#okay gonna crosspost a bunch of my stuff from ao3 all at once BUT it's 1am so hopefully no one's up <3 i just need to for my adhd

[pricemarshfield]

the killing kind

A post-canon Drarry fic. Read on AO3 here.

Harry would like one day away from the press, from being the Boy who Lived, to just be Harry. Polyjuice would work, but it's disgusting and difficult and also possibly illegal, but wizards are bad at recognizing anything non-magical, so this might work.

At least, that was his reasoning for walking into Diagon Alley with a Muggle stage prosthetic that makes his chin look completely different, a fake mustache, and his hair enchanted to be long enough to finally, finally cover his scar. He's sure that last one will wear off in an hour, but that should be enough to get an ice cream at Fortescue's and sit outside and eat it without being swarmed.

You'd think, years after Tom Riddle's death, that they'd stop caring about him. But no, they need to report every little thing he does. Harry Potter rushed through Auror training. Harry Potter quits Ministry work, possible run for Minister? Professor McGonagall had tried her best to keep his professorship at Hogwarts under lock and key, but after his first day, the papers had a tell-all. He's not sure which student it was, but they're children. He can't blame them.

The first Prophet reporter he sees, a woman with shockingly long hair he recognizes as taking photos outside a restaurant near the Burrow (preceding an article about his break-up with Ginny that made it seem like something tragic and not like school sweethearts amicably parting weeks before the photo was taken), doesn't give him a second glance. He has to force himself to walk normally past her and not rush.

It's the one thing Auror training actually taught him. People won't pay attention to you if you act like everything's fine. One art thief he'd caught in the three weeks he'd actually worked at the Ministry had just walked into places and taken paintings, not bothering to sneak or disguise himself whatsoever. They'd assumed he must have been there. Harry had felt bad taking him in, actually; he was taking better care of the paintings than the rich assholes he was taking them from.

"Was going to take one from the Malfoys next," the guy'd said. "I know apparently the wife and the kid aren't actually, you know, Death Eaters, but they sure don't need all that art, don't they?"

"Don't suppose you'd let me catch you right after you stash that one somewhere," Harry'd joked.

"Nope. Sorry, mate," he'd said, and sounded so much like Ron that Harry made idle conversation about how Animagi tended to find it pretty easy to escape from wizarding jails, and how Azkaban was much more--ethical, now that the Dementors were gone and Hermione had aggressively campaigned for prisoners' rights. (With Harry's quiet support and financial backing, remembering how haunted Sirius had looked.)

Anyway. He's getting lost in his thoughts again. It does mean he doesn't notice if there's any other reporters on the path to Fortescue's. It also means he doesn't process the words on the sign in front of him for long enough that he's getting a couple weird looks.

Aguefort's Chronomantics Romantic Novels

Books to Transport You Through Time, Space, and Dimensions!

Harry blinks at it, looks around. This is the corner where Fortescue's was--and he briefly considers hexing himself when he remembers that Florean was one of the people who disappeared, back in the war, who never came back after. Sure enough, there's a little in memorial metal plaque on the front door of the bookshop.

He swears under his breath. He should have remembered this. But no, he's stuck.

There's probably some other shop he can grab something at, right? Other than what looks like overpriced romances? There's a few sit-down restaurants, but he needs to be in and out in forty minutes, max.

He wanders aimlessly down the streets, hoping to catch a whiff of something. Churros, tacos, some sort of street cart or something. Diagon Alley's not really that type of place, but he hasn't been here in a year and a half, so maybe someone's pushing convention.

There doesn't end up being any cheap little shops on the side of the road, but fifteen minutes later, he does see a place that sells chips and has outdoor seating, and that'll have to do. When he walks in, the place is packed, but the line's moving quickly enough that he should still be fine, if he eats quickly. Worse comes to worse, he can just Apparate away when his hair starts to act up.

He gets through the line, pays, gets his chips, adds some more salt to it, and sits outside in under six minutes. (He counts. Also, he has a watch that he remembers to look at three minutes in.) Outdoor seating's a little cramped, and he can feel himself tense, shoulders higher than they should be. He lets himself sit with his back to the wall, eyes on everyone, ignoring the reminder for CONSTANT VIGILANCE in his head from old Mad-Eye, and begins to eat.

Now that he's got some food in him and he knows...well. He's pretty sure that no one's watching him from behind, he's able to look around and appreciate his surroundings, being in the world without being stared at. It's then that he realizes a few things:

1. Most of the people here have notepads next to them, quills writing notes on their own.

2. The building across the street has a sign in looping, dramatic script that reads Daily Prophet.

3. Draco fucking Malfoy is at the table next to him, and

4. He's looking right at Harry.

Harry tries to express please, for the love of God, don't make a scene with his face. Malfoy doesn't seem to pick up on it from the way he leans forward, drawing the eyes of someone nearby. Harry casts a quick Muffliato around the pair.

"Potter," Malfoy says.

"I'm just trying to grab a bite," Harry pleads.

"What, you think they wouldn't serve you if you showed up?" Malfoy asks, arching a brow at him like he's said something oh-so-intelligent. Harry wonders if cursing him is worth the attention. But Malfoy being annoying isn't enough to get him on the front page of the Prophet, probably, and Harry didn't speak at his trial for nothing.

"No," Harry says. "But sometimes someone might like to eat without everyone staring at them, yeah?"

Malfoy narrows his eyes at him. "I can understand that."

That was more than Harry'd expected. His shoulders drop a little. "Good. I'll be out of here in just a few minutes anyway." He looks back down at his chips.

"Why?" Malfoy asks.

Harry looks up at him. He hadn't exactly anticipated a conversation with Malfoy. With a glance at the Prophet next door, Harry says, "Hungry."

"I didn't mean why here, Potter, have you really not gotten any smarter since we were at school?"

"Have you really not changed since Hogwarts either?" Harry snaps, knows it's a low blow right after it's left his mouth. Malfoy's face blanches, and he turns back to his book with a pinched expression that Harry doesn't feel guilty about. Decidedly not guilty. Not even a little. His hero complex has gotten better, and he can tell Hermione that later.

One minute and fifteen seconds later, Harry caves and hands Malfoy a chip. He has to lean way too far, two of his chair legs leaving the ground, but the scrape of that means at least Malfoy glances up and he doesn't have to say anything to get his attention. Malfoy takes the chip with an expression of distaste. He doesn't seem to have any food.

"Did you come here for food and get turned away?" Harry asks, connecting a couple things in his head like those mystery boards Ron still uses at work.

Malfoy glares at him. "No, I'm sitting here because I'm fond of being by a bunch of reporters."

"You could leave," Harry says. "It doesn't look like you're chained here."

"That would be conceding, Potter," Malfoy says primly. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Alright," Harry says. "Look, I just wanted some food, the charm on my hair's wearing off soon, and I didn't mean to rub it in your face." After an awkward pause, he adds, "Also, wizards don't notice anything with Muggle prosthetics, so. You could try that."

"Is that why your chin looks like that?" Malfoy asks, horrified. "It's horrific, Potter, you're better off just taking off those glasses rather than completely destroy your appearance."

"It's temporary," Harry says, ignoring the little thrill up his spine when Malfoy almost-implies something nice about how he looks. "And I'm trying not to get looked at, git."

Malfoy gives Harry a quick up-and-down look then flicks his wand. Harry braces himself, but instead feels his hair cool a little, like a more pleasant disillusionment charm. When he glances at the shop's window, he can see it's fallen even further flat.

"Thanks," Harry says. Malfoy nods at him. "Sorry."

"What are you talking about?"

"That that happened," Harry says. "The shop thing, not the--not the hair thing."

The corner of Malfoy's mouth quirks up. "I'm used to it."

Not for the first time, Harry's struck with a quiet sense of injustice that he doesn't really know what to do with. In school, it was simple: pass his classes, defeat Riddle, and try to win the House Cup. But there's things he can't tackle quite as easily, or at least the path towards them are less clear. The right of blood over anything else in wizarding families, the existence of house elves, the way people are judged years later for what they did as a child in war.

Harry's under no illusions about Malfoy being a good person; he was still a bigoted little git in school. But he also knows he's made an attempt to do better, to be better.

"If you want," Harry says, wincing at how awkward and halting his voice sounds. "Next time the Prophet corners me, I can say something nice about you. Might change things."

"Why?" Malfoy says,  brow furrowed, the picture of distrust.

Harry shrugs. "Dunno. Seems unfair."

"You really do have a hero complex," Malfoy says despairingly. "I thought it was just a pathological need for attention, but no, you really do have to step into situations that don't need you if you have even the slightest inkling someone might be a bit upset."

"I don't have to," Harry says, rolling his eyes. "It was an offer. You know, something people do when they're trying to be nice?"

"Gryffindors," Malfoy sighs. "This is why you lot end up being Chosen Ones."

Harry wants to yell at him or just throw a hex, reporters be damned, but Malfoy's smiling slightly, and his tone was almost joking, maybe.

"At least we didn't have to live in a dungeon," Harry says, and meets Malfoy's gaze with a slight smile back.

[cicadahaze]

Here’s my entry to the @pnatsecretsanta for 2020! @quarktrinity, I hope you enjoy! It’ll be crossposted to ao3, link will be in a reblog. Thank you for your patience!

Isabel: hey so

Isabel: when are u going to get here

Max: wat?

Max: its xmas ev

Isabel: you really need to get a new phone

Isabel: and remember? youre supposed to come to my place tonight, wait it out

Isabel: max?

Isabel: if you were spacing out again im going to kill you

Isabel: you WERE doing the face again now that i think about it

Max: u guys ned 2 mak imprtnt info cler. Y i spcd

Isabel: you need to listen! this time mr spender remembered to tell u and everything. youre not allowed to be mad at us this time

Isabel: in short, get ur butt over here before midnight. sneak out if u need to, thats what isaac does

Isabel: in long, if u dont santas gonna kill u

----

“Let me get this straight.” 11:30 P.M. December 24th, 20XX. Max sat in Ed’s room on a chair hastily drawn up, with a jacket pulled hastily over his pajamas and hat still jammed on his head, massaging his temples. “Santa’s real, he’s a spirit, and he hates all spectrals and is coming to kill us?”

“That’s a bit of an oversimplification, but yeah,” Isaac said, and Max shot him a glare. He could hear that smugness. “So like, there’s a lot of spirits that kinda grow from ideas humans have, right? I don’t know what’s up with Scrapdragon, but like, Muse came from the ideas around ancient Greek muses, like his name. They can be really off base but still have the same ideas- like Lucifer, Mr. Spender’s spirit, is just some lightbulb guy, but Lucifer does mean light and stuff, so they can just be along those lines. But like, a LOT of kids believe in Santa and think about him a lot, so there’ve been a few spirits that manifested around the idea of a guy who can get anywhere to deliver presents to good kids and punishments to bad ones, especially with stories like Krampus too.”

“But most spirits can’t interact with humans, so this guy mostly goes around to other spirits and ghosts and stuff,” Isabel said, distracted by her attempts to spin her umbrella like a top. “So he likes spirits a lot. And we kick a lot of spirit butt,” she punctuated this with a particular spirited spin of the umbrella, “so he hates us and comes to try to kill us every year. And because he can teleport, he can get inside the barrier. So gramps makes us all stay with him until sunrise every year so that all the adults can fight off santa and his reindeer so we don’t get put in a sack and teleported somewhere.”

Max groans and tries to fall backwards in his chair, but the chair doesn’t budge. “Your paint really isn’t good for drama,” Max informed Ed.

“Don’t be so dramatic then,” Ed snickered. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Says you, You just stay at home all night. I have to sneak out! My dad’ll kill me if he finds out!”

“I just put a pillow in my blankets and it’s fine,” Isaac says with a shrug. “If your dad looks harder than that, we probably have a tool lying around that can wipe memories or something.”

“I don’t want to mind wipe my dad,” Max grumbled, but resigned himself to slumping grumpily in his chair to watch Ed play some punching game or whatever. Bad enough that his own baseball bat might want to eat him, and he was trapped in this town with no way out- now Christmas hated him too. 

Isaac caught his eye and smiled sympathetically. “You get used to it,” he whispered.

“I thought I was used to it a month ago.”

Max jumped as a knock on the door sounded, glaring at Isabel’s laughter. The door opened without waiting for a response. Mr. Spender poked his head in through the door with a goofy grin. “Alright, kids! You all ready for this year’s Christmas night?”

Ed didn’t even look away from his video game, waving lazily. “We could use some snacks. That’d be nice.”

“Yeah, where are the snacks, old man? You want us to starve?” Isabel waved her umbrella at him like a grumpy old woman might a cane.

“You’re well fed enough already. I made sure of that.” It spoke wonders to how used to this existence Max had become that Mr. Spender knocking politely had scared him, but Isabel’s grandpa floating through the wall didn’t. The man’s bulk and imperious gaze still caused him some anxiety, though, and he had to consciously remind himself that he’s a punk, he’s cool, and he doesn’t respect anyone’s authority, even a scary ghost’s. Yeah, totally. 

The atmosphere of the room quickly shifted, and Isabel’s eyes dropped. “Yeah, I was just joking. Sorry, Grandpa.”

“Joke or not, this night is too much effort to make light of. My students and I are putting ourselves at risk for you,” Mr. Guerra said, looming over the room, “so only vocalize a need if you need it.”

Isabel glowered at the carpet. “Alright, Grandpa…”

“So. I will ask again. Are you all prepared? Midnight strikes soon.”

“We are, sir,” Isaac said. Max fought not to pull a face at Isaac’s please pay attention to me, authority figure tone, but for once it was helpful, so whatever. He could let it slide. 

Mr. Guerra eyed Isaac. “...good. We’ll get you once the sun begins to rise.” And with that, he turned away and slid down through the floor. Max could already hear him barking at the pupils below.

Mr. Spender grimaced. “Well… good! Everything’s all set then.”

Isabel grumbled, picking at the carpet.

“...trust me,” Mr. Spender said, forcing audibly fake cheer into his voice, “This isn’t a hassle at all. You guys getting stuffed into a sack- now, that would be quite the kerfuffle!”

They all stared as Mr. Spender slowly deflated. “...sure,” Max said. “Uh, we’ll be good, stay up here, it’s fine.”

“Great.” Mr. Spender nodded, stared awkwardly for a moment, and stepped out the door. “Well, Merry Christmas, children!” He shut the door behind him. Max listened with the others as his footsteps hurried down the hall to the stairwell.

Silence reigned for a few minutes, a distinctly uncomfortable experience for Max. It was almost impossible not to ramble, and he was reaching his breaking point and about to open the floodgates of inane and overly verbose chatter when Ed, thankfully, took point.

“That sucked,” he said simply, and Isabel groaned and fell back.

“I hate when he does that!” Isabel laid her umbrella by her side and waved her hands in the air exasperatedly. “It’s like he has no in between and I’m always either The Best And He’s So Disappointed In Me For Not Being Perfect or A Helpless Kid He Needs To Do Everything For! He always gets like this tonight!”

Ed paused his game, and reached around to pat her on the knee. “I mean, we could prove him wrong. We beat up spirits all the time, how hard could this be?”

“Okay, hold up, hand on,” Max said. “No? I- this is a terrible idea, you just got finished telling me about how if I wasn’t here I’d be killed by Santa, and now you want to go out there and fight Santa?”

“Well, not Santa,” Ed said. “Duh. He mostly just sends his reindeer to do everything and hangs out on rooftops.”

“And no offence Max, but uh…” Isaac scratched the back of his head.

“You’d totally get killed if you were on your own.” Isabel flipped herself upright. “All you got is that dinky bat, and magnet powers. You can’t even do a spec shot, dude, you’d get thrown in a sack in no time. We’d be fine.”

Max crossed his arms. “Alright, screw you too.”

“But other than that… that sounds like it could be pretty fun.” Isabel grinned. “Show the old man and his big dumb deer who’s boss. Maybe then he’ll stop coming to Mayview every year.”

“That would be pretty nice actually.” Isaac was clearly thinking hard- he had his broody face on. “I would like to stop having to sneak out every year. Sooner or later my parents will notice.”

Max shuddered. “Actually, yeah, Isaac has a point. I don’t want to die to Rudolph or anything, but if we keep having to do this, I’ll die to my dad, which is way worse honestly.”

“Your dad’s a teddy bear,” Isabel said, and rolled her eyes. “Stop complaining.”

“You haven’t seen him when I fail a test!”

“So are we going or what?” Isabel was already pulling her jacket back on, tucking her umbrella firmly under her arm. Ed bounced on the balls of his feet with a grin, already eyeing up the window and painting himself a rope. 

Max looked at Isaac, who shrugged and got to his feet. Max sighed, and stood up, regretfully leaving his scooter on the floor. “Yeah, alright. We’re going.”

Well, Max was regretting this. He was regretting this so much. He tromped through the snowy woods, eternally grateful for his boots. “Why in the world do we have to fight the spirits of Christmas in the woods? Why can’t we do it in town, or like, on the road at least? The roads we salted. The roads wouldn’t be as cold.”

“Cuz we’d get caught, dummy,” Isabel snorted. Or maybe it was a sniffle. “Either someone from the dojo would hear us and yell at us and get in the way before we can prove anything, or someone in town would yell at us and call the cops or something.”

“Maybe having people nearby to help isn’t a bad thing? You can’t just say that after saying that I’m the most likely person to die!”

“You came out here anyway,” Isaac pointed out, and looked all too unaffected by Max’s glare.

“I hate you. I hate you with everything in my being you- you chump elf.”

Isabel laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, this place looks pretty good, huh?” She stopped, looking around the snowy clearing they’d come into and turning in place. She nodded, satisfied. “There’s room to fight here, and we could come up with some pretty solid traps. Isaac wouldn’t have to worry too much about blasting a bunch of trees.”

“Looks pretty good!” Ed pulled off a mitten with his teeth and dug his paint brush out of his pocket. “What’re you thinkin, Izzy? Tripwire? Net?”

“Let’s go net,” Isaac said. “They can fly.”

“Plus, last time you tripped Isaac, remember?” Isabel elbowed Ed in the side. “Max and I are pretty fast, but Isaac needs some help.”

“Please. I can jump higher than your house is tall.”

“But you still fell just flat on your face,” she cooed. Isaac grumbled, cursing her just loud enough for Isabel to overhear, but she just batted her eyes and paid him no mind. “Okay, so,” she said, looking up at the sky through the hole in the canopy, “we probably only have a few more minutes before one of the reindeer finds us-”

And that’s when a dark shape, faster than cheetah and twice as forceful, barrelled into Max.  And off he went, hanging by the hood of his jacket on a wicked sharp antler prong, into the sky and away to the sound of jingling bells.

----

Things were quiet this year, Richard reflected. It was honestly a relief- maybe the spirit had finally given up. Probably too much to hope for, but, Christmas miracles and all. In any case, there seemed to be plenty of time to get the kids some mugs of hot cocoa and cookies to wait out the night with.

“Need any help balancing those?” Day asked, and Richard felt his mood become momentarily strained.

“Actually, that would be nice, if you think you could.” The tray of mugs and cookies he was balancing was quite the challenge, after all. Day reached up and somehow grabbed the plates of cookies perfectly- Spender could swear he saw her eyes flash for a moment, smart woman- and left him to balance the four mugs. A much easier task now.

“I really thought things would be more eventful, with how much Francisco was fussing over it, but everything’s pretty quiet, isn’t it?” Day smiled and followed Richard’s footsteps to the stairs.

“Well, usually there’s more cause for it, but the spirits seem to be laying low this year. Not an unwelcome reprieve in the slightest, but I do worry about Max… if this isn’t the new status quo, I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

“He’s a- well, he seems like a really smart kid,” Day reassured him. “I think he’ll make sure to be careful next year too!”

“I hope so. He does seem resourceful, but… he can be reckless.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she said, before stopping with a small frown on her face. “They’re being pretty quiet…”

Spender listened for a moment himself. “Hm, they are… mayhaps they went to bed early?”

“That doesn’t sound like them.”

“No,” he said, dread creeping into his heart. “It doesn’t.”

He set the tray of cookies on the floor. He approached Ed’s room. He knocked.

He opened the door.

Richard’s lips thinned into a grim line as he surveyed the dark room. “They’re gone.”

------

Max screamed for his life as he was lifted faster than he could process into the sky. It was a clear, starry night, and they all looked like streaks as his captor circled through the sky, closer and closer to the top of the dome before colliding headfirst into it. Max didn’t have any more air in his lungs to scream as he was jostled loose and began to fall down, down- only to be caught again, this time like a sack of potatoes on the spirit’s back. He was overwhelmed by the sound of silver bells as he caught his breath, eyes screwed tightly shut.

Eventually, his lungs rallied to his call, and he was able to take in an unpleasant few gulps of animal-scented air. Max cracked his eyes open a peek- and immediately shut them again. Too high. He was way, way too high up. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest, and the wind burned his face and the tips of his ears.

Hold on.

“My hat,” he wheezed reaching one hand up to grope the top of his head. “My hat’s gone!”

“Soon that will be of no matter.”

Max screamed- even he was getting fed up with his own screams at this point, but instinct didn’t seem to be on the same page.

“Quiet,” the rumbling voice said, and the spirit turned to look at Max. “Your sounds irritate me.”

The spirit that held Max on its back was by far the biggest deer of any Max had ever seen. It was shaggy and majestic, even as its fur was electric yellow, and its huge rack of knife-like antlers shivered as if they were made of candle flame. Its many eyes blinked, and it beared serrated teeth- a stark contrast to the many silver bells that seemed a part of its pelt. Max looked away, avoiding its cruel gaze, to see three pairs of legs, hooves thundering over empty air. And below him, seven more enormous shapes were blazing their way towards the distant forest clearing, led by an eerie red light. “Oh no, oooooh no, no no no no no no…”

“But yes, child. At last you have been retrieved, and soon your friends will be as well. Then, you can all face your punishment.” The spirit laughed cruelly. “I am Dasher, and I was simply the herald.”

“So you’re just, you’re just Dasher? Like from the poem? One of those things down there is…” Jeez, this was surreal. “...Donner? And, Vixen?”

“Many tremble in fear before those names. It would do you right to show some respect.”

“What? No, nobody does! You guys are like, goofy little stop motion dolls, man, how’d you guys end up looking like this?”

“Our powers are untold by your human poems-”

“Aren’t you guys based on the poems?!”

Dasher snorted and tossed his head in anger. “That is an egregious oversimplification-”

“I thought your name was Dasher, not Dictionary.”

The spirit cried out in frustration, and Max felt something in him settle a bit better. Poking things with words, he could do that. Just don’t look down. “So, uh,” he began, shifting a bit so it was less like he was thrown over Dasher and more like he was riding him, “why am I not in a sack yet?”

“Our pilot is attending to his annual business in Mayview,” Dasher growled. “It is we who have the ability to fight and fly- so it is we who collect naughty children. Once your compatriots have been obtained, then we may return to our stations.”

“Wow,” Max drawled. “I can’t believe Santa needs his reindeer to deal with three preteens.”

“You do have a teenager within your ranks. That does provide some extra challenge.”

“Whoa, wait, really?”

“Yes. He cannot fully be counted as a child by our pilot any longer- he has aged enough to become a teenager. It is not he that we seek.”

“Wow, that’s weirdly arbitrary and nitpicky.” Max was so going to tease Isaac about this later. If he didn’t, well, get thrown into a sack and… baked into a pie? Eaten alive? Thrown into a dungeon? Whatever. Try to be positive.

“If you take issue, you may air your complaints to our pilot.”

“Taking it straight to the manager, alright.” Max stared at his hands, balled in bright yellow fur, and took a deep breath as he relaxed them. He wasn’t going to fall, he was certain Dasher wouldn’t allow him, channel a Karen- and he released the fur, balancing on the spirit’s back with only his legs. Before he could lose his nerve, he swung his backpack off his shoulder and grabbed his bat. Okay, weapon acquired. Just… what to do with it.

Dasher huffed. “Puny weapon. Even with the power of an enslaved spirit, you cannot defeat me. Especially not with a spirit as weak as that one.”

“Ugh, not you too,” Max grumbled. At least this thing wasn’t getting aggressive. “I’m kinda tired of being called the weak one, it’s getting old.”

“It would have been better, then, if you had kept your power to yourself, and not bothered the true denizens of this world, as the other child does.”

“Other child-? You know what, I don’t know what you’re talking about and I do not care. Now let me think.” Max re-gripped Dasher tightly, this time grabbing the reigns, and looked around. Man, of course Max got magnet powers in the place where there’s no tall buildings anywhere- it would be great if they could pass by a skyscraper or two for Max to attach himself to. But alas… then, his eyes caught a gleam, a dark silhouette against the colorful lights of Mayview. 

A transmission tower in the woods. And they were heading right for it. Max shrugged his backpack back on to his shoulder and gripped his bat as tight as he could.

“Thinking will get you nowhere, child.”

“Yeah, but it’ll keep me quiet,” Max mumbled.

“True,” Dasher said. And started to turn back towards the clearing.

“No!” Max yelped, holding his bat out desperately- he knew the tower was too distant still, but he put all his will into the bat, trying to extend its power as far as he can-

Dasher lurched beneath him with a confused cry, the bells jangled, and Max’s focus was broken with a shout. Immediately, Dasher steadied beneath him.

“Child, if you do that again I will throw you off into the ground-”

“What- I don’t even know what I did-” Max’s breath caught as he realized what happened. The bells. They were metal, and he had what was definitely a terrible idea. But it was his only idea.

Quickly, before Dasher could retaliate, Max activated his bat. Dasher howled with rage as all the bells in his body strained in the direction of the magnetic center, and Max laughed with panic. 

“RELEASE ME AT ONCE-”

“No,” Max said, filled with thrill and panic, and directed Dasher back towards the clearing. The spirit barrelled towards it at supernatural speeds, a furious scream echoing through the night as he crashed into the snow like a comet. Max tumbled off of the spirit’s back, and the bat’s angle changed wildly, forcing Dasher in mad circles.

The other seven deer spirits, crowded in the woods, were as thrown into chaos as Isabel, Ed, and Isaac were, but Ed recovered fastest. “Max!” He crowed, head popping out of the snow. “You’re alive!”

“Somehow!” Max laughed, voice squeaky with panic. “For now!” In the corner of his eye, he noticed another spirit- a large one that was on fucking fire, so must be either Comet or Blitzen- and quickly swung his bat around to point at it. Dasher was forced to charge full speed into the other spirit, which dissolved into a wisp with a cry of shock.

Isabel whooped. “I can’t believe it! Magnet powers are good for something!”

“Serves you right!” He felt about to shake apart, and still dizzy from the crash, but spinning Dasher around like a top was easy enough- and the other jingling spirits were drawn in too. It was a glorious explosion of color, sound, and christmas spirits as one by one they melted each other away into whisps. Finally, only Dasher stood in the snow, puffing furious, cloudy breaths into the air.

“You will pay,” Dasher hissed. “Naughty children. You will not escape your punishment, this I swear to you.”

“Whatever you say, bub,” Ed chirped, and raised his scythe above his head.

“Wait!”

Max and the others turned back to look just in time to watch an arrow streak through the night and imbed itself in Dasher’s forehead. “No, no,” he groaned, watching Isabel’s face light up with glee.

Agent Day and Mr. Spender ran into the clearing, both panting and exhausted. “Thank goodness we found you,” Agent Day breathed, hands on her knees. “We were so worried that you were taken…”

“But I saw Dasher fall from the sky!” Spender’s chest heaved, and he swayed with effort, but he somehow managed to stay upright. “I’m so glad you’re all alright, even Dasher alone is quite the challenge to combat…”

“Nah, we got all of them.” Isabel grinned and punched her palm. “Max was able to yank ‘em around by the bells with his bat, and he got em all to poof each other. It was really easy to hit ‘em when they were all clumped up, too.”

“You- you really beat them all? Where are their tools?!”

“Right here, Mr. Spender!” Isaac called, arms full of a few rocks and sticks. “They’re, uh, not much to look at, but…”

“Amazing! Wonderful job, all of you- these will be great for the club’s stores!”

“But you shouldn’t have snuck out. We were so worried about you, and you’re glad we found you! Your grandfather is worried sick!” Agent Day wrung her hands together, cane stuck in the snow.

“Yes, he’s… not happy,” Spender admitted. “But, surely he’ll be proud when he finds out what you’ve accomplished?”

“Probably not,” Isabel sighed, sticking her hands in her pockets.

“...probably not.” Spender came over to put a hand on her shoulder. “But, for what it’s worth, I am.” Isabel looked up at him, then threw her arms around him. Spender smiled softly and hugged her in return.

“This is great,” Max groaned. “But I’m being crushed by a flippin’ reindeer, so can I get some help?”

Oblivious to Max’s irritation, Dasher continued licking Max’s hair life the reindeer he resembled. “You’re not so bad, I suppose. Resourceful child.”

“It always happens to me.”

“The arrow will at least last the night,” Agent Day said thoughtfully. “It should be safe for you to go home, in that case- you too, I think, Isaac! Since all the others are gone, after all… Maybe Dasher can take you home!”

“Nooooo!”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Ms. Day,” Spender said. “You could perhaps take Isaac and Ed back to the dojo, and I can take Isaac back to his home…?”

“Yes sir!” Day smiled. “Merry Christmas, Max, Isaac,” she said. “I hope you get back undetected.”

“Thank you, Ms. Day,” Isaac said. “You too.”

“You guys suck,” Max grumbled.

----

It took a bit for Max to wrangle Dasher into taking him home, but under Day’s spell, the spirit was a fairly easygoing ride. As Max climbed back in through his window to his undisturbed bed, he heard the spirit settle on the roof to keep watch for the sunrise. And, taking comfort in not being discovered and in the knowledge that next year, when he’s a teen, he won’t have to worry about any of this, Max changed back into his pajamas, settled into bed, and slipped into a deep sleep.

[heytheredeann]

Fanfic question meme

I was tagged by @x-voyevoda, thank you so much!

Author Name:

heytheredeann on Tumblr, Elisexyz on Ao3.

Fandoms You Write For:

I am currently knees deep in the Black Sails fandom, I’ve been writing fix-its for Once Upon A Time for about a year now, and I write a lot of Timeless too. There’s the occasional Agents of SHIELD fic, and... that’s about it? I’ve written for other fandoms, but not too recently.

Where You Post:

I post everything on Ao3, then post a link to it on Tumblr (or crosspost if it’s a very short story).

Most Popular Oneshot:

Sorting by kudos on Ao3, it’s my Marvey soulmates AU, unsurprisingly, given that Marvey (from the show Suits) is the most popular ship that I’ve ever written for, I think XD If we only count stuff from this year, my most popular one-shot by kudos is this Flinthamilton+Miranda AU in which they save Thomas early and there are hugs and tears. because we are simple people with simple needs.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story:

Going once again by kudos, though I haven’t really written many multi-chapter stories, it’s my Timeless movie fix-it. Which funnily enough was supposed to be a one-shot, just some Garcy-leaning stuff, but then I was like “.....there is.....too much crap......in this movie......” and it got five chapters LOL.

Favorite Story You Wrote:

Always The Worst Question.  Okay. I am going to take the pressure off myself and do a top three that isn’t like---my Absolute Favourites. Just some fics that I am particularly proud of, I guess. There’s Echoes of yesterday, which is post-canon Flinthamilton, and it’s soft and I like how the dialougues came out. There’s Should’ve, which is a fix-it about Hookfire, my precious precious brotp, I guess I am very attached to it because no one writes for these two LOL. Last but not least, there’s Cracks, my Wyjess fic about the night when Jessica didn’t die in the altered timeline. I just really like how that one came out.

Story You Were Nervous to Post:

All of them. I get particularly nervous about posting multichapters, but I remember hesitating a lot before posting I know you love me from the other side, my Neal Cassidy Lives Fix-It number a million and one, maybe because it’s particularly self-indulgent. 

How Do You Pick Your Titles:

I cry a lot until some god above takes pity on me. There’s the ‘picking song lyrics’ method, though I am trying to use that less, now I generally re-read the fic, start thinking about the overall theme and what exactly it is that I feel like is The Point/I’m trying to say, and try to condensate it in a few words or something? Songs are a good inspiration too, even when I don’t use lyrics.

Do You Outline:

Definitely for multichapters, it helps me a lot to know where I am going, though I am anything but strict with my outline, I make changes along the way 99% of the time. Even with one-shots, I generally prefer to have the idea written down at some point. Sometimes I just have the starting point for the fic, I start writing, and while I’m going it will occour to me where it all is going, so I will write a note at the end of the document. I have a hard time just writing aimlessly, without even a vague notion of where I want it to end, it makes me feel like I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m just stretching it out at random XD So generally I have at least a bunch of messy notes about stuff that I want to put in the fic, yeah.

How Many of Your Stories are complete:

All my one-shots, Between (the Timeless movie fix-it) and Porcelain (my Swanfire Beauty And The Beast AU).

In-Progress:

I don’t have longfics that are in progress, but I have collections (Calls me home, a collection of Swanfire ILYs, and To build a home, a collection of mini-stories about a Hookedqueen fuck-buddies to co-parents to lovers AU) and Closer at heart, a series exploring a canon divergence in which Neal was saved by TLK in Quiet Minds. There are other series that are ‘in progress’ in the sense that I can always add one-shots, but they don’t give me a sense of ‘this needs to be finished sooner rather than later’.

Coming Soon:

Hell if I know LOL. I am currently writing for whumptober, though I have totally messed up the schedule by now, so some of those prompts are in the works... Then I have a million WIPs that are in need of attention, among them the instalment to close the Defeating Zelena storyarc in Closer at heart, which---I deeply, deeply loathe. That damn one-shot is killing me, I’m stuck. Ugh. Probably a new I Love You ficlet for Swanfire will be out sooner rather than later. probably. 

Do You Accept Prompts:

Yup! I have prompt lists that you can always choose from, though I accept scenario prompts too! I am not always very fast at filling them, but I do my best XD (obviously, if a prompt is vague it’s easier for me XD)

Upcoming Story You’re the Most Excited For:

Uuuuuhm....... I don’t know? There’s a Neal Resurrection Fic that I’m working on *insert collective gasp of surprise here* that I am pretty excited about, though even just the outline is a complete mess, I don’t know if/when I’m ever gonna finish that one XD Also, there’s a Silverflinthamilton amnesia fic that I have been working on, though, again, it’s far from finished XD

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions

@ilosttrackofthings @writtenwolves @frivoloussuits @paradigmparadoxical @statusquoergo (If you don’t feel like it or you’ve already been tagged and I missed it, feel free to ignore it!)

[someoneasgoodasyou]

Tagged for another writing meme!!! I’m tagging @namedawesomeog,  @arlome, and @jamestkirkish

Username: someoneasgoodasyou. It’s from that bit in the beach kiss scene in Lucifer because that little speech is like. Rivaling the top 5 most romantic speeches (and letters, which are basically speeches) I have. It’s just- It’s so good.

Fandoms you write for: Lucifer. I’m a pretty one-track fandom mind type of person when it comes to writing. I’ll read a shitload of fandoms (both things I’ve seen/read and things I’ve only read fic for) but writing? I get obsessive. My last big fandom was Leverage under a different name.

Where you post: I’m SomeoneAsGoodAsYou on AO3 and I crosspost links both here and at my main pillowfort. I don’t really post full fic here, so anyone who wants to read all my fic is fine just checking out AO3

Most popular one-shot: (Don’t) Put Your Arms Around Me if I go by kudos. If I go by kudos/hits ratio it’s... actually, it’s probably the same. I don’t have the script on this laptop and I’m lazy so I can’t check. It’s not the one I would’ve guessed when I first came into this fandom and posted it. But now that I’ve been here a while? Y’all are easy for like any fic where Lucifer interacts significantly with Trixie. It’s great.

Most popular multi-chapter story: Whelp I’ve only got two of those, soooooooo... I can do the ratio math easy enough there, and it’s the one I posted yesterday,  It’s a Love Song. Probably just because it’s new and doesn’t have a lot of hits, but whatever.

Favorite story you’ve written:`*whispers* hitman!au

Story you were nervous to post: l o l hitman!au by like. A huge margin. Absolutely huge. It’s got a bunch of elements that I wasn’t sure fandom would be into (jury is still out) and it’s one of the few stories where it was really important to me that people like it. Each chapter is increasingly nerve wracking to post so that’s a thing. I expect to just die of a heart attack right before posting chapter 11 or so.

How do you choose titles: Almost entirely song lyrics. Like there’s maybe two fics that aren’t from song lyrics. Most of them come from Dave Carter & Tracey Grammer songs, Nerissa & Katryna Nields songs, or Seanan McGuire songs. Highkey rec all three.

Do you outline: Mmmmmm I tell stories more than outline? Like either I tell the story with fairy-tale level of detail (ie: not much) to a friend, or I write it out as bullet points with the same level of detail. If I didn’t delete the notes as soon as I finished writing, I’d show y’all the one for Make This Place Your Home. Alas.

How many of your stories are complete: Uhhhh 26. I usually post as soon as I finish because I’m very impatient. It’s a Love Song is a huge outlier in that respect, since I finished it over a year ago and am just now posting, for a variety of reasons.

How many of your stories are in progress: HA. Oh christ. Okay, so. The hitman!au is. One that’s post-s4 with a lot of cuddles. One that focuses on Chloe’s insecurities instead of Lucifer’s. A college!AU one (for someone who doesn’t much like AUs in this fandom I sure am writing a lot of them). A casefic set early in S2 with Chloe finding out Lucifer’s the Devil and how they deal with that then. The next fic in my fic advent series, An Advent-ure in Christmas Spirit, from last year. An urban fantasy!au. Just. A lot of fic. That doesn’t include a bunch that I’ve done the story for and just not started converting into actual fic yet.

Coming soon: Chapter two of It’s a Love Song is coming next Wednesday. Want a snippet? Of course you do.

She was still nervous about tying him down too much, about making him feel trapped in their relationship when he was so used to being free to do what he pleased. They had talked about it, and he had assured her he felt "nothing of the sort," and if he did, he would tell her at once because, "Communication is key in a relationship, Detective."

(She hadn't asked where he got that from at the time, assuming it was Linda. It wasn't until she was snooping and found a self-help book on relationships that she realized maybe he was just as nervous about the whole thing as she was.)

Do you accept prompts: I fucking love prompts. I love them. They don’t always strike my fancy, but I don’t care. Any prompts you want to send me, I’ll take them. I won’t necessarily write them!!! But I’ll still take them.

Upcoming story you’re most excited to write: Ugh I have typed up an answer to this question like ten times and decided that no I wasn’t actually excited to write that. So I guess the one I’m most excited to write is one where Lucifer disappears (I apparently write a lot of those; I guess it’s my jam?) and Chloe is upset and it turns out he’s been DEVILNAPPED by a PRIEST who’s trying to EXORCISE HIM because clearly he’s full of demons. When he eventually escapes and gets back and asks Chloe if she can forgive him for disappearing, this bit happens:

"No," Chloe said, and he flinched but she continued anyway. "I'm going to hold you accountable for being kidnapped."

"I understand," was all he said, and her heart broke a little.

"Oh, Lucifer, babe," she said and stepped into his space. "I'm kidding. C'mere." she drew his head down and kissed him, soft and sweet, and when it was over she kept him there with gentle hands, touching her forehead to his as he breathe out a relieved sigh.

And I just really like that bit. idk. Anyway. It’s gonna be great when I get around to writing it after all the other stuff that has an actual due date.

[theashemarie]

Riding Out the Wave Ch. 3 - Pearlina Fic

↪Read chapter 1 here: [Adventures in Babysitting]

↪Chapter 2: [How We Got Here]

↪Chapter 4: [Morning Breakfast]

Crossposted: [AO3] [FFN]

Ch. 3: Gulf Space

The boat is quiet, and that’s worrying. Pearl and Marina sit with feet between them, with backs against the side. Dualies and Brella are huddled together near the front, and there’s a tension that’s strung tight between them, all four of them. The reality of what’s happened is finally sinking in, and Pearl wishes she could read Marina’s mind because Marina is being so, so quiet; she refuses to look at Pearl, and they haven’t touched since they separated from their unfortunately timed kiss. Pearl realizes now that that was probably a bad idea, all things considered—a very desperate (though not very hot and heavy, if you ask her) and sudden kiss in full view of a bunch of cameras—but she’s also not one for thought, especially when it comes to... romance.

(And wasn’t that romantic? Covered in ink, both their own and the enemy’s, breathing labored, Marina with that crazed, battle-look in her eyes. It certainly was hot, but not exactly romantic. Definitely not one of the dozens of ways that Pearl imagined it would happen, late at night when she was lying in bed. No sirree, those were safe, coffee shop affairs, or perhaps stage fever that resulted in a deep dip, Marina’s body cradled by Pearl’s arms. Not... during Salmon Run.)

Marina has one of the cameras that Pearl beaned in her lap and she’s got it cracked open. It looks fine to Pearl, but Marina keeps tutting as she digs around in the wires, searching for the short in order to fix it. She mutters about “unnecessary property damage” every now and then, and it’s pointed, so pointed that Pearl feels defensive. She wants to say that it shouldn’t be surprising, considering how much she used to break in her punk days and still breaks now (accidentally), but she’s also still reeling from the kiss so she just keeps her mouth shut.

There’s no sign of Grizz in their earpieces, so Pearl halfheartedly hopes that maybe the photos are stored locally in a memory card or something, not beamed back to whatever cave Mr. Grizz lives in. That’ll make the next few weeks a lot easier—she doesn’t want to have to bribe Grizz to keep the photos a secret, but she’ll do it if she has to. If Marina wants her to. She imagines that this whole thing won’t reflect on them... in a desired way.

But then, she doesn’t care, she realizes as she watches Marina let out a small aha! as she finds what she’s looking for. She dips those long fingers deep into the body of the camera and Pearl watches her dig around, feeling a bit uncomfortable. She forces herself to look away.

“There,” Marina says, and she screws the back into place with a screwdriver. Pearl is beginning to think that she takes that thing with her everywhere. “Good as new.”

“Any memory card?” Pearl asks, a little petulant.

Marina holds her hand up, and Pearl is happy to see a small black card caught between two of her fingers. “Whoops,” Marina sing-songs as she flicks her wrist, sending the card over her shoulder, over the side of the boat, and into the water.

“Yo, awesome!” Pearl hisses, and her impulsiveness gets the better of her as she jumps up to lay a kiss on Marina’s cheek. Marina, used to this thoughtlessness, quickly cuts her off, pushes her back before her lips can land, and she puts a finger against Pearl’s lips.

“Ssh,” Marina commands, and Pearl pouts her lips out against the finger.

Marina replaces the first camera with the second. Her deft fingers get to work quickly, and as Pearl watches her, she says: “You know that we’re gonna have to do this again, right?”

Pearl is a little too love struck by just how beautiful Marina’s hair is as she leans over the camera, so all she can think to say is, “Huh?”

Marina tuts under her breath and reaches further into the camera, going deep into the wires. “We’re getting rid of the evidence. That includes all the pictures.”

“Tch, whatevs.” Pearl waves a hand. “Like Grizz needs us to advertise. He has so many freelancers he doesn’t know what to do with them.”

Marina doesn’t answer, but Pearl sees her free hand tighten a little around the camera’s spherical body. “We agreed—”

Pearl sighs and puts a hand on Marina’s knee. “And your word is your vow. Yeah, I got it. You’re so stuffy sometimes, you know that? Is it a Marina thing or a...” Pearl glances around to make sure they’re not being listened to. “Y’know, an octoling thing?”

Marina finally looks up from the camera and she lets her head fall back against the side of the boat. “You read my file. You don’t get as high as I did without being reliable.”

“And here I thought it was your good looks. And your huge brain,” Pearl adds when she sees Marina roll her eyes.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Marina declares, and she dips back into the camera. It’s fixed in no time, and Pearl lets the silence sit, mostly because she can’t think of a possible answer to that.

+

They bid Dualies and Brella farewell at the bonus window. Both young inklings agree to keep what they saw a secret, which makes Marina look so relieved that it brings Pearl pause. She hadn’t spared the whole thing much thought after deciding to bribe Mr. Grizz if she needs to, but that would explain Marina’s silence on the boat.

Pearl can’t pretend to completely understand Marina, and that hurts. A lot. Sure, she knows how Marina ticks most of the time, but she also doesn’t understand a lot of her past, a lot of the stuff that put her together and could pull her apart. Pearl is an open book, a simple story: a rich girl from an affluent family, spoiled to the core, but with a heart of gold and a penchant for rebellion. There’s not much mystery to her, other than one small stint with heterosexuality that she doesn’t ever want to talk about, but Marina? Marina is smoke; Marina is a tight, strained smile; Marina is a past that is full to the brim of dark things that she’ll never talk about. No matter how much Pearl dares pry, Marina will never talk about certain things, so Pearl will never know her completely.

And, for the most part, she’s okay with that. She may have grown up sheltered, but she also knows that there are some things you can’t know, some things you can’t push people on. Because, people will bend until they break, but some things cause stress fractures that spread. This is one of Marina’s fracture points.

That makes it so much harder though. They walk toward the studio, where a car is waiting to pick them up, and Pearl wants to grab Marina’s hand. She’s been waiting so long to do it, and now she practically has permission, but she’s also painfully aware of that relieved look, that you wouldn’t understand, the countless times Marina has pressed her headphones tighter to her head to hide her ears, and she realizes just how much attention that would get them. Already, people are noticing them, rushing forward to ask for pictures, and Marina is slowly pulling her face into the public one she uses everywhere.

Pearl keeps her hands to herself, grimaces in the pictures, and tries to ignore the giant hole that she feels between herself and Marina.

+

They need to talk. But, when they eventually get back to the apartment, Marina squirrels herself into her room. She spares a few seconds to say, “I need to think,” and stoops down to press a kiss to Pearl’s head. It’s chaste, like a mother to a child, and Pearl is stricken immediately. Does Marina already regret it? Did Pearl already screw it up? Is the gulf of their pasts too much? Marina’s face reveals nothing as Pearl forces herself not to say anything, to smile a strained smile, and she disappears behind her door.

Pearl plays a violent video game in the living room with the television turned all the way up. She punches and kicks, throws the controller when she dies, hugs a pillow close when she feels tears hot behind her eyes. She’s not sure exactly what to do, but she feels like she needs to do something. She knows that letting Marina think is good, but she also knows that thinking too long is bad; thinking too long leads to second thoughts, second guessing, and she doesn’t want Marina to back out of something they both clearly want.

Pearl wants to do this right. Marina feels like forever, and Pearl doesn’t want to screw that up. Marina is forever—she’s symbolic of a future that Pearl never had before, from their shared music career to their shared home, but more than that, she’s Pearl’s best friend and Pearl can’t lose that. In a life full of excess, she’s become used to having everything, and the idea of losing something so precious makes her sick to her stomach.

She hides her face in her knees. On screen, her character does its idle animation, begging input.

+

In the end, she tells herself that she didn’t cry, and she gets up. Her over-large sweatshirt hits her knees as she walks, and she quickly draws a beeline to Marina’s bedroom door so that she can’t second guess herself. She doesn’t go in, doesn’t knock, just listens. There’s some soft lo-fi music playing and Pearl imagines Marina leaning back against her pillows, headphones off, eyes closed, thinking. Or asleep. She never considered that Marina could have simply fallen asleep after such a long, emotional day, but she still has to try. She can’t just let this sit, not with them so close to the precipice, dangling over what could be the happiest moments of their lives. For once, she’s not the one being talked away from the edge.

She sinks to the floor beside the door, like she’s done so many times before. She lets her head loll back, exhausted both because it’s almost midnight and because of the day they had, closes her eyes like she imagines Marina has, and she lets the words fall out.

She’s always been a jabber mouth, but today it’s something else. She says it all, how unsure she’s been, how she’s been so scared, how much Marina means to her. Gone is the yelling, the limb flailing, the Pearl who has to bigger than life. In her place is a quieter, unfamiliar Pearl, one who is small and vulnerable and has no airs to put on. She says things like “I know you’ve been through hell, but I want to make sure that never happens again,” and “I love... having you here. You’ve... changed everything.”

Marina might be asleep. She might not hear any of this, but it feels good to get it out, to breathe it into the world so that Pearl doesn’t have it all inside her anymore, turning everything into mush. Finally, she can begin to harden again, in case everything goes horribly come morning. She has to build herself up from the inside out, in case this was all one big mistake, in case the battle-hardened warrior that she calls a roommate isn’t ready for all of this. In case the kiss was one giant, glaring misstep in their otherwise brilliant partnership.

Before she departs, she stands, staring at the door, and says, “I don’t want to give up on this, but if you want me to, I will.” It’s a small emission, but she wants to give Marina an out; the last thing she wants is Marina to feel pressured into anything.

There’s no reply. Pearl sighs and sinks into her room. Her bed is big, too big she realizes, but she climbs in, lying with her head on the edge of her pillow. The darkness has no substance to it as she stares out, like there’s too much vastness there, like the space between galaxies, the giant spaces of nothing that she imagines the humans once touched. She thinks about them a lot—the humans and their reaching, reaching arms, how much they destroyed to get what they wanted.

She hopes, desperately, that she doesn’t follow in their footsteps.