scribe_protra | Round 2 is closed.

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Round 2 is closed.

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Page 103 of 177

Harry wisens up and realizes he's interested in Marcone. So he starts to court him.

Let's see how hilarious it can get when a very old-fashioned, chivalrous wizard tries to woo a mobster. Flowers and chocolate are a must.

...no, I dont even have the excuse of filling someone else's prompt for this. But I just got my hands on Backup, and this showed up in my head. (Also, I have no idea how long White Court vampires can live in canon; for purposes of this ficlet, it's 'as long as they feel like it.') Should probably warn for White Court sex without fully informed consent.

Byerly Vorrutyer glared discreetly across the crowded Imperial ballroom at the two men who were lounging against a table, sipping glasses of wine. They were both dark-haired, fit and moderately tall, handsome in a bland yet strangely captivating way, and they both had the air of people who were quite happy to be dismissed as useless. It was entirely unfair for there to be two Ivan Vorpatrils in the world.

One of them actually was Ivan; the other was a man named Thomas Raith who Ivan had been introducing as an old friend of his from one of his offworld postings, which explained exactly nothing. The man was, unmistakably, galactic, which he made no effort to hide, and yet he had insinuated his way into Barrayaran high society as if he had been born there; or as if he had a great deal of practice at blending in to other cultures. He wore local civilian dress, just restrained enough that Ivan needn't worry about being seen with him, but carefully tuned to give the impression that he was entirely harmless and concerned with very little beyond the most shallow. It was an effective camouflage against the fact that he moved like someone who had been trained to fight, and his reflexes were just a little bit too fast and a little bit too good.

By was quite certain he was up to something.

"That man is up to something," said a voice from somewhere around By's left shoulder. He glanced over, and ah, Lord Vorkosigan. Looking, as usual at these events, extremely determined and only slightly the worse for drink.

By carefully schooled his face into neutrality. "I understand he's been on planet for about ten days, and he's pulled a different girl every night. I suspect, my lord, that he's up to no more than the usual."

Vorkosigan shook his head. "That only makes it worse, d'you see? Because I happen to know that everyone allowed in to this event was personally and carefully vetted by Aunt Alys."

By was, in fact, able to fill in the rest of that thought: even if Lady Alys might have chosen to invite a random galactic visitor, she would not have invited one who would simultaneously give her son someone to hide behind and distract potential Vor brides from him. Which meant that something of greater significance was going on.

"A friend of mine at the University mentioned he's technically here to do research in the historical archives," By told him instead, feigning disinterest. "Maybe the Lord Auditor's Profesora got him in."

Vorkosigan's eyes lit up at that and he smirked at By. "You were asking around about him, were you?"

By clammed up. Shit. He did not need to be teaming up with Vorkosigan on this. On anything. But before he could say anything, Vorkosigan made a follow-me gesture and said, "C'mon, we're going to go talk to them."

"We?" By asked him incredulously. "Since when do you need my help?"

Vorkosigan rolled his eyes. "You can distract Ivan while I corner Raith. I've never met anyone who's as effective at distracting Ivan as you are."

...and somehow, By found himself carried along in the little Lord's wake.

Before Vorkosigan could say a word, however, Ivan straightened up and took initiative. "Miles!" he said brightly. "There you are! Gregor was looking for you earlier, he wanted to talk to you about something." He waved at someone across the room. "And oh look, I think he's free."

By followed the direction of Ivan's wave, and sure enough, there was the Emperor of Barrayar, somehow alone in the crowd, watching them with a rather grim expression. By tried even harder than usual to make himself invisible as Miles said, suspiciously, "Talk to me about what?"

"Something about a letter from your mother and reallocating District funds and that new hospital building. C'mon, Miles, you know how he gets," Ivan said, and took off through the dance floor. Miles followed, muttering something about how not everybody had to snap to their mother's every whim, but not before giving By a slit-eyed glance so eloquent that it was practically marching orders to do something about Raith.

Luckily, By had never been particularly susceptible to military conditioning, and he just turned his back, to find Raith staring after them with an oddly abstracted expression. By raised an eyebrow.

"That man always reminds me of someone I used to know," Raith offered.

By snorted indelicately. "Lord Vorkosigan? Yes, you'd be surprised at the number of 4'10" insane tactical geniuses with hero complexes wandering around this part of the galaxy."

"Actually, the man I was thinking of was more like 6'10"," Raith told him. "And I wouldn't say 'insane tactical genius' so much as 'incapable of coming up with any plan that wasn't desperately suicidal, ridiculously ambitious, and involving at least three large explosions and a substantial amount of property damage.' No, I think it's actually the expression on Ivan's face whenever he turns up, as if he's wondering exactly how he's going to get nearly killed trying to save the idiot's ass this time. Brings back memories." He blinked, and then a lascivious smile curled over his face. "Now, as for you, Byerly Vorrutyer, you're just plain... interesting."

Something subtle shifted in Raith's stance and face, and he suddenly changed from simply idly attractive to openly, irresistibly sexual. And blatantly inviting. "Not here," Bylerly hissed at him. "Are you mad? I don't know where you come from, but this is still Barrayar, and we're in public."

"Oh?" Raith asked, dark purring amusement in his voice. "Are you suggesting we take this somewhere more... private?" And something in his voice curled right down around By's spine, and places lower, and made itself at home there.

"Are you making a... serious offer?" By asked in a low voice, viciously restraining himself from the old nervous gesture of playing with his hair.

"Vorrutyer, I never make an offer that isn't serious," he said. "You wanna?" He grinned.

"That would be incredibly foolhardy," By told him. On the other hand, he wasn't on an official assignment. And Raith was really exceptionally attractive, and galactics were usually a great deal of fun with a lot less hassle, and it had been awhile for him with a man. And as a bonus, if he slipped off with Raith for a little frivolity it would seriously annoy both Vorpatril and Vorkosigan. "Did you have someplace private in mind?"

"Ivan told me the back way in to a place he sometimes uses," he said. "Promised me it would suit the purpose admirably."

"It would be the stupidest thing I've done at one of these parties since the thing with the mountain mead and the pastry cook," By told him, but they both knew he'd agreed, even before he followed Raith to one of the dim, slightly quieter hallways that led off the ballroom, through a sitting-room that held a group of rather drunk Vor men playing cards, to the adjoining powder room, and into a door that looked as if it led to a utility closet but instead opened up into a small, dim room that looked like a man's study.

By cased the surroundings quickly; it had the heavy, dark, late Time-of-Isolation look of most of the disused parts of the palace; open shelves full of dusty, old-fashioned volumes lined the walls, and pride of place was given to a large, sturdy desk. Suggestive smudges in thick coat of dust on the desk backed up the idea that Ivan had used it before, but that was about all he had time to observe before Raith had one hand on his waist and the other investigating the buttons on his tunic.

"Do you have any hard limits I should know ahead of time?" Raith asked. "I know Barrayarans are sometimes--" he fluttered a hand expressively.

"Only that 'no' means 'no,'" By said. "But if you can handle that, I'm up for nearly anything."

"Excellent," Raith told him, and abandoned the buttons to press him up against the nearest bookshelf and kiss the living daylights out of him. Raith's kiss alone would probably have made it on the list of his top ten most memorable sexual encounters, and he found himself moaning in pleasure before he decided to turn the table and show Raith that not all Barrayarans were repressed and unskilled.

...damn comment limits.

Raith let him reverse their positions with a glint in one eye, but was soon moaning in turn as By found that one spot on his neck and the access to his trousers at the same time. By knelt down and took him in his mouth, relishing the feel of the already-aroused cock and the sound of the little whimpering noises the other man was making, something he didn't get to do nearly often enough.

"Oh god," the Raith said. "Okay, I'd heard stories, but you're actually good at this--" he moaned again, and reached back, scrabbling at the shelves behind him for something to grab hold of. Instead, he somehow managed to knock nearly an entire shelf of books onto the floor.

They both jumped away, startled by the sudden noise of the falling books. By pulled off and rolled into a defensive crouch as Raith's hands went to places that By would have made large bets held concealed weapons. And then they both glanced down at the pile of books and chuckled.

Raith shook his head ruefully. "Maybe not the most well-considered position to start with," he said.

By glanced around. "Previous occupants would suggest the desk is suitable," he suggested. It was at almost exactly the right height, too.

Raith's eyes darkened. "Top or bottom?" he asked, without any of the freighted implications a Barrayaran man would have put into the question, and By shivered in anticipation.

"Do you have lube?" he asked.

"What kind of man do you take me for, Vorrutyer?" he asked, and then rummaged in a pocket, only a few inches from one of the concealed weapons. He held up a small bottle triumphantly. "Of course I have lube."

And they did make use of the desk. And, eventually, the floor as well, including an accidental tumble across the still-scattered books, which made By wince for a second at the possible damage to historical artifacts before Raith, very effectively, distracted him.

He woke up, afterward, flat on the floor, in a state of major déshabille, alone and feeling slightly off. By the sound of the party still filtering in through the walls, he hadn't been out for long, and he starting putting himself back in order while he tried to figure out what was wrong with him. Usually, a quick romp left him feeling sated and relaxed and recharged, and while the sated was certainly true - Raith had been amazing, By was tempted to keep trying to trace the accent just to find out of if there were more like him back home - he was feeling oddly drained rather than recharged. He felt stretched, and empty, and not entirely in the good way. And some of the details of the end of the encounter were indistinctly blurred, buried in his memory under an almost suffocating haze of pleasure. Passing out after sex wasn't exactly typical of him, either, even sex that spectacular; it was too dangerous a habit. He shook his head, sharply, trying to rattle his brains back in to place as he finished re-tying his neckcloth.

Raith had clearly left already, which was probably wise; he had to know that various people had been keeping an eye out for him, and a prolonged absence would be noted in a way that Byerly being typically irresponsible wouldn't be. And the two of them leaving together and returning together would have been a bit too blatant. Still, it wasn't exactly considerate, and By thought uncharitably that he was starting to understand why the man got on so well with Ivan.

He took a last turn about the room, making sure there was no evidence of the visit, and took the opportunity to wipe all the remaining incriminating dust off the desktop with his second spare handkerchief. The first one he found crumpled and soiled behind the desk, so he wrapped them both up carefully together and tucked them away with a note to toss them both into the nearest lit fireplace. Beyond that, there was no sign that anything untoward had ever happened to disturb the room's serenity, and he gave one last yank to shake the wrinkles out of his tunic before he rejoined the party.

He'd barely managed to acquire another glass of wine to rinse out his mouth before Vorkosigan appeared beside him with the kind of preternatural stealth that made him jealous at the same time he nearly jumped out of his skin. "Did you find anything out?" the little Lord asked.

"Find out? About what?" By asked him coolly over his wine.

"About Raith," Vorkosigan said impatiently.

"Oh, him," By said, lingering sensually over the word. "Oh yes. I think I was right the first time about why he's here."

By watched that tick over in Vorkosigan's scary brain, added up with the small but unmistakable signs of ravishment By had left on his person, and watched his lips curl in disgust. "I can't believe you'd do that," he said.

"I've no idea what you're talking about," By said superciliously, flicking a completely not imaginary bit of dust off of one of his sleeves. "Besides, I thought you were supposed to be all enlightened and Betan."

"I-- what-- I don't--" Vorkosigan sputtered. "The man could be dangerous, Vorrutyer. We don't know what his motives or loyalties are. And you just--" He threw up his hands. "Have you no sense of responsibility at all?"

"I've no idea whatever gave you the idea I did, my Lord," By told him, and faked an acquaintance calling his name.

All the same, it bothered him. The man was a god of sex, and apparently completely uninhibited in the best possible way, but that didn't erase everything that had made him suspicious in the first place, starting with the way the man had insinuated himself with Ivan. And his foggy memories of the encounter itself bothered him; he hadn't been that drunk, reckless disregard of good judgment notwithstanding, and it wasn't typical of him. Something else didn't add up from that night, either, something that was niggling at his trained observer's mind, and he sat down the next morning (well, afternoon, but it was over breakfast, so it counted) to think it out.

He worked through everything he did remember, in chronological and then, when that yielded nothing, in spacial order, which is when it struck him. There had been no sign that Raith had done any tidying before he left, but books that Raith had knocked on to the floor had not been there when By woke up. And-- he pulled the images up as best he could in his memory, and no, he was fairly sure that the shelf had still been empty when. The books had disappeared along with Raith. Well, shit.

He tried to remember everything he could about them. They'd almost certainly been rare antiques, like everything else in that forgotten room, probably an old Emperor's most private lair. They'd been mostly slender, hard-bound volumes, with the careful sturdy craftsmanship that meant pre-Cetagandan Invasion. The design on the covers had led him to assume classic fiction, probably some of the high-status stuff that had been remembered from old Earth since the days of the first colonization, and he winced. He knew there were long-standing rumors that some of the forgotton libraries in the old houses of Vorbarra Sultana held old Earth literature that was preserved nowhere else in the galaxy, and if Raith had managed to get his hands on some of that without By even considering the possibility - well, it would be embarrassing.

He needed to remember as much as he could about what the books actually were before it was worth bringing the suspicions to the notice of anyone of importance (which, he would like it to be noted, did not include Lord Vorkosigan.) He'd, understandably, not been at his most observant at the time, but he did have a vague recollection of thinking that the books were strangely appropriate for what they were doing. Some kind of pornography or sex manuals? Given some of the old Emperors, he wouldn't have been entirely surprised, but that didn't fit with the general look of the books. It was the author's name, he recalled suddenly. They'd nearly all been by the same author, and the name had been something like Sexwork or Art Love or something.

With that much, a few good hours at the University's computerized reference indices got him narrowed down to only a few dozen possible authors, and only one of them fit the rest of the criteria. 'Lovecraft', it turned out, had been a legendary writer of horror fiction early in Earth's Age of Information, widely referenced in contemporary and near-contemporary literature but almost none of his works known to survive to the present day. And there was a rumor,printed in the letters column of a recent Betan literary journal, that some of them were still extant in a few copies on Barrayar, and had been favorites of Mad Emperor Yuri in his last years.

A quick check of public palace inventories listed nothing of the sort, but that meant approximately zero in terms of what was actually there, and he didn't have the clearance to check any of the more private files without special authorization. He found himself nervously chewing on a knuckle before he gave in to the inevitable, compiled together everything he had (even the dreadfully embarrassing bits) and requesting a meeting with his Impsec handler about reporting a possible theft from the Imperial Residence.

The next morning - and this time it was actually morning, and far too early after a night spent at yet another Vor party, drinking rather too much and spending a lot of time hiding in corners with the excuse that he was surreptitiously observing Raith, whom By was fairly sure had spent the evening silently laughing at him - the next morning, he found himself standing at something resembling attention across a desk from Lady Alys Vorpatril, and telling her the whole story.

She nodded grimly at him when he mentioned Thomas Raith, and said, "Yes, I've unfortunately been well aware of his activities on planet," and rolled her eyes and said "I see my son has been acting out again," when he described the hidden room, but she kindly let him gloss over exactly why they had thought it appropriate to adjourn there together in the first place, and precisely how he had been rendered insensate. When he came to the part about the missing books, however, she straightened at every joint with the intensity of a hunting dog on a scent, and said, "Did you happened to recall which books they were?"

"Not in detail, but I got enough to do some research, and I'm fairly certain that they were--"

She cut him off. "I am also aware of what books they were, Byerly. While I commend your, ah, dedication to the Empire, I am afraid that this affair is well above your security rating, and it is extremely dangerous for you to know even as much as you know."

He stared at her blankly, trying to figure out how the theft of some minor works of fiction could be that vital to Imperial Security. Sure, they were probably valuable - possibly priceless - but they hadn't sounded exactly dangerous, Mad Yuri aside.

"Ma'am?" he asked.

"And I would suggest, for you own good, that you do your best to forget that you ever heard of them," she added. "Otherwise, there's a possibility that certain people might decide they need to ensure that you've forgotten. Now, did you have anything else to report?"

Far be it from Byerly Vorrutyer not to heed good advice from his elders.

HEY NONNIE! Guess what! You attempting to mod the meme breaks rule number 2. Please don't do it again.

I've read a Good Omens/Dresden files crossover once and was left with a desire to see some more.
Please, anon, I will be grateful for any genre and pairing as long as it's slash.

Somebody make this happen please. OMG such an awesome idea.

Shoot! I'm really sorry Mod! Really incredibly sorry!

I just realized that this is not only part of a longer prompt I'd posted in another community, but it also wasn't the prompt I meant to post here.

Please delete prompt?

I could actually care less if the family was Italian. I just want to see Marcone's family show up. :D

Awesome. It's mostly in my head and I've got a bunch of other WIPs and RL is a pain right now. But I'll try and get you the first chapter at least by next week.

...I.

Expected about two lukewarm reviews. This is an unexpected surprise. (backs away) I'm glad you like it, anyway. Wow.

(loves you all totally)

Oh my fucking god. *incoherent* I...there are no words, because your beautiful, beautiful words have reached inside me and twisted up my heart into little pieces.

They must have been so very in love.

HOLY FUCK, ANON :goes off to find tissues:

I know! Like, maybe somebody decided that Chicago needed a Marcone, and if it didn't have one, they'd just make one? Or Marcone is some kind of tiger god/spirit creature who locked himself into a human lifetime through the drawing? Or maybe he's actually much more powerful than he knows, and somebody used the drawing to bind him when he was small, and the damage to the drawing was the first crack in the binding...

One way or another, it's clearly relevant!

I had six names, six personnel files, countless statements by friends and fellow hookers, and in the end just a big lot of nothing. Zero. Nada. The girls were all nice, well-behaved sex-workers — I had it on good authority that that was the politically correct term, thank you very much. The point was that after six hours running around Chicago and visiting just as many brothels I still didn't know jack shit.

Sandra Miller's place was my last stop. I parked my car outside and climbed the stairs to her apartment. The door was locked, but that was easily solved. I checked that no one was watching and with a burst of magic forced the lock open. The flat was small but well kept (certainly tidier than mine). Her book collection surprised me. History, philosophy and whatnot; not the kind of reading material I would've expected, given her profession. It showed how little I knew.

I collected some long, red hairs from the comb in her bathroom and stored them carefully. I'd tried simpler location spells earlier, but they'd been a waste of time. Whoever had the girls knew how to block basic tracking charms. I needed to bring out the big weapons. I rummaged her laundry basket for some underwear. Don't look so surprise; being a wizardess wasn't all sunshine and roses. Some spells required rather questionable components. The tracking charm I wanted to attempt was a fine example. It'd have worked better with blood, but failing that, used underwear would do. As personal items went, it didn't get any more personal.

I drove home as fast as my car would allow it, my mind busy with the finer aspects of the spell I wanted to create. It was the part of my job I loved the most. I practically ran to my lab, giddy with excitement.

"Bob, wake up! We've got work," I called cheerfully, knocking on the top of his skull.

"Quit that," Bob snapped. An orange light flickered in the empty sockets of his skull. "What is it now?"

I brought Bob up to speed with my plan to track the missing girls.

He whistled in something like admiration. "Harry, my dear girl, you've learned from me. That's quite the clever spell." I preened a bit at the compliment. "How'd you get the blood?" Bob asked.

"I didn't," I confessed, knowing that it was a flaw in my plan. "I just hope these will work as a substitute." I showed him the items I had collected from the girls' houses.

Bob's skull rattled the table. "Harry, you brought me dirty thongs!" He was practically drooling, or would have been, had his skull been able to.

"I didn't bring you anything." I cut his train of thought before he got carried away. "They're for the spell."

"A spell you want me to help you with," he reminded me. "Harry, I couldn't love you more than I do this instant, unless... Are you going to use your dirty underwear to anchor the spell?"

"Of course not!" I squeaked. "Just plain old blood."

"Boring," Bob said. "Wait, you can't use the thongs for the spell!"

"Why not?" I had checked and re-checked. It might not be as good as blood but it should work.

"You'd destroy them," Bob whined.

I rolled my eyes. "You'll survive it."

"At least let me take a good whiff first," he begged, trying to move closer.

I pushed his skull back unceremoniously. "You're such a disgusting pig, Bob."

"You want my help or not?" he asked. Skulls shouldn't have an expression, but he looked almost beseeching.

I narrowed my eyes at him and then sighed in resignation. "I'm going to warm dinner. I'll be back in twenty minutes, and all six pieces better be there when I come back."

"Sure thing, boss," he said, remaining remarkably still. It didn't fool me any.

"I don't want to know," I told Bob the moment I came back, forestalling his constant desire to over-share.

"You're such a prude," he complained, but dropped it. To his credit, he did help with the enchantment, pointing out weaknesses in my casting and behaving like you'd think a true Spirit of Intellect ought to.

I finished tracing the last sigils and stepped inside the circle. I nicked my wrist with a small knife, making sure that the blood fell over the clothes and hairs placed over the central sigil. The red drops burned through the lingerie like acid. Black puffs of smoke rose in the air, engulfing me. I breathed it in. The shallow cut on my wrist burned. My vision clouded, and I blinked, trying to clear the fumes from my teary eyes. When I could see again I wasn't in my apartment, but in an old warehouse. Nine metal cages hung from the ceiling; only two were empty. I recognized some of the women from the pictures... and Sigrun, of course. She, too, was naked. The only difference was that while the others were cowering inside their cages, Sigrun was rattling at the bars of hers, trying to break free.

A sudden wave of dizziness shook me, and I lost my balance. When I opened my eyes again I was back in my lab. Someone was calling my name; it took me a moment to realize it was Bob.

"Boss, come on, wake up. You're scaring me." He sounded desperate.

"I'm fine," I tried to say, but my mouth wouldn't obey. I closed my eyes again, waiting for the nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach to settle. An invisible cord tugged at my heart, like the pull of a leash. A quiet beat that called, "North, north, north," echoing the pain of my throbbing wrist.

"Bob, I won't be able to rescue anyone like this," I finally admitted.

"The spell will lift after you find the place, or at sunrise. Whichever comes first," Bob reminded me.

Right, I only had until sunrise to find that warehouse.

North. North. North.

I couldn't drive like this. Fuck, until the spell ended, I'd barely be able to move. So much for my original plan.

I had one option left; one I didn't like it.

I pulled myself up by sheer will and staggered to the living room. Another wave of nausea hit me. I swallowed the urge to throw up and let myself fall on the couch. I picked up the phone and dialed Marcone's number.

"Harry," Marcone's voice came after the third ring. "Did you find something?"

"Need a car," I croaked. "My place. Now. A driver you trust." I almost asked for Hendricks. I hated the idea of anyone seeing me this vulnerable. At least Cujo would keep his mouth shut after he reported to Marcone.

"On its way," Marcone said. "Is someone threatening you?" he asked in a low voice. Was he worried?

There was a witty comeback there, waiting for me to hurl it at him, but I was too dizzy to engage in our usual banter. "I'm peachy. Just get me that car."

I hung up and waited for Marcone's minion to arrive.

DA - Someone saying "please try not to be too racist" annoys you? Huh.

Yet another nonnie. I think it's more butting in on another anons prompt that annoyed her.

Harem fic is hard to do without unfortunate implications. The Sheik being a perfect example of how it can go wrong. But so is non-con, dub-con and a host of other kinks.

The point of Kink Meme is your kink is not my kink and AYAR sort of came across as... I hesitate to say kink bashing because that's overly harsh but if the OP wants a guilty pleasure fic it's not fair to say yes as long as I will like it as well.

This is obviously comes back to a bigger issue but it could set a bad precedent for prompt hijacking if it doesn't get nipped in the bud. I'm not talking about comments which make the story evolve or inspire new prompts which are awesome, but about taking a prompt in a direction the OP doesn't want.

What I'm trying to say is that we should see how the OP feels about it before we judge either side.

NA: I don't think a request to handle a subject with sensitivity warrants a warning like that. It does have the potential to be a pretty dangerous. I've seen pretty triggery topics dealt with really well on this meme, and the comment above seems to be just a plea to extend that care to this prompt as well, if every filled. There's nothing wrong with that.

(I really hope we can drop this.)

Op is still tickled to pieces by this. With plot! And magic!! And underwear!

And would like to circle back to the first part to say how awesome it is that Susan is still Harry's ex. Fuck yes, thank you for doing that *hand gestures*.

Crazy thought, but what if he's like Tera West, a tiger who learned to transform into a man, and he's been Mode Locked to human for so long, he's learned to be fairly human?

Authoranon here:

He, I'm actually happy that you liked that, because the fact that Susan is indeed Harry's ex is going to become important in the next installment :)

Really, Harry? Like Marcone's gonna send anyone *but* Hendricks? Since he himself apparently isn't coming?

f5f5f5f5f5f5f5

\o/ Dragon!Harry and Mai! Loves me some Mai.

Though, seriously, girl. Significant arson, and you expect Dresden didn't have something to do with it?

!!!!!!!
I RETROACTIVELY PROMPT THIS. Except that I couldn't actually come up with a coherent Vorkosaga crossover prompt. This is BRILLIANT. BRILLIANT BRILLIANT BRILLIANT. I mean, what Thomas is doing there, and ZOMG Byerly yay, and and and...

For the record, in my head Cordelia Naismith (and thus Miles) is a distant descendant of Harry Dresden. *nods* The awesome insanity, it's hereditary.

I love this prompt anon.

Or Mode Locked so far he became human? Enough to have a soul to soulgaze, at least.

[insert bitching about how the idea of animals not having souls is utter bullshit blah blah blah]

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Page 103 of 177

Round 2 is closed.

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OPEN PROMPT: Sweet Oblivion (Barrayar crossover)

Re: OPEN PROMPT: Sweet Oblivion (Barrayar crossover, 2/2)

Mod warning.

Good Omens crossover

Re: [Secondfill?] Memory [1/1]

OP Here - Re: Mod warning.

OP

Re: OP

Re: OP Re: Terrible Fill 2/2

Re: Terrible Fill 2/2

Re: Tigers

For a price 2/?

Re: Mod warning.

Re: Mod warning.

Re: Mod warning.

op Re: For a price 2/?

Re: Tigers

Re: op Re: For a price 2/?

Re: For a price 2/?

Re: (AU) Harry Is A Well-Meaning Dragon Chauvinist 1/?

Re: OPEN PROMPT: Sweet Oblivion (Barrayar crossover, 2/2)

no subject

Re: Tigers

Re: Tigers