The Boyo turned three this weekend. Three. I can’t believe it. It feels like only yesterday that he was this tiny itty bitty thing curled up in his incubator. And now he’s this big strong child that’s built like a tank, is curious about everything, and is learning new words and phrases all the time.
Anywho, Boyo also decided that 4am was a really great time to wake up last night (oh the joys of ASD combined with being a threenager) so I’m running on empty at the moment. But I did get a lot of editing done this week, and I also updated one of my fanfics with a couple of new chapters while I was at it! Yay for progress! Also yay for coffee!
And now for your favorite part of the week…
Since I’m running on empty at the moment – I’m going to keep the math simple at the moment. Here are 26 sentences from the fanfic I updated this week – The Broken Man. It features Percival Graves from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and a female character of my own creation named Cressida Polari. The two are in a dream of Cressida’s creation – she’s a legillimens – and they’re arguing over some information she withheld from him regarding her family. He’s none too pleased that she lied, but given how MACUSA feels about intermarriage between no-majs and wizard kind, it’s totally understandable that she wouldn’t fess up to her heritage.
I think I’ve shared snippets from The Broken Man before, but I’m not entirely sure. You can find it here, at An Archive Of Our Own.
A part of Cressida hopes that the get up will distract Graves from his anger, but she knows better. He’s far too good for that. And sure enough, when his astral form snaps into focus in front of her, he is intent on only one thing – scolding her like an errant child. “You lied.”
“Actually, I withheld information.” Cressida takes a drink a house elf offers her and sips at it. It’s pointless – the liquid held within the glass is a shadow of its former self. It doesn’t slack her thirst, nor does it offer any sustenance.
“Semantics.” There’s a sharpness to his voice, but he doesn’t snap and he doesn’t yell. Instead he projects disappointment. It’s quite an effective tool – her own parents have used it on her many times when she was younger – and she has no doubt that it sends his underlings sulking away with their tails tucked between their legs. “You could have mentioned that your mother was a witch, and that your youngest sister has magic in her blood as well.”
She sets the drink down. “And what good would that have done?” He opens his mouth to argue the point and she shakes her head, silencing him. “It doesn’t change anything. We are still at your mercy.”
“You are at my mercy? You outnumber me.”
“And if you wanted to, you could snap your fingers and have back up here in the blink of an eye – couldn’t you?” He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he leans against the bar, his fingers twirling a ring on the opposite hand. She quickly notes that it’s not a wedding band, but some sort of family heirloom with scorpions and a ruby. He’s wearing the robes from her dreams, the ones that are cut like a fine suit and lined in white, and she can see that the collar pins on his shirt matches his ring – glittering scorpions. What a very apt creature for him to be so fond of. “So can you blame me for trying to protect those that I hold dear? Especially when I know what you do to those who break the law.”
“And what exactly do I do to those who break the law?”
To read more WIPpet Wednesday posts, go here.