Categories > Books > Dresden Files
Harry's Doll
0 reviewsWritten as a fill for this request on the Dresden Files Kinkememe: Marcone/Dresden. After passing by a certain shop, Harry got the idea to make a small doll of Marcone. One he could just shak...
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It’s… well, it’s not quite a guilty pleasure, but it’s something close. It’s… hrm. I’d call it an indiscretion, maybe. Yeah, that sounds right. This was my little indiscretion. Nothing big, it’s such a tiny little thing, hardly even worth mentioning but for the fact that it exists. I promise! Don’t start looking at me like that. It’s just… well; everyone needs stress relief, right? This was mine. Don’t judge me. Hell’s Bells, really, it’s perfectly understandable that I have a John Marcone doll. Doesn’t everyone? Really.
I know you’re probably wondering if it’s a voodoo thing, but I swear it isn’t. Voodoo falls under the dominion of one of the Laws of Magic, and I’m not getting my head chopped off for nothing more than the visceral pleasure of stabbing a pin in Marcone’s ass. Yes, even if it would be really, really satisfying. No, the doll has no magical properties; as a matter of fact, I got it made for about fifty bucks in this little doll shop that opened on my street, stayed for a month, and then immediately left. I don’t know why. Might’ve been because of the pack of Dewdrop fairies that I know absolutely nothing about and have no connection to that wanted to remake that little fairytale about the elves and the shoemaker, but who knows, really? I mean, things like that couldn’t possibly be understood by some random Joe off the street like me. Ahem. Anyway.
I bought it because Marcone had really been pissing me off lately, always coming around with contracts and balanced lunches, always asking me for help with really inane little things that Gard could do in half a second, stuff like that. Plus, to top it all off, he’d blocked my poor Blue Beetle in the parking lot with his stupid SUV and refused to allow me to leave until I ate with him. I was pretty sure that by some fucked up Marcone logic I owed him for that meal, by the way. He’s almost as annoying about ‘gifts’ as a fairy. Still, what I was saying is, Marcone has been being a dick, and him being a Baron and all, I can’t take it out on the real him, so I bought the doll. See, doesn’t that seem more understandable now? Of course it does. I just wanted to explain all that before I talked about this next part.
Okay, so, Marcone had been out on a case with me. I know, that’s weird and all, but it was more for the Council than anything, since my new duties as Regional Commander sort of overlapped with his as Baron sometimes, so every now and then it just saved everyone a lot of time and hassles if we went to deal with something together. It was an easy case, all I had to do was dispatch a troll, but he’d actually obviously tried to extend the fight by pissing the damned thing off with a few gunshot wounds, and then after that he’d insisted on buying me dinner even though I smelled like nothing so much as smoke and cinders, so I was annoyed with him. I went home and tugged the doll from my drawer, and then I stared at it for a second. Stitched in green eyes stared back at me from above a dopy smile, and his little suit had a stain on it where I’d accidentally dropped some pizza sauce. The dopy grin on the doll’s face managed to piss me off even more at him. I shook the doll once or twice and relished in its cloth head flopping around.
I then proceeded to shake it at another angle, one that caused its floppy cloth head to smack into the table. Entirely an accident of design, mind, because it really was much easier for me to shake the doll up and down rather than back and forth.
“Stupid, stupid Marcone and your stupid face and your stupid smile and your stupid eyes and your stupid car and your stupid money and your stupid stupid bastard scumbag stupid bastard self!” I mumbled that, and variations of that, multiple times as I beat up my Marcone doll. It’s not embarrassing when you’re in your house by yourself, by the way, so, you know; feel free to talk to some dolls if you want because it’s totally normal. I promise. Shut up. Now, this all probably doesn’t confuse you, and it shouldn’t. Really, me having a Marcone doll that I periodically assault is one of the more normal things I’ve done. The part I feel the need to explain is coming up.
Okay, so, you know I beat it up, and you know I talked to it. After that, though, I was calming down, and so I looked at it again for a little while. The stitched green eyes looked kind of sad. The dopy smile looked kind of cute. I punched it one more time to see if that would fix it. It didn’t. It still looked really cute. So I held it away from myself a little to see if that would fix it. It didn’t. It was just… cute. Cute with its pizza stain, cute with its smile, cute with its eyes, cute with its currently scruffy salt and pepper hair. I couldn’t help myself. I hugged it. I just… I gathered it up in my arms and I squeezed and I wasn’t trying to choke it to death. I was just hugging it. I held it at a distance again and it still looked adorable and I giggled like a child on Christmas morning, like a pirate coming across a treasure trove.
That, obviously, was when Thomas barged in with Marcone right on his heels (since when did either of them think that they were perfectly welcome to come in without knocking, by the way?) and he was screaming his head off about something that might’ve had something to do with stalkers and possible rapes and I wondered if he’d found a black car tailing him like I had time and again. The yelling stopped pretty quickly when he saw what was in my hand. I blinked owlishly, and yeah, I hid it behind my back. I might actually be a five year old, but I’m not sure, honestly. Really it’s entirely up for debate. Cough cough.
“Um? It is not at all what it looks like, I promise.” Their faces were priceless, Marcone’s especially.
“Harry. Why the fuck… you have a Marcone doll. Empty Night, Harry, how could this be anything other than what it looks like?” I blinked again.
“Well, see, I keep it for when he pisses me off so I can beat it up.”
“You were hugging it.”
“It looked sad?” They both stared at me. Marcone still had that priceless, wide-eyed look on his face. Thomas came over and shook me.
“This. Is. Not. Helping. My. Case. Damn. It,” he said, punctuating every word with a shake. I clutched at the little dolly harder so I wouldn’t drop it. Marcone came closer to us and finally he got the dumb look off of his face. It was at that moment that he, being inhumanly fast because he’s such a bastard, reached behind me and snatched the doll. Finally it was my turn to stare like a dumbass. Marcone had the neck of the doll’s suit pinched between two fingers, its face held level with his, and he was almost glaring at it, kind of. Thomas finally stopped shaking me, which, yes, he had been doing that entire time, and instead turned to look at Marcone. “It looks exactly like you, asshole. I know you’re ugly but you shouldn’t be so upset at that doll for proving it,” he hissed. I sighed. Marcone glared.
“It’s not ugly. It’s cute. Harry, is this… thing, really all that much better than me?” he asked, lifted his chin angrily, and oh my god was he… was he jealous? Of my Marcone dolly? Really? Huh. I cocked my head delicately and shrugged.
“Well, it doesn’t talk, and it lets me beat it up when you piss me off, so yeah, kind of.” Marcone bared his teeth for a split second before he tossed the doll across the room, elbowed Thomas out of the way, and came to stand beside me. He then proceeded to pick up my arms and wrap them around his shoulders, pull himself tight against me. He looked up at me silently; eyes brilliantly green as always, and stayed there.
“Isn’t that nicer?” he asked, his own arms slipping around my waist, and we just stood there hugging. “I can’t say I’d particularly like you to hit me, but if you’re upset enough with me to do so, well, I’d rather it be me than a damn doll.” And wasn’t this the most ridiculous, madcap, insane thing ever? I mean, really. It was just weird. Johnny Marcone caught me with my Johnny Marcone dolly and now he wanted to replace said dolly. Thomas’ mouth was opening and closing like he really wanted to say something but just couldn’t come up with the words. I’d have mentioned flies if I had any flies in my apartment.
“Uh? I. This is. There really isn’t anything to say to this,” I said, but hey, I wasn’t moving. As a matter of fact, the more I looked at Marcone’s face, set seriously with those money eyes just the slightest bit narrowed, he kind of was pretty cute too, like the doll had been when I’d squeezed it. Oh, Hell’s Bells. My arms tightened of their own accord and Marcone looked idiotically pleased with himself all of a sudden. His arms tightened to and he sort of swung me around a little. Stupid Marcone and his stupid muscles and his stupid eyes and his stupid… his stupid… why am I trying anymore? No, I’m seriously asking. Someone please tell me why I’m still trying. Marcone’s hands slid down from my waist to the small of my back.
“Goodbye, Mr. Raith,” he said, and Thomas was yelling again but Marcone walked us backwards, forcing him back too until he’d been forced right out the door and said door shut tightly. I could still kind of hear him yelling out there. “Now, Mr. Dresden,” he began, and those eyes went even more narrow. There was a smile on his face now, though, and it was really close to the doll’s. I don’t think that doll ever looked so… predatory, though. His hands slid down farther to cup my ass and I gasped. “Why don’t I show you another way in which I’m better than some silly doll?” Oh, Stars and Stones, what had I done? Stupid Marcone and stupid me and stupid doll and actually, I’m just going to say stupid doll shop because all of this is its stupid fault and oh, well then, apparently stupid Marcone knew how to kiss. Who’d have guessed it? Maybe he isn’t so stupid after all.
I know you’re probably wondering if it’s a voodoo thing, but I swear it isn’t. Voodoo falls under the dominion of one of the Laws of Magic, and I’m not getting my head chopped off for nothing more than the visceral pleasure of stabbing a pin in Marcone’s ass. Yes, even if it would be really, really satisfying. No, the doll has no magical properties; as a matter of fact, I got it made for about fifty bucks in this little doll shop that opened on my street, stayed for a month, and then immediately left. I don’t know why. Might’ve been because of the pack of Dewdrop fairies that I know absolutely nothing about and have no connection to that wanted to remake that little fairytale about the elves and the shoemaker, but who knows, really? I mean, things like that couldn’t possibly be understood by some random Joe off the street like me. Ahem. Anyway.
I bought it because Marcone had really been pissing me off lately, always coming around with contracts and balanced lunches, always asking me for help with really inane little things that Gard could do in half a second, stuff like that. Plus, to top it all off, he’d blocked my poor Blue Beetle in the parking lot with his stupid SUV and refused to allow me to leave until I ate with him. I was pretty sure that by some fucked up Marcone logic I owed him for that meal, by the way. He’s almost as annoying about ‘gifts’ as a fairy. Still, what I was saying is, Marcone has been being a dick, and him being a Baron and all, I can’t take it out on the real him, so I bought the doll. See, doesn’t that seem more understandable now? Of course it does. I just wanted to explain all that before I talked about this next part.
Okay, so, Marcone had been out on a case with me. I know, that’s weird and all, but it was more for the Council than anything, since my new duties as Regional Commander sort of overlapped with his as Baron sometimes, so every now and then it just saved everyone a lot of time and hassles if we went to deal with something together. It was an easy case, all I had to do was dispatch a troll, but he’d actually obviously tried to extend the fight by pissing the damned thing off with a few gunshot wounds, and then after that he’d insisted on buying me dinner even though I smelled like nothing so much as smoke and cinders, so I was annoyed with him. I went home and tugged the doll from my drawer, and then I stared at it for a second. Stitched in green eyes stared back at me from above a dopy smile, and his little suit had a stain on it where I’d accidentally dropped some pizza sauce. The dopy grin on the doll’s face managed to piss me off even more at him. I shook the doll once or twice and relished in its cloth head flopping around.
I then proceeded to shake it at another angle, one that caused its floppy cloth head to smack into the table. Entirely an accident of design, mind, because it really was much easier for me to shake the doll up and down rather than back and forth.
“Stupid, stupid Marcone and your stupid face and your stupid smile and your stupid eyes and your stupid car and your stupid money and your stupid stupid bastard scumbag stupid bastard self!” I mumbled that, and variations of that, multiple times as I beat up my Marcone doll. It’s not embarrassing when you’re in your house by yourself, by the way, so, you know; feel free to talk to some dolls if you want because it’s totally normal. I promise. Shut up. Now, this all probably doesn’t confuse you, and it shouldn’t. Really, me having a Marcone doll that I periodically assault is one of the more normal things I’ve done. The part I feel the need to explain is coming up.
Okay, so, you know I beat it up, and you know I talked to it. After that, though, I was calming down, and so I looked at it again for a little while. The stitched green eyes looked kind of sad. The dopy smile looked kind of cute. I punched it one more time to see if that would fix it. It didn’t. It still looked really cute. So I held it away from myself a little to see if that would fix it. It didn’t. It was just… cute. Cute with its pizza stain, cute with its smile, cute with its eyes, cute with its currently scruffy salt and pepper hair. I couldn’t help myself. I hugged it. I just… I gathered it up in my arms and I squeezed and I wasn’t trying to choke it to death. I was just hugging it. I held it at a distance again and it still looked adorable and I giggled like a child on Christmas morning, like a pirate coming across a treasure trove.
That, obviously, was when Thomas barged in with Marcone right on his heels (since when did either of them think that they were perfectly welcome to come in without knocking, by the way?) and he was screaming his head off about something that might’ve had something to do with stalkers and possible rapes and I wondered if he’d found a black car tailing him like I had time and again. The yelling stopped pretty quickly when he saw what was in my hand. I blinked owlishly, and yeah, I hid it behind my back. I might actually be a five year old, but I’m not sure, honestly. Really it’s entirely up for debate. Cough cough.
“Um? It is not at all what it looks like, I promise.” Their faces were priceless, Marcone’s especially.
“Harry. Why the fuck… you have a Marcone doll. Empty Night, Harry, how could this be anything other than what it looks like?” I blinked again.
“Well, see, I keep it for when he pisses me off so I can beat it up.”
“You were hugging it.”
“It looked sad?” They both stared at me. Marcone still had that priceless, wide-eyed look on his face. Thomas came over and shook me.
“This. Is. Not. Helping. My. Case. Damn. It,” he said, punctuating every word with a shake. I clutched at the little dolly harder so I wouldn’t drop it. Marcone came closer to us and finally he got the dumb look off of his face. It was at that moment that he, being inhumanly fast because he’s such a bastard, reached behind me and snatched the doll. Finally it was my turn to stare like a dumbass. Marcone had the neck of the doll’s suit pinched between two fingers, its face held level with his, and he was almost glaring at it, kind of. Thomas finally stopped shaking me, which, yes, he had been doing that entire time, and instead turned to look at Marcone. “It looks exactly like you, asshole. I know you’re ugly but you shouldn’t be so upset at that doll for proving it,” he hissed. I sighed. Marcone glared.
“It’s not ugly. It’s cute. Harry, is this… thing, really all that much better than me?” he asked, lifted his chin angrily, and oh my god was he… was he jealous? Of my Marcone dolly? Really? Huh. I cocked my head delicately and shrugged.
“Well, it doesn’t talk, and it lets me beat it up when you piss me off, so yeah, kind of.” Marcone bared his teeth for a split second before he tossed the doll across the room, elbowed Thomas out of the way, and came to stand beside me. He then proceeded to pick up my arms and wrap them around his shoulders, pull himself tight against me. He looked up at me silently; eyes brilliantly green as always, and stayed there.
“Isn’t that nicer?” he asked, his own arms slipping around my waist, and we just stood there hugging. “I can’t say I’d particularly like you to hit me, but if you’re upset enough with me to do so, well, I’d rather it be me than a damn doll.” And wasn’t this the most ridiculous, madcap, insane thing ever? I mean, really. It was just weird. Johnny Marcone caught me with my Johnny Marcone dolly and now he wanted to replace said dolly. Thomas’ mouth was opening and closing like he really wanted to say something but just couldn’t come up with the words. I’d have mentioned flies if I had any flies in my apartment.
“Uh? I. This is. There really isn’t anything to say to this,” I said, but hey, I wasn’t moving. As a matter of fact, the more I looked at Marcone’s face, set seriously with those money eyes just the slightest bit narrowed, he kind of was pretty cute too, like the doll had been when I’d squeezed it. Oh, Hell’s Bells. My arms tightened of their own accord and Marcone looked idiotically pleased with himself all of a sudden. His arms tightened to and he sort of swung me around a little. Stupid Marcone and his stupid muscles and his stupid eyes and his stupid… his stupid… why am I trying anymore? No, I’m seriously asking. Someone please tell me why I’m still trying. Marcone’s hands slid down from my waist to the small of my back.
“Goodbye, Mr. Raith,” he said, and Thomas was yelling again but Marcone walked us backwards, forcing him back too until he’d been forced right out the door and said door shut tightly. I could still kind of hear him yelling out there. “Now, Mr. Dresden,” he began, and those eyes went even more narrow. There was a smile on his face now, though, and it was really close to the doll’s. I don’t think that doll ever looked so… predatory, though. His hands slid down farther to cup my ass and I gasped. “Why don’t I show you another way in which I’m better than some silly doll?” Oh, Stars and Stones, what had I done? Stupid Marcone and stupid me and stupid doll and actually, I’m just going to say stupid doll shop because all of this is its stupid fault and oh, well then, apparently stupid Marcone knew how to kiss. Who’d have guessed it? Maybe he isn’t so stupid after all.
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