scribe_protra | Round 2 is closed.

Authornon is glad you're enjoying it, OP! :D

CLIFFHANGER OMG

Also, I love how at ease this Harry is with his magic. No angst, no guilt. Makes you wonder how much of his relationship with magic continues to be colored by killing Justin and thinking he killed Elaine, no matter how many times people tell him it wasn't his fault.

Loved this! Super hot and interesting.

~~approves of this comment <3~~

Three miles away in the lobby of the South Central Home for Orphaned and Needy Boys, Johnnie Marcone sneezed.

"Bless you." Hendricks pulled a crumpled tissue from the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie.

Johnnie blew his nose and folded it in squares. He'd dispose of it later. It wouldn't do to leave DNA evidence just hanging around. "Dresden gave me his cold," he said, mouth quirking.

Hendricks cracked his knuckles. "Want me to take care of him?"

"Maybe later," said Johnnie, not really meaning it. At the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, he took Hendricks by the hand and tugged him into the stairwell.

The steel door whoomped shut in a rush of air, and just before it closed, Johnnie caught a glimpse of a man in green scrubs rushing toward the receptionist's desk. He was older than Johnnie's father, and tall, almost too tall for his lab coat. Walked with a limp on his left side, not the stride of an amputee, but the heavy step and quick outward flick of the ankle that meant flesh damage, maybe muscle or a ligament.

"There must be a nurse's office somewhere," Johnnie murmured. A nurse meant patients; more importantly, meant patient files.

There was so much he didn't know about Harry Dresden. Sometimes it made him want to grab Harry by the ears and rattle that skull of his until he coughed up secrets, literally.

Johnnie shook his head. Priorities. If they were caught sneaking into the nurse's station, Ms. Murphy would find out and so would Harry, thereby defeating the purpose of their little expedition.

"Fourth floor," Hendricks said, pointing at a small metal sign. It was encased in what was probably bulletproof fiberglass. "You know which room is his?"

"I'll be able to tell."

"Really."

Really. Johnnie resisted the urge to pose smugly as Hendricks began trudging up the stairs. A week earlier Harry had accidentally let it slip that he'd gotten in a fistfight with his roommate and been kicked out -- "I WANTED to move," he insisted, reddening -- to a single room.

Which Johnnie had found peculiar, since he hadn't known Harry had a roommate or even lived somewhere other than with his family.

Very peculiar indeed.

The more he found out about Harry, the more everything was like the roommate: some undefined thing beyond the reaches of Johnnie's experience. Harry was privy to worlds Johnnie had heard of but never seen. Harry was evidence that the universe continued to exist when Johnnie had his back turned or his eyes closed. And he liked it.

It was a simple matter to locate the orphanage where Harry had been placed; after all, the logo was on the van that dropped him off each morning at Loop & Loop. Escaping was more difficult, but only by the barest of degrees.

It was worth it.

The room stood apart from the others, the last in a long sterile corridor. The narrower door suggested it had been converted from a closet. There was no name placard, no cork tack-boards or pictures of loved ones tacked behind more protective fiberglass.

He couldn't have said how, but he knew without a doubt whose room this was.

"Is it locked?" Hendricks said.

Johnnie tried the doorknob. The bolt was cheap; he could use his library card to jigger it open.

Could and did.

"Not anymore," he said, and let them inside Harry's room.

**

The bus was full enough that Sigrun could keep an eye on Susan without worrying about being spotted.

Not that anyone needed to worry about being spotted by Susan; she was reliably self-centered in the way of people who tended to attract trouble without trying. And make no mistake -- this chasing after Marcone was trouble. If Johnnie wanted backup, he would have asked for it.

Sigrun sniffed. She was still a bit put out that Marcone hadn't enlisted her aid in this latest caper. Hadn't they worked well together in the past? When he needed five minutes alone in the computer room, who caused pandemonium letting the bunnies out of their cage? When he needed extra snack to use as a bribe, who had smuggled the cookies out in her hood?

"Me," she snarled.

At the far end of the bus, through a crowd twelve deep, Susan's ears perked up.

Sigrun immediately flipped up her newspaper, hiding everything but the fedora she'd filched off an exiting passenger. In the middle of the day an unaccompanied child would certainly be stopped and questioned. It was essential to blend in, even when maintaining constant vigilance. Wisely, she had poked two eyeholes in the international news section, all the better to surveil with.

Across the aisle, a woman in a purple Sunday hat was staring openly.

The eyeholes narrowed. "What?"

"Where are your shoes, dear?"

Sigrun didn't blink. "These are my shoes. Work shoes. I'm a working woman."

Open-mouthed, the lady looked her over: a little girl swimming in a man's trenchcoat and hat, feet barely clinging to the toes of what appeared to be her mother's high heels. Reading the international news. Upside down.

She sweatdropped. "Of course, dear."

Sigrun grunted. Parents. Not for the first time, she was glad she had given herself over to wolves to raise.

**

Danger! Chaos! Panic!

Susan clung to the nearest seat, trembling. There was a ghost on the bus, she could feel its icy eyes creeping all over her back. It wanted to gnaw on her toes like a crazed rabbit. It wanted to put her soul in a blender and then drink it with a straw. She wasn't a carrot. She wasn't a McFlurry. She was Susan, and if she wasn't careful, she'd make a very yummy kid's menu special for a hungry ghost.

There!

Susan's eyes narrowed as she spotted a suspicious character sitting up near the driver. As their eyes met, the woman looked away quickly. Just like that, the goosebumps on Susan's arms faded.

It was a ghost. It had to be a ghost. Just sitting there like everything was normal, like it wasn't trying to take over Susan's free will with the power of its mind.

Well, Susan had had enough.

Ever since she'd been haunted for the first time, she'd carried a trick pen full of holy water in her puppy purse. Well, it was really just tapwater, but it was from a church bathroom, and she had said a hundred Hail Marys over it and kissed the bottle twice. That had to count for something, right?

As the bus slowed, Susan brandished her pen of holy vengeance and flew down the aisle to battle her first ghost.

**

Sigrun blinked at the lede of a small article buried at the bottom of the page.

...cache of ancient Scandinavian arms unearthed in northern Denmark last Tuesday. Continued on B7.

Across the way, Susan let out a shriek as she squirted water all over the woman in the purple hat.

"Gracious," the woman said, sputtering. "Child, what on earth -- "

"I know what you are!" she said, firing again. The violets on the woman's hat wilted, sodden. "In the name of the moon, I banish you!"

B7, B7. Sigrun thumbed through the pages, tossing her arms until the cuffs of her trenchcoat slid back from her knuckles. No one made petite spygear, it was really a shame.

In the center of her article, there was a large eyehole.

Sigrun closed the paper. Wasn't that always the way.

**

Murphy walked a slow circle around her kids, tapping a large wooden spoon against her thigh with every step.

"I've called the police," she said. "They're on their way now."

A loud collective swallow.

"I hope you realize how serious this is. Even the Bottom Stair can't come close to how much punishment they're going to get.

"But you can still help them, you know. You can help your friends. Right here, right now.

"When the police get here, well -- then there's nothing I can do. It's out of my hands."

Butters started sobbing quietly. Ivy handed him a tissue that, on second glance, wasn't a tissue at all; it was a page torn out of a book.

Murphy ignored them, kept circling. "But they're not here yet. There's still time, you know. Not a lot, no. And it's getting shorter the longer you stonewall.

"Remember, there's just one thing you have to do. Save your friends, save the day.

"Just one -- little -- thing.

She stopped, heels together, and slapped the spoon hard against her palm.

"Tell me what you know."

There was silence before Butters piped up, saying, "A pollywog becomth a fwog!"

Morgan's hand shot up in the air. "Ma'am, a caterpillar turns into a butterfly."

A cough. "Kiss up."

"Shut up, Kincaid!"

"Harry turns into a beautiful butterfly," Molly said dreamily.

Harry pretended to throw up, then did by accident.

**

His room wasn't like Johnnie expected. No comic books, no posters, no video games, no bottlecaps, no mismatched socks shoved half behind furniture. No furniture, period.

There was a window in the wall, barred, and a battered tin footstool. It was too low to the ground for Harry's legs, it would hurt his knees to sit there too long. Someone had set a mattress on the cracked floor and thrown a too-large sheet over it. Like it was something they expected Harry to grow into, because they knew he would never, ever leave.

The window made shadowed bars all over the room. Johnnie felt them slide over his face, looked at them on the width of Hendricks' body.

He thought about Harry living in this place -- he swept a hand over the dirty mattress, felt the crooked springs and chunked up foam inside -- and here was where he slept, there was where he sat when he came home from Loop & Loop. There was concrete and metal and nothing else.

"What're we looking for, boss?"

Blackmail material. Valentine material. All the words in Harry Dresden's name and the people who had chosen them. The city where he was born. The reason for the burn scars on his hand.

"Hiding places," Johnnie said.

**

When the police brought back Johnnie and Hendricks, Harry was sitting beside the pollywog pool, stirring the waters with an upside down hockey stick. He'd protested that he wasn't SICK, the throwup was just a FORCEFUL expression of his feelings, but she'd sent him outside just the same. On Ms. Murphy's orders, he held a plastic bucket between his knees, ready to catch any more FEELINGS that might manifest themselves.

He felt like crap, tasted like crap and needed his afternoon nap. On the whole, it had been a pretty typical day in the life of Harry Dresden.

Two shadows fell over the pool, one towering over the other.

"Marcone," he said, and nodded at Hendricks, who nodded back. "They let you out of jail?"

"My parents wouldn't put up bail. I'm out on good behavior."

"Huh?"

Marcone shook his head. Translation: never mind. "If you feel sick, you should go home."

Harry crossed his arms. "Don't tell me what to do!"

They were quiet for a while. Some parents had started arriving for their kids, Harry could identify them by the hum of their engines. It was always the same parents who were early.

He looked at his reflection in the pool, saw Marcone hovering over his shoulder. They were close but not touching, except where the water rippled and brought their distorted faces together.

"You like where you live?" Marcone said.

Harry reared back, scrambling to put space between them. He knocked the bucket over with a knee and saw Marcone flinch. "It's empty," he said, suddenly angry and unsure why. "Yeah, I like it. Why?"

"How much?"

"What?"

Marcone took a step forward. "How much do you like it?"

Harry wished he had his backpack. Ms. Murphy laughed and called it a security blanket, but she didn't understand. It wasn't the backpack, it was what was inside. His dad had won Bob for him at a county fair, one of the last times Harry had seen him perform magic on stage with lights and curtains and the blue sparks at his fingertips that seemed to push out from under the skin. That had been a good day. At the duck fishing booth, his dad hooked four by the neck and skipped the teddy bears and the puppies for the stuffed skull with flames blasting out the nostrils like horns. He had always known Harry well. The older Harry got the more he missed him, and though he wished otherwise, he was pretty sure that was how it was supposed to be when you lost your dad.

"The police said you can't go back there."

Harry looked away.

Sensing an advantage, Marcone pressed on. "They saw your room." He hesitated. "We saw your room."

He flinched.

"It's not safe," Marcone said. "Hendricks' dad said so, and he's a lawyer. Ms. Murphy's going to agree. The police are talking with her now." He ran a hand through his hair, left it sticking up in back. The girls thought the gray color of it was weird, but they didn't know anything. It was -- it was --

Harry scowled. "I needa go back."

"For this?"

For a moment he was seized with the urge to punch Marcone in the face, shove a thumb inside of his cheek and pull back on the skin until he cried uncle. He'd been wrestling with his roommate and did it to his roommate by accident, always by accident. Harry didn't mean to hurt anyone, it just happened. His last foster family had called him a menace, hissing it so long he thought they were going to change into vipers and strike. Harry hadn't understood what a menace was, but he knew what it meant.

He snatched the photograph from Marcone's hand and tucked it in his pocket. It was worn and creased up, the filmy white back of the polaroid practically fallen off, but the half-inch of his dad's face was intact and smiling, and that was all he needed.

He sneaked a look at Hendricks. "Ms. Murphy's really mad at you guys. How'd the police find you?"

Marcone looked confused. "We called them, of course. Well, we called 911, that is."

Harry made a face. "Couldn't mind your own beeswax?"

"Did you really like it there?" Marcone said. He sounded amazed.

"It was warm," Harry said. "And quiet." He pulled the bucket up to his lap, hugged it. It was a sad replacement for Bob. "Safe, kind of."

"Your new house will be a thousand times better," he said, and he seemed so self-assured that Harry couldn't help but think -- just for a moment --

Marcone swallowed.

Oh. Harry tried not to look disappointed, because really, who would want to live with stupid old man Johnnie Marcone anyway? He'd probably creep over to your suitcase in the night to organize your shirts and socks, the dirty ones.

"Dad says you're staying with us," Hendricks said.

Harry's head jerked up.

"He said he's getting a" -- he recited as if having witnessed it many times -- "Court Order From His Friend the Judge."

"So there," Marcone said, smiling.

Harry waited until his throat cleared. He could feel his father's smile shining in his pocket when he said, "So there."

**

By the time Susan woke, it was dark, and the bus was parked beside an abandoned bus shelter.

"Um," she said, rubbing her eyes. She had vanquished that ghost right off the bus, yes, she had. Vanquishing took a lot of work, though, and she'd promptly fallen asleep right there in the elderly persons seat for a triumphant nap. "Where am I?"

The bus driver leaned over the back of his seat. "The end of the line," he said, chuckling. "Better get off now before they decide to keep you."

Then, with a tip of his cap, he disappeared into thin air.

Susan screamed.

And I thought the first part was brilliant! This...! alkdhf;djf it is EVEN BETTER.

I might have whimpered a little. That fill was a hundred time better than I could have guessed. Perfect!

Hendricks is probably my favorite non-Harry character in the series. i had no idea where this crack-fic was going, but i knew i wanted it to end with Harry going to live at Hendricks' house. :)

thank you! I kind of knew I wanted to try this fill but the plot (thin as it is :D) didn't come to me until I started rewatching some episodes of Arrested Development last night

there's a surprising dearth of cracky fic in DF fandom. glad it was better than advertised! :)

Marcone encounters Dresden's wizardly endurance in bed.
His response?
"Challenge accepted."

Puppy! and Con-Man! Harry is cute. :)
...Are they going have to force themselves to ask Marcone for help at this rate?

Ack! A cliffhanger!

Can't wait for your next update.

But how many people have actually told him it wasn't his fault? I mean, we know he wouldn't bring it up himself if there was a choice, so unless there's something I'm not remembering, the list of people who both would and could tell him that is limited to Bob, Ebenezar, and Lash; and none of them really strikes me as people who'd tell him it wasn't his fault for however long it would take for it to sink in.

Lea might, but as with Bob and Lash, Harry has no reason to trust her in matters of moral judgement. Leaving only Eb, who seems to have been a fairly benign guardian, but certainly didn't make any attempt to get this massively, obviously traumatized kid some therapy. The last thing Eb would have wanted to do really was to imply that what Harry did was justified or out of his control at all: he needed Harry to never consider doing it again under any circumstances, to actively work to never make mistakes.

"So you're suiting up?" I asked, nodding at the plastic poster tube slung over his shoulder on a strap. It held something a lot sharper than any poster, surprise, surprise. "All I said was that I wanted to see you."

Michael looked at me patiently. "Harry, who's Mavra's most dangerous rival?" he asked.

Easy question. "Lara Raith," I said.

"What happened the last time you talked to Lara Raith?" he wondered aloud.

I thought for a moment. "She tried to drink my life force."

"And?" Michael prompted.

"Started a vampire coup on a porn set," I admitted, sitting down in a pew with a thump.

"What happens every time you meet a vampire who isn't Thomas?" Michael asked.

I scowled. Bianca, tried to drug and drink me, vow of eternal vengeance; Bianca again, this time together with Mavra as her guard dog and puppet-master, tried to drug, drink or murder me by any means. It was always a terrible temptation to change form and roast them on sight. "I'm crunchy and taste good with ketchup?" I suggested. I shrugged in defeat. "I get where you're going with this," I said, "I guess it couldn't hurt to have you along before I have to call the cavalry."

"Self-knowledge is a blessing," he said, and straightened from his comfortable lean.

I got up. "Molly," I said, "I'll give you a ride home on our way. How do you feel about dogwalking if your father and I don't get back by dinner?"

She threw me a thumbs up and took off for the Beetle. "I call shotgun!"

"So," I asked my friend as we headed out from the church in a more dignified, leisurely fashion, "Do you actually know anything, or should we just round up the usual suspects?"

Michael clapped me on the back. "I might have a few ideas," he said.

I don't even want to know what Lea's idea of therapy would be. *shudders* I am so glad I don't ever have nightmares.

Hmm, that makes me wonder what things would have been like if the White Council hadn't just written Harry off as going to violate his parole and had gotten him some counseling like they should have. Sane, well-adjusted Harry comes to Chicago a few years later, and there are no fires at all!...which would be a hilarious AU for canon characters to encounter. (is it bad that I think that the Council is justified in being suspicious of/worried about Harry, and that it's kind of worrying that the people he's close to aren't?)

Thomas/Male or Male/Thomas - preferably the latter.

So, in Blood Rites we get this:

“The usual,” he said. “The drive-through manager. She followed me into the walk-in freezer and started
ripping her clothes off. The owner walked through on an inspection about then and fired me on the spot.
From the look he was giving her , I think she was going to get a promotion. I hate gender discrimination.”

Followed by:

“At least it was a woman this time,” I said. “We’ve got to keep working on your control.”

My big question: WHAT HAPPENED THE FIRST TIME?

OP will be unavailable for the next few days, so to make things clear: anything goes, however a fill must include:
1 - Thomas/Male or Male/Thomas. He's at work, so those are the only real options; anon's choice customer or coworker.
2 - it happens at work. Let's not get into the bigotry and illegality of firing people for what they do in their off time, even in fiction. That's a bear to tackle for an EPIC fill instead.

Forgot to note: quotes come from Blood Rites chapter one. Yes, in CHAPTER ONE.

Scratch that. I'm reading Dead Beat. It's Dead Beat Chapter one. Mean it this time.

...and I am seriously getting annoyed with myself, so I'm probably annoying emmymod too. that means it's time for bed.

This was AWESOME. I love the interactions between Rahm and Marcone, through Harry. And the horses, oh God, that was snarky and funny.

Also? Dragon Age II is *amazing*.

On the subject of Names etc, this may be relevant to your interests.

http://scribe-protra.livejournal.com/215580.html?thread=4036892

Oh anon, oh ANON. I am wheezing. I am literally fucking wheezing. Let me tell you what I just did. I wanted to slap my desk with laughter but couldn't, so I kept waving my hand up and down above the desk with my palm facing downwards, like I was FANNING THE SCREEN or something, and I kept wheezing, so hard, agh, agh, agh. GENETIC SILVER HAIR OMG OMG. And, omg omg omg omg omg. I can't. even. I can't. Oh anon. OH ANON. Harry's eyes.

I can't even. Oh anon. (faints)

Hendrick's KANGAROO POCKET and SUSAN Oh my GOD SUSAN

GARD GARD GARD SCANDINAVIAN ARMS OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

MARCONE'S DAD, HIM HIM HIM SOCKS DAD

THE ENDING OH MY GOD ENDING ENDING I bet that was Jake.

MARCONE BEING PARANOID ABOUT DNA EVIDENCE OH MY GOD ANON I WANT YOUR BABIES OH MY GOD OH MY GOD.

GRAY HAIR OH MY GOD

Pffft! What if it was Marcone who was coming in to do a private inspection on one of his businesses?! OMFG, it would be freaking hilarious. And maybe Thomas just TOLD Harry he was fired, but he actually quit out of humiliation:) ROFLMAO

"Drink this."

Harry clinked a small shot glass down on my desk, right in the middle of yet another letter from my lawyers. I finished the sentence I was reading, made a note and set my pen down before I looked up at him. It wouldn't do to let him think he could have my attention at the drop of a hat.

He was standing beside my desk, hair sticking nearly straight up - he'd been running his hands through it again while working on potions. Circles under his eyes, making his face look pale and ghostly, all of his angles sharper than usual. I coughed into my handkerchief quietly and folded it back down. My next breath was thick, heavy, my lungs and throat prickling as the congestion resettled itself. This cold was increasingly inconvenient.

"What is it?"

"A home remedy for your fucking flu." He picked the glass up and held it out to me. "You're driving me up a goddamn wall. I can't sleep for all the coughing and getting up in the middle of the night to take more drugs. This'll take care of it."

"It's only a cold." But I took the glass. Harry didn't typically volunteer magic for my use.

I raised the glass to my nose out of habit, but of course I couldn't smell anything. It was thick, black-red and it coated my tongue, my throat as I swallowed it down, drinking it in one go. Warmth, tiny electric jolts followed it down, spread out into my chest, my stomach until I could feel it in all my limbs. My spine tingled, a bit. The thrill of feeling Harry's magic. It never went away.

Harry took the glass from me as I licked my lips. His fingers shook a little as they brushed against mine.

~

"You start dying your hair, Boss?" I straightened my tie and raised my eyes to meet James' in the rear view mirror.

"Of course not." My eyes went to my hair. I'm not a vain man, but I know that I'm good looking, even now as the faint wrinkles around my eyes and mouth have deepened, my hair more salt than pepper. I take care of myself, but I've never seen any need for cosmetic enhancement. I turned my head to the side. My hair might have looked a little bit darker. I filed the thought away for later.

~

"Here you go." Harry held out his little glass of 'home remedy' toward me. I looked at him over the top of my reading glasses.

"It's been a month, Harry. The cold is gone." He pushed it closer.

"Preventative measure. You're no spring chicken, you know." I sighed and drank it down. It was the same as always, thick, warm and electric, tasting faintly of copper and wood smoke, power tingling through my limbs. Energy trickled through my body and I felt looser, relaxed in some way I hadn't realized was tense.

~

"You forgot these." Gard ducked into my office, my reading glasses dangling from one finger.

"Ah." I looked at her, then back down at the file I'd been reading. "Thank you." She handed them to me with a smile.

"You're not even going to ask him, are you?"

"Ask who, what?" Gard sighed and shook her head at me.

"Did you take candy from strangers as a child?" She pulled out a small compact and opened it, aiming the mirror at my face. My hair was nearly black, with only a faint smattering of grey hairs at the temples. The lines I had grown accustomed to were still there, but far fainter, my skin seeming tighter, softer. Though the last was subjective, of course. We grow so used to seeing ourselves that the smallest changes often go unnoticed. "Ask your wizard what's in his little home brew."

~

I didn't ask.

I waited until after dinner, when Harry went out to his lab and then I followed him. The small building I'd had built for him was utilitarian, at best. But it was far enough from the main house that any 'accidents' wouldn't set them both ablaze and it had small windows set high in the walls.

I gave Harry enough time to get into whatever he was doing and then I climbed up on the low cement planter beneath one of the windows. Conveniently, it was just high enough that a man of my height could see down into the lab when standing on it.

Harry was bent over one of his burners, something bubbling in a beaker. He dumped in a small pinch of something green and then he waited as it bubbled over. The liquid fizzed, cooled, and Harry took it off of the frame.

He poured a little bit of it into a shot glass and set the rest of it aside. Long, quick fingers rolled up his sleeve, pushed it back to his elbow. Familiar, faded scars came into view. Harry picked up a slender knife, tapping it against the jar full of clear liquid it had been sitting in.

The blade was bright, fire and candle light warm against the metal as he pressed the tip into his skin. The blood welled up, deep red and gleaming against the silver of the blade. Harry drew it down, flesh parting beneath it like silk. I imagined I could hear the sharp gasp, the intake of breath as the fine pain of the cut hit him.

Harry let the knife clatter to the table as he held the cut over the shot glass and bled into it, squeezing the wound when the flow started to slow down.

I stepped down from my perch and moved quickly through the dark back to the main house. My movements were smooth, strong. I ran more easily than I had in years, a familiar, welcome burn of light exertion curling through my muscles.

~

"You have to drink it all, Marcone." I sipped at Harry's blood, rolling the taste of it around in my mouth. It was hotter than usual, more full. I could feel it sliding through me, seeping through my cell walls, touching every part of me and changing me. Joining with me.

"I assure you, Harry, I will." I ran my tongue across my teeth. "Every last drop."

Round 2 is closed.

Re: OP Here

Re: Fill: 7/? scrappy!Harry prompt

Re: Marcone/Hendricks/Dresden

Re: A haunting in Iowa City

Fill: We're Just Blowing Through Naptime, Aren't We (2/2)

Re: Fill: We're Just Blowing Through Naptime, Aren't We (2/2)

Re: Fill: We're Just Blowing Through Naptime, Aren't We (2/2)

Re: OP Re: Fill: We're Just Blowing Through Nap Time, Aren't We (1/2)

Re: Fill: We're Just Blowing Through Naptime, Aren't We (2/2)

Re: Fill: We're Just Blowing Through Naptime, Aren't We (2/2)

Marcone/Dresden

OP Here

Re: Fill: 7/? scrappy!Harry prompt

Re: Fill: 7/? scrappy!Harry prompt

(AU) Chivalrous!Dragon!Harry 5/?

Re: Fill: 7/? scrappy!Harry prompt

Blood Rites Prompt - Thomas

Re: Blood Rites Prompt - Thomas

Blood Rites Prompt - CORRECTION - DEAD BEAT

Re: Architect [4/4]

Re: A haunting in Iowa City

Re: Fill: We're Just Blowing Through Nap Time, Aren't We (1/2)

Re: Fill: We're Just Blowing Through Naptime, Aren't We (2/2)

Re: Blood Rites Prompt - CORRECTION - DEAD BEAT

Fill: Home Remedy 1/1