#like there’s power imbalance. none of them have a total grip on the other | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ashthemadwriter-archived · 1 year

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Baby Boy Darling!

—Your boyfriend turning into a little baby? What are you going to do with him?

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairings: Dazai, Chuuya, Fyodor, Nikolai, Ranpo, Jouno X Fem! Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor

Format: Drabble

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8K

A/n: Mildly rushed but acceptable ig!

↳Osamu Dazai

"You know... I don't think this is a good choice for a bedtime story"

The little infant in your arms looked at you curiously. He wasn't old enough to make any sounds other than crying, but the martyred expression he was wearing and his firm grip on your thumb displayed his intention with no complicacy. Nevertheless, that didn't stop you from putting the suicide manual on the nightstand.

"Now now, don't look at me like that. I'm a good babysitter, and a good babysitter doesn't teach babies ways to kill themselves"

You gently caressed his puffy cheeks. "I'm also a generous babysitter, which is why I don't slap your hand away when you grab my boobs"

His gaze fell on his small chubby hand that was trying to get a hold of your breast. It was a good thing you had a T-shirt on, or with the way he was trying to cup them they would've been bleeding by now.

"I'm sorry honey, I don't think you can hold them anymore. Your hands are just too tiny!"

He whined and pouted in response.

"I know! I'm sad too. C'mon, smile a little for me will you? Smile for your mommy"

If he was still an adult, he would have rolled his eyes and smiled, but he wasn't. He was just a cranky baby who was probably planning your murder in his cute little head.

"Get it? Mommy? I'm your mommy! God you didn't have a sense of humor when you were a child did you? I miss my kind, loving boyfriend"

He looked at you unfazedly.

"Alright, how about I sing you a song? Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you aaaaaaaa— ah!?"

Dazed, you looked down at your baby boyfriend with widened eyes, only to find him staring back at you while his mouth was on your right breast. He was trying to suck on it, but that wasn't easy when it was covered with two layers of clothes, your bra and your T-shirt. Your eyebrows jumped in surprise.

"Wow, you still like the right one better?"

↳Fyodor Dostoyevsky

"So this is the power imbalance they were talking about huh?"

The violet eyed infant stares at you blankly, having a "it won't be this way for long" look in his eyes. You're holding him in front of you while sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing the cheekiest grin you could ever wear.

"No wonder you were so crazy about it. Having somebody wrapped around your finger... feels awesome!"

Still the same bored look.

"giving me the cold shoulder now? I'm just using simple logic to prove my point-which is also what you used to do. I'm saying that from this moment, you're totally and completely dependant on me"

Fyodor tilts his head to the side and gives you a weird look, tempting you to imitate his gesture. A strong feeling is causing you to brag about the current situation and tease him, and you're willingly giving into it.

"Alright. Since I'm the one in charge now, I'm setting a few ground rules. No more acting all workaholicly and staying up until late. No more skipping meals, mister. Im gonna feed you with my special milk, hehehe~ Also, I've got some confessions to make"

It's probably a bad decision to bring these up right now, but you're too captured in the heat of the moment to realize that.

"Ok. I've been trying to tell you this for quite a while. The truth is... I'm pregnant"

The unfazed look is still on.

"Yeah, that was a lie. The real truth is... I was the one who ate all your snacks"

Still no change in his expression.

"...But I assume you already know that. Ugh, keeping secrets from you is such a pain... could you not figure me out for just once?"

Fyodor doesn't seem very eager to respond. He's already very annoyed with how things have turned out and is not really in the mood to joke around. You come to that conclusion when he touches your forearm with his chubby little hand.

"You're gonna activate your ability and kill me, aren't you?"

↳Nikolai Gogol

"Quiz time!!"

Your baby boyfriend whines in annoyance.

"Who's gonna get paid one in his own coin and suffer like I did every time he teased me?"

You flash him a cocky smirk, matched with the way you're looking at him from above as he's lying on the bed. You're standing next to the bed, happier than you could ever be, planning all the steps of your revenge as you trash talk to him.

"That's right. It's no one but youuuuu! Hahahahaha!!"

Nikolai wants to prove to you that he's still strong and nobody can defeat him, but he realizes there's noway he can imply that other by a sulky attitude, which he reluctantly suffices to.

You hold his favorite snack in front of him and shake it, smiling wildly. "Come on darling! Have some! Eh? What are you waiting for? Awwwww! You can't? Then I'll help myself!"

You shoved the entire thing in your mouth and laughed hysterically.

"Nom nom* tastes nom* heavenly! No wonder you never let me have a bite!"

Nikolai is starting to feel a little guilty now. He didn't know that his teasings have made you a spiteful whore.

"You hate babies so much, and now you are one! That's the scariest punishment itself! Can you feel the power of karma? It's a bitch, ain't it? Well, now that you can't talk anymore, I have something to say to you!"

You bend over until there's a small gap between you, pointing at his tiny figure. The bullying attitude is all gone and instead, there's soft glare lying in your eyes.

"I want one of these. Give me one when you get back, Kolya"

You're wrong. This is the scariest punishment.

↳Saigiku Jouno

"Thank you for the meal!"

Jouno is upset. There are many unfortunate things happening for him at the moment. He doesn't like to be a baby. He doesn't want to be unable to do anything other than crying, pooping, eating and sleeping. More importantly, he doesn't want to feel your teeth on his cheeks.

"Mhm, so soft and squishy!" You smile sweetly and look at his puffy cheeks, stained with your bite marks in crimson. "I could just eat you up now, 'giku. You taste so sweet!"

Anyone who hears this would be happy and blush slightly, but Jouno wasn't one of them, as he tilts his head and looks away, having the most adorable pout on his lips.

Grumpy as always.

"C'mon now, it's not that bad! Look on the bright side! Everyone will have to do everything for you since you can't do it yourself"

Jouno tilts his head back, his eyebrows jumped in surprise.

"Right, that wasn't a really good example of the bright side"

Sighing, you lay next to him on the matress, hands traveling through his white locks. His muscles relax a little bit as he gives into your warmth, nuzzling his head in your chest. You hum with a soft beam, inhaling his baby scent.

"You smell very nicely too, 'giku. Don't be too depressed about this. It's not the end of the world. We'll find a way to turn you back eventually. Plus..."

You lightly pat his back, pressing a lingering kiss on his forehead. "I can have you all to myself, since you can't go on any missions and leave me here all alone anymore"

Yeah, Jouno thinks, maybe it's not that awful after all.

↳Ranpo Adogawa

"Ouch! Why you- let go of my hair you aggressive baby!"

Ranpo cries a whine out and pulls your hair harder, leading you to scream back even louder.

"Stop it! What is wrong with you? I dont care how upset you are, I'm not gonna give you any sweets- ow ow ow!! Ranpo- I said let go of my fucking hair you dumbass!"

Your angry shout startles the dark haired baby. It's not just that he's little, you'd never talked like this to him before. Slowly loosening his grip on your hair, he starts sobbing quietly, covering his face with his chubby hands. This breaks your heart.

"Nooo... I'm sorry sweetie! Mommy- Aunty- god I dont even know what I am to you anymore! Whatever- I'm sorry ok? But you can't eat sweets baby boy, you're smart enough to know that, right?"

Smart enough to know that?? Huh!

Ranpo sees right through your little plan. He knows all these little tricks inside out- hell he was the one who taught you all of them; but what pisses him off is how it's working on him even though he knows your true intention.

The smirk you've been holding back shamelessly appears on your face when he wears a serious expression, nodding like someone who's given an important task and is determined to do it carefully and correctly, then points at your boobs.

Your smile instantly fades away.

"Shit. I'm not doing that"

↳Chuuya Nakahara

"Your struggle is hilarious to me"

Baby Chuuya watched you with a threatening glare. He was clearly unhappy about this situation, and you enjoying his frustration was not going to help him at all.

"I know you really need it right now, but honestly, I don't think your little tummy can digest that"

Merely ignoring you, he tried to open the bottle of wine he was struggling to hold with his chubby feet; but every time he pulled, the bottle would slip out of his not so tight grasp. He couldn't use his ability on it, since the bottle would sink into his little body. He couldn't even roll over on the bed, and his so called nanny was laughing instead of helping him.

Forget about all the things he'd been through. This was the true misery.

"Alright. Give me the bottle"

He didn't seem to agree, because he immediately hugged the bottle with all the strength he had, like it was his dearest thing. Your serious expression showed that you weren't going to give up either.

"You give me that bottle mister or you won't get extra milk tonight"

Reluctantly, he opened his arms and you snatched the bottle, putting it somewhere high. When you turned around, you saw him sulking.

"Don't be like that baby, you know you can't drink that right now. I thought you were a reasonable person hmm?"

The cute pout resting on his lips made you giggle and bend down to kiss his cheek. He was still pretty upset, so he looked away from you. Unfortunately, he couldn't do anything about the little blush on his face.

You carefully held him up and looked at his tiny figure. His long hair was gone and instead, there were short ginger locks on his head. His bluebell eyes however, hadn't changed one bit, still as gorgeous as ever.

You smiled at him. "You want me to throw you up?"

He looked oblivious. He probably knew what you were talking about, but hadn't figured out whether you were serious or not.

Shaking your head to the side, you tightened your grip on his waist before throwing him up in the air, and catching him before he fell on the ground. He got so excited that he started laughing, letting out adorable baby noises.

"Aww, you like that huh? want me to do it again?"

He blinked.

"Ok! Three, two, one! Whoa!"

Chuuya had jumped higher than this before, but not once did he feel the thrill he was experiencing now. He was having the time of his life, flying in the air with no effort. Every time you threw him up, his mouth got opened wider, wider, and wider,

until vomit came out of it, landing on your chest.

There weren't any throwing and catching after that, since you were too busy looking at the vomit, shocked. But it wasn't him vomiting that caught you off guard, it was the vomit. It wasn't milk, it was wine.

"Ok, we need to talk about your drinking problem when you turn back to an adult"

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lackingspace · 4 years

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Null Moon (Marko x Reader)

Rating: SFW

Word Count:5.5k

Summary: Due to some mad bogus circumstances your hand was forced into relocating to the Santa Carla witch coven. Not exactly where you saw yourself, but beggars cant be choosers or however that saying goes. New coven, new community, no idea how this was going to play out, what could go wrong?

Warnings: Nothing really. Just 80s slang, some suggestive themes, trigger warning for witchcraft I guess, vampire boys doing stalky vampire things, and expanding the magical community at large. Throw in psychic fliting too. The only real warning here is that I wax soliloquy, stopping me is impossible.

So I watched Lost Boys again and Marko just too pretty and wouldn’t stop, so I had to write about it. I’m dedicated to worldbuilding because it pleases me, so no smut yet, but don’t worry, its comin. Enjoy the 80s slang sprinkled everywhere. Out of no where I know, but I hope you all like it ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Part 2: Blood Moon ✧･ﾟ:

Salt was something you’d found yourself trying to quickly get accustomed to. Don’t get it twisted, you weren’t mental and liked it in your food just fine, but it was in everything here. It was bogus, really. None of your new sisters warned you about the mundane annoyances when relocating to their beachfront town.

It was almost insidious how it could worm its way into just about anywhere and everything. Even on days you were a shut-in, your hair still had a salty ocean breeze scent and you swore you’d find grains of sand in the oddest of places. It wasn’t that big of a deal, just another thing out of your control-- one you’d never be able to change.

The atmosphere answered to no one. Maybe this was the ocean’s way of welcoming you into the fold? Taking it as a sign that the gods were pleased with your departure from the Louisiana coven helped soothe the bitter ache.

You had other things to occupy your thoughts, anyway. Nothing exciting, just the very normal, very stressful situations that came with moving. Having a not so smooth departure made your integration into this coven rocky. Trying to smooth that out while accommodating for the new energy and dynamic of the community made things difficult. Stressful? Definitely. Normal? Unfortunately. Hectic? Totally, but still necessary to process.

Getting to know your new coven sisters was also proving tedious, certain views not quite matching up. At least you were kept too busy to really worry over it. Keeping your mind occupied made everything easier. Even if they didn’t know why you’d really been looking to transfer, it was no secret on their end why they’d been so eager to accept you. They’d had a very specific position that none of the current members were willing to entertain.

A major part of the job was the operation of the coven owned metaphysical shop on the boardwalk, night shift specifically. That had a swirl of mixed emotions bristle your senses- excitement just edging out over apprehension. Your old coven hadn't been open to the human public in any way, shape, or form. The practice was sacred and you were taught to keep it that way.

The only non-paranormal individuals allowed within the walls were partners of the community. A werewolf's mate, for instance, maybe suffering an energetic imbalance would be brought in. So dealing with the stuffy clueless human populace nightly? Well, the idea was less than stellar...but survival required adaptation, and you could be flexible. Still, predicting the havoc it’d play on your nerves was easy. Good thing wine existed because having a glass a day was majorly on the agenda.

Oh well, every job had to have something and each place had slightly different energetic needs, different spiritual practices, and don’t even get you started on the nuances of rituals- everyone and their mom have their own twist. Baton Rouge had been a prime example of that- a hotbed for the magical community, it was embedded in the culture. Overflowing with a little something for everyone and then some. Different ailments, practices, people, and best of all different magics.

On the other hand, all that variety came at the cost of a massive headache in interspecies politics. Witches and vampires, weres and goblins, selkies and sirens, demons and wendigos, elementals and everyone, keeping up with who was at who's throat was exhausting. It gave you a gnarly stomach ache frankly, but if that was the price of learning your craft, well, it wasn't that steep.

Headache, stomach pains, whatever- it was a price you'd gladly pay- had paid. Plus, you had loved the community there. Once you got past the politics there was a wealth of knowledge and power just floating around, free for grabs- even when it wasn’t free, there were ways to get what you’d wanted.

Admitting that your departure had left hella bitter resentment towards your previous sisters was something you actively denied. Your new high priestess hadn’t wanted any hexes sent their way following her acceptance of you. Assuring her it was a mutual departure had been easy, they were extremely desperate and hadn’t really gone through all the hoops to look into it. Besides, it was technically true, there wouldn’t be hexes, just bad blood. There wasn’t really a need to let them know they’d be black listed from the area communals. You’d been to enough of them in the past, they weren’t that special anyway.

Here, alone in the dark with your thoughts, you could sit with the discontent. The choice to leave hadn’t been yours, but you could admit it was for the best. When faced with exile you were willing to sacrifice. Resentment notwithstanding, growth rarely happened if you stayed stagnant for too long. This could actually be a blessing in disguise, even with the perpetual gallons of salt. So here you were; New city, new coven, new people, new rules.

A sigh escaped you at the thought as you put on a nice balancing act for anyone watching. The rules were certainly different here.

Less in some ways, more in others- some very curious agreements. Carefully trying, and trying being the keyword, to descend some questionable-looking stairs while carrying delicate cargo. It being pitch black didn't exactly help either, but at twelve am with no flashlight, the darkness was expected.

Not like you could carry one right now anyway and you’d be caught dead before you put on one of those gaudy forehead lights. A distant bonfire, presumably with partygoers, a few miles off was the only source of light outside of the odd shop still lighting up the boardwalk in the distance.

Neither were a help to you here, but the darkness didn't bother you much, it was more the feeling of the wood against your feet that had you on edge. Foregoing shoes had seemed like the smarter choice knowing you'd be walking in the loose sugary sand, but with the way it mixed against the rough wood to scratch against the arch of your foot? Regret was front and center which only exacerbating your already agitated mind.

Catching your toe on an uneven patch in the wood had you hissing in pain. Someone was def getting cursed if you got a splinter. Actually, you'd be surprised if you made it out without one. These steps were legit grody, they barely even qualified as stairs honestly.

Just some half termite eaten planks, driftwood more likely, definitely nothing professional, all nailed together and stuck into the side of a steep sand dune. Falling on your ass at some point was almost guaranteed- You were always a major klutz in these situations.

Shrugging your shoulder and regripping the box, at least the sand would give you a semi-soft landing whenever it happened.

You should thank whatever beachrat made these stairs though, adjusting your grip on the box again had the jars inside clanking together, water sloshing- good thing you'd tightened the lids before leaving the shop. Thanks to these little stairs you didn’t have to miserably fail at trying your luck in midnight sand surfing. If this was midday you’d have trouble with it still- trying sand surfing now? That'd be so warped. Ugh, just imagine having to make your way back up? Now that'd be a real treat- psych.

When both feet planted safely, and surprisingly splinter-free, in the soft sand you shook yourself into focus. No more letting your thoughts drive you, way too much negativity to unpack and you didn't need that energy seeping into your work here. Moon-water wasn’t usually the most influenceable, but you could, and with your attitude the way it was? You’d totally choke if you didn’t check yourself. No need to mess up your first job, right?

Breathing deeply you set about focusing your mind; grounding, feeling yourself coming back to a controlled center was the first step of your job here tonight. Tightening your grip and breathing in had the scent of the ocean hit you full force. With practiced ease, focusing inward had your eyes naturally drifting shut and calm settle over you. It was incredible how soothing grounding- ritual in general really, could be.

Your next inhale highlighted the subtle undertones of the boardwalk overlaid in the breeze, an amalgamation that fused into a scent uniquely Santa Carla. Letting your energy sink deep within you, then lower down still, dropping into the earth, feeling the vibrations of your surroundings- naturally letting it mix with the energies surrounding you. The ocean was a powerful tool, you'd be a ditz to ignore its embrace. There was an unusual magnetic pull in the air, a buzz that licked against your senses.

The full moon was calling, and like the ocean, you were here to answer.

Centered and ready to work you made your way down to the shore. Funny thing about this new coven, part of the new rules was night rituals were restricted to a single practitioner. That restriction had seemed mental to you, and frankly? You still thought they were a bit out there to bend to such restrictions, but once you learned there was a surprisingly sizable vampire pack in the area it had made more sense. Having just one practitioner was easier for accountability and all that, but like, it was still twisted.

Vampires were picky. They claimed a territory and stuck to it. Any other lucky supernatural creature was subject to their "authority". Barf me out with that attitude. If they weren't solitary, it was usually a duo, anything more than a trio was especially rare. Vampires could be mega volatile in general, but especially towards one another. The fact that there were at least four confirmed vamps in the area? Now, that piqued your interest. Their bonds had to be radically tight to stay together with any type of calm.

Unfortunately, vampires and witches? Typically not such a hot mix.

Vampires and magic didn't always mesh well and historically that meant witches and vampires couldn't play nice together. Funnily enough, this coven didn't go against status quo- every sister you'd met so far vehemently detested vamps. Too bad they were smackdab in the middle of fang city.

The location being legit brill had something to do with how docile the coven acted. It said something when witches were willing to take shit and obey in order to practice. Energetically potent, magically powerful, Santa Carla was a delightful nexus. Not to mention scenic too.

The coven was desperate for someone to be the designated night ritualist, working the stores night shift was just a caveat. The timing had worked out because you were just as desperate. You thought the whole vampire witch feud thing was lame, but it’d saved you from ex-communication, so you'd keep that tidbit to yourself.

Vampires didn't bother you really. Well, they could, but not because the vampy bit, just the entitled attitude. Anyone could be a barf bag regardless of what they were. You'd met just as many ditzy witches as narbo vamps. You were more concerned that you'd most definitely have human tourists bombarding you every night.

What got you though was the craziest part of the deal. When within a 15 mile radius of the boardwalk there was a restriction to strictly restorative work. Even being a nexus, you weren’t sure this place was worth neutering yourself energetically for. Sure, vampire's had their reasons, severe sensitivity to magic yada-yada, not to mention if their bond was as tight as you assumed, they probably felt active magic like nails on a chalkboard, but damn.

You couldn’t believe the high priestess would agree to it. It really seemed the witches got the short end of the stick here. You weren’t seeing a lot of benefits for yourself. So far your opinion on the coven was….well, at this point you were half-convinced you’d joined a gaggle of ditzes.

Having taken stock of the ingredients they had on hand a quick glance had made replenishing the monthly moon water a top priority. It was such a simple thing, very useful, super versatile, and no one in the coven had been willing to make a large batch of it. Ugh, imagine letting prejudice get in the way of making such a staple ingredient. There wasn't anything fancy that went into it. A cool head, even temper, patience, and a little prep was all that it needed.

That’s what you were here for now, though. They could keep their dislike and eat their cake too. Still, you weren’t completely obstinate and took their warning to heart, it wasn't just the vampires that made the area witches refuse the night shift.

Santa Carla wasn’t exactly Disneyland. Murder was a thing and it happened here daily. Nexus’s tended to have a magnetic draw. Pulling in powerful things, good things, weak things, bad things- the sheer unpredictability wasn’t a friend in this case.

A random human could decide tonight was beach shanking night and you’d be the lucky victim. You’d like to see them try at least. Maybe one of the vampire pack would break the agreement if they were feeling a bit nippy? Doubtful if they didn’t want a war on their hands, but possible. A stray wendigo attracted to your energy feeling a midnight snack seemed more likely. Could even be a banshee needing a quick meal. Never can tell how things were going to work out.

Knowing yourself though, you’d probably just trip up those hella grimy stairs and break your neck.

You weren’t too worried about being attacked though, honestly. You had wards in place and if it got past that, well, you'd deal with whatever it was then. No use worrying about it now. You were more than happy to take on the privilege to essentially moon bathe on the beach while funneling the energy to the water. It was good on all levels.

Walking to the area you’d scouted during the day set your mind back into focus. Setting the box down, the jars jostling while you grabbed the blanket hanging off the side of the box. Spreading it out and setting up your area had everything falling in place. The jars spread just along the outside of your circular blanket, with that done you sat yourself down in the center.

Determined to do this right you brought back that focused rooted energy. Using this as an opportunity to release some built-up tension would be a good idea too. Let the ocean wash away your bitterness with the tide and allow the moon to shift you into clarity for whatever was to come. Even if you did think your new sisters were idiots, they were to be your idiots and you had to embrace it.

As you laid there working the energy and letting it shift, you noticed a curious sensation at the edge of your perception.

A slight tickling at the fringe of your awareness; soft, so extremely soft and subtle that if you’d just gone about your business and hadn’t been so introspective focused you’d totally have passed it over.

Watched.

The subtle sensation wasn’t threatening as of yet, but you were definitely being watched. By what? You weren’t sure. Getting a firm reading on it was difficult. The more you focused on the energy the further it pulled back. Pursuing it only had whoever it was slyly staying just out of your grasp.

Definitely not human. Wouldn’t be a witch or a medium either, they’d just answer your psychic questioning. Could be a were, you’d heard they’d been in the area recently. The next brush sent a shiver down your spine and had you crossing weres off. It was definitely too silky to be one, they always felt gruffer to you, wilder. Possibly a demon, they had that shade of sensuality and always liked to follow you around in new territory. A quick flash of tightly-wound sharp control coated in a mischievous air finally spit out the answer; Vampire.

Satisfied, you dropped the pursuit and turned your attention back to the sea. Subtle brushes returning, but this time not trying to hide itself or their interest. So one of the new overlords had decided to drop in on their new subject? That was just fine as long as they stayed watching and didn’t interfere.

You’d give it to whichever vamp this was. They had wicked nice energy. Like, once you got a read on that was. Playful, cheeky almost to a fae’s degree, brimming with an elusive danger, while still having a quiet peace underneath. That quiet calm resonated inside your own field and was exactly what you needed to settle back into your space. You didn’t hate the idea of their company so much.

You’d expected a run-in at some point, but right away? They were some go-getters to the max.

Nothing came of it though, the watcher had just been that. A watcher. When three am came, went, and passed, you’d decided to pack things up. You felt their vigilant gaze the entire time. Even after you got in your car and motored on home, it was still with you. It was only after you entered your home did their light press on your awareness leave.

The rest of your week played out much the same. Feeling that attentive gaze in every outside ritual from start to well after the finish. Even while you were working the shop they’d pop in and out of your awareness only to settle when you were locking up for the night.

You’d tried to catch a glimpse of who your designated monitor was, but it proved an impossible task. Stealth was a vampire’s friend and this one was incredibly apt. They stayed just far enough away during ritual and on the boardwalk you were too busy entertaining space cadet humans or dealing with an actual client to seek them out.

On that note, there was a surprising number of shapeshifters in the area, changelings especially had been a nice treat. They weren’t exactly common in Louisiana and working with them was always interesting. They required a delicate eye and full attention when diagnosing their condition.

A shapeshifter’s physicality was entirely based on energy manipulation, so one wrong push or pull and you could injure them more than help. Pinpointing where your attentive observer was out in the crowd became annoyingly out of the question.

They’d turn up eventually. Until then, however, you’d just have to sit tight. Lucky for you changelings had a penchant for gossiping. They’d been kind enough to give you a rundown on the pack and their opinion of them. Changelings weren’t known to have easily won loyalty, so the popular opinion on them being pretty rad, was surprising.

They were apparently chill on the authority, which was shocking enough, but they said the pack leader, David, could be hella genial. Vampires weren’t usually described that way. Not outside of the anyone they were glamouring anyway. Maybe the coven weren’t such spazes to reside here.

Friday saw your week coming to a close. You’d woken up ready to put your first week behind you and spend the weekend really exploring the area. There was a nice hiking trail not too far away that you’d really wanted to spend some time at. A few brownies had spirited into the shop and mentioned it as a great area for herbs and ritual during conversation.

Brewing a second cup of tea, calming herbs this time- regular humans really did get on your nerves with their incessant brainless questions and barf bag attitude. There were a few mediums that'd dropped in who you didn't mind, actually really liked, but the rest of the human race made you want to gag. Lumping witches and poor mediums into the same category didn’t seem fair.

The night was steadily cruising along. The humans came in bursts, sporadic, but manageable. Client-wise, nothing too dramatic either, the most interesting case was a few sprites suffering a nasty goblin hex. It was an easy enough fix, orders on how to use the herbs, and a cautionary chastising to leave the gobbies alone unless invited. They giggled their departure as you shook your head, sprites never learned.

The night's energy had you listless. Only a few hours left before you could close down shop and you were antsy. No pressing ceremonies to perform tonight for the coven either, so heading straight home to open that bottle of wine you'd acquired before your arrival was on the top of the to-do list.

Curiously, your nightly specter hadn't visited once. It was surprising how fast you'd gotten used to a vampire’s energy body. If you were honest with yourself, you'd even come to look forward to having it- him, the changelings had listed only male vampires, being a steady sensation on the outer edges of your senses.

The absence of the strange new routine left you with an unsettled itch. Something was off, you could tell, your antsiness screamed of something about to happen, you just weren't sure what.

The answer came not too long after that. With a lull of what you assumed to be the last customers of the night, you’d busied yourself restocking and starting to close down. High on the shelf ladder reorganizing the herb wall. It got so messy with the daily run-through of customers’ grubby hands all over it. Turning a jar forward as the bell above the door sounded.

"Welcome! I'll be-" the energy that zapped your senses had you cut off the greeting with a sharp inhale. Thank the gods you hadn't been holding one of the glass jars, it'd be smithereens otherwise.

The shift had hit you instantly, an electric buzz that lapped against your mental self. Giving you a clear idea of what just walked in. Four of them. They'd all come. Shifting through the sensation, trying to grasp each of their unique patterns had you stopping short when you felt your chaperone's energy reach out to you.

It wasn't just a soft prodding like usual, instead, it was like a full-body caress. More like a lick if you were honest.

Skin tingling, electric sparks sent down your spine settling somewhere you'd rather not question right now, and if your nipples had tightened from it? Well, that was nobody's business. Beneath the shameless lick was an urge of reassurance.

The unspoken highly nuanced language assuring you of safety. Thank the goddess you were fluent. It was odd, really, a vampire reassuring a witch of their safety? You weren't prey, not if they wanted the coven to stay placid. Even if they’d decided to attack you weren’t helpless. The kiddie gloves would come off quicker than lightning and then they’d see what was up.

They’d definitely break you, but you’d do some damage. So there wasn't any rhyme or reason to make you feel safe or calmed. Nothing you could think of except for your own peace of mind. It had a giggle bubbling up, but you clamped down before it could escape.

You appreciate the sentiment regardless and dragged your energy against his in return, showing your mirth, and if he was apt enough to recognize the instant anxiety their entrance caused, he'd feel the praise underneath.

Taking a deep inhale before steeling yourself. You'd anticipated that it was only a matter of time before a meeting. The high priestess had said it’d come at some point when they felt ready, so you were decidedly not going to freak out and treat them like any other customer. Even if one of them had already made your nipples pebble.

You were also so ready to end the mystery of what your babysitter looked like. Putting a face to, well not a name, but an energetic signature rather. Stepping down from the ladder you made your way towards the front counter.

They were milling about between aisle shelving so getting a clear look wasn’t working. You could see bits of hair, flashes of leather, and hear their banter- typical dudes messing with each other. You were right, hearing how affable they were with each other solidified that they def have a legit bond.

Waiting another minute behind that counter still hadn’t made them come to you. Sighing before you decided to speak up, "What can I help you with tonight?" That had the laughter in the back trickle off before a rumbling voice spoke out, "Many things, maybe nothing. Depends on what you're offering." He hadn’t needed to emerge from the aisle for you to feel the leer paired with that statement. Ah, so David was the edgy type. You could work with that.

What you might stumble over though, was just how pretty they all were.

Don't get it wrong, Vampires were supposed to be attractive, it was part of their thing. A magnetic and alluring shift happened to them all when they were turned, but this? This was on another level.

The vague memory of lessons from your old covens compendium on vampiric lore came to mind. It’d stated the first vampire came into existence born by way of an incubus mingling in a maenads rites with a medium. Their resulting child the first vampire.

Who knew how accurate those stories were, the compendium was specific to each coven; an enduring collection of their line of knowledge, but authenticity was always questionable.

Looking at them all as they emerged- really made you believe there was some weighted truth to the legend. Incubus certainly seemed like it was mingled up in them. You’d been gifted by a few incubi once upon a time and the similarities between them and these boys? Striking. Between their movements, their magnetic presences, and the brazen way they gazed at you.

The vampires in Louisiana were all charming, but it was all a subtle compulsion. It didn’t help that they typically had a bad attitude mixed with antiquated style. They just never appealed to you.

This pack, however, seems like they’d had no problem keeping up with pop culture. Embracing it wholeheartedly, one of them looked like he moonlighted in poison for crying out loud. Maybe they were young, but you got a vibe that hinted otherwise. More like they were adaptable.

Trying to keep a straight face, professionalism and all that, was difficult, but doable. At least you thought it was, but once you locked eyes with a pair of soulful hazel- there was no doubt that they all felt the psychic warble you let slip accidentally.

He’d been the elusive watcher this week. There wasn’t a question about it, a perfect face to match his auric self. The breath you’d been holding choked out when he broke into an impish grin followed by what was essentially another playful full-body kiss.

You swore you could hear a purr resound in your mind. The three subordinates chuckled when you drew in a sharp intake.

“Marko.” David's tenor was soft, but firm. Marko? Cute. Without breaking eye contact, his smile widened mischievously while he raised both hands in surrender. The undivided attention was unsettling in all the right ways.

Sparking a heat that undulated throughout you. Tabling that information to the back of your mind, you broke the gaze. Needed to if you were going to have any kind of brain function for conversation.

Turning to the de facto leader you sized him up. Or tried to. Definitely threatening, actively making it hard to read him. On the surface he felt like a cold blade; sharp, decisive, piercing.

Good qualities for a leader you supposed, but like, damn, that didn’t sate your curiosity. If he wasn’t going to work with you then that only left the boring way, “David, I presume?”

He raised a brow with a pleased look, “Good. The little crone knows who matters around here.” Bo-guuus, edgy with an attitude. Those changelings either lied or were talking about someone different because genial? You weren’t seeing it. Aiming an unimpressed look paired with a, “Mmhmm” brought a chuckle of his own.

Waiting for him to speak again seemed like the best option, you weren’t very good at small talk, and Marko was still so very distracting. After David’s chiding, he really hadn’t let up much. He might not be doing that lick thing with the delightful heat, but what he was doing wasn’t far off.

Going out of his way to make sure a large portion of your attention was still focused on him by continually baiting you; almost like energetic petting. If you weren’t trying to have a serious conversation you’d bask in the new attention. You weren’t a cat, but you imagined this is what they must have felt like. Psychic flirting was always fun, but his attention had it quickly becoming your favorite.

With him doing it in front of his pack though? Any sensible person, witch especially should be uncomfortable. Totally pissed if not outraged- it was definitely a claim, unnervingly possessive, and you shouldn’t like the blatant territorial display, but for some reason, it stroked something deep in your harebrain that majorly worked for you.

Before you could drop down that rabbit hole further David brought you back, “You’ve been a busy little witch this past week.” Annoyance fluttered in, what’d he expect? There hadn’t been a night ritualist for over a year. There was a lot of work to do, some things just couldn’t be done during the day.

You shrugged “Ha, massive understatement. New coven, new clients, way too many neglected things to catch up on. Seems like you should thank me for taking over.”

The look he gave you was piercing and indiscernible. You weren’t really sure where you stood with him. You hadn’t done anything to step out of the bounds they’d placed on you, but somehow with the look he was leveling at you begged the question, had you?

Mentally retracing your week yielded nothing. Hadn’t even tried to hex anyone, even that human who’d cut you off on your drive in Wednesday night, now that’d been difficult. Was this why you’d had such heavy surveillance? Not that you’d minded, but here you thought it was just your shining personality.

“Keep it up. The community needs a witch with some spine.” Maybe you’d spoke too soon, he might not be so bad.

“I wasn’t so sure about you. Word on the street and all.” That had you freeze. Not even Marko’s continued attention phased you. There was no way he knew anything. That was impossible. Your new coven didn’t know, your old coven wouldn't dare let anything slip- it wouldn’t just be you who lost face.

There was no way anyone knew anything about you or why you’d moved. It had to be a bluff, a well aimed taunt. It was common knowledge that witches rarely transferred covens, it happened for a multitude of reasons- good, bad, ugly. He was just being a dickhead, a nosy dickhead.

Forcing a calm mask even though you were sure they could all hear your rapid heartbeat, trying not to play into his bait, “Oh? Word on the street? I have a rep already? Bitchin’.”

Anxiety was a mega issue for you, so not having a cow and playing it as chill as you did? A total moment for you. clammy hands, rapid heartbeat, clenched jaw and all. That pulled a laugh out of Marko and the hair band look-alike while David and the clydesdale in the back wore smirks.

“Word is the new witch isn’t from the clique. Never can tell what you little hags are planning, bringing in new blood?” He leaned forward across the counter catching you with his piercing blues, “That has trouble written all over it.”

You were slow to process what he’d actually said, too caught up in how the light glinted off his pretty eyes. There was no denying it, so you didn’t try, “For sure,” but on second thought you didn’t want to make it sound like you were here to start shit, “but change isn’t always bad.”

He tapped the glass of the counter before he pushed off, “We’ll see about that, little hag”. That must have been the signal to leave because he’d started walking towards the door with the silent type in his shadow.

Marko hadn’t moved, hadn’t dropped his attention and you were nervous to return it. Too likely to get caught up in something now that they were all leaving. You liked it, but it was still like mega nerve-racking.

Before you could work up the confidence to engage with whatever that was, the taller blonde slapped his shoulder, “I like this chick! She’s got some spunk!”

He made to push away from the vampire still comfortably leaning against the counter, but something had caught your eye. Without thinking, your hand shot out like a viper to grip his wrist before he could walk any further away, “Wait up!” Marko’s purr, or whatever that buzz he was coating you in suddenly sputtered out.

With everyone’s attention returning, you dropped the skin contact and made your way around the counter. Standing in front of him while quickly giving him a psychic once over. His tallness made it very inconvenient to look for the physical indicator of what you suspected. With a yank to his shoulder you spoke before you really thought how it’d be taken, “Bend down and show me your teeth.”

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marypsue · 7 years

Text

Imbalance, 1 / ?

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / ?

Here it is: the plotty TAZ: Balance longfic I said I wasn't going to write! Takes place post-canon, and it's going to get OC-heavy and (hopefully) meta as heck.

Warning: may contain bummers.

I’m also on AO3 as MaryPSue!

...

We open on a hill, in a park. It’s not a particularly big hill, or a particularly big park - there’s a pond in the middle of it with a fountain, a handful of trees sprinkled throughout, a grassy space where people can toss flying discs or footballs back and forth or spread out picnic blankets or throw toys for excited dogs. A concrete sidewalk runs around the perimeter of the park, meandering up and down and around the soft rolls of the grassy landscape, at one point bisecting the park as it crosses an elegantly curved wooden bridge over the pond. Trees, verdant and lush, partly shield the park from the businesses and streets that encircle it.

This park would be a beautiful place to visit on a bright, hot summer day, when the trees would offer shelter and shade to people relaxing on the sunny swath of grass, the fountain’s spray catching the light like a thousand glittering diamonds. On this day, though, what sunlight does reach the grass is watery, muted. It is early September, and a ragged cover of grey cloud hangs low and smothering over the park. The fountain has been turned off for the season, the frost that has already begun to form around the edges of the pond each morning too dangerous for its delicate plumbing. The trees shiver and sway in the restless wind, blowing cold and smelling of fresh earth under rain. Summer has been chased out of this park by the first chills of fall.

There aren’t many people gathered in the park on this day, what with the threat of rain looming overhead and the chill in the wind. The only people in the park are a young woman, clutching a worn red windbreaker close around her against the wind as she walks around the sidewalk that encircles the park, two teenage boys with a beautiful border collie on an extendable leash, and a man in his late forties or early fifties doing enthusiastic calisthenics in neon exercise wear several decades out of style.

And, on the hill, four figures in dark, hooded robes.

Pull back, until the brilliant green of the park vanishes into the steel and concrete of the town that encircles it, until the town vanishes into the gently-rolling fields of yellow and green that encircle it, until the highway leading out of the town connects to a city, connects to another, to another, until the web of towns and cities become an intricate filigree of lights spanning a globe that shrinks and vanishes into the distance, dwarfed by the immensity of its sun. Pull back until the ring of planets all disappear into the emerald green of the plane of thought, spinning with its eleven partners in the complicated steps of a sedate and ancient dance.

Pull back, until you can see the spiderweb of fine, ash-grey cracks that filigree its perfect surface.

This is where an entity - or possibly a force - known as the Hunger made its last stand, where it was destroyed once and for all and all of its victims freed. But, as Jeffandrew once said, everything that is was created by something bigger.

This is where the world nearly ended. And this is where the world will end again.

...

Returning to the park, we see Joaquin, the collie half-dragging him along by the extendable leash he holds in his right hand. She's pulled the leash to its full extension, gleefully testing the limits of her freedom, but Joaquin barely notices. His head is elsewhere.

The powers that he’d gotten from his interplanar cooking lesson hadn’t lasted very long after the shadows all turned to light and vanished, fizzling away into nothing. He’d been hailed as a hero, briefly, but once people started to realise that he didn’t still have superpowers, the attention had faded away as well.

To be honest, it’s kind of a relief. Joaquin had his hands full enough with graduating high school and his part-time shifts at the food truck; he doesn’t need the pressure of international fame on top of that. And to the people he saved that day, Joaquin knows he’s still a hero - he still gets free coffee and sandwiches at every food truck and cafe for miles, and strangers still stop him in the streets to thank him, to tell him their stories from that day. He never dreamed he’d have such an impact on so many lives. It’s a good feeling - the best feeling.

But there’s still one thing that bothers him.

There's no magic on this plane. At least, not the showy, explosive kind that he'd wielded during the Calamity. The inhabitants of the plane of thought have shaped metal and lightning around ideas that, in other planes, would be accomplished with advanced spellwork. They're creative and ingenious with mechanical devices because without magic, they have to be. The bonds between planes are complex and intricately interwoven, but most of what makes it from the plane of magic to the plane of thought can be easily dismissed as good fortune or chance.

But what happened to Joaquin was nothing like that. So many things should have been impossible. The story and song, the taco, the portal; none of it should have been real. But it was. It happened. To him.

And even though he’s obviously happy and relieved that the shadowy force that had invaded his world was defeated and the strange electric power that had filled him up isn’t needed anymore, and even though he’d never want anyone to get hurt for it to happen...sometimes Joaquin can’t help but wish that something like it would happen to him again.

The handle of the collie's leash jerks forward as the collie suddenly turns and charges towards the hill, nearly tearing the leash out of Joaquin's hand. He stumbles off of the sidewalk, trying to keep his grip on the leash as the collie bounds joyfully into the small copse of trees gathered around the base of the hill. His brother snorts with laughter from the sidewalk behind him as Joaquin tries to dig in his heels and haul the dog up short before she can wrap her leash around a tree. "Julia! Hey, get back here!"

“Retract the leash, dipstick!” his brother laughs, from the sidewalk, as Joaquin skids across the grass.

“I know how to walk my own dog,” Joaquin yells back, managing to pull the collie to a standstill for a moment before she unepectedly charges forward again, yanking him off his feet and dragging him along, into the trees, on his ass.

Julia the border collie does manage to wrap her leash around a tree. Several trees, actually. By the time Joaquin gets back on his feet and makes his way over to where Julia’s sitting, panting happily and looking at him like a dog who knows exactly what she’s doing, the leash is woven around and between so many trees that unsnarling it is going to be a real pain.

“Thanks,” Joaquin mutters sarcastically, crouching down to unclasp the leash from Julia’s collar. “Carlos, can you come help me untangle this l-”

The instant Julia’s free of her leash, she’s gone. Joaquin tries to hold on to her collar, but the border collie nearly bowls him over as she flies, like a sleek, furry bullet, towards the top of the hill.

“Shit!” Joaquin spits out, picking himself up and charging after her.

...

To her credit, Liliana never really meant to join a coven.

She'd just wanted to make some friends. Maybe meet some people who'd go with her to punk concerts or the psychic shop for incense and new tarot cards. Possibly get involved in environmental activism on a local level. Plant a community garden. Grow some sick-ass beans.

But then the Day of Story and Song happened. And all of a sudden, all of Liliana’s friends are into magic. In a big way. If she’s being totally honest? Yeah, she is too. Look, the confirmed - well, semi-confirmed - existence of Garyl the Binicorn alone fulfills about seventy-five percent of her childhood dreams. And, okay, her adult dreams, too. She doesn’t have an entire condo full of fairy and dragon figurines for nothing.

But she's still not entirely sure how she ended up on a hill in the impending rain, in a crushed-velvet cloak from Party City, holding something that Rowan calls an 'athame' but looks suspiciously like the overpriced ornamental dagger with the dragon handle that's been in the jewel case at the local Savers for the last five years. Again.

Somebody's hot-glued tacky purple plastic gems over the dragon's eyes. They wink at Liliana in the greyish half-light.

"The circle is drawn," Rowan intones, raising the red translucent plastic wineglass with the fake skeleton arm for a stem that he calls a 'chalice' towards the sky before clutching it to his chest. "The spirits of the four directions have been invoked. Let the ritual begin."

This ritual business had been Rowan’s idea in the first place, but the other kids (okay, so they’re all in their twenties, but that still makes them kids) had jumped on board so fast that Liliana still has whiplash. Storm had found the actual ritual for opening a planar gateway first, on some deeply sketchy website, and they’ve been tracking down published versions and testing them ever since. Today’s is barely recognisable from the first version of the ritual they tried, from some falling-apart book from the seventies that Rowan tracked down through the university’s inter-library loan system. Liliana suspects that it was originally written with the intent to summon something Satanic, but hey. The kids are having fun.

Privately, Liliana still thinks that it’s all a load of steaming, fresh manure, but, well. It’s not like trying to summon something up with magic they don’t actually have in the first place is going to hurt anything.

And the kids mean well. They really want to conjure up something to solve all the world’s problems. Well, and their personal problem of not having Harry Potter magic at their fingertips, but still. That’s not a bubble Liliana’s going to try to burst.

On cue, Storm and Indigo raise their artifacts - the 'wand', a gold-painted plastic sceptre from a child's dress-up set, and the 'Book of Shadows', a vinyl-bound notebook that Indigo rather convincingly stitched half a plastic eyeball to - up to eye level. Liliana follows suit with the dagger a moment later. Dimly, she feels like the whole thing is faintly ridiculous, but just as she's not sure how she ended up here in the first place, she's also not sure how to extricate herself.

She'd asked Rowan if he was sure this junk would do the trick, and he'd responded, "The magic does not come from the tools. You heard the tale of the taco. The magic comes through the tools, from inside of us. It doesn’t matter what the tools look like. What matters is what we believe, what lies within our hearts."

Liliana's pretty sure Rowan isn't the name his parents gave him.

The trees rustle ominously, and a cold wind whips Liliana's cloak around her ankles before blowing it back from her shoulders, revealing the black yoga pants and tank top she'd elected to wear under it in lieu of Indigo's elaborate corset-and-circle-skirt combo or Storm's floofy pirate shirt and fancypants embroidered waistcoat. She can feel the hairs on the back of her neck rising as the wind freezes every inch of exposed skin on contact. Her Party City cloak does absolutely nothing to protect her from the elements. She probably looks really stupid, standing here with her arms in the air, holding this butt-ugly dagger that'd probably snap off at the handle if she tried stabbing anything with it. Her arms are starting to ache, too. She hopes it doesn't start raining.

"O, Goddess!" Rowan booms, and Liliana has to give him credit, he's got the voice for majickal invocations. Or possibly rodeo announcing. She's getting shivers, though that might just be from the cold. "Hear our plea! Bestow upon us Your favour and be with us as we strive to work Your divine will in this time of darkness!"

There’s a low whistle as the wind starts to pick up again, flapping the edges of the coven’s cloaks and Indigo’s skirt. Liliana wrenches her arms back up to their former position, shrugging her cloak sideways to try to keep it from hitting her in the boobs.

Rowan goes on, his voice rising over the growing sound of the wind. “Goddess, we humbly seek Your aid. Open the way between planes, and deliver unto us -”

The wind blows straight up under Liliana's cloak, flipping it over her face.

She struggles to push it back, cursing under her breath as the wind wraps it around her head. Liliana drops the dagger, tugging at the cheap fabric.

Rowan's shout of, "No! Don't break the circle -" comes too late. But it doesn't matter. The wind dies down, and Liliana pulls the cloak off her head to see - the park, exactly the same as it was before. No immense, holy fire has blasted the earth in a ten-metre radius. No army of demons has marched out of the air. No dread elder god has taken control of Liliana's body (she's pretty sure). For half a second, she thinks she catches a whiff of bitter woodsmoke, but it’s gone before she can even be sure it’s really there. She doesn't feel any different and absolutely nothing has changed.

Rowan actually looks disappointed.

"All right," he says, in the most kicked-puppy voice imaginable. "Let's dispel the circle."

That's when Liliana sees the dog coming up the hill. It's a beautiful border collie, probably the prettiest dog Liliana's ever seen in person. It looks like a model. This dog could have photoshoots. This dog could be in movies. And it's charging up the hill straight for Liliana, with a great big tongue-hanging-out doggy smile on its face.

"Liliana," Indigo complains, as Liliana drops to her knees to give the dog a scratch behind its ears. Liliana ignores her. The dog probably belongs to the two teenage boys coming up the hill behind it, but she still looks for a collar. Hey, you never know. Maybe sometimes the Goddess likes you so much she gives you free dogs.

Probably not this time, though, as Liliana's fingers close on a collar. She spins it around until she can read the engraved tag that jingles merrily on it.

"Julia," she reads, petting the top of the dog's head. Sweet zombie Jesus, this dog is soft. And panting happily, obviously basking in the attention. If it's some kind of disguised demon taking advantage of their broken circle to manifest in physical reality, well, it probably can't hurt to let it stay manifested for a little while longer. "Who's a pretty girl, Julia? Is it you? Are you the best, prettiest, fastest, softest dog in this whole entire park? Are you -"

Liliana's monologue on doghood is rudely interrupted by the scream.

...

It is too fucking cold.

September is way too fucking early for frost. September is also way too fucking early to need a real jacket. September should be warm enough to go out in a woolly sweater with jeans or thick tights and a cute skirt to pumpkin patches or on hayrides or to farmers’ markets. You should not need six fucking sweaters and an insulated jacket in September. It is too fucking cold and Marial wants her money back. She's not sure at the moment who she would approach about getting said refund, or what the amount would be, but just give her time.

She'd thought taking a walk in the park would be...well, a walk in the park. Now she's fifteen minutes in and shivering in her windbreaker, wishing she'd worn that hoodie she'd decided to leave at home because, after all, it's just the beginning of September! It's not cold enough yet to need anything more than a windbreaker! If she could go back in time fifteen minutes and give her past self a firm shake, Marial would jump at the opportunity.

She pulls her windbreaker closer around herself as she passes by two of the only other idiots to be out here in this stupid, stupid weather, a couple of teenage boys who at least have the excuse of having a dog with them. It takes off into the trees a few seconds after Marial passes by them, and she hears the younger-looking one squawk. Maybe the dog's figured out that it's too fucking cold for this, too.

Tracksuit Guy waves as Marial passes by, like he always does, and Marial nods, once, in acknowledgment. His dedication to calisthenics is pretty impressive, even she has to admit, but the neon 80s tracksuit? She has questions.

She glances up the hill as she passes, and almost looks right over the four dipshits in cloaks. It's not such an unusual sight - there's definitely more than one place in town that sells crystals and curse amulets and overpriced, overdecorated notebooks - but this particular park isn't a usual site for pagan rituals or sabbats or whatever the fuck this is. Marial hopes whatever made them decide those cloaks were a good idea isn't catching.

She starts to turn away, to keep walking, but something stops her. Something holds her in place, staring up at those figures on the hill, which seem to grow taller and darker and more imposing with every second that passes. There’s something about how they’re positioned up there - four of them in a close circle, one to each of the cardinal directions - that reminds her of something. Something from the story and song, yes, the more they seem to loom up there the more they remind her of how she’d pictured the featureless grey figures of the judges on the ash planet as seen from the deck of the Starblaster, but also something else.

Something she couldn’t possibly have seen.

Marial doesn’t have any time at all to process the strange feeling of deja vu that washes over her, though, because one of the figures’ cloaks flips over their head, and they reach up to try to unwrap it, dropping something that glints even in the dim, overcast light.

It happens fast. Marial barely has time to notice the familiar feeling of lightness, of weightlessness, the numbness creeping fast up her extremities, the sickness building in the pit of her stomach, before -

In all of the times her heart has failed her, Marial’s never felt anything quite like this before. She has no other way to describe it other than being wrenched halfway out of her body.

The world greys around her, white wisps of the treetops and the cloaks of the four at the top of the hill blowing away in some nonexistent wind, the rich, earthy smell of autumn vanishing into a blast of stinging smoke, then nothing at all. Marial looks down, sees her own windbreaker wisping away at the shoulders, like a watercolour painting someone’s smeared their sleeve through. She’s drifting out of her body to the waist. She can see the blankly surprised look on her own face.

As she watches, the void-white of her own windbreaker, the one she's wearing and not the one on her frozen body, begins, slowly, to bleed through with red.

Then there’s a feeling like she’s been kicked in the chest by a horse’s hind legs, both hooves at once. Marial’s chest explodes with not-quite-pain, her neck snapping back as she’s whiplashed abruptly back into her body. The world is back to dull autumn colours. The air smells of dead leaves and wet dirt. Her entire body aches dully, her chest feels like a hippopotamus sat on it, and the back of her head is smarting where she cracked it on the pavement when she, apparently, fell. Her implanted defibrillator is beeping frantically under her windbreaker, and she feels like death itself just chewed her up and spat her out.

Marial sits up, and promptly blows chunks all over the pavement.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, spits a couple of times onto the pavement, and straightens up again, wincing. Under usual circumstances, her first thought would be to get herself to an emergency room as fast as possible, make sure that she isn’t going to drop into cardiac arrest again. Somehow, though, Marial is sure that if anything counts as unusual circumstances, it’s this.

She glances up the hill again, at the four figures, one of whom is now crouched, holding out their arms to a dog that’s barreling up the hill towards them. The two teenage boys are headed up the hill after the dog, and Marial stuffs down the sudden, irrational urge to yell out to them, to warn them - what? What even just happened?

She tests her legs, finds them still aching and a little watery but mostly steady, and pushes herself up. Her defibrillator is still freaking out, so that should probably be her first priority, but hard on its heels is the need to get the taste of stomach acid out of her mouth.

Marial turns to head back towards the entrance to the park, towards her apartment and where her car is parked, but again, something stops her in her tracks. This time, though, it’s not some mysterious compelling force. No, this time it’s just a crumpled heap of neon fabric lying in the grass.

The scream comes out before she can stop it.

...

Several planes away, Barry J. Bluejeans pauses in the middle of a scythe-swing as a shudder passes through him.

“What’s the matter, babe?” Lup asks, flicking her wrist and sending a fireball after the perp, who's taken the opportunity to try to run. She isn’t even looking. The fireball catches the unfortunate lich square in the middle of the back anyway. The soundless shriek it emits would probably pierce mortal eardrums.

Barry gives himself a little shake.

“I’m not sure, I thought -” He passes his scythe over to Lup, who takes it also without looking, and pats down the fancy waistcoat she helped him pick out when they got this gig, like he’s looking for something in the pockets it doesn’t have. “Did my body just die?”

“Not that I can tell, sexy,” Lup says. “And good thing too, 'cause I’ve got plans for it later tonight.”

“Oh, just reap me already,” the perp moans.

Lup’s grin would put sharks to shame. She raises the scythe.

“Gladly,” she says.

#this is mary's fic tag #the adventure zone #guess what!!! it's the experimental metafic that I've always wanted to write for every fandom I've ever been in!#am I gonna tag it #balance arc #? yes yes I am

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