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Looking back on my life I sometimes wonder how one man – and the one I’ve never even met, at that – could influence my life more than all the others combined. Well, maybe in terms of pure influence Justin DuMorne took the first place but if you looked for people who changed my life for the better… He never outright told me how to do things, what to think or how to act, but he always had an answer ready if I had a question and he never refused to hear my ramblings when I was working out a solution to some problem.
So when I announced my plans on working solo and asked Johnny if he had any tips for me he was more than willing to dispense his sage advice, as always.
The first one was fairly obvious: you can sleep in a gutter and eat out of a garbage bin but presentable office is an absolute must. Well, I already knew that people judge the looks first but Johnny further insisted that I limit the demonstration of my agency’s magical side to a minimum.
“You don’t want to be considered a fraud or attract only thrill-seekers and starry-eyed fanatics. When faced with trouble, especially of a supernatural kind, sensible people need the security of thinking that everything’s contained in the boundaries of normality and an expert in an appropriate field can give them a rational explanation.”
“But if they have a poltergeist problem they can’t just keep believing that they are experiencing minor earthquakes localized to their bedroom!”
“Look, Harry, it’s not your job to single-handedly enlighten the general populace about the affairs of the supernatural world and it’s dwellers. Normal people are not persuaded easily. And anyway, in most cases you’ll handle your clients won’t need this knowledge at all. You are going to take their money to solve their problems; the reputation of a man who can deal with any strangeness in a discreet manner will benefit you more that apparent eccentricity.”
So, that was that. At first glance my office looked decidedly mundane, but there was a little crystal pendant handing unobtrusively near a map of Chicagoland, a staff (fake, but looking authentic to an untrained eye) in a corner behind a filing cabinet and some light protection runes carved on the windowsills and around the door frame.
The second point was advertising. At first I wanted to proudly state in the yellow pages that I’m a wizard but that idea’s life was short and ended in disgrace on John’s merciless verbal guillotine.
“Do you really want this to work or is it a late blooming teenage rebellion?” he asked tersely. “Do you know what will reasonable people think if they see you under ‘wizards’?”
“You’re a reasonable man, you tell me!” I replied smartly.
“I would think that it was high time I found the annoying voice in my head and set him straight. Possibly with a birch-rod.”
“Hey, that’s child abuse!” I exclaimed, then thought some more and added: “Actually, I’m not a child so it’s armed assault.”
“You aren’t a child,” Johnny agreed solemnly, “so you need to stop playing games. We’ve talked about it before: you can’t shove magic in people’s faces – they simply won’t take you seriously. Your clients need deniability for their own peace of mind. You only need to hint that any potential weirdness would be taken in stride and that’ll be quite enough, I promise you.”
If I had any doubts that Johnny was a businessman they were quickly and decisively put to rest. It was tough at first but over the course of a single year my little agency flourished. I sometimes got an impression that information about me spread faster through word of mouth – at least half of my clients heard about me from friends, colleagues or neighbors instead of an add. I once read that if you take a random Joe from Alaska and an equally random Ann from Australia and examine their social circles you’ll find that statistically they are connected through no more than seven people that are consecutively acquainted to each other. My guess is that in Chicago this chain shortens drastically because I was soon feeling like everybody knew whom to turn to in case of unexplainable incidents or silly little things that others refused to consider (the sign on my door stated that no trouble is too small - the slogan was solely my invention). I was also in contact with several small time practitioners and sometimes helped the beginners to get a better grip on their gifts.
I was still not telling John all the particulars of my day-to-day life but he was generally aware of my triumphs. Actually, sometimes I felt a bit bad because of my resolution not to lean too heavily him but in the end I convinced myself that I didn’t distract Johnny from his own daily pursuits and that it was quite normal to ask a more experienced friend for advice. To further placate my conscience I decided to help him in return.
What can a young wizard do for his imaginary friend? Obviously, some magic. Of course, I couldn’t do it myself but I instructed him in simple ways of defending against supernatural attacks. I mean, most circles are closed with an exertion of will and Johnny had will in abundance. There were other elementary things like iron nails, horseshoes and hematite but when I moved on to planting violets and binding rowan twigs with red string my friend accused me of having a laugh at his expense. Oh well, I did all I could for the magically illiterate.
~!~
The first time police asked me for help I was truly unexpected. Karrin Murphy – head of the Special Investigations department – needed no deniability and coddling since she’d already encountered her fair share of things that go bump in the night. All she asked for was an explanation on which she could base her strategy. If the criminal was caught (or at least stopped without a chance of harming anyone else) she was satisfied. That’s not to say that she was easily accepting of my tales of trolls killing bums under bridges and pixies stealing jewelry but she was at least willing to give them the benefit of doubt which was much more that normal people could boast.
After my third police consultation – when it became obvious that there was always some nasty or other lurking in the background and the SI was happy with the was I was handling them – I figured I needed some credentials. John was right saying that people tended to reject anything that didn’t fit into their image of normalcy, so if I wanted a job with the police I couldn’t just say I was providing magical assistance.
It’s amazing what courses – mailing or otherwise – one can find if he simply puts him mind to it. In two months flat I was in possession of a certificate that was going to officially cover my ass. It stated that I was an expert in obscure cults and religions which was undoubtedly helpful when dealing with maniacs who fancied themselves warlocks and worshipped bloodthirsty gods that required regular virginal sacrifices. (I freely admit to not attending most of the lessons and cheating on the final test but my knowledge is far more sound than anything a professor can teach in the classroom). Lt. Murphy was impressed with my business savvy and in no time at all I was an official police consultant in occult crime.
All in all, my life was pretty interesting in a good kind of way at least partly due to Johnny’s advice. And – if I wanted to get mushy – I could say that even on the bad days I was warmed by the knowledge that he was always only one thought away.
~!~
I just couldn't resist Marcone checking Harry's most absurd ideas. And to think, I was hoping to get to the Storm Front in this part already...
So when I announced my plans on working solo and asked Johnny if he had any tips for me he was more than willing to dispense his sage advice, as always.
The first one was fairly obvious: you can sleep in a gutter and eat out of a garbage bin but presentable office is an absolute must. Well, I already knew that people judge the looks first but Johnny further insisted that I limit the demonstration of my agency’s magical side to a minimum.
“You don’t want to be considered a fraud or attract only thrill-seekers and starry-eyed fanatics. When faced with trouble, especially of a supernatural kind, sensible people need the security of thinking that everything’s contained in the boundaries of normality and an expert in an appropriate field can give them a rational explanation.”
“But if they have a poltergeist problem they can’t just keep believing that they are experiencing minor earthquakes localized to their bedroom!”
“Look, Harry, it’s not your job to single-handedly enlighten the general populace about the affairs of the supernatural world and it’s dwellers. Normal people are not persuaded easily. And anyway, in most cases you’ll handle your clients won’t need this knowledge at all. You are going to take their money to solve their problems; the reputation of a man who can deal with any strangeness in a discreet manner will benefit you more that apparent eccentricity.”
So, that was that. At first glance my office looked decidedly mundane, but there was a little crystal pendant handing unobtrusively near a map of Chicagoland, a staff (fake, but looking authentic to an untrained eye) in a corner behind a filing cabinet and some light protection runes carved on the windowsills and around the door frame.
The second point was advertising. At first I wanted to proudly state in the yellow pages that I’m a wizard but that idea’s life was short and ended in disgrace on John’s merciless verbal guillotine.
“Do you really want this to work or is it a late blooming teenage rebellion?” he asked tersely. “Do you know what will reasonable people think if they see you under ‘wizards’?”
“You’re a reasonable man, you tell me!” I replied smartly.
“I would think that it was high time I found the annoying voice in my head and set him straight. Possibly with a birch-rod.”
“Hey, that’s child abuse!” I exclaimed, then thought some more and added: “Actually, I’m not a child so it’s armed assault.”
“You aren’t a child,” Johnny agreed solemnly, “so you need to stop playing games. We’ve talked about it before: you can’t shove magic in people’s faces – they simply won’t take you seriously. Your clients need deniability for their own peace of mind. You only need to hint that any potential weirdness would be taken in stride and that’ll be quite enough, I promise you.”
If I had any doubts that Johnny was a businessman they were quickly and decisively put to rest. It was tough at first but over the course of a single year my little agency flourished. I sometimes got an impression that information about me spread faster through word of mouth – at least half of my clients heard about me from friends, colleagues or neighbors instead of an add. I once read that if you take a random Joe from Alaska and an equally random Ann from Australia and examine their social circles you’ll find that statistically they are connected through no more than seven people that are consecutively acquainted to each other. My guess is that in Chicago this chain shortens drastically because I was soon feeling like everybody knew whom to turn to in case of unexplainable incidents or silly little things that others refused to consider (the sign on my door stated that no trouble is too small - the slogan was solely my invention). I was also in contact with several small time practitioners and sometimes helped the beginners to get a better grip on their gifts.
I was still not telling John all the particulars of my day-to-day life but he was generally aware of my triumphs. Actually, sometimes I felt a bit bad because of my resolution not to lean too heavily him but in the end I convinced myself that I didn’t distract Johnny from his own daily pursuits and that it was quite normal to ask a more experienced friend for advice. To further placate my conscience I decided to help him in return.
What can a young wizard do for his imaginary friend? Obviously, some magic. Of course, I couldn’t do it myself but I instructed him in simple ways of defending against supernatural attacks. I mean, most circles are closed with an exertion of will and Johnny had will in abundance. There were other elementary things like iron nails, horseshoes and hematite but when I moved on to planting violets and binding rowan twigs with red string my friend accused me of having a laugh at his expense. Oh well, I did all I could for the magically illiterate.
The first time police asked me for help I was truly unexpected. Karrin Murphy – head of the Special Investigations department – needed no deniability and coddling since she’d already encountered her fair share of things that go bump in the night. All she asked for was an explanation on which she could base her strategy. If the criminal was caught (or at least stopped without a chance of harming anyone else) she was satisfied. That’s not to say that she was easily accepting of my tales of trolls killing bums under bridges and pixies stealing jewelry but she was at least willing to give them the benefit of doubt which was much more that normal people could boast.
After my third police consultation – when it became obvious that there was always some nasty or other lurking in the background and the SI was happy with the was I was handling them – I figured I needed some credentials. John was right saying that people tended to reject anything that didn’t fit into their image of normalcy, so if I wanted a job with the police I couldn’t just say I was providing magical assistance.
It’s amazing what courses – mailing or otherwise – one can find if he simply puts him mind to it. In two months flat I was in possession of a certificate that was going to officially cover my ass. It stated that I was an expert in obscure cults and religions which was undoubtedly helpful when dealing with maniacs who fancied themselves warlocks and worshipped bloodthirsty gods that required regular virginal sacrifices. (I freely admit to not attending most of the lessons and cheating on the final test but my knowledge is far more sound than anything a professor can teach in the classroom). Lt. Murphy was impressed with my business savvy and in no time at all I was an official police consultant in occult crime.
All in all, my life was pretty interesting in a good kind of way at least partly due to Johnny’s advice. And – if I wanted to get mushy – I could say that even on the bad days I was warmed by the knowledge that he was always only one thought away.
I just couldn't resist Marcone checking Harry's most absurd ideas. And to think, I was hoping to get to the Storm Front in this part already...
I managed to avoid John the next morning for a few hours. I'd already been getting that familiar admiring feeling for him, the one that I hadn't realized was a crush because I am an idiot. If I hadn't gotten clued in about that, I would probably be following him around like a lost puppy, like I'd done with Dave Martins my freshman year in highschool, and suddenly I wondered if maybe all those times they'd beaten me up for being a fag hadn't been because I was a scrawny geek but because I was actually looking at boys in a fag-like manner. Without even knowing I was doing it. Because I'm an idiot.
I wanted to be getting rid of that sort of feeling, not encouraging it. So I would be trying to avoid John even if I wasn't scared to death of him now. It wasn't just that I was unnerved to be around someone- someone only a few years older than me- who could kill dispassionately. I was scared because now this guy knew what I was. And I was alone. Justin had always emphasized to Elaine and me, that as young, relatively untrained magic users, we were in danger. Predators were everywhere, people who would seek to take advantage of us, to use us. And here I'd gone and let some... some damn scary man take a look into my soul. Even if that peek at me didn't show him that I was a wizard, he knew that I could soulgaze. He knew that I was special. And Justin wasn't around to protect me.
I wondered if I should call home, tell Justin what happened. He'd come and get me, make sure I was safe. Or would he? I'd already disappointed him by turning out broken like this. Compound that with admitting a stupid mistake like letting someone soulgaze me, and maybe he'd make good on his threats to turn me out on the street.
No, I'd have to deal with this alone. I wasn't completely helpless. Whatever else John could do, whatever he'd done, he wasn't a wizard. I had that advantage over him.
But I still didn't feel like hanging around with him, so I sat at the other table during breakfast, and on the other side of the room during our morning orientation. He didn't seem to be trying to talk to me, so that made things nice and easy.
My luck ran out about halfway through the morning.
I froze as John sat down on the grass next to me. "That's harder than it looks," he said contemplatively. This morning's therapeutic activity was, for us boys, chopping firewood. John had done pretty well. I was pretty sure he hadn't done it before, but he caught on quick, and had the strength for it. "You made it look easy," he continued.
I grunted dismissively. "Practice. Justin heats the house with wood. My job to chop it." As far as chores went, it wasn't too bad. Physically demanding, sure, but satisfying. It would have been more satisfying if I had any muscle to show for it. "So I guess if splitting logs makes you straight, maybe that's why I'm less gay than the other guys here?"
John didn't say anything.
"But," I said, thinking aloud, "that's from four winters worth of firewood. What can we really do in one month?"
John still didn't say anything.
Well, that was good, I reminded myself. I didn't want to be talking to him.
After a few more minutes of silence and watching the other guys attempt and fail to actually hit the wood with the ax, I risked a glance at John.
He was looking right at me, staring at me like I was some sort of puzzle he was trying to figure out. "You really believe this will work, don't you."
"Why wouldn't it?" I asked. "Look, just because you don't want to change, doesn't mean-"
I broke off when I saw Steve approaching, Mike having moved on to other pupils.
John smiled. "Good morning, Steve," he said genially.
Steve nodded at him. "Hey. So, um. Did you get the stuff?"
"Of course," John said, reaching into his pocket. He removed a tin of Altoids and opened it for Steve's inspection.
I couldn't quite see what was in it, but somehow I doubted it was mints.
John closed the tin, Steve nodded and looked around furtively, then handed John a small handful of bills, took the tin from him, and hurried off to go talk to one of the other guys.
I exhaled the breath I didn't even know I was holding. "That's quite a markup for some breathmints," I commented as he counted out the money.
He looked me right in the eye. His eyes, I noticed now that we were in bright sunlight, were a faded green, the color of the bills he was tucking into his pocket. "Entrepreneurship," he said blandly.
"You do that sort of thing often?"
"Not very often, no. But it's a good idea for management to take a turn on the floor from time to time."
I silently considered the implications of that statement, especially combined with what I'd seen in him last night.
"If there's anything you want..." he added.
"No," I said shortly. "I don't use drugs and I don't have any money, so don't even bother."
"I could get your letters delivered to Elaine, uncensored," he offered. "And an address for her to write back to."
"I said, I don't have any money." And he couldn't do a thing about Justin on the other end. His gaze was getting intense, like he was trying to see into my soul again. I looked away.
"I'm not after your money, Harry."
Of course he wasn't. "Then what are you after?" Maybe, if I was lucky, he was just trying to- to get into my pants or something. That, I could deal with.
"Who says I'm after anything?" he said. "Maybe I just want to do something nice for you."
"Gee, that's re-assuring," I said. "Look, John, I may have only met you yesterday, but after last night, I know you. I know you better than I know anyone but Elaine, and there is no fucking way you aren't trying to get something from me."
"About last night," John said quietly after a moment. "The- soulgaze, you called it?"
"Yeah," I said.
"It's because of- of what you are, isn't it," he said.
"I don't know what you mean," I lied.
"Magic," he said quietly. "I saw magic in you."
"Well," I spat out, "aren't you just the sweetest romantic, then." Shaking, I stood up. "Fuck off, John. You don't have anything I want, and I won't get caught up in your schemes or plans."
With that, I stalked back to the others, to beg another turn with the ax.
I wanted to be getting rid of that sort of feeling, not encouraging it. So I would be trying to avoid John even if I wasn't scared to death of him now. It wasn't just that I was unnerved to be around someone- someone only a few years older than me- who could kill dispassionately. I was scared because now this guy knew what I was. And I was alone. Justin had always emphasized to Elaine and me, that as young, relatively untrained magic users, we were in danger. Predators were everywhere, people who would seek to take advantage of us, to use us. And here I'd gone and let some... some damn scary man take a look into my soul. Even if that peek at me didn't show him that I was a wizard, he knew that I could soulgaze. He knew that I was special. And Justin wasn't around to protect me.
I wondered if I should call home, tell Justin what happened. He'd come and get me, make sure I was safe. Or would he? I'd already disappointed him by turning out broken like this. Compound that with admitting a stupid mistake like letting someone soulgaze me, and maybe he'd make good on his threats to turn me out on the street.
No, I'd have to deal with this alone. I wasn't completely helpless. Whatever else John could do, whatever he'd done, he wasn't a wizard. I had that advantage over him.
But I still didn't feel like hanging around with him, so I sat at the other table during breakfast, and on the other side of the room during our morning orientation. He didn't seem to be trying to talk to me, so that made things nice and easy.
My luck ran out about halfway through the morning.
I froze as John sat down on the grass next to me. "That's harder than it looks," he said contemplatively. This morning's therapeutic activity was, for us boys, chopping firewood. John had done pretty well. I was pretty sure he hadn't done it before, but he caught on quick, and had the strength for it. "You made it look easy," he continued.
I grunted dismissively. "Practice. Justin heats the house with wood. My job to chop it." As far as chores went, it wasn't too bad. Physically demanding, sure, but satisfying. It would have been more satisfying if I had any muscle to show for it. "So I guess if splitting logs makes you straight, maybe that's why I'm less gay than the other guys here?"
John didn't say anything.
"But," I said, thinking aloud, "that's from four winters worth of firewood. What can we really do in one month?"
John still didn't say anything.
Well, that was good, I reminded myself. I didn't want to be talking to him.
After a few more minutes of silence and watching the other guys attempt and fail to actually hit the wood with the ax, I risked a glance at John.
He was looking right at me, staring at me like I was some sort of puzzle he was trying to figure out. "You really believe this will work, don't you."
"Why wouldn't it?" I asked. "Look, just because you don't want to change, doesn't mean-"
I broke off when I saw Steve approaching, Mike having moved on to other pupils.
John smiled. "Good morning, Steve," he said genially.
Steve nodded at him. "Hey. So, um. Did you get the stuff?"
"Of course," John said, reaching into his pocket. He removed a tin of Altoids and opened it for Steve's inspection.
I couldn't quite see what was in it, but somehow I doubted it was mints.
John closed the tin, Steve nodded and looked around furtively, then handed John a small handful of bills, took the tin from him, and hurried off to go talk to one of the other guys.
I exhaled the breath I didn't even know I was holding. "That's quite a markup for some breathmints," I commented as he counted out the money.
He looked me right in the eye. His eyes, I noticed now that we were in bright sunlight, were a faded green, the color of the bills he was tucking into his pocket. "Entrepreneurship," he said blandly.
"You do that sort of thing often?"
"Not very often, no. But it's a good idea for management to take a turn on the floor from time to time."
I silently considered the implications of that statement, especially combined with what I'd seen in him last night.
"If there's anything you want..." he added.
"No," I said shortly. "I don't use drugs and I don't have any money, so don't even bother."
"I could get your letters delivered to Elaine, uncensored," he offered. "And an address for her to write back to."
"I said, I don't have any money." And he couldn't do a thing about Justin on the other end. His gaze was getting intense, like he was trying to see into my soul again. I looked away.
"I'm not after your money, Harry."
Of course he wasn't. "Then what are you after?" Maybe, if I was lucky, he was just trying to- to get into my pants or something. That, I could deal with.
"Who says I'm after anything?" he said. "Maybe I just want to do something nice for you."
"Gee, that's re-assuring," I said. "Look, John, I may have only met you yesterday, but after last night, I know you. I know you better than I know anyone but Elaine, and there is no fucking way you aren't trying to get something from me."
"About last night," John said quietly after a moment. "The- soulgaze, you called it?"
"Yeah," I said.
"It's because of- of what you are, isn't it," he said.
"I don't know what you mean," I lied.
"Magic," he said quietly. "I saw magic in you."
"Well," I spat out, "aren't you just the sweetest romantic, then." Shaking, I stood up. "Fuck off, John. You don't have anything I want, and I won't get caught up in your schemes or plans."
With that, I stalked back to the others, to beg another turn with the ax.
Ok, here's the thing. As a child, the Disney version of Beauty and the Beast was my favourite film. As an adult, the Dresden Files are my favourite books. So...fusion, please?
Established relationship preferred
Harry starting it, sending John a dirty text message. Or John calling Harry from a business trip. Anyway you want to write it, anon. Just make it as filthy as you can.
Harry starting it, sending John a dirty text message. Or John calling Harry from a business trip. Anyway you want to write it, anon. Just make it as filthy as you can.
Gen, or Marcone/Harry
There's a character in Apaches (novel by Lorenzo Carcaterra), another big boss in organized crime. Her favorite method of transporting drugs is using babies.
Marcone hears about this. How does he react?
I'm really interested in seeing a vanilla mortal nastier than Marcone, who's often called the "lesser evil" in the books. And more of mob boss John having a face off with something not magical, but still a major problem.
There's a character in Apaches (novel by Lorenzo Carcaterra), another big boss in organized crime. Her favorite method of transporting drugs is using babies.
Marcone hears about this. How does he react?
I'm really interested in seeing a vanilla mortal nastier than Marcone, who's often called the "lesser evil" in the books. And more of mob boss John having a face off with something not magical, but still a major problem.
But... but... just putting a txt-capable cellphone in Harry's HANDS would probably break it!
...
...
...
...
Which is why he should totally invent a magical replacement for such a thing. JUST to send dirty messages with.
...
...
...
...
Which is why he should totally invent a magical replacement for such a thing. JUST to send dirty messages with.
Marcone/Dresden
Harry Dresden is a doctor or a wizard specializing in healing spells. He works for the mob occasionally, as John's personal doctor. Smut eventually happens.
Magicless AU also welcome.
Harry Dresden is a doctor or a wizard specializing in healing spells. He works for the mob occasionally, as John's personal doctor. Smut eventually happens.
Magicless AU also welcome.
OP
I totes forgot about that bit of canon. /despairs/
Bob will be more than eager to help him make one.
I totes forgot about that bit of canon. /despairs/
Bob will be more than eager to help him make one.
gives new meaning to the term "flaming" lol
Or, you know, Non-magic AU.
Harry answering the 1-800-HOT-GUYS line, only to discover the man on the other end of the phone line is his current lover, the Mafia Baron Lord, who has discovered this little side job and is Not Happy.
Except that Harry has to make it filthy bedroom talk, or he'll get fired. And John ends the call with "We'll talk about this when you get home."
Harry answering the 1-800-HOT-GUYS line, only to discover the man on the other end of the phone line is his current lover, the Mafia Baron Lord, who has discovered this little side job and is Not Happy.
Except that Harry has to make it filthy bedroom talk, or he'll get fired. And John ends the call with "We'll talk about this when you get home."
another de-anon fail... wah.
I srsly need to stay logged out. Really.
I srsly need to stay logged out. Really.
I need help finding a fic that predates (I think) the kinkmeme. When I last saw it, it was a WIP.
It's Storm Front\Fool Moon AU where Marcone drugs harry and assumes his debts, forcing Harry to work for him. There's many chapters and a slow seduction. The mob had to get used to Harry, and there was fallout from that. I think there was a mention of Stonehenge bracelets and there was a scene where Harry was getting a massage in a room with water pipes to negate his magic.
I've looked all over and I can't find it. My fellow Dresdenverse fans, can you help me? Thanks!
It's Storm Front\Fool Moon AU where Marcone drugs harry and assumes his debts, forcing Harry to work for him. There's many chapters and a slow seduction. The mob had to get used to Harry, and there was fallout from that. I think there was a mention of Stonehenge bracelets and there was a scene where Harry was getting a massage in a room with water pipes to negate his magic.
I've looked all over and I can't find it. My fellow Dresdenverse fans, can you help me? Thanks!
1. That sounds like Lucy Zepher's giant epic.
2. This is NOT the place for this. You want help finding a fic then go to the discussion page.
3. I am deeply unamused. >:|
2. This is NOT the place for this. You want help finding a fic then go to the discussion page.
3. I am deeply unamused. >:|
Here goes. The title and the quotes in this part are taken from the Book of Ecclesiastes, which seemed appropriate. At the moment, I have no clue how long this will be, because any fic I write smashes any outline I write to pieces anyway, so. Hope the voices sound right, especially Michael’s when I get to it, as I'm not used to writing Christian characters.
--------------------------------------------------
It was my fault.
I’ve said that so many times before, but I’ve never said it like this.
I reached for her. I know I reached for her. I’d melted the ice with my fire, I understood I couldn’t run on it, so I lay there and extended my staff to Charity when she was about to fall and she ought to have been able to grab onto it and she ought to have been safe, damnit.
But she reached for the staff, and that cost her the hold she did have. She fell.
I snapped out my hand, but it was too little, too late. I tried to call for wind, but my voice was a croak. I felt a breeze whip past my head, but it couldn’t save Charity.
No, put the blame where it belongs, Harry.
I couldn’t save her.
I closed my eyes and lay there for a moment, and then I whirled up and around, because I was damned if I was going to lose Molly. Charity had come all this way, she had risked it all, to save her baby girl. I hurried over to Molly and grabbed her, muttering words that I couldn’t even hear, pushing so much will into them that Molly started shivering as if she had a fever in a second, because I’d overheated her.
Then I saw her face.
I had to look away.
“Mom?” she whispered, and I saw her from the corner of my eye reaching up to rub at her face, as if she could change things if she just looked at them differently.
Oh, I thought, as my heart gave a limp, painful beat and then just sat there and hurt. This is what your heart breaking feels like.
I could have lived without knowing that.
--------------------------------------------------
Somehow, we got everyone out. And Thomas got Charity’s body. He clambered down from the parapet to pick her up. He wouldn’t let me carry her, even though I wanted to. He gave me a vampire look when I tried, and jerked his head at Molly.
I got it, right. Comfort the girl. She’s the one who’s still alive.
Murphy stayed close to Molly, too, but she didn’t say anything. She just made sure that she was always in some sort of contact with Molly, even when we were running away from Arctis Tor and the Winter fae that came charging in. A hand on her shoulder, an elbow resting against her side, the brush of a finger against a cheek. Molly, even sobbing, seemed to know that Murphy was there, and she went with her quietly, tamely.
I was glad they were there. I couldn’t have come back, and neither could Molly, without them.
When I say “couldn’t have come back,” I mean it. There was a moment, when I was facing the Winter fae, when I really wanted to charge ahead and just risk it all in a hopeless fight, not trying to defend myself, giving in and giving up.
Guilt can kill. I’ve almost let it have me, before. But this time, I only had to look back at Molly and remember that she needed me. I had to make sure that I got her back to the normal world and her dad.
Oh, God, Michael.
That made me sit down in the snow, but Thomas turned around and stared at me again, and I stood up and made my legs work. Nothing like an older brother to turn the guilt in a different direction.
We came through into the theater, and there was a conversation with Fix and Lily that I honestly don’t remember, and then, the next thing I remember, without much transition, we were in Father Forthill’s. I sat down in a pew and put my head between my hands, trying to think of something other than the shining meltwater Charity had slipped on. The meltwater that wouldn’t have been there if not for me and my fire.
If not for me.
My grief and my guilt were twin wolves, tearing at me like the loup-garou hadn’t quite managed all those years ago. So many chances to change things. If I’d just told Charity no when she started putting the ointment on her eyes, made her stay behind. That probably would have meant I’d have died in combat with the Scarecrow, but at least Charity would still be alive.
Would Molly?
I shuddered and leaned forward until the leather of my duster creaked. I didn’t know, that was the hell of it. I only knew what had happened, and that part was almost intolerable.
But not to you.
Molly hadn’t stopped crying yet. I could hear her, sobbing quietly somewhere off to the side. Forthill was praying with her, or maybe just reading the Bible to her, I wasn’t sure. I’m not good at recognizing the difference between them, since the only time I ever hear the Bible is when I’m involved with Forthill or the Carpenters.
But a few of those words just happened to jump out at me.
“…Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow…”
And who knows—maybe it was coincidence, maybe it was because my starving mind would pounce on any words that might give me a chance at the moment, maybe it was Someone looking out for me in the way that Charity had talked about so much—I felt my breathing slow and steady, and my hands stopped trying to stave my skull in.
Okay. Okay. There were still things I could do. If I was responsible for Charity’s death, then the best thing to do was make up for it.
Michael and his family were going to need a lot of help. Molly was still in danger from the Council, and a danger to herself. Michael was going to be…I didn’t have words for what this news would do to him. The younger children would miss their mother. Winter might try to get vengeance on them for what we’d done to Arctis Tor. Hell, Titania might try that, too, once she worked out what Lily and Fix had done to help us.
I could be there. I could help lift Michael from where he had fallen, and Molly, too. It was something real and solid to do, something that didn’t involve dying myself—which wouldn’t really solve anything, I knew—or allowing Molly to die or spending the rest of my life trying to avoid the memory of what I’d done.
I lifted my head, listening for the moment when Father Forthill stopped reading. I had to go over there and talk to Molly. Not explain everything, not yet. She was still missing her mother.
But explain enough, and help, and work.
--------------------------------------------------
It was my fault.
I’ve said that so many times before, but I’ve never said it like this.
I reached for her. I know I reached for her. I’d melted the ice with my fire, I understood I couldn’t run on it, so I lay there and extended my staff to Charity when she was about to fall and she ought to have been able to grab onto it and she ought to have been safe, damnit.
But she reached for the staff, and that cost her the hold she did have. She fell.
I snapped out my hand, but it was too little, too late. I tried to call for wind, but my voice was a croak. I felt a breeze whip past my head, but it couldn’t save Charity.
No, put the blame where it belongs, Harry.
I couldn’t save her.
I closed my eyes and lay there for a moment, and then I whirled up and around, because I was damned if I was going to lose Molly. Charity had come all this way, she had risked it all, to save her baby girl. I hurried over to Molly and grabbed her, muttering words that I couldn’t even hear, pushing so much will into them that Molly started shivering as if she had a fever in a second, because I’d overheated her.
Then I saw her face.
I had to look away.
“Mom?” she whispered, and I saw her from the corner of my eye reaching up to rub at her face, as if she could change things if she just looked at them differently.
Oh, I thought, as my heart gave a limp, painful beat and then just sat there and hurt. This is what your heart breaking feels like.
I could have lived without knowing that.
--------------------------------------------------
Somehow, we got everyone out. And Thomas got Charity’s body. He clambered down from the parapet to pick her up. He wouldn’t let me carry her, even though I wanted to. He gave me a vampire look when I tried, and jerked his head at Molly.
I got it, right. Comfort the girl. She’s the one who’s still alive.
Murphy stayed close to Molly, too, but she didn’t say anything. She just made sure that she was always in some sort of contact with Molly, even when we were running away from Arctis Tor and the Winter fae that came charging in. A hand on her shoulder, an elbow resting against her side, the brush of a finger against a cheek. Molly, even sobbing, seemed to know that Murphy was there, and she went with her quietly, tamely.
I was glad they were there. I couldn’t have come back, and neither could Molly, without them.
When I say “couldn’t have come back,” I mean it. There was a moment, when I was facing the Winter fae, when I really wanted to charge ahead and just risk it all in a hopeless fight, not trying to defend myself, giving in and giving up.
Guilt can kill. I’ve almost let it have me, before. But this time, I only had to look back at Molly and remember that she needed me. I had to make sure that I got her back to the normal world and her dad.
Oh, God, Michael.
That made me sit down in the snow, but Thomas turned around and stared at me again, and I stood up and made my legs work. Nothing like an older brother to turn the guilt in a different direction.
We came through into the theater, and there was a conversation with Fix and Lily that I honestly don’t remember, and then, the next thing I remember, without much transition, we were in Father Forthill’s. I sat down in a pew and put my head between my hands, trying to think of something other than the shining meltwater Charity had slipped on. The meltwater that wouldn’t have been there if not for me and my fire.
If not for me.
My grief and my guilt were twin wolves, tearing at me like the loup-garou hadn’t quite managed all those years ago. So many chances to change things. If I’d just told Charity no when she started putting the ointment on her eyes, made her stay behind. That probably would have meant I’d have died in combat with the Scarecrow, but at least Charity would still be alive.
Would Molly?
I shuddered and leaned forward until the leather of my duster creaked. I didn’t know, that was the hell of it. I only knew what had happened, and that part was almost intolerable.
But not to you.
Molly hadn’t stopped crying yet. I could hear her, sobbing quietly somewhere off to the side. Forthill was praying with her, or maybe just reading the Bible to her, I wasn’t sure. I’m not good at recognizing the difference between them, since the only time I ever hear the Bible is when I’m involved with Forthill or the Carpenters.
But a few of those words just happened to jump out at me.
“…Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow…”
And who knows—maybe it was coincidence, maybe it was because my starving mind would pounce on any words that might give me a chance at the moment, maybe it was Someone looking out for me in the way that Charity had talked about so much—I felt my breathing slow and steady, and my hands stopped trying to stave my skull in.
Okay. Okay. There were still things I could do. If I was responsible for Charity’s death, then the best thing to do was make up for it.
Michael and his family were going to need a lot of help. Molly was still in danger from the Council, and a danger to herself. Michael was going to be…I didn’t have words for what this news would do to him. The younger children would miss their mother. Winter might try to get vengeance on them for what we’d done to Arctis Tor. Hell, Titania might try that, too, once she worked out what Lily and Fix had done to help us.
I could be there. I could help lift Michael from where he had fallen, and Molly, too. It was something real and solid to do, something that didn’t involve dying myself—which wouldn’t really solve anything, I knew—or allowing Molly to die or spending the rest of my life trying to avoid the memory of what I’d done.
I lifted my head, listening for the moment when Father Forthill stopped reading. I had to go over there and talk to Molly. Not explain everything, not yet. She was still missing her mother.
But explain enough, and help, and work.
Oh, oh, ow. That just... hurts. Poor everyone :(
You are going to make me cry, I know it.
You are going to make me cry, I know it.
Magic communication is possible. Bob proofreads the RPG book for Billy and the text apparently just writes itself onto the page. Similar concept?
I should die for requesting this, but I read the entire book in one go yesterday, alternatingly leaning over the bed to gag and rolling around in it while making high pitched noises. I read Wuthering Heights a few years ago and was all I renounce the Bronte sisters eugh, but this, okay, I want a fusion about.
Jane- Harry (who has lived his entire life with Justin DuMorne, and goes to seek work after the whole Doom of Damocles debacle)
Rochester- Marcone, tons of money, lots of regrets, avec la not-quite daughter who is in need of education after waking up from a coma
Adele- Amanda Beckitt, who was about 8 when she got shot, right? What age she is when she wakes up (and thus needs a tutor) is up to anon, but mentally she'd be pretty young, in any case. Wakes up, finds out she has a talent for magic (which is a total surprise, as it's been developing with her body, and when she wakes up it's all where did these fireballs come from homg. Rochester sends for help right away.
Fairfax- Hendricks
Bertha Mason- Helen Beckitt, who has gone insane after Marcone inadvertently put her daughter in a coma. Marcone keeps her in the house because if she went out and revealed to all that the respectable man living in the mansion was a former mobster who got my daughter killed, no, not happening.
Mrs. Reed- Justin DuMorne
Uncle Eyre- Eb McCoy
St John Rivers- Thomas
Diana Rivers- Lara
(or you could switch Thomas and Lara around)
No, I have not given this much thought during the night, why do you ask? And, okay, admittedly if this were ever written it would be a longass, consuming fill, so all I'm asking, okay, is that anon choose one or two scenes from that book and give a fusion shortfill. I really. Need this. Ohmygod. (goes down on knees)
Jane- Harry (who has lived his entire life with Justin DuMorne, and goes to seek work after the whole Doom of Damocles debacle)
Rochester- Marcone, tons of money, lots of regrets, avec la not-quite daughter who is in need of education after waking up from a coma
Adele- Amanda Beckitt, who was about 8 when she got shot, right? What age she is when she wakes up (and thus needs a tutor) is up to anon, but mentally she'd be pretty young, in any case. Wakes up, finds out she has a talent for magic (which is a total surprise, as it's been developing with her body, and when she wakes up it's all where did these fireballs come from homg. Rochester sends for help right away.
Fairfax- Hendricks
Bertha Mason- Helen Beckitt, who has gone insane after Marcone inadvertently put her daughter in a coma. Marcone keeps her in the house because if she went out and revealed to all that the respectable man living in the mansion was a former mobster who got my daughter killed, no, not happening.
Mrs. Reed- Justin DuMorne
Uncle Eyre- Eb McCoy
St John Rivers- Thomas
Diana Rivers- Lara
(or you could switch Thomas and Lara around)
No, I have not given this much thought during the night, why do you ask? And, okay, admittedly if this were ever written it would be a longass, consuming fill, so all I'm asking, okay, is that anon choose one or two scenes from that book and give a fusion shortfill. I really. Need this. Ohmygod. (goes down on knees)
Yeah, my sister emailed me saying "Where's BOB?" and I thought "Where IS Bob?" and realized John was being too high-handed and rational for Harry's peace of mind.
How much you wanna bet he borrows the same titles--discreetly, of course--so he can make notes as to what Harry's into?
Someone needs to write this please. Just saying.
Someone needs to write this please. Just saying.
Maybe a bit of TV/book fusion? TV!Bob makes a habit of writing in the air--he could probably teach Dresden that trick, y/n?
There is not enough fire in the world to fuel the fuego he'd unleash on Butcher's ass.
Someone write this please. I would read it. I would read the CRAP out of it.
... Thirding this. Harry as a bookish wizard who refuses to settle down and get his nose out of his books. John could be more tiger-y than the Beast was. Instead of Cogsworth and Lumiere, he has the snark knights, Hendricks and Gard. C-can the overly solicitous armoire in Belle!Harry's room be Donar?
I would attempt this, but I haven't seen the movie in +10 years.
I would attempt this, but I haven't seen the movie in +10 years.
Yes exactly!!! And there's so much other stuff this could have in it -- "Don't call me Harry, scumbag." "Knight Dresden, then." -- And the Outer Rim! and the slavetrade! and Hutts! and Harry not really meaning to crash stuff, it's just that he's got a VERY STRONG talent for telekinesis, okay, and he's not the most emotionally stable guy in the galaxy, and it just... really doesn't go well with complicated machinery. Like ships. And holoprojectors. And sleazy casinos belonging to crimelords. And newly-invented weapons. Thank the Force that lightsabers are fairly simple!
(And of course Marcone knows all about this, so when he kidnaps Harry he makes sure to surround him with ysalamiri to reduce the damage to the ship... and also make him more manageable by a factor of about a million.)
And, wow, I haven't been able to get that particular threesome out of my head since thinking of it. Am trying not to write fic for it, but if I fail, does the OP mind Thrawn/Marcone/Dresden?
(And of course Marcone knows all about this, so when he kidnaps Harry he makes sure to surround him with ysalamiri to reduce the damage to the ship... and also make him more manageable by a factor of about a million.)
And, wow, I haven't been able to get that particular threesome out of my head since thinking of it. Am trying not to write fic for it, but if I fail, does the OP mind Thrawn/Marcone/Dresden?
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