(And yes, it's our garbage fire, and we're doing our trash goblin war dances around it and occasionally holding up a particularly fine piece of flaming garbage for inspection. Everyone is very impressed, and adds a celebratory extra jump to the trash goblin war dance.)
So I've told em about my extensive mirror!Harry headcanons, but basically he's kind of a hedonist and Micheal has a coin. Whoops. (Also I ship Harry/Thomas and Harry/Micheal simultaneously fight me)
holy heck I missed a lot I do remember one thing that shipped like...harry being dragged into polyamory with michael and charity and honestly yes please 10/10 ALSO I personally think mac has something to do with the gates....... OR IS MERLIN
WAIT OKAY THERE'S A THING IT WAS LIKE A HEADCANON BIT I SAW FLOATING ABOUT @emythos PLS GIVE ME THE THING I BEG
honestly I had considered neither of these as an option but I am Open to the idea my ideal endgame is honestly Murphy and Harry shacking up diamonds and raising Harry's goddamn adorable kid (AND THAT INTELLECT SPIRIT... SO SMOL..... SO PRECIOUS), sexual relationship optional. and of course Murphy needs a wife and Harry needs a husband, giant poly pile or series of linked pairs also optional, AND THEY LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER I HAVEN'T FIGURED OUT HOW ANY OF THIS IS REMOTELY PLAUSIBLE BUT GODDAMN AM I SET ON IT (honestly the most relevant parts are that Harry and Murphy hug a lot and are mutually loving and supportive and Harry is a Good Father and gets to kiss a boy. that's it. that's all I want in life)
hello, everybody, I have written this incredibly self-indulgent thing! it is not well edited, nor is it finished, but I thought I'd share what I've done since I started this evening: Spoiler: In Which Thomas Is Very Bi and Slightly Tortured; My OC Is Very Poorly Developed But Tortured a Lot and Also a Gay Succubus; And Harry Is Probably Not Recognizable As Such Because I Don't Think I Did His Voice Well Iria, I decided, had worn the suit as man-repellent. Normally she dressed like, well, the kind of woman who would wear a dress to a charity auction, in skirts and so forth. She didn’t wear high heels, but that was probably because climbing and running, not to mention kicking ass, were staples of her daily routine. And she was always wearing dark lipstick. Tonight she sported a slim black suit, a burgundy silk shirt, and an artfully loosened tie. Her dress shoes gleamed as much as her hair, which had been scraped back into a nubby ponytail. Basically, she looked gayer than a plaid flannel shirt. None of it worked. She was as stunning as she would’ve been in a dress, and certainly more eye-catching. Hell’s bells, she was wearing a suit better than I was. Male heads still turned as she worked the crowd, and she couldn’t pretend to be deaf to their calls all the time. Her perfunctory greetings were seized upon, her conversations with women were butted into, and I saw one slimy rodent in a tuxedo blatantly cut her off when she tried to move away. I hoped fervently that Sewer Rat was one of the baddies so he and I could have a talk later. Then Thomas materialized next to me. He was wearing an all-white tuxedo, but I still hadn’t seen him coming. He’s going to give me a heart attack someday. “These are pretty good,” he said, proffering a stuffed olive on a stick. I took it from him and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s kinda bland,” I said. “Those deconstructed shrimp things are much better.” “Not a fast-acting poison, then,” he said, nodding. “Excuse me?” “Well, I wasn’t going to eat one without checking it first,” he said virtuously. “What if they paid off the cooks? Good to know about the shrimp, though, they looked a little fishy.” “Screw you,” I said through my teeth. I’m supposed to be the one making corny puns around here. “But you haven’t bought me dinner since Tuesday, and that was only Burger King.” “Alright, you can pay for your own goddamn Burger King next time, asshole—" Maybe it was good that Iria showed up just then. She was scowling as soon as her back was turned to the rest of the room, and I shut up immediately. “You are so fucking lucky,” she told Thomas, in that accent she gets when she’s angry. Thomas spread his hands apologetically, like that had made any sense whatsoever. Iria must’ve seen my expression, because her face softened a little, and she explained, “He likes all the people who hit on him.” “I do not,” protested Thomas. “Straight men don’t have a monopoly on douchebaggery, you know.” She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Raith, you might be attracted to everyone who hits on you. Happy?” “That’s oversimpli—" “Happy.” “But why does that make him lucky?” I said helplessly. Thomas and Iria shared a look, the Harry’s ignorance is boundless one, and she said patiently, “Raith is bisexual, so he would, well. Enjoy feeding upon anyone. I am homosexual, so it’d just be women.” “Right,” I said. “I know that. But being bi is luckier than being gay?” “If you’re White Court, yeah,” said Thomas. Iria eyed me and said, “I think you don’t understand the difference between wanting to fuck and wanting to feed. They’re separate—" “—but not equal,” I interrupted, proud of myself. Thomas heaved a theatrical sigh beside me. I flipped him off. “Exactly,” said Iria, ignoring us. “Your sexuality is the fucking, and you feed with sex. So that’s what food you like to eat. But when you’re hungry enough…” She was silent for a second. “When you’re very hungry, your demon will eat anyone. So it tells you, ‘Feed on her,’ or ‘Feed on him,’ or ‘Feed on them,’ without caring if you like hers or hims or thems. And when it takes control, it doesn’t care about anything you want. It is… a very unpleasant feeling, to want to do things that are repulsive.” “It drove my father mad,” said Thomas quietly. “Well, madder, he was pretty unstable all by himself. Remember how he killed all my older brothers? He was straight, and he didn’t like them to be around when he was hungry. So he got rid of them, but he tended to live with them a while first. It… piled up, over the years.” “Oh,” I said. I felt sick to my stomach, and I didn’t think it was the hors 'oeuvres. “That’s really…" The words weren’t coming. “I’m sorry.” “Well,” said Iria cheerfully. “I’m usually not that hungry, and not right now, either.” “If you’re as much of as ladykiller as Iria,” drawled Thomas, “you won’t want for women. Girls’ll be lining up around the block.” “Yes,” said Iria, beaming. “Mostly I was complaining about all the men who interrupted me with their awful pickup lines.” “You were beating them off with a stick,” I agreed. “Do you think I should?” she said thoughtfully. Before I could do more than sputter, she grinned. “I have to be polite, Dresden. But I am going to kick that greasy one later.” “Personally I’d like to punch him,” I said. “You can hold him still while I kick him,” she said generously. Then she turned to Thomas. “You’ve been to this kind of thing before. What can I do? It’s hard to talk to people.” “Women tend to be more polite if you show you’re not interested,” said Thomas. “The leaning-on-stereotypes usually does it at this kind of thing if someone’s really pushy. I do a really good Slightly Homophobic Straight Guy, but that’s mostly at clubs and things.” “I’m trying,” said Iria. “How the hell can I dress more butch?” She gestured at herself. “You could buzz your head,” suggested Thomas maliciously. “Fuck you. Not in a good way,” she said hastily when he began to smirk. “With a rusty fork.” “Jesus Christ,” I said, impressed. Iria wasn’t done. “No, with a chainsaw. Backwards. Fuck you backwards with a rusty chainsaw.” “Can’t argue with that,” said Thomas. “Well, if it’s such trouble, do you have to come? Only two of us might work…” They both looked at me. “No,” decided Thomas. “No, it wouldn’t.” “Hey!” I said, indignant. It stung because it was true: I had been consigned to the wall for the evening, because “this is a social event, Dresden,” and Thomas had only sighed when he saw me in my rented tuxedo, not bitched at me while fixing various flaws in my appearance. Even I had a vague suspicion that I looked like I had been dragged through a trash heap, only cursorily washed, and then dressed in a too-short cheap tuxedo, since that was more or less what had happened. I could still smell a suspicion of rotting vegetable matter if I inhaled hard. Oh, and Iria had flatly refused to take me as her date, so I had had to go as Thomas’. Which I wouldn’t have minded, really, but being directly rejected stung a little. I guessed now that I would have marred her gay image, but I hadn’t known at the time. TO BE CONTINUED... feedback appreciated, and that is not me fishing for compliments, that is me wanting feedback! also, sorry it's all in this long-ass post, but Word is a butthole, so.
i would like to point out that i have a white court oc with a buzzcut and she is a Good. also that I've written fic of her beating a troll to death with a barstool if anyone is interested ALSO I REALLLY LIKED YOUR FIC LIKE DANG
oooo i recently did a AO3 Delve sesh, an it looks like AO3 overwhelmingly ships either harry/murph, or, quite intriguingly might i add, harry/marcone! it tends to be done in a way to invert the usual dresden fanfic romance power dynamics, since in most ships ive seen, harry could saute and season anyone he gets paired with if he took the mood to, so it usually ends up being a lot of knight-in-leather-armor. with marcone as the partner, its more contentious as to who is more powerful- harry, or marcone and everyone marcone has bought and paid for, and more importantly, every magical artifact and ward marcone has had put together for his use. ive even seen a couple set in early books, before harry got quite so stupidly powerful (or at least good at looking it), where marcone had done his research from the get-go. in one memorable one, marcone turned out to have tracked down lea and bought harry's debt from her, and used it to make harry do all manner of ~heinous things~. he even left harry an out- if he didnt want to do whatever marcone had ordered him to do, all harry had to do to absolve the debt entirely was to sleep with marcone three times. harry, being in denial hard, refused for months before he got so mad at marcone for some reason or other (i cant remember) that he just started frenching marcone on the spot.
