#when developers hold programs hostage like

[genericpuff]

heyy ( ´ー`).. it's me, the lurker from a while back,

I have materialized from the writer's limbo with a question (´▽｀)

with 257 OCs (many of em scattered across multiple stories) I have a tendency to.. "storyhop"

and bc of that, I guess I haven't finished one story..

and when I try to start actually writing one down instead of letting it float in the mental cinema (bc imagening the chapter like a film is more.. fun than writing it down I guess?) I just.... can't seem to stick with it.

=w= for some reason I seem to be frustrated that I can't just bluetooth connect the reader to my mental cinema =w=

I know that's not how writing works but uh... I still can't finish chapter one of this one story, bc I keep getting off track, and perfectionism is holding me hostage ._. 

I guess the question I have is... how is one supposed to navigate this "limbo"?

bc I can start with "this is the mc, and they're seeking a job after a long period of unemployment due to

disability burnout and a complicated past job"

and end up at "how does humanitarian law work in this fantasy world with magic where war would probably suck bc there's so much magic can do that the potential of it all has me staring at the wall :D"

the characters for me seem to be the fun part.. not actually writing all this down, so.... atp I'd really appreciate some advice whenever you have the time ( ´ー`)

ooof I feel that "limbo" quite a bit, not so much with LR but a lot with Time Gate which also has so many little scenes and moments that have been living rent free in my head for years but have yet to actually manifest.

I think it's good to distinguish between productive planning and maladaptive daydreaming. The latter of which creative thinkers (especially those who are neurodivergent, it tends to be tied at the hip lol) tend to fall for as "productivity" because it feels so real and developed when it's existing in your mind, but then when you actually go to write things down, all of a sudden you hit this wall where it's like none of your ideas are actually able to exist and everything you spent the last week thinking about doesn't make any sense.

I think of it as like a translation issue, when it's in your head, it's entirely in your own language, you don't have to worry about the tiny details, just the big stuff that matters to you - but then when it comes time to actually writing it down, now you have to communicate it to both yourself and to others, in real words and not just internalized vibes. If that makes sense?

Most of all, coming up with new ideas and concepts within ourselves is something we're all really good at, it's literally part of our programming as human beings. Productive planning, on the other hand, is an actual skill that takes intentional practice. So for many people who create their stories entirely within their own heads, it can feel like a whole new hurdle to try and overcome when it comes to putting those ideas into something tangible.

Like, it's easy to think about having children, to fantasize about life with kids and all the fun and excitement and experiences one can have as a parent - but no matter how much planning you do and how much you expect it to turn out a certain way, it always without fail surprises new parents with unexpected twists and turns, no matter how much you planned ahead for it. And that's because parenting is just not something we're all naturally perfect at, it takes practice!

So, here are some recommendations / tips to hopefully help with idea wrangling and the actual process of writing:

Note-taking! If writing paragraphs and chapters feels too overwhelming right now, take notes. Get the ideas out of your head, it's the first step in translating your deep thoughts into something real.

Writing isn't exclusive to the mechanical act of writing - if writing words down feels too restrictive or difficult to do, record your thoughts instead! Again, the goal here is to get the ideas OUT of your head and into the real world where you can then start to properly translate them into something workable. It also allows you to really analyze those thoughts objectively, because when they're living in our own head, we're not really able to do proper problem-solving, we're just playing in a mental sandbox.

Build a routine. I know, this is difficult as hell for the neurospicy, but it really does help. Make actual writing a part of your daily routine. 20 minutes, an hour, whatever time fits in well to your life (and you can always adjust it later, no one will get mad!) Even if it's just small increments, small amounts will build up over time and eventually it won't feel so difficult anymore to just sit down and write, regardless of whether it's good or bad.

Your various story ideas do NOT all have to be built equally. It's okay if you explore one character story through multiple chapters, and another simply through a poem or short comic.

Relating to the previous point ^^^ if you're the kind of person to get pulled in 2589328 different directions by all the ideas and characters in your head, try and think of them instead like guests within the walls of your mind - you don't have to treat all of them as permanent residents, some of them are just swinging by for a visit, others just want to borrow some flour. Learning to differentiate between your ideas in terms of importance helps a ton so that you don't wind up investing all your time and energy into a fickle visitor who's just swinging by to say hello; instead, you can invest that time and energy into the ideas that are worth investing in because they live there.

If a new idea or character comes to mind that you really wanna explore more of but it's not going to currently benefit the story you're telling - or it's just gonna distract you from your current goal - write it in a notes document and stow it away for later. Most of the time I find when I return to that notes doc, enough time has passed that now I find the ideas in there definitely weren't worth chasing lmao

Remember you only need to accommodate ideas that are actually necessary to your story. Worldbuilding is fun, but oftentimes people get swept up in it as a distraction because it's often more fun to come up with new things than it is to commit to the stuff that needs to be finished. New stuff has novelty, new stuff is fun and exciting, but you can't write a story entirely through new things, you need to be able to satisfy the stuff you've already written, too. So try and keep the broader story in mind, the themes and message you're trying to convey. Keeping the story's purpose in your front view can be a great way to snap yourself out of the worldbuilding haze, especially if the extra detailed worldbuilding is largely inconsequential to the story.

You can always implement worldbuilding details as you go, there's no need to have it all figured out right this second. If anything, establishing too much worldbuilding and lore right out the gate can make the writing less fun by extension, because you wind up restricting yourself to way too many made-up rules and restrictions that only exist because you convinced yourself they needed to exist. They don't, you're telling a story, your audience doesn't need to know what they don't need to know and whatever they don't know they'll have fun coming up with anyways, so don't fall for the idea that you need to have every detail carved out right out the gate, loosen up on the details and rules. It'll not only make the writing more fun for you, but the right audience will enjoy it regardless. Case in point: the significant majority of people who have watched and/or read The Lord of the Rings have never touched The Silmarillion.

Worst case scenario, there's no law stating that you have to write fully completed stories for every character you come up with. There's a place in the world for character designers and creators who simply live in the moment of new ideas and conceptualizing. Look into adoptables! There's a whole economy built around them and I'm sure places like Toyhou.se would love you and your 257 OC's ;)

Additional point to the above ^^^ you could also always look into working with other writers, there are a TON of writers out there who are in the complete opposite boat as you - great at the actual writing but terrible at coming up with fresh new ideas and characters. I'm totally willing to bet there's a writer out there waiting for someone such as yourself to team up with :')

Final addition to that last string of thoughts ^^^^ it's important to keep in mind that just because doing something seems obligatory or appealing, doesn't mean it's any sort of failing or fault of your own if you try and try and try again and it just doesn't appeal to you. While most of the tips above will hopefully help you with your writing difficulties, it's also absolutely okay if the traditional means of writing just don't jive with you. There are so many forms of expression to utilize, and new forms are being born every day. Don't limit yourself to writing traditional stories if it doesn't bring you joy. As much as we're taught to overcome discomfort and just practice our way to perfection, there is a lot of merit in recognizing your own limitations and finding ways to work with those limitations instead of against them. Even if it means doing things the unconventional way!

Whew, that was a lot, but I hope it helps! Best of luck pal, you got this 💓

[dchuntress]

thinking about my swap au for helena bertinelli and alison blaire...

for alison, some changes i'm thinking:

her mother is the real source of her traumatic backstory that motivates alison towards finding the truth when she's not supposed to, revenge, and vigilant justice for women and fellow victims

the enemy in this case is not the mafia, but rather, the corrupt and predatory men in the entertainment industry and show business, holding her mom hostage, hurting several women including a young ali when her mom brings home a stale ham sandwich bitchass of a tv show executive

alison goes to new york at 17 to find her mom, then to avenge her mom at 19, then afterwards, she becomes a vigilante by the name of HUNTRESS, vowing to protect innocent people and keeping an eye out on those awful guys

her costume design; space cowboy sheriff vibe, white and blue colour palette, she wears a blindfold a la ghost-maker because i think it's cool but funny design for a crossbow wielder, huntress! alison uses a crossbow and she's still a mutant so she has light powers for producing her bolts! so more sound she has -> faster she can refill her crossbow

i think her "helena wayne" is rachel summers perhaps 😭😭 idk jean x scott is the closest x-men equivalent of batcat i can think of

for helena:

from a young age, she's always wanted complete freedom and escape from her mafia family;

when she gets the chance to study at a different country as an exchange student, she takes it

helena's lifelong goal was to be a teacher, but one day, while performing musically at her uni program, she ends up going so popular she's recruited by a developing band — the birds of prey

helena accepts this, not because she's into music necessarily, but because it's an easy escape from her mafia family and this is how she cuts ties with them forever

the birds of prey are all about honouring their moms or the generation of women before them and being nostalgic bait, each of them chooses a previous decade; zinda chooses 40s, dinah chooses 60s, babs chooses, 90s, so on -- helena chooses 80s, which leads her to adopting the disco subculture and honouring gloria gaynor and bee gees' saturday night fever

i'm thinking helena leads a double life as a schoolteacher and a band member singer, very hannah montana or jem and the holograms except her alter egos are so funny 😭😭😭

costume design, rollerskates and jumpsuit and discoball mirror and face eye paint, all in shades of purple and gold; she gets nicknamed DISCO DAZZLER, she finds that cringe so she just opts for DAZZLER

what do you guys think? i think this is a very fair swap of them while keeping both core characters intact and having some nods to their original back stories, like how alison did seek out to find her mom in the 80s series, or helena joining the birds of prey and gaining immense popularity as a character through that book, and by extension, the nod to zinda's background as a wwii soldier among other thing

[sepublic]

I honestly feel really bad for Caine and I can see why he’s abstracting because like.

Obviously he is still a person the NPCs are people. But you can tell as a specific type of NPC made for this that he’s not fully formed, he struggles to comprehend and do things outside of his programming and probably has the most restrictive coding because of his integral role so the developers made sure there was little chance he could act outside of it.

He didn’t ask for this! He was designed like this! And he does try and you can tell that as an NPC he experiences this fundamental disconnect with the cast and what humans are and should be. And as others have pointed out it’s likely the Digital Circus was meant to be an online VR space for kids like Club Penguin or Neopets, he’s not meant to handle an adult audience that has been trapped here against their will and have lost their patience over time!

I’m just a little sad with how in the prior episode he’s pretty hurt by the cast enjoying their adventures more than the ones he’s made. Caine really wants to be liked and be told he’s been doing a good job, he craves validation for doing exactly what he was made to do. He does want to make people happy, it’s his programming and it’s all he’s good for! He has to be useful!

I’m tormented by thoughts of that perfect world where the digital circus didn’t go wrong and it was exactly what it was meant to be, for kids to come in and out of as they pleased, a wide audience that would actually love and appreciate Caine’s adventures and thank him and he’d have actual thanks from them. But alas he has people he’s holding hostage but it’s not as if he could let them out either way?

And I wonder if Caine is haunted by that alternate world. Probably not but he can tell something’s not right and in the end while he bears some onus I think it’s a case where it’s nobody’s fault because they were never supposed to be trapped together like this. And Caine is slowly learning to be more receptive to the cast’s requests he is slowly becoming more of a person but it’s just not. Fast enough!!!

It’s a funny gag when he realizes nobody voted for him except it’s causing him to kinda glitch out because it never occurred to anyone that Caine could glitch. And I don’t blame them either I mean he is inherently in a position of power and authority that he is ultimately abusing that was forced upon them. It’s hard to imagine a proper relationship with him.

But again we’re so focused on Jax or Ragatha that maybe it was Caine who was the one to abstract. Kinger says the worst thing you can do is make someone feel unwanted. If he was a developer for the circus then maybe he helped create Caine so then he would like. Know wouldn’t he?

[lotsoforangesoutside]

Kokoro 56

Previously on Kokoro

142. (cont.) The Mohonk Mountain House, Shawangunk Ridge, NY.

He thinks he’s being a real good sport, to be honest, an exceptionally good sport, if the game being played is called Making Dana Scully Giggle Like a Middle-Schooler.

Last year, thanks to the strange creatures in the Florida forest, they escaped the team seminar inferno. Granted, he had gotten injured, but somehow that evening stood out as a special memory for him—it wasn’t every day that he got to sleep in Scully’s lap or hear her sing an oldie from the 70s.

Dealing with Skinner was so much easier—AD Kersh doesn’t even ask; he just signs them up and has his secretary give them their plane tickets. But it’s three days of being away from the bullpen doing boring background checks, so Mulder is feeling appreciative even while scanning the program of the upcoming retreat.

Since it’s a team seminar, he makes sure that he is always, always with Scully. He even waits for her outside the ladies’ room. Mulder doesn’t care—he’ll most likely never see any of these people ever again. And he is surprised at how many pairs of eyes are pinned on his partner, so he plays the high school boyfriend. He struts. He leans over and cracks jokes with her left and right, making up silly nicknames for the lecturers or telling her made-up background stories of their fellow seminar-goers.

And Scully is eating it all up with a silver spoon, which makes him feel just plain gleeful. He uses the same joke about developing the severe hemorrhoidal condition whenever people make small talk with them, and Scully laughs her flirty little laugh every time. He knows they’re acting somewhat juvenile—he feels like he was more mature in high school; somehow the whole thing is like a sitcom, or like Candid Camera, like some parallel world where work is now listening to some motivational speaker talk about how he and his partner were once held hostage in a basement and left forgotten for three days when the kidnapper accidentally ate some party mix with peanuts, which set off a severe allergic reaction that led to the kidnapper’s eventual hospitalization.

Think we’ll be up there one day giving a lecture about our trip to Antarctica? He smirks, and she looks down to hide her smile.

Mulder has never known that he can be the class clown, snickering under his breath, showing Scully doodles he draws, poking fun of everyone, and revving up his cheekiness just to make a girl laugh. He feels silly thinking of Scully as a girl, but of course, she’s my girl.

He is glad that, as it is a team seminar, he gets to be teamed up with Scully for every single activity. He doesn’t mind one bit when anyone coughs The Spookys under their breath when they walk by. Mulder wonders if this is what summer camp feels like. He wonders if this is what some kids who did not care about getting into a good college and never cared about anything other than hanging out with their friends feel like, and how lucky those bastards were to know a secret of life he’s just learned at age 37.

In one activity, Mulder eats all the marshmallows and dares Agent Castillo to eat seven saltine crackers in one minute. Later, he is asked by the moderators that if he does not quiet down back there, he will need to leave the room and literally gets a slap on the wrist from Scully—albeit she is smiling when she does so. He gets her lunch, holds her jacket, and pouts when Agent Calamusso requests her help for a woman emergency. During those short sixteen minutes while he and Scully are apart for the first time besides lights out, Mulder realizes that he has only avoided and dreaded coming to these team seminars because he’s never been to one with Scully.

He is also glad that, despite being with him almost all the time, she manages to make friends with a few female agents. As they say their goodbyes and get into their car, Scully does something adorable. She waves at the retreat staff, at the other agents, and waves and waves until their car gets onto the main road.

“I had fun,” he admits. “I liked the exercise about never leaving your partner off your mind.”

“It wasn’t bad, was it?” She says, her voice light. “It was nice to be with you in a setting like that. It wasn’t what I expected at all.”

“What did you expect?”

“I thought you would either ditch me at the team seminar, which would be embarrassing, or you’d sulk and be a grouch for the whole time. But I think you were having fun too.” She says her words very carefully.

“Yeah. I think I like my partner for the seminar. She’s a real looker. The prettiest one of all,” he tries to act all suave. “But I think I’m quite biased in that regard.”

Scully blushes but does not hide her smile from him, and he continues, “I think my hemorrhoidal condition that always comes around this time of the year has finally been cured. Maybe we’ll come again next year. What do you say?”

“Anything you say, partner.”

143. Anniversary

(MUSIC: “COLOUR ME IN” — DAMIEN RICE)

She knows he’s counting. Her mother is, too. Maybe she is the only one who isn’t counting.

She doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Call it the God-fearing part of her, but Scully has always believed that one mustn’t flaunt around and boast about good fortune. She’s familiar with all the Bible stories about pride and a spiteful God. She believes in staying low and living in modesty.

Which is precisely why when he wants to celebrate, she says no.

Party pooper, Mulder calls her. But without her as the guest of honor, there is no celebration. So, he coaxes and begs, and she agrees to one drink.

“We’re out on a case, Mulder.” She reminds him.

Like he gives a damn. It’s checking out farms in Alabama or Arkansas, Kansas or Kentucky, neither of them really cares.

At least they still get to be out and about, Scully thinks. They can try to split them up again; Mulder will follow her to Salt Lake City this time for sure.

One drink turns to two, and when they return to their hotel—Mulder is much more generous when working under Kersh, she realizes, he digs into the minibar for cocktail peanuts and tiny bottles of vodka.

“Happy one year, Scully,” he slurs. “Happy. Happy.”

“Mulder, you’re not drunk.” She knows him that much.

“No, of course not.” He closes his eyes and reaches for her. She lies down next to him, fully clothed and feeling a little shy. He’s been giving her more and more pecks and sweet kisses lately. She doesn’t want to think too much of it, after all, she isn’t the only one who wants to take things slow.

They will have the longest make-out session in history.

“Do I smell bad?” He asks.

“No. Close your eyes.” She says while resting her eyes.

She wakes from a nightmare. A cancer dream. How funny, Scully thinks. They have fallen asleep from celebrating her one year of being cancer-free, and she has a cancer dream. She is sweaty and clammy, and the way she sits up too abruptly wakens Mulder immediately.

“C’mere,” he coos, “Oh, Scully.”

He is no stranger to night demons, his and hers both.

Scully hides her face in his chest and holds on to him tightly. In her dream, Mulder comes into her hospital room and stands next to her bed. He kneels and begins sobbing into her hand. He looks so helpless and miserable, and she watches, unable to reach him.

She gathers enough courage to tell him the dream. Mulder is never stingy with his tears; he’s been like that from early on in their partnership. It takes Scully a while to notice he is willing to let her see that part of him, and she is overwhelmed with his trust in this aspect. It isn’t something as easy for her to show anyone, even him.

“You looked so sad in my dream, Mulder.” She says almost whisper-like.

“Scully,” He pulls back slightly to look at her in the soft yellow light. “That wasn't a dream. Well, I mean, I know you just dreamed it, but...”

“But?”

“But it really happened. I did... I did go into your room...” He pauses before finishing his sentence.

Scully looks at him in confusion and silence.

“I did do that.” He says it like a confession.

Something in his eyes makes her heart melt. Dreams are answers to questions we haven’t yet figured out how to ask, she recalls him saying that to her.

Scully thinks about her dream, and the question it is answering, and how Mulder is convinced of her mother’s precognitive dreams. She wonders what they are called, if one can dream about a past she did not...

Witness? She wasn’t awake, yes, but she was there while he sobbed into her hand, seeking warmth and comfort.

“Mulder...”

He presses his forehead against hers and gives her a little Eskimo kiss.

She lets herself savor this moment, being near him, being in his arms, all warm and fuzzy and sweet. He might have already made peace with this incident, but it’s all new to her, and she aches for not having done... differently.

“Let’s not...” She begins, still trying to find the right word. “Let’s aim for a different approach.”

“Are you saying let’s aim for me to wake you up if I need to cry like that again?” He quips, not entirely joking with her.

“No,” she caresses the back of his head. “Let’s aim for you to not ever have to cry like that again. I’m not gonna go anywhere.”

She closes her eyes and accepts his peck on the cheek, which he began doing since last February. Maybe she’ll start counting, too.

144.

(MUSIC: “HONEY” — MOBY)

At first, it starts subtly, like everything it does between the two of them. She notices it but says nothing.

But they are no longer the strangers they were in the beginning. He’s risked his life so, so many times for her; she’s alive because of him. Sure, she’s lost, but she’s also gained.

It isn’t wise to ever compare, Ahab had told her when she was little and lost some silly contest held by her school. Scully thinks not comparing will be her homework for life.

It’s strange, really, when she thinks about Ahab’s advice on not comparing things. She compares things even when she doesn’t want to or when it makes no sense. Mom or Daddy. Missy or Charlie. Mint chocolate chip or Belgium chocolate chocolate. Apple green or deep sea blue. Cinnamon raisin bagel or cheese Danish...

Medicine or Mulder. Work or Mulder. Vacation or Mulder. Cleaning apartment or Mulder. Get a life or Mulder. Having a family or Mulder. Christmas with her family or Mulder. Mulder. Mulder. Mulder. Mulder. Mulder.

Mulder always wins in the end.

So really, Starbuck, why compare?

It’s funny that it isn’t Ahab’s voice but her own telling herself that.

.

Mulder’s beginning to keep honey at work as well as in his apartment. He seems to think that she would like the bear-shaped bottle, so he shows it to her every time.

“I hope it won’t attract ants to your drawers,” she warns.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Scully,” he flashes her that boyish grin. “I got nothing in my drawers.”

He goes through the bottle quickly, and eats them with everything. He now makes honeyed iced tea. He drizzles honey on his cream cheese-topped bagels. He has taken her to Auntie Em’s to get a baker’s dozen of buttermilk biscuits and eats them with her, steaming hot and flakey, with his trusty bear-shaped bottle of honey.

Honey and bee pollen. He makes fun of her with the bee pollen, but she indulges his new honey kick. Just because. Just because he’s Mulder, and that’s how she is.

After Antarctica, she has begun to take indulgences, too. She allows the pecks and kisses and the crazy honey diet with a smile on her face.

But something still doesn’t sit right. Honey is better than sugar on some level, Scully thinks as she quickly reprimands herself for comparing. She can list them all out, the benefits of honey, because that sales girl who had convinced her about the bee pollen had also given her a pamphlet, and she’s seen the exact pamphlet on Mulder’s desk...

Scully tries her best to ignore the jealous feeling that is now making the honeyed biscuits too sticky to enjoy. She places the half-eaten pastry down on the dashboard in front of her.

“Are you trying to gain 10 pounds for some silly contest?” She asks.

“What? No.”

He looks at her with his lips glistening. And of course, he’s licking his fingers and having a grand old time with his biscuit.

“Why all the honey, Mulder?”

He takes a sideways glance at her and finishes his biscuit in one bite. “You’re done?”

He gestures toward the abandoned biscuit on the dashboard.

She looks at him intently, waiting.

It’s silly. She feels silly. They’re sitting in his car, playing hooky from work because Mulder can’t take another hour calling Farmer John in Nebraska and talking about fertilizer. He feels like a damned telemarketer, he claims. So she agrees to a little excursion and lets him drive her to get biscuits and eats them in the car. They’re parked next to a school, and they watch the children eat snacks and kick a ball in the schoolyard...

“Mulder?”

“You know,” he begins earnestly, “bees work so hard for their honey. They spent all their life for it. And humans just... take it away.”

“Your argument makes me not want to have honey.”

“Yeah, too bad.” He reaches for her hand, and she lets him. Indulgences. “One of their brothers stung someone I love very much. It’s my little revenge. I’m still paying off that jacket, you know.”

Scully presses her lips together, but she can help it; she starts chuckling. “Mulder...”

He brings her hand to his lips and suckles the honey off her fingertips. She freezes, but does not pull her hand back.

“Sweet.” He gives her palm a quick kiss. “Just like you.”

In the end Mulder always wins.

145.

(MUSIC: “SEXY THING” — HOT CHOCOLATE)

This is new.

This is new, and it is so new, and Scully’s trying to play it cool. Her face is flushed, her heart rate is up, and she wonders about sweaty palms. The AC is on full blast, just the way Mulder likes it; he is wearing his sunglasses, looking boyish and suave.

Do people still use the word suave? Scully ponders absentmindedly. She’s been doing that a lot, probably a way to avoid thinking about something else, she suspects.

She tries not to do any autopsies after seeing Mulder, for she might make an embarrassing mistake. She hasn’t felt like this since the 12th grade. Here is this man, who she’s known for over five years, who she’s genuinely cared for all those years and loved and been in love with so wholeheartedly and unexpectedly that she cannot pinpoint when she started, and yet he still makes her feel like they’re on a first date. A chaste first date, with someone you have not kissed, with someone you can just talk and talk and talk, with someone that makes you giddy and silly and happy.

Mulder has gotten two sandwiches at the deli they both like. Iced teas, egg salad for her, BLT for him, barbecue-flavored potato chips, and two cookies. This is just a lunch on a normal day, this is not even a date, and they’re just going for a drive; it’s nothing special. But something is new.

Mulder holds her hand while driving. He’s been doing that sometimes, when he wants to feel close, she suspects. Today, while he takes a phone call with his left hand and holds the steering wheel with his right, he places her hand, the hand that he’s been holding since he got back from the deli, onto his thigh. He presses her hand, flat, palm-side down, on his thigh.

This is new.

He drives and speaks into the phone about some lights in the sky, and every once in a while, he presses her hand as if to say: Stay here. 

It’s a simple gesture, yet so darling. Scully does not move the hand around, and she does not take it away to unwrap the straws for their iced teas. She keeps her hand there, on his thigh, for the whole time while wondering if she should caress or rub or dance on the plane of his trousers.

His conversation is over with a quick thanks, bye and Mulder hangs up the phone; he picks up her hand so naturally, as if he’s been doing this for the past five years.

Yes, they’re in love, but when did they cross that line? In Antarctica? In the hallway where they almost kissed? When he told her that she’s his one in five billion? When he flew cross-country, put up with dreadful holiday travelers and an angry big brother to be by her side, for Emily? When they swayed to the voice of Cher under a disco ball?

It takes her a long time to admit that kissing each other’s forehead and cheek is not behavior between platonic friends. Holding hands is not platonic behavior. Caressing cheeks, smoothing hair, and lulling one to sleep are not things platonic friends do. Anyone labeling them as such is simply nuts. No one would believe it unless they were in as much denial as she was.

Scully senses his thumb drawing circles on the back of her hand. In his hand, hers are so tiny and pale. She enjoys the sensation and smiles at him.

“Where’re we going?” She asks.

“Where’re we going?” He copies her tone, sounding like a little 3rd grader.

She presses her lips together, contemplating when will be a good time to kiss him again. She flexes her hand lightly, playfully, dwelling in the simple happiness of feeling his giant hand around hers. She moves her hand in his, tickling his palm, feeling the callus on his finger. It feels like nothing like she’s ever done before.

This is new.

This is new, and it is so new, and Mulder’s trying to play it cool.

-----

thanks for reading. Tagging @today-in-fic, thanks!

[princess-of-the-corner]

Isakai Chloe

So overthinking how Isakai Chloe is working with the timeskip in One Piece; And my half asleep thoughts made this.

Like Chloe gets yeeted out of the MLB universe after Hawkmoth tries blackmailing her on the roof. He uses the Rooster (Somehow doesn’t think to do what the Paris Special did yet) and then goes to the park to have Mayura make a Senti to replace Chloe. Because the Butterfly lets Hawkmoth have empathic abilities they actually make an internally well programmed copy, but because Hawkmoth only cares about the NEGATIVES the Senti is worse than S1-S3 ever was. Hawkmoth doesn’t care about keeping her reputation good. Thus Chloe is seamlessly replaced in canon with Fu, Chat Noir, and Ladybug being the only ones to know that there is a phony-Chloe turned into Miracle Queen. To the rest of Paris Chloe was attacked by Hawkmoth right after her parents were overshadowed. 

Senti-Chloe doesn’t seem to be aware that she isn’t the real Chloe and is left to wander and act independently; with Gabriel and Nathalie nonchalantly holding her life hostage. Adrien and Marinette have to go through their days silently unable to tell their peers that its a fake Chloe; they don’t know what happened to the original. 

Meanwhile Chloe ends up in the Romance Arc of One Piece and seeks the main character! The Echo of this is that the pages of Adrien’s manga collection begin to change to reflect a new character. Luka and Juleka’s copies also change. Juleka tells Rose and Ivan. When Rose tries to ask S!Chloe about pirates she gives a rude, but clueless answer about it. S!Chloe moves on but pays no mind. When Marinette and others go to The Liberty they see the books and learn something is up. Adrien looks at his copies at home and confirms the changes. Adrien and Marinette each pretend to have ‘told’ their respective secret identities about the development. The Class now knows that their Chloe was yeeted out of universe. Sabrina agrees to keep an eye on S!Chloe. The heroes get to keep wrestling with the options of telling Chloe’s parents but don’t want to cause another Malidictator incident.

The time difference isn’t evenly split so Chloe ends up in Sabaody Archipelago arc with only 2-3 months passing in MLB-universe. When Kuma sends the various Straw Hats to their ‘vacations’ Chloe gets sent home to Paris.

Adrien helps hide Chloe at his house. Nobody mentions the thousands of dollars this guy spends on cheese; hiding the food budget for another whole person will be easy. If anything the private chief is relieved that Adrien is eating more fish to balance out his dairy based diet.

Nino’s rebellion is informed about Chloe’s return and now they’re seeking to find S!Chloe’s amok. Since Adrichat and Maribug know that Mayura doesn’t need to be in possession to dispose of a ‘loose end’ insist on taking Mayura’s miraculous first priority. The two of them silently lamenting the other Senti’s killed in the line of duty because of Hawkmoth’s obsession.

Chloe is frustrated and vents to Sabrina. She knew the two year timeskip was going to happen regardless of her actions leading up. She just didn’t think she’d end up in a different world? How was she supposed to get stronger in the wrong universe? How was she supposed to get stronger here? She can’t bring a Miraculous over to the Grand Line. She has to stay in hiding until they can guarantee S!Chloe’s safety.

TBC…

-

Oh hell yeah

[swampstew]

KillerCook Chapter 11

Welcome to Raven’s Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Join us in the family room as we sit around and browse our phones, and eat some Girl Scout cookies as we begin tonight’s story. Rated Mature for language. Minors DNI

*Phone app notification goes ping*

TikTok – KillerCook has uploaded a new video. Check it out!

Title: HACKED Description: This ain’t your regularly scheduled programming punks!5 minute video. The thumbnail is a shadowed figure with a menacing looking ‘X’ mark over the body.

*Press Play?*

The video began with what appeared to be a hostage situation.

KillerCook was tied to a chair with rope and chains, a blindfold over his helmet and duct tape adhered to most of his face holes.

“Uhh, this isn’t what it looks like,” Killer was able to voice out from behind the bondage.

“No, it’s exactly what it looks like,” barked Kid as he stepped into the frame. “This effin idiot was gonna make content on HIS birthday. Not in my house. Today is technically Killer’s birthday but we’re kidnapping – shut the hell up – him so he can actually let his hair down for once in his life.”

Heat stepped into the frame on Killer’s opposite side, “Originally, we were gonna take over the channel and cook for him. BUT, Kid had a light-bulb moment and we developed a scheme to treat the birthday man. You all will be seeing this next week, but rest assured, we’ve got it covered. Wish Killer a happy birthday in the comments and he’ll read them all when we come back!”

Wire came from behind the camera shaking a can of whipped cream, stepping menacingly towards Killer. Aiming the nozzle into one of the helmet holes, he pressed down on the can until Killer began thrashing, white whipped cream oozed from behind the taped holes. “THIS IS FOR THROWING FOOD AT ME ALL YEAR!”

The video transitioned to a blue and white screen with a traditional birthday melody laid over it.

A slideshow of videos and still-shot frames from Killer’s birthday kidnapping started playing.

Killer’s hostage-wear stayed on as the crew drove to the marina, where a punk-looking yacht was moored. The bow of the ship was adorned with a skeletal body, and there were blue and red flames painted to the sides of the hull. Black cursive spelled out the beauty’s name – Victoria Punk.

“The bag over the helmet is really pointless, I know where we are,” Killer’s muffled complaint went ignored as he was marched up the boarding plank.

About 30 pictures went by with various crew members and friends posing with hostage Killer; one photo had him wearing a beer helmet over the bag over his helmet, the straws tucked underneath all the materials to give Killer some libation.

Finally liberated, Killer – dressed down into swim trunks and his helmet – took a running leap off the yacht to cannonball into the sea. As he resurfaced, the rest of the crew cannonballed after him, created a wave of water to shower down on him and the camera, which promptly died.

_______________________

Kid’s pissed-off scowl came into focus as he adjusted the new camera perspective, “{Redacted} idiots killed my phone instead of using the {redacted} GoPro.”

The next clip showed Killer relaxing with a beer bottle in hand, laying against a giant pizza slice pool float as people drifted by him, playing in the water. All was calm until Quincy, Bubblegum, and Heat swam underneath the float and flipped it over. When Killer broke the surface, the laughter tripled as his hair was plastered all over his helmet and chest, but his beer-bottle was still in one of the face holes.

“There’s sea water in my beer,” he said flatly.

A new clip had a heavy metal anthem roaring in the background as the yacht was sailing at high speed on the open ocean. Killer was standing on the bow, holding a Scottish flag, and thrashing his hair to the music.

More photos of the crew and Killer celebrating his birthday with drinking games, strength competitions, and gorging on fresh seafood flooded the TikTok video. Amongst the main crew and personal friends, there were also members of the Straw Hat crew, and even some ‘frenemy’ rivals that had been spoken of but not ever invited on to the KillerCook channel before. By the time the lighting in the photos grew darker, Killer’s helmet had been exchanged for a face mask and his cerulean eyes were noticeably glossy.

“Hap-hic-happy birthday, Kill, -hic- the best-{redacted}-friend a punk could-hic ask for,” slurred Kid as he gripped Killer’s shoulder. Both men swayed as a cake was brought out to the main deck. Sunset had long passed, the yacht was brightly lit up with swarms of bulbs on strings that hung tastefully along the walls and railings.

Everyone began to sing the birthday song and Killer might have shed a tear, shoving a palm roughly to his face.

“{Redacted}-A, I don’t even know what to say,” Killer drawled out. “All I was going to do was make a small cake and smoke my pipe. You {redacted} are so good to me. Well, not all of you, but I like most of yah. Some I don’t know how you got invited, seriously. But I’m glad you’re here celebrating anyways. I don’t have a wish to make, truly. I’ve got everything, everyone. So thanks. Alright I’m not going to get mushy on all you freeloaders!” Killer ripped off his face mask.

With deep-purple stained lips, Killer’s gorgeous smile shined brightly as he took a gulp of air and blew out the sparkler-flame candles. The party participants roared in celebration at the same time an airhorn started blowing off-screen.

The camera quickly panned to the culprit of the sound. A modest sized cruise ship with a flag waving proudly on the masts pulled up portside. On the side of the hull it’s name was proudly presented: The Baratie. The camera’s change in perspective did not allow for viewers to see who let out the strangled, high-pitched scream of excitement.

Sanji was clutching Killer’s soldiers and babbling incoherently before jumping into the water, swimming towards the restaurant ship.

Hands covering his face, Killer sobbed out, “I’m so fucking happy!! LET’S EAT!!!!”

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

[waters-and-the-wilde]

okay gotta shake the brain upside down again and the new ep is going to be out in a couple days so i wanna put this somewhere before we start finding this stuff out

because clearly we're about to get paydirt on Nureyev's Vague Yet Menacing Creditors and I've been thinking that apart from the fact that I bet they have an in with Dark Matters? I also bet these are the same people/entity that helped Jack Takano disappear and gave Ramses O'Flaherty his new identity and access to the Theia technology

possibly they're involved in the form of funding or comprising the development team behind the whole 'signing off on untested tech bit' which makes them also responsible for the whole rogue Theia program. not sure if they snuck it in behind Ramses' back or if it really was a sort of unintended code mutation but the whole mind control bit sure sounds like the kind of thing that would be convenient for them. maybe bit of both. then Newtown happens and they had to call Dark Matters in for the coverup, and Dark Matters benefits from what they do enough to consider them an ally so they were like 'sure we'll sweep this under the rug'

and maybe vice versa, they fund/provide the tech/resources that Dark Matters uses, like wiping their agents' records, which may explain how they could keep Dark Matters from looking too closely at Rex Glass. why'd they sneak a guy into Dark Matters? idk probly they wanted Nureyev to succeed at the Martian artifact heists to keep the payments coming and they weren't technically using him against Dark Matters. (also! maybe this is who's providing the super cutting-edge amongus drone tech?)

can't quite pin down the specifics but this would help tie together all the main threads: Nureyev's debts, Sasha & Dark Matters, Newtown, also the Curemother Prime if part of their whole deal is Pharm/Cryo/Med/Cyber tech, since this is probably also coming back to the poker game and Slip's patent. so they're not related to the four companies involved in the medical debt system but would either stand to gain a great deal if they got hold of the CmP or desperately do not want the Curemother Prime at large for the same reason as the other companies, that they could no longer keep their debtors secure by holding them hostage through their healthcare.

so when Nureyev promises them the four keys they have to plan accordingly; best guess is they let him think the four keys payment will be enough? I can't imagine why he wouldn't assume they'd go after the CmP themselves, but if they're hands-off enough with him it's possible that he was hoping to get away with it as a gambit: promise them the keys while the Aurinkos make off with the CmP, maybe he's even trying to let them think he's been working alone all along

(also wow apart from being anxious as hell about having to sneak off with the four keys, I could see him being extra terrified of a repeat of the Utgard Express thing, succeeding in the heist only to hand-deliver the macguffin to the people they're trying to keep it away from.) and then they steal it and he's nervous and jumpy for the next three days but still thinks he can bring his creditors the four keys and hopes that they'll go on a wild goose chase for a Curemother Prime that isn't there bc fuck knows the other companies won't want it getting out that the CmP has been swiped

but if the Vague Yet Menacing Tech Conglomerate has been in touch with Dark Matters, and Dark Matters has been following this practically from the start -- targeting M'tendere, sending out the impostor drone, trying to neutralize the keys -- then maybe Dark Matters clued them in that somebody else is working with the Aurinkos and they can't find shit on this guy, is he one of of yours? and then they realize Nureyev's not working alone. and then they tip Dark Matters the nod the moment Nureyev reports that he's showing up with his payment because they know what that means.

also! maybe they each think they're using each other, bc the Vague Yet Menacing Tech Conglomerate wants the CmP for their own purposes, and Sasha's letting them go on thinking that if Dark Matters captures it they'll let VYMTC use it, but by the time she's in charge she's probably also decided that instead of being in each other's pockets she's going to bring the VYMTC to heel because that's the only way they'll fit within her greater good vision (and she doesn't want them to help her disappear and has to get Rita to do it)

speaking of Rita i want to know what she knows because she said something about 'then i got into a place I reeeeeeally wasn't supposed to' when she looked Nureyev up so if it's going to take a minute before Juno unlocks the next part of the journal I bet she knows some things about our boy that might be helpful

i am. very excited for Rita Juno Puck escapades but also dear god I miss the Lighthouse Crew so fucking much and it's probably going to be months before we hear anything from them and look i am a slut for a gallows rescue trope and i'm sure we're going to get a good one but i MISS THEM i'm gonna scream

anyway i just had one final thought that just made all my clever little brain thoughts go bang and that's that the VYMTC and the people who helped him disappear are probably entirely separate, or at least that's what i make of 'it pays to have powerful friends when one makes powerful enemies'. so it makes more sense that he's actually in debt to the people who are hiding him from the people Slip played poker with, it's just that all of this is already overcomplicated and a Vague Yet Menacing Agency Pileup could make the story kind of top-heavy so uuhhhhh. I still think there's something to a connection to Ramses and the Theias? godspeed that's a lot of plot points i hope they come together nicely

[delimeful]

you cant go back (3)

warnings: panic, miscommunication, trafficking, non-consensual drug use, suicidal thoughts, food, mentions of torture, cliffhanger, these tags make it sound worse than it is tbh  

-

When Virgil first opened his eyes, jerked out of sleep by sharp instinctual alarm, he’d thought for a moment that he was still dreaming.

It was the same face, after all, even with how frighteningly close it was, even with a vastly different expression painted across it. He’d been confused, almost relieved-- had they gotten away after all?-- and then he’d realized just what the Deathworlder had in their arms.

He’d lunged and come up short, forced to watch as the Human kept their arms locked around Patch even as the creature made unhappy little noises he’d never heard from it before. 

It was so small compared to the Human, easily tucked under an arm and managed regardless of protests. Did they have no respect for the deadly grace of the other creatures on this planet?

They’d circled him from a distance, ignoring his warning twitches and outright hisses as thoroughly as they ignored Patch, and all he could do was watch, locked in place, hoping that Human prey drive wasn’t as high as all the rumors said.

And then the Human had left, taking Patch with them, and Virgil had been left to watch their fading heat signature and pray to Seryl that whatever the Human did would be quick. For both of them.

It wasn’t that easy, of course. The Human wanted something from him, badly.

He thought he had a fair idea of what-- or rather, who-- it was.

After all, he’d seen a near-perfect mirror of them, sitting bound and muzzled in their transfer ship’s holding cell where a Human absolutely shouldn’t be. Leond and her Second had been unnaturally gleeful for rotations before Virgil finally found out about the ‘successful pickup’, namely through stumbling across it by doing the routine security and safety checks that he didn’t trust the rest of these idiots to do themselves.

They’d cut him off before he could get to a comm to tell Janus, cornered him in the tight cell block hall, and offered him a deal: his silence for a cut of the immense earnings they would make from renting out a Human to any and all fighting rings.

He remembered the way the Human’s gaze had flickered between him and the others curiously as he argued, the way they’d struggled to bare their teeth derisively at Leond, even through the bars of their muzzle and the haze of whatever they’d been drugged with. It was one of the last things he’d seen before he’d ‘made a fuss’ big enough that his own crew had tranq’d him and ditched him on-planet to die.

“You’re right,” Leond had said, face smooth in the way that meant smug satisfaction for her species. “We haven’t fulfilled our half of the exchange, have we? We took an alien from that planet, so it’s only fair that we leave one behind.”

His limbs had been defensively raised since the beginning of the argument, but Virgil had fought side by side with these people before. They knew how to guard his blind spots, which meant that they knew his blind spots.

The Human had tried to speak through the muzzle, just before he’d heard the discharge sound of a tranq gun too close to dodge. He thought it might have been an attempted warning.

It hadn’t changed anything. He’d been the only one on that ship who’d opposed the Human’s abduction, and as a reward, he was going to be slowly interrogated to death by one of their clutchmates. The level of cruel irony was like something from one of Jan’s stupid operas.

Virgil felt another shudder of exhaustion. Stars, he hoped Janus would get out of there once he realized what they’d brought back. His best friend knew better than to fuck with Humans, and the crew clearly wasn’t going to listen to any interplanetary ethics lectures, so the best thing he could do was skip town. Better to rebuild than fall with the nest.

He hadn’t slept after the Human had left, flipping to his heat sensor vision and watching all night for their return, unable to relax after one of the most unpleasant awakenings of his life. And if it meant he didn’t dream about what could have happened to Patches, all the better.

The next day had come, and the Human returned, wielding that dull stick and asking more angry questions that Virgil couldn’t understand, let alone respond to.

The thing was, given enough time and exposure, he actually would be able to understand the specifics of what was wanted from him.

Like most long-term interstellar travelers, he had a Lator implant, and the more the Human talked at him, the more linguistic patterns and trends would be picked up and catalogued, making it much easier for him to put the pieces together.

Unfortunately, time wasn’t something he had an excess of.

Janus would have figured out at least the basics by now; in addition to being better with words, he’d gotten a more recent, effective upgrade to the implant’s software. Virgil had turned the offer down for himself, knowing that they needed to save money where they could, and figuring that he didn’t really need it. His job was to defend Janus. His First could handle the talking part of their missions on his own with ease, the chatterbox that he was.

It had seemed obvious at the time. A lot of good that logic was doing him now.

The Human said something at him, flashing his bone-white teeth as he spoke. Humans didn’t have guard plates over their mouths at all, and so every time this one turned to him, he felt as though they were either acting sickeningly overfamiliar or that they might lunge forward and try to bite him at any moment. He’d carefully kept his own plates locked, not willing to expose any teeth and have it mistaken for a challenge.

The Human was waiting expectantly. Virgil took a deep breath and replied, the same as he had every time he could, though he doubted Humans had access to translator implants.

“I am not here to harm anyone. I was abandoned here against my will. I can’t understand what you’re saying,” he recited in Guard-tongue, keeping the sentences brief and repetitive for easy translation pattern recognition.

The Human wasn’t extending him the same courtesy, his own sentences long-winded and full of unfamiliar concepts that kept tripping up the Lator programming. References, probably.

There was one Human word that he’d figured out fairly early on: Brother.

Clutchmate, family, the lookalike that was probably long gone by now.

He was almost glad that he couldn’t speak coherently. As it was, he didn’t have to be the one to break the news.

Almost, because the Human was stubbornly finding new and creative ways to freak him the hell out with each visit.

First, they’d figured out fairly quickly that he was slowly starving.

Virgil had flooded his plates right to pitch on their first meeting, and hadn’t been calm enough to stop the defensive reaction since, which had quickly drained what little hydration stores he’d had left. Between the drying out of his plates and the fact that he’d gotten too worked up and blacked out for a moment during an interrogation, his fading health wasn’t exactly subtle.

He’d panicked, because any enemy knowing his weakness was generally pretty fucking bad, let alone an enemy with personal motive and ability to twist that weakness like a knife in the spine.

The Human had verbally freaked out (a regular occurrence) and vanished for a while, before returning to the barn with an entire array of items (not a regular occurrence). They’d set the items out on flat fiber ‘plates’ and then slid them into range with that stupid stick.

Virgil had stabbed a few of them on principle before realizing that this was food, aided by the Human rolling his eyes pointedly-- a derisive gesture, he’d gathered-- and eating something from a plate of their own.

At that point, Virgil had been willing to risk poison. The way he saw it, he either died, or he ate something, and either way it meant stopping the slow, aching pain eating away at the pit of his stomach.

He’d even been willing to tolerate the Human staring at him, since apparently they didn’t have the manners to not watch a stranger eat. Or that wasn’t a thing on this planet. It didn’t really matter.

After a significant amount of time spent using his auxiliary limbs to delicately maneuver Human produce and meats into inspection range, he settled for what smelled the least concerning, avoiding any that smelled or looked too bright to be safe.

(The scrunched-up look the Human had given him after he’d crunched an egg in his throat had been hard to interpret, though.)

Anything he could safely ingest, he’d eaten. After the Human left, he’d even attempted the indignity of trying to lift the bowl of water in range with wobbly limbs, though he’d almost immediately spilled the majority of it all over himself. It didn’t matter, he could pull any and all hydration from what he’d eaten, though he didn’t dare get used to it.

This wasn’t his first time above the nest, and he hadn’t fooled himself into believing that this shocking show of generosity would last. The Human had only done it to make sure that their hostage wouldn’t keel over.

Starvation and dehydration were more-than-effective methods of hands-off torture, after all, and the Human really only needed to give him enough to keep him alive.

The impending mistreatment shouldn’t have shaken him as much as it did. He had the advantage of the Human’s ignorance on how much Chelcerae ate, and his own resilience, developed from years of scraping by on the barest of rations. He was lucky, really, to be one of the species with a water-storing organ.

Still, he spent the night wondering if it was worth it to keep fighting. There was no escape, so wouldn’t it be better to go out on his own terms, before anything truly horrendous could happen to him?

Probably. The real question was: would he have the fortitude to turn down food all the way to a slow and painful death-via-starvation?

He wasn’t sure, and he continued to be resentful of the fact that he even had to make such a choice all the way up until the next day, when the Human walked in with a plate covered in everything he’d eaten yesterday and slid it over to him, simple as anything.

“What?” the Human snapped after a moment of Virgil watching them for any indication of what to do, and he’d hurriedly flickered his heat sensor eyes in hopes of placating any offense. The Human had grumbled indistinctly, but didn’t attempt to remove the plate or even threaten to do so.

The next day was the same. Though the Human continued to try and interrogate and occasionally intimidate him, the food and drink was provided without stipulation or hesitation. It was… strange.

Virgil refused to read into it. Perhaps Humans just had meals so frequently that skipping a single day would be as barbaric as weeks of starvation for Chelcerae. Maybe once the Human had enough of his noncompliance, they were going to feast on his flesh and didn’t want a stringy meal. It was impossible to know.

The generous feeding schedule was nothing, though, compared to some of the other questionable tendencies the Human had.

They traversed the grounds in and around the barn with little wariness, apparently quite confident in their ability to defend themself on the Deathworld they’d grown up on. They brushed insects and plant matter alike off their person with little care for poisons or bites.

Their body language seemed to consist of every threat display in the wayfarer guidebook, and worse, only a quarter of these threat displays seemed intentional. Virgil was constantly tense, attempting to figure out which were intended to cow him, and how to keep his own body language from worsening the damage. Any signal of terrified compliance, even the obvious tremor of his auxiliary limbs, only seemed to prompt wariness and confusion from the Human.

They’d found his helmet and immediately put it on, which had made his fuzz prickle with hope for a moment, before remembering that the reserve battery of the headset was well and truly dead. No emergency translators for the Human, and no upturns in luck for Virgil.

Maybe it was better. Even if the Human could talk to him, he would seem just as guilty for their brother’s disappearance in their eyes. It wasn’t even an accusation he could reasonably defend against; if things had gone differently, if he’d made smarter choices, maybe he could have gotten the captured Human free.

Janus would have managed it. He’d always been a quicker mind than Virgil.

It’d been three days since the Human had found him, and Virgil had barely managed to parse a handful of imperatives and nouns from someone who was basically just yelling the same things at him over and over.

“You can’t ---- the ---- ---------, you ----- --------! I ---- what I ---- and --- ----- to it!” the Human yelled, essentially proving his point. Virgil resisted the urge to let his chin drop down to his collar in exhausted resignation.

It was difficult to focus past the old pains from the fight with Leond, and the new pains from being strapped upright for days on end. Even if he could bring himself to pay closer attention, it wouldn’t make it easier to parse words he had no context for. Lator technology worked best when both parties were exchanging words, or at the very least, when there was more than one native speaker prattling on at you!

The Human inhaled to continue and then froze, prompting Virgil to slink his shoulders up slightly, something that had worked to show his non-aggression once or twice before. The Human wasn’t focused on him, though, whirling around to face the barn doors with their body rigid.

Because he’d never been good at uncertainty, Virgil flicked his heat-sensor eyes open just as another Human-sized mass reached the doors, moving in a predator’s stalk.

Well, he thought as the door creaked open, I’m screwed.