thighs, your hips continuing to roll against his body, eliciting a low, grumbling moan from logan. he loved you like that, all cock-drunk and lazy on top of him. it also meant that he had a perfect view of your tits, both his hands reaching to grab at them as he continued fucking up into you. 

“these are so fucking perfect. all mine. i can’t believe you’re all mine, baby,” logan pants, both of your movements becoming lazier, as he rolls your nipples in between his fingers, feeling your already-tight walls close in on his cock.

you can feel your orgasm quickly approaching with his presence on your tits, and you know that he isn’t going to last long, either. you lean forward, diminishing the space between you two, giving logan the opportunity to bear hug you. his thrusts up into you send you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you, causing you to let out a muffled moan onto his right pec. your vision goes slightly blurry for a second until you hear a grunted “fuck, baby”, followed by the feeling of logan’s hips sputtering underneath you. he comes shortly after you, spilling into you. 

You collapse onto his chest, your highs riding out together. he doesn’t loosen his grip around your back, planting a sweet kiss to the top of your forehead, pulling out as you lay pitifully on his chest.

“so good for me, baby, so sweet. fuck, i’m so lucky,” he whispers, rubbing your back where, just a few minutes earlier, he was applying aloe lotion. he rolls you both over so that you’re now facing each other on your sides. 

you reach a hand up to caress his face, feeling the stubble from a week’s worth of no races, the hair rough against your smooth palm. 

“logie, you fucked me so good i almost forgot about this damn sunburn,” you giggled, “but now we’re done and it just hurts again!”

“guess that means i’ll just have to fuck you again,” logan smirked, burying his head into the crook of your neck, eliciting more giggles from you. you begin to hook your leg over his thigh, bringing you even closer, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. you almost begin the cycle over again until you hear a knock on the door that has you both frozen in your tracks. 

“dinner!” you hear his mom cheer from the other side of the door, and then her footsteps clearly walking back down the hall towards the kitchen. 

“guess not,” you teased, eliciting an eye roll from logan, who quickly gets up to pull you into the bathroom to get cleaned up. 

[grapehyasynth]

maus what if i was curious to know what drabble you cook up based on the song 'impossible' by shontelle?? 💜

MY BELOVED MAUS!

oh boy did this get ANGSTY! my original idea was canon-compliant, since the playlist is meant to align with canon, but then this bubbled up. sorry to my boys </3

Wille wakes up to a splitting headache and a missed call from Simon. He’s not sure which one is the stronger force in keeping him immobilized in his bed for another half an hour. 

They haven’t talked since the breakup, even though it was mutual and mostly amicable. It just hurts too much. Not like it doesn’t hurt, not talking to him. Everything hurts. 

He puts off calling Simon back. He pushes back the thick curtains, washes his face, brushes the stale alcohol breath off his teeth and tongue. He debates not returning the call at all. People still accidentally butt-dial, don’t they? 

It’s only when he catches himself nibbling at his thumbnail, a habit he’s (mostly) kicked, that he drops onto the chaise longue, drawing his knees up to his chest so he can tug his sweatshirt over his legs. 

“Hej?” he ventures, when the call connects. “What’s up?” 

An indignant little huff of a laugh shivers in his ear. He’s spent the months since their breakup absorbing Simon’s voice through videos and mp3 files, but hearing it just for him is better, worse, everything. “Wille, I get that the situation is shitty, but this is your only warning. Next time I’m blocking you, on all the platforms. I know that sounds harsh, but I just can’t -- I need to not--” 

“Platforms?” On a sudden, vertiginous, half-remembered hunch, Wille puts the call on speakerphone and flips through to see which other apps are still open on his phone. Instagram - open to his direct messages with Simon. Shit. Apparently, at 2AM last night, Wille had sent could you maybe act a little less thrilled to be done with me? or give me half the grammy jfc. thanks so much puss och kram. “Shit. Simon--” 

“My manager wanted to cancel my appearances today. And you know how much she does not believe in days off.” 

“It wasn’t -- I didn’t mean to--” He’s not going to tell Simon it was a joke. Not even the most generous interpretation of text tone would let that message read as a joke. 

He’d been drunk, thoroughly blasted from a friend’s birthday party. He’d gotten back to the royal residence well past midnight, and in an effort to escape the silence of the dark, massive, lonely hallways, he’d wound up on his stomach in his bed, still wearing a suit, watching a seemingly endless parade of Simon’s live performances to promote his new album. The new album that exudes fuck you, that proclaims boy bye, that flaunts Simon’s singlehood and freedom. And the whole world knows Wille was Simon’s last boyfriend. So not only does he have to live without Simon, he has to see him thriving, and he has to read all the strangers on the internet, especially Simon’s superfans, speculating about why they broke up, about how shitty Wille must have been as a boyfriend to make Simon this desperate to move on, about how he never deserved Simon and Simon was probably never happy with him. Wille knows it’s not true - they’d fucking loved each other, neither of them wanted to break up, but it got too hard, the demands of their respective careers and duties threatening to ruin what they had. But alone in this castle, drunk and morose, he’d started to wonder. Hence, the DM. 

“It wasn’t about you,” he offers Simon eventually, dully. “Not really, not like it seemed. It just... fuck, Simon, I know your songs aren’t all autobiographical but it hurts.” 

Simon’s quiet too long, a tense silence Wille remembers, when Simon is nearly vibrating with emotion but trying to breathe his way through it. “You’re right, they’re not all autobiographical. And these songs were written ages ago, before we were together - I didn’t even write all of them myself - they’re not about you, not the - not the ones people think, anyway. And of course I know that it hurts, Wille, god, I - do you think I want to sing about a shitty ex and perform like I’m having the time of my life when I’m so heartbroken I can barely get out of bed?” 

Wille doesn’t know what to say. If they were in person, this is when he would go to Simon, hold him as he cried. 

Wasn’t the breakup supposed to prevent them both from falling apart? 

Simon sniffles. “I’ll try to make it more clear, in my interviews. I’ve tried to steer them away from you but I’ll do better. Is that what you want, Wille? Would that help?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t - I don’t know what I want, Simon,” he admits brokenly. “I just want you.” 

“Wille--” 

“I just want you.”

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part 20)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

A few hours later, when most of the guests had left and Edward had fallen asleep, you took the time to have a conversation with Robert who appeared rather anxious about recent developments.

Sitting beside you on the chaise longue inside one of the guestrooms, he expressed his concern regarding your involvement in this dangerous lifestyle shared by your family. According to him, there were mentions of drug trafficking and killings amongst some of the men and this worried him greatly.

"You knew about all this, didn't you?" Robert probed gently, searching your eyes for answers. You hesitated briefly, weighing whether to divulge your knowledge or maintain the facade. Ultimately, honesty won out, driven by a genuine sense of trust that developed between you two. Nodding solemnly, you confirmed his suspicion.

"Yes," you paused momentarily, pondering the best approach to discuss this sensitive topic. "I know that my family is involved in illegal activities, and I also know how dangerous these activities can be. This is why I did not want you to come here with me. This place is nothing but trouble." You confessed to Robert honestly, shaking your head slightly.

"So the fire at the hotel wasn't an accident then?" Robert asked curiously, recalling how much danger it put you in.

"No, it wasn't an accident. The fire was targeted at us. Shelby Company Limited owns the hotel and I...," you began to say without completing your sentence. "You know, don't worry about it. We are safe here with my uncle," you tried reassuring Robert, though deep down you weren't completely convinced either. You knew that Tommy would do anything to keep you safe but he cared much less for Robert's wellbeing.

"I do not like it here Y/N. Your uncle appears to be a dangerous man and whilst your father seems to have found God, I feel as though his past is rather dark as well. There are men with outside, with guns. There are at least ten of them and your uncle has been carrying a loaded weapon for the entirety of the evening. When he returned with you from the fire, his clothes were stained with blood. It worries me greatly, my dear," Robert continued expressing his concerns with a heavy heart.

Your expression fell, sensing the weight of his words, yet understanding where he was coming from. 

"I know Robert, but we will go back to Boston soon and all will be fine, yes? In Boston, we will be safe and far away from my family", you promised, attempting to alleviate his apprehension.

"Yes my love, but you need to promise me that you aren't involved in anything dangerous, alright?" Robert insisted, placing a gentle palm on your shoulder, seeking reassurance. Feeling both guilty and relieved that he believed in you, you nodded your head firmly.

"Alright! Now get some sleep while I tend to the little hungry monster," you then said as you heard Edward screaming from the nursery next door. With a soft smile on your face, you glanced at Robert who nodded understandingly.

Standing up, you walked toward the doorway leading to the nursery, calling out softly, trying to coax the baby to silence before disappearing into the next room to pick up your son.

Gently rocking him against your bosom, your heart ached thinking about the uncertain future ahead for your tiny boy and, just as you looked for somewhere to sit down, Tommy's maid Frances entered the room.

"He looks a lot like his father, doesn't he?" Frances observed. She too heard the cries and offered to take you the reading room for sake of peace and quiet, allowing you to breastfeed your son comfortably. 

"I suppose he does Frances," you responded absentmindedly, as you thought about your situation while following Frances down the stairs and into the dimly lit library. 

"Would you like some help?" she offered kindly, recognising the strain on your face. "It must be hard having a young child in your care alone," she observed as you struggled with your dress. 

Feeling grateful for her support, you smiled warmly and accepted her offer, but just as Frances was about to take Edward so that you could get comfortable on the sofa to feed him, Tommy came walking into the darkened  room. 

"I've got him. Thank you, Frances," Tommy spoke before gently taking his son from your hands. 

"You may leave," he then told his maid while looking down at Edward affectionately and, immediately, his demeanor changed drastically upon seeing him as his heart filled with pride and possessiveness. 

"Yes sir," Frances nodded respectfully, exiting quietly leaving only the three of you in the darkness of the library. As she closed the door behind her, the moonlight filtered through the windows casting eerie patterns across the walls and floor.

You sat down silently watching as Tommy cradled Edward close to his chest. By this point, he had stopped crying now, despite being hungry, which surprised you considering how demanding he often was.

The tender way Tommy held him seemed almost instinctual, hinting at what might lie beneath his harsh exterior as, now, there were moments when he showed compassion and vulnerability - qualities usually hidden underneath layers of bravado and brutality. 

"He is quite similar to you in many ways, isn't he?" you commented, feeling an odd mixture of admiration and trepidation as you looked at Edward, your son, nestled snugly in Tommy's strong arms.

Without speaking, Tommy acknowledged your observation with a simple nod, studying the features of his son intently. His eyes traced every curve of the baby's round cheeks, captivated by the resemblance.

Edward had Tommy's blue eyes and full lips. His skin was covered in tiny little freckles that dotted his nose and forehead and you knew that these same freckles would eventually grow more prominent as he aged, becoming part of his distinctive charm. 

As you watched Tommy hold his son, you felt a sudden surge of emotion flooding your heart, making it race. Despite the circumstances surrounding the conception of Edward and your complex familial connections, witnessing Tommy's paternal side made you realize again that even he possessed humanity.

Although deeply rooted in crime and violence, the bond between him and his son revealed something else entirely – something fragile, unspoken, and profoundly personal. 

"I do have to feed him soon Tom," you remarked after observing the silent exchange between father and son for several minutes. 

"Yes, of course," Tommy nodded graciously, handing the squirming infant back to you, his touch lingering around Edward ever so slightly longer than necessary while you lowered the top of your dress.

"I should give you some privacy," Tommy murmured, stepping away from you slowly, but you shook your head and smiled.

"You can stay if you like. It's not that you haven't seen my breasts before," you joked lightheartedly, trying to break the growing tension between you and Tommy. But instead of replying to your remark, Tommy remained silent and still, his gaze fixating solely on you and his son. 

He looked at you in awe and disbelief, marveling over the fact that you gave birth to his son. The revelation struck him harder than he expected it to. For once, he couldn’t find any words to speak, lost amidst the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his brain.

Uncomfortable with the intense silence hanging in the air, you took the initiative to diffuse the awkwardness. 

"I miss the days where we were close, Tommy," you whispered gratefully as you started to undo two more buttons of your dress.

Bending forward to make access easier for your son, you glanced upwards to see Tommy watching your movements, a mix of emotions flashing across his face. Unsettled by his piercing gaze, you cleared your throat nervously and continued, focusing on your task.

"I miss these days too, Love," he replied somberly, his voice hoarse with emotion. He shifted uneasily in his seat, unable to meet your eye directly.

Silence enveloped the small space once more, thickening with the tension radiating off both of you. Sensing the moment growing increasingly fraught, you broke the tension with another comment.

"If you missed the time we spent with each other, then why did you never write to me?” you ventured, hoping to gain insight into his changing behavior.

However, your question hung heavily in the air, stirring up waves of guilt, confusion, and regret within Tommy. Unable to face the truth himself, he chose evasion instead.

"Things changed. I knew we couldn't be together, so I needed to distance myself from you," he muttered dismissively, his eyes finally finding yours, conveying sadness and loss. 

"Do you love Lizzie?" you asked suddenly, wondering whether Tommy was merely settling because of the expectations placed upon him due to his position. 

His brow furrowed as you posed such a direct question. Taking a deep breath, he let forth a heavy sigh, choosing his words carefully.

"Love takes time," he began cautiously, "I love our daughter, Ruby and, maybe one day, I can love her mother too," he explained, causing you to chuckle, which was a gesture he willfully ignored.

"Do you love Robert?" Tommy suddenly countered, his tone turning confrontational.

"Well, no...it's complicated," you answered hesitantly, struggling to articulate your own feelings for your lover. "We met during difficult times, and I found solace in someone I didn't think I would ever meet," you explained reluctantly and with a shaky voice.

"Alright, then tell me Love, do you still love me?" Tommy probed further, his curiosity piqued as much as his jealousy. He leaned closer, searching for signs of weakness in your eyes.

Your heart raced as your pulse quickened. Swallowing hard, you tried to hide your emotional turmoil behind a facade of indifference. However, Tommy noticed your struggle instantly.

"It doesn't matter because, whether I love you or not, won't make a difference at all," you confessed candidly, your voice breaking as you uttered those painful words. The weight of them settled between you, causing your hearts to skip a beat simultaneously.

"What happened to us Tommy? Why am I sitting here, holding your son, yet I am so far apart from you?" you lamented sorrowfully, tears beginning to pool in your eyes. This confession hurt both of you deeply, reminding you of a connection that was irreversibly severed and, just as Tommy was about to respond to your statement, his fiancée Lizzie barged in. 

"Come to bed, Thomas!" she exclaimed impatiently, oblivious to the delicate balance of raw emotions simmering in the room. Her presence brought relief to Tommy, offering a welcome distraction from his tumultuous inner battle. 

Avoiding any mention of your conversation, Tommy calmly rose from his chair and bid goodnight, kissing Lizzie softly on the cheek.

Then, without giving you a chance to respond, he exited the room swiftly, eager to escape the palpable tension. 

Watching him go, you bit your lip anxiously, struggling to comprehend the multitude of emotions coursing through your veins. You turned toward Lizzie, trying to gauge her reaction to your encounter with Tommy. Surprised by your display of familiarity, she raised an eyebrow curiously, seemingly confused by your interaction. However, deciding against prying further, she dismissed the situation altogether.

Closing the door gently behind her, Lizzie left you alone with your thoughts and emotions. With a sense of desolation, you gathered yourself and proceeded to prepare Edward for sleep. Nursing him until he fell asleep, rocking him gently in your arms as you hummed a melody passed down generations in your family. The comforting rhythm of the song calming not only Edward but also serving as balm to your wounded soul.

Meanwhile, outside the nursery, Tommy stood motionlessly, the events transpiring inside having left him reeling.

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[sweetdecoseo2023]

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[ohtobealady]

If you’re still looking for one word prompts: Lace for Cobert please. 😊

Oh boy howdy. A tiny side of comfort. Thank you for the lovely word, dearie.

—————‘,—————

Lace

She stared at the dress O’Brien had laid out for the garden party. She stared at it with her warm teacup resting at her lip, the minty scent sweetly burning her nose.

She liked it: ivory linen, a circle of crocheted lace around the waist, more lace at the collar and sleeves, large spherical buttons that served no other purpose but to provide decoration in straight lines down the front. Her maid had gone to collect her hat, she’d explained, but Cora knew which. It would be the kettle-brim. And it would look nice.

She sighed. Her mouth was dry from far too much of this tea. It made a small clink as she replaced it in its saucer just as the click of the door drew her attention to it.

“Oh.” Her body relaxed when she saw him, his round chin lifting in greeting. She hadn’t even realized she’d been sitting so stiffly. “I was expecting O’Brien.”

“Do you need her?”

“No,” Cora shook her head, and she smiled at her husband who softly smiled at her in return. “I’m glad it’s you.”

He chuckled as he came into her room. Bates had already dressed him in his white garden linens, and Cora let herself admire the tug of the fabric at his shoulders and the breadth and height of him as he walked toward her window and peered out.

“It seems the lawn’s dried enough from the rain,” he nodded toward the view. “Though it would’ve made a fine excuse to postpone.”

“Then I’m glad it’s dried.” She let her hands settle beneath her breakfast tray. “You know we couldn’t have postponed. I didn’t want to.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But I did. For your sake.”

“Yes.”

He came to sit upon her bed, and she felt the way her legs dipped toward his weight at the edge of her mattress. “Of course you know that it isn’t strictly necessary for you to come down. None would blame you.”

Cora’s chest tightened at his repeated speech, the same speech he’d given her four days ago after it had all happened, when he tried to convince her to cancel the party entirely. But they both knew she could not. The invitations had gone out too long before.

“I’m well enough,” she assured him, and she forced a tight smile. “And I’m well enough for you to rejoin me in here,” she pressed. “I don’t like sleeping alone.”

She was relieved at his chuckle, and even more relieved when he took her hand. “My dear, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m more uncomfortable without you.”

She watched the change in his expression, the lightness of his features darkening with a hint of pain at her confession. She hadn’t meant it to sound as plaintive as it was—-as she was.

And Robert nodded, and she felt him tighten his fingers around hers. “So am I.”

“I’ve brought you a powder, milady—-oh, milord. I apologize.”

They looked at O’Brien who entered, but Cora let her eyes return to her husband. He hadn’t let go of her hand.

“It’s alright, O’Brien,” he said. “I was just trying to convince her ladyship that she should remain in bed, especially since her breakfast tray looks as if she’s barely touched it.”

Cora felt herself smile, and she shook her head. “I don’t like peppermint tea,” she complained in a lilting tone, but knew at Robert’s glance he had been partly serious.

“I’ve tried to convince her as well, milord. I did say that between yourself and the young ladies, the guests would understand—-“

“But I don’t want to,” she interjected, and again, she felt Robert tighten his grasp.

“O’Brien, it’s useless, I’m afraid,” he looked at her, and Cora loved how the morning sun kissed the curve of his jaw. “I can deny her nothing.”

For the first time in four days, Cora nearly laughed; the tightness in her chest turning the hollowness into warmth.

“I’ve asked Carson to have the garden chaise longue brought to the tent. You’ll be sure to rest, at least, won’t you?”

She nodded before Robert turned back to her maid. “Thank you, O’Brien. I’ll only be a moment more.”

And the warmth felt cooler as her maid departed, leaving the powder for her pain and her kettle-brim hat upon her dressing table.

“I came to tell you—“

“—She’s been such a help to me, Robert,” Cora said over him, and as soon as the door closed behind her maid. “Really.” Images of her maid weeping along with her, patting her hand, helping her change her bloodied nightgowns unwittingly came to her mind. “I feel guilty I’ve made so much extra work for her—-“

“No.” Robert silenced her. “She cares for you; as do I. You aren’t to feel guilty for anything.”

“All the same….” She ignored the other images, the terrible ones that persisted in floating to the top of her thoughts, clouding the others she desperately sought. And she ignored what he’d meant by anything, for how could she not? “I’m grateful to her,” she added softly, and looked down into her lap, hoping he’d hear what else she meant, that she was grateful for him.

But he sat silently instead, her hand in his, before she felt his other hand move to her cheek, and as his thumb stroked at the cheekbone.

She closed her eyes, forbidding the tears that threatened, and shook her head, shaking his fingers away from their too-soft touch.

“I’ve commissioned it.” His voice was a whisper now, but of course she knew what he meant. “The stone.”

“Oh, Robert,” she sighed. “I wish you hadn’t.” It was a lie in a way. She wished that none of it had happened; a stone reminding her of her failure again and again was the furthest thing she could ever want.

“It will be quite small,” he went on just as quietly. “Only the year.”

“I’m sure your mother will agree with me.” She let go of his hand and moved her fingers to her tea.

“I didn’t intend on telling her.”

The peppermint was overbearing now that it was cold, and she pretended it was that that made her eyes burn. “You seldom need to tell your mother anything for her to still know everything.”

“Cora.”

When she met her husband’s gaze, he shook his head.

“The stone isn’t for her.”

And she broke his gaze. “I know.”

“Only the year, darling. And our cipher. Nothing more.”

And to stop herself from weeping, she cleared her throat. “I am glad it seems to be dry.”

The teacup clattered in its saucer. She smoothed the coverlet over her middle. She looked at her lacy dress lying in the morning sun. “Mud would’ve spoiled it. Everyone in their whites.”

Her husband sighed, his shoulders falling gently as he tenderly reclaimed her hand in his own. “Oh, my dearest one.” And she watched as he lifted her fingers to his lips, and felt as he pressed a kiss there.

She watched him, smiling, her vision blurred by tears she blinked away.

“Robert,” she whispered between them, her heart breaking, loving him more than she ever had before. “Better ring for O’Brien,” she barely managed around the knot in her throat. She laced her cold fingers through Robert’s, holding as tightly as she could.

[roguishcat]

Conversations with a vampire - part 7/10

Story summary: A story told through a series of conversations between Astarion and child Tav, tracing the slow and steady progress of trust and friendship.

Chapter summary: Having brought Tav home, Astarion has a conversation with a member of her family.

Tav surprises Astarion by coming up with an unusual way to keep her promise.

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated this story, I've been trying to work on my writing. Hope you like this chapter! ❤️

“My, my... What mischief did she get up to tonight?” Mamzell Amira looked at him carrying Tav with thinly veiled interest. The woman was dripping in jewels, fine fabric whispering tantalisingly against skin as she lifted her hand to grasp Tav’s chin. Turning the girl’s head sideways, she appraised her appearance before letting go with an inaudible sigh.

“Thank you for bringing her back. You may enter,” she said pointedly, giving him a long look.

Their eyes locked and Astarion scowled.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be so sensitive that you feel offended at being given orders.” She raised an eyebrow and cocked a hip, shifting her stance gracefully.  “Come. We have some things to discuss.”

Astarion did not want to follow the woman, especially when her words sounded more like a command than a request. He has had enough of that in the past two hundred years, being compelled to do Cazador’s bidding. Instead, Astarion told himself that he chose to follow the woman through a concealed entrance that was clearly not meant for the clientele.

They walked down a narrow, winding corridor. Wood creaked underneath their boots, and unlike the areas where clients were entertained, there was no plush carpet to swallow up the sound of their steps. They turned once, then once more. There were no guests, just servants and staff in various states of undress that hurried past quickly. Perfume and incense mixed with the scent of sweat. Giggles, sighs, and groans revibrated in near unison, creating an atmosphere where inhibition was replaced with uninhibited expression of debauchery. Anything for coin. Every fantasy was possible within these rooms, if one could afford it.

Amira stopped in front of a door, unlocking it swiftly and beckoning for Astarion to follow before closing the door behind him. He felt power and saw the door glow. Arcane lock. No way out unless she permitted it.

The elf gave the room a cursory glance. It was pleasantly decorated and seemed like a personal space, where one would relax rather than receive company. One could even call it cosy.

Astarion was just about to set Tav down gently on the plush sofa when a servant appeared and plucked Tav out of his arms as if she weighed nothing, whisking her away. Magic hummed and the servant was gone.

“Sit. Let me have a look at you.” Amira lowered herself to a half recline on a chaise longue, motioning for him to sit in the chair across from her.

She appraised him unabashedly in a way a butcher would look at a prized turkey and clicked her tongue.

“You are a looker. It’s no wonder that she follows you around like a little lovesick pup. She never spoke of you, of course. She never tells anyone anything. But I have my sources,” she said casually, pouring herself some wine into a beautifully crafted gold goblet. She did not offer him any.

“We have been watching you, vampire. Oh, yes. I know what you are.” Mamzell Amira did not seem to be fazed by his scowl and the hard, hostile look shot in her direction. “And if you were any less careful than you have been, you would have been dead in a ditch somewhere,” she took a sip and hummed, apparently pleased with the taste.

“Is it a threat?” Astarion bristled, his hackles raised.

“A threat? Oh, no, my dear, dear frightened boy,” she said with mock concern, her fingers casually dancing over the rim of the goblet. “We all have to watch ourselves, really. This one comes from a very prominent family. An illegitimate child, of course. But potentially an important chess piece. And with no official heir still and Tav turning sixteen soon, her worth just keeps going up!”

Mamzell Amira took another sip of her wine, letting the silence stretch. It was surprisingly quiet in her quarters, considering all the activity that was going on at Sharess’. There was most definitely an enchantment of some sort. He supposed a woman as rich as her could afford the services of a good mage.

“Why hide her in a brothel, of all places?” Astarion was the first to break the silence. “Why not send her somewhere in the countryside? Somewhere far away from the vultures?”

Amira scoffed, as if she had never heard something so ridiculous.

“Oh? And have her turn out a sweet, unassuming country bumpkin? How short-sighted would that be! If she is to run with the wolves, she must know how to show her teeth. Her killing that merchant came as a surprise; I would never have guessed that she had it in her,” she said, sounding proud rather than concerned.

“Besides,” she went on, looking away from him with an unreadable expression, “her father was one of the favourites at Sharess’. Shame about what happened to him, really. Such potential simply wasted. But these things happen when one is careless and gets mixed up with powerful people.”

So, a child of a prostitute and a noble. It wasn’t unheard of, although they had plenty of potions and spells to make sure there were no accidents. This meant that Tav’s mother wanted to have a child enough for her to choose to conceive. The fact that her father was now dead, he presumed, possibly meant that the decision was not well met. Either her mother was foolish and naïve, or wanted to get something out of it. Either way, lovers were disposable. Children could serve a greater purpose down the line. Therefore, there was a very strong possibility that Tav’s family had her father killed. Possibly an accident, a carefully orchestrated charade of an investigation, and then nothing.

“There is not much that the child is fit for, unfortunately. Absolutely talentless. Quite useless. The head of the family was most disappointed by her daughter. Yet, this one may have her uses still. Or just turn out to be the goose that lays the golden eggs,” she said nonchalantly, as if she were discussing inconsequential nothings rather than a child broken by the power games that the patriar families of Baldur’s Gate were playing.

Mamzell lifted herself up higher on the chaise longue, crossing her long, lean legs as she poured herself more wine and popped a grape into her mouth.

“She is still a child,” Astarion spat, incensed at her words about Tav. Was there really no limit to how vile the world could be? “What kind of family allows one of their own to get hurt in such a way? Are they prepared for the scars that this would leave?”

“Life lessons always leave scars. Life is pain. Life is loss. I have no reason to stop her from making mistakes, not when they burn so profoundly, so horribly.” Her smile turned wicked, making a chill run down his spine.

“You are not Mamzell Amira, are you?” He flinched as she barked a laugh.

“Oh, so the spawn can think! Bravo! Yes, the real Mamzell is asleep. She is useful but quite simple. Though that is true of most, of course,” she gave a longsuffering sigh. “Don’t expect me to snap my fingers and show my true form. To reveal myself to the likes of you, to what end?”

She seemed to be finished with the conversation, rising gracefully and walking towards the door.

“Consider this conversation as me sizing you up and finding you lacking. Then again, my disappointment of a granddaughter could not have found herself a more fitting friend. You may leave, spawn.”

“I’m assuming you are going to tell me to stop conversing with Tav, aren’t you?”

“Whatever for? As I said, life lessons always leave scars. The ones that she will get from choosing you for a friend are going to be beautiful, I’m certain.”

Astarion rose stiffly, ruby eyes trained on the woman in front of him. He was not an expert when it came to family relations, yet he was sure that perhaps Tav was better off having no family at all rather than being under the tutelage of this monster who masqueraded as a woman. Tav had a heart. This villain certainly did not.

“Tav. Such a strange name. I wonder why she picked it?” She said more to herself than to Astarion. In any case, the woman seemed to be quite finished with him.

“Grab that man on your way out, won’t you? You have to deliver someone to that Cazador. And seeing as you are still useful, I have no reason for wanting you to be locked up. Off you go,” she dismissed Astarion with a wave, facing away from him as she looked out of the window. Leaving one’s back unprotected in this way whilst in close quarters with a vampire would be considered foolish or borderline suicidal, if it wasn’t for the fact that they both knew that he wouldn’t be able to take a step in her direction without being crushed. There was so much magic in the room that it made his fangs itch and his insides twist. He was no threat to this creature, who was apparently related to Tav.

And so Astarion hoisted whatever soul was unfortunate enough to be captured on this night up on his shoulder and left without another word. After all, what else was there to be said?

Astarion did not see Tav for several months after that. Not that he ever sought her out specifically in the past, but he did find himself glancing in the direction of the brothel as he passed by, looking up at the roofs of the houses that hugged the streets of Rivington in case he would see her perched somewhere on an upper floor.

Astarion rarely noticed change; timeless creatures stuck trudging through the years rarely did. Yet even he soon noticed that the days were growing shorter, the first whispers of autumn filling the air. As the city was shrouded in red, gold, and orange, Astarion and his siblings haunted its streets, plucking victims like overripe fruit. Still, there was no sign of the child that used to follow him around. Astarion was not sure how to feel about it.

The earthy smells of autumn soon gave way to the first chills of winter, its cold breath making streets clear of anyone idling the hours away. Clutching their collars closed, Baldurians hurried down slippery streets to seek shelter in taverns, where Astarion and the other spawn waited for them with warm wine and heated promises.

And just like many times before, it was Tav that found him, surprisingly by Elfsong, so far from where she was previously able to go. Astarion quirked an eyebrow as he walked out of the tavern to see her leaning against the wall. For whatever reason, the enchanted band round Tav's ankle no longer shackled her to the streets of Rivington.

“Hi,” Tav said timidly, running her fingers through her blonde hair. “I- I am sorry about what happened when I saw you last. It’s quite embarrassing, really.” She gave a high-pitched, nervous laugh, shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting to look at anything but his face.

It was strange that most of all she was worried what he would think.

Tav was dressed in layers of black with shimmering red and gold hexagon patterns. The fur-trimmed collar was high, buttoned up to the very top, and the clothes would be almost shapeless if not for the cleverly hidden buttons and ties that held the structure in place. Cloth rustled softly against cloth as she moved. Unlike the clothes that she wore before, this outfit made her look older. Or perhaps that was not it. Perhaps there were some other imperceptible changes that one could not immediately put a finger on.

“And how are you feeling?” Astarion asked, walking away but not so fast that she couldn’t follow.

Tav shrugged and scrunched her nose, as if it hadn’t occurred to her to analyse how she felt until he asked.

“I think I’m okay. I don’t know. They brought a healer, and I guess I feel better. I can still remember what happened vividly, but it feels like it happened to someone else. Weird, right?”

“At least I can pick my own clothes out now. Apparently, you have to literally kill someone round here to get someone to respect you,” she joked weakly.

“Anyway," she cleared her throat, "I wanted to thank you. Thank you for looking after me then, I mean.”

“Well,” he huffed, “your debts just keep stacking up. I suppose you would have no choice but to follow me around long enough to repay them.”

“It would seem so.” Tav smiled a little. It was a weak attempt, but it was better than blank looks or tears. Astarion was pleased that she was holding it together much better than he thought she would.

“Also, I found this in my bag.”

Tav stuck her hand into her brocade bag, once again making Astarion wonder what sort of enchantment would make for such a useful accessory and where one would learn it. Rummaging about, she produced a handkerchief. It was a little crumpled, squashed, and full of untidy creases and folds. Tav straightened it with utmost care, revealing the all-too-familiar embroidery.

“I’ve never seen it before in my life,” Astarion stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

She didn’t bother to pretend to believe him.

“I never get Midwinter presents. Or any presents for that matter. Not even once.”

“I mean,” she sighed and pushed her hair out of her eyes, “I get things for me to use delivered, and the tailor now comes to Sharess’ for me to choose my own clothes. And I get plenty of money to spend, but I- I never actually-” she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know that this means a lot. It’s beautiful.” She gulped when she found that her fingers were shaking and squeezed the handkerchief to her chest.

Astarion found that he was quite unprepared for such genuine gratitude. It wasn’t that special, not compared to the extravagant ensembles and jewellery she wore. He simply had a bit of time on his hands and needed a distraction. So, he embroidered her name and a pretty, delicate butterfly perched on a flower using some red thread.

The handkerchief was dreadfully plain, but Tav looked at it with such open adoration that he felt his shoulders relax a touch.

“I love red. It’s my favourite colour.”

“Well, that is simply a coincidence.” Astarion turned away with a huff. “I had no intention of choosing red, just something I had rattling about in my drawer.” Children were ridiculous creatures. Showing their emotions so freely. Someone really ought to teach Tav not to wear her heart on her sleeve like that.

“Still, I love it. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Well, when one’s standards are so low, it is not difficult to surpass expectations,” he shot over his shoulder.

“By the way, don’t think I’ve forgotten our deal. In fact, as you stopped accepting the potions, I’ve got something else that’s even better.”

She took a scroll out of her bag.

Circling him, Tav grasped his hand tightly. She curled her pinky finger around his, stated that it was perfectly safe, and then proceeded to mutter something he couldn’t make out. The scroll glowed warmly and disappeared, specks of power settling over their hands and then seeping under skin.

“What in the hells was that?” Astarion slapped her hand away with a hiss and took a step back. It didn’t hurt in the least, but he did not know what Tav’s definition of ‘perfectly safe’ was.

“A promise spell,” Tav said breezily, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Beg pardon?” he questioned incredulously. Because surely she did not just make him a ‘pinky promise’ out of all things! How very juvenile and how very Tav.

“I promised to set you free and get rid of Cazador, but words just ring a little hollow. And the spell creates a magic bond between the caster and another willing creature-"

“Well now, I don’t recall being asked!” Astarion all but hissed. “Surely you could have thought this through for five minutes! Or at least have given me a warning!”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she scrunched her nose and frowned, as if the thought hadn’t really occurred to her.

“Well, what’s done is done, I suppose,” Astarion gave a longsuffering sigh at her visibly chastened look and commended himself on having the patience of a saint. “Besides, if I am to bear your company, I might as well know that it is all for a worthy cause.”

Tav’s mouth quirked into a smile. Seeing as Astarion didn’t look angry anymore, it wouldn’t hurt to show off a little.

“By the way, look what I can do now.”

She waved her hand, and all lights in the streets wavered, the colour cooling and turning purple, bathing the street in a pretty, if eerie, glow.

“How’s that for a fun party trick?” Tav boasted, clearly very pleased with herself.

“Cute,” he scoffed. “But hardly useful.”

He had to admit, for a child that seemed to take pride in the fact that she slept through most of her spellcasting lessons, she seemed to have performed the trick easily enough.

“I can do all sorts of things now. Not sure why, but doing magic has become much easier since- since that merchant died,” she finished weakly and swallowed.

Astarion supposed this was the part when he was meant to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and impart some words of wisdom. Except he was not the type to do either, so his silence would have to do. Luckily, Tav seemed to snap back to reality quickly enough.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! I got Ebony back!”

One had to admire how easily Tav bounced between emotions. Although keeping up with her changing moods would be enough to give one a headache.

“Dare I ask who is Ebony?” He drawled with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched some drunks stumble past them. He ought to follow the two humans; they seemed the type that could be coaxed to come with him with nothing but promises of free wine and a straw mattress to sleep on. Yet, he stayed to listen to childish prattle.

“Ebony is my dog. Used to ride her around when I was about five.”

“And why would I be interested in some mangy, flea-bitten animal?” Astarion let out with a smirk still on his lips.

“Hey! Ebony is a beauty! For your sake, I will tell her that you were joking when you called her that.”

Ah, there she was. No trace of sadness in her blue eyes. A useless victory that warmed his undead heart.

“And where is that dog of yours?”

“Oh, somewhere about. She comes and goes as she pleases, unless I actually call her. She likes her independence.”

Just wonderful. A potentially mad child followed about by an apparently invisible dog. He sure knew how to pick his acquaintances.  

“Whatever is happening to me, I think it is a good change. I can feel myself growing stronger. So just wait a little longer, Astarion. We will be free.”

She blended into the shadows, making him blink in confusion as it became hard to focus on her. It was as if she became one with darkness, making him once again wonder. Wonder if by some unimaginable stroke of luck he actually managed to find himself a half-useful ally.

The pale elf looked down at his hand, noting that if he focused on his fingers, he could see the faint glow around the smallest digit.

“A promise spell,” he mumbled to himself softly.

He hadn’t heard of anything like it. Which made him wonder, what exactly was this mystical pact that he found himself a part of? And what set of circumstances could possibly lead to this promise being fulfilled?

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[sandraclapham]

At Boys Will Be Girls (as evidenced by the lovely chaise longue!) towards the end of May 2024 (a couple of weeks ago).