#i’m determined not to start anything new until i get an existing project updated

[plague-of-insomnia]

i should have done a father’s day post for bard…. damn

its been so nice my dad being dead all these years bc i dont have to worry about father’s day anymore and i just pretend it doesn’t exist that’s why i didn’t think of it till now…. oh well

[spencersawkward]

top shelf//MGG - part 1

summary: broke and having a bad day, Reader runs into Matthew outside a café. after a couple encounters, his financial support and friendship become something more.

word count: 3k

content warnings: swearing but nothing else!

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

A/N: hi! welcome to my new series. i don’t think this will be super long in terms of parts, but i’ll try to update as frequently as possible for you all. this chapter is pretty expositional, so i’m sorry in advance lol. also i know i made it short but lmk if you want them to be longer. also shoutout my sweet sweet angels @reidsconverse and @voidsfilm bc i would literally cry without both of you. also THANK YOU to @dr-spencerr-reidd for this concept bc i probably wouldn't have written it without your ask!! sending hugs :)

you throw your phone down on the passenger seat with a frustrated groan. after everything that's happened today, you're now stuck on a congested street with your car barely inside the parking spot alongside the sidewalk.

your screen sits there beside you, blank and unresponsive, and you know you're going to have to go inside the coffee shop to ask to use their phone and call Triple A. of course it's not working because nothing is working today. you might as well just sit in your car and cry.

but you can't, because you have a huge project for work that you need to get done by next week, and you've already procrastinated enough. a red glow from the headlights of other cars on the street shine through your windows like melted wax, distorted by the rain. it's been pouring all day.

bracing yourself for the onslaught, you grab the old umbrella from the foot well of the passenger seat and open the door of your car. the torrents hit your body like a wall of ice, soaking you as you try to get to the safety of the café. the umbrella helps a little, but then you get to the overhang and have to actually close it before you head inside.

your fingertips slip around the metal, trying to shove the thing closed while water drips off the bridge of your nose. it's frustrating. your footsteps are still determined as they move towards the entrance, but you're distracted by the stubborn nature of the object, so you don't see the man walking out.

it's not even a bodily collision, really. it's so much worse: the sopping material of the umbrella pokes him in the stomach, knocking the hot cup of coffee all over his sweater.

your eyes widen.

"oh my fucking god, I'm so sorry--" you stutter over your words, completely at a loss. his face is twisted up in an expression of concealed pain. it can't feel good to have hot coffee seeping through your clothes after being prodded by a piece of metal. you move your wet hair out of your face in order to look at him full-on.

"it's fine, really." he gives you what's supposed to be a friendly smile, but looks more like a grimace. your stomach twists; he's hot. like, if you saw him at the bar you would stare at him all night kind of hot.

"no, it's not," your face heats up, despite the cold, damp air. "let me buy you another coffee."

"I--" he glances down at his sweater, which is knitted with cute foxes on the front, then back at you. he pauses a moment and you have to bite down on your tongue to keep from collapsing. he's considerably older than you, but he doesn't dress or act that way. maybe late thirties, if you had to guess. "sure. thanks."

a flowering relief in your chest, partly because he doesn't seem angry and partly because you'd like to look at his face just a bit longer. your eyes stay on his until someone walks through the door of the café and reminds you of where you are.

without a word, you brush past and go into the building, him trailing behind.

Matthew watches as you walk ahead, your clothes spattered with rainwater and your hair somewhat messed up, too. he smiles to himself at the way you almost bump into the corner of a table, nervousness evident in nearly every movement.

you head to the counter, setting your hands on the granite while the barista checks out your unkempt appearance.

"hi," you smile at her before realizing you have no idea what this guy wants. you turn around and see him standing slightly behind you, suppressing a smile. he can tell how flustered you are, and now you look like a fool. "what coffee do you drink?"

"can I have a medium Americano, please?" he asks the barista with a friendly smile. he's got straight teeth, dimples... holy shit. you wish he had been unappealing so that this whole situation would be less humiliating.

you pay for his drink before getting out of the way, both of you slowly walking to the pickup counter.

"again, I'm really sorry. that stupid umbrella." you shake the thing at your side, raindrops falling to the floor. you run a hand through your wet hair.

"it's okay. I appreciate you getting me another cup." he flashes that smile again and you remember that his sweater is all stained. before you can think to do anything else, you pluck a handful of napkins from the self-serve station and start to dab at the material.

he looks down at you for a second, surprised by the way you grab his clothes. Matthew feels your hand pressing into his stomach innocently, and he feels himself blush a little. it's only when you pull away that he's able to regain his head.

"it's still bad," you throw away the napkins and re-evaluate the garment. "jesus christ, it's a nice sweater, too."

"hey, it's totally fine. I can just wash it out." he lets out a slight chuckle, and the sound makes your heart flutter. he's got a dad laugh. deep in his chest.

"baking soda and water." you say abruptly. he frowns.

"what?"

"to get the stain out? I use baking soda and water for coffee stains and it usually works." you explain gently, your eyes meeting again. his irises are a brownish hazel color, warm. the laugh lines by them are charming.

"oh," he grins. "do you get coffee stains often?"

you twist your mouth to the side and glance at the windows of the coffee shop. he's teasing you and you'd be remiss if you said you don't want to play along. "more than I'd like to admit."

you can feel him looking at you with that stupidly brilliant smile and it's really setting you off-kilter. someone shouldn't be that attractive; it's not fair. and yet you want desperately to stare, if purely for the sake of aesthetic enjoyment.

"I'm Matthew." he extends his hand, which is decorated with a series of rings. you realize that you don't even know his name.

"Y/N." you shake. his fingers are softer than you expected.

"nice to meet you, Y/N."

"and under such fortuitous circumstances." the corners of your mouth turn up as you relax a little.

he laughs at your words, the delightful ring of it interrupted by a new Americano showing up on the counter. he glances at the to-go cup, then at you, then goes to get his drink. you wish you knew what he was thinking, but he's not displaying anything past friendliness.

"well, um." something like disappointment settles in your stomach as you recognize this will be the last of your interaction. there's no reason for him to stick around, and you need to get back home to work, anyway.

"I'll let you get back to your day." Matthew doesn't seem nervous, just unsure as he grips the coffee in his hand. you open and close your mouth like something impressive enough to keep him here will come out. you know it won't.

and then you remember the state of affairs, the existence of your useless car and the useless phone in the front seat, how you're going to have to call Triple A and then your roommate to come get you.

Matthew realizes that you aren't going to say anything and he gives you one last smile and an awkward wave before turning to go. you watch in silence as he crosses the room to the door. two more seconds until he's out of your life forever. so of course you choose this exact moment to speak.

"wait."

his head jerks suddenly to look at you. this is embarrassing, but you have nothing to lose.

"can I... borrow your phone?"

Matthew tilts his head to the side slightly, frowning as though deeply confused. and you suppose it is a strange thing to ask, especially given that you're a younger person and most people your age carry their phones everywhere. "sure." he walks back over to you, pulling his cell out of his pocket.

"I just--" you fumble with the device while you decide how to phrase it without sounding like a pathetic mess. "my car keeps breaking down and my phone battery is, like, totally fucked, so it just turns off and on constantly and it’s still in my car but it’s raining and I just wanna see if it’s back on so I can call my roommate." you immediately cringe at yourself. the rambling isn’t cute.

he’s not too bothered by your panicking, though, his mouth only forming an O shape. "it’s no problem."

you dial your number, fingers trembling while he waits. he's turned his eyes to the rest of the coffee shop, but it still makes you nervous that he's standing right there. you put the cell to your ear and pray that it rings out.

you’re greeted by the sound of your own voice telling you to leave a message. great. with a frustrated sigh, you hang up and Matthew gives you an inquisitive expression.

“it’s still off,” you explain. “I’m gonna call my roommate.”

he nods and shoves his hands into his pockets while you punch in the other number. for a split second, you peek his way and admire his side profile. he really is something to behold; a model, maybe.

"hello?" good thing Cecilia has no problem answering unknown numbers. you bite your lip.

"hey, it's me."

"Y/N? whose phone are you using?"

"uh, someone I just met--" you frown as you try to find a way to describe him without something as insulting as a random guy. "anyway, my car broke down so I was wondering if you could pick me up."

there's a pause on the other end of the line, like the movement of sheets and the slightly disappointed groan of another person. she probably has her boyfriend over again. "sure, of course. where are you?"

you give her the address and hang up before dialing the car repair company. Matthew gestures to a table off to the side so that you two don't need to stand, and then you sit down across from him. you're so distracted by the person on the other end of the line that you don't even think about it.

Matthew twists his rings on his fingers. he's fidgety and it's sort of cute. you try not to stare at his hands, at the black spot of ink on the outside of his pinky. either he writes a lot or he's an artist. you have to focus on the table in order to keep from blushing.

finally, you finish up with the phone and hand it back to him. "you're a life saver."

"do you want me to wait with you until your friend gets here?" he gestures out the window. your immediate reaction is to say yes. it'll be awkward to sit here alone without your phone, without coffee. but you don't want to keep him any longer than you already have.

"it's okay, I'm sure you have places to be." you smile accommodatingly. he chooses his next words carefully, it seems.

"I don't, really. but I'll leave you alone if that's what you want, too." the way he speaks, offering his company without trying to impose... something about it makes your heart melt a bit. you appreciate his thoughtfulness. it makes you want to know more.

"okay," you nod as you make your decision. "if you wanna stay. it shouldn't be too long."

"great," he settles back into his chair, the light from the café lights above you reflecting off the lenses of his glasses. "why does your car keep breaking down?"

you exhale sharply at the thought. "that's a really good question, because I don't know the answer. it's super old and I'm too broke to afford a new one."

he nods.

Matthew's mind turns to different avenues at this knowledge. he knows you're young and that usually means that there isn't a lot of spare income. and he doesn't know if you have a job. but what he does know is that you've got an energy about you-- a sweet, well-intentioned manner that draws him in. every once in a while throughout the conversation, you throw out certain phrases that hint at a quick-witted intelligence.

you're funny, but not boldly so. and when you two get on the topic of how you ended up rain-soaked, shoving your way into a Los Angeles café, you tell him about your day.

"--and I have this shitty job right now working for one of my old professor's friends, so it's not like I can afford to constantly repair the damages. all my money is going towards my savings so I can pay for grad school, anyway." you sigh. he listens intently to your words, and he never shies away from eye contact. every time he nods along, you practically feel your heart leap.

"what do you do?" he asks.

"I write for a wellness magazine, but I'm sort of a fraud." you joke.

he laughs. "why's that?"

"I don't know, a lot of it is about different yoga methods and meditation, stuff like that-- but I don't do any of that in my daily life." you admit. it should be embarrassing, but you don't feel ashamed of the fact. he seems to find it funny.

"working your way toward a different kind of job, then?"

"I'm hoping for a more editorial role, honestly, but..." you lift your eyes to his. they're bright, he notices; full of a deep-rooted hope. "gotta start somewhere, right?"

"very true." Matthew wants to tell you just how much he understands, about the roles as an actor he's taken and the hours he spent making films in college, just hoping that one day he'd be able to make things on his own, but he doesn't want to scare you away or sound like he's bragging. it's not your fault you don't know who he is.

"sorry," you speak through a silence he doesn't realize he's left between you two. "I've talked your ear off and you don't even really know me. what do you do?"

"oh--" Matthew actually blushes this time. you see the pink creeping up his neck. "I'm an actor."

in the same way they did when you ran into him, your eyes widen. "an actor?"

"yeah," he smiles at the expression on your face. "you know that show, Criminal Minds?"

the name is familiar, but you've never seen an episode. "yeah, of course."

"I'm in that."

you don't know a lot about the program, but you've heard it talked about and you know that it's a popular show. so this guy is an actual actor, not just some LA wannabe. that makes him about five times more intimidating. you feel even more idiotic for not seeing it before.

"oh, shit," the words tumble out. Matthew grins at the bluntness of your reaction, and you scramble to recover. "sorry I didn't know who you are."

"no worries!" he laughs it off. "it's not a big deal."

"do you like it?" you ask. "being famous, I mean."

he shifts in his seat for a second as he makes a face like he doesn't know how to answer. you wonder if there's something deeper to him that you just haven't seen, yet. secret feelings about the subject. "I'm really not very famous, but I love the work."

genuinely humble. you can see it in his face, the sparkle in his eyes. and maybe he's just charming and you're just a girl blinded by his attractiveness, but your gut tells you that he's being real.

this time, you're the one who falls silent. admittedly, you get a little in your head sometimes. and it makes sense, now, the smoothness of his behavior and the sheer beauty of his face. this is a show business city-- of course he's famous.

Matthew's phone rings and he jumps, as if jolted from a dream. your attention moves immediately to the screen and you recognize Cecilia's number. he pushes the device over to you.

"hello?" your voice sounds far away.

"hey, I'm here. where are you?" she says.

"I'm just inside the café."

"oh, okay, I'll park and come in--" you hear the click of a seatbelt and start to panic. she can't see you in here with him.

"no!" you say too loudly. Matthew's head jerks up to frown at you.

"why not?" Cecilia asks, confused.

"no reason," god, you're a bad liar. "I'll come out and we can wait for the Triple A person in your car." you and Matthew make eye contact again. he gives you an understanding smile. your stomach flips.

"sounds good." she hangs up and you grab your umbrella. time to go.

"thanks for letting me use your phone." you stand, not really wanting to say goodbye but also lacking a reason to stay. he remains in his spot, seemingly now settled into this little corner of the café. it sort of suits him, this place. all cozy and slightly strange.

“happy to help.” you notice the tip of his tongue dart out over his bottom lip as if deliberating whether or not to say anything further. but he doesn’t and you feel awkward just standing there by the table.

“I’ll, uh…” you could ask for his number. but that would be weird, right? he doesn’t really seem to have an interest, anyway. “I’ll see you around, then.”

“yeah. it was nice to meet you, Y/N.” he gives one more of those killer smiles and you turn around, almost bumping into a display of coffee beans before correcting yourself and heading back outside.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed!): @la-vie-en-amour1 @reidsconverse @voidsfilm

[the1918]

where to devote your ‘Give A Fuck’: the friday late edition

Alternatively titled: “For fuck’s sake, ignore the existence of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania until further notice”  wait, no “I might let you finally think about Pennsylvania later today, but let’s party in the Southeast and Southwest until at least dinner time.” “The news outlets are telling you it’s close, but it’s not. Joe Biden has [still] won the election, and I would eat Steve Kornacki’s peach if he let me.”  

Thanks for sticking with me (and for the incredible feedback!). I’m gonna try to keep providing you with news about what matters to the outcome of this presidential election until we officially get to 270 and probably a little after. Previous version of this post here.

***

UPDATED 11:30 PM ET 11/6

(Link to original post for updates if this is a reblog)

If you’ve heard nothing but silence from me today (unless you’re following the Give a Fuck spreadsheet), it’s because nothing has changed from last night. Joe Biden has still been elected as the next President of the United States, and you should still be giving Zero Fucks to any of the news coverage if you’re trying to preserve your Mental Health Points™.

Your list of state races to Give a Fuck About is still: ZERO. Here’s why.

Note: Below I am not going to talk much about actual leads and numbers, but you can see them on the Give a Fuck spreadsheet.

Let’s flesh out why you should be reading dirty fanfiction instead of watching the news.

“Has anything changed?” Nothing you need to, well. Give a fuck about. The statuses of each race I discussed last night are basically unchanged.

NEVADA: Biden is winning by +1.7% margin and growing. He will win by 40k-50k votes. If you’ve seen the memes, you know this has been a slow count. I answered an ask about that earlier.

PENNSYLVANIA: When I posted last night, Biden was closing in on Trump’s initial lead as the overwhelmingly Democrat mail-in ballots were being counted, and Trump’s lead was 25k when I went to bed. As of 11:30PM ET on Friday, Biden has taken a commanding and ever-growing lead with almost 30,000 votes ahead of Trump in a +0.4% margin. He will win PA’s 20 electoral votes with a comfortable margin and get pushed over 270, straight into the White House.

GEORGIA: The status here is so unchanged it’s laughable. Biden did overtake Trump’s lead, and he will eventually win this state on a razor thin margin, but only after a recount. No one is waiting on Georgia, though. At this point it’s a moot point to the outcome. 

ARIZONA: Last night I said “who the fuck knows, and I don’t care,” and that’s still my stance on Arizona. The only thing I would change is that “who the fucks knows” would now more accurately be “looks like Trump is shit out of luck,” because there’s only 90k left to count, and Trump can’t even tie Biden’s lead with that unless every Democrat in Phoenix suddenly joined the alt-right on election day.

“If you’re so confident Biden has been elected, then why aren’t news outlets calling it?” The short answer is, “because I’m a Captain America daddy smut blogger and there are no consequences to my actions regarding this matter.” But projections from news networks have very real impacts around the world, so they have to establish certain operating standards prior to election night and they have to stick to it.

What are these standards? For as much as I like my cable news conspiracy theories, it’s important to understand that Rachel Maddow and Cooper Anderson and even their producers are not the ones that get to make the decision to project winners. Those people are all a part of the ‘news desk,’ but it’s a completely separate and sequestered entity at their network (they literally aren’t allowed to talk or hear or even look at news desk) called the ‘decision desk’ that analyzes the raw vote count data and actually determines whether the network is ready to confidently call the race. In all races that are considered competitive, all of these decision desks have a standard margin under which they will not permit themselves to release a projection; at most networks, this margin is 0.5%. Now... this tells you why they haven’t called Pennsylvania (Biden +0.4% and growing) and Arizona (Biden +0.9% and shrinking, but not fast enough to matter), but I am truly lost as to why they haven’t called Nevada with 93% of the vote counted and Biden’s +1.8% and growing lead. Whatever.

“I’m hearing that Trump is filing more than a dozen lawsuits to obstruct the vote count in various states. Should I be worried?”

Absolutely not. You should give negative fucks about Trump’s legal challenges. All of them are frivolous, most of them aren’t even asking for an action that would prevent votes from being counted, and the two that do are weak AF and wouldn’t affect the outcome of the election even if they succeeded. In the words of the Pennsylvania Attorney General earlier today, “There has been a lot of noise, but there has been literally zero impact on the fate of the votes.”

The only challenge Trump has any kind of chance of winning (the legal motion, not the race) that would actually prevent votes from being counted is this one case he has been hounding after in Pennsylvania for almost a month now. He has been trying to keep a particular group of mail-in ballots from being counted, specifically those that were post-marked by election day but arrived later between election day and November 6 (today). The Supreme Court of Pennsylvania has already ruled that those votes should be counted, and as of today, Trump has tried on three separate occasions to try and get the US Supreme Court to intervene-- and all three times the Court has declined. The kicker? That group of ballots hasn’t even been counted yet, and Biden is still on track to win Pennsylvania by tens of thousands of votes. Every single one of those ballots could be for Trump and Biden would still win it.

***

That’s it for tonight. I have officially given up on projecting when the news outlets will start to call this thing, but you can keep up with a short and sweet status of the artist formerly known as the Give a Fucks on Give a Fuck spreadsheet, which I update regularly... but seriously, only if you actually have the Mental Health Points™ to dedicate to it. This election is decided, and everything else is just math made unnecessarily sensational. Tomorrow I’ll do a post about some of the incredible other things related to this election that you should absolutely give a fuck about, like the way black voters have turned out to stick a foot up Trump’s racist ass.

Also, let’s all take a moment to send the greatest of good vibes out to the election workers in these battleground states. They are paid shit, are working around the clock breaking their backs with moving boxes, getting papercuts, and very eye in the world is on them and pressuring them to work faster when they just want everyone to shut up so they can do their job. True American heroes, in all honesty.

***

(Visit the original version of this post for updates if this is a reblog)

[springsaladgaming]

Progress Update 8/6/21

Happy weekend! Another week gone by, another week’s worth of progress to report!

Today’s update got kinda wordy, so I’m putting it under the cut.

Ninelives

I’ve outlined and started working on the next scene in the ChoiceScript version of the game, which is the follow-up conversation with Alex. There are about 2k words total to the scene so far.

In the past, when writing the conversations in Ninelives, I have gone through one possible variation and written it until I’ve hit what seems like a good convergence point. I then would write the convergence point paragraph and then go back and write the other variations to meet up at that point.

The conversation with Alex is going to be developed a bit different. There are a lot of factors that affect how the conversation unfolds, starting with the following:

Whether or not MC told Alex about their ability in Chapter 5

How MC reacted to what Alex did at the beginning of Chapter 6

How MC reacts to Alex now at the beginning of the conversation

The type of relationship that MC and Alex have, including whether or not a romance-pursuing MC backed out of talking to Alex about that in Chapter 5

(It is simply too much work for me to go back through the CS version of the game and make the same revisions that have been made as I transfer the game into Twine, but there is an additional factor that will affect the conversation, and that’s when Alex and the MC meet. In the CS version of the game, it will assume that MC met Alex after the drowning incident as well as after Alex learned about their own abilities, but the Twine version of the game will account for those factors.)

The various combinations of these factors means that MC may or may not be able to reconcile things with Alex just yet. They may be willing or unwilling to answer questions, they may be too upset or uncomfortable to talk to MC about things - it’s complex and has everything to do with Alex’s thought process and isn’t something that can necessarily be “scored” in terms of game mechanics.

Which means that I’m writing each route of the conversation, accounting for every variable, from start to finish to ensure the flow of the conversation makes sense. When I said that the first half of Chapter 6 was only the first half in theory, this is what I meant. The total word count of this conversation with Alex is likely to be pretty large compared to most conversations in the game thus far.

And, just to allay any concerns, if the conversation here ends badly, that doesn’t mean getting locked out of any friendship or romantic relationship with Alex. It just means dynamics with Alex might be different than normal for a while.

The Twine version of the game is up to about 22k words total (including code), making Chapter 2 roughly 9k words so far. I’ve officially finished up the new content relating to meeting Alex. For review, the additional choices added makes it so that you can choose between meeting Alex when the MC was 7, 12, or 14 (making Alex 9, 14, or 16). This add a few different variables concerning both the MC and Alex in terms of when they met. It also has an additional personality choice.

From there, I’ve started into the present-day scene of Alex and MC getting brunch, which adds a small little choice for a favorite drink, because why not?

That about wraps it up for Ninelives progress, so moving on.

Everlight

Still no additional writing on this one this week. I’ve been fleshing out more details about the characters to release some additional posts about the project.

Everlight, similar to Ninelives, is being adapted from a novel I was working on in the past. Most of the characters are in the original story, so I’ve been going through really determining which traits and aspects can be carried over and which can be scrapped.

In terms of the ROs, Valentine, Jessalta, and Heidal were all characters in the original story. Heidal has always been nonbinary, and I wanted to keep it that way, but the other two underwent some changes. Valentine used to be called Valeria and was originally a woman. (I simply didn’t like the name, which is why I changed it.) Jessalta’s name has not changed, but they were originally a man (I only very recently decided to make them gender-selectable).

The other ROs, like Diadomee and Azelas, were not technically in the original story. “Not technically” meaning there are very minor, barely-mentioned characters that they are filling the shoes of in a more major way.

The other characters all existed in the original story, though some of them went through name changes. The biggest changes, however, are for the character Everett, whose gender identity and physical appearance are now conditional based on certain other factors in the story.

Most aspects of the plot are the same, but some factors are inevitably changing due to the necessity of choices. This is not actually that difficult to accomplish since the original novel was only half-written, so I am able to make changes to the story and easily envision how different routes might change things.

I will keep making character and lore posts as time goes on. Those of you interested can also feel free to ask questions. I’ll do my best to answer anything that isn’t a spoiler.

That about covers it for this week, y’all. As always, stay happy, stay healthy, and have a wonderful weekend! 😘

[teamhappyme]

a series of promising events (4/5)

aaron hotchner x female!reader

word count: 6.7k

a/n: happy new year!! we’ve made it to part 4! this part differs from the 3 previous ones, as it takes place all in one (and a half) days. But there are flashbacks, represented with italics. if anything is confusing with the timeline, or anything else is confusing you in general, please let me know! my brain is a weird place and does not connect the dots when i post for a public audience. i hope you guys enjoy this part, it was really fun for me to write!

get ready, let’s go friends!

here are the links to part 1, part 2, & part 3

****

October 2012

“Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.” - Winnie the Pooh

You’re known for your predictability. Yes, you’re overly kind, extremely perceptive, and a little bit of a literary genius. But those closest to you knew the predictability of your life.

You craved routine. You woke up at 5:30 every morning, had breakfast, watched the news, and caught up on some domestic things before heading into the office. You stopped at the same bagel cart every morning, an Asiago bagel with butter for you and a coffee for Spencer. Monday’s, you treated the whole team. You got to work at 7:12, second only to Hotch. 

The team knew how you would react to every case. Missing or dead children would cause you to go silent, families being the target would choke you up, and anything including a scumbag with a signature kill made you nauseous. 

So it was safe to say they were more than surprised to find out that you’d left for a month long european holiday, from an email, with Strauss cc'd on it. The team couldn’t remember the last time you went on vacation, because you hadn't gone further than two hours in one day. 

In your travels through Europe, you stopped in countries that you’d only dreamt about visiting in your dreams. You saw Nyhavn, Denmark, the colorful canal right outside of Copenhagen. Hopped through Warsaw and Gdansk in Poland, before being silenced by your tour of Auschwitz. Next was France, the country you always said you would flee to once you aged out of the system. Besides hitting all the touristy attractions in Paris, you traveled through the alps, and made sure you stopped to see Giverny, the little village that inspired Claude Monet and his water lily paintings. The last true destination was Spain, jumping at the chance to flex your spanish minor muscles. You roamed Barcelona and Madrid, feeling a little like the Cheetah Girls as you stood in front of La Sagrada Familia.

The more you travelled, the more you’d thought about quitting. Thought about sending your resignation to Strauss through an email, leave your desk full of the mementos and picture frames, and continue falling in love with the continent you’d never been to before. 

But then you made your final stop in London, to the sister who you missed immensely, and lost the nerve entirely.

“You’ll regret leaving them for the rest of your life,” Emily said to you, and you wondered for a second if she was projecting her decisions onto you. 

“They don’t deserve me.” You’d mumbled out, just loud enough for her to hear. “I can’t continue on like this.”

You’d given the team everything you had for seven and a half years. The job demanded personal sacrifices you never thought you’d be capable of, until you met the people who signed on for this before you. The people who shared the same commitment to helping others, the responsibility to improve the world around them before the one that housed them. It was the first time you felt at home in your quarter century existence.

But the work never seized. The jet began to feel more like home than your apartment, hotel beds provided more comfort than your own pillow covered mattress. And no matter how many people you saved, no amount of gratification from loved ones could quell the loneliness building back inside you.

So you listened to Emily, and came back to the states on your original return flight, October 23, 2012. You returned to the real world in less than seventy-two hours and promised Garcia you would brush up on the next case before debriefing on Monday morning. 

You were betting on the fact that the team wasn’t lingering around the office, considering it was seven thirty on a friday night as you headed up in the elevator, fresh off your flight from the UK. The last thing you wanted was someone to corner you, when all you wanted to do was sleep off the lingering memories of your last night here. 

The glass doors leading into the BAU gave you a view of the bullpen; empty. Opening the door, you walked over to your desk, quickly glancing around the other spaces to see if anything had changed. It hadn’t.

Grabbing the files Garcia left on your desk and your car keys from the drawer, you tidied up the space the tiniest bit. You made sure everything was squared off to your monitor, updating the days passed on your desk calendar. You wrote a reminder on a yellow sticky to thank Reid for watering your small desk plant and stuck it to the screen for Monday. Everything looked like it was in its place, until you saw a blue stress ball sitting on your chair. Your head whipped up to the office at the top of the stairs, but the lights were off and the door shut. He wasn’t here. 

But you could feel the stare of his eyes from four weeks ago on you just the same.

You guys were working a local case in the District. 

The unsub had murdered three men, each with one shot to the head execution style. There were no signs of torture, and all three men were found with their eyes closed and arms crossed over their torsos; signs of remorse. 

It took the team thirty hours to stick the profile and find the woman responsible. Her name was Kathryn Downey, a forty two year old mother of three, with a law degree that hadn’t been used in fifteen years. After digging into the victims personal lives and her own, the motive and stressor became clear to everyone; her husband had cheated on her. 

You found Kathryn with a gun pointed to her husband’s head, his hands and feet duct taped, and a strip around his mouth keeping him silent. 

Her hands were shaking, and you knew from the second you saw her that she didn’t want to kill him. She was angry, and full of rage, but she wouldn’t be able to follow through with this.

As long as you use the right language.

“Kathryn, put the gun down, we’re with the FBI.” Hotch started in a calm voice, but she shook her head, hands shaking faster. 

“No. I have to do this. He,” She took a breath, pushing the hair out of her face with her free hand. “He has to pay.”

You glanced at Aaron before taking a step closer, slowly lowering your weapon. She needed to feel safe, and she needed to feel like an equal. 

“Kathryn, my name is y/n l/n. I’m with the Behavioral Analysis Unit from the FBI. I really want to help you through this situation, so I’m going to put my gun down, alright?” You slowly lowered the gun to the ground, kicking it back gently to Hotch. 

“Now Kathryn, I know your children are here. I don’t want anything to happen to them, and I know you don’t either, so could you tell me where they are so we can help them?” 

“In the basement, I locked them in the basement. I didn’t want them to,” She let the thought end, not wanting to manifest it into the universe. She didn’t want them to see their mother kill their father.

Hotch spoke gently into the comms, getting Morgan and Rossi down to the kids. 

“Kathryn, I want to know why we’re here in this situation. I’ve read the file, I profiled you and your family, but I want to know your side of the story. Why are you holding a gun to your husbands head?”

Her eyes widened in the slightest, and you were sure it was from the empathy in your voice. But this was your specialty, and you were determined to talk this woman down. 

“He cheated on me,” She whispered, and for a split second, you thought this was going to be easy. But then she pressed the gun harder into his head, and let out a low laugh. “After everything I’ve done for this family, for him, he just takes his pants off for another woman?”

You heard the safety click off, and Hotch’s own in return. Please do not end in a shootout.

“Kathryn, don’t look at him. Don’t think about him kneeling in front of you. Just focus on me. Tell me how you got to this moment right now.”

“How did I get to this moment? I got here by following around this sad excuse for a man for the last twenty years. Like a moth to a flame, I couldn’t escape this life of mine.” Her eyes started to water, and you internally sighed. You were getting somewhere. “I have a law degree, you know. Fifth in my class at Columbia, and I only used it for a year. And it was in sleazy corporate law. Because I got married, and I got pregnant, and Sean wanted someone to stay home with the kids.

“I went from the intelligent corporate attorney with her eyes set on the attorney general’s office, to a cliche housewife who spends her days cleaning and dotting on her husband and kids. I never wanted to be this woman,” She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall down her face freely. She looked so young in this vulnerable state, too young to have three children. Yet she looked so tired, and so defeated. “I gave up everything for this family. I gave up my career, friends, bucket list dreams, and a life that was waiting to be lived, for this man. I cater to his every need, I listen to him drone on about work, assure him when he’s feeling anxious, and give in when he needs a release. I am my children’s rock; when they need a shoulder to cry on I’m there in a second. They need help with their math homework, I’m the number one girl. But when it’s my turn to fall apart, when it’s my turn to be lifted up and supported, nobody is there for me. And he should be able to be there for me.”

If you hadn’t undergone intense training at Quantico, you would’ve been in tears by now. You empathized with this woman more than you should, and you were trying so desperately to help her out of this situation. So you continued to dig your fingernails into your palms, and spoke again. 

“I know what you’re feeling, Kathryn.”

“You don’t know what I’m feeling!” Wrong move. She ripped the gun away from her husband and fixed the trigger on you. Hotch moved so that he was only one step behind you, trying to get her to lower the gun. “You have no idea what this is like!”

“I do, Kathryn. I promise you I do. I may not be a wife, or a mother, but I know what it’s like to give yourself completely to a person. I know what it’s like to hold onto the stress and fears of the people you love. I understand, because I’m this person too.

“People like you and me, we feel the need to be the emotional support for everyone we love. We never want to see them struggle, and we never want to see them in pain. So, we listen. We overcompensate to make them feel better, and we check in regularly to make sure they’re okay. Our happiness, as strange and sad as it may be, is directly linked to theirs. We can’t be happy unless they’re happy. But once they come out of their depression, once they thank us for being the light in their lives, they walk away, and take the happy rainbow with them. And they don’t leave any for us.” Tears continued to fall down her face, but you needed to go further. She was going to break if you kept going. “Kathryn, I was in your position not long ago. I remember what it feels like when you realize that the love you have for someone won’t be reciprocated. That after everything you’ve done for them, all the small moments that you succeeded in taking their grief away and bringing happiness back into their life, they still don’t appreciate you. And it’s heartbreaking.

“But I’m standing across from you today, on the other side of that pain, trying to tell you that it gets better. It doesn’t go away, but it gets a hell of a lot better, Kathryn. So please, do not let this one moment that you couldn’t take the pain away ruin all the times you did.” 

You expected the tears. You expected an emotional end to this situation. You didn’t expect Kathryn Downey to drop her gun in the middle of the room, and collapse onto you. But that’s exactly what she did. And instead of letting go to untie her husband, instead of joining Hotch in cuffing her, you held her for a minute. You held her breaking heart in your hands, and tried your hardest to take away all her fears and pain for once in her life. 

After a minute, you pulled away and grabbed a hold of her upper arm. She gave you a slight nod, knowing this is what was always going to happen. You led her down the stairs and into the back of a squad car, as Aaron helped the husband to his children once outside of the house. 

You were leaning against the suburban that you came in, watching as the team debriefed with the local pd before being dismissed. But amongst the chaos, Hotch found your eyes, and gave you a knowing look. One that meant you were going to talk through the very personal negotiation you gave.

The team arrived back at the office just shy of ten o’clock, Penelope waiting for Derek at the elevator. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder as you led the gang into the bullpen, everyone dropping their go bags at their desks. 

You lingered for a moment as Hotch made his way up to his office, knowing you’d be joining him in a few seconds. You grabbed your blue stress ball, complimentary from the C.A.L.M. department meeting, as through the curtains you could see him drop his bag before checking his phone for any messages from Jack.

“L/n,” Here it comes. “Can I talk to you in my office please?”

You and Spencer shared a look, and he gave you a comforting smile in return. You took the steps two at a time to his office, and shut the door behind you once you arrived. He was standing behind his desk, so you didn’t feel the need to sit yourself.

You waited for him to speak, since he was the one that called you in. It was a little childish, but you weren’t the one who wanted the discussion.

“I want to talk about the negotiation.”

“I thought it was pretty successful. I empathised, I got her to drop her weapon, and no one was injured in the process.”

“Y/n, you know that’s not what I meant.” He uncrossed his arms, letting out a sigh. The two of you were too exhausted to have this conversation, but that wasn’t going to stop Hotch from going on. “I told you that you could lean on me when it all became too much.”

“That was six years ago, Hotch.” Defensive, but not rude. A fine line. “And this wasn’t about work, this was personal. You’re not obligated to listen to our personal issues that take place outside the office.”

“And you are?” Stop spinning my words, Hotchner. “I know you, y/n. This isn’t just something that can be brushed back under the rug.” You scoffed. “You don’t know me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t know me, Hotch. None of you do. You know my file. You know that I got a full ride to Bowdoin, that I was a social worker before transferring here, and that most of my life before eighteen was sealed away. I confided in you six years ago about my childhood and now you think you know me?”

“Why are you getting so defensive?”

“I’m not-” You paused, knowing that if you finished that statement it would, in fact, be defensive. “I’m just really tired and I don’t want to be having this conversation right now.”

“It’s not healthy for you to keep everything in while people spill their lives to you. And you know that.”

“Hotch,” You warned, your exhaustion quickly turning into rage.

“What, you really think I’m just going to drop this after hearing you confess to a serial killer that you have no joy in your life? And now you’re going to try and convince me that I don’t know anything about you? Bullshit, y/n. I know that you talk to your foster siblings every sunday to check in and make sure they’re all doing okay. I know that you volunteer with Garcia to help the families of victims cope with their loss. I know that you cling to Spencer like gum wherever you go to make him feel less insecure in a bar.”

“Stop it,”

“I know that your favorite color is purple, that you still write articles for CNN and The Times under a pseudonym. And I know, more than anything in the world, you want to be the mother that you never got to have.”

“Stop it!” You threw the blue ball into his builtins, hitting one of his stupid administrative awards in the process. He didn’t even flinch. “You don’t get to know me like that.”

“Why not?” You let out a low laugh as tears started to fill in your eyes. He was oblivious, and that's what made it hurt even more. You cracked your knuckles for a few seconds, waiting for him to connect the words you spoke at the Downey house and your frustration with him in this moment.

But his face softened, the wrinkles disappeared from his forehead, and you knew he figured it out. He didn’t need to say the words for you to know exactly what was going through his head. But he was with Beth, and you were not going to interfere. This wouldn’t change anything.

“It’s late, I should head home. I’ll get you my report before monday.”

You left his office without saying goodnight, and you tried to ignore the rest of your team huddled around Morgan’s desk, pretending not to be eavesdropping. But they totally were. 

Instead you grabbed your bags, giving Spencer a reassuring smile as his gaze lingered on you for a second longer. You had no intentions of turning around to see Hotch’s face. But if you had, you would’ve seen the same heartbroken expression across his face, realizing he let you walk away.

You tore your eyes away from the office, not wanting to relive the memory any longer. You stashed the stress ball under your monitor before turning out the light, and making your way back to the elevator.

Once you were settled back in your apartment, you sent a text to Reid and JJ, letting them know you got in okay and that you’d see them at the office on Monday. After getting a thumbs up and a ‘glad you’re home’ in response, you turned in for the night, trying to dream of nights in Paris and Barcelona instead of at the BAU.

---

It was hard for you to get back in the routine of consulting and profiling. Garcia had left you copies of three cases the team was going to be working on when you returned, and you’d barely worked through the first one in two hours. 

Three teenagers went missing from their small town in Idaho, and all were found in Seattle in the same week. Of course, your first case back included kids. 

You resorted to calling Spencer when you really had no idea where to begin. You felt like a rookie all over again, asking for help when creating a geographical profile or running new negotiation tactics. But your best friend was quick to help, assuring you that once you got back to the office, you’d fall back into the routine.

“Did you have a good time?” He finally asked, albeit apprehensively. You didn’t leave on the best terms with anyone, and they all seemed to know what pushed you over the edge.

“I did. It’s amazing to know that there is a whole other world out there that we don’t even know about. It’s so different over there, Spence. It’s peaceful, and beautiful, and everything the place you call home should be.”

You could hear the intake of breath over the line. “Does that mean you’re moving to Spain?” A smile crossed your lips just thinking about Barcelona. But, it wasn’t home.

“This is my home, Spencer. I’m not leaving anytime soon.” You left out the part about contemplating a new life for the better part of three weeks, knowing it would only cause him more paranoia. You were staying in Quantico, continuing what you were born to do.

After drafting a rough profile and reviewing family statements, you took a break from the paperwork staring back at you all morning. 

You made your way into the kitchen to find something for lunch, the afternoon approaching quick. All you really wanted to do was crash on the couch and watch old movies for hours, until monday morning inevitably rolled around. Selfishly you wanted your vacation to last forever. But your mind, and your bank account, thought differently.

After consuming a sandwich and some chips, you brought back the fresh mug of hot chocolate to the kitchen table, ready to take on the second file. Two women raped, tortured, and murdered outside of Miami. Why the fuck did it always have to be Florida.

Halfway through the family statements, there was a knock at your door. You grabbed your gun from the side table, just in case. Only three people had a key to your apartment. One of them was in England, one you just got off the phone with, and one… you didn’t exactly know where you stood with him.

After checking the peephole and seeing Hotch on the other side, you let out a sigh of relief. No one is coming to muder you. But it was quickly replaced with the memories of your last encounter, and the unspoken realization of feelings unrequited.

You placed your gun back on the table, and unlocked the door for him. He was wearing a navy blue quarter zip, jeans, and sneakers, the ultimate Aaron Hotchner not on duty look. It made your heart beat just a little faster noticing his hair was free of any gel, flopping naturally as he walked. 

“Hi,” You greeted him, half of you hidden behind your front door. 

A shadow of a smile crossed his lips, and he placed his hands in his pockets. “Hi. I’m sorry for stopping by unannounced. I know you must be tired and getting ready for Monday.”

“No, it’s okay. Did you want to come in?” You opened the door a little more, stepping out to show your sweatpants and sweatshirt look from behind the door.

“Thank you.” He murmured as he walked through the entrance, moving to take off his shoes. You told him a million times that you didn’t follow that rule, and that you hated it when people made their guests remove their shoes. But he told you once that it was a sign of comfort, that he felt at ease in someone else's home.

“Can I get you something to drink? I have some tea bags left over I think, or I can make you a cup of coffee.”

“No, I’m okay.” 

“Are you sure? It’ll only take a second. Oh, are you hungry? I still have some sealed crackers from before I left, might have something in the freezer if-”

“Y/n,” He interrupted you and you stopped in the middle of your path to the kitchen. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” You nodded, making your way back to the living room. “Oh, I um, got something for Jack while I was in England with Emily. I know it’ll probably keep him holed up in his room for a week, but I couldn’t resist.” 

You pulled out the bag of souvenirs you got for the team, grabbing the London attractions lego set you bought for the young boy. Aaron smiled when you handed it to him, knowing the two of them would no doubt be starting this when he got home. 

“You didn’t have to get this for him. But he’s gonna love it.” 

“I know.” You reached in the bag once more, pulling out the gift you got for Aaron. “And I know you’ll probably never wear this, but I had to get it for you.”

He opened the box, a british flag tie on the inside. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips, the tacky gift really meaning a lot to him. “Thank you. I can honestly say this is the most unique gift I’ve ever received.”

“Glad to hear it.” You tucked your foot underneath you as you settled onto the couch, letting Aaron set the gifts aside. You knew what conversation was coming next, but you didn’t have the courage to start it. Especially since he was the one to come to you.

He settled in on the couch, a cushion between the two of you, a clear boundary that he’d set. 

“Did you enjoy your time over there?” 

“I had a really great time. I can’t believe I’d gone thirty two years without leaving the country. You don’t realize how much of the world there is to see until you go and uncover a small fraction of it.”

He smiled while beginning to pick at his fingernails. This was a new tell of his, he was usually extremely reserved with his anxiety. “You sound like Emily.” 

“I’m going to take that as a complement.” You said with a small laugh, adoring the woman across the ocean. 

“It is. She called me a few days ago, told me you guys had a nice visit.” 

“We did. Prentiss knows how to have a good time no matter the city. It was a little too much for me, though.” 

“Nobody can quite keep up with Emily.” He added before letting out a breath.

“She also told me that you were contemplating leaving the BAU.” There goes the first shoe, dropping from the ceiling. “Are you still thinking of quitting?”

“No.” It was the truth. Em had spoken some sense into you, and you knew deep down, like you told Spencer, this was your home. “I just needed a break from everything. And Europe was an amazing distraction. But I’m back, and ready to get back into the swing of things.”

He nodded, some tension slowly released from his shoulders. He couldn’t lose another member. It was too soon.

“Was it because of me?” 

“What?” Even though you were expecting this conversation, it still caught you off guard. 

“I’m not conceited enough to think you fled to another continent because of a fight, but is that what pushed you over the edge? What led you to want to quit the BAU?”

In a word, yes. The argument was the last straw on the camel's back. You’d spent years with this unit, fulfilling a destiny that you made up for yourself so that you wouldn’t feel guilty for not having a family or friends to confide in. You spent the better part of the last three years pining for a man you couldn’t have, trying to fill the holes in your life by playing pretend. So yes, it was Hotch that pushed you over the edge. But you learned a hell of a lot about yourself in those four weeks.

“Hotch, did you know that this was the first time I went on an airplane for my own enjoyment? This was the first vacation I’ve been on in my life. I booked a flight on a Thursday night that left at six a.m. the next morning. I was spontaneous, and in control of all the moves I would make for the next thirty days. I’ve never felt more liberated in my life.

“But then I landed in Copenhagen, and had an anxiety attack. I can’t speak Danish, I have no idea how to get around a new country, and I only had thirty dollars in cash to my name. And the only thing I could think of to help me get through it, was calling you. I had your contact pulled up, ready to call you and tell you what a stupid fucking mistake I made. But then I could hear your voice in my head, saying ‘I know you’, and I’d never turned my phone off faster.”

“Y/n,” He sounded exhausted himself, but you weren’t going to give in to the apologies. Not yet.

“I had the time of my life there. I went to places that I never thought I’d get to see in my life. Places that my foster parents told me I’d never be important enough to go to. But I made it. I made it to Giverny, and I saw what inspired Claude Monet to paint the Water Lilies series with my own eyes. I went inside La Sagrada Familia and walked on the steps that Gaudi dreamt of. I saw everything I wanted to, and I wept every place I went to. Because I got myself there. I persevered and worked my ass off my whole life, to get there. I didn’t have any parents, I didn't have any siblings, a spouse, or children. I did it all by myself, and it felt pretty amazing to accomplish that.

“No one knows me like I do.” You finished. Your walls were back up starting to feel secure in your own skin again. 

He stayed silent for a few minutes, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. He was calculating his response, trying to formulate the perfect response to get the two of you back on track. It was exhausting watching his brain work, and you wondered how tired he must always be.

After another minute, he sighed and dropped his hands into his lap. “Beth and I broke up two weeks before you left.” The other shoe had dropped.

“What?” For the second time tonight, you were rendered speechless by Aaron Hotchner. This was not the response you were expecting, and not the news you expected to hear anytime soon. The two of them were obsessed with one another, how could they just end it?

“We ended it two weeks before your trip. She accepted a job in Kyoto, and didn’t want to string me along with long distance. But she also said she knew my heart wasn’t in it anymore.”

You stood up from the couch, not being able to sit still with this new information. Hotch and Beth were no longer together, he said all those things to you as a single man, understood what you felt for him, and still let you walk out of his office. For four weeks. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was his turn to stand, still leaving enough distance between the two of you to continue your pacing. 

“Don’t deflect to another conversation.” 

“You’re the one that brought it up!”

He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly shaggy hair. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you again. So please, get it through your thick skull when I tell you that I know you. And I don’t mean that on a bureaucratic superior level. I know you, y/n. And just because you’ve been alone your whole life, doesn’t mean you deserve to be alone for the rest of it.” 

Your eyes started to water, so you looked away, gluing your line of sight to the wall next to you.

“You give us all one hundred and ten percent of your attention when we need you. And when I say all of us, that includes Jack and Henry. I’ve never met someone so intune to another person's feelings, who exudes so much empathy with one look and a smile. And we’ve taken you for granted for seven and a half years. Me the most.” Your eyes found his brown ones, begging you to continue looking at him. “I couldn’t have gotten through Haley’s death without you. And that is the biggest understatement of the decade. I am eternally grateful for all that you’ve done for me and Jack. But at the same time, I’m so sorry that it pushed me further and further away from you.”

His own eyes started to water, and he choked out a laugh. “What you said to Kathryn Downey, about giving yourself completely to a person and not getting the love reciprocated. I felt like an absolute idiot for not realizing that you felt the same way I did.” You closed your eyes with his confession, letting the tears roll down your cheeks. 

“There were so many times I wanted to tell you. But then Haley took Jack, and Foyet came, and the world got away from me. And I’m so sorry that you’ve felt the need to carry all our problems on your own.”

“Hotch, you don’t have to apologize.”

“Please, don’t call me Hotch right now.” He took a step toward you. “It’s Aaron, when I’m standing in front of you, begging you to just let me in.”

“I don’t,” Your voice cracked, and you rubbed your hands over your face in frustration. “I don’t know how to let someone love me.”

“I know,” He took another step closer. “You’re just going to have to trust me when I tell you I’ve been in love with you for years.”

He didn’t see the rest of your tears fall, because you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. His arms found their place around your waist, pulling you two impossibly close.

“I love you, Aaron.” You could feel him laughing with his chest pressed against your own, and he moved to kiss the side of your head. 

“I love you.” He whispered back, causing the last of your tears to fall onto his sweatshirt.

He started to pull away, just enough to get a look at your face. His eyes were no longer filled with tears, but his cheeks still glistened when the light illuminated the damp spots on his face. He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear, letting his knuckles gently graze your temple. You caught his hand in the middle of his movement, lacing your fingers with his own. You’d been dying to know what it felt like to hold his hand like this for years, when you found yourself comforting him in his office one night, lightly holding his hand in yours. But this was so much better.

“You good?” He asked, and the corners of your mouth turned up the slightest. 

“I’m good.” He traced the lightest check mark on your laced hands, causing a true smile to grace your face.

“You have a tally to see who can make me smile the most?” 

“It’s just mine. Been keeping it for years. But I’m always in the lead.”

You laughed while letting go of his hand, wrapping your arms back around his neck. His eyes flickered to your lips for a second before looking back at you. You gave him a small nod, knowing he was asking for your permission. 

When his lips met yours, you knew this was the feeling that all the fairytales sang about. He was gentle at first, slotting your upper lip between his own. It was slow, and full of love from the years of knowing one another inside and out. He bit your lower lip softly, barely there, and you slowly parted your lips, letting him trace your tongue with his own. 

All you could think about was how warm he was, how his breath was actively leaving his lungs and entering your own as if you were one person. It was all consuming, and you were grateful that he took the lead, because you couldn’t focus on anything but him.

His hands slipped under your sweatshirt, resting on the skin just above your hips. You let out a small gasp as his cold fingers made contact with the sensitive skin, but it only made him laugh into the kiss. 

After a few more moments of getting lost in the feel of one another, you reluctantly pulled away, needing air to fill up your lungs. But Aaron didn’t go far, gently resting his forehead against your own. 

“I love you. And I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to stop telling you.” You closed your eyes and tilted your head up, slowly kissing him again. 

“I’ll never get sick of hearing it.” You mumbled, your lips still grazing his own. He smiled into the kiss, which only made your heart glow brighter and brighter the more he showed you how he felt.

You pulled away first, tracing the outline of his jaw with your thumbs. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He tilted his head to the side, just enough to press a kiss to the palm of your hand. 

The tenderness this man exudes is beyond belief. “I really love you, Aaron.”

He laughed while pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad to hear that.”

You let him hold you for what felt like an eternity, but in reality was only a few minutes. “I promised Jack I would take him out for ice cream to make up for missing his soccer game last night.” 

“Okay,” You said and started to pull away, but his grip on your waist only tightened.

“Really? You’re just gonna let go without a goodbye?” You laughed at his fake hurt expression, so incredibly happy that you get to see Aaron in this light, enjoying his son, his life, and you. 

“I’m not about to stand in the way of Jack Hotchner and a sugar rush. That guy loves his sugar.”

He let go of your waist, but not without a light squeeze to your sides. “I know we literally just started this, but I really would like to tell him. I don’t want to keep any more secrets from him than I have to.”

You smiled at the thought of Aaron telling Jack how in love the two of you were. It made you feel complete, in a way you never thought you’d get to experience in your life.

“Tell him. As long as he doesn’t blab about it to anyone on the team just yet.” 

“You sure?” You nodded while passing him the souvenirs as he slipped his sneakers back on. 

“Aaron, he’s your son. I’ve loved him as long as I’ve loved you, maybe even longer.”

He stood up once again, that stupid smile not willing to leave his face any time soon. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” 

“Must’ve been something pretty good.” You said with a laugh, which he silenced by placing his lips on yours. You hoped the butterflies you felt now would be there every time he kissed you, no matter how many years have passed. 

“Like that.” You said once he pulled away. His dimples were showing now, and you wished that you could take a picture of him in this happy moment and remember it for the rest of your lives. 

“I’ll call you tonight.” He said and opened the front door. 

“Okay. Have fun, tell Jack I said hi.” 

“I will.” He kissed your cheek before starting the walk back down the hallway. He didn’t even make it halfway before turning around, and giving you one final kiss in the doorway. 

“Love you,” He said and gave you one more peck, before you shoved his shoulder. “I love you too. Now get outta here, Hotchner.”

****

tags: @simplyprentiss @michaelahah @ssahotchner99 @svrgicalhands @hotchtopic @unionjackpillow @philcoolson @tommhollandzxhaz @kathleenjasmine @canimarrypizzaornah @reaperwalking @inlovewithaaronhotchner @shelbymm11 @mrshotchner23 @tropicalwrites @averyhotchner @dreamy-moments @softhxtch @crazymar15 @theinsanespaceship15 @wecouldbreakthedistance @jeor @funnycuteandannoying @andherestograce @thisisntjuliana @captwilson @kennedyblair @lovelysunflowerxoxo @rcompton @iifaequeenii @iwaizumiee @mrsaaronh0tchner @abbeyannsmith-blog @becausehello @rinacriedpower @ssa-raye @ephemeral-barnes @slxtherinchxser @baueoud @lieswithoutfairytales @hug-a-bug-boo @blogmythoughts @freebanditghostcalzone @sugarbutterbailey

[matrixreimagined]

Matrix Gift Exchange

I had @thelivemouse​! Happy Holidays, friend! 

A Glitch in the Matrix; A Flaw in His System

Agent Smith existed in a world of certainty and fundamental truth. The Matrix, he knew, was his purpose. He was its chosen guardian. He existed to stop the chaotic Zionists and their mission of liberated anarchy.

Humans, it seemed, were unable to behave in a manner that catered to their best interests.

And that was why the Matrix existed. The system to govern the humans, teasing them with the illusion of choice, while driving them all to complete their purpose. To power the machines.

There was order in his world.

A reason for everything.

Until there wasn’t.

Smith could find no reason for the abrupt change that he sensed on March 11, 1962. His counterparts didn’t seem to find anything different but Smith knew that there was something wrong in the Matrix. Something didn’t belong.

It was nothing he could recognize; nothing surface level.

But something was wrong and it was distracting.

He checked to see if there was an update he was missing; perhaps there was a glitch in his own software. An easy fix.

But no.

For some inexplicable reason, he was drawn to the Matrix Stats. A program that kept track of everything from the blades of grass within the simulation to the number of programs within the Matrix.

He checked it all but found himself staring at the population. 380,111 new babies had been born on March 11 while some 156, 916 had been taken away, their bodies recycled in the real world to nourish the little ones.

Yes, Smith acknowledged, things were different. But like an update, he learned to adjust. After a while, those little twinges that something was wrong became normal, easier for him to ignore. And that was just what he did.

It would be years before Smith thought about that day.

Year more before he would understand the significance of that day.

Six years pass and Smith no longer gives thought to the odd sensation. Or was it a feeling? 

No, he decided, not a feeling.

He wasn’t capable of that. It was not something assigned to anti-virus programs.

It’s a winter day when Hamann and his crew break into an apartment building to free some moron who thought life would be better in the harsh underground city. But Hamann and his crew weren’t as careful as they should have been.

They managed a trace, missed the warning signs of deja vu.

When the Agents arrived, it melted into chaos.

Their potential red pill was killed in the crossfire, along with another from Hamann’s crew.

The rest escaped, running in different directions.

And the Agents gave chase, each in pursuit.

Smith had chased Hamann, following him through the halls. The man burst into an apartment building and jumped through a window to the fire escape. He took the steps two at a time and Smith was gaining on him when a small child climbed between them, looking down at the older man who was running down the stairs. 

Smith barely stopped himself from crashing into the child.

Casualties, particularly young ones, were to be avoided by the Agent’s mandate. And while accidents happened, he tried to avoid casualties. 

In hindsight, he should have walked around the child and finished his pursuit. He probably would have caught up to the terrorist and managed to put him down before he reached an exit. 

Yet Smith couldn’t seem to look away from the dark-haired child, staring up at him with large brown eyes.

“What are you doing on my fire escape?” The boy asked.

Smith scanned the child.

Thomas Anderson.

Date of Insertion: March 11, 1962.

Age: six years.

The date struck him, freezing him in place as he regarded the young child.

A coincidence, he was nearly certain.

The boy was only six. He could hardly be the cause of the discomfort, the strange sensation that had once caused him pause.

Thomas, he thought. From the Aramaic To’oma. Meaning twin.

But humans, it seemed, rarely chose names based on their meanings. Thomas was an only child. There was no twin, no partner of sorts.

Just a lonely little one, as lost in the world as anyone else.

Anderson, Smith noted. Meaning son of Andrew. Andrew, of course, meaning man. Son of man.

Again, highly irrelevant.

Little Thomas might not know it but he was the child of machines, composed mostly of organic tissue but with enough mechanisms that he was no longer entirely human either.

“Sir? What are you doing on my fire escape?” The boy asked again. 

A flash of annoyance spread through the Agent and it startled him. Annoyance was intrinsically human and Smith was far from it. As distant as one could possibly be from a fickle thing like emotions.

Before the boy could ask again, he said, “You’re dreaming. Go to sleep.”

“I’m not dreaming!” Thomas insisted, looking angry at the assumption.

“Trust me: you’re dreaming.” Smith quickly walked off, unwilling to stand and address the flash of annoyance, the anger that seemed ingrained in his avatar’s bones. All the while, the thoughts racing through his head.

Emotions are human.

Jones and Brown were down the street when he caught up with them.

“The girl made it out.”

“As did Hamann.” Smith confirmed.

“Their gunner is dead.” Jones stated.

Something sickly starts to grow inside Smith that the confirmation. It was dark and made him uneasy, almost nauseous. Programs didn’t get nauseous, Smith thought, but then, they also didn’t feel.

It should have been me to stop him.

Me.

A personal pronoun, indicating identity of the individual.

Smith was not an individual. He belonged to a tripariate program. A collective with a single purpose: to stop Zionists from freeing people.

They had done their job. Had managed to kill a few Zionists while at it.

The matter of who killed who was unimportant, irrelevant.

So why did Smith feel as though the world was shrinking around him? As if it were becoming infinitely smaller, taking his focus away from the Matrix and projecting it onto himself. And yet, selfishness was inherently human.

The earlier programs could experience things such as emotions. The Merovingian was a prime example of abstract hedonism. The Oracle was known for her compassion towards the humans. Even the Architect was mired with complex feelings towards the slaves, giving him the insight necessary to design the Matrix to suit their needs. 

But Agents had no need for feelings.

He ran the possibilities in his mind.

Perhaps there had been a malfunction, in which case, he should report himself immediately and be taken to exile. A new Agent would be created, reprogrammed to fix the inherently human traits that seemed to be prevalent in Smith.

But no, he thinks. Exile does not seem… pleasant.

Self-preservation, however, was a human instinct.

He wondered if it was worse than he initially thought but Smith ignored it all.

He would discover, over the coming months and years, that it was not all that hard to cover up the occasional flash of feelings that rise to the surface when dealing with the Zionites. He did his best to eliminate any sign of the virus within the Matrix.

Years pass.

All the while, Smith feels his distaste for humanity growing. He hides it under a practiced mask if only to protect himself from deletion. 

A few hundred people are freed, a few hundred more die.

New captains and crews replace the ones that grow old or are eliminated. Most act in quiet desperation, trying their hands at stealth and trickery, hoping to avoid the attention of the Agents.

And then there was the Nebuchadnezzar.

Led by Morpheus, the entire crew seemed to be operating on a single brain cell. 

But then the message came through. A human willing to act as a spy in order to be placed back in the safety of the Matrix. While it wasn’t impossible, it would be a waste of resources to do such. But the human didn’t need to know that.

Instead, they agreed to the deal and were given a name.

The new bastard that Morpheus determined was capable of destroying the Matrix.

“We have the name of their next target.” Said Jones.

And Brown finished, “The name is Neo.”

Neo.

A scan of the information at hand brought him to the owner of the alias. A picture of a tall, clean-shaven man with dark hair and eyes appears, along with a name and a profile.

Thomas Anderson.

For a moment, Smith was aware of his every synapsis. The speed of every thought that went through his program. He could feel his very avatar like a cage surrounding him, trapping him.

Thomas Anderson.

March 11, 1962.

The day the Matrix turned. 

Smith had never given any thought to Morpheus’ mission to find someone capable of destroying the Matrix. Smith had deemed it impossible long ago. 

But now…

New feelings are creeping in.

While before, Smith found himself riddled with disgust over humanity, frustration at his own limitations, and annoyance in others, he finds something new growing inside him.

A new feeling plotting and working its way through him, consuming him.

Anticipation.

Finding Thomas Anderson, confronting him, capturing him before Morpheus is able…

He doesn't buy into the concept of the One but he couldn't deny that the man was special. 

Now was the time for planning. Tomorrow would be the time for action.

And soon, Smith would find out for himself exactly how special Thomas Anderson was.

[pebblysand]

It’s me again! You gave such a thorough reply that I wanted to first say thank you and second elaborate on devastating and maybe also expound on why i love castles so much.

So honestly what i most appreciate in post-dh hp fanfics is the exploration of what happens after the war- particularly the trauma and healing process. I’ll be frank in that I’m probably projecting my own mental health issues but that’s neither here nor there.

Castles strikes me as particularly interesting and unique because it delves into Ginny’s trauma from the war as much as Harry’s. Very often in other post-dh fics we see that Ginny is the stable one, she is Harry’s anchor, they show her understanding and forgiving him without question. Which I understand and love but your fic sheds a new light on other possibilities. When I say devastating i mean the internal turmoil, the truth that recovery and healing and growth are agonizing processes. (This is me projecting again, that last three years have been A Lot). And i really appreciate that, personally and narratively. The ordeal of healing and healing alongside people you love and at the same time hurting and being hurt by those same people, and the harsh reality that none of this is linear is something that I just find so compelling in your writing.

Man that’s the most coherent I’ve been in a review in AGES - not just feral screaming. Needless to say, I am very very excited for your update and I will literally wait however long it takes, because you can’t rush genius.

Aw thank you so much for your kind words. I'm glad this fic is resonating with you. This is going to be long, so buckle up under the cut.

Thanks again for what you've said, I truly appreciate it. Without blowing my own horn too much, I will say that castles does seem to "speak" in that way to a lot of people in terms of trauma and healing, which as a writer is immensely flattering. I think as authors, all we ever want to do (or at least all I've ever wanted to do) is to write things that are faithful to human emotions and human experiences (as Sally Rooney puts it, we want to write books about "people"). When we get that right that's honestly the most rewarding thing in the world.

To tell you the truth, though, I never really set out to write about that. To give you a little bit of backstory on Castles, it's a story that's been more of less brewing in my head since I was 14 years old, which is when DH came out. I remember sitting there at the end of it and even then I couldn't stop thinking about the 'what now?' question. Obviously there is the epilogue (and I will come back to that in a bit) but I always had a question mark drawn on the direct aftermath of the battle. I think most HP fans have their own little corner of obsession, right? Like, some people are obsessed with Marauders, some with Next-Gen, some with the Death Eater side of the fight. The Post-War world has always been mine.

I believe that the reason for that, as much as I hate to admit it, is that as humans, when something bad happens to us, we have a very easy way out: death. I'm obviously not trying to encourage anyone out here to kill themselves and if anyone who reads this is having thoughts along this line, please seek help, but the truth of the matter is that in the human experience, death is always a possibility. We could choose it, embrace it, and end our own suffering. Yet, like Harry at the end of DH, most of us don't. For the most part, we tend to hang onto to life. Because, truth be told, it's full and wonderful and deserves to be lived, despite the fact that, objectively speaking, it's bloody hard. And, as a writer, that's the space I want to be in. I want to understand and describe why we make that choice, every day, to get up and carry on, rather than giving up. I find that absolutely fascinating. I'm not a writer for the sensational stuff (some people do that much better than me), I want to write the quiet and the silence and the dirt and the blood that's dried and the grief and the powering through and the not giving up. To me, choosing life despite trauma is the epitome of bravery which, as a Gryffindor, is probably the character trait I value most in people.

Obviously, from a narrative perspective, this interest of mine lands itself to a post-war exploration very well. There's an old interview of JKR where she says she insisted on the epilogue being included at the end of book seven (even though she knew it was going to piss people off) because she wanted to show that they made it through. That, as I put it in Castles, 'They lived, for better or for worse.' And, in that interview, she talks more specifically about soldiers and PTSD, and says that 'getting over that kind of war, that's the hard part.' I remember watching that interview and thinking: yes, exactly. And, that's the thing about the epilogue. It's not so much about the content of it, the who-ends-up-with-who rather than the symbolism of it. It's not only about the fact that they fought in a war and won it, it's about the fact that they fought another war afterwards, a quiet one with the world they were trying to rebuild, along with rebuilding themselves, and they won that one, too. It's about showing that bravery isn't always this sparkling, flashy thing. It's also overcoming the silences and the grief and the struggles and making it to the other side.

And, so, yeah, I suppose that leads me to write about trauma. Although that isn't the initial endeavour, it's certainly part of it. And as you pointed out yourself, that road is full of ups and downs because "living" is fucking fantastic, but it's also fucking hard. I find the phrasing you used about Ginny typically being the "stable" one in other fics particularly interesting. I'd never thought about it that way, but I see what you mean. And, the thing with Castles is: none of them (and I mean H & G but also Ron, Hermione - hell even Kingsley) are particularly stable or unstable. To me, they just are. They exist and they live and they try to put one foot in front of the next the best way they can, with very little sense of plan or strategy. They sort of make do, which to me is the only realistic way I can envision the post-war world. They're kids who've just lived through the apocalypse. It's unrealistic to me that any of them would hold all of the answers, or even come close to having their shit together.

To me, it was and is very important to show all sides of that spectrum. Although they likely all wouldn't have suffered from acute PTSD, they would certainly all have struggled with something. Not everyone deals with everything the same way, and I want to show feelings of guilt, and bravery, and confusion, and fear, and determination which are all as unique as the individuals who experience them. I also wanted to show that not everything has a clear-cut explanation for it. For example, when Ginny breaks up with Harry in chap3, she says some truly horrible things. But, what she does say is also the one percent of everything that lies under the surface. She says she breaks up with him for Reason A but it's actually Reason A. 1, A.2, B, C, D, etc. Because, truth be told, that is what happens in life. People rarely give you a neat little list of all the reasons they do something, especially if, again, they've just lived through something huge. Often, you only truly find out the real reasons for people's actions months later, and often, that's because they themselves don't even know, haven't made sense of it in their heads. So, of course, I think it's incredibly important to write all of them as going through something, because to me anything else would be deeply unrealistic.

And, truth be told, I've thought about this extensively every time I've re-read the books in the past. Throughout the years, I started countless drafts on this topic, which I often gave up and left unfinished, until now. I think what motivated me this time is honestly the pandemic. I re-read the books during the first lockdown, then set out to find The Perfect Fanfiction which would deal with all of that. I'd never been in the Potter fandom before and thought to myself: 'there's like a million fics in that fandom, someone must have written this.' And, to this day, I still sort of believe that? Like, I've had a lot of comments in the past year telling me that they like or dislike Castles because it has a unique "tone" and a unique "mood" as well as themes but I'm always like "really? someone else must have written this," haha. But, despite spending a lot of time looking, I never found it so I suppose that's when I decided to write it, haha.

And, here we are, lol.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

February Contest Submission #12: Life On Mars

words: ca. 3200 setting: Modern AU lemon: No cw: Angst, Horror Elements, Psychological Horror, Mindfuckery, Hospitals, Ancient Alien Wars

“Status update?”

“All systems nominal. Solar charge at 65%.”

Elsa looked at the screen through her glasses, the monitor displaying the rover’s current route as it made its way across the red planet. OLAV was due to be passing over an unexplored sector of the Syritis Major region of Mars today and there would no doubt be a lot of analysis and data gathering to be done. Their rover was going to be the first visitor from earth to visit this largely explored region of the red planet.

“Good, keep OLAV on his present course,” Elsa stated. “Let me know once it reaches the site.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Anna replied.

The blonde rolled her eyes. She never understood why Anna kept referring to the rover as if it was a living being. OLAV was a robot, a mindless automaton. It only knew what it was programmed to know. It wasn’t a true artificial intelligence like the ones from the science fiction movies Anna and her had both grown up with.

And yet, it was always rather cute when Anna did it. It was part of why she fell in love with her; Anna and her seemingly limitless ability to be warm and affectionate to those around her, even to a robot with no real life of its own. Elsa found that very endearing. She and Anna had been dating since college, and Elsa couldn’t have asked for anyone better to help her on this project. Working for NASA definitely was a dream come true.

Anna in particular had a hand in designing OLAV in the first place, even naming him after a cuddly snowman plushie she had back in their college days. Though of course, she justified it by clarifying OLAV stood for “Omnidirectional Lifeform Analysis Vehicle”. All the same, Elsa found it adorable.

Anna relaxed back in her chair, grinning. “So… what are the odds we’ll find life today?”

“Anna, I swear you ask that question every day,” Elsa remarked with a playful roll of her eyes.

“But it’s the question that has haunted scientists like us for centuries, Elsa,” Anna said honestly. “Is there life on Mars?

Elsa had to giggle, knowing Anna was partly quoting the David Bowie song. Her girlfriend was such a nerd and she adored her.

But so far, that particular question still hadn’t been answered. It was a known scientific fact that at one point Mars did once support a much more habitable climate, with vast lakes and rivers. However, the loss of its magnetic field had resulted in the planet becoming the red, lifeless desert it was today.

If there had been life at some point, it was probably only very basic. Some sort of bacteria or another microscopic organism. And yet, if anyone could prove that life had indeed existed on Mars at one point, it could prove that life wasn’t just confined to the little blue and green orb that was the Earth but was out there amongst the stars in all sorts of shapes and forms.

“He’s just coming up to the ridge now,” Anna said.

“How much solar charge has OLAV got left?” Elsa asked.

The redhead looked at her screen. “52%.”

“The steep incline will likely drain the power of the motors by quite a bit. As soon as the rover gets over the ridge, shut him down for the night. The sun is starting to go down.”

“Yeah, he’s earned a good night’s sleep,” Anna said with a smile. She then stared at another one of the screens, showing life camera footage from the rover. Every few seconds a new picture would appear, showing where the rover had travelled every few seconds.

So far, all Anna had seen from the pictures was red sand and large boulders as the rover travelled up the ridge. It was rather basic and yet… it had a certain beauty to it. A hellish beauty one might say.

Mars was a fascinating world, even if it was a vast desert that didn’t really have much variety in scenery. Anna and Elsa and the rest of their team were just merely the latest in a long line of scientists and scholars wanting to discover the secrets of the red planet.

“Think Mars would be a good place for a vacation?” Anna joked. “I mean, there’s lots of sun there. Bet I’d get a great tan.”

“Unless you prefer sunbathing at minus 80 degrees Fahrenheit, I don’t think so,” Elsa replied flatly.

“Minus 80? Oh, that’s perfect for an ice queen like you.”

Elsa shot Anna a look and playfully nudged her girlfriend’s arm. “Oh shut it, you.”

Anna giggled. “Okay, okay, I guess that nickname has worn out its welcome.”

“It wore its welcome the week after you started calling me that back in college,” Elsa remarked.

“Well, you used to be so closed off when you were focused on your studies,” Anna retorted, smiling in nostalgia. “You got so into your work you practically cut off all contact with the outside world… and then you met me.”

Elsa smiled, blushing. She remembered fondly the days when Anna encouraged her to get out of their dorm room and get outside on their campus. Science had always been her passion, but she hadn’t truly felt love until she met Anna.

Leaning over, Elsa gave her girlfriend a kiss on the cheek. “Yes I did, and I couldn’t have been more thankful for anything else in my life.”

Anna giggled. “Should you really be making such comments to me here? We are supposed to be working right now.”

“Hey, I’m the project director here,” Elsa spoke with an air of faux haughtiness, upturning her nose slightly. “I think it gives me certain advantages.”

Anna giggled at that. Elsa smiled down at her. The two of them leaned in at that moment, almost kissing… and then something caught Anna’s eye. She blinked again, thinking whatever it was just a figment of her imagination, but no, there was indeed something unusual being projected on the screen.

“Wait… what’s that?” Anna asked.

She looked at the monitor with the live camera feed from the rover. In the corner of the screen, as the rover drove over the ridge, Anna saw a strange shape. Whatever it was, it didn’t appear to be a natural rock formation, but it was still too far away for Anna to see.

“You see something?”

Anna nodded and pointed at the screen. “There, right there.”

Elsa pulled down her glasses, leaning in closer. “That looks like a rock.”

“No, I don’t think it is,” Anna said quietly, eyes on the screen in focus. “It seems taller than everything else, taller than any of those other boulders…”

“Hmmm… how much charge does OLAV have left?”

“He just dipped below 45.”

“That should be just enough to get a closer look before we shut down for the night,” Elsa stated. She got up and looked across to another one of the scientists in the control room. “Kristoff, make a course adjustment. Left by about 15 degrees.”

“You got it!” The blonde man called back.

Anna looked at her screen again, seeing the camera view shift slightly as the rover altered its course. For the next few moments, she felt her heart begin to race in her chest. Was the hunch she was having correct? Was this strange object the proof mankind had always been looking for? In the next few minutes, they’d know.

Putting her hand on Anna’s shoulder, Elsa gave her a concerned look. She didn’t like to see Anna stressed like this. “Hey, relax. It might just be a rock.”

“I know… but for some reason, I don’t want it to be,” Anna admitted.

Elsa smiled. “You’re a determined one, Anna Armstrong.”

Anna merely smiled, before looking at her screen again, and then her jaw dropped. As the rover drove up closer to the strange object, Anna could see that her hunch had been right. Standing before the rover was a strange, tall structure. It was a tall obelisk, its surface covered in strange alien runes and hieroglyphs.

As Anna stared at the screen, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Right in front of her eyes was the evidence everyone had been looking for, signs of alien life. But Anna never thought they’d find something like this, an alien relic from a forgotten time.

“What in the…”

Elsa blinked. “That’s…my god, that’s it! That’s what we’ve been looking for!”

There were hurried murmurs and whispers all through the control room as the other scientists saw the image of the obelisk on their screens from the camera feed. The rover was stopped in its tracks, the camera panning up and down, giving the team back on earth a good look at every inch of the strange monument.

“So… what exactly do we do at a moment like this?” Anna asked in wonderment.

“I… I’m not sure,” Elsa said, still awestruck by the fact they had found genuine proof of alien life. After all, how else could one describe what was essentially a stone obelisk built on the surface of Mars. But that’s what indeed it was. As Elsa looked at the markings, she wondered what they meant. A warning? Some prayer to a divine being?

Looking at the screen again, Anna gazed at the strange glyphs. She couldn’t begin to understand them, but the more she looked at them, the more they seemed to be… glowing. Each of the symbols seemed to be glowing a deep, vibrant red, like the colour of blood.

The red glow seemed almost mesmerising to Anna, completely hypnotic. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t look away. As she stared more and more at the strange obelisk, she started to hear whispers in her ear, voices that clearly were not human. Deep, hissing tones that unsettled her completely.

Suddenly, the symbols flashed an even brighter red, as Anna heard the voices start screaming in her ear. Images suddenly filled her mind. Those of a vast empire that spanned what seemed to be the entire cosmos, fleets of ships that travelled to every world, a Mars very different from the one she knew, one of lakes and plant life and a beautiful green sky. And then chaos. Black, monstrous creatures that descended from the heavens, destroying everything in their path.

Anna wanted so desperately to look away from the horrific imagery she was witnessing, of the civilisation, she was witnessing being slaughtered by the black creatures, their world being utterly devastated to the point there was nothing but a red lifeless desert in its wake. Anna screamed in pain, trying to force the images from her mind, but it was no use. Her eyes were glowing bright red with alien energy and were bleeding, as was her nose and ears.

“Anna!” Elsa cried out, rushing to Anna’s side. Her girlfriend grabbed her head, screaming in agony as the alien visions were burned into her mind. Elsa grabbed ahold of Anna, holding her close. She stared at the monitor, seeing the glowing red obelisk.

“Shut the monitors down!” Elsa yelled, alarmed. “Don’t look at the obelisk!”

The other scientists did just that, shutting down each one of the computers until the room was in complete darkness. Anna was still screaming though, suffering in agony. She screamed louder, her eyes glowing the same bright red as the alien glyphs, those same glyphs flashing across her eyeballs.

Elsa felt her heart shudder in her chest, as she watched Anna, holding her close. Nothing in her life had prepared her for anything like this.

“Someone get a doctor, now!”

xXx

It was about half an hour before the ambulance arrived and Anna still hadn’t stopped screaming. By the time Anna had gotten to the hospital, she’d lost consciousness, but fortunately, she was still alive. Throughout all of it, Elsa stayed with Anna for as long as she could.

The doctors hadn’t found anything wrong with Anna, aside from some rather odd brain activity. Elsa hadn’t told them the exact reason why Anna had ended up in this way, telling them she’d merely suffered a seizure. She knew most people wouldn’t understand the truth.

As she was making her way back to Anna’s room with a cup of tea in her hand, Elsa suddenly got a phone call from Kristoff. He’d stayed behind to watch things at the control centre while Elsa escorted Anna to the hospital. She sat down outside the room, picking up her phone.

“Kristoff?” Elsa asked.

“Elsa, thank goodness,” Kristoff said, relieved. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to get through to you. Some major shit just went down at the lab.”

“What?” Elsa asked. “What happened?”

“Just after you left, these guys in black suits showed up. They confiscated everything on the computers, including all the data we received from the rover. I think they might have been the FBI or something. They swore everyone to secrecy. I didn’t tell them about you and Anna though.”

Elsa sighed. It seems not only were aliens real, but so were the men in black. But she had to remain calm. Even if those government agents had taken all her data, everything she’d spent most of her life working on, her biggest priority was Anna and her safety.

“Thank you for letting me know,” Elsa responded.

“I’m so sorry, Elsa,” Kristoff told her. “I feel like I should have done something to stop them.”

“You did what you could,” Elsa said softly. “I suggest you go home and get some rest. It’s been… a really long day.”

“I’ll do that,” Kristoff nodded. “How’s Anna doing?”

Looking through the nearby window into Anna’s room, Elsa saw her girlfriend lying on the bed, motionless with an IV tube stuck in her arm. It pained her to see Anna like this. This wasn’t the first time Anna had been in the hospital since she’d known her, but she hadn’t felt this worried about her before either.

“No change in her condition,” Elsa said quietly, glancing back at her comatose lover. “The doctors can’t really explain what happened to her.”

“Damn,” Kristoff said, his face creasing in sympathy. “Well, if she does wake up, tell her I said hi, will you.”

“Sure thing,” Elsa smiled. “See you later, big guy.”

After hanging up, Elsa walked into Anna’s room, closing the curtains on the window that looked out onto the hallway. As she sat by Anna’s bed, she reached over and held her lover’s hand softly, gazing at her unconscious form lying beside her.

The room in the hospital was quiet, save for the ambience of whatever was going on in the corridors outside. As Elsa looked at Anna, she felt tears swell in her eyes. She wasn’t a religious woman by any means, but at this moment, Elsa was praying to god for Anna to make it.

Though as the hours ticked by, Elsa began to wonder if her love would ever awaken. It was at that point that Elsa started to blame herself. She was in charge of the mission and she should have stopped the rover before it approached that obelisk or perhaps she should have chosen a different route for the rover to take.

But at that point, Elsa realised that blaming herself wasn’t going to do anything, nor could she have predicted that something like this would have happened. What had been done was done and nothing could change that. All she could do now was keep hoping that all would be well again, that Anna would wake up.

Her prayers were answered.

“Elsa…” Anna croaked, barely above a whisper.

Elsa’s eyes widened, gazing at the redhead as she finally awakened from her unconsciousness. She held Anna’s hand tighter, staring into her eyes. “Anna!”

Anna looked up at her lover, her teal eyes fluttering open weakly. “W-What… Where am I?”

“In the hospital,” Elsa explained. “That weird obelisk we found on Mars did something to you. I… I was worried for a moment that you might…”

“I… I’m okay,” Anna assured her, weakly raising her hand and stroking Elsa’s cheek. The blonde sighed and touched Anna’s hand, resting her head against it.

“Do you… Do you remember what happened when you saw those glyphs?” Elsa asked. “All I saw was you looking at them and then you started screaming.”

“I… I remember now,” Anna groaned. “Oh fuck… it was horrible…”

“Easy,” Elsa placed a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “Relax for a moment, snowflake. Just take it one step at a time. Everything is going to be okay now.”

After Anna got a drink, she explained everything to Elsa. All the images she’d seen, the voices, how horrible it all felt. Elsa couldn’t begin to fathom what Anna had seen… but she was just glad that Anna had been strong enough to recover from it, a testament to her spirit.

But the whole affair had clearly taken its toll on her girlfriend. Every time she spoke, Elsa didn’t feel that sense of joy and excitement she usually got from Anna. It was as if the Anna she knew and love was gone and what was left was just an empty, emotionless shell.

“What do you think it all was?” Anna wondered.

“Well if I had to make a guess, I’d say when you looked at the glyphs, that obelisk must have telepathically beamed those images into your mind.”

“It all… It all looked so real,” Anna said, her voice still shaking. “It’s like it was a dream and yet I felt like I was really there on Mars, watching it all.”

“We probably won’t be able to tell anyone about this,” Elsa told her. “Apparently, the FBI or someone like them went to the control centre just after I left with you and took all our data.”

“What the hell?” Anna wondered. “Elsa… We need to tell people about this. This is big, really big.”

“I know, but if we try, the government will likely have us arrested,” Elsa argued.

“But people need to be told about this!” Anna shouted. “During those visions… when I saw the Martians get slaughtered… I saw these giant black monsters attacking them from space. I.. I couldn’t help but feel like those things wouldn’t have stopped at Mars.”

Elsa’s eyes widened. “Anna… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I have this weird gut feeling that whatever destroyed Mars… might still be out there,” she then looked out of the window. “And… they might be watching us here and now… and one day, they might come to wipe us out too. And we have to be ready for them if they do.”

Elsa held Anna’s hand. “That won’t happen, Anna. Not as long as I’m around.”

“You promise?”

Elsa nodded, taking Anna’s hands and leaning in. The two of them touched foreheads and Anna sighed, welcoming Elsa’s loving, tender embrace.

“I promise. Whatever happens, we’ll face it… together.”

[aye-write]

Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: If you’re interested in more information, exclusive updates, character art, and teasers for this fic, please consider following its sister tumblr @kildo-pokedex! 

This was another chonker chapter at 4.5k that I didn’t anticipate being this long at all! The joys of plantsing, eh? I had hoped to reveal the starters this chapter, but that’s being bumped to next update. In the meantime, please enjoy the reveal of Brootser, and the partial reveals of Weldeon, Ampster and Coastrot!

*****

Chapter Three

Despite everything, night rolled over the Whispering Pine Croft.

After hours battling insomnia, Isla stole downstairs not long after the clock in the hallway chimed midnight. Goosepimples erupted on her skin, the air chilling her to the core. Clicking on the floor lamp, she cast her gaze around the living room. A rickety bookshelf took up most of one wall, covered in dust and trinkets. It didn’t take her long to strike gold.  

The Etymological Dictionary of Old Kildonian, 1981 Edition.

Sitting at the old coffee table, she spread out her books and copies of the Old Kildonian script until there wasn’t an inch of space left. Then she opened the dictionary and started to read. She read, moving between dictionary and text, until her eyes strained in the dim light of the lamp, and the words on the page turned into incomprehensible squiggles. Just keep going, she told herself, as she marked off another decoded word. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep—

“Isla?”

Isla slammed the book shut. The noise seemed to echo forever in the quiet of the living room. The intruder snapped on the main light and Isla blinked foolishly as everything illuminated around her. It was Blair at the door, swaddled in an enormous red dressing gown and a pinched look on his face.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked, pulling his dressing gown tighter. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“I’m… I’m not doing anything,” Isla said, trying to collect the papers together, position her body over them, anything to hide them from sight.  

“Really? You look like a student trying to panic revise a whole subject the night before an exam,” he chuckled, plopping himself in the seat opposite. “Come on. What’s up?”

Isla sighed. What was the point in lying? “I’m just trying to make some sense of these texts.”

Blair glanced at the clock above the fireplace. “At half two in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep. This presentation is doing my head in.” When Blair frowned, she added, “My supervisor asked me to update them with all the “progress” I’ve mad so far. Of course, I haven’t made any yet.”

“So, you’re trying to decode all these old books with…. an out-of-date Kildonian dictionary?”

“I found it in the bookcase. I thought it might help.”

“I’m pretty sure that book is older than me. Please don’t tell me you’re taking it word-by-word.”

“More or less.”

“You’ll be there months trying to sort all that lot.”

“I don’t have any other choice,” Isla’s voice cracked. “Everyone is hounding me. I can’t let this come undone. They’ll pull approval of my project and fail me if I don’t keep jumping through all their hoops.”

“Why is the legend of the Chessmen so important to you?”

Isla hesitated. It was an innocent enough question, but the thought of answering it felt like ripping her chest open and exposing the beating heart underneath. “Well...” she started, cringing at how stupid it all sounded in her head. “When I was little, I was kinda lonely. I didn’t have siblings. Or friends, really,”

Blair made a sympathetic noise.

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t that bothered by it,” Isla lied. “But because I didn’t have many friends, I naturally leant towards books instead. And I loved fiction, like adventure stories and that, but I felt so much more connected to things that were actually real.”

Blair nodded. “Understandable.”

“Anyway, one Christmas, I got this book. I think it was called Myths and Legends of the Pokemon World and it had all the origin stories of all the legendary Pokemon from like… every region in the world. God, I ate up every single story - how Arceus created the world, the theory that all Pokemon came from Mew in some way, how Groudon and Kyogre created the land and sea. I was absolutely hooked. Then, right at the end, there were a couple of small articles devoted to a place called Kildo.”

“Typical,” Blair muttered. “Always playing second fiddle to the big guns.”

“The book explained a little bit about the legend of the Chessmen. I was just… amazed at how these Pokemon brought humans these gifts of technology and arts and whatnot and how advanced the region was for its time. And then when I read what happened next, well… I just wanted to know why. Why did the Chessmen take away what they gave the humans?  What happened to them after they became dormant? I was obsessed. When I was younger, I had this stupid dream that I would like… Oh, it sounds so cheesy now, but… like solve the mystery of what happened all those years ago.”

“It’s not cheesy, Isla. Dreams are never cheesy.”

Isla bit the inside of her cheek. “I know that. It’s just… well, this legend has been everything to me for years. I’m not bigheaded enough now to think someone like me could ever solve it. But I’d love to find something. Even if it’s just standing in the same place these Pokemon stood once, all those years ago. But now it feels like it’s slipping away from me. I won’t be able to do anything unless I get these texts translated.”

“They’re well-known texts, right? Haven’t they already been translated?”

“The only translations that exist are locked behind online paywalls,” Isla sighed. “Not exactly within my budget. The originals were family owned. I suppose you can’t blame them for wanting them kept safe.”

“Could the university not pay for you to access them?”

“Not my department. They already think the project isn’t worth the time. They’re usually into social changes, modern day life, that sort of thing. Mythology doesn’t get a look in. Even though I changed my project a bit – focusing more on how the mythology influences modern life, with the Chessmen more of like a case study – the department still don’t want much to do with it.”

“Well, that’s their loss. Your project sounds fascinating just from what I’ve seen of it.”

“This little bit you’ve seen might end up being all it ever amounts to. With Nana Morag in the hospital, my options for translations are limited, and these old texts are all I have to help me piece together where the Chessmen might be.”

Silence unfurled around them. Isla stared down at her lap, her legs shaking and her mouth dry. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever talked so much about herself and she found that she couldn’t quite bring herself to look Blair in the eye.

“I think I might know someone.”

Isla pricked her head up. “Really?” she said, hope throbbing in her chest.

“I have a friend who lives in Inverbrook. It’s not a huge city, but they do have a subsect of Tideburgh University there. He’s doing a Masters in Language and mentioned being involved with an elective on Old Kildonian. I can contact him for you. He might be able to help.”

Something surged through Isla like she’d just taken a shot of adrenaline. “Oh, Blair, thank you! That’s amazing!”

“No guarantees, of course!” he said, spreading his hands hastily. “He might not know enough of it to be a proper help. But he may be able to put you in touch with some other folks who can help, if that makes sense.”

“It does. A lot of sense. Thank you again.” Isla paused. “Where is Inverbrook?”

“Pretty much directly south of here. About forty odd miles or so. Following routes 29 through 26 pretty much leads you right there. Public transport is crap, though, so you’re better walking most of it. Shouldn’t take much more than a couple of days if you’re…”

He paused. Isla knew what he wanted to say. If you’re fit. Women like her weren’t supposed to be fit. And even though the thought of days of walking filled her with equal parts apprehension and dread, she forced a look of determination onto her face.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can handle it.”

**

Isla shared the news that she would be leaving in the morning as they sat down at the kitchen table. Kenneth and Skye stayed quiet, barely reacting to the news, but Rhona’s face crumpled.

“Oh, chick, are you sure?”

“I think it’s probably for the best,” Isla said. “I don’t want to be a burden, especially with you guys having your hands full with the croft and Nana Morag being ill. Having a guest is too much on top of everything. I really do appreciate everything you’ve all done, but I think it’s best that I head towards Inverbrook and start my research properly.”

A strange expression passed over Rhona’s face, one that Isla couldn’t make sense of. For several terrifying moments, she thought she’d offended her.

“You wouldn’t be a burden on us, Isla,” Rhona eventually said, her eyes brimming. “We’d happily have you here for as long as you want. It’s been lovely having you.”

Isla felt something in her heart buckle.

“We do understand that your studies have to come first. But… you said you wanted to go to Inverbrook?”

“Yes. Blair is going to put me in touch with a friend of his there that might be able to help me with some translations.”

“It might not be as easy as you think, chick. I’ve just been watching the local news. There was flooding down south. The river that goes through Route 27, which connects Port Glen to Inverbrook, burst its banks. The whole route is submerged. No-one can go through. It’s completely impassable.”

**

You wouldn’t have said the entire of Port Glen had only just recently been battered by a storm, Isla thought, as she set off down towards the harbour after a filling breakfast. The morning sky pinkened gently, like a mother’s embrace, and golden threads of sun drifted through soft, watercolour clouds. A cool wind kept the worst of the heat at bay as she walked. All in all, it was a fairly pleasant experience. Well, as pleasant an experience as walking would ever be.

It was Rhona that had suggested trying the ferry. She couldn’t be sure what passenger routes they ran from Port Glen, or if they only did international and goods shipments, but it was a better option than waiting the potential weeks for the Inverbrook route to be cleared or taking the (extremely) long way around the whole region.

Breathing heavily and sweating despite the brisk ocean breeze, Isla stopped to catch her breath as she arrived at the harbour. She cast her gaze around hopefully. It was quiet. Too quiet. Not a good sign in the least.  Aside from the occasional sailor pacing the docks, and the sharp, cutting cry of seabirds, the place was still and silent.

The thought of asking someone to help sent panic crashing through her like waves in a storm, but there was no other choice. The best option rested with a nearby sailor, busily looping ropes and picking apart complicated knots. A Pokemon stood at his side. Squat, muscular, with short brown fur, flecked with white, and cut into a stout triangle pattern, it was another one that Isla didn’t recognise. Every now and again, the sailor tossed it a particularly difficult-looking knot of rope, which the Pokemon expertly shredded with sharp, curved claws.

“Brootser, the Pelting Pokemon. The evolved form of Brogue. With incredibly sharp claws and powerful jaws, Brootser are highly aggressive and territorial. Even against much stronger foes, it won’t back down easily,” her Pokedex chirruped.

Isla’s hand tightened around Soba’s Pokeball as she read more details. A Fighting type. A second evolution. Being a Furret, Soba wouldn’t stand much chance in a fair fight, much less an unfair one. While she did generally feel more comfortable approaching a fellow Pokemon owner, she probably could have stood to pick one with a less terrifying partner.

All the same, she approached the sailor, keeping herself primed like a coiled spring. “Excuse me? I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

The sailor had a strong, lined face, but he didn’t seem anywhere near as intimidating when he relaxed into a smile. “Sure,” he boomed. “What can I do for you?”

“Are there going to be any sailings from this port in the next few days? Anywhere that lands near Inverbrook?”

The Brootser, distracted from its work with the knots, pressed its wet nose against Isla’s hand. Isla let out an involuntary squeak.

“Brootser, stop that!” the sailor said firmly. “Sorry, miss. He’s obsessed with leather. Have you got leather in your handbag or anything? Your shoes? I swear, he can sniff it out within a mile. I have to keep him distracted at work otherwise he’d never leave people alone. Here, Brootser, go and do this for me.”

The sailor tossed a section of rope a few feet down the docks. The Brootser growled, a deep throaty rumble, before dropping to all fours and pursuing. Within moments, the rope was ripped to little more than fibres.

Isla searched for something to say. She eventually settled on, “He’s cute.”

“He’s a menace is what he is,” the sailor said, wiping his brow. “Anyway, you were asking about the ferries? Unfortunately, the passenger ferry was badly damaged in that storm two nights ago and won’t be running any routes for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Isla asked nervously.

“We’re waiting for some metal workers to come down from Hydrogate. They’re delayed because their Weldeon team were exhausted after a big job in the ironworks. Currently we’re looking at about a week.”

“A week?”

“I’m afraid so. If you go to reception and leave your details, they’ll be able to contact you as soon as we know when the sailings will be going ahead.”

“Aren’t there any other options?”

The sailor considered. “Not here. But if you’re set on sailing and you could get to Dewbrae Town, I think they’re still running sailings.”

“Where’s Dewbrae Town? Is it close?”

“It’s up past Aberdrip City, which is an hour’s drive north of here. Then you have to pass through Aberdrip Forest and that brings you out just at Dewbrae. Maybe a couple of days walking if you keep a steady pace,” he paused, and Isla felt his eyes rake her body. “Maybe a couple more. But, if you’re in a hurry, it’s better than waiting around here. Everything’s very up in the air at the moment.”

Isla thanked the sailor, trying to ignore the heavy feeling that came over her. Why was this so difficult? She’d encountered disaster at every turn so far and, in her darkest moments, she couldn’t deny wondering if it was even worth it to keep going. Nana Morag ill, no passage to Inverbrook through Route 27, no ferry from the Port Glen docks, now she had to go all the way to Dewbrae – wherever that was – on nothing more than a possibility?

But what could she do? What other options did she have?

Rhona would know what to do, Isla decided. She had a way of sorting things out, an uncanny level-headedness her own mother didn’t have. That’s what she’d do. She’d head back to the croft and take stock of the situation. She started walking, thoughts whirling through her head like the flapping of birds’ wings. Maybe there was another way to Inverbrook. They knew the region better than she ever would. Maybe they could—

“WIIIIING!”

Isla gasped and swore as her foot trod on something soft. With a gust of cold air, the offending thing burst upwards and pain erupted at the top of her head. Sharp, pointed talons dug into her scalp and she yelped in pain.

“Gull! Gull!” her assailant screeched; each squawk accompanied by a swift peck to the head.

Isla’s hands closed around her attacker’s soft wriggling body. With all her might, she tore it from her head and tossed it as far as she could manage. But the Pokemon swooped back into the air, seemingly unharmed, fixing Isla with a glare that sent a tremble down her spine.

“Gull! Wingull!” it shrieked.

Recognition dropped into Isla’s belly like a stone. It was a Kildonian Wingull. The same Kildonian Wingull that had attacked Rhona the day Isla got off the ferry. At least, it certainly looked like the same one – she could hardly call herself an expert on them – but it was roughly the same size and had the same high-pitched squawk. And didn’t the Pokedex say that Kildonian Wingull only attacked people who had food? Isla didn’t have a single crumb on her. So what other motive could it possibly have for attacking her?

Isla reached for the Pokeball at her waist, panicked fingers scrabbling for the catch. But the Wingull screeched again, diving into a tackle.  The impact came low in her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs and leaving her doubled over. The second blow sent her off-balance and stumbling, eventually crashing to the ground where the pain came in sharp spikes. With a fury of feathers, the Pokemon ripped Isla’s bag away from her.

“Hey!” She wheezed. “There’s nothing in there for you!”

Her protests were rewarded with a face full of frigid water.

By the time Isla had sluiced the water from her face, the Wingull had unhooked the bag’s clasp and was digging around in her things. Hairbrush and deodorant were both ignored, the coin purse in the shape of a Quagsire got an inquisitive gnaw but ultimately left in favour of a pen, which lasted a whole thirty seconds until it splintered and was promptly spat back out.

Every inhale felt like she was being stabbed underneath the ribs, but she still forced herself to move. “Leave my things alone! There’s no food in there!”

Wingull had wriggled itself right into the bottom of the bag and had pulled out an old emergency kit that Isla had nearly forgotten about. Most of the items had already been used or dumped over the years she’d had it, leaving only a couple of travel sized Potions, a Repel Kit, and a Poke Doll, wrapped up in a worn-out bag. The Wingull squawked indignantly and decapitated the doll in one fell swoop. Then it turned back on the travel bag, scraping around and tearing at it with its beak.  

Something dropped out. Isla’s heart plummeted to somewhere near her feet.

It was a Pokeball. An old Pokeball scratched and grimy with age. A Pokeball that Isla had all but forgotten about ever since she made the decision to train just Soba all those years ago. A Pokeball that was now right in the Kildonian Wingull’s line of sight.

She saw it happening before it actually did. The hungry Wingull viewed the Pokeball as nothing more than a shiny, tasty snack. It darted forward, opened its beak wide, and engulfed the old capsule. Isla prayed that the ten year old ball would turn out to be too old to work anymore, and the worst thing to happen would be the Wingull hacking it back up again. But the Pokeball made a shrill shiiing noise as it made contact with Wingull’s beak, and the Pokemon disappeared in a flash of blue light.

The Pokeball shook. Once. Twice. Three times. Then it was still.

And Isla had caught a Kildonian Wingull.

**

Isla told the story of her accidental Wingull capture to an appreciative audience when she got back from the docks. And then again over sandwiches at lunchtime. While Soba curled up in the corner next to the radiator, oblivious to this new teammate, Isla released Wingull for the nerve-wracking job of introductions and feeding time. Rhona’s eyebrows rose so high that they practically disappeared into her hairline, but she didn’t protest.

“I can’t believe it’s the same one,” Rhona said, eyeing her half-eaten sandwich she was planning on saving for later. “Most try their luck once and then move on.”

“I think it’s young,” Blair said, lifting its wing to get a better look. “Perhaps separated from its mum too early. Maybe it doesn’t know any better.”

“I didn’t mean to catch it,” Isla sighed. “I’d forgotten all about that old Pokeball. We were always told to carry an extra one or two, even if we never intended to catch Pokemon, like for emergencies and that.”

“It must have been starving if it thought a Pokeball was food. Or maybe just exceptionally stupid.”

“Jury’s out on that one,” Isla said, as the Wingull pecked at a Tauros shaped pepper shaker.

“Kildonian Wingull are incredibly food oriented,” Blair lifted his plate to avoid the Pokemon’s frantically flapping wings. “Most of the bird Pokemon around here are.”

“Why is that?”

“Competition. Because there’s so many, they all compete for the same natural resources. That’s part of why people think Wingull adapted for Kildo the way they did. They couldn’t compete for most of the natural food, so they evolved to take food from humans instead. Problem is, they end up thinking all food is fair game. Hey, watch it! No! That’s mine!”

Isla suppressed a chuckle as Wingull lunged for the crusts on Blair’s sandwiches. In the kerfuffle of squawking and feathers, Isla looked over at Skye, who hadn’t said a word through the entire of lunch. Her face was screwed up.

“Skye? Are you alright?” Isla asked.

Skye made an odd strangling noise, pushed herself back from the chair, and ran for the stairs, each one thudding under her feet. A moment later, a door slammed.

“Did I say something wrong?” Isla said, horrified.

“No, not at all,” Rhona said, rescuing a glass of juice that had been upended when Skye left the table. “She’s just a bit upset. We were supposed to be going up to meet Professor Spruce tomorrow to get her trainer’s license and first Pokemon. But because Nana Morag is in hospital, I have to be here in case something comes up on short notice, and I just can’t spare the time to take Skye up to Aberdrip City. She’ll only be delayed for a few days, but the poor lass was so looking forward to it. Especially when she’s had to wait so much longer than everyone else.”

“Why’s that?”

It was only after she asked the question that she considered it might have been rude. Or none of her business. Too late to save herself now, though. Rhona’s face tightened, her mouth puckering like she was sucking on a sour lemon.

“Sorry,” Isla looked down at the table. “I shouldn’t be nosy.”

The kitchen fell quiet. Rhona let out a deep, juddering exhale and sat back down, folding her hands into her lap, the kitchen suddenly feeling about ten degrees colder. Isla took a sip of water, her mouth and throat turning to chalk.

“Skye had childhood cancer.” The words didn’t even get a chance to settle before they were tumbling out again, like Rhona was trying to get them all out at once. Like they couldn’t hurt her as much that way. “She spent most of her childhood in hospital with leukaemia.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Once again Isla found herself cursing both her mother and herself for not bothering to find any of this information out beforehand.

Rhona shook her head. “It’s alright, chick. We don’t talk about it much. Besides, she’s been in remission for a year now. But she’s missed out on so much school and she gets tired so easily.”

There was nothing Isla could say that would be enough. She had to settle for, “I’m sorry to hear that…” and hope Rhona could somehow understand just how much she meant it.

“There was a time when she was being treated that she became very low and very depressed. It was frightening. I’ve never been so worried in all my life. We were scared she was just… giving up. Then, one day, they had some Pokemon trainers visit the hospital. A lot of children there would never be able to go out training. Some wouldn’t even… you know, live to see their next birthday.”

Rhona’s voice wavered. Blair put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Easy, Mum. Don’t go upsetting yourself now.”

“One of the trainers was assigned to Skye,” Rhona continued. “But she was so quiet and so withdrawn that we didn’t think the trainer could get through to her. The trainer had this Pokemon with her – Ampster, I think it was – and it was like a light turned on behind Skye’s eyes when she saw it. I saw glimpses of my daughter again. This trainer stayed with her for hours. Just talking. She’s wanted to be a Pokemon trainer ever since. And I hate that so many things keep getting in her way.”

Rhona sunk her head into her hands. Her shoulders quivered.

Isla felt terrible. No wonder Skye had been quiet during the whole of lunch. How stupid had she been? Skye was being kept from her dream of being a Pokemon trainer and she’d waltzed into their kitchen showing off a Pokemon she hadn’t even meant to catch? It made Isla’s toes curl just thinking about it.

“Could Skye not make the journey on her own?” she asked.

“No,” Rhona lifted her head again, looking pale even at the thought. “She’s not fit enough. We were going to rent a car and drive her, but…”

“Could I take her?”

The offer slipped past Isla’s lips before she knew what she was doing. Rhona looked at her in mild shock, her mouth slowly gaping open.

“I mean, I’ll be passing through Aberdrip anyway!” Isla continued. “One of the sailors said I could get the ferry from Dewbrae Town which is just past Aberdrip, right?. I could take her along with me.”

“Gosh, that’s very kind of you, chick. And I’m sure Skye would love it,” Rhona said, nervously glancing at the stairs. “But I’m not comfortable with her making the trip back on her own. Or even just the amount of walking she’d have to do.”

“I could go with them,” Blair said.

Rhona looked at her son like she’d only just remembered he existed. “What’s that, honey?”

“I could go with them,” he repeated. “We could put Skye on Coastrot. That’s my partner Pokemon,” he added for Isla’s benefit. “He’s strong enough to carry her and we can keep her nicely bundled up. Then once Isla heads off to Dewbrae, I can take Skye back.”

“I don’t know,” Rhona said. “We need you here too.”

“Mum, it’s a day. Maybe two, tops, if we let Skye rest overnight. You and Dad can manage that long, right? You could ask a couple of the lads from the market to pitch in if you really need to. I’m sure they’d work for a hot pie and some cash in hand. And you don’t need to worry about us. We won’t do anything silly. We’ll just get Skye her Pokemon, check in for the night, see Isla off to Dewbrae the next morning and head back ourselves. Easy-peasy!”

Rhona still didn’t look convinced. “It’s such a long way, though. She’s not been away overnight in such a long time.”

“It’s a few hours of travelling, Mum. You said it yourself, Skye’s already missed out on so much. It might not feel like much for us, but for Skye, it’s her whole life. One delay after the other. And with everything the way it is right now, what if there’s just more delays? More reasons not to take her? You have to let her.”

Rhona went very quiet, her face pale.

“I’ll look after her, Mum,” Blair said. “She needs this.”

“I know you will. And I know she does,” Rhona heaved a sigh. “She’s not my little baby anymore. She’s growing up.”

“I’d like to go.”

Everyone jumped at the voice that came in from the doorway. Rhona wiped her eyes. “Oh, Skye, honey, sorry. I didn’t hear you come down. Are you okay?”

“I think I can do it,” Skye ignored her mother’s question. Her voice was louder this time, but still hesitant, like she was testing out its limits. “I want to go get my Pokemon and I’d like Blair and Coastrot to take me. And Isla,” she added, and Isla felt a smile curve onto her face. “If that’s okay with you?”

Silence widened like a chasm between mother and daughter and for one horrible moment, Isla half-expected Rhona to turn away, to start shouting, to deny her flat out. But then tears spilled out of Rhona’s eyes and her whole face softened.

“Yes, honey,” Rhona said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Yes, that’ll be okay with me.”

As they hugged, Isla felt a stray tear prick at the corner of her eye. The emotion surprised her. Yes, it was touching to see a mother and daughter hug and reconcile, but something told her it went deeper. As she looked out at the dying sky, strewn with deepening orange and slicks of black, something unsettled itself in her heart.

Tomorrow she would be leaving Port Glen. Tomorrow she would leave behind a family unit where she felt accepted. Tomorrow she would start her journey to Inverbrook.

She didn’t know which one felt scarier.

[funkymbtifiction]

which are the behaviour patterns and cognitive processes you observe on yourself particularly that you associate with being an ENFP?

That’s easy. Not. Ha, ha.

The most prominent behavior patterns I notice are typical for ENPs -- in that I become obsessed with something for a short amount of time, exhaust every possible resource I can find on it, and then promptly drop that interest in pursuit of something else. These things can be longer-term interests (I took up hoop dancing for two years, mastered a lot of the tricks, and lost interest) or shorter (various and sundry fandoms I was hot and heavy with for a few months or weeks and then walked away from). As a result of reading up on whatever happens to catch my interest (which is a lot of things), I am something of a “know-er of many things” -- and often people, particularly ISFJs and INFPs, tend to notice that I can hold a competent discussion about anything and contribute to it in some way. I remember random things relating to it and it always comes up in conversation -- someone will mention in an e-mail they watched Vertigo last night and I’ll tell them something I know about the filming / Hitchcock / the symbolism / that happened on set, or what psychological disorder it is about. Then I’ll turn around and talk about cat behavior patterns or that Tolkien based his most memorable myth-romance in his creation story on his own marriage. Basically, I’m a walking storehouse of random information on a bunch of topics, but specialize only in a few things -- and I can never predict what will be a lifetime fascination or a momentary one.

Secondly, is both a plus and a negative -- my idealism. The nice thing about being an ENFP is that they tend to bounce back from things, through a dogged determination to believe the best of other people, the potential the world holds in general, and their desire to change things through ideas. But with this also comes a tendency toward naivety. So on the one hand, it’s nice being able to go through bad things and come out like Anne Frank, still believing that someone somewhere is good and that good things will eventually happen -- and another to be blithely unaware of how being “advanced” and idealistic yourself does not mean the world has suddenly changed. I still remember (and cringe over) an essay I wrote about five years ago talking about the end of racism; in an idealistic way, I had assumed everyone had moved beyond it -- but obviously, that is not the case and race still continues to be a huge global / social issue. That was nothing more than my Ne envisioning a reality that didn’t exist -- and a nice, pleasant, and positive one of optimism and joy, to boot.

Inferior Si’s main problem for me isn’t necessarily neglecting details, though I do have trouble keeping track of them, but more a case of -- not learning from my own encounters with people. SJs have healthy Si usage, which means they learn from their experiences -- and treat them as learning experiences. Inferior Si means weak Si, which translates to “Charity approaches people with hope and optimism rather than realism and has to get kicked 47 times before she realizes who this person truly is.” It’s only after I’ve been hurt or let down or disappointed that I remember this person ALWAYS does this to me, and it hasn’t been until recently that I’ve been able to start recognizing when I’m just using my Ne default to believe the best in other people. It’s this weird dynamic, between Ne “I know what you are doing, you’re trying to manipulate me” intuition, and naive Ne going “... sure, you let me down 46 times, but this time you COULD be different! I’m gonna give you that chance, because I KNOW you can be a better person... I see it in you.” IDK if this is also my 1 fix, but I look at people and just know who they COULD be with some encouragement and support. And it’s hard for me to accept that most of them have no interest in changing. (Because my actual default is: who wouldn’t want to evolve / change / be getting better??)

Fi is hard to put into words. It’s feeling three things at once, and not knowing how to talk about any of them. I more often default into Te -- and I’ll give you an example of how all my functions have been working against me this week.

I have had a lot going on the last few weeks. Whenever my environment is chaotic, so is my mind. My Ne is going in all directions at once, and doesn’t know where to look. It has multiple things going on and projects in mind and can’t focus on any of them -- and half the time, I will pile on MORE ideas or projects as an escape. Case in point: Black History Month typings. Now, a sensible person, a judging type, would have been probably thinking about a month of themed postings for weeks, if not months, gradually storing them up over time so as not to frantically be watching / typing things at the last minute. But not me. Oh, no. I decided the week after I had company, when my house was a mess from painting my office, on the cusp of a massive deadline at work, and while I have a book in-progress... that I would do this. 10 days before I would need to start posting typings. 29 days of them.

My Ne thought it was a great idea. What a way to celebrate the month! What an awesome way to get more POC typings on the blog, and be representative of a huge part of the population! But once the reality of it settled into me, I freaked out. How on earth could I pull this off in time? Would I have enough typings? How many things can I get watched in the next two weeks? How many back-up typings do I have, to help flesh them out?

So, I kicked into Te. I printed out a Month of Feb calendar page. I divided it up into the typings I wanted / intended to contribute, scattering “historical-based” characters to weekends and the middle of each week. Then I found all the archived / in the drafts characters on the wordpress blog, and counted those up. I started filling in the blank squares. My anxiety depleted as the squares filled. I’ll still have to watch films and type new characters, but not nearly as many as I feared, and I’ll probably have enough altogether between new / old / updated with Enneagram typings to fill all 29 days with at least 2 per day. I scheduled everything I have, made a list of the ones I need, and will work at it. Now under control. While at it, I made a list of to-do things for this weekend, itemized it according to importance and need, and am working my way down it. I did the same for my work week, which meant working off it, I got half of it done in advance and won’t have to feel “last minute pressured” next week.

This sort of thing is... somewhat typical with me. I get a great idea, it turns out to be more work than I thought -- I consider quitting, but then break it down into sizable chunks / a work list and make my way through it. The less interest others show, also, in the result, the less likely I am to keep doing it, because my ultimate goal is to impact others through everything I do (typical extrovert).

- ENFP Mod

[zenithlux]

Cadence 23 - Update

In which Vergil and Roxy discuss their options.

Catch up on the story here!

‘Cause I’ve been shaking I’ve been bending backwards till I’m broke Watching all these dreams go up in smoke

Ashes - Céline Dion

 ------------

For a long moment, Vergil was silent. He thought he should be furious. How could Dante lose Yamato at a time like this? Vergil had entrusted it to him because he assumed nothing, not even Mundus, could steal it from him. But when he tried to pull on that expected anger, he found nothing but fear; an all-consuming terror that gnawed at his chest and pulsed through his blood. It threatened to consume him with every breath he took as the world closed in. 

You’re mine, Nelo. 

He didn’t know if that was his paranoia or Mundus himself. 

“Vergil?” Roxy said. 

“How did it happen?” Vergil shook his head as he instinctively caressed her cheek to calm his nerves. He didn’t know why that was his go-to. He’d never tried it before. But it seemed to work, despite the storm that threatened to overtake him. 

The panic in Dante’s voice didn’t help. “I don’t know for sure,” He said. “Nico wanted to look it over. She thought she might be able to use another demon to replicate a portion of its power or something. She was trying to make a new sword for your guy’s temporary pact.”

“Clever,” Vergil said, his voice hollow.

“She had it in this container thing to analyze it when a portal appeared outside. It took me seconds to take the demons out, but by the time I got back, Nico was in a panic saying a portal opened or some shit. A hand broke through the project and grabbed it right from under her.”

Mundus. That was the only name he could think of. Mundus. Mundus Mundus. Who else would go looking for Yamato? Who else would be able to track it so well? Maybe there were other demons that knew about it. And there were probably a few that wanted it. But surely none of them were stupid enough (or maybe clever enouigh) to try stealing it from Dante. 

“I’m sorry, Vergil,” Dante said. “I really… I shouldn’t have let it out of my sight.”

Vergil took a deep, shaky breath. Roxy’s head tilted into his hand as he relayed what Dante had said. “If Mundus has Yamato, then he can call you back,” She said. 

He didn’t think it was possible for his heart to sink any lower. “How easily?”

“I don’t know.”

“The pact,” Dante said. “Can you make it now?”

Roxy grimaced. “Dia was still looking into it, and we don’t have something strong enough to contain his level of power, even for a few seconds.”

“So we’re fucked?”

Vergil didn’t repeat that. “Call Dia,” He murmured. “She’ll know what to do.” It was difficult speaking like this. He felt like he was in a haze of nothingness, going through the expected motions with none of the effort. But what else could he do? He could feel something pulling at him, but was it him thinking of all the ways this could go wrong? Was it Mundus making a move? Was he losing his mind?

“Breathe, Vergil,” Roxy said, reaching for his own cheek. “I need you here, okay? Or none of this will work.”

He nodded, but it was as empty as his words. “Can you get back here, Dante?”

“Do you want me to leave the kid and his family here alone?”

Vergil closed his eyes. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Nero’s safety should be his top priority, yet all he could think about was himself. “No,” he said. “Roxy and I will deal with this. Protect…” His voice broke. “Protect Nero.”

“You’re going to be alright, Verge,” Dante said. “I promise.”

Vergil wanted to believe it. But, as he hung up, he realized just how broken he felt inside. He didn’t hear Roxy speaking. He didn’t realize it when she hung up, and barely felt her tugging on his arm. “We’re going to Dia’s home,” She said. “But we have to hurry.”

Vergil let her drag him away, trying to escape that one, single name… and the voice that accompanied it.

Soon, Nelo.

You’ll be all mine. 

Vergil had no idea how they reached Dia’s home. One minute, they were in Roxy’s apartment, her going through her bookshelves as he watched her from the bed. The next, she had grabbed a book, shouted, “aha” then he blinked and the room was gone. Instead, he was sitting on a stump in the middle of a forest that just happened to be as tall as her bed, and she was staring at an evergreen tree. To their right was a cottage with a thatched roof, cream panelling, wooden beams around the windows, and an old oak door that looked like it was seconds from falling off. The door slammed open before Vergil could react. Dia stormed toward them, yelling,. “More warning would have sufficed!”

“I could have said the same thing about you,” Roxy snapped. 

Dia glared at her. “I know you’re upset, but don’t you dare start taking it out on me.”

“Please tell me you have a plan.” 

“Barely,” Dia said. “But you are safe here.”

“Safe?” Vergil said. “How can you guarantee that?”

“My home exists between worlds,” Dia said, almost offended. As if Vergil was supposed to magically know such a thing. “It is very difficult to find if you’ve never been here before. Even those capable of making portals like our mysterious Yamato thief would need years or significant luck to make it here. ” She hobbled over to Roxy. “Now you mentioned this Nico girl may have an idea.”

“I’m not sure the specifics,” Roxy said. “But it sounds like she was making a false Yamato of sorts. Something we could use to make the temporary pact. But I’m not sure how far she got before it was stolen.”

“That is an interesting solution,” Dia said. “Theoretically if you imbue it with the power of an unrelated demon it could work.”

“Maybe Kuro?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But…”

“He needs to be as strong as possible to keep you alive,” Dia said. “If something were to happen to Kuro’s power, then either you would die, or Vergil would have to take his place.” There was a long pause. “Permanently.” 

Permanently.

Vergil was only vaguely surprised that that word barely bothered him now. Considering the alternative…

Wait. 

“Is it because of her paralysis?” Vergil said. “I can work with her if the stasis becomes more severe.”

The hesitation on Dia’s face gave Vergil pause. Even Roxy looked a bit confused, glancing between them. “He’s… not wrong… right?” She said. “There has to be a way around it.”

“It’s not that simple,” The demoness said. “Both of you stay here. I am going to see if I can get your friend to my world without too much of a fuss.”

“You think she can help?”

“I think she’s on the right track,” Dia said as she sauntered away. “The cottage is all yours for the next few days, but please try not to destroy anything. I only have one.” She paused for a moment, and glanced at Vergil. “You should probably tell her the truth. Sooner rather than later. That fruit is the reason this is such a problem.” 

And as her words hit him like a ton of bricks, Dia vanished into thin air. 

“Truth?” Roxy said. “Vergil?”

Vergil closed his eyes. Which truth did she want? There were so many mistakes. So many failures. Which truth would Dia even know? He was too exhausted to think. Too… 

Broken.

“Vergil,” Roxy whispered as she stepped up beside him. He hated how weary she looked. Hated the way she approached him like some kind of wild animal. Like he would snap at any moment. But could he really blame her? Who knew how close Mundus was to his mind now. And who would stop the demon king if he appeared right now, or pulled Vergil away? Or, even worse, what would she do if Mundus forced Vergil to fight her? 

What would he do if he lost someone else?

“Leave, Roxy,” Vergil said. “You can’t…”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Rage coursed through him so fast he couldn’t stop it. “Don’t you get it?” He snapped. “I’m nothing but a monster, and that’s all I’m destined to be.” He rose from the log, his mind racing. Words spilled out before he could stop them. “I’m the one who rose the Qliphoth Tree. I’m the monster who wanted power so badly that I destroyed the entire city for the power of the demon king. I tore myself in half, discarded my human form, killed hundreds of thousands of people,” He choked on his words. Something pricked the corner of his eyes; a feeling he hadn’t felt in decades. “So go, Roxy. Leave me to this fate. It’s what I deserve.”

Silence fell. Her eyes were as wide as they could go. And even though she had taken a long step back. Even though she had postured herself to run as far away as possible, Vergil didn’t see fear in her eyes. He didn’t see the hurt or betrayal he expected. And, as she took a long and deep breath, she stood up straight, closed her eyes for a moment, and tightened her lips into a thin line. 

“Mundus did that to you, didn’t he?”

Vergil stared at her. “What?”

“He tortured you,” She said as she took a step toward him. “Did he not?”

“That doesn’t…”

“Kuro told me all the stories,” She whispered. “How the demon king tore demons apart, just so they could put themselves back together again. How he manipulated and murdered whoever he wanted. How he made people forget who they were, took away their names, and enslaved them.” She stopped right in front of him, her eyes steely with determination. “You escaped, and your broken mind did what you thought was right.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then keep going,” She said. “Tell me everything. Talk until you can’t think anymore. Until everything is off your chest and you can move on.” 

Vergil froze, dumbfounded. How could she talk like she was forgiving him? Did she not hear what he’d said? Did she not understand the pain he’d caused? The destruction he’d wrought because he hadn’t believed in his human self?

Then, her hand touched his chest. “That scar,” she murmured. “The marks… they represent the day you broke yourself in two, don’t they.”

“Yamato separates man from devil,” Vergil said, his voice hollow. 

“You stabbed yourself?”

Slowly, he nodded. “My body was crumbling… every step I took was pure agony. I couldn’t remember anything. All I knew was that I had to fight my brother. I had to win. I had to prove I could… but my demon half did more than I ever expected him too. He was… pure evil incarnate. A creature that ate the Qliphoth fruit because power was more important than life.”

“And your human half?”

That was the moment Vergil realized that her voice was soothing. His anger and fear had all but evaporated. His thoughts had slowed. His mind was clinging to the memories she wanted to hear, desperate to prove that he deserved a second chance. “He regretted everything,” Vergil said. “He realized his mistakes, and fought desperately to fix them. But…” He took a deep breath. “He also wanted to live. He wanted to reunite with that demon… that monster… and keep fighting. He wanted to prove that he was worth something, despite the endless pool of regret and failures.” Despite his deep breath, his next words were spoken in a whisper. “He wanted to be protected... and loved.”

She brushed his cheek. “Maybe that’s why your demon changed.”

“What?”

“You said this demon form of yours is a new one, right?”

Once again, Vergil was baffled. “He changed because I ate the fruit.”

She shook her head. “I think he changed because you did.” Her hand pressed harder against his chest, as if attempting to reach his very soul. “Can you ever atone for what happened? I don’t know. But I believe this you is different from the demon that you unleashed. This you cares about this world. This you has a purpose. A family. A future.” She looked up at him. “A reason to be a better person, and keep fighting for a better world.”

If he were any other person, Vergil would have crumbled right then and there. But as her arms slowly wrapped around him, and as she whispered over and over about how everything would be okay, Vergil found himself humbled by it all. And when she gently pushed him back to sit on the log to meet her gaze, he didn’t stop her. He watched her eyes as she ran her hands up onto his shoulders and kissed his forehead. 

“I don’t know how yet,” Roxy whispered. “But I will protect you, Vergil. As long as I breathe, he will not take you from me.”

In that moment, he believed her. 

[tesbloodline]

Real Talk

Hi, guys. I don’t usually talk about myself on here (I think I’ve only done it once or twice), but if there’s anyone who still follows this blog, I feel like I owe you an explanation. Or, at the very least, that explaining would be the kind thing to do.

I haven’t posted in a while, about five months if I’m reading the dates right. I’m starting to get back into the swing of things, but I didn’t want to just leave that gap unexplained. It’s there because I hit a very difficult patch in my life, and I just couldn’t keep up.

See, I have, among other things, really bad anxiety. I mean, really bad. “I’ve been in counseling for three years to be able to hold a conversation with someone I don’t know or leave for class less than thirty minutes early without having an anxiety attack” bad. And there was a point, at the end of last school year, where I was spending so much energy on panic and stress and worry that I didn’t even have the energy to be a human being.

I was spending hours at a time sitting and doing nothing: scrolling through pages on the internet without processing anything I was reading, sleeping and sleeping and sleeping (or laying in bed staring at my ceiling pretending I could sleep, if my insomnia was acting up), trying to finish enough homework I wouldn’t fail my classes, or just staring into space while I was either lost so deep in storyworld I forgot the real world existed or blanking out completely (which I’m starting to suspect is actually dissociating). I was pretty much constantly exhausted, from the moment I woke up to the moment I fell into bed.

I kept posting because I loved it. I loved this blog, and I loved these characters, and I was determined I wasn’t going to abandon them like I’ve abandoned so many projects. But I was coasting, really. I was writing slower than I was posting, and my buffer got shorter and shorter. Sometimes I’d have the energy to start up my game, and I’d have so much fun and get so worked up I had the artificial energy I needed to make a new batch of posts, enough to tide me over until I started up the game again.

When my game broke, and all of my saves were erased, this little cycle broke too. I tried to fix it, but my first attempt didn’t work. Then I realized all of my mods needed to be updated (and since Meri’s modlist is something like 300 mods, it takes a while). It was one thing after another, and I just didn’t have the energy to keep up with it. I tried, in September, to keep the blog running with just drabbles. If I remember right, that was the point I ran out of posts in my queue and had no game material to make more. Eventually classes picked up, and I didn’t even have the energy for that anymore. That was when I finally broke my promise and abandoned Bloodline.

I’ve been doing a lot better, recently. I’m finally taking anti-anxiety meds, and I feel worlds better. I’m not completely functional yet (I still need to sort out my alternating hyperfocus/complete inability to focus on anything at all, courtesy of ADHD), but I’m getting there. I have the energy to exist again, now that it’s not all diverted to crisis management, and I’m starting to take back the things I love. All of my little hobbies, like drawing and writing and calligraphy and crafting, and thanks to accidentally opening the Tumblr app on my phone and seeing notifications for this blog, Bloodline as well. 

So what I’m trying to say is, I’m back. All I can hope is that there’s still someone waiting for me.

[selphiahaven]

Selphia Haven: How it Began

Just over a year ago, I decided to make Selphia Haven. I would like to believe most blogs are made just for fun, or in order to show support and love for a special niche.

This blog was originally made for a different purpose.

Please note that my story may hold some triggering subjects for people. Please read at your own risk.

It was February of last year when I realized I had depression, but the seeds of it started to plant a lot earlier. For example, I think the hopelessness in my life started around the time that the Charlottesville white nationalist protest was being covered. News stories like this are shocking, and unbelievably scary, for a young adult who is trying to find their way in life.

I had always tried to desperately hold onto the belief that everyone, everywhere, can love and care for each other if they are either given the right knowledge or the right opportunities. I had originally picked up this belief as a child, and wanted to grow up to become a writer who would share stories with kind messages. I pursued a passion for writing all the way up until university, wherein I discovered psychology. My area of focus switched from becoming a writer to becoming a counsellor. I was going to help people, to become someone that could help manifest hope and love within people who had lost their way.

News stories like white nationalism, and similar hateful topics, made that hope slowly slip away from my fingers.

It was a slow fall. I don't remember what happened, exactly, between the Charlottesville protests and February of last year that really wore down my hope. But, by the time the Parkland school shooting happened, all that hope disappeared. The last shred of my love for the world was gone.

What are you supposed to do in life when all this terrible, terrible stuff happens in places that you cannot directly impact? Things far worse than you can imagine, to people far younger than you might think. Watching on a TV screen, you can distance yourself; pretend it doesn't happen. But you know. You know that these terrible things are someone's reality. Someone, somewhere, has to deal with each and every one of these realities that pop up on our news stations. And you can do nothing to help it.

I didn't do much from February onwards. I ate. I slept. I still went to school and worked. But it was...robotic? Everything just kind of happened. Nothing held purpose or meaning. Assignments were just assignments. Work was just work. Food was just food. And sleep was never enough.

My love for my future career was gone. I no longer wanted to be a counsellor, because I couldn't bear to deal with it. I couldn't bear to think that I would be facing these realities every single day—talking with people who had gone through losses of loved ones, suicide attempts, rape, abuse, and so much more—and yet could not provide a source of hope for them. How do you find hope for others when there are stories out there that tell us that everything bad is still happening, right now, right here, in this moment? I could be murdered next week by simply being in the wrong supermarket when a terrorist walks in and starts shooting.

I hadn't exactly contemplated suicide. Another belief I held on to was that, no matter what happens, every step alive is still a step in a growing direction. I would not commit suicide; but I was starting to think about it a lot more. For example: What it would be like to die. And, well, how long it would take for this belief to slip from my fingers just as quietly as my previous belief on the love in the world did. How long would it be before I actually started contemplating it. How long would it be before I actually committed it. What would it take for me to believe that death would be the "best option."

What got me moving wasn't through some miraculous determination. It was fear. I didn't want to die— It scared me to even be thinking about it. I still loved things in this world. My family. My friends. I actually did like school, and though I had been viewing my schoolwork at this time a mostly assignments, I did want to continue learning about the mysteries behind psychology. It was more than just the big things, there were also simple things I wanted to live for. I love ice cream. I love the smell of vanilla. I love the feel of the sun. I love the feel of the rain too, actually, and you can't feel these things, smell these things, taste these things when you're dead.

I wanted to stay alive. I wanted to still laugh at things. I had more funny videos I wanted to watch. More books I wanted to read. There are things in this world that I haven't even heard of yet that I want to stay for and experience in the future. I wanted to write. Oh my god, I wanted to write so much. I would write without end when I was in high school, but gave it up when I started pursuing psychology. I never got back to it because I felt I wasn't good enough, but I still wanted to do it.

All these lovely things that I wanted to do, and see, and experience...

But no effort to give.

I was tired, always. Constantly. My motivation to do anything outside of "the mandatory" (School, work, etc.) was nonexistent. I wanted to write, but every sentence I wrote looked ugly, or wrong, or faulty in some way. I wanted to go out for walks, but I also didn't want to get up and out of my room. I wasn't confident in anything I did; including the things I did at school and work.

I just needed something though. I wanted to do something. Anything.

I didn't start Tumblr for Selphia Haven specifically; I started it to look at funny pictures of animals (see also: an escape from reality). But it seemed like an inviting website to find...something to do on it. It wasn't limiting like on Twitter where I could only have, like, one blog per email. Tumblr gives the opportunity to try many different blogs, if you choose to pursue many different niches.

So, something small, then. I wanted to do something small. Not something meaningful; just something that would motivate me to get out of bed and do...something outside of the mandatory. It was here that I discovered something that seemed easy enough: incorrect quote blogs. In fact, I was so interested in hearing random, funny quotes that I even follow blogs for fandoms I have never seen anything from (eg. Voltron, Harry Potter, Mystic Messenger).

RF4 wasn't my first stop, but seeing as Pandora Hearts and Vanitas no Carte already had frequently updating incorrect quotes blogs, I had to find some other fandom that didn't quite have an incorrect quote blog yet. And... Well, Rune Factory did have one before I started. @overheard-at-selphia existed a few months before I walked in. However, they seemed to only be updating maybe once or twice a month. I thought for a day about whether they might be open to sharing the spotlight with me. Then, I decided that, what the hell, I'll just do it and if they aren't a fan of it, they can always just message me and tell me to shut up.

(I still follow @overheard-at-selphia too. They still update sometimes. It makes me happy.)

On June 14th, 2018, I made my first awkward post.

I made a commitment to myself then: I would make 5 posts a day. They were easy enough to make (this was, of course, before I started adding images) so this kind of goal was realistic for me. Also, I was in the heat of summer, so I didn't have schoolwork to worry about. The queue system still saves me to this day; I don't need to worry when I know I have a busy week coming up, because I can just fill it up when I have effort, and then let it run on my "off days".

Small motivations included just a handful of notes per post, and a handful of followers that gave me incentive to continue moving. Followers meant that people were relying on me to continue making posts. I couldn't just stop without reason; this little project was my own, but I created it to be my own meaningful "mandatory project".

Five little posts a day. Gradually, gradually, gradually, I discovered some courage to try something new. I created the picture incorrect quotes through a small burst of motivation in November, and the results had been astounding. I went from getting maybe 10 notes per post (If I was lucky) to around 20-50 notes per post. And that's not even counting this fukkin monster of a post that exploded straight outta nowhere.

Three posts a day. Gradually, gradually, gradually, I discovered some new courage. Gradually, gradually, gradually, I started writing again. Gradually, gradually, I wrote something. I finished writing something. I actually posted something I wrote; just over one year of Selphia Haven's existence.

I'd love to be able to say life is better now, but I can't really say that for certain. I'm not really sure if things will be okay, and I can't make promises about life when news stories are just as depressing as they have ever been. I have no grand answers for the mysteries that plague our existence; why are we alive and what's the point in all this. And, really, none of the problems that caused my depression have really been "solved" (I still don't want to be a counsellor anymore and I haven't found a different career path yet, for example).

But...I dunno. I'm enjoying this. Making Selphia Haven. It may not be a grand, exuberant show that's going to cure depression or save the children or give starving people food, but... It's my little effort. It's my little attempt at making a bit of light. A little bit of laughter in this dark world. I think we all need that— A little bit of something that gives us light. For me, that was creating Selphia Haven. Making a little effort of my own to (hopefully) make someone smile— Even if it's just a little smile. If my existence on this Earth is just to bring a small smile to your face, well... I guess that makes it worth it for me to continue, right?

That's why I'm so eager to promote any kinds of Rune Factory blogs you guys make, actually. It was me gaining those first few followers that motivated me to continue my first small steps... Gradually, gradually, gradually, I hope that those who start small can grow into something larger too. That people have something small that they can love, or create, or follow along with.

But, I also realize that, you know, not everyone experiences depression in the same way, right? My depression was helped because I had something small I could do every day. No story is the same; but I hope that if you do want to try out making a blog like mine, you will allow me to advertise it for you.

This...maybe isn't a super uplifting story, but hey. It's my story, and it seems to be working out for me so far. I'm happy with it. I'm happy that I'm writing again. And I'm going to continue making gradual steps towards the future too, which might lead me to something bigger. Who knows.

...But I hope I can finish Castle to the West, at least. Writing that story makes me really happy. So... I guess I hope you all continue your small steps to find that thing that makes you happy too. And if you need help, please ask for help! I’d be happy to give you my support!

[loserdex]

Whoa hey there, it’s Kinga and I think I owe everyone an explanation! It’s going to be long, scroll down to TL;DR version if You don’t care to read all this!

First of all I’m really sorry. I was meant to go on a short hiatus for Christmas and it’s, uh... April now. Something went wrong here. I don’t want to make this super long, so I’ll spare You the backstory and just say for the past few months I have struggled with burn out and hating my art more than I have ever have. I know I’m not good enough to land a job in my field of study and I made way less than minimum wage freelancing despite working my ass off any way I could. I started hating drawing and mere thought of it made me miserable, so even when it was time to out of the hiatus and just really wanted to take those free weekends (which as some of You may know is the only time I used to work on the comic since it’s my personal project that doesn’t really make me money) because I was so drained from doing commissions all week that I’d go crazy if I didn’t take those breaks and spent time with family etc.

It’s not like I drew nothing tho! I wanted to post a few updates on Patreon first, since the subscribers get pages early. My plan was to have a little bit of material already done before I come back to regularly posting every week. And I’m glad I did that because yeah, between the art thing and some personal things that happened I have just been feeling like garbage and it made it even harder to work on a comedic comic when You just kinda want to cease to exist. So there is some new updates there, and I have another one I’m working on that will be posted Monday but not as many as I’d like and I will wait a little more until I start posting publicly again.

I just know I can’t keep a steady schedule at the moment and here’s why; I decided to quit art as a career and got a new job that I will be starting soon. Good news is that it’s a very non-art job and I’ll now be able to only draw the things I WANT (which includes Loserdex ) in my free time and hopefully enjoy it again! The bad news is that for now it’s going to be a new thing I might need some time to get used to. I still have no clue when I can start and what my schedule will exactly be... and I also have a wedding in Poland I was planning to go to and I might not be able to go because of the job starting but I have no idea of knowing this now so-!! I’m just super stressed because I don’t know what’s going on! Other than early May I will be pretty busy. I’ll either be in Poland, or starting a new job. But after that I’m determined to come back to my own schedule and post pages regularly again! For now You can get any new pages I manage to complete on Patreon

TL;DR: I’m a sad mess who gave up on being an artist, I got a new job and hopefully it will give me more time to actually work on my personal projects like this comic. Things are super hectic in my life now tho, so I can’t update every single week until mid-May. There are however some new pages on the Patreon page if You aren’t subbed to it already, and I will keep posting anything new I manage to finish there before I’m ready to do public updates again! You can find it here: https://www.patreon.com/loserdex

I also wanted to say that after realizing how much I kinda messed up I felt super bad and guilty” But I went on here and Tapas and discovered a lot of people still leaving comments and asking me things etc. and it made me cry in a good way! Thank You all so much for still having interest in this comic! It might take me a little bit but Your support gives me the motivation to keep going! I will try to work on the comic regularly as soon as possible, and in the meantime reply to all the messages etc. we get on this blog! I might be a bit slow, but You deserve it because it just makes me so happy people enjoy our characters and their stories THANK YOU!!

[forestwater87]

A big box o’Gwenvid AU ideas: A is for "Aww” and “Angst” and “AAAH”

This post is fucking rad as balls, and I started thinking of fun AU ideas . . . until I remembered that I already have approximately 2 billion WIPs already and don’t necessarily know if any of these have legs as actual fics. But it was fun to think about, so here we are! This is the first of . . . presumably 26 of these? Who knows, but this post we have:

Accidental Marriage AU

In which Campbell convinces incredibly wealthy investors known for their focus on “family values” that the Camp is a sweet family business run by a husband-and-wife team of counselors. The problem, of course, is that it isn’t sweet and its head counselors aren’t married. Campbell only has enough booze to fix one of those situations. 

He’ll figure the rest out in the morning. He thinks better with a hangover, anyway.

(Yes I think this one would be awesome in Campbell’s POV. You cannot change my mind on this.)

Actor AU

Okay, real talk this would just be @whiskyarts​‘s gameshow AU. Because I kinda love the idea of Jerk!David who just pretends to be a sweetheart for the cameras. Except I would cover it with my filthy Gwenvid hands and make it shippy in that antagonistic-hatemance-eventually-turns-into-something-resembling-feelings. There would be lots of angst and snark and sparkly clothes and I would love it and probably no one else would.

Alien AU

An Interplanetary Anthropologist, Gwen, manages to land a position on the Campbell after years of education and networking and plain old hard work. She is an employee of the most impressive warship in the galaxy -- sure, it’s gone to seed a little bit in the last few decades, but it still has its shine if you look at it sideways and squint a little -- and more importantly, it’s work experience! Paid work experience . . . as a janitor.

When the Campbell picks up a POW that the ship’s commander plans to (illegally) sell to the highest bidder, Gwen decides to treat it as an opportunity to build a real-life case study on one of the universe’s rarer life forms while it’s within arm’s reach. But the more she learns about the strange, sunny alien who was his platoon’s only survivor, the more uncomfortable she is with letting him disappear into her captain’s nefarious dealings and -- 

Oh fuck, this is The Shape of Water, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve never seen The Shape of Water but I’m pretty sure that’s what this is. Fuck. Goddamn it. Fuck.

Amnesia AU

David takes a rogue bus to the . . . well, everything -- something that’s more or less routine by now -- and hits his head hard enough to knock him out for almost a full day. When he wakes up, he’s the same cheerful David the camp is used to . . . except for three strange new things:

He doesn’t know where he is or what he’s doing -- doesn’t, in fact, remember anything after some vague memories of childhood.

He’s completely terrified of the forest, and especially of Spooky Island.

He has no idea who Cameron Campbell is, but he’s quite positive he hates him.

Android AU

Actually @ciphernetics​ and I put this idea together a little while ago! Basically Camp Campbell has a state-of-the-art off-brand helper android named David, who is a perfect camp counselor, childcare provider, and comes equipped with the finest Forest Survival software Cameron Campbell could find for free online in half an hour.

Gwen, the new (requisite human) hire, hasn’t ever really interacted with androids, and doesn’t especially want to now. David is used to the distrust, even outright hostility -- very few of the campers seem to like him, and he knows that his presence can be unsettling to humans, and look, it isn’t a D:BH AU okay? It just looks like one, and acts like one. And is one.

Angel/Demon AU

Um the perfect Angel/Demon AU literally already exists, but they only wrote one chapter back in 2017 and never updated, and that makes me absurdly sad. Regardless, David being very bad at being a demon and Gwen being very bad at being an angel is the ideal setup for this kind of AU, in my humble opinion. 

However, David being an angel trying to reform his fallen ABFEL (angel buddy for eternal life!), who probably became a demon over something stupid and probably horny, also sounds extremely cute. They’re still friends, even though that is against literally all of the rules, and they secretly meet and hang out. David is convinced he can bring her around, and Gwen insists that she hates having him hanging off her nonexistent wings all the time. 

Honestly, probably neither of those things are true. Gwen wasn’t cut out for heaven -- and probably, neither is David.

Apocalypse AU

Cameron Campbell was probably doing something dangerously stupid in the hopes it could make him money. That, or the Quartermaster was doing something dangerous for reasons only he could ever understand. Hell, maybe that’s what that weird Daniel guy’s cult was trying to do. Whoever was doing what, they ripped a hole in their dimension at the bottom of Lake Lilac, and all sorts of awful things start creeping through.

There were signs, of course -- that weird fish-monster certainly didn’t come in through customs -- but an inopportune explosion, or wayward firework, or the rumblings of Sleepy Peak Peak, or something ripped a hole in the fabric of reality big enough for Lovecraftian monsters to start crawling through. There’s no stopping it. Really, there’s no chance of even fighting it. 

The second the rift opens, the story becomes one of just trying to stay out from under the Elder Gods’ feet.

Arranged Marriage AU

I think the easiest way to make this one work is by making either David or Gwen Campbell’s actual biological child -- maybe an heir, albeit to a highly illegal fortune and a mountain of credit card debt. But Campbell gets in trouble, the kind of trouble where he’s gambled everything and the only collateral he has left is a kid he got saddled with because their mother had better lawyers. A kid he’s been more than happy to put to work for the last 20-something years, who happens to have caught the eye of a ludicrously wealthy magnate -- not for her own sake (though Campbell would’ve been open to that too) -- but for her child, one she loves more than anything and keeps carefully shut away until the Right Person comes along.

His kid isn’t necessarily the right person, but for the first time in his life Cameron Campbell has a genuine treasure on his hands.

And, like all the fake treasures he’s passed off over the years, he just has to find a way to shine them up and make him a fortune.

Artist AU

Gwen is a starving artist living in a rat-infested hovel in the city, scraping by on a series of uninspired landscapes she paints on postcards and the goodwill of friends, family, and significant others. One day, a bright young man bounces up to her “studio” (it’s a cardboard box outside the park) and tells her excitedly that he’s been looking for her for weeks; he thinks her postcards are the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, and he would like to know if she’d be interested in moving down to a cabin by the lake. He runs a summer camp, he explains, and he knows they’d all be honored if she would teach them art lessons -- and of course paint in her spare time! The views are indescribable, and he’s sure she’ll have no shortage of inspiration.

She weighs the cost of what little artistic dignity she has remaining against room, board, and a steady paycheck for three months, and takes the job immediately.

Art Student AU

Put them in an art college -- maybe condense the ages so that the campers are like, younger students? -- and have Gwen as the Serious Art Student who cares a lot about theory and form and doing things right, and she’s constantly irritated by her classmate David, who sits at the same table as her and has declared them art buddies, and is convinced that the point of art is just to have fun and do your best! Maybe force them to do a group project together and really see them clash.

(Alternatively, there is the infinitely more shameless route of one being an art student and the other being a newd model for figure drawing. I am obviously much too classy to ever insinuate such a thing, but if someone was really looking for a way to write smuht . . . it’s sitting right there. On a table. nekkid. I HAVE TO CHANGE THE SPELLING TO MAKE THIS GO IN THE TAGS ARE YOU KIDDING ME)

Athlete AU

There are 4 major ways this one can go, I feel like:

Basically HSM: Gwen is a small part in her school’s musical (techie, maybe, or the orchestra) and lanky jock David -- which is the most hilarious phrase ever but he’s probably a runner or tennis player, something light on muscles and heavy on speed and springiness -- who’s well-mannered and cheerful but not the brightest, is put into the show as an extra-credit way to bump up his GPA so he can keep sporting his sports, and it turns out he’s both very good at and super enthusiastic about it.

A little like HSM, but as grown-ups: Gwen is the head of the drama/art department, which has just faced heavy cuts to support the superstar sports program, and she furiously storms over to the head coach’s office to let him know exactly what she thinks about him and his stupid meathead jocks. Of course, when the man who opens the door is a sweetheart beanpole with big eyes who already knows her name, she finds it hard to keep up her righteous indignation. And when it turns out that he was completely ignorant of the hit her department took from the budget cuts (or maybe not ignorant, just terminally oblivious) and is almost as upset as she is to hear about it, she’s forced to reconsider everything she’d assumed about Coach Greenwood; maybe he’s not the enemy after all, but someone with whom she can formulate a new battle plan.

Reporter/Famous Athlete AU: Either Gwen is a professional sportsball person and David is the shy, bumbling photographer eager to prove himself, or she’s the plucky, intrepid reporter and David is a good-natured professional athlete who she’s determined to interview.

Teammates AU: Professional or amateur sports team, and they’re just trying to scrape their way out of the bottom of the league without killing each other. 

Author AU

There are a lot of potential interpretations of this AU, but my personal favorite is Gwen as a novelist with two distinctly differing careers: as G. E. Santos, the high-concept writer whose books are critical darlings in the maybe 3 publications that care about such things but whose sales can’t quite crack the triple digits; and as Annabelle Elizabeth, whose steamy erotica regularly tops the bestseller lists and is reviled by all of G. E.’s colleagues as “populist genre trash.” 

The only person alive who knows about her Jekyll-and-Hyde author personas (besides her older sister Audree, who plays the part of charismatic and sensual Annabelle flawlessly) is her editor, David. He’s an odd choice, as her colleagues in both fields have pointed out -- reading her romance novels with his pen in one hand and the other covering his eyes, peeking through his fingers to write tremulous notes in the margins; stumbling through her ponderous literary works with a dictionary in his lap and his tongue between his teeth, poring through them like he’s learning a new language -- but he’s the only person Gwen will allow to touch her writing. 

Maybe it’s because he always seems like her biggest fan. Maybe it’s because she’s known him since they were at a summer camp together years ago. Maybe it’s because he believes in her in a way no one else does -- in a way she absolutely doesn’t believe in herself.

David is, for reasons she’s not entirely sure how to explain even to herself, the only person she trusts.

Avian (Bird People) AU

Centuries ago, it was said, avians were a rarity, an aberrant mutation to be locked up and intently studied but never trusted. Some people thought they were antichrists, a sign of the end times, when all normal humans would be destroyed and only the strange bird-people would remain.

In a way, maybe they were. Because when the earth’s crust ripped open and flooded the planet with magma and boiling water miles deep, avians were the only ones who could take to the sky.

Not all of them, certainly. In fact, most were locked up in detention centers and laboratories when the Swamp formed, and were unable to escape in time. Considering the people who could get to high enough elevations to escape the deluge, there were decades afterwards where the decimated human population outnumbered the avian one. Those were periods of tension, outright war and tentative alliances -- even romances, the kinds of great love stories that dragged both avian and human populations a few generations along when one or both of them should’ve died out.

That was over two hundred years ago, however. Now the Swamp is a murky expanse of scalding water and the boiled remains of civilization transformed into unrecognizable muck, with islands of “land” cobbled out of what remains. This is where the avians live, now. And humans don’t live anywhere, not anymore.

At least . . . that was what they thought.

[moonanagames]

Good and bad news, CHECK THIS OUT PLZ

(are... are you ready)

Haro my fellow earthlings and interplanetarian folks!

Today I bring good and bad news altogether, so please bear with me for a bit! Firstly, I wanted to talk about how development has been going since the very beginning, so let us go to our nice time capsule :D

This is a timeline of the development up until now, I tried to be the most accurate as I could, but it can be a bit difficult when I don’t remember many things anymore lol

The game is in development since January 2017. The timeline goes like this:

2017

From January to May, 20, I developed on my own my first public demo of Virgo Vs The Zodiac. It took longer as I was all by myself.

Then my Grandma said she wouldn’t be able to support me anymore if I was going to quit college to develop games. From May to August, I prepared the Crowdfunding Campaign to help me fund the project and my EXISTENCE. The Campaign was launched in September 2017, I think.

After the campaign ended, I could finally get Anglerman onboard! Ay! He does animations for enemies and some party members animations too and is also the greatest deity of our lives. A legend. He helped me a lot with the Game Design Document I was working on because new people would join and I needed to make the things in my head to be a bit more concrete.

From the end of the Campaign until October we were working with a another programmer, but that didn’t work too well since they had another big project they were working on at the time. We had to change the programmer. It was when I found Ben here on Tumblr, current lead programmer. Our lord and savior.

After that I was browsing tumblr randomly and I found Veyerals among asks sent to this tumblr and thought his work with menus was pretty cool (and I liked his game as well, played a lot of that back then). Veyerals joined the project too as the UI programmer and would also be working with the SHMUP mini games, which he had experience with. Bless the UI G.O.D.

From that point on we had to basically rebuild the game from scratch from the moment we got the new programmers. Not only develop the game from scratch, but doing everything RPG Maker already had built in for us into the new engine because that was the only thing I knew in terms of “programming”. That and adding everything new I thought for the project. It was a huge amount of work, and we only had a battle system working fine in December, where we started developing a new build.

(concept art of lady nurse)

2018

In this year things got a bit complicated!

At first, when the battle system was mainly “complete”, as we thought back then, we delivered a 15 mins build for ID@XBOX to be shown at the Game Developers Conference, on January 2018.

We had billions of problems from january to august with the development and also unrelated to the development, like dealing with US taxes. A lot of things weren't working as we wanted them to be, this time was mostly spent on making the timed hits to feel nice, rebuilding the base systems and trying to make the game to have the same feeling as the RPG Maker build had of it being challenging. Also, overall asset production. That was demanding as heck. In RPG Maker the enemies didn't move, while in Game Maker they were animated. I had never worked with Game Maker before, so me and Anglerman (the animator and fellow game designer) had to learn the engine from scratch while developing the game, that resulted in a lot of set backs, but lead us to where we are now. We're confident with the overall game's scaling, difficulty, battles and systems. In Game Maker the maps are also bigger and have way more polishing, so that took a lot of time to get used to on the new engine.

(a really weird, but solved, bug)

From that point on we built Capricorn, and started working on Taurus and other realms at the same time. After some time we determined that doing several realms at the same time, even though we knew which level the player would be wouldn't work well, and we decided to finish the realms before heading to other realm.

Billion lines of code later, in october we started development of the first 2 hours and a half of Taurus. All of it took one month and a half. It was a significant improvement from the previous 5 months to develop the same amount of gameplay! We determined that we can finish the game on the first half on 2019 upon seeing the progress of the development in Taurus. Now we have a stable work flow, as our lead programmer only has to work on random tiny things, for example, "I would like for Virgo to throw Alpacas for an event, can you add that?". Those are small details that Ben can do easily. Everything that was promised on the campaign, like SHMUP minigames and the crafting system is also all working nicely and well.

That brings us to the bad news: The release will be delayed, for all the reasons exposed before. At first we thought of keeping with the date announced in the Crowdfunding Campaign of December 4th and release the game in Early Access. However it all seemed unfair to the Beta Backers who donated first to get access to early builds of the game. Other than that, a save system of something like a RPG such as Virgo Vs The Zodiac wouldn’t work well with the early access system of Steam. Just imagine your save messing up every time the game is updated. That would be just bad. xD Unfortunately I didn’t know that back then when I announced the date, and I didn’t know the amount of hassle I would go through to learn the engine while developing the game. I can only blame my naiveness, honestly. Other than that, December isn’t a good time to release games because of the Steam Sale that makes it harder for new games to be noticed with so many games on sale.

With that being clarified, I can say now that the game would most likely be released in the first half of 2019, around Q2. I apologize deeply and am extremely sad, I was even avoiding saying this here and avoiding social medias in general due to anxiety attacks <_< I’m sorry for that as well! For anyone who said their birthday was in the same day as the game’s release, I apologize immensely, and please send me a message and I’ll send you a card of Sagittarius wishing you a happy birthday. It’s the only thing I can do now, to be honest. S O R R Y =(

O U T R A G E O U S

New possible release date: Q2 2019.

As for the good news now:

Taurus Realm Build For Backers

The Taurus build I was talking about will be sent to backers this week! :D You can expect a bossfight with a Zodiac, millions of new characters, around 1800 new lines of dialogues, new equipment to check, new fellows to beat or spare, quests and the SHMUP minigame, now implemented on the game! Also, as seen on the trailer, you can throw enemies off screen now :3

Kinda Funny Games Showcase

We’ll also be participating on Kinda Funny’s Games Showcase that’ll be happening in December 8th! You’ll be able to see a new trailer of Virgo Vs The Zodiac on the stream that’ll be happening on Kinda Funny’s Twitch. That’s a really cool opportunity for us, so eternal thanks to Greg Miller for chosing VvtZ. That got me by surprise! xD

Date: Saturday, December 8th

Time: 10am PT

I think that’s it! Basically we had a lot of setbacks, but we’re in the right path again now and I can say doing anything is faster as is! The game’s quality improved and the development became more demanding of our skills, but it’s also a nice challenge for everyone. I’m glad to have started this project, my life was pretty dull back then, I had lost many important things before and VvtZ brought sparkle back to my life. That’s important, as even in the most difficult times I can remember I’m creating something I have so much fun with. I’m blessed to have all the people who support me on Virgo Vs The Zodiac discord, who supported me in the campaign and everyone around social medias. It’s what makes my days happier, tbh.

Ever since I began development I lost contact with many of my friends from the other city I lived in, but I also made many other precious friends who helped me along the way! All the good and bad memories on my life shaped this place I created for myself in the world. I like this place, it’s comfy :3 Again, I’m sorry for ruining your expectations to have the game up on Steam this year, it’s a first delaying the development like this. As a Taurus I can say it pains the most to not have things done when I need them to be despite the hard work going behind this game. Damned Bugs. I want the bugs to die. Gotta work even harder from now on to extinguish bugs the maximum we can!