#wizardbaron

EDIT: Adjustments here okay but i know i painted Storm Front Harry attractive and i’m standing by it because the text is literally on my side here

like let’s lay this out properly:

first of all: man is 6’9” with that whole “looming wizard in a trench coat” energy. that "not afraid to wear jewelry" energy. that alone is doing numbers

he gets his exercise going out on brooding walks → he's not jacked in Storm Front like he is in the most recent books but I like this young, 25-ish look for him

the narration downplays everything because it’s from harry’s POV and his self-image is… charitable to call it inaccurate

admittedly he needs to learn to shave consistently and comb his hair but nobody's perfect and the scruff works wonders for the female gaze

a little pale and sleepless but again that's its own kind of raccoon-in-trash-can charm

but more importantly: other characters tell us what’s actually going on right from the first book

Bianca St. Claire — a literal supernatural seductress who does not hand out compliments for free — calls him “pretty” in Storm Front

and this is before they’re enemies

she had absolutely no reason to gas him up

she simply looked at this man and went “yeah. pretty.”

multiple women across the series flirt with him, notice him, or react to him physically

and not just random civilians — we’re talking dangerous, confident, often supernatural women who are not easily impressed

and then there’s his vibe, which honestly might be the strongest evidence:

deep voice

dry, slightly unhinged humor

that whole “hasn’t slept, covered in bruises, will still put himself between you and something horrifying without hesitation” thing

like i’m sorry but that is not “unattractive man” coding. that is “tall, intense, kinda scrunkly feral, completely not intentionally compelling” coding

the only reason this is even a debate is because we are trapped inside harry’s brain while he’s like “i look terrible. I look like a scarecrow that lost a fight with a coat rack”

sir.

respectfully.

Despite his six-foot-nine and undeniable power, dealing with Dresden was sometimes like trying to manage a rebellious teenager: if John had asked him as a favor to keep breathing, Harry would have seriously considered asphyxiation for the sake of contradiction...

considering that peace talks/battle ground take place roughly fourteen years later, i wonder how much heavy lifting namshiel is doing in terms of just... age.

was he a good-looking fifty-something and is now pushing seventy? (...sixty-something pushing eighty?) was he a tired thirty something and is only in his fifties now? i can't imagine he'd be any younger

how different would he look if he'd never taken up the coin? did the battle of chicago hinge not just on him taking up the coin, but having done so years prior?

how much of an ask will it be, when harry, inevitably, tries to convince him to give up the coin? how big a price will come with being saved?

will there be that conversation, that 'so what if i damn myself to suffer? it is worth it to make a difference. what is my own self in comparison to everyone out there? i know it will hurt me. it isn't about me' or will the facts remain unspoken?

Blasted Sidhe (on AO3)

Dresden/Marcone sex-pollen-esque dubcon smut for your weekend reading pleasure 😁 Teaser below!

-

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.

Blasted Sidhe.

I felt the first subtle effects of the… narcotic, aphrodisiac, whatever the hell they’d decided to magically spice up their little shindig with, a few minutes after it began spreading through the cavern. It wasn’t obvious at first, just a light haze of faintly spicy-sweet, misty smoke. Or fog, maybe.

Either way, it wasn’t incense. And it spelled bad news.

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” I muttered to the sharply-dressed man beside me, stopping dead in my tracks.

‘Gentleman’ Johnny Marcone, wearing black slacks and a shimmering grey dress shirt, arched an eyebrow at me in response. I tried not to show any outward sign of the immediate, and way too powerful, flush of heat that rolled through me from head to toe when his eyes fixed on me.

Yeah. Definitely not incense. Definitely bad news.

“Leave?” Marcone said, his voice cool and mildly disapproving. “We’ve only just arrived. I was under the impression that the entire point of this little business outing was to mingle. Build contacts and goodwill with our allies.”

“Uh huh,” I grunted with a distracted nod, not really listening. I was too busy trying to chivvy Marcone back towards the exit that led out to the tunnels we’d come in through not twenty minutes before.

Marcone rolled his eyes and didn’t budge. “Get a hold of yourself, Dresden. We can hardly accomplish our goal if we turn around and leave immediately when faced with a mere touch of—” Marcone’s tone grew dry as he looked pointedly around the room at the throngs of Fair Folk enjoying themselves (and in some cases, each other ) around us— “debauchery.”