dresden_kink | Round Five by five, baby!

Entry tags:

open,
round five

Round Five by five, baby!

Round Five: Open!
Ghost Story Prompts and meta: Open!
Tracking Post: Open

| Round One: open only for feedback, WIPs continued in The Overflow Post or the current round. Link back to your previous posts! |
| Round Two: open only for feedback, WIPs continued in The Overflow Post or the current round. Link back to your previous posts! |
| Round Three: open only for feedback and WIPs continuation. You can also continue in The Overflow Post or the current round. Link back to your previous posts! |
| Round Four: open only for feedback and WIPs continuation. You can also continue in The Overflow Post or the current round. Link back to your previous posts! |

Read this first. Do it. There will be a test.

The Rules. Including the Posting Guidelines. aka:

In the first line of your fill*, you must include:

1) Character(s)/Pairing(s)/Threesome(s)/Moresome(s) as applicable.
2) Any kinks included. Please take this to include scenarios, themes, etc. Use your imagination.
3) MANDATORY WARNINGS/CONTENT NOTES if there is dubcon or noncon, underage characters in sexual situations, major character death, suicide, self-harm, and/or graphic descriptions or extensive discussions of abuse.
Please consider trigger warnings for any other widespread triggers in your fill, such as natural disasters, or specifying instances of harm, such as eating disorders.
Please don't conflate warnings and kinks; treat each individually, and use your pairings to indicate gen/het/slash/multi/&c. Do not warn for het, slash, or otherwise.

EXAMPLE:
Characters & Pairings: Mentions of Harry Dresden/John Marcone, but entirely nonsexual gen in this fic. Harry Dresden, John Marcone, Ebenezar McCoy, Thomas Raith, Justine, Listens to Wind, Mister, Mouse.
Kinks: kidfic, second childhood, age regression, family bonding, fish out of water, situational:age change, involuntary transformation
Content notes: no mandatory notes. Mentions of a previous sexual relationship between two adults, one of whom is now a child, but absolutely no sexual contact or content while said character is a kid. Veg*n trigger warning for death of an animal.

*THIS IS REQUIRED FOR ALL FILLS. MINIFILLS, ART FILLS, WHATEVER ELSE INCLUDED.

For images: Please post image prompts and fills and all other images with alt tag descriptions or with a text description of the piece. Example: [img src="neked.jpg" alt="Here's John being all hot and half naked saying Dresden et cetera et cetera"], replace [ ] with < >. If you are linking to an external image, please include a description with the link.

NEW FOR ROUND FIVE: After you have posted your fill, please go to the fill tracking post and comment there to say so, including a link back to your fill. You don't have to do this, but no guarantees it will be caught otherwise.

Thank you.

The discussion post is here. Mod questions go here. The delicious account is here, (currently on-hold. Thanks, newdelicious.). The pinboard account is here (not up to date).

Don't forget about all the unfilled prompts. Got an unfilled prompt you want to give a second chance? Repost it here. Otherwise, go ahead and repost an unfilled prompt as a new comment with a link to the original if you are filling it. Please indicate in the subject line that it is a Repost To Fill.

Open prompt is here: http://dresden-kink.dreamwidth.org/3344.html?thread=3032848#cmt3032848

Comments in chronological order: http://dresden-kink.dreamwidth.org/3344.html?view=flat

Edit 5-14-15 So 3+ years later, the only comments this post is getting are spam comments. I've changed the settings to screen all comments to discourage that. If you leave a legit comment, I will unscreen it. Thanks, all. I had a great time.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ah hell, I've got to stop doing this. Does anyone know where I might purchase some self-restraint? Oh, and I know you used 'Harriet', OP, but I'm rather fond of 'Harlene', so if that's okay by you that's what I'll use.

I've got a vague idea of a plot, but I'm always open to suggestions.
Pairing is, obviously, Harry/Marcone.
Contains arranged marriage, irregularities in the flow of time, and reference to past WC trauma.

When I was born, Margaret Dresden, my mother, died.

When I was six, Malcolm Dresden, my father, died.

When I fourteen, Harlene Raith, the person I was, died.

For some time after that, I was just ‘Harry’, living under the loving patronage of my godmother, trying to learn the lessons that would help me stay alive – and might, if I was very clever and very lucky, help me save a few lives.

Unfortunately for me, my godmother is not of a ‘sink-or-swim’, so much as a ‘toss her off the cliff and see if she flies’ school of thought. I realise that understanding of human limits is hard for her, as a fae (I admit, after so many years in the Nevernever, I sometimes forget them myself), but surely some things should be obvious?

Surely.

The problem I was facing was that of an impending wedding.

My own.

It had all been cunningly engineered by my godmother and my sister, Lara. I hadn’t realised that anything was up until one of my sprites asked me if all of my attendants would be allowed to come to my new home. Naturally, I’d asked ‘What new home?’, and been treated to an immediate panic from the whole lot.

The only thing worse than a sprite at keeping secrets is a panicked sprite. Within ten minutes, I had everything they knew out of them. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“Godmother!” My godmother looked up as I stormed into her chambers, her attendants starting and the hound at her feet (she always had at least one hanging about) leaping up, ears pricked. I admit, I probably looked ridiculous, standing there in my shift, hair half-done, with a cloud of anxious sprites trying to calm me down (and not get them in trouble). “Godmother,” I repeated, trying not to get angry at her faint smile, “is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

“Tell you?” She echoed, the very soul of innocence. “I do not believe so, child.”

“Oh no?” I replied, falsely bright. “So you don’t consider my upcoming marriage to be, oh, something I might like to know about?”

My godmother paused, and then rose, beaming. I had the terrible feeling that I’d just walked into another of her infinite traps. Ignoring, as is her wont, my expression of one facing their doom, she advanced on me with a smile, saying “Very good, my dear! I was starting to worry about your powers of observation, you know. What was it that gave it away?”

My mind worked quickly. During the quick walk from my chambers to my godmother’s, I had put some things together – really, there had been plenty of clues, over the last few weeks, but the thought of my godmother giving me into the control of anyone else was so far outside the realms of probability as to be laughable. I wasn’t laughing, though.

“The dress fittings were a hint.” I snapped back, my reflections having taken scarcely half a second. “And the portrait sittings, and the comings and goings, and the planning that you were so obviously engaged in, even though it’s ages until the next important ball or dinner, and Lara ‘popping in to visit’ when she hates Winter – what else was there?”

“Perkin keeps bursting into tears.” She said rather blandly. To be honest, I really hadn’t noticed that – for all his usefulness, I’ve always found Perkin to be a little creepy, even for an imp, so avoiding noticing whatever he’s doing is easier than it should be. I realised that this wasn’t getting us anywhere, throttled back my anger, and sighed deeply.

“Godmother, why are you marrying me off? It is political? Are you being offered something… special? Are you just bored with me? What?”

Her face softened, and godmother stepped across the space between us, drawing me into her arms. Her touch raised goosebumps on my skin, as it always did, but I returned the hug, ignoring the way my breath started to steam slightly. “No, child, no,” she murmured, “Never. I love you as my own flesh, you know that.”

“Then why-?”

“Dear child, do you know how long you have lived in my home?” She pulled back a little, and looked me in the eye. She looked strangely sad, so I actually considered the question, rather than dismissing it. “About… five years?” I guessed. She shook her head. “While you have been here, ten years have passed in the mortal world.” Godmother said. I goggled. “I’m twenty-four?” I asked, rather aghast. I didn’t think I looked twenty-four, but then, what did I have do measure against? Lara? Not likely. Godmother shook her head again. “No, you are not.” She said firmly. “You are, perhaps, eighteen? I am uncertain. Thus part of the problem,” she added, moving away to sit before her mirror, and beckoning me to sit beside her. “You are human, and spending all your time in this realm is not good for a growing human. Your body is younger than your mortal records say it should be, though your mind is as well-developed as I could make it, and your magic is truly impressive. When I took you from the White Court, I was afraid that you would be permanently damaged by the experience – Raith has done no better by you than he did by sweet Maggie, though you were able to escape him without him leaving his mark upon you.”

“But why do I have to get married?” I asked, a little petulantly, I’ll admit.

“The number of factions that would do anything to gain control over the witchling child of Margaret Le Fay,” Godmother said rather tartly, directing me to turn and beginning to comb out my head with her fingers, “is quite incalculable. If you go into the mortal world – and you must go into the mortal world – you need allies, protection. Vampires are out of the question: even if the Black Court weren’t so lessened of late, they are nothing but stupidity and destructive hunger; the Red Court are little better, and would quickly destroy you, unless you destroyed them first; and the White Court are – well.” Nothing more needed to be said there. “The White Council might take you as one of their own, but they are poor protectors, and I suspect you would find many of their policies objectionable to the point of being intolerable. The gallows god might accept you, but I doubt it, and once you were one of his you would be bound to him and his for all your long life.” She sighed, and started to brush my hair in long, gentle strokes. “There are other factions, and other reasons for rejecting those factions, but suffice to say that I have considered every possibility, and I believe I have found the best option.”

“And?”

“And, my child, your husband to be is a most interesting mortal…”

OP is fine with Harlene! And gleefully hoping for more! I hadn't even thought of timeslip-Faerie-weirdness, but it makes perfect sense. Are the little sprites going to follow Harriet out into the mortal world? How will they get on with the Outfit and the local Wyldfae? Does anyone get turned into a hound over the course of the story?

Interesting to see that this Harry has her own version of obliviousness...

I couldn't pass up the trouble that Marcone marrying a girl who looks all of 18 will cause for him! Harry will certainly be accompanied by her Guard, and will furthermore expand it later - the only question I'm wrestling with is, 'How does she get Bob?', because Harry without Bob is just unimaginable.

And of course! An un-oblivious Harry is hardly Harry at all!
[and I don't suppose you have any suggestions for the title?]

Bob. Hmm. Maybe Bob was wandering loose after Kemmler? And is seeking shelter from Mab and/or the White Council? Or whoever the hell else he has pissed off. Or Bob could be a wedding gift from Lea? Maybe she hides Bob from the wrath of Mab with the excuse that she was but providing an appropriate sex manual to the newlyweds? Or Bob made some sort of deal with one of John's underlings. And said underling gets into serious trouble (embezzling from the Outfit, maybe?) resulting in a desperate offer to trade Bob for their own life?

So is the charming emergence of Shadowman onto the Chicago criminal scene imminent? The timeline would seem right.

Don't have any title suggestions yet, sorry.

I'm screwing with canon somewhat, mostly just so I can have John much more knowledgeable about magic etc. much earlier - I'll explain in-story, but really it's just because I haven't read enough of the books to set it later. :(

Yay this is really interesting and I want more.

I still need a title. It's making me sad, and sad writers are unproductive writers (unless you want boatloads of angst).

As godmother explained it, my betrothed was a completely mortal man – not even a trace of magic – going by the (false) name of John Marcone. Apparently he was a ‘highly respectable businessman’, which, according to godmother, means ‘everyone knows he’s the head of organised crime but no one can prove it’. She sounded a little admiring when she said that. He had links of some sort to the White Council, as well as with Monoc Securities, Odin’s public face. Though I mistrusted the former, given how inept they were at protecting their own (and, conversely, how willing they were to execute people for trespassing against laws they had no reason to know existed); Godmother assured me that the gallows-god was a capable and reliable ally.

I had to admit, the ‘organised crime’ part bothered me. I mean, more than the situation in general. What if he decided to keep a mistress? What if he already had a mistress? Would he want me to curse his enemies for him? Mind-control people? Rain fire and death upon anyone who crossed him?

She read my face, and said soothingly, “Never fear, my sweet; I drew up the contract myself, and your White Court friend examined it – you will not be made to do anything against your nature. He will only be allowed to ask passive magics of you: warding, shielding, and the like.” Godmother waved a dismissive hand at ‘all that’, but I resolved to read over the contract. I probably wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of it, but at least if I ended up stuck in something I didn’t want to do, I wouldn’t be kicking myself for not even looking at the contract I’d signed. Which is better than nothing, right?

With the cat out of the bag, and my consent assumed, Godmother summoned her attendants (who had edged out at some point during the conversation) and proceeded to kick the preparations into high gear. Anyone would have thought I was marrying the Winter King, with the amount and degree of effort that went into every detail. It was explained to me, at some point amidst all the cleaning and cooking and fittings and fussing, that I was fortunate enough (ha!) to be having two weddings – one in my Godmother’s hall, under her auspices; and one in the city of Chicago, arranged by my husband-to-be (who, I was assured, would be settling the legal details of my existence. Money and amorality can open more doors than magic, at least in some places) and conducted before his own society, just as the first wedding would be watched by every vaguely important figure in the Winter Court (and quite possibly a few from Summer, depending on just how much Godmother wanted to gloat).

So there were measurements to be taken (for two sets of seamstresses), bouquets to be chosen (one of which categorically could not be formed from enchanted ice), menus and guest lists and seating arrangements to be planned... and I just sat in the middle of it all and wished I was somewhere else. Like the fifth circle of Hell, maybe.

I suspect that Godmother had been planning it all for even longer than I’d thought at the time, because from that day on, things moved very quickly indeed – even faster than the rush and bustle around me would account for. It could have been the incredible business of the following days, but I’d be willing to swear that it was not two weeks later that I was undergoing ritual preparation for the wedding that had so suddenly been sprung upon me.

I’d been on a special diet for the whole week – no meat, no wine, no bread or cake; just fresh fruit, vegetables, and water. I’d done more bathing than I’d thought quite possible (in, I might add, very cold water), until I was sure my skin would leave me looking like a shar pei forever. No one had been allowed to touch me for the whole week, either – not Godmother, not the servants, not even my sprites. It was a pretty weird feeling, given that I don’t think I’d so much as dressed myself single-handedly since the day I arrived at Godmother’s hall. It was only on the day of the wedding itself that I had attendants to help me into my dress, apply my makeup, and fix my hair; and all of them had needed to go through purification rites too. I practiced the words for the ceremony, over and over, until I was muttering them in my sleep; and Lara sent a package of information on the world I’d be moving into, which Godmother quizzed me on whenever she could spare a moment (which was more often than I’d have liked).

And then, quite suddenly, it was time. I was standing at one of the side doors to the chamber where I would be meeting my husband – the chamber where I would be marrying him. The ceremony itself would be carried out by the Allfather, a god whom I’d only met a few times at dinners, and came away with the impression of astonishing size and wisdom. Hardly surprising – if you sacrifice an eyeball for wisdom, I guess you’d want your money’s worth. Apart from him, my husband-to-be, and myself, the room would be empty. A ceremony like this, with lives being bound together (not nearly as closely as they could be, I knew, but still in a powerful way) and true names being spoken, would never be performed in front of guests. Not unless you actually wanted to lose all control over your will for the rest of eternity (which I obviously didn’t. I’d already tasted the life with no control, and it didn’t appeal – and wasn’t that a thought I’d rather leave well alone?).

Standing there, looking at the oak door, I felt all of my worries of the earlier weeks, the worries I’d been able to suppress in all the fuss, come rushing back at me all at once. What was I doing? I was standing about, waiting to marry a total stranger! A criminal stranger! An older, human, non-magical, criminal stranger! Godmother had met him, and spoke well of him, but what did that mean? Godmother spoke well of the Erlkönig! Sometimes, anyway.

I swayed, completely overcome at all the ways this could go horribly wrong, and there was a little hand at my elbow, steadying me. At my side, looking perfectly calm, was one of my Godmother’s attendants who’d been helping me with my dress. As I looked at her, she glanced my way, for just a second, and gave a tiny smile. That was all I needed. A brief moment of calm, of total confidence that this would work perfectly.

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and stepped forward as the door opened.

thanks for writing more, can't wait for Marcone's reaction to his bride.

I'm rather bad at titles, though Magical Merger might be a place to start?

What about To Have And To Hold? Or one of the other ceremonial phrases if that one doesn't fit your feeling for the fic. Or maybe something from the "Something Blue..." rhyme. Hell, there's that folklore poem about magpies even - there are a lot of variations, but at least one of them goes "five for a wedding..." (I'm almost sure it's five for the wedding and six for a death, but you may want to do your own research for that one, as I have a notoriously unreliable memory).

Perfect! Three of Magpies it is. And it gives me the opportunity to reference my favourite author.

Yay, I helped! *happy glow*

Would you be referring to Mr Pratchett, by any chance???

Eyup. *fandom brofist!* :D

*bunp!*

Oops. Fuck anonymity, apparently.

Lulz.

OP was gonna suggest some sort of variation of 'Married to the Mob', but thinks actual title is probably a lot better.

Lea sure seems to have been waiting eagerly for the opportunity to manage someone else's wedding.

I'm now wondering just what the definition of 'passive magics' truly is.

Can't wait for them to meet!

Trust me, whatever the definition of 'passive magics', Marcone will stretch it into taffy.

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Round Five by five, baby!

A Fill in Search of A Title, 1/?

Re: A Fill in Search of A Title, 1/?

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