madimpossibledreamer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
madimpossibledreamer) wrote2021-01-07 11:18 am
madimpossibledreamer) wrote2021-01-07 11:18 am
Entry tags:
Miscalculation
(I was kind of looking for Dresden/Marcone fics, found the kinkmeme, and found an ace/grey-ace/demisexual prompt. This was the result. It also might be obvious that the fic search came after reading Even Hand, and I read it a couple more times after that to get the voice down.)
This first one is within canon (possibly), but it's just gonna diverge from there.
I was only kidding around when I called this the M is for Marcone series, but it kinda stuck in my head, so it’s a thing now.
Main Points:
Dresden Files AU, M is for Marcone Series
Chapter Summary: Marcone hadn't believed Dresden to be a wizard, but he's able to adapt his strategies to empirical evidence.
Word Count: 1024
Rating: Teen, preslash
Oh, I was aware of the supernatural. I had no reason to actually connect it to this scruffy man I had sitting next to me, however. I believed the rules to be similar to those in my business: those who actually possessed any power had no need to go announcing the depths of their power to every single person they saw. Surely an actual wizard would not have such a run-down office or apartment. A con-artist; that’s all I believed him to be. Good enough for the police to hire him, despite the tackiness of having a self-styled wizard as a consultant. And perhaps his early days working for Ragged Angel Investigations gave me the idea that the private detective wasn’t entirely the corrupt cliché I had expected, brought some approval for his actions, but even so.
Even so, I had expected him to be willing to bend the rules just a little. The state of his finances was such that I believed a man who would outright lie to the police would also be willing to turn a blind eye in exchange for ample compensation. I had hardly expected the soulgaze to work. I was assured that real wizards would avoid meeting eye contact, that forcing such a connection was the simplest way to tell the real from the fake. Perhaps the police were willing to give the benefit of the doubt. I was not. I had an internal affair to wrap up, and I was unwilling to cede the work to amateurs.
I failed to take into account the smart mouth of the man in question. I failed to take into account the contrary way the man exists to smash every preconception and category he could find (though to be fair I’d hardly had enough information to make that kind of determination yet).
As I sink into brown eyes, I find myself in what is, to put it simply, the sublime. Sheer power, the kind I had at my fingertips and yet could never hold in my hand, amplified a hundredfold. Mr. Dresden is less of a human being than a force of nature, according to his soul. One cannot leash him any more than one could put a leash around an inferno. It is an almost religious experience of a kind I haven’t had in many years, walking into a church and feeling humbled, dwarfed, yet somehow, dare I even say it for a man in my profession, blessed for the experience.
And yet—someone tried. Someone attempted to control him in the past, and his reaction was all too human. Burning rage, and guilt, the kind of guilt only a good person feels, in response to their own actions. The closest echo I’ve felt is from my Catholic upbringing, but then, it’s simple enough to conceal such emotions, if not ignore them. On occasion, smother them in their sleep. I am under no illusions that I am a monster. But—no. His reaction is more than guilt. There’s fear, fear of his own power, of what he could do.
Loyalty, the desire to do the right thing, a certain reckless disregard for his own life—though I had gathered as much from the particularly disrespectful manner he had spoken to me before.
I suppress the shiver before it even has a chance to begin and make a mental note that perhaps, next time, I should allow for a little more benefit of the doubt. I would not permit myself to make the same mistake again. I remind myself, too, that I am made of stone. Or rather, the appearance must be close enough that no one could tell the difference without breaking one of the Laws of Magic my already useful investment had informed me about.
Mr. Dresden is not quite so lucky. I do not know what he saw in my soul, but it is clear what he saw shook him, if the challenging glare he sends me is any indication. I might not know every detail of his past, but he is the type of person who reacts to fear with bluster and anger.
Fortunately, it also seems that he is quite unaware that this act was a miscalculation on my part. It is easier to control the situation when others believe you are in control, and never let it be said that I do not know how to land on my feet. The situation can still be salvaged, and if nothing else, I have the measure of the man. A useful piece of information for any negotiation.
Of course, my little glimpse had told me that Mr. Dresden would not take my money, not now, probably not ever, and yet I had to extend the offer. I make sure to emphasize that I am not giving him orders, that I am not attempting to control him, merely my own business, which should not be his business or that of the police, but it goes exactly the way I envision, with Mr. Dresden leaving the car, course entirely unchanged. Though—perhaps, no, not entirely, for there’s still the fact that he had not evaded the soulgaze, and yet still the results had somehow surprised him.
“Could deal with him,” Hendricks offers. He doesn’t sound excited by the prospect, but then, he doesn’t enjoy getting his hands dirty. Rather, it sounds like he is convinced Mr. Dresden will become a problem.
“Acting rashly will have him kill us both. It seems I have some planning to do, but that can wait. I would like to deal with this other matter first.” Of course, I have to balance risk and letting the wizard deal with the situation before me, but it’s hardly the first time I’ve had to take multiple factors into account when seeking an outcome.
This first one is within canon (possibly), but it's just gonna diverge from there.
I was only kidding around when I called this the M is for Marcone series, but it kinda stuck in my head, so it’s a thing now.
Main Points:
Dresden Files AU, M is for Marcone Series
Chapter Summary: Marcone hadn't believed Dresden to be a wizard, but he's able to adapt his strategies to empirical evidence.
Word Count: 1024
Rating: Teen, preslash
It is exceedingly rare for me to make a miscalculation. I have reason to be thankful for my iron will, clamping down firmly on the impulse to blink, to shift restlessly in my seat, and I have the feeling it will hardly be the last time this will occur associated with Harry Dresden.
Oh, I was aware of the supernatural. I had no reason to actually connect it to this scruffy man I had sitting next to me, however. I believed the rules to be similar to those in my business: those who actually possessed any power had no need to go announcing the depths of their power to every single person they saw. Surely an actual wizard would not have such a run-down office or apartment. A con-artist; that’s all I believed him to be. Good enough for the police to hire him, despite the tackiness of having a self-styled wizard as a consultant. And perhaps his early days working for Ragged Angel Investigations gave me the idea that the private detective wasn’t entirely the corrupt cliché I had expected, brought some approval for his actions, but even so.
Even so, I had expected him to be willing to bend the rules just a little. The state of his finances was such that I believed a man who would outright lie to the police would also be willing to turn a blind eye in exchange for ample compensation. I had hardly expected the soulgaze to work. I was assured that real wizards would avoid meeting eye contact, that forcing such a connection was the simplest way to tell the real from the fake. Perhaps the police were willing to give the benefit of the doubt. I was not. I had an internal affair to wrap up, and I was unwilling to cede the work to amateurs.
I failed to take into account the smart mouth of the man in question. I failed to take into account the contrary way the man exists to smash every preconception and category he could find (though to be fair I’d hardly had enough information to make that kind of determination yet).
As I sink into brown eyes, I find myself in what is, to put it simply, the sublime. Sheer power, the kind I had at my fingertips and yet could never hold in my hand, amplified a hundredfold. Mr. Dresden is less of a human being than a force of nature, according to his soul. One cannot leash him any more than one could put a leash around an inferno. It is an almost religious experience of a kind I haven’t had in many years, walking into a church and feeling humbled, dwarfed, yet somehow, dare I even say it for a man in my profession, blessed for the experience.
And yet—someone tried. Someone attempted to control him in the past, and his reaction was all too human. Burning rage, and guilt, the kind of guilt only a good person feels, in response to their own actions. The closest echo I’ve felt is from my Catholic upbringing, but then, it’s simple enough to conceal such emotions, if not ignore them. On occasion, smother them in their sleep. I am under no illusions that I am a monster. But—no. His reaction is more than guilt. There’s fear, fear of his own power, of what he could do.
Loyalty, the desire to do the right thing, a certain reckless disregard for his own life—though I had gathered as much from the particularly disrespectful manner he had spoken to me before.
I suppress the shiver before it even has a chance to begin and make a mental note that perhaps, next time, I should allow for a little more benefit of the doubt. I would not permit myself to make the same mistake again. I remind myself, too, that I am made of stone. Or rather, the appearance must be close enough that no one could tell the difference without breaking one of the Laws of Magic my already useful investment had informed me about.
Mr. Dresden is not quite so lucky. I do not know what he saw in my soul, but it is clear what he saw shook him, if the challenging glare he sends me is any indication. I might not know every detail of his past, but he is the type of person who reacts to fear with bluster and anger.
Fortunately, it also seems that he is quite unaware that this act was a miscalculation on my part. It is easier to control the situation when others believe you are in control, and never let it be said that I do not know how to land on my feet. The situation can still be salvaged, and if nothing else, I have the measure of the man. A useful piece of information for any negotiation.
Of course, my little glimpse had told me that Mr. Dresden would not take my money, not now, probably not ever, and yet I had to extend the offer. I make sure to emphasize that I am not giving him orders, that I am not attempting to control him, merely my own business, which should not be his business or that of the police, but it goes exactly the way I envision, with Mr. Dresden leaving the car, course entirely unchanged. Though—perhaps, no, not entirely, for there’s still the fact that he had not evaded the soulgaze, and yet still the results had somehow surprised him.
“Could deal with him,” Hendricks offers. He doesn’t sound excited by the prospect, but then, he doesn’t enjoy getting his hands dirty. Rather, it sounds like he is convinced Mr. Dresden will become a problem.
“Acting rashly will have him kill us both. It seems I have some planning to do, but that can wait. I would like to deal with this other matter first.” Of course, I have to balance risk and letting the wizard deal with the situation before me, but it’s hardly the first time I’ve had to take multiple factors into account when seeking an outcome.