#here have this tiny thing this prompt gave me nothing fr

[danielsarmand]

writober 2023 | DAY ONE · rustle

The rustling of leaves wakes Gale up, as it does most nights.

Before Mystra, or rather before the Orb, he’d never had trouble sleeping. Even after, his constant search for a cure often left him exhausted well before dinnertime, head aching from all the information he’d forced himself to take in during the day. He slept heavy then, if not easy—a deep, dreamless slumber that temporarily stopped his body from craving, demanding. Threatening.

But tonight, as most nights as of late, he wakes.

Astarion approaches his bedroll shortly after. Gale doesn’t bother opening his eyes.

“You seriously have to stop that,” he mutters, low enough that the others don’t so much as stir in their sleep. He hears Astarion huff, and he can almost picture him rolling his eyes with it. He smiles a little, despite himself.

“You’re no fun,” Astarion says, backing off. He settles down in front of the fire then, his thirst mostly quenched from his nightly walk in the woods.

They’ve talked about this, more or less. And really, it’s not that Gale doesn’t want to let him drink. He wouldn’t mind it, he thinks. He would even, to an extent, enjoy it—not that Astarion needs to know. But at this rate his blood is no better than a sewer rat’s, he’d estimate. So really, it’s for the best.

“Oh, Astarion,” he says, turning on his side to finally look at him.

His pale skin glows in the moonlight, flames burn in his eyes. He’s untouchable in all the ways that matter, yet still somehow less so than Gale.

“I fear you'll have to live with it.”

[alexandrablake]

long story short (it was a bad time)

Prompt: 31. “I never would’ve thought that (he/she/they)’d get with someone else.” from this prompt list! Pairing: no current ones, but there are serious mentions of former!hotchniss Word Count: 4,410 (?????) Warnings: it’s angsty, and there’s some mentions of alcohol. there’s also mentions of the mr. scratch events  A/n: no, we are not going to talk about how late this is. nope. (i’m so sorry. catching up now, hopefully!) wrote this, realized that it’s very akin to seattle by @hurricanejjareau, which if you haven’t read, do it! 

          Des Moines, Iowa- October, 2017

Shutting his phone with far more force than necessary, he stared down at the small object. He flipped it in his palm and scowled at it with dismay. It was a chance of a lifetime, and it was all he had thought about for the past three years. There wasn’t a world in which he would refuse the offer, yet, for just the slightest of moments, he hesitated. But just as quickly as it came, it left, and he made his decision.

Aaron Hotchner was returning to the BAU.

The death of a valued team member left a door open, and Hotch already had a foot in. Cruz called him and offered him a deal he knew the former agent wouldn’t refuse. All the pieces were falling into place, all the stars were aligning, all the signs were being shown. There was no way he’d be able to refute everything the world was telling him. And he definitely didn’t try very hard.

Cruz said that Mr. Scratch had been terrorising the team practically since he left. Someone that cunning was not able to let go of something they felt so interesting. He had placed Reid, an agent who had already seen far too much for his short life, in a maximum security prison, framing him and terrorising him with memories that were just out of his reach. 

Hotch was told about what happened in the car, how they were ambushed, how Prentiss was abducted, and how SSA Walker was killed. He was told how traumatized the team was. But he was also told how much relief finally catching Lewis gave them. For the first time in a very long time, the team felt somewhat safe

And the spot left open by the death of Stephen Walker- Cruz knew that Hotch was itching to come back. Hotch may have only worked under him for two years, but they knew each other very well. Cruz knew how much being away from this job, this team, this life had been destroying Aaron, even if he wasn’t told so. 

“Hey, buddy.” It was an old habit of his, crouching down to talk to his son and calling him ‘buddy.’ Jack had probably come to associate the pet name with bad news, because the only time his father ever called him that was when he had difficult facts to present. Jack wasn’t a little kid anymore; he was twelve, and he was far too smart to not see that his dad was undergoing some turmoil.

But the good thing with Jack was that he was also smart enough to act like nothing was wrong, to just go with the flow. He had gone through a lot of changes in his life, and would definitely be going through more in the future, but he was used to it by now and was okay to move with his dad at a moment’s notice. 

“What’s up, Dad?” he asked, looking up from a math book with attentive eyes.

Hotch stood up and moved into the seat across the table from him. He spoke very slowly, “How would you feel about moving back to Virginia?”

“That’d be cool!” he enthused, nodding his head but his eyebrows were knit with confusion. “Why? Are you going back to the FBI?”

Hotch pursed his lips in thought. His fingers drummed subconsciously on the wood top. “I… think so, yeah. But-” he interrupted himself, holding his hand in the air, “only if you are okay with it. I don’t want to cause you anymore pain by moving you. Again.”

The younger Hotchner shook his now long hair clad head. “I miss Virginia! And we can visit Mom without having to fly!”

“Yeah,” came Hotch’s much quieter, less enthusiastic reply. “We can visit Mom.”

Jack turned back to his algebra with a smile on his face and a bouncing knee, his mouth moving rapidly to describe to his silent father how excited he was to go back and see his friends, and see Uncle Dave, and go back to that school, and have Dad catch the bad guys, and see Aunt Jess. 

Hotch was just quiet, basking silently in his son’s excitement. He only hoped that the team, but one specific person, really, would be so excited for the return of Agent Hotchner. 

     Quantico, Virginia- the same day

Prentiss was silent, and it wasn’t lost on her coworkers. They had taken to routinely dropping by her door, asking her if she wanted anything, and always hearing a false cheery no. Additionally, it wasn’t lost on her that they were grouping in the bullpen, shooting furtive looks her way, talking in hushed voices, and jolting back to their files whenever she looked down at them. 

The call from Cruz had just come in about a new team member. 

To say that she and Hotch had a… complicated history would be a serious understatement. Years ago, Emily wanted to leave. She wanted to get out of this job and this life because she couldn’t see herself getting back into what used to be. The failure with her house really just cemented that for her. 

Hotch changed that. 

The “date” they had arranged had actually turned into a date. It was easy to think back with a fond smile at the memory of Hotch with a cream mustache, clueless and smiling for once in his life. She had sat in that chair at the coffee shop and thought, ‘why would I ever want to leave this?’

After that, it was easy for her buried feelings to surface in an explosion of . It was easy for her to sit on his sofa and fall in love with him as he cared for his child with a gentleness she had never seen anywhere else. And she’d like to think the same went for him. 

The HR battles about their relationship were difficult, but in Aaron’s words as they sat outside of the office waiting for a final verdict, “it was nothing we can’t handle. I love you, and there’s no way that Strauss- or anyone for that matter- will be able to take that away from us.”

And it was easy to believe that, too. Three years they loved each other, days spent fighting the horrors of the world, nights spent comforting each other and falling deeper into the trance that was the other. 

Emily being herself, she’d known it was too good to be true. There was always a tiny voice in the back of her head whispering, “You don’t deserve him. He’s just going to leave you. This isn’t real.”

She should have listened. 

Mr. Scratch changed that. In the moments after Hotch was rescued from Lewis, she’d known it was over. The blank look he shot her, the way his hands shook, the flinch away from her when she laid a caring hand on his back. Just everything. 

And she was right. Hotch, a spot of darkness on the otherwise pristine and bright hospital bed, was the last she’d seen him. He checked himself out, picked Jack up from Jess’ house, packed a bag, and left. 

The only note he left wasn’t to her or even Rossi. No. It was to Garcia, a warning to not go looking for him- that he knew how to disappear from even her, but that would only make it harder on Jack. It was a plea to let him leave his life behind, the very thing he had convinced Prentiss to not do three years prior.

Emily dragged herself from her thoughts by staring at the framed photos she kept on her desk. Herself, Penelope, and JJ smiling at a bar after a solved case. Reid’s arms looped around her and a carefree smile on his face for once. Rossi kissing her cheek. Layton and her, locking lips under a sprig of mistletoe held out by Alvez.

And a photo of Hotch reaching his hand out towards her, an expression of love on his face. 

It wasn’t good for her healing process, she’d been told that enough times in the bureau-mandated therapy sessions, to act like Hotch and their relationship never existed. So, she kept a singular photo up, a small reminder to the happiest she’d ever been.

    Quantico, Virginia- November, 2017

Feelings of nostalgia rushed through him as he stepped out of the cold into the building, just as a tidal wave of hesitation crashed into him. Was this the right thing to do? 

He could have stood in the doorway forever, but a call from a security member stirred him from his stupor. Too late to go back now. He could only hope that arriving a week before they expected him would catch them off-guard, enough to let him talk before completely shutting him down.

Cruz met him in the lobby with a welcoming smile. “Hey, Hotch.” He reached out for a hug, which he stiffly received. Mateo had always been a hugger, and three years away hadn’t changed that. 

They pulled apart, and Hotch looked towards the elevator apprehensively. “They’re here?” he asked, turning back to Cruz, who nodded. 

“Prentiss has only told some of them. We weren’t expecting you for another week, and she figured that it’d be best to wait until Monday to tell them.”

Hotch’s heart leapt into his throat at the mention of Emily, and his voice quivered a bit as he asked, “So, who knows?”

“Rossi. Garcia, who, as you know, will find anything out. JJ and Luke, I believe. Luke Alvez,” he clarified at Hotch’s cocked eyebrow. “He came in last year from the Fugitive Task Force after Agent Morgan resigned.”

Hotch almost choked on the coffee he had lifted to his mouth to drink. “When did Morgan leave?”

Cruz ushered him towards the elevators and pushed the button while explaining simply, “You’ve missed a lot, Aaron.” 

It was salt in an already burning wound

“There’s also a new doctor in town, a Dr. Tara Lewis. She joined when Agent Callahan left. I think you’ll like her.” Cruz paused as they entered, thinking about the team. “Oh! And Matt Simmons.”

“From IRT?”

“Mhm. They disbanded, and he’s with us now. I think that’s it.”

Aaron was quiet, the news of how the team had changed settling on him. He fidgeted his feet and turned towards Cruz. “You aren’t a profiler, but give me your best thoughts. How does it look for my reception?”

The section chief was silent, turning away from him and towards the closed doors. He stared at the rising numbers and said, “Not good.”

A sharp “ding” sounded as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Hotch was very proud to say he only hesitated slightly in stepping out the silver doors and towards the glass walls of the bullpen.

He stopped at the door, where Cruz waved him goodbye, to stare at the team at their desks. JJ was perched on Reid’s desk, and a man he didn’t recognize was spinning in his chair while Spencer watched with a thinly veiled smile. A pretty black woman was pouring over a file splayed on the desk of Matt Simmons. 

“Hotch?” a chirpy voice from behind him asked.

At the sound of his name, Aaron spun on his heel, suit jacket flying, and met the watering eyes of Penelope Garcia. She looked the same, but her smile lines were etched a little deeper. Her hand moved to cover them as she took in Hotch standing in front of her, shocked. 

“I-I didn’t think you were going to be here for another week! You should have warned me!” she rushed towards him with outstretched arms, dropping the papers she had been carrying. “I wanted to make you a cake! And get Jack a present!” 

She pulled away, placing her hands on both sides of his face and scanned his eyes. Bewildered, he looked back at her. A man slid past them into the office, balancing three cups of coffee in his hands.

“Just making sure you are real,” she said and stepped back onto the array of papers scattered across the glossy floor. 

“Hi, Garcia,” he laughed, breathily, finally able to get a word in from her rambling.

“Hi!”

The time didn’t seem to diminish their relationship, but intuition told him that he wouldn’t be this well received by everyone else. You don’t just drop off the face of the planet and expect everything to be okay when you come back. It didn’t work for Prentiss, and Prentiss had a reason. What reason was he going to give?

“Come on, come on!” Penelope urged, pushing on his back, forgetting the papers she dropped. “The team is going to be so surprised! They don’t even know you’re the new team member!”

Weaving their fingers together, she tugged him through the glass doors, waving her other arm to get the attention of the others. Emily and Rossi had come down from their offices at this point, Prentiss taking a coffee from the man and planting a kiss on his cheek. Rossi made a show of doing the same, but still accepted his drink with a grateful smile. 

Hotch would have frozen in his place, but the enigma that was Penelope continued to pull him towards the others. All the returning profiler could do was stare at the pair and their clasped hands. 

Eight pairs of eyes turned to them as Garcia called, “Guys! Look who it is!”

Hotch didn’t have a lot of expectations for his reception, but a complete stillness somehow fell short of all of them. Penelope was similarly disappointed by the reaction and dragged him closer to the desks. 

“Oh, come on,” she sighed as they made it to stand in front of them. She placed her hands on her hips and surveyed them with the air of a mother telling her children to hug an aunt they didn’t like. “It’s Hotch, people!”

With a wide grin and a teasing look to Garcia, the man Hotch didn’t recognize came over to them first, offering a hand out. Hotch tried to focus on him and not the open-mouthed faces of his former friends. Better to ignore it than confront it.

“Luke Alvez,” the man introduced brightly.

Hotch nodded in understanding. “You came from the Marshals?” At the nod he received, he forced a smile. “How’d we pin you down to the BAU?”

Luke gave a good-natured shrug. “Don’t ask me,” he laughed.

A slender hand was presented to him next. “Tara Lewis.”

“Doctor,” Hotch nodded and chuckled slightly at the shocked look she gave him. “Cruz told me.”

Matt was next to greet him, waving from his spot at his desk. “Hey, Aaron.”

“Matt. How are the kids?”

“More of a handful everyday,” Simmons smiled lightly. “How is yours?”

Hotch shrugged. “He’s old.” “Right? Where did the years go?”

As the conversation fizzled out, a feeling of stiffness floated into the room. Hotch could have cut the tension with a knife, and he was forced to look at the faces of the people he had been purposely looking away from. 

Reid was far less clean cut than he had been when Aaron left. His face was no longer clean shaven, and he had grown his hair out. Somehow, his eyes expressed even more pain and exhaustion than three years prior. All those years ago, Hotch would have been able to read his emotions to a tee but with the new appearance and experiences, Reid’s thoughts were completely lost on Hotch. 

JJ and Rossi were sporting similar smiles. JJ’s was melancholic, reflecting the history they used to have, and Rossi’s was understanding, somehow expressing that he understood Hotch’s need to leave. But JJ’s arms were crossed and her expression was guarded- she didn’t trust him anymore. 

None of them did. 

Prentiss’ face was wiped of emotion. Her grip on the man next to her had tightened, knuckles whitened. A stark contrast to Garcia, Emily’s frown lines had been etched deeper into her face and smile lines faded. Her eyes held none of the love that Hotch used to mirror, none of the joy that used to spark happiness in himself. 

The man she was clutching onto didn’t seem to notice the tension that had filled the air, and offered a cheery smile to Hotch as he held out his hand. “Layton Gregory, Counter-intelligence.”

“Hello.” It was a stiff greeting but it was all that Hotch could spit out as he stared at his and Emily’s intertwined hands. 

Gregory didn’t seem to care. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good things?”

“Nothing too bad,” the other man shrugged, and looked towards Emily with a frown. He didn’t seem to know that there was history, which Hotch took a mental note of. “Bye, babe. I’ve got to go, I just figured you’d want your afternoon coffee. Glad I could meet you,” he nodded to Aaron.

Pressing his lips onto Emily’s forehead, Layton waved to the team and Hotch, who, bar the returning member, waved back.

Rossi raised his cup at the agent’s retreating back. “I owe you the next one!”

Layton waved it off over his shoulder, and the door shut behind him softly. The attention was directed back to Hotch. Curious eyes took in his appearance, but spiteful ones turned away and back to their work. 

Alvez handed a stack of manila files to Hotch, but stepped closer to whisper, “Prentiss isn’t too happy. I don’t know if there’s history here, but I think it’d be best to just let her simmer right now.” He stepped away and at regular volume told him, “Just a bunch of consulting right now. With you here, it should take less time- hopefully, at least.”

Hotch nodded, smiling grimly at the advice, and took the folders. He turned towards his former flame, willing explanations to give her into existence. Unsurprisingly, none came. 

Giving him a quick up-and-down glance, Emily turned away from him without a word. If Hotch was paying attention-- which he was-- he would have seen her turn back and swipe quickly at her cheeks before turning back around. The door that shut behind her wasn’t as quiet as her boyfriend’s.

JJ slowly drew her eyesight from Emily’s shut door back to Hotch. “It’s nice to have you back, Hotch.” Her voice didn’t exactly convey the same message, but she did reach out and rub his arm gently. “Emily’s had a tough time since you left. It wasn’t… easy for her, to say the least.”

“It wasn’t easy for me, either,” came Hotch’s weak explanation.

“Yeah, you don’t get that option!” she snapped, anger she had been harboring since he left rising to the surface. “You left, not us! If it was hard,” she did air quotes with her fingers, “you shouldn’t have done it! Why did you leave?”

He couldn’t answer her.

“Yeah.” JJ turned away and back to the paper she had crushed. She sounded vindictive, for what, Hotch was unaware. He assumed she was probably angry for the pain he had caused her and Emily and the team as a whole. 

“Hey, Reid,” Hotch greeted softly as he crossed to the other side of the room, standing next to Rossi, who placed a kind hand across his shoulders. 

The young man didn’t verbally acknowledge him, rather he just nodded. His eyes never shifted from the report in front of him. That was the best Hotch was going to get and he knew it.

Rossi moved him towards the stairs, mentioning something about a drink to catch up. His words were barely heard over the rush of blood in Hotch’s head. He could barely believe that these were the same people he had worked with for so many years. They just seemed like… shells of their former selves- placeholders put here to replace them. 

As they passed the windows to the office of the Unit Chief, Hotch couldn’t help but glance in on his former safe haven. Emily was stooped over her desk, rapping a framed photo with one of her knuckles, words he couldn’t hear spilling from her mouth.

He’d forgotten how beautiful she was. Of course, he took pictures and vivid memories of her filled his head at all times, but nothing compared to her in person. Raven hair fell into her face and she pushed it behind her ear with a delicate finger, only for it to fall back. Hotch remembered countless times where he had done the same thing for her, brushing a gentle hand against her face to push her hair back. 

But that was gone now, and there was no way that he would be given that opportunity again. 

Rossi set a bottle of sloshing liquid on his desk between them and slid a glass to him. “Drink. You’ll need it.”

“It’s,” he glanced at his watch, “only three.”

He was answered with a cocked eyebrow. “Are you really trying to tell me that you don’t want some?”

His glass was filled, but it remained untouched on the desk. 

“How are you?” Rossi asked, leaning back into his chair. 

Hotch straightened his back. “I’m okay. I didn’t think I’d ever actually see this place again.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you.”

“Touché.”

The room hadn’t changed much in the years since Hotch had seen it. It still reeked of Rossi, but it was just a little more hectic than it used to be. Papers were crammed into the bookshelves, no clear organization. The tv and game console set were new, something Hotch recognized from an ad Jack had shown him in an attempt for a birthday present.

Rossi hesitated before asking his question, the bond of complete transparency diminished in the years. “Do you… can you talk about it?”

There wasn’t an immediate response. The drink was swirled in the glass, but Hotch still didn’t take a drink.

“I had to leave. Uh, after Scratch got me, he put me under those drugs. I guess he was trying to see what I would do, I don’t know. Everything I’ve ever loved was ripped away from me in these… visions, I guess they could be called. You guys, Jack, Emily.” He pursed his lips. “I had to leave. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Rossi rested his chin on his outstretched index fingers. “Emily.”

“Emily.”

They sat in companionable silence, although they could barely be considered that anymore. Rossi nursed his drink, and Hotch did not, electing to stare out the window into the bullpen and watch the team work.

“What happened?” he asked.

Rossi shook his head. “What didn’t happen is the better question. They’ve gone through a lot in the past few years, and so have you. It’s just going to be like walking on eggshells for a while. You’ll never know when any of them reach their breaking point.”

Prentiss had left the recluse of her office and returned to the bullpen. She and Tara were talking over a case file Tara had splayed in her hands. Aaron couldn’t tear his eyes off of her. 

“Aaron?”

“I never would have thought she’d get with someone else,” he answered softly to a question that was never asked. He still didn’t look away.

“Okay.” The sharpness of Dave’s voice shocked Hotch enough to make him turn back. “Do you really think you are the end all, be all? What, did you think everything would stay the same for three years? You left, Aaron! She moved on! We all did! We didn’t know if you were ever going to return so we had to live as such!”

It was quiet enough in the office after Rossi’s outburst that Hotch could hear his own blinking. “I know.”

“Then act like it!” JJ clearly wasn’t the only one with pent up anger, but Rossi’s was a softer anger. There was no malice behind his words. “I understand why you left, we all have that moment where every fiber of our being is telling us to leave, to pack up and change our name and move to Buenos Aires.”

Hotch squinted at the ranting man. “The Buenos Aires part might just be you, Dave.”

“Maybe so. The thing is, Hotch, that Emily could barely stand when you disappeared. She was so weak with stress that her body literally shut down for a little bit. And we couldn’t help her. She was destroyed when you left.”

There weren’t enough words to describe the pain that Hotch felt at Rossi’s story. The thought of his Emily-- no, she wasn’t his anymore, he made sure of that-- suffering that much because of something he did was unbearable.

“But Emily is a fighter. She got better, she moved on. She took over as Unit Chief, she moved into that office, and she took charge, almost like she was made for it. Do you want to know how long it took Garcia to convince her to go out to a club?”

Hotch shook his head. 

“I don’t know because it still hasn’t happened. That fun Emily we all knew died when you left. She doesn’t go out to party or club like she used to. All she does is work, eat, and maybe sleep.” Rossi shot a look out the window. “I mean, for God’s sake, she’s dating someone from work, she didn’t even go out and meet a normal person!”

 “What can I do?” Hotch’s voice was rough.

A shrug was his reply. “I don’t know. We’re all a little like that. She just took it the hardest because she loved you the most. If you had popped the question, she would have married you back then. Can you imagine that? Emily Prentiss, married?”

A million tiny images of what life could have been flew through Hotch’s mind of Emily in a flowing white dress walking towards him. He could imagine that, very easily.

The class clanged as Rossi set it down. “I think you just have to remember that we aren’t the same people anymore. That’s,” he pointed out the window, “not the same Emily. And I don’t think you’ll be getting that one back. I never could.”

Hotch sunk deeper into his chair and followed Rossi’s finger to below them. Prentiss was smiling, but it wasn’t at him like it used to be. And he didn’t think it would be for a very long time.

[littleshroomclan]

A Hopeful Plan

Previous | First

Pings!: @carnifex-rising @deadlanddisciple @murdoch-fr @clockworktophat-fr @unkorea @kattafr @avalonianrising @jadedragons @majestyrising @webwing-alpha @fusefr (Please let me know if you’d like to be pinged!!)

Warnings: teenage angst, implied lesbianism, unedited.

“This is absolute rubbish, it wasn't supposed to go like this.” Bathsheba thrashed around, pacing the area of the small swamp hut she shared with Mora, who sat criss-cross on a floor mat across from her.

“Well there's nothing we can do about it now, Baba, just calm down.” It had been three days since the king had dismissed them and allowed them to move freely through the territory. Since then, some kind members of the clan had set them up with the hutch they were in now, along with some meager furnishings, belongings, and some food.

“Besides what did you expect to do?? Waltz in and kill the king?!” Bathsheba’s annoyed silence answered her question, “Next time we're planning Grand-Patricide AND regicide, could you please clue me in??”

“Mora if I'd told you, you wouldn't have come with me.” She turned to face the younger girl, “What would I have said? ‘Hey stranger, want to come with me across the wastelands to kill the tyrant whose keeping your Aunt and Uncle captive, terrorizing a clan full of people, and who tainted my father with shade corruption?’” Bathsheba sighed, dejectedly laying on the opposite floor mat.

Mora regarded her friend carefully, but remained silent. It was very uncommon that Bathsheba showed any sign of weakness. In the short time they'd known each other, the older girl had been crass and headstrong, was easily able to assert her will, or flex her magical prowess or physical strength when necessary.

“Our family is struggling right now. My father was in constant pain, he could hardly do anything. He was always fidgeting, continuously trying to improve the runes that were keeping him alive. Sure he's alive but he's not living. He never got to meet his mother, my grandmother, your aunt, all because of Betsalel.”

Bathsheba's voice was tortured, the voice of the girl who heard the stories, and watched her family deteriorate. The voice of the girl who was strong enough to make a difference, but couldn't.

“We’ll figure something out, but for now we're stuck here.” Mora laid out on her stomach, put her hand in Baba’s, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Three soft knocks came from outside the hanging lichen door, the signal that a friendly member of the clan was at the door. Instead of coming in, they slid something under the lichen. Melancholic, one of Mora’s albino deathseekers, picked it up in her beak and hoped over. Mora skimmed over the note, which was scribbled on a flat leaf.

“Center hut at midnight. I guess someone wants to speak with us, eh Baba?”

----

Long after nightfall the pair creeped out of their hut, which was near the edge of the village set up in the swamp. It had been raining over the territory, and large holes in the remnants of the Gildergleam, the massive tree that now housed the swamp, had allowed rainfall to turn the damp soil to mud.

They passed through the other huts, eventually reaching the center of the village. The meager market stalls were shut and closed, most clan members were hidden in their own huts for the night. The stalls were mostly for show, the clan was in a crisis under Betsalel’s rule so they shared most resources with each other, or used bartering, trading services and goods for other items. Having the market stalls gave them a sense of normalcy, before the tyrannical king they were a proud and prosperous trading clan.

In the near middle of the village was a set of larger communal hutches used for activities and lounging, when clan members had time. The two ducked inside, happily greeted by bright candle light and smiling faces.

“Welcome you two, thank you for coming.” Kava stepped forward from the small crowd, giving each of the younger girls a hug. Her long white hair seemed to float in the air, and the drapey, earthy fabrics she wore made her look wispy and regal, especially compared to the children in front of her. She held the shoulders of Bathsheba, looking at her torn clothes with disdain. “We’ll make sure to get some more supplies to your hutch.”

“What’s... all this about?” Bathsheba regarded the dragons in the room carefully, being near crowds made her uneasy. In front of her were four dragons, Kava, Sucellus, and two others she didn’t recognize.

“It’s… a little difficult to explain, please, sit down and talk with us.” Sucellus motioned towards the chairs in the center of the room. Mora cautiously sat down, Bathsheba remained standing, but moved behind Mora’s seat. Kava lounged across from them next to Sucellus, who sat at the edge of his chair.

“There are obviously a few… issues in the clan right now, but let me introduce you to everyone! This is Manto, she’s a diviner.” Kava motioned to the dark women with white eyes. Her skin was nearly black, but it was flecked with silver specks that sparkled in the light, her hair was dusky blue, pin straight, and flowed all the way down her back. She motioned hello with a nod of her head and a slight smile.

“And this is Sicily, he’s-”

“Decayspawn.” Bathsheba finished for him, regarding the lanky, feminine child of Decay, who flipped his neon red hair behind him in response. “I can practically smell the Bonecastle on him.”

“I think the smell of rot and blood is quite fitting, don’t you think?” He smirked.

Adronica came in, holding her sister Crone on her hip. By the way they were acting it seemed as though Adronica was her mother, not her sister.

“Kava, the ward is up. You should have ten minutes until it’ll be noticed.” She kissed Crone on the cheek, nuzzling her.

“Sissy and I did it alllllll on our own!!” The two clapped their hands together, which sent up tiny sparks of magic.

Kava nodded, and despite the magical ward surrounding them, she lowered her voice, “Okay, we don’t have much time to explain. Clearly there’s more than a few “issues”. The clan is in ruin, we live in constant fear of Betsalel and his minions, Absinthe and Watcher are locked in with Betsalel, and only Plaguebringer knows what he’s doing to them. We need your help.”

Mora and Bathsheba shared a glance, unsure how to proceed. Mora cleared her throat, knowing her companion would not ask the right questions, “What makes you so sure that we can help?”

“While our dear Manto is lovely, she does not usually care to attend these sorts of meetings. Manto had a vision, a prophecy, and we believe that one of you is one of the children mentioned.”

“You believe? You mean you don’t know??” Bathsheba interjected, snorting in laughter, which prompted a chilling look from Manto.

“If you think predicting the future is easy then please, be my guest, you do it.” Bathsheba looked sheepish for a moment, averting her eyes, “The future is unclear, I can see you both, but with many different outcomes, it is difficult to tell who will fulfill the vision.”

“Well,” Bathsheba sneered, “I can tell you right now, it’ll be me fulfilling your ‘prophecy’.”

Mora shot her a look, as if to tell her to tone it down, “You said we would be one of the children, are there others?”

Kava nodded, “One other, and she happens to be here with us now.” Kava motioned towards Crone, who was happily playing with her sister.

“Of course, more Decayspawn.” Bathsheba mumbled. Crone turned and blew her tongue at the older girl, which Bathsheba tried to ignore.

“I know you two don’t exactly have good history, but please try and get along.” Kava stood, gliding over to Bathsheba, and taking her hands. She knew the girl had an ego, and to convince her to help, she would have to play to that.

“Please, Baba, my people are suffering, two of my dearest friends are trapped with that, that horrible man. We need your help.” Kava fixed her soft green eyes on Bathsheba, who thought for a moment, her own red and green multicolored eyes locking with the older women’s.

“Yeah alright, I’ll do what I can to help…. Ma’am.” Bathsheba broke eye contact, a faint blush settling on her cheeks. Kava clapped in joy, then pulled the girl into a hug.

“Wonderful! Just wonderful! This is spectacular news!! Now we can set things in motion!!” Bathsheba raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry,

We have a plan.”

[cyjprojectarchive]

bulletproof | jinyoung

prompt: “I’m bulletproof... but please don’t shoot me.” group: GOT7 pairing: park jinyoung, you genre: slight angst, comfort, fluff words: 1909 note:  dedicated to my friend who goes by @_jjproject on twitter as jinyoung is one of her main biases! i reckon she’s taking her finals so this is a lil gift from me to her after doing such hard work!!

You have never felt love like Jinyoung’s.

You feel it in his touch–even the slightest graze of his fingertips on your lips after he kisses them with admiration from the conversation you both had seconds prior. He knows how much you love his words and how reading a lot has broadened his perspective of the world; you just want to be the first person to hear those new, emerging thoughts of his.

Even still, he appreciates your responses as well as your own take on things just as much, or even more. Because of this, he can’t help but let his lips softly connect with yours as if it wasn’t enough that his ears have listened to the inner workings of your mind. He always wants more of you.

You see it in his eyes. He knows how much you love pointing out the cat whiskers he possesses whenever his eyes crinkle from happiness. You don’t know that he does it more often than normal when he’s around you. Sometimes he tries to force it just to elicit the usual teasing reaction from you, but just seeing the bright hues staring back at him makes it easier to do it on purpose.

You hear it in his laugh. He doesn’t just laugh at any joke, but he sure seems to enjoy your comedic skills every time you show it to him. You think he’s only running out of breath from enjoying the corny joke you found in a book one day just to support you, but really, he finds your efforts in taking off the exhaustion from his body endearing.

You didn’t think it was possible for you to feel such a certain kind of love; to even know and experience it firsthand is still overwhelming to you. For a while, your heart was kept hidden in the very depths of your body, refusing to let anybody touch it and just have it be broken once more. You have given everything to that person who you foolishly thought was doing the same for you. You believed the love you shared was passionate, indestructible, unwavering.

It was, on your side. Yet, you held onto the relationship with all the strength left within you after being exposed to such unfaithfulness on the other end. You didn’t want to accept it at first, telling yourself that it was all just a big prank and truly, you were loved and only you were cherished. Of course you were wrong.

Love might as well have been non-existent in the life you started again after moving on from the two-year relationship you had. Maybe it was possible for others, you thought, to love and be loved. But for you, you weren’t taking any more chances in meeting someone and falling and then loving them just to be void of your emotions for the second time.

Not anymore.

Until you met Park Jinyoung.

“Hey.”

Your mind wanders back to the present, and you see soft, glinting eyes trying to make contact with yours, communicating its worry for your sudden unconscious state of mind. You smile sheepishly and lean to give the man before you a quick, reassuring peck on his parted lips. The back of your head meets the plush of the pillow resting on the bed and the side of your face reintroduces itself at the crook of Jinyoung’s neck. His hand supporting his head so he was hovering above your relaxed figure, he gives you another concerned look before asking, with a gentle tone to his voice, “What are you thinking of?”

Hand reaches out to his free one, they intertwine in an instant. They rest on his hip and as his thumb smoothes over the back of your hand, you sigh with ease. “Nothing much. I’m just thinking how amazing this moment is- for the both of us,” you inform him, squeezing his hand for good measure. “You on a very rare day off, and me, just here,” you add playfully.

Chuckling at your addendum, he settles on the other end of the pillow and so you two are finally facing each other equally, his hand now entangling itself in the locks of your hair. “Yes. You and me, here. The other boys, out,” he says in English. You are taken by surprise and you grin at his attempt.

You and him do not speak for a while, and it was more than okay. You do not grow tired of grasping every feature on his face, taking it all in for yourself. Just the reminder of Jinyoung being yours, and you his, continues to send the most inexplicable sensation rushing through your body. This beautiful creation of a man who met you and was willing to find the key to the chains your heart was trapped in.

Not wanting to at first, you hesitated and grew cold towards him. Sure, you admitted to yourself he was gorgeous and maybe a fling wouldn’t hurt; just to feel the satisfaction of someone else’s heat spreading all over your body. But no, you didn’t allow yourself to even be a part of such a thing that caused you heart break in the first place.

But Jinyoung was more than persistent, and he waited and waited until you got comfortable enough to tell him stories of your past- starting from what you ate for lunch yesterday to the person who made you seal your feelings into a box and toss it away to be difficult enough for someone just trying to find.

Jinyoung wasn’t just trying. He had fallen in love with you, hard, and he wasn’t going to let you go before you gave him a chance to express that love.

And you know you yearned for love- any type of love, even. And eventually, you began to open up.

And the type of love Jinyoung offered was not of something you were familiar with. But you didn’t let it go to waste because goddamn, does this man love you good.

“You keep spacing out, jagiya, are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want to take a nap?” His calming voice brings you back to present time, and you feel yourself blush from getting caught once again.

Still, you think of an excuse. “I’m fine, Jinyoung. And I thought we were purposefully looking at each other lovingly?” You tease him. He rolls his eyes, confirming the fact that you were okay and back to normal, and then looks at you and say, “No, you were the only one giving me lovey-dovey looks. I was just observing you.”

“Like Jinyoung doesn’t show affection that way,” you think out loud, “so Jinyoung never stares at me with a lovestruck expression whenever I pretend to sleep.”

He feigns offense and gasps at your revelation. You pull up the covers to snicker behind them, but Jinyoung catches you with the hand that has been playing with your hair and immediately after, he has you pinned down on the bed, legs on either side of your waist.

You gulp at the sudden change of mood in the room, but you aren’t going to complain soon enough.

“What’s that? Are you questioning my toughness and manliness by accusing me of having lovestruck expressions?” He demands teasingly, keeping both of your hands tied with his but in a gentle and caring manner.

“Just because you show aegyo to your girlfriend doesn’t mean you’re not both of those things,” you counter, the blush creeping its way to your ears as you feel the intensifying tension transpiring from the position you both were on. “I think you can be cute and sexy and tough all at the same time, jagi,” you assure him with a wink.

A tiny smirk appears on his face as he inches closer to you, his breath fanning your cheeks. “And I think my girl is cute, sexy and tough as well,” he whispers, the tip of his tongue teasingly touching your cupid’s bow. He pushes it back and smirks all the way, retreating from the invasion of your personal space. You whine under your breath, the abruptness leaving you wanting for more. Jinyoung knows that, and you know that, and now it was only a matter of who gives up the serious facade first.

Giving him the sultriest, most seductive stare you can, you hope he gives up first this time. It was always you who couldn’t take Jinyoung teasing you with his lip bite and tongue peeking in and out. He gives you a mean stare for a few seconds before finally landing his lips onto yours completely this time. He releases your hands so he could grab onto your waist and keep you in place. Now that you didn’t know what to do with your hands, you slowly make its way on his hair, tugging on a few strands to signal him going deeper into your mouth, and your body.

As much as you thoroughly enjoy your quiet time with Jinyoung, heated make out sessions with him come second place.

Moments like what you just shared never seem enough for the both of you, and so you remain in the same position, chests breathing rhythmically and breaths heaving in the same intervals. He places soft kisses on your cheek every so often, and your hand is safely nestled in the mess of Jinyoung’s bed head.

“I thought you just wanted to relax,” you comment, your voice still out of breath from the previous encounter. Jinyoung raises his head and narrows his eyes. “Hmm, who started it?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not excused.”

You share a laugh, and once again, a look. You both always find yourselves just taking in each other’s presence for god knows how long sometimes.

“Thank you,” he tells you. You give him a questioning look. “For…?”

“For everything,” he explains. “Thank you for letting me in and giving me a chance to prove to you–” a hand extending to caress the side of your face, “– that I can love you like no one has before.”

You bite your lip to contain the bubbling happiness making its way out of you. You had relayed to him your past troubles around love as to make him understand your upfront rudeness towards his motives of asking you out. You wanted him to realize that you weren’t always so refusing of love, you just gave too much and received too little than deserved. You didn’t think anyone would be any different.

The hardshell you created for yourself was necessary for you to survive the world without being torn apart again. The bulletproof vest you had worn was your protection from the hurt you have had enough of.

“You know I’m bulletproof,” you remind him, taking him back to the days of you exposing your heartbreak and how you independently stood up for yourself ever since, “but please don’t shoot me, Jinyoung,” you finish, both of you aware that as soon as you accepted Jinyoung’s love, you started disassociating yourself from the cold and mysterious exterior you held up. And Jinyoung didn’t want to take that for granted.

“I’ll be your bulletproof vest,” he promises, “Let me protect you from the bad things in this world, and provide you with all the love I have and all the love I can get.”

You smile, because you know this time, you can trust someone. This time, you trust Jinyoung.