By the time they reached Madam Malkin’s, Draco was exhausted. He didn’t even protest when Mother left him alone and went to look at the wands, though he suspected she was rather more interested in the perfume shop they’d passed on the way. Just like she had suspected Father of ulterior motives when he’d volunteered to get Draco’s schoolbooks.
“Just stay out of Ogden’s,” she had hissed through clenched teeth, while smiling tightly at some acquaintance or another.
Draco had wondered what “Ogden’s” was, but he’d known better than to ask.
Continue reading Bruised
I’m months late, announcing this shocking new development. It started quite a while ago, perhaps as early as in March, though I only realized the extent of the obsession in May. A bit of a strange story, the whole thing, and I’m about to tell it in all the juicy detail.
With all my previous fandoms, the route was: 1) watch or play or read; 2) daydream; 3) write; 4) reluctantly engage with the community, mostly with the goal to advertise my creations. With Harry Potter, it was all backwards. First, I started reading fanfiction, then daydreaming, and watching, reading and playing came almost as an afterthought.
Continue reading Apparently, I’m into Harry Potter (and Draco Malfoy) now
“Wait!” Shadowheart cries. “What are you—”
It’s too late. Tav hisses, and she falls silent.
He has cut too deep. Blood gushes from the wound, hot and sticky, dripping on his boots and trickling into his sleeve.
Continue reading Phalar Aluve
A new story in my Baldur’s Gate 3 series!
“Let me see,” Astarion says.
Still hazy, Tav reluctantly offers the grip of the magical sword.
“No, not that. Your hand, my dear. And the absolute butchery you made of it with that butter-knife of yours.”
Or, Tav makes a blood sacrifice to the goddess of the dancing lights, and Astarion refuses to let it go to waste.
Read the story here, or on AO3. Hope you’ll enjoy!
The fourth in my series of Baldur’s Gate 3 stories about Astarion and my golden boy, Talven Vrinn, On Books and Reading uses the discovery of the Necromancy of Thay to touch on questions of authority, manipulation and disability.
“I’m sorry,” Astarion says, wiping his eyes. “It must be terrible—” he bursts in laughter again, but it’s tinged with hysteria and sounds on the edge of turning to sobs. He covers his face, drawing a deep breath. “Ugh. I need a moment.”
Having given him the most truthful account of himself so far, Tav feels both giddy and exposed. Astarion’s laughter doesn’t bother him. It seems born of surprise and the absurdity of the situation, not mockery. But Tav is altogether too deeply invested in the hope that Astarion will agree to his ridiculous, haphazard proposal, to join in the cheer. Because, of course it was an excuse, even if he’d had no inkling that he’d use it, or that he needed one. The truth is, if he could, he’d spend every moment of his time trailing Astarion like a shadow.
Read the whole story here, or on AO3.
Chapter 3
The fires in Waukeen’s Rest have burnt their course over the night. It’s hard to tell how much might eventually be salvaged from the smoking rubble, but the stone foundations are intact, at least. There isn’t a soul to be seen anywhere near. The outbuildings were stripped bare, the bodies removed, and the livestock taken away in at least three different directions, judging by the tracks.
They know the surviving Fists have moved on in search of Wyll’s father. Tav doesn’t understand why Wyll hasn’t chosen to join them. With the resources of a dukedom, perhaps to fall in his hands sooner than he expected, surely he stands a better chance of finding the cure than with them?
And now Tav watches Lae’zel run ahead of the group again and again, then turn to glare at them and tap her foot as they travel towards the Mountain Pass. Somehow he doubts she’ll make the same choice Wyll did, once they find her people.
Continue reading On Books and Reading