Latest Posts by cyr-frey - Page 2

Who needs the stupidly intricate plan I put together for The Warlock when I could just forget about the plan entirely and have Morgan monologue about how much it blows to be a Warden for two pages 

Reblog and put in the tags: If you could pick a fictional character from absolutely any piece of media In Which They Do Not Say Fuck, and give them the ability to say fuck in canon, who would it be?

the point of this hellsite is not to get followers, it’s to make friends you would never have met otherwise and torture them with cursed memes and crack headcanons

writing is so fun

After way too long of working on it, I’ve finally finished the prologue to The Warlock round 2. 

Prologue - The Man in Black

‘The man in Black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.’ I read a book that began like that once. A few years ago. I remember very little of it, but I recall that line quite well. Why, I cannot say. But it comes to mind now, as I myself flee to the North. Although I cannot be sure yet whether I am being pursued or not. It is possible, and I hope it is not the case. If it is so I am almost certain it will spell my death. So long as I don’t freeze first, that is.

This night is bitterly cold and unwelcoming, I had expected nothing less. I despise the cold, though I have lived in it my entire life. I suppose I am used to it by now. My life has been quite long, by human standards.

Too long, according to some.

My trek will be lengthy and arduous, but it will be worth it at the end. Granted, I do not know when or where the end will be, but I expect I will know when I arrive. Unfortunately mundane transportation is too risky, and the Ways would be even worse. As much as some people claim to have good foresight, who or what you will run into on the train or in the Ways cannot be predicted. Any random person or creature could be my undoing, and I do not know everybody who may know me. My chances walking all the way to Canada through the cold, detest it as I may, are better than they would be should I get on a train or enter the Ways.

That is not a comforting thought, and perhaps I am not deserving of comfort. Only time will tell, I suppose.

Wind cuts through my layers, and for a moment I consider digging out the old, tattered grey fabric in my only bag - though I ultimately decide against it, that would be far too conspicuous. If my aim is to not draw unwanted attention, dressing up like a Warden is the exact wrong decision. While the cloak is more formidable than most other scraps of fabric, the warmth would not be worth the risk.

I tug the knapsack further onto my shoulder, hoping it isn’t going to be too conspicuous as well. To some, it likely would look like an ordinary, albeit very well worn backpack. However, those I am actively trying to avoid would likely recognise it for what it is. A pack from the Great War, stolen ages ago from a friend of mine who was unfortunate enough to fight in it. Despite the potential danger, it is a serviceable bag, and it holds a lot. Not to mention the certain… sentimental value, associated with my friend. It has been quite some time since I have seen him, and at this rate I doubt I will ever see him again.

As another gust of wind chills me to the bone I briefly consider making my way to one of my friend’s old safehouses. An advantage of knowing him well is that I know where most, if not all of his refuges are. There is one not too far, one I could probably make it to in the next few hours if I keep up my current speed, but that is also a serious risk. It is not certain that my friend wants to see me, and in fact I expect if I were to run into him there, he would greet me very violently. As much as I want to see him, and as much as I want to get out of the cold, it would be profoundly stupid of me to intrude in one of his safehouses knowing very well that he would likely be furious with me if he found me anywhere, let alone in a property of his that he did not invite me to.

Besides, he’s probably changed the locks on me by now. We did have quite the tiff last time I saw him.

After what feels like hours of trudging through snow that had gone from a minute amount to being shin-deep, I finally see a road ahead of me. No major highway, not overly busy - thank goodness - and not plowed. I could take my chances walking along the road for another few hours, but at this point I feel as though I am going to freeze to death if I do not find shelter soon. The road is not a well populated one, but the first time I see somebody driving in the direction I need to go, I hold my thumb out.

The car doesn’t stop. I suppose I cannot blame them, who in their right mind would want to pick up a mysterious man with a army knapsack and a hood covering his face, in the middle of the night on a mostly deserted road? They would either have to be the most good-natured person alive, or they would have to be just as insane as they’d assume I am. Which… Well, I am confident in my ability to defend myself should it come to that, but I sincerely hope it doesn’t. I am very exhausted, and I would like nothing more than to be able to sit down, out of the wind for just a few minutes.

Two more cars come by in my direction, and two more cars drive past me without stopping. I almost hope that I run across an insane driver, just so somebody will give me a ride. Besides, the likelihood of me being picked up out here by somebody or something that could actually do any damage to me is very low. Realistically, if I were picked up by a maniac, it would be far more likely that I would wind up being forced to kill them, at which point I would get a free car, and free whatever else they had in the car, and probably a free coat - although that would depend on their size. The trick to that would be leaving the car somewhere inconspicuous enough, and getting far away quickly enough that I would not be seen or suspected of any wrongdoing.

Hopefully it does not come to that. I am very tired, and I would very much just like to keep moving without also having to cover up a murder and a stolen vehicle as well. I already suspect magical authorities are looking for me, I do not want to also have mundane ones on my trail.

It feels like a long time until another car comes into my view - a beat up, gas guzzling truck that looks like it could really use a new coat of paint or three. It was probably no more than twenty or thirty minutes, but when one is walking in the cold by oneself, twenty or thirty minutes feels like an eternity and a half.

I again hold out my thumb, although I do not really expect this person to stop for me either. They would need balls of steel to take this risk. Preparing myself for disappointment for the fourth time, I hardly notice when the truck actually starts to slow down.

For a moment I do not register that it’s pulling up just ahead of me, or that the man inside leans across the seats and throws the passenger door open. I do not really register it until he calls out to me as I approach the truck.

“Y’look mighty cold, mister. Hop in, ‘fore there gets six inches’a snow on the seat.” His voice is deep, a little gravelly. I find it difficult to place the accent, but if I had to guess I would say the East coast, possibly New England. Which begs the question, what is this man doing in Northern Minesota? Travel is possible, but he has the aura of a man who has lived his entire life in his home town, never intending to leave.

“Thank you,” I say, hurrying up to the vehicle and climbing into the passenger’s seat. I pull the door shut and shiver. The inside of the truck is a very stark contrast to the chill of the snowstorm I had been stumbling about in. Looking out the window, I think it is a marvel that I did not freeze to death before I ever reached the road.

The man glances over at me. I glance over at him. He is rather stout, with a thick grey beard that looks to be made of wires, and presumably thinning grey hair beneath his baseball cap. I can see the hint of a tattoo on his jaw which seems to extend down his neck, but which is obscured by the collar of his coat. The truck smells heavily of cigarette smoke, leather, and coffee, which is exactly how it looks like it would smell. On the radio there plays soft music, so quiet that I can barley distinguish it. Whatever it is, it is not to my taste.

“Which way’re you headed?” The man asks.

“As far North as you can take me,” I reply.

“That’ll be a ways.” The man pretends to not notice me shiver again and turns the heat up. “You lookin’ t’ cross the border?”

I nod. I hope he doesn’t intend to ask too many questions about my journey. I have very few answers in general, and even fewer that I would actually like to give him. He may seem nice enough, but I have been alive long enough to suspect everybody. Perhaps I gained that quality from time spent around my friend, he has always been the paranoid sort, and this would certainly not be the only habit I have every picked up from him.

“I can’t take you that far, but I can get’ye pretty damn close.” He glances at me out of the corner of his eyes again. “What’s yer name?”

“Adam Barnett.”

“Interestin’ accent y’got there, Adam. Where’re’ye from?”

This man asks far too many questions. I have never liked people that ask so many questions.

“England.” Technically true. He does not need to hear my life story. “What’s your name?”

“Augustus Plinny. Gus’ll do fine, though.”

“Where do you come from, Augustus?” I have never cared for the American sort of nicknames.

“Vermont. Moved out here when I was uh.. Shit, must’a been no older’n fifteen.” Gus sighs. “S’pose I just wanted t’make my own way.” There is a wistfulness to his tone, one I think I may have had in my own voice many years ago. Back before I got myself into this mess.

“I can understand that.” Was the desire to forge my own path not what landed me in this situation in the first place?

The man - Augustus, nods solemnly. I suppose perhaps he’s also run face-first into trouble in his pursuit of… What was I pursuing? Power, probably. Freedom? I verily had freedom, it is my own fault that I’ve squandered it. I was looking for something so fervently that I could not see everything I already had.

He speaks up again after a minute or two of “Why’re’ye wearing that hood still, if’ye don’ mind my askin’?”

Like hell I’m telling this man the real reasons for concealing my face. Harmless as he may seem, it is impossible to tell from just looking at someone what they are capable of.

“My eyes are sensitive to the light.” Despite it is quite dark out, and the lights in the truck are dim at best, this is the best answer I am willing to give him.

“Fair ‘nough. Evr’ybody’s got s’mthing I s’pose.”

For a moment I wonder what his ‘something’ is, but I am not interested enough to ask.

He still decides to offer it up anyway.

“I get a wicked headache ‘f I try t’sleep in hotels. Couldn’t tell’ye why, just always been that way.”

“How bizarre,” I murmur.

“I s’pose I jus’ am not intended t’ sleep outside’a my home.”

“I suppose not,” I say with a slight sigh. Augustus evidently does not notice my vexation with his rambling. That, or he simply does not care.

I am thoroughly exhausted, between my escape and my companion’s unfortunate vivaciousness, I am prepared to fall asleep where I sit. I am not going to, but I wish I could. There is the matter of my safety, which is very much still at risk, hence why I cannot afford to let my guard down for even a moment. While I do not suspect that Augustus has any designs to harm me, I can not afford to be careless. For now I shall just have to be tired, and hope that he drops me off somewhere that has coffee.

“What’s ya’destination, Adam?” He asks me, after a few minutes of blissful silence.

“I already told you, I am going North.”

“North ain’t a destination.”

I am quiet for several moments. “Alaska.” It is not where I actually intend to go, but who knows. Fate might find it suitable to drop me there instead of Nunavut. I am prepared to go whichever way seems to be the safest, which is currently Nunavut, but that very well may change. After so many years in the White Council, so many years as a Warden, I am well accustomed to sudden change.

“Alaska,” Augustus repeats. “Quite a ways to be walkin’, or hitch hikin’.” His tone is not suspicious at all, but I had met people who had the ability to interrogate you as casually as they might comment on the weather.

“It’s cheaper,” I say. “And I enjoy travelling outdoors for the most part, anyway.” This is a lie, I hate travelling outdoors. I would greatly prefer to be in a private compartment on a train, with hot food and comfortable seats.

Augustus chuckles. “Tha’s plenty reasonable. Fresh air’s good for’ya lungs.”

I do not get the sense that this man is toying with me. He is a bizarre person, true, but his good nature does not strike me as false. Nobody can always tell when someone is playing a game with them, but usually my sense for these things is quite good. I can thank my mentor and my many years in the White Council for that. It is difficult to be someone of any import in the Council without some skill in politics and society.

“That it is.” Neutral responses have gotten me through a lot.

“Y’got family out there, Adam?” I don’t like how often he is saying my name. Well, the name I told him.

“A sister, and two nephews.” All of my siblings perished when I was a young boy. “It’s been some time since I’ve had the chance to go out and visit them.”

“Shame, that. How old’re y’nephews?”

“Lord, they must be… Well I think they’re seven and twelve now. I’ve not seen them since the youngest one was a toddler.”

“Well, I hope y’have a good visit with’em. Family’s important, y’know. Wicked important.”

“It is.” For the first time since I set out, I think of my own family. The family that actually exists. My father, a substantial number of wardens who I grew to consider Aunts and Uncles when I was a boy. It truly has been quite a long time since I saw them, and I miss them very dearly. Perhaps most of all I miss the man I called my husband, though his title was not recognised by the Council or the mundane government, but we wore rings and loved each other all the same.

It stings to know that it was my own fault that I lost him, but I suppose I must deal with the consequences of my own actions. Perhaps one day I will see him again, in this life or the next.

“Y’alright there, Adam?” Augustus glances at me briefly, before turning his attention back to the dark road ahead.

“Hm? Yes, perfectly fine. Only glad to see my family.”

Augustus nods silently in what I assume is understanding. I wonder what exactly he is doing out here at this hour, by himself. Perhaps he is on his way to see his family, or perhaps he too is running from something. If he is, he is doing it very casually.

The road continues to be devoid of other cars, which I am immensely grateful for. Traffic would only serve to worsen my nerves, which would likely lead to a headache, and that is the last thing I need at the moment. My headaches have gotten far worse in recent years. In my youth, they were easy to deal with. They were almost never bad enough to disrupt my day. But now, I get a headache and I am out of commission for the next twenty-four hours at least. I expect I know why they’ve worsened, but that does not make it any less nerve wracking or irritating.

“Have you got family?” I ask him, once the silence has stretched on for a little too long.

“I got a few folks back home. Been a long time since I saw them too.” He glances at me again. “D’ya mind if I have a smoke?”

I shake my head. He rolls down the window.

I am extremely glad that cigarette smoke smells different from regular smoke.

“Y’want one? I got plenty,” he holds the cigarette box out to me once he’s lit his own, and I am reminded of when my husband used to smoke. Only when he was stressed, though unfortunately that was quite frequent. He would offer me one, and sometimes I would accept, but it was never something I had much of a taste for.

Tonight, though, I could really use a cigarette. I take one from the box and pluck the lighter from where Augustus had dropped it in the otherwise empty cup holders.

It stings my throat, burns in my lungs, and I have never been so glad to have it. Tonight of all nights, I am happy to have so tangible a reminder of my husband, and of happier times. I am unlikely to ever be able to call him my husband again, and it is unlikely that I will ever find myself someplace where I will never have to run again.

For now, I will gladly and firmly cling to what small happy things I can.

The cigarette does not last nearly as long as I would like. Perhaps Augustus will drop me off close to somewhere that I can buy my own pack, I do not need a lighter.

It isn’t long after I finish my cigarette that Augustus pulls into a gas station, one of the few signs of civilisation we have seen on this road. We have already passed a few scattered houses, another gas station a ways back that had trash bags taped over the pumps and boards over the solitary window, and what looked to be a general store, closed for the night. I find it comforting how remote this area is.

“This’ll be far as I can take’ya, if ya’ want t’get Northwest,” Augustus says, pulling the key from the ignition and tucking his remaining cigarettes in his pocket. “Heading East mighty soon, but here’s the last stop before I turn.”

I nod. “Thank you for the ride,” I say. I never bothered with a seat belt, so I simply collect my bag from the floor by my feet and open the truck door.

“Best’a luck, Adam. Hope ya’ get to y’family safe’n sound.” He climbs out as well, pushing the driver’s door shut without locking it. I do not bother locking my side either.

As soon as I am back out in the frigid night, a gust of wind slams into me, cutting through my layers and chilling me to the bone. It is clear that hitch-hiking is no longer an option, I would likely freeze to death before getting picked up again. I pull my coat tighter around my shoulders and look around the mostly vacant parking lot. Augustus’ truck is one of two cars around, the other being left by the gas pumps, still idling and empty.

At a glance, the only two people I can see through the windows of the station itself are Augustus and the cashier. I hurry towards the other truck, lamenting to myself that I likely do not have time to get coffee and cigarettes here. With luck, there would be another stop before too long.

Inside, another man emerges from behind a shelf, striding towards the counter, presumably the owner of this other truck. I quicken my pace, and fortunately nobody seems to take notice of me as I reach the vehicle and climb inside. Luckily for me, the man had not only left it idling, but left the doors unlocked as well. I suppose it is not wholly foolish, it is the dead of night and he was the only person here until moments ago.

I toss my bag in the passengers seat and pull the door shut, the sound of which seems to alert the three men inside the station that something is happening outside. They squint for a moment, and as soon as I put my foot on the gas peddle, all three are running out the door, waving and shouting and cursing at me. While stealing a car was not my first choice, given how conspicuous it usually is, it is much better and safer than walking in a storm like this.

I flip my hood down and turn the heat up, the cold always aggravates my nerves. Out of the rear view mirror I can see all three men from the gas station standing in the parking lot, one is still waving his arms. I assume he is the owner of my new truck, but it is difficult to see now, they are so far behind me.

The truck is not unlike Augustus’, it too is old, tattered, and it reeks of cigarette smoke. However, unlike Augustus, the poor sod who owned this one left his smokes on the dash. They aren’t the sort I prefer, but they’ll do. I light one for myself and take one last look in the rear view mirror. The gas station is but a speck in the distance, and I drive a little faster in an effort to outpace whatever police officers wind up looking into this. I will need to get rid of this truck before I cross the border, but I have plenty of time to figure out a next step before then. I will likely have to cross the border on foot, and then find another car once I am in Canada. But that is something I will handle when I get to it.

The headache beginning to blossom in my temples is a far more immediate concern. That, and I could really use a cup of coffee.

Okay well this is shaping up to be considerably longer than the og version

Good news everybody now that all of my stupid exams are over I can focus all of my time and energy onto replanning and rewriting that 33 chapter fic I wrote 9 chapters of 2 years ago except this time with even more bastards in it 

YES. Please, more Morgan fic <3

I'm happy to oblige! :)

Good news everybody now that all of my stupid exams are over I can focus all of my time and energy onto replanning and rewriting that 33 chapter fic I wrote 9 chapters of 2 years ago except this time with even more bastards in it 

POV you are a 12 year old budding wizard being recruited into a secretive militaristic order by a bunch of people in funny clothes 

I'm kicking myself, because I forgot to note down the Turn Coat line that inspired this thought.

Harry is Morgan.

They're entirely the same.

Morgan was the Council's Enforcer, working for the Council that isn't about what's fair or right, it's about controlling power and stamping out Black Magic, bc that's the only line you can draw that won't make things worse. So he's serving and helping this supernatural nation filled with plenty of people who do awful things with their power and are not even remotely held to account for it. Except... He's not an attack dog. If he was then he would have straight up taken Dresden's head off in the first scene we meet him, if not sooner. It's a whole thing in Death Masks (and later in Changes) when we hear about how Ebenezer was supposed to kill Harry for any sign of darkness or disobedience, but even when teenage traumatised Harry acted out, Ebenezer didn't do that. It's a *huge* thing that Eb had orders from the Council to do that but didn't because of who Harry is to him. But... Those orders weren't special. Eb didn't have unique orders to do that, that was just The Doom of Damocles, and Eb was responsible for it. The same Doom that Harry's still under until the end of Storm Front, but Morgan has been the one responsible for the last 5-7 years.

Morgan.

Attack dog Morgan.

Who barely reacted when Dresden decked him.

Who, after Dresden knocked him out with a solid oak chair after being arrested, sought Harry out and walked into a burning building with a demon inside to rescue Harry, and then gave testimony to the Council that convinced them to lift the Doom.

First off, that rules the whole "attack dog" image out entirely, that's *far* too calm and thoughtful and understanding.

But the real point there is... Why do we think that's just Morgan being so Lawful Neutral that he cannot stand anything other than following the letter of the law and being totally honest? Bc that's how it's portrayed at the time, but compare it to the Council that we see in Summer Knight and Proven Guilty and Turn Coat (and remember that these books are *way* more accepting and tolerant, bc Summer Knight sees Simon Petrovich (Justin Du-fucking-Morne's master) replaced by Eb, and then LaFortier (who seems to be the most ruthless and unforgiving, based on how people talk about him) is gone in Turn Coat) ; can you imagine that Council *lifting* the Doom when they hear about Harry's actions in Storm Front?

Morgan is lying to them.

He's protecting Harry.

And where is Harry now?

Morgan was the Council's Enforcer, and now Harry is Mab's Enforcer. He's supporting this supernatural nation filled with plenty of people who do terrible things with their power, and aren't held to account for it. So he just draws the one line that he can.

And he becomes terrifying.

As readers we know that he's still a good guy, but look at how almost the entire world sees him... Harry has become a monster. He's terrifying, and powerful, and cold, and nobody can stand against him when he decides you've done wrong, and the fear of him keeps anyone even close to the line from risking anything that would put him on their back.

Isn't Harry just doing exactly what Morgan always did? Wasn't Morgan always just as moral and understanding as Harry, though they both covered it with intimidation?

Didn't Morgan react to the shooting in Dead Beat exactly the way Dresden did in Battle Ground?

Hot take: Morgan was right the whole time.

Journal gives us a very clear explanation for Morgan's general antagonism towards Harry, and recontextualises literally every interaction they ever have.

Storm Front, he's actually not at all unreasonable. He's very suspicious, but anyone would have good reason to suspect Harry, and seriously bad stuff is happening. And Harry takes the opportunity to attack him over an insult. And there's every chance that Morgan knows Nemesis is in play. Maybe he even knows something specific about the heart ripping spell, which turns out to have a Nemesis connection of some kind. And then... It works out so very perfectly for Harry. An encounter between a Nemesis pawn (we know for sure that the Gatekeeper recognises this at some point, so it's reasonable that Morgan does too, possibly even at the time) and Harry, who is a suspected Nemesis pawn, a very high stakes one, ends with the situation working out so perfectly that Morgan himself is obliged to vindicate Harry from all suspicion. Doesn't that just sound like a perfectly manipulated play? Doesn't that sound exactly what Nemesis does with Maeve subborning Lily? Nemesis sacrificing smaller pawns to give an important one credibility?

Then Morgan doesn't show up until Summer Knight. Harry just kicked off a war between the Courts and the Council. Oh hey, and his Godmother (who Morgan almost certainly knew about), who has actually always been trying to protect Harry, has traded away her leverage that would let her do so, to the ruler of the force that protects against the Outsiders. Harry's gone from being a festering question mark that might be a time bomb, to being a nuclear power plant that already exploded and is now slowly building towards utter, Armageddon class meltdown. Not only that, but one of the Senior Council is dead, Dresden's own grandmaster on the evil side, and Dresden's own grandfather is now taking his place, which he'd refused for years before, after a private conversation with Dresden, one of the few times the Blackstaff has even been out in the open for years. Oh, and then Dresden manages to immediately get the famously neutral Gatekeeper, the single most crucial figure in the fight at the Gates, the most important person to keep free of Nemesis, to back him up, at least in part. Morgan has *every* reason to be absolutely frothing at the mouth *insane* to take Dresden out of the picture at this point. He looks *exactly* like the worst case scenario Morgan has been fearing since Malcolm's death. And yet with all that, what does he do? He follows the Merlin's orders to goad Harry into giving him an excuse for execution (just goading, Morgan doesn't attack him). And when Harry tries to contact the Senior Council again, Morgan doesn't let him through. Morgan who clearly suspects Harry is spreading the Contagion, won't let him get more access to the Senior Council at a critical moment.

After that what is there? Their next two significant interactions are Morgan trying to kill him after he watched Harry murder the woman Morgan loved, his master, his commander, the woman in charge of leading the combat arm of the Council. *Nobody* can blame him for that reaction, even without the Nemesis context. And then at the end of the book, he leaves Harry as Warden commander of half a continent.

I really can't pick out a moment where, all things considered, Morgan acted unreasonably. Hell, aside from the Dead Beat incident where there was simply the sensible reaction to a situation that seemed crystal clear, he constantly shows tolerance and fairness and restraint with Harry.

But of course I didn't just say he was justified, I said Morgan was *right*. We see in Ghost Story how He Who Walks Behind gave Harry an antagonist to hate and fight and blow up a building to kill, setting him on a darker path, preparing for something. Who says He Who Walks Beside wasn't doing the same thing in Storm Front? And gosh, giving Harry credibility and heroism in the eyes of the Council do masterfully really *does* feel like a Nemesis plot going off flawlessly, doesn't it? Then Summer Knight, we know (assuming that Harry hasn't *actually* been infected this whole time) that he wasn't spreading the Contagion, but the way that Lea, who we know *was* infected, and possibly working up to depose Mab, puts Harry into her orbit is definitely out of character, and absolutely reeks of Nemesis influence. Indeed, considering the events of Cold Days, it's very possible that this whole episode was about forging Harry into a weapon to kill Mab at a critical moment. This is also around the time we assume Maeve to have been infected...

Aside from the Dead Beat incident, Morgan only really went at Harry hard in situations where I think he actually *was* being moved like a chess piece by the Adversary.

“You’re a person of many virtues. Patience, however, is not one of them.”

I said before a while ago that I hc Morgan is bisexual and it’s about time to elaborate cause I have some more Thoughts And Feelings about this 

He'd first realized when he was an Apprentice and he had something of a crush on one of the male wardens. Initially he dismissed it, assuming it was normal. He didn't tell anybody about it though, because despite he assumed it was normal, some part of him was worried that it wasn't.

He never had anything against gay people, he just didn't think of it as something that could be.. him.

The term bisexual wasn't even a thing when he was born, and when he was young it was strictly a medical term. He didn't learn about it as an identity until the LGBT movement came into existence. Until then he'd just thought of it as a fondness for both, and never cared to put any sort of name to it.

It's still not something he really talks about. It's a part of his personal life, which he generally prefers to keep as separate as possible from his work. Granted, that's very difficult sometimes because most of the people he considers friends also know him as a Warden.

He was never very involved with the LGBT community, he didn't care to get deeply involved. However he's never hesitated to get into a fight if someone was being homophobic to, or around him.

Another reason he prefers to keep that private is because of how traditional a number of the older Council members are. It's not out of fear, but rather he'd prefer they just know him as a Warden and respect his position. He's long since stopped being afraid of homophobia within the Council, now it's more of a nuisance that he doesn't want to deal with, if he can avoid it. Though if it finds its way to him, he feels obligated to handle it.

The Dresden Files Comic Icons

Count Down to The Dresden Files : 5 Days until Peace Talks

(Free to use/reblog/share)

Behold, my favourite post turncoat au in one picture

Donald "It's just a flesh wound" Morgan, ignoring 12 stab wounds:

Dresden-verse Week 3

Thomas Raith. White Court Vampire

“(Love) is deadly to (White Court Vampires). We can inspire lust, but that is just a shadow. An illusion. Love is a dangerous force.”

- from “Blood Rites’, book 6 of the Dresden Files.

Some Songs:

“Movement” by Hozier

“I Will Follow You Into the Dark” by Death Cab For Cutie

“Craving You (a Thomas Rhett Cover)” by Travis Atreo

“lovely (ft. Khalid)” by Billie Eilish

“Angel of Small Death and Codeine Scene” By Hozier

“Demons” by Imagine Dragons

“Tainted Love” by Soft Cell

“Club Thing” by Yoav

“Justine” by Tiny Victories

“Cryin’ Wolf (ft. Kendrick Lamar)” by ZZ Ward

“Need You Tonight” by INXS

“Show Me” by John Legend

“Work Song” by Hozier

You know...

So I work at a library and I'm listening to Summer Knight.

Can someone make an accurate movie or show of the Dresden files? I want to see action scenes done by a guy wearing sweat pants and cowboy boots. Also, wizard with gun.

This week’s Dresden Drop includes a brand-new Morgan POV microfiction, more fabulous RPG images to inspire you to enter the Fanart Contest (HEY, JOIN OUR FANART CONTEST!!!), a Grave Peril reread, and another sweepstakes for signed goodies!  Check it out!

Art: Mika Kuloda and Tyler Walpole

I’m looking back at this and laughing at my own bad jokes but the real funny thing is every time I’ve ever written about Justin DuMorne (homophobic x hates the irish) he’s been big gay so F for him I guess

I also wish there was an Evades Taxes x Fucks to Survive square because I think nothing would do Lara Raith more justice than that

This is all I wanted to do

There is something of a baby hierarchy in the Wardens

Morgan, at least when he was younger and more lighthearted and all, definitely leans on all of his friends shoulders just to flex that hes a literal giant.

This is all I wanted to do

If anyone has a blank copy of that alignment chart meme with feral and hates the Irish and all that on it thatd be amazing I need it for reasons and I am a fool and cannot find it