Tav keeps the conversation going in his thoughts long after Astarion has stormed out of camp. He meant every word he said. Made his face open and his eyes vulnerable, but Astarion was blind to it all. Tav only stopped short of telling him he’s beautiful on account of his dismissive posturing, but he would’ve meant that too. It’s Astarion’s beauty that keeps the rising stakes of their journey and the growing pressures of leadership from crushing Tav’s spirit. Astarion’s beauty and the sweet yearning for his company, for which Tav happily trades his very blood even when his body cries for rest and recuperation. But it doesn’t seem to be enough.
His angry stare sweeps over the shards of the broken mirror. They glitter feebly in the dirt like so many distant, cold stars.
Astarion said he wants to know what Tav sees when he looks at him, but words failed. How do I show him?
Continue reading Show him what I see
Content warning
This work contains explicit depictions of sex between male characters and under-negotiated kink. It is intended for adult audiences only.
“You slimy bastard.”
Startled from a deep reverie, Draco almost drops his book. He looks left and right over his shoulders, but there’s no one behind him, their corner of the Slytherin common room quiet and private. He lifts his eyebrows at Pansy. “Who? Me?”
“It’s true, then? What people have been saying? You were snogging someone in the broomshed. Who is he? I demand to know, right now.” She crosses her legs, folding her hands over the latest issue of Witch Weekly on her lap—the deadly stance of a predator about to pounce.
Draco takes breath to say something—never mind that he’s got no clue what that might be—but she isn’t done yet.
“And don’t you dare lie to me, Draco Lucius Malfoy. You have the glow about you. I just realized, and I’m terribly upset. You never had the glow about you when you were dating me.”
Continue reading More than I can say
Inspired by the phenomenal story everything you could ever want by eleadore, More than I can say is a sequel and a love letter. Writing it was more fun than I’ve had with a story in ages, and so, so rewarding. Many thanks to eleadore for her kindness and support, and for writing the lovely piece that set this in motion in the first place.
“Your Incarcerous, though,” Potter went on with a grin, “that was wild.” He looked over his shoulder at the blooming bush, picked one of the dramatic white flowers, and buried his nose in it.
Draco’s cheeks burned.
“Was it on purpose?” said Potter, twirling the flower.
Yes, absolutely, is what Draco was supposed to say, but embarrassment had made him stupid, and he shook his head.
“Thought so.” The apple of Potter’s throat went up and down. “Can I kiss you?”
Draco nodded, melting.
Read here, or on AO3.
A new installment in my Baldur’s Gate 3 series about Astarion and my golden boy, Talven Vrinn.
Astarion has had enough of this “party”. He picks up the bag with supplies he prepared earlier and makes for the woods. Passing the last torch, he pauses to take one more look at the camp, just in time for another burst of fireworks. Lit by all the colors of the rainbow, Talven stands on his own near the bonfire. Their eyes meet. Talven smiles at first, then grows serious. He points at his eyes, and then at Astarion. I see you.
Astarion’s stomach flips.
When was the last time his stomach flipped with anything but dread?
Not gonna lie, this one was tough to write. I aimed for the sweet spot between uncomfortable and hot; I believe Astarion could’ve actually enjoyed it, though perhaps not fully. That’s how I felt while writing, and now I wonder if a reader might feel the same while reading?
Read the story here, or on AO3.
Cover art by Emy.
“Just look at them.” Astarion snorts. “Drinking and singing as though they’ve reached Baldur’s Gate already. Like dispersing the goblins means safety, when it just means they’ll be slaughtered elsewhere along the road.” He snorts. The vapid celebration annoys him more and more with each passing minute. The naive little bard with her saccharine tunes, the aged Hellrider with his fatherly concerns, the destitute refugees with their mundane hopes and dreams. Ugh.
Continue reading Party Night
Is eleven-years-old Draco ready to learn his heart’s true desire?
I enjoyed this thought experiment a lot and I’m happy to share the story that came out of it.
Read it here, or on AO3.