Turning of the year, a minor victory, and a Dresden/Marcone drabble

[grenegome]

I am a little late in bidding farewell to 2010 and hello to 2011, but if we begin years as we mean to go on, then late and disorganised is probably a fairly accurate start to 2011. 2010 was pretty good to me. I did fairly well at work, I’ve fallen in with a group of people whose company I find a hilarious joy, and I’ve enjoyed being myself with enthusiasm. Here’s to continuing in that vein.

In the fannish arena, I got a hell of a lot more active. At the start of 2010, I tripped over the Mentalist kink meme, worked up the nerve to post, and then discovered prompts were awesome. I picked up the Dresden Files, devoured the books, fell for Dresden/Marcone, devoured the fic, and then had fun writing my own. I learned to beta, and might be having a little bit too much fun doing so.

My minor victory for 2011 is that today I just finished the (very very rough) first draft of a Harry/Marcone genderswap fic whose tentative title is Don’t Blink, You Might Miss (I hate choosing titles so much). It currently clocks in at around 49000 words, which once upon a time might have brought me out in a panicky fit of what are you doing?! But now I just take a peek at lucia_tanaka 's word count and it seems a lot more manageable :-D DBYMM still needs a lot of work doing before it gets anywhere near a beta.


To make these musings post-worthy, here’s a Dresden/Marcone established-relationship drabble written while I was voice finding for their particular brand of contentious domesticity. Set up is that Harry is temporarily staying at Marcone’s and for reasons that don’t need exploring at this juncture, he’s brought Mister and Mouse:




A familiar weight hit the bed by my feet and I grinned at the fact Mister was making himself at home already. I lost the smile almost immediately as Marcone rolled away from me in the darkness. “No!” I yelled, hopefully before he could get his hands on something lethal. “Cat, moron! Not a hit-squad.”

There was silence then in the bedroom, everything still apart from Mister, who was kneading at the blankets by my feet. I reflected that a sane person probably wouldn’t be comfortable lying in the dark, knowing John Marcone was somewhere, unseen. Probably holding a knife.

After a moment or two in which my cat continued to not menace the life of anyone trying to sleep in his bed, John broke the silence. “Mister?” he said calmly. “I’d appreciate some warning in future. Perhaps a meow or two.”

“You can’t negotiate with a cat, John. They pretty much do what they like.”

“Perhaps if I approach him through an intermediary? The dog takes bribes, doesn’t he?”

“Get back into bed you freak.”