scribe_protra | Round 2 is closed.

oh my god I just imagined her idea of a birthday present being a nice ~~curse~~charm that makes everyone pinch him. She heard about this intriguing mortal tradition! Is it not a pinch for every year? Harry should not be deprived of this!

Deep down the Leanansidhe just wants to be a great godmother. :nods:

This is fascinating.

Wow. On edge for the next part.

Just caught up on the last five updates, and wow this went really fast from promising start to AMAZING.

Anyone/Dresden

By some accident, Harry manages to swap bodies with a fellow character of the Dresden Files universe. Now Harry is stuck living the life of the other character, and the other character spends the day dodging Harry's usual brushes with death. Who has it worse?:) That's up to you.

Lea/Female!Dresden Males/Female!Dresden

Remember in Changes, when Lea finally got the chance to dress up Harry?
Well, in this fill, OP would like an excited Lea dressing up always a girl Harry in various clothings since Harry usually wears men's clothes. To the point that people usually think she's a guysince she wears a lot of baggy clothing.

Bonus if the guys just walked in while Harry's in the middle of changing with Lea and they didn't realize it until it was too late. Then Harry blasted them out of the room. :D

Can I get Mouse being caught reading the newspaper/a book/Latin anything? I would enjoy this muchly! Thx!

So....in my rereading of Turn Coat I noticed that Billy and Georgia got in on in the forest (pardon my French) while wolfed out. Werewolf mpreg? Please?

Hi y'all anons. I would love to see a fic where Harry has a massive sweet tooth which he tries to keep secret. Somehow Marcone finds out about it and nonchalantly gives Harry lollipops while they converse/snark/flirt. Harry is so caught up that he doesn't even notice where the sugar is coming from and repeatedly takes the candy and proceeds to suck on it while carrying as normal. Bonus if Smug!Marcone looks on as Harry sucks...and licks...and swirls....etc etc with a smarmy grin while thinking "MINE! ALL MINE!!!" Kudos if Thomas, Murphy and other Dresden verse characters notice this behaviour (and their reactions).

Mpreg? Is Georgia's wolf male and Billy's female? (confused)

Or do you have a different pairing in mind?

OP Here. Sorry! That 'mpreg' was a total fail on my part (I think I've been reading too much of it on this meme *blush*)! Het preg or regular preg or whatever. Just Georgia and Billy realizing that there's a bun in the oven etc etc.

I vote for Murphy.

LOL. I read somewhere in another fandom that you know you've been in fandom a long time when you refer to normal pregnancy as FPreg. ^_^

Definitely! I hear you!

Harry couldn't hold back the contented sigh as he stepped down into his workroom. Teaching Molly was enlightening, and had vastly improved his own practice, but it was far from relaxing. With Molly at a scheduled Carpenter family day, he'd put aside an afternoon for quiet solo potion making.

He tossed a couple of paperbacks on to Bob's shelf. "Ooh," Bob said, the lights flickering on in his eyes. "Breaking Point and All through the Night! What's the occasion, Boss?"

"No occasion. Just a present."

"Seriously? Not a bribe to help you do something horrendously dangerous?"

Harry glared at Bob's skull. "It's a gift. Appreciate it."

"Oh, I do, I do!" The lights dimmed slightly, and one of the paperbacks flipped open. "Call me if you need anything," he said.

The first order of business was a potion for a young man whose employer had told him to give a presentation at his company's annual sales conference. The poor guy had paralyzing nervousness and shyness; he didn't want to cheat on the content, but he needed something to help him get through the talk: confidence and eloquence. A sort of Toastmasters in a bottle, as it were.

Harry assembled ingredients, taking comfort in the soothing ritual. He started with eight ounces of coffee for the base. A photograph of Michael Jordan, for sight. A recording of the "I Have a Dream" speech, for sound. For smell, Harry unwrapped a handkerchief he'd collected at a free Shakespeare in Chase Park production of couple of years ago: picnics and warm beer, grass, the other kind of grass. For taste, seven Tic Tacs. For spirit, an illustration of the Congressional Medal of Freedom. For touch, a bit of sandpaper. For mind, a book of inspirational speeches.

It wasn't that long ago since Harry wouldn't have attempted making potions without Bob's help, but now he operated primarily on autopilot. He mixed it all up, making careful notes so he could reproduce the recipe. When it was finished, he poured half of it into a tumbler and tossed it back. Making potions was simple, maybe, but still hit or miss, and Harry wasn't going to give an untried recipe to a vanilla mortal.

Feh. That tasted foul.

Now to see if it worked. Harry stood with his feet apart and his hands behind his back, as if he were declaiming something in a high school speech class, and started talking.

"I love giving head, to both women and men," he said. "I love putting my hands on a woman's thighs, pressing them apart, making room for my face. I love holding a woman's labia apart with my thumbs so I can see her, watch her clitoris swell from anticipation before I ever touch it. I love that first taste of her as I lick her clit. I love the explosion of moisture when she comes." He stopped, his face appalled, and slapped his hand over his mouth.

The orange lights in Bob's skull were so bright they were yellow, almost white. "Uh, Boss? Not that I mind, but what was in that potion?"

Harry warily removed his hand from his mouth. "Nothing that should have done that." He went back to his notes and shakily read out the ingredients and proportions.

Bob listened in silence until Harry got to the end. "Boss," he said. "Would you mind telling me which book of inspirational speeches you used?"

"101 Speeches by famous Americans Which Will Inspire You. It was in that pile I brought home from the library free giveaway box a few years ago to stock the ingredients shelf."

"Er. Oops?"

"Oops?"

Bob's words came out in a rush. "Possibly maybe your apprentice has been hiding her porn down here?"

Hell's bells. Harry didn't even know that Molly had porn, and hadn't he warned her off solo experimentation? But apparently, according to Bob, something called Herotica 7 had been in the slip cover for 101 Speeches by famous Americans Which Will Inspire You. Harry looked, and saw the unjacketed plain brown shape of the book he'd intended to use in the recipe slipped in behind the rest of the books on the shelf. Flipping through the rest of the books on the shelf, he found equally secreted copies of Wet and Bareback Cowboys.

He really didn't want to know.

"To be fair," said Bob, sounding tentative. "She hasn't been doing it since she started teaching her potion making and she learned what the books were for. She's probably just forgotten that she hid the porn down here back when she thought it was just a shelf of random books."

Harry turned to Bob to yell at him for not telling him earlier. "I love when someone sucks on my balls," he said. "I love that moment of breath before I feel anything, and then the rough dampness of a tongue. I love the pressure. When I feel that first touch of warm, wet heat I want to come. I can't decide if I want the person sucking to move forward and suck my cock or back to lick my ass. I want three mouths at once, getting me everywhere. Gah!" He shoved his fist into his mouth to stop the torrent of words.

"... Wow."

"Hell's bells," Harry said again. He leaned against the wall and ran his right hand through his hair. "What am I going to do now?"

"You could stay here until the potion wears off," Bob said. Was it possible for a spirit of air and intellect to sound breathless? "I don't mind if you feel chatty."

Harry groaned. "No, I can't. Molly will be over when she's done with her family dinner, and no way am I risking the chance that I talk to her like this." He started cleaning up from his potion making, putting his notes away. "I have to go for a drive, get away from people until it wears off."

"Aww, Boss," whined Bob. "You realize this is the chance of lifetime for me."

"Tough shit," Harry said. "I'll see you later."

At first he drove aimlessly around Chicago in the Beetle, just thankful for the quiet. After a few blocks, the low muttering he was hearing resolved into words, and Harry realized it was him. He was talking, feeling the car with words. I want to suck John's cock. I want to hold it in my cheek, to rub my toungue against it. I want to come with John holding me down and my mouth full of his cock, and then I want him to fuck my mouth some more.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to drive.

The trouble was that nothing he'd been saying was untrue, per se, and hearing the words out loud coming out of his own mouth was arousing him to the point of pain. He needed to go somewhere where he could walk it off. Usually he'd go to Thomas in a situation like this, but in this particular instance that would be both unwise and cruel. He couldn't go to a public place, and the Carpenters and Murphy were out for obvious reasons. Thank goodness he had a key to John's place. He turned the Beetle toward the Gold Coast.

Wow. This fill started out awesome and just gets better. I love your idea for the sex-talk plot device--an eloquence potion gone wrong, of course, that's exactly the kind of thing that would happen to Harry.

Of course I'm glad he's heading for John's place, but I'm going to take a few minutes now to imagine the possibilities if he had taken refuge with Thomas. Oh, the things he might say...

Oh man I love this fill! Please continue! *____*

It was a pretty nice holding cell, all things considered. They must have splurged when they renovated after the loup-garoup demolished the place the previous year.

"How long will we be in here, you you think?" Michael asked me.

I shrugged. "Murphy will probably show up in the early morning and sort things out, unless Father Forthill gets your message and bails us out first. Longer to get the Beetle out of impound."

"You would be the expert," Michael said, with a gentle humor.

"You bet I am. Last month, helping the cops take down a demon-summoning ritual killer. This month, getting arrested for disturbing the peace." I looked solemnly at him. "I'm giving you the full police tour, Michael. You're a lucky man."

He laughed. "Thank you, Harry. You sure know how to show a guy a good time."

"Hel- uh, heck yeah," I said. "You really never been arrested before? Running around with a big-ass sword, slaying evil things most of the cops don't believe exist? Is this one of those God perks or something?"

Michael shrugged. "Perhaps."

Michael and I had been working a lot together, lately. Taking down Kravos and his pet demon had been a pretty major production, of course, but in the weeks since, there had been an unprecedented amount of ghostly activity in and around Chicago. It started with small hauntings I could handle myself- could probably handle them blindfolded and handcuffed- but they'd been getting nastier and nastier. Tonight's spook, one Agatha Hagglethorn, had been a handful, and it was a damn good thing I had Michael as backup, even before my fairy godmother showed up.

What a night.

"It just bothers me," I said. "I mean, we bust our saving people from things they don't even acknowledge exist, and what thanks to we get? A night in the lockup. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother."

"Because it's the right thing to do," Michael said. "You're a good man, Harry. You saved a dozen innocent lives this evening. Isn't that enough?"

I deflated a bit. That's one of the things I was coming to really appreciate about Michael. I could never stay angry around him long. "Yeah," I said. "I guess that's enough."

Michael and I took turns dozing for the next few hours. It was maybe a couple hours before dawn when an officer let us out of the cell, telling us we'd made bail.

"Thank God," Father Forthill said when we walked out. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion, and his sunken eyes were filled with fear. "Harry. Did you send a young lady to me last night?"

I'd nearly forgotten about her- Lydia, was it? She'd shown up at my office the previous afternoon, convinced a ghost was after her and that she was in danger. I'd given her a talisman and sent her off to weather the night at St. Mary of the Angels. "Yeah," I said. "Did she make it?"

Father Forthill looked around the waiting room, at the cops and other bystanders. "Maybe I'd better tell you in the car. I understand yours is impounded?"

My muscles ached, I had a splitting headache, and I wanted nothing more than to just fall into my own bed and sleep properly for a few hours, but instead I got into Forthill's car with Michael and got a whole heap of new problems on my plate. The girl, the priest explained, had made it safely to the church just before sundown. And just after sundown, something had tried to get in. Something malevolent, and powerful. He described how they'd heard it destroying things outside, calling her name, rattling the windows.

"It stopped after a few hours," Forthill said as we pulled into the parking lot behind the church. "I left her alone while I checked the doors and windows, and when I returned, she was gone."

"Gone?" I asked. "Left, or just gone?"

"I found one of the doors unlocked. I assume she left, Lord knows why. It was only then that I got your phone message- I'm sorry you had to wait so long at the police station."

"Sounds like it wouldn't have been safe to leave until then anyway," I said as I got out of the car. "Uh, thanks for bailing us out, by the way." Of course he would have bailed out Michael, but I was a little worried about whether he'd help me, as well. Michael was a believer, a church-goer, and Forthill's friend. I was just the weirdo wizard who dropped by begging for holy water.

It wasn't quite dawn yet, and though the sky was beginning to turn from black to purple, most of what light there was came from the streetlights. The spirit, or whatever it was, had done a number on the floodlights that usually lit the parking lot. And the rose bushes outside the church. And the cars. I shivered, and not just because of the chill air.

"Perhaps we should get indoors," Michael said quietly.

"Good thinking," I said. "That thing might come back. I'll check out the damage out here once the sun is up."

Being inside a church like St. Mary's is a little weird for me. I've never been quite comfortable around churches. I might joke with Michael about it, but there's a very real history of people like me being killed by the faithful. Not so much in recent years, but that's mostly because most churchgoers don't believe in magic anymore, not because they've softened their stance. Even now, some of the apprentices of White Council wizards were lucky to get out of their backwater towns or villages alive once they started manifesting their abilities and the local religious authorities (of whatever stripe) noticed. You can't get away with public witchburnings anymore, but that doesn't stop quiet vigilante disappearances.

On the other hand, there's a very real power in faith. It's why places like St. Mary's are safe havens from some of the nastier supernatural creatures out there. Magic is the stuff of life, and if you get enough people together with shared intentions, that can create some very real magical effects even if none of them are practitioners. The effect is particularly powerful in Catholic churches, which baffled me until the first time Michael dragged me to Mass with him. I'm not saying I believe anything about wine turning into Jesus's blood or anything, but it turns out that whatever else it does, transubstantiation raises a hell of a lot of magical energy, energy which then just sits there, supercharging the prayers and faith of the congregation.

The energy itself doesn't bother me- it's actually pretty pleasant, and like most background energy, easy to tune out, like white noise. Still, it feels a little weird to just stroll in. It may feel benevolent, but it's a powerful force that I don't quite understand, and that makes me nervous.

Father Forthill filled in a few more details of the previous night while feeding us coffee and toast. Once the sun was up Michael and I gave a more thorough inspection to the outside of the church- no blood or other signs of some human or animal, even a supernaturally powered one. We were dealing with a spook of some sort, alright.

Michael and I agreed to split up, him to search for Lydia, and me to go consult an expert on ghosts, specters, and other things dead. I did manage to catch Mortimer before he skipped town, and he confirmed what I already knew and a lot more besides. Something was stirring up the ghosts alright, and causing turbulence in the barrier between our world and the Nevernever. I headed home to consult Bob, and was instead whisked off to the house of Micky Malone. After destroying the truly nasty piece of spellwork someone had thrown off of him, I returned home, exhausted, no closer to finding Lydia, and with a whole lot to figure out.

At least I had my car back.

With his usual freaky timing Michael called a few minutes after I stepped through the door. He hadn't had any luck on the Lydia front either.

"I need to ask Bob a few things," I said.

Michael made an annoyed sound, the sort that meant he had just suppressed a remark about how I shouldn't be consorting with spirits and by the way would I like to come to Mass next Sunday.

In return, I sighed in the way that I used as shorthand for "Shut up, Michael, and stop trying to convert me." Weeks of nearly daily association made that sort of efficient communication both possible and essential. "I'll try a tracking spell on Lydia afterwards," I added.

"Do you need me to pick you up?" he asked. He'd seen my tracking spells in action.

"Nah," I said, "Murphy got the Beetle out of impound for me."

His disapproving grunt translated roughly as "I hope you didn't ask that nice policewoman to break the law for you." I ignored it.

"Oh," I said. "Michael. I think... look, whatever is out there, it's nasty, and by looking into it we're probably attracting it's attention. You should probably sleep behind wards tonight." Actually, St. Mary's would probably be even safer, but whatever had gotten Malone had gotten past his threshold. If it could do that, I had no guarantee my wards would protect me. I'd be a lot more comfortable with Michael to watch my back.

Yeah, selfish. So sue me.

"Alright," he said. "I'll head to your place before dark."

"Good," I said, making a mental note to be sure to be back myself to let him in.

"I should go. I still have a few leads myself," he said. "God go with you, Harry."

"You too," I said, and hung up.

Time to talk to Bob and figuring out what the hell I was getting myself into.

The first thing to do was get more information. I'd fallen down on the job here. I hadn't looked into Morelli at all, just taken Marcone's 'he's me from Boston' and run with it. That was a huge mistake.

I generally run stuff down myself, either through my contacts in the spirit world, or through plain old fashioned leg work. But I'd never had cause to work out in Boston. I didn't know anything about the town or the power structure out there. Luckily, I knew someone who would. Or who'd know who would know. There's a lot of 'friend of a friend' in this business.

Nick Christian had been my mentor in the investigator business. I'd pretty much followed him home one day, after he'd been around the dance studio looking into a missing persons case. I'd gone in with romantic, Bogart-esque ideas of private eye work and Nick had crushed those pretty quick. He gave me every shit job he could think of. Made me dig through dumpsters, canvas apartment blocks, everything. I ran away from more dogs that first year than I could count. It was hot, tiring, filthy work. And it was always worth it.

My old boss still worked out of the same crappy little office. Same phone, same beaten to hell secretary's desk. There'd never been an actual secretary. He just thought it looked more professional if people thought there was. I'd answered the phone once or twice when I started out, but those had been rare occasions. I hadn't wanted Nick to get comfortable thinking of me as 'office girl' and not 'investigator in training'.

One of the file cabinets stood open and there were papers spread all over the floor. I could see the bottom of one of Nick's shoes under the desk and there was the quiet sound of papers being shuffled and the occasional loud curse. Nick's filing system was worse than mine.

"You're such a fucking slob, Nick."

"Hah!" His head poked up over the edge of the desk and he shook one finger at me. "You forget, I've seen the fire hazard you call a filing cabinet. I know exactly where everything is, long as no one touches it." I'd alphabetized once, during a slow month. I was never, ever going to hear the end of it.

"I have a system. You got a minute?"

"Sure, sure. Gimme one sec here." He ducked back down and the shuffling grew louder, more furious. I pulled one of the heavy chairs along the wall over to the desk, picked up the pile of paper littering the seat and shifted it to the floor. I'd put it back exactly the way I'd found it before I left. Nick found what he was looking for, a receipt with something scribbled on the back, and rose from the floor. He placed the receipt in a folder and took his seat, leaning back a little in the chair. "What can I do for you, kiddo?"

"I need whatever you can find on an outfit guy from Boston. The name's Raymond Morelli." He laughed.

"You don't want to go sticking your nose around that guy. I know Morelli's name. He's boss of the top crew over that way. They don't have the iron control over the city that Marcone's got here, but hell, they're bad enough."

"That I know. I just need more info on how he works. Maybe what he's suspected of, what he's known for. If he has delusions of empire-hood. That sort of thing. Not just his reputation, but more about him. Habits. I need to get a peek inside this guy's head."

"Empire-hood? You know something you wanna share?"

"Not yet. Not for sure. He's been seen in town with Marcone though, and it makes me nervous."

"Yeah. He ain't the only one spotted with Marcone lately. Something you want to tell me?" Nick's grin was gone and he leaned forward over the desk.

"Nooo..." He reached into his desk and pulled out a small stack of glossy photos.

"I was tailing a guy on another case and what do I see but my old apprentice hanging out with people she shouldn't be." The photos were fuzzy, out of focus. Some of them had weird light anomalies writhing through them. Just one of the side effects of being around me. But I was recognizable in some of them. And so was Marcone.

"It's a job, Nick. Nothing to tell. A little extra security. That's why I need this info on Morelli." I flipped the pictures face down and slid them back across the desk to him.

"Working for somebody like Marcone ain't ever just a job. They get you and you don't ever get out. Not in one piece any rate." I bounced my heel on the floor and just stared at him.

"It's nothing Nick. I swear, I am not getting involved with Marcone. Not for long anyway. This is a one time thing and then we're done. Are you going to help me or what?"

"I'll help, I'll help. But I want you to understand how much of a shitty idea this is. I wish you'd talked to me before you took this job. Whatever he's paying you, it ain't worth it."

"Don't I know it."

~

"Bob." I rapped on the skull with my knuckles as I walked around the lab, pushing things back into their places. It'd gotten worse than usual down here.

"Yeah boss?" Candle-flame eyes lit up the skulls eye-sockets and the skull turned on his shelf, following my movements.

"Feeling up for a little research?"

"That's a rhetorical question, right? Spirit of intellect here! I live for research."

"You live for porn. Research is just a hobby for you, Bob."

"That's not true at all." Bob huffed, haughty. "My books are all academic interests. Don't go cheapening it."

"Right, of course. Sorry. I don't understand how I mistook..." I picked up the latest book he'd been reading. "Bound and Determined for anything other than a scholarly work."

"You know, you'd appreciate that one. The heroine kidnaps this macho guy and keeps him tied up in-"

"Ah!" I flung an eraser at Bob's skull. I did not need that image. No. My brain was still short circuited, because I could already see Marcone, stretched out on my little bed, arms tight, every muscle standing out as they were pulled back over his head, tied there. Maybe with some of that enchanted rope I had, maybe gagged with one of his own ties....I shook my head. "Less of that, please! Focus! I need to research defensive magic I can lay over top of some of Gard's stuff. Without her noticing."

*wibbles*

*hides in embarrassment*

thank you!

Thank you!

I am looking forward to what Harry spills out to John (in more ways than one!)~

Harry's naughty thoughts involving Marcone are awesome :D

a;lsdfjk WOW this is amazing. Really beautiful characterisations here, written with skill, deftness and a surprising lightness of touch for something this intense. Amazing.

Round 2 is closed.

Re: Hugging

Re: Hugging

Re: Mini-fill

Re: Fill: Side Effects May Include... [3/?]

Re: Fill: Playing for the Crowd 6/?

A Day in the Life

Dressing up Harry Dresden

Smart!Mouse

Wolf babies?

Sweet Tooth

Re: Wolf babies?

Re: Wolf babies?

Re: A Day in the Life

Re: Wolf babies?

Re: Wolf babies?

Chatty pollen 2/?

Re: Chatty pollen 2/?

Re: Johnny and Rahm [4&5/?]

AU Harry/Michael, 2/?

Fill: Playing for the Crowd 7/?

Re: Fill: Playing for the Crowd 6/?

Re: Fill: Playing for the Crowd 6/?

Re: Chatty pollen 2/?

Re: Fill: Playing for the Crowd 7/?

Re: Fill (8/8)