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I'm really enjoying this so far and am looking forward to more.
Also, as a lapsed Catholic I particularly appreciated that detail about transubstantiation.
Also, as a lapsed Catholic I particularly appreciated that detail about transubstantiation.
PLEASE CONTINUE!!
Um, that is to say, you've mangaged to catch Harry's voice and daily life very well, please let us know what happens next!
Um, that is to say, you've mangaged to catch Harry's voice and daily life very well, please let us know what happens next!
oh god I literally threw back my head and cackled when Harry started his stream of conscious porno feed. so funny!
*reads fic*
*packs lunch*
*puts on hat*
*joins everyone else for the ride*
This fill makes me go whee!
*packs lunch*
*puts on hat*
*joins everyone else for the ride*
This fill makes me go whee!
Ahaha, that's hilarious and v v hot. (Also, major potion brewing geek points, hee).
Exactly what it says on the tin. Let's say the White Council has some reservations about executing underage warlocks right off the bat. They're kids, after all, right? They should be given a chance.
So, a century ago it was decided that every year the underage warlocks would fight each other to the death until only one of them remained, while the rest of the Wizarding World watched the show. The surviving one would be spared.
Harry won his year's Warlock Games. He killed five other kids. He still has nightmares. John finds out about this practice and...
So, a century ago it was decided that every year the underage warlocks would fight each other to the death until only one of them remained, while the rest of the Wizarding World watched the show. The surviving one would be spared.
Harry won his year's Warlock Games. He killed five other kids. He still has nightmares. John finds out about this practice and...
Immediately conquers the Wizarding World like he did Chicago. :D
...and slaps a bitch (a.k.a. the White Council)
Does Baron Marcone need to slap a bitch?
Bob/Marcone, Harry/Marcone (optional)
Bob gets to "borrow" Harry's body for a while - either by Harry's choice or Harry's mistake - and he goes out on the town. While out, he comes across John Marcone, mafia crime lord and thorn in Harry's side. And what does he do? Gets some crazy sexin' out of it, of course.
But then Bob leaves and Harry's left to try and explain everything.
Bonus if Bob leaves while Harry's sleeping in John's bed, all worn out from lovin' so hard. ;)
Bob gets to "borrow" Harry's body for a while - either by Harry's choice or Harry's mistake - and he goes out on the town. While out, he comes across John Marcone, mafia crime lord and thorn in Harry's side. And what does he do? Gets some crazy sexin' out of it, of course.
But then Bob leaves and Harry's left to try and explain everything.
Bonus if Bob leaves while Harry's sleeping in John's bed, all worn out from lovin' so hard. ;)
definitely- Marcone is going to destroy the White Council.
http://scribe-protra.livejournal.com/215580.html?thread=3989020#t3989020
This anon is right--this meme needs some Marcone/Butters. I don't care how or why, other than not non- or dub-con, but it needs to be written.
This anon is right--this meme needs some Marcone/Butters. I don't care how or why, other than not non- or dub-con, but it needs to be written.
Yay Marcone/Butters prompt!! *hugs* The chatfic made me crave that pairing more than is probably safe - or sane.
Someone fill please?
Someone fill please?
So we all know how good Johnny is with his knives. AU where John Marcone is a topflight surgeon rather than a mob boss.
Is Butters an old friend from med school? Does he fall in love with someone he is operating on? Does he have an actual knife fetish and, uh, what are the ethical ramifications of that?
Is Butters an old friend from med school? Does he fall in love with someone he is operating on? Does he have an actual knife fetish and, uh, what are the ethical ramifications of that?
So in Even Hand and Aftermath we see the Fomorians attempting to muscle in on Chicago. Their asses get handed to them by teams led by vanilla mortals - Marcone and Murphy, respectively.
Once is chance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern.
Clearly, the proper level of terror must be impressed upon the creepy fishmen and any other supernatural entity that dreams of invading Chicago. It is obviously necessary for Charity, who is essentially a vanilla mortal now, to assemble a team of her own in defense of the city. Can be Marcone manipulating her into it, Murphy suggesting it, something Charity comes up with on her own. Bonus points if Harry comes back from the dead and is boggled to find these "mere" mortals beating the crap out of the monsters six ways from Tuesday.
Once is chance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern.
Clearly, the proper level of terror must be impressed upon the creepy fishmen and any other supernatural entity that dreams of invading Chicago. It is obviously necessary for Charity, who is essentially a vanilla mortal now, to assemble a team of her own in defense of the city. Can be Marcone manipulating her into it, Murphy suggesting it, something Charity comes up with on her own. Bonus points if Harry comes back from the dead and is boggled to find these "mere" mortals beating the crap out of the monsters six ways from Tuesday.
YES SO HARD to this prompt. It's very fitting for the Dresdenverse.
You know how Harry cannot actually go on the Internet? Let's face it, even with Bob in residence, he cannot possibly be as knowledgeable about kinks as the Internet savvy folk. For the prompt: Harry ends up (on business) in a Marcone owned sex club. Sudden sex ed is sudden. Bonus if Marcone is hands on educator.
That's right! Groundhog day fic please.
Can we get a day that repeats until it's "perfect". Ending with Harry/Marcone?
Bonus if there are explosions and/or fires because Harry is involved.
Can we get a day that repeats until it's "perfect". Ending with Harry/Marcone?
Bonus if there are explosions and/or fires because Harry is involved.
Oh, lord. John's head is going to melt. And it's going to be so hilarious.
Re: Part 2 of 2 or possibly a whole lot, depending on whether I get inspired
(Anonymous) 2011-03-04 03:48 am (UTC)(link)this is awesome and I want the rest please
I mean, no pressure or anything...
I mean, no pressure or anything...
Or at one of the times is perfect except there aren't enough explosions! :P
I'm really fascinated in this Michael (and not just for the obvious reasons) ^^ Are you paralleling the books?
Sorry for the delay. Also, this is pretty much straight from my head to the page. I didn't even re-read it, because it's late and I have to work in the morning. SO - my apologies for any typos, missing words, or mis-statements. Because sometimes my fingers don't catch up to my brain in time to realize it's rewritten something.
“Wait.” I took a breath, counted to ten, and said again: “Wait. I don’t have my memories back yet.”
“Well, no,” Bob answered. He still sounded – regretful, I’d guess you say, but not overly so. Not overly concerned.
“If the potion is gone, shouldn’t my memory be back?”
The jaw chattered a bit, Bob’s version of a motherly tut-tut. “You’re mixing up the effect and the aftermath,” he said. “You end a rain spell and the rain stops, but you still have to deal with the soggy carpets.”
Great. First my mind was a disorganized bookshelf and next it was soggy carpets. It didn’t feel like I was moving up in the world. “But it can be fixed, right?”
He hesitated. “Yes and no.”
“I’m in no mood for bargaining,” I told him flatly. “Can it, or can it not be fixed? And no more metaphors.”
He seemed to sulk for a moment. “You have to re-remember everything. Like I said before, the potion went through and rearranged your memories. There still there, just not where you left them. So you have to find them. Once you find them, it should be like they were never gone, but the trick is finding them. You can only find bits and pieces at a time; it’s not like they’re all going to slam into you at once. You can’t drink a potion and get it all back, you have to remember what it was like to be you.”
That meant a lot of self-reflection, meditation, and quiet. All things I hated, some more than others. Stars.
“And the headaches?”
“Will get worse when you get closer to a memory, I’d imagine. Full-out migraines for the ones buried really deep, or for things you don’t particularly want to remember.”
Because the potion had to be looking for something while scrambling through my brain. What I didn’t want to see I would have shoved into far deeper corners as I sifting through things, and those would be more difficult to find than the ones I’d just pushed briefly aside. The feeling of trust for Marcone, for example, was probably lingering closer to the surface than any fights I would have had with him over his work.
Stars, I didn’t even know if he was a full-time crime lord anymore. Maybe he’d retired, or gone part-time, or turned legal.
I didn’t even know if I was still in Chicago.
No. No, I was still in my city. I would have felt that change. The magic of the city changes over time, growing and falling and twisting to fit the needs of the people, but it still felt the same despite the changes. Still felt like the windy city, still felt like the seedy underground, still felt like Mac’s ale and cold winter nights and loud cars and warm people and guns and drugs and food and love and life. I knew where I was, relatively speaking.
“There are some things that you always remember,” I said, when I’d calmed a bit. “You told me that. You said that there are some things that you simply can’t forget, because it’s imprinted on your mind.”
Somehow, Bob managed a move that resembled a nod.
“Then those I should remember. Using my Sight, any soulgazes, any instance where what I saw would be burned into my memory couldn’t be forgotten, and therefore shouldn’t have been affected by the spell.”
“Theoretically.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ll still remember them, but it might have changed how you perceive the memories. Because you don’t remember what led up to them, or the circumstances surrounding them, you might see the memories in a different way.”
It made sense. It wouldn’t change the memory itself – not the image, or the sound, or the feel of it – but the reaction to it might be different.
“That’s a chance I have to take,” I finally said. “I need to remember something.” If I didn’t then this would feel too surreal, too much like the plot of one of Bob’s books.
I took a seat on the floor in the middle of a medium-sized circle I’d apparently had laid down on the floor. It wasn’t big enough for me to lay across – maybe four feet circumference – but it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t closing the circle anyways. I closed my eyes and tried to meditate.
The first thing I saw was Mickey, snarling and screaming in one view and whimpering and crying in another. Two ghost images of the same person laid overtop of one another, both equally true. I didn’t know if this was two memories playing out at the same time or one memory with the oddity of wizard Sight thrown in, but it chilled me. Wrapped around one body was something like a rope of barbed wire. It was digging into his skin on both images, but while one body bled out and screamed in pain the other snarled in anger and lashed out at anything that came near.
Two sides to the same coin. Action and root cause.
He was in so much pain, it was hard to keep myself steady. I didn’t realize it wasn’t necessary until I noticed my body was moving. I was freeing him from the wire and I could feel the pain that was shooting through me as I did my best to cause as little pain to the other man as possible. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t wrench myself away. I wanted to find another way, one that wouldn’t leave me in pain and him so scarred, but by body kept moving.
I had to do this. Had had to. I saw dead cats and birds in a flash, cops I didn’t recognize, Murphy looking drawn-out and tired, and then I was pulling the wire again. Pulling and pulling and pulling, while Mickey laid there watching me, tears warm on his face. Relieved and hopeful. Grateful.
I pulled myself away in time to realize I was laying on the floor crying, and then the darkness was such a welcome reprieve that I didn’t fight it.
“Wait.” I took a breath, counted to ten, and said again: “Wait. I don’t have my memories back yet.”
“Well, no,” Bob answered. He still sounded – regretful, I’d guess you say, but not overly so. Not overly concerned.
“If the potion is gone, shouldn’t my memory be back?”
The jaw chattered a bit, Bob’s version of a motherly tut-tut. “You’re mixing up the effect and the aftermath,” he said. “You end a rain spell and the rain stops, but you still have to deal with the soggy carpets.”
Great. First my mind was a disorganized bookshelf and next it was soggy carpets. It didn’t feel like I was moving up in the world. “But it can be fixed, right?”
He hesitated. “Yes and no.”
“I’m in no mood for bargaining,” I told him flatly. “Can it, or can it not be fixed? And no more metaphors.”
He seemed to sulk for a moment. “You have to re-remember everything. Like I said before, the potion went through and rearranged your memories. There still there, just not where you left them. So you have to find them. Once you find them, it should be like they were never gone, but the trick is finding them. You can only find bits and pieces at a time; it’s not like they’re all going to slam into you at once. You can’t drink a potion and get it all back, you have to remember what it was like to be you.”
That meant a lot of self-reflection, meditation, and quiet. All things I hated, some more than others. Stars.
“And the headaches?”
“Will get worse when you get closer to a memory, I’d imagine. Full-out migraines for the ones buried really deep, or for things you don’t particularly want to remember.”
Because the potion had to be looking for something while scrambling through my brain. What I didn’t want to see I would have shoved into far deeper corners as I sifting through things, and those would be more difficult to find than the ones I’d just pushed briefly aside. The feeling of trust for Marcone, for example, was probably lingering closer to the surface than any fights I would have had with him over his work.
Stars, I didn’t even know if he was a full-time crime lord anymore. Maybe he’d retired, or gone part-time, or turned legal.
I didn’t even know if I was still in Chicago.
No. No, I was still in my city. I would have felt that change. The magic of the city changes over time, growing and falling and twisting to fit the needs of the people, but it still felt the same despite the changes. Still felt like the windy city, still felt like the seedy underground, still felt like Mac’s ale and cold winter nights and loud cars and warm people and guns and drugs and food and love and life. I knew where I was, relatively speaking.
“There are some things that you always remember,” I said, when I’d calmed a bit. “You told me that. You said that there are some things that you simply can’t forget, because it’s imprinted on your mind.”
Somehow, Bob managed a move that resembled a nod.
“Then those I should remember. Using my Sight, any soulgazes, any instance where what I saw would be burned into my memory couldn’t be forgotten, and therefore shouldn’t have been affected by the spell.”
“Theoretically.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ll still remember them, but it might have changed how you perceive the memories. Because you don’t remember what led up to them, or the circumstances surrounding them, you might see the memories in a different way.”
It made sense. It wouldn’t change the memory itself – not the image, or the sound, or the feel of it – but the reaction to it might be different.
“That’s a chance I have to take,” I finally said. “I need to remember something.” If I didn’t then this would feel too surreal, too much like the plot of one of Bob’s books.
I took a seat on the floor in the middle of a medium-sized circle I’d apparently had laid down on the floor. It wasn’t big enough for me to lay across – maybe four feet circumference – but it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t closing the circle anyways. I closed my eyes and tried to meditate.
The first thing I saw was Mickey, snarling and screaming in one view and whimpering and crying in another. Two ghost images of the same person laid overtop of one another, both equally true. I didn’t know if this was two memories playing out at the same time or one memory with the oddity of wizard Sight thrown in, but it chilled me. Wrapped around one body was something like a rope of barbed wire. It was digging into his skin on both images, but while one body bled out and screamed in pain the other snarled in anger and lashed out at anything that came near.
Two sides to the same coin. Action and root cause.
He was in so much pain, it was hard to keep myself steady. I didn’t realize it wasn’t necessary until I noticed my body was moving. I was freeing him from the wire and I could feel the pain that was shooting through me as I did my best to cause as little pain to the other man as possible. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t wrench myself away. I wanted to find another way, one that wouldn’t leave me in pain and him so scarred, but by body kept moving.
I had to do this. Had had to. I saw dead cats and birds in a flash, cops I didn’t recognize, Murphy looking drawn-out and tired, and then I was pulling the wire again. Pulling and pulling and pulling, while Mickey laid there watching me, tears warm on his face. Relieved and hopeful. Grateful.
I pulled myself away in time to realize I was laying on the floor crying, and then the darkness was such a welcome reprieve that I didn’t fight it.
Re: List Of Why He/She Shouldn't NOT Fuck Harry Till He Begs For It
(Anonymous) 2011-03-04 04:10 am (UTC)(link)Hilarious and delightful!
'is a day ending in Y. Promised Hendricks.'
I laughed out loud. :D
'is a day ending in Y. Promised Hendricks.'
I laughed out loud. :D
Really great update, excited for the next!
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