#never forget when she shot him in the shoulder to prevent him from implicating himself for his fathers death while he was being dosed w lsd | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlit-reveriee · 3 years

Text

Baby Blue

technoblade x fem!reader

concept: techno is scared of ‘corrupting’ the reader, but the reader’s kinda into it...

content warning // NSFW, virgin!reader, very minor angst?, small argument that gets resolved

listen to this while you read: BBBlue (Single) by Olivver the Kid

(this fic was heavily inspired by the lyrics of this song, so i highly recommended giving it a listen!)

───※ ·❆· ※───

When Techno found out you were a virgin, he was terrified. Not necessarily of the thought itself, but of the implications.

He’d never forget the look on your face when you told him. You tried to be casual about it, but he knew you well enough to spot the dusting of pink across your cheeks. You nuzzled yourself closer into his side. Whether out of embarrassment or something else entirely, he couldn’t tell. All he could feel was his heart dropping as the voices chanted at him to “ruin her”

Of course you, his pure sweet angel, would be a virgin. He once again crumbled under the idea that you had chosen him. How on earth could a person like you even think of being with a beast like him. Yet alone, giving up your virginity to him.

He hated how horribly turned on he was by the thought of taking it.

The voices had been relentless about it ever since. They were hyper focused on your every move, twisting every thought of his into something promiscuous. When you rolled out of bed in the morning and stretched, a small sigh escaping your lips, it was endless cries of “make her do that again” “you should fuck those moans out of her” “make her scream”

While making breakfast together in the morning, they wouldn’t stop telling him to “bend her over the counter” “take it right here”

Even at times where he was alone, the voices preoccupied him with endless thoughts of you. He was fairly certain they had forced him to imagine every possible way in which he could have you. “imagine fucking her against the wall” “you can be gentle for the first time y’know” “she’d feel so good writhing underneath us” “press her face into the mattress instead” “make her get on her knees and suck you off” “she’ll be such a pretty little slut for us”

He tried to take care of himself as often as he could, but it was becoming impossible to keep up with. There were only so many times a day he could jerk himself off alone behind locked doors. He was desperate, and sexually frustrated to say the least.

He felt disgusting for it.

After a week of this torment, he could barely even look at you yet alone touch you without the voices and his own guilt pounding against his skull. You couldn’t even think about broaching the subject again, because he was avoiding physical contact like the plague. He wouldn’t come to bed until he knew you were asleep, and would leave long before you woke.

As much as he tried to hide it, you could tell he was tired. Something was wrong, but you knew that he’d never just tell you about his problems unprompted. Techno was insufferably stubborn in that way. After several days of avoiding your gaze and leaning away from your touch, you chose to confront him.

“Techno”, you called for his attention quietly, trying to sound stern while remaining gentle with him. He didn’t turn to fully face you, but he glanced at the spot on the wall just above your head.

You struggled to find the words you wanted to say, so you settled on telling him, “Techno, you look tired.”

He turned his attention away from you. “Just a lot of work around the house this week. I’ll be fine after I rest.”

“Then come to bed with me.” You saw the way his body tensed and tilted away from you at that simple suggestion.

“I just need to write a couple letters first. You can go ahead of me.”

“Techno...”, you whined, daring to take a step closer to him. He gave you an almost panicked look, “why does it feel like you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you”, he responded quickly, trying to look through you instead of at you.

“Yes you have”, you responded firmly. A flash of guilt washed over his face at your tone. “You haven’t kissed or touched me for nearly a week now. I don’t even know for sure if you sleep in the same bed as me anymore. Fuck, you barely even talk to me.”

Angry tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, but you wanted to hold them in. Techno felt his chest tighten at the sight of it. He instinctively turned and reached out to comfort you, but forced himself to freeze.

“There”, you said, gesturing towards him, “just like that. You’re stopping yourself. Why are you doing that?”

He repeatedly opened and closed his fists at his side, wanting to have any conversation other than this one.

“[y/n], there’s just a lot going on in my mind right now”, he said. It wasn’t a complete lie. “I just need to work though it.”

“Then let me help you.”

“No”, he responded a little too quickly, “I- I mean, I just don’t want to talk about it with you yet...”

“Why not?”, you retorted, trying to squeeze any information you could out of him.

“I just don’t, okay? It’s uncomfortable, I don’t want to talk about it yet.”

“... is this about me being a virgin?”

“I never said that”, he replied, but the tension in his shoulders was enough to tip you off.

“Ah geez Technoblade, if it was that much of a problem for ya, you should have just told me”, you said sarcastically, “instead of avoiding all physical contact for a like week straight!”

“It’s not a problem, [y/n].”

“Certainly doesn’t feel that way.”

Techno huffed in frustration, grabbing a fistful of his hair at the root. He wasn’t sure if he was more upset with himself, or the fact that a few of the voices were still begging him to “please fuck her already”

“Love, I wasn’t avoiding you because I didn’t want it. They”, he tapped a finger against the side of his skull, “they want it so badly. It’s driving me insane.”

He breathed in and out shakily, trying to gauge your expression in the brief moments before he continued.

“I’m a monster. I’ve spilt more blood than anyone every should in a single lifetime. My appearance is more beast than man.”

He looked up briefly to find you staring right at him, a tight-lipped frown upon your face.

“What does that have to do with any of this?”

“I- ... I don’t want to corrupt your innocence”, he admitted.

“What on earth do you mean by that?”

“[y/n], you’re so perfect”, he answered almost breathlessly, “you’re so kind and so pure. Just living with me does enough to taint your reputation, I don’t wanna-“

He cut himself off to swallow thickly. He almost seemed scared of the words he was going to say next.

“I don’t want to ruin this part of you either...”

A heavy silence filled the tiny sitting room of techno’s cottage. In those few seconds, your eyes widened ever so slightly as his words suddenly clicked in your mind. This hulking boar of a man, an undisputed war criminal, was scared. He was scared of damaging you, your reputation, or your recently revealed ‘innocence’. Compared to himself, he saw you as a pure being who could be tainted by unwholesome thoughts.

If what he said about the voices was true, then his actions of the past few days would’ve made sense for him.

“Oh techno...”, you muttered softly, tentatively placing a hand on his jaw. His posture was curled inward, making him look small despite his size. He was stiff at first, but allowed you to lift his gaze to meet yours. He searched your eyes desperately for an indication of your reaction. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“Do you remember when we first met?”

A small wave of confusion washed over his face, but he nodded anyways. “It was at the festival...”

“That’s right”, you said, moving the hand on his face down to rest over his shoulder, “and do you remember what I did that day?”

“You threw an axe into Schlatt’s shoulder”, he answered, watching as the scene played out in his memory.

You lived with Niki in her bakery at the time, and witnessed firsthand the injustice she faced during Schlatt’s presidency. As the chaos after Tubbo’s execution occurred, you took the opportunity to hurl your axe where Schlatt stood upon his podium. The blow wasn’t fatal, but that wasn’t necessarily your goal. You just wanted to see the man in pain.

“It was a lucky shot really”, you admitted, “I wasn’t even aiming properly.” That managed to draw a small smile onto Techno’s lips.

“And do you remember”, you continued, “when I tried to confront the Butcher Army by myself?”

He grimaced at the thought. You had told him you just needed to make a quick trip to L’manburg for some supplies, leaving him at home alone to recover from the previous day’s events. You returned that evening with a sprained wrist and a couple large bruises forming on your body. None of them were trying to kill you, but you took a pretty good beating from Quackity just for trying to confront them.

“Why are you bringing all of this up now?”, he asked.

“Because”, you said, “this is the evidence that will support my next point.”

He looked bewildered by that statement, but continued to listen.

“I’m not a perfect person”, you resumed, “I have blood on my hands just like you do. I know it’s hard to compare to you, but I’m not devoid of my own sins. I can be mean, I’ve hurt people. I’m not a pure, angelic being who would quiver at a single inappropriate thought. I think you forget that sometimes.”

He let your words swirl around in his head; he couldn’t deny the logic in them. The evidence prevented him from denying the truth of your statement. He could almost be mad that you’d talked him into a corner, but he was more overjoyed at the fact that you knew him well enough to do so.

“And you know...”, you spoke quietly, letting your hand fall down to rest on his chest, “if you did somehow ‘corrupt my innocence’ as you say... I really wouldn’t mind that.”

Techno’s breath hitched in his throat. There were a brief few moments, maybe minutes, where he just stared at you. Then his lips were on yours; sudden and clumsy, but passionate. You gripped the fabric of his shirt as he grabbed at your waist, desperate to have you in his arms again.

“I’m sorry, I had to”, he muttered, his lips left hovering a hair’s breadth away from yours.

“You’re so silly sometimes”, you sighed affectionately, rubbing small circles into his collarbone. He gave you a gentle smirk before pressing another kiss into your lips.

“I’m sorry darling, I really am”, he said as he drew you into a tight hug. He took in your scent and the feel of your skin for the first time in days. It felt like he could survive off the feeling of your arms wrapped around his body alone. He wondered why he ever let himself be depraved of this.

“You know I trust you, right?”, you spoke with your face pressed into his chest.

“I’m not sure why, but yes.”

You decided not to reprimand him for saying that. You could help him unpack all that later. Instead, you brought your head up to whisper in his ear.

“You have my full and unconditional consent to take my virginity whenever you’re ready.”

Techno inhaled and held his breath, though for what, he wasn’t sure. It took a while for the full weight of those words to sink in. He leaned back to stare at your face, bringing one of his large and shaky hands up to cup your cheek.

“Are you sure?”, his eyes were wide with trepidation, practically pleading with you to tell him the truth. You leaned into his palm, indulging in the feeling of his skin on yours.

“I want you, techno. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Techno was lost in your words. The sudden absence of guilt left his heart light and airy in his chest. For the first time in days, the voices were only a gentle murmur.

“she’s so beautiful” “she wants you” “make her feel good” “show her how special she is” “make her smile” “she’ll be so pretty” “she’s always pretty” “be gentle, no need to rush”

“make love to her”

“... I think I’m ready now.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

ayyyy guess who finally finished writing something!!!

parts of this feel a little rushed but ehhhhhh i was just excited to finally post it. i looove writing techno as an extremely self-conscious character who’s too caught up in their own head to see how ridiculous they’re being. so, this was a treat for me to write

i hope you enjoyed :D

-moonlight

#c!techno #red:moon #mcyt x reader #techno x reader #technoblade x reader #mcyt smut #techno smut

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light: Ch. 15

After shooting Mulder to prevent him from implicating himself in his father's murder, Scully takes Mulder & Melissa on a road trip to Albert Hosteen's Navajo reservation in New Mexico.

TW for mentions of guns/shooting, death, funerals

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His eyes flutter open to some place like Heaven, which pisses him off cause that’s not supposed to exist, and if it does, then how in the hell did he make it here? A fiery-haired angel lays a gilded hand upon his chest, her touch made out of air. Tendrils of hair fall against her face, and Mulder wonders where one gets haircuts in Heaven.

He must be floating on a cloud, so close to the sun that it is stained an earthly golden-yellow. His sky accommodation is not as comfortable as all those Renaissance painters made it look, and for that he feels deceived. Is the soul so solid that it is weighed down, even in Heaven? And if it is, well, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a soul?

He is fatigued, and it’s bullshit, in his opinion, that he could be dead and still feel anything but blissful numbness. He’s about to voice this particular grievance when he realizes where he is, and sure English is turning into a lingua franca of sorts, but something tells him that God isn’t spending his spare time teaching the angels the difference between too and to. So he keeps his mouth shut, unnerved by not knowing whether he’ll ever be able to speak his mind again.

“Hey,” a soft voice breathes, and he’s surprised to understand it, but not altogether upset. He tries to respond, but his tongue has tethered itself to the base of his mouth.

“Mulder…” the voice says, and it registers in his mind that it’s not an angel--not technically--but Dana Katherine Scully, and my god, what atrocity has dared to send her to Heaven so damn soon?

He coughs, then grumbles from deep in his throat. He’s got to be the most undignified person in this joint, and he can only hope his welcome dinner with God isn’t anytime soon. The angel’s hand that is actually his partner’s drifts over his forelock, her fingers guiding his hair back into its part.

“Mulder, can you hear me?”

He nods, hungry for some sense of things.

“You were shot, Mulder. By me. Because you were acting very stupid.”

She killed him?!? Maybe he shouldn’t be so shocked by this, but he can’t help himself. And she’s here too, so how did that happen? Murder-suicide?

Her hand sweeps his shoulder, and he looks down to see the space where her bullet must have pierced him. Patched up right above his heart. He didn’t expect to carry wounds into the afterlife.

Her eyes meet his, blue as ever. “I’ve been taking care of you, and you’ll be just fine.”

His lips form an O, but no sound follows.

“Let me get you some water.” Scully disappears from his line of sight, and he realizes that his cloud has a roof and an open door. You can’t see those from the ground.

Scully returns with a plastic water bottle. Deer Park, to be exact--another thing he didn’t expect to find in Heaven. She holds it to his lips, tilting the liquid gently into his mouth. He revels in it, vitality slowly being returned to him.

At last, his tongue functions as it should. “Where are we, Scully?” he asks, his voice creaky. He’s beginning to think it’s not Heaven after all, but the back of his partner’s Chevy. Which feels about as equally likely, if he’s honest.

“At a gas station In Texas, about two miles off I-40,” she answers, twisting the cap back on the bottle. “We’re headed to a Navajo reservation in New Mexico.”

Met with the realization that his life is not, in fact, over, Mulder tries to piece together the last moments he can remember. He squints, the sun outside the vehicle colliding with the darkness in his brain. He remembers a fever and a bed that was not his.

“Did I sleep in your bed?” he asks, fairly confident that more important things before and after have slipped his mind.

“You did indeed,” Scully replies. And before he can get to it--”Melissa and I shared.”

“Ah.” He pushes himself up, every muscle in his arms rebelling.

Scully pats his shoulder. “You should stay reclined.”

“I’m like a whale in a fish bowl back here,” he protests. And he’s not wrong, Scully knows this. To fit him in, she leaned his head against the driver’s side windowsill and let his bare feet push against the passenger side door, then said a silent prayer that there would be no potholes.

“Why can’t I come up front?” he whines. “I’ll lean the seat back.”

“Because Missy’s sitting there.”

Mulder glances into the front, his expectations of privacy shattered. Still, an empty passenger’s seat meets his gaze. “Well, where is she then?” he pesters, more pointed than intended.

Scully chuckles. You can put a hole in the man’s chest, but you can’t take the restlessness out of him. “She’s inside getting snacks.” Scully smiles at her partner, fondness flowing out in a way she rarely lets it. He’s been out for a couple days now--and while she was closely monitoring him and knew he was okay--she’s so glad that he has come back to her. “Do you want sunflower seeds?” she asks with a sparkle in her eyes.

He nods. “Sp--”

“Spitz.” The moments that have gotten them there, that have indebted her with that knowledge, flash through her mind. “I know.”

And it feels almost prophetic, to Mulder, that she does.

--------------------

The plains of North Texas roll past them, headlights and moonlight meeting in a demure embrace. The two-lane road bears a great resemblance to many they’ve gone down in days past. There’s no one else in sight.

Mulder has been relieved of his back seat duties, taking Melissa’s place at the passenger side so she could get some sleep. He’s slipped on the shirt Scully swiped from his apartment, a Knicks 1990 tee that she must have found in the corner of the living room where he throws his dirty clothes. He wonders if she even packed anything for herself before she hightailed it out of the city.

He couldn’t have imagined that punching Skinner would lead to his father dead, him shot by his partner, and them on the run across the country. And yet, there’s no place he’d rather be. The desert gifting them with a stunningly clear night, he’s opened the car’s sunroof and kicked back to stare up at the stars. The radio having long turned to static, quiet permeates the car.

“I’d gladly live in the middle of nowhere if I got this view every night,” Mulder remarks, drinking in the night sky.

Scully glances at him. There’s a rogue part of her brain that hoped he’d be looking back at her. Alas, the sky is his mistress.

They continue barreling down the highway, about seven hours out from their destination. The speedometer reads 87 mph...Scully is prone to speeding when she can get away with it.

“Keep it up and we’ll beat the sunrise,” Mulder jests.

“That’s the plan.”

Mulder pulls his seat back into place, popping suddenly into Scully’s peripheral vision. “Hey Scully, can I ask you a question?”

“If I said no, would that stop you?”

“Negative.”

“Go on, then.”

“Setting aside the why--though I’d be interested in that, too--how exactly did you decide that shooting me near the heart would be the safest bet?...Unless you wanted to kill me.”

“Well, I was pretty certain I’d be able to remove the bullet with what you had in your apartment, since the wound isn’t near a bone. That also makes it easier to prevent infection.”

“So you either have an insane amount of confidence in your shot, or you don’t value me very much,” he quips.

Scully smirks. “Lucky for you, I consider target practice a great stress reliever.”

“Does the Bureau psychologist know that?”

She bats his arm playfully, the car swerving as she does.

“Hey, that’s no way to treat a patient. Now I know why you’re not practicing.”

“Oh, did I forget to mention…? I’ve decided that I prefer Dr. Scully to Special Agent Scully, so this is the last you’ll be hearing from me.”

Mulder chuckles, though the very idea that there could be any truth to that gives him a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. “There are millions of doctors out there,” he says, “and some of them aren’t even the cool type. Special Agent? That’s way sexier.”

“Oh, is that the metric we’re measuring at now?”

“That’s the metric I’m always measuring at,” he deadpans.

“Mmm.” Scully looks at the rearview mirror, her sister’s steady-breathed sleep reflecting back at her. Good. She’d never hear the end of it if Missy overheard this conversation.

Mulder rubs his eyes, the events prior to his blackout having flowed back to him through the waking hours. “I’m sure I’ll regret asking this,” he begins, “but am I a fugitive?”

Scully glances out the driver’s window, as if she were going to change lanes though there is nowhere to go and no one else around. “I took your weapon to ballistics and proved it wasn’t the one used in the murder.” She says it so casually, Mulder notices, distancing them from the fact that the victim was his father. “But you’re still the only one placed at the scene, and it doesn’t look good that you called the police then ran. Still, the evidence implies that it wasn’t you. Of course, there’ll be suspicion…”

“Especially since we’ve both disappeared…”

“Hey, we’re on FBI business,” Scully declares. “We didn’t go through the official channels, but this is related to the X-Files.”

“Maybe Skinner will believe that if he hears it from you.”

“That’s what I’m banking on.”

Mulder smiles. She’s using her reputation to pull off a ruse. And damn, does that turn him on.

He breathes in the scents of the car--the McDonalds fries they bought with Melissa’s credit card (just to be safe), his own eau de cologne from three days without a shower, but, above all, Scully’s sweetness. Her, just...her. A hint of strawberry, a swipe of gardenia perfume, and her honey-suckle skin. Smoke was never a fitting scent for her, and he is glad she has given it up.

“I��m guessing it’s safe to say you never caught up to Krycek,” Mulder mutters, balling up the fast-food straw paper and tossing it in the air. “Unless you’ve got him in the trunk.”

Scully shakes her head. “No stowaways besides you. He ran off after I shot and catching him wasn’t exactly my top priority.”

“So you do value my life…”

Scully flashes a brilliant but bashful smile. “You caught me.”

What a relationship they have. They are each other’s slayer and savior; a cut of the knife stitched by a meticulous hand. Hurt then healed on the other’s command.

“Fox…”

Mulder glances at the backseat. He finds Melissa sound asleep, snoring softly, and his gaze snaps back to the other Scully in the car. What glitch in the universe has led her to address him by his dreaded name?

He has never been so sure as in this moment---his partner is an otherworldly being, something supernatural. Not an alien, nothing so sinister...but perhaps the angel he imagined, or a fairy who has guided mankind for millennia, or a genie granting his wishes in freeze-frames. She looks through him...not in a way which makes him invisible, but one that takes the physical aspect out of it entirely. She sees his soul. He knows this.

“Fox,” she continues, layering on the vulnerability, “I’m sorry about your father. I know you loved him, above it all.”

Mulder pinches the bridge of his nose. “Something like that...I don’t know, honestly, that he ever loved me.” He looks at his lap. “He spent his last breath asking for forgiveness. You have to wonder what he’s done with his life to end up there.”

“It all becomes clear at the end,” Scully responds, not so much a hypothesis as a statement of fact, drawn from experience. “His regrets caught up to him, and he loathed some things he did while cursing himself for the things he left undone...And in that moment, an apology was all he could do to right some wrongs.”

Mulder looks at her through the corner of his eye, somewhat disturbed by the oracle she has become. “He asked me to forgive him,” Mulder replies. “That’s not the same as an apology.”

“Isn’t it, though?’

Mulder crosses his arms over his chest, the lumpy gauze of his wound rubbing him through his shirt. “Well, first of all, he didn’t even specify what I was supposed to forgive him for, so I don’t see how that can yield any sort of apology. And the very fact that was saying it at the end of his life means that it wasn’t actually about soothing my feelings, but lessening his guilt. Really, it didn’t have a damn thing to do with me.”

“So you’re saying it was a selfish apology, and that doesn’t count.”

“Exactly.”

“So do apologies only work if the recipient accepts them?” Scully interjects. “Is there no value in the attempt?”

Mulder bites his lip.

“I’m not trying to play devil’s advocate,” she clarifies. “I’m genuinely curious about what you think.”

He sighs. “I think...what matters is not necessarily if the apology is accepted, but the intent of it. Like in this case, it was ill-timed, and so I don’t accept it. Maybe if he had said it to me ten years ago, it would have mattered, even if I were too stubborn to accept it at the time.”

“So if your father had apologized to you ten years ago, you would accept it now that he’s dead…?”

Mulder shrugs. “I think I’d realize that he actually meant it, and so I should cut him some slack.”

“Interesting.” Scully says nothing else, keeping her attention straight ahead.

Mulder smirks. “You don’t agree with me, do you?”

She pulls her lips into a tightly-knitted line. “No, no, that makes sense. I just think there are instances when a poorly-timed apology is accepted, and what then? Is the inevitable misunderstanding that will result the recipient’s fault for being so naive? Or do they get to place all the blame on the dishonest person?”

“How about a little bit of both, ey? Spread the blame out nice and evenly. A sprinkle there, a pinch here...”

Scully cracks a smile. Of course he’d make this conversation dirty. “You know, you scare me sometimes, Mulder.”

And just like that, they’re back to his preferred name. He lets out a sideways smile. “Yeah? Why?”

“Because I think that maybe you’re truly crazy, you’re not just faking it.”

He laughs, deep and sudden. Pulled from the trenches of his being. “Glad to hear it,” he snickers. “Glad to hear it.”

-------------------------

As the motorcycle rumbles over the desert dust, Scully wonders how she could be so stupid. Barely out of psychosis and she sends Mulder to a burial ground. She didn’t intend for it to be his final resting place.

Eric had tried to warn him before the helicopter men, as he called them when describing the scene to Scully and Melissa, burned the place. But Mulder couldn’t hear him over the whirl of the blades--that’s what Eric suspected. As he recounted to the girls, the smoking man had threatened him, had laid a grotesque hand on him and forced him to show the way back to his house. They interrogated his father Albert and bruised and bloodied him. The conclusion, all around, was that nobody knew where Mulder was. Regardless of whether he had burned in that boxcar or somehow disappeared into the desert beforehand, he was gone.

Scully has a pretty clear idea of who’s responsible, and she wishes she had a helicopter she could ram into their dumb black helicopter to wipe them off the face of the Earth... and prevent them from wiping anyone else off the face of the Earth. Thwarting their ambitions will have to be enough.

But how? Desert heat mixes with smoldering ash as she stands over what’s left of the boxcar, making the moment unbearable. It is obvious to her that if Mulder was still in the boxcar when the ignitor went off, he is now dead. No human can survive that magnitude of burning--he would, in fact, be incinerated. Not a piece of him left behind, identifiable even to Scully’s trained eye.

And if he wasn’t in the boxcar, if he heard the helicopter and gave himself over to the desert? What then? Surely he would have found his way back to where she was standing by now. Surely she’d be able to see him, hear him, touch him. There’d be proof he was something more than ashes. Maybe even, he might have made it back to the motel. But Melissa is keeping watch, and she hasn’t said a word. Missy would not play games about this.

Logic prevailing, as it often does with her, Scully lets Eric drive her back to the motel. If he’s not here, then he’s there. And if he’s not there then--well, she knows. And isn’t it just like Mulder to leave her enough evidence to point one way without giving her the proof she needs to conclude? She imagines a funeral sans a body and shutters.

When they get back to the motel and Missy opens the door and she is alone in the room, Scully is not surprised. She is shattered. It’s like learning the day you’ll die, then waking up on that day and recoiling at the calendar. What will be cannot be stopped. Not by any power of persuasion. Any.

She wants to scream, cry, file a personal complaint with God. Instead, she walks through the door, thanks Eric for his help, then asks her sister what she wants for dinner. Scully’s not hungry--she rarely is these days, and how could she be at a time like this?--but Melissa, she’s human, and she’s been waiting around all day, and all they have in the room is a quarter-full bag of gummy worms, so yeah, Scully decides, Missy probably is hungry. And that’s something she can take care of.

Missy looks at her sister like--well, like she said she just saw an alien. “Dana, you’re not well.” Then, after getting no reaction--”It’s okay to be upset.”

Scully throws her blazer over a chair. ”I didn’t say I wasn’t upset.”

Missy sits down on the bed and pats the space next to her. “Come on, let’s talk about it.”

Scully throws her hands in the air. “He’s gone, Melissa, what else can I say?” She paces through the room. “If he was in the box car, he burned to death. And if he wasn’t, then shouldn’t we have found him by now?”

“Not necessarily,” Missy counters. “Albert told me about the Anasazi, a tribe that lived here hundreds of years ago.”

“I know, I know. They disappeared, historians have no explanation for it.”

‘“That’s what they say. But, honestly, Dana--nothing disappears without a trace. Mulder included.”

Scully shoots her a look. “So what is your explanation? That he was abducted, despite there being multiple witnesses who didn’t see a thing?”

“He called you, he said he saw something in the boxcar.”

Scully nods. “Bodies...lots of them. He said they didn’t look human. And they all had smallpox vaccination scars.”

“What do you make of that?”

Scully shrugs. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the Anasazi.”

“So why did the men burn the boxcar?”

“It could have been because Mulder was in there, and they wanted to kill him. Or because what’s in there was damning to them.”

Missy bites her lip. “Did the boxcar blow up?”

“No, but it’s still smoldering.”

“Could you go in tomorrow and take a look? See what you can find?”

“Missy, I doubt there’s anything left. And besides, I’ve already ignored about thirty calls from Director Skinner. I need to get back to DC...I’m lucky if I’ll still have a job.”

“Fuck the job. Think of Mulder.”

“I need to consider both if I’m actually to uncover any of the conspiracies that Mulder--and his father and so many others--died as a result of.”

Melissa frowns. Dana’s already counting her partner out...that’s hard to come back from, being christened as a corpse. She sighs. ”Alright, I’m going to preface this by saying that I truly don’t believe that Mulder’s dead, and I know you will find him.”

Scully’s eyes narrow, intrigued by her sister’s shift in tone. “Okay…”

“There’s a technique that I learned from my therapist friend,” Missy begins, already setting off alarm bells in Scully’s head, “that is meant to help process complicated feelings about a person.”

Scully purses her lips as Missy continues--”It’s used to find clarity and--if it’s someone you’ve lost, literally or metaphorically--to give closure. I think it would help you establish a clear motivation to keep up your work on the X-Files.”

Scully’s forehead creases right between the eyebrows. “I just told you, I have one.”

“Yes, but if you go back to Washington, bureaucracy’s gonna get in the way of all of that. That’s why you drove out here in the first place, isn’t it? To avoid bureaucracy and push forward with the case?”

“I suppose,” Scully mumbles.

“And that’s exactly what Mulder would have done, and that’s what he would want you to do now.”

“This is beginning to sound like one of those ‘if x jumped off a bridge, would you?’ scenarios,” Scully retorts.

“But with the opposite sentiment,” Melissa clarifies. “You and Mulder have never been closer to finding the truth. Now do you want to hear my suggestion or not?”

Hands on her hips, Scully’s silence commands Missy to continue.

“Let me remind you that Mulder is not dead, and this is just an exercise.”

Scully nods, more to keep her moving than in agreement.

“I want you to write a eulogy for him.”

Scully’s mouth drops open in protest. “And this is going to advance the investigation how?”

“By giving you emotional clarity. Essentially, you’ll realize how much he means to you, and it will push you to do whatever you can to complete the investigation.”

Scully scoffs. “You act like I don’t even like him or something.”

“You like him, but you’re afraid of imitating him. There’s a lack of...respect for his methods. And they’re the only way this case is gonna get solved.”

Scully crosses her arms. “Gee, apparently you should have gone to Quantico in my place.” It’s not that she’s afraid, per say, but that she doesn’t think Mulder’s unconventional approach will work. Two plus years in and she still believes herself more than him. She wishes she didn’t.

“You don’t have to read the eulogy out loud,” Missy coos, knowing full well that she’ll be sneaking around during the night to get her hands on it when her sister refuses to share.

“Wow, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better,” Scully groans.

Melissa squeezes her sister’s shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay. You’ll find him, and this will help you know what to say when you do.”

Scully leans into the hug. “For the record, I think this is insane, alright? I’m only doing it because it’s getting too late to search the desert.”

“Understood.” Missy stands up. “Oh, and to answer your question, Albert invited us over for a traditional tribal feast at his house.”

“What?”

“You asked what I wanted for dinner. Those are our plans.”

“Oh.” Scully looks at her lap. It seems unfair to have to face the world at a time like this. Especially when her head is plagued with thoughts about what she would--will?--say at her partner’s funeral. And still, she continues.

--------------------

Crowding around Albert’s dining table, the party finishes the last bites left on their plates. It has been a long day--or days, more accurately--and the desolate black sky outside makes Scully feel like it’s 4am, though the clock only reads 7. She blinks toward her company, trying to remain present.

“I am thankful we could share this meal,” Albert says, nodding to Scully and her sister. “It is not often we get outsiders here, and even less often that we’re able to indulge in the foods of our ancestors.”

Missy reaches for the final piece of fry bread, biting into it daintily.

“There’s not a lot here,” Albert tells them, eyes downcast. “Nowadays, we take what we can get, and that means eating to survive...your processed foods and non-perishables have become the staples of our diets.”

Scully tries not to frown. “Well, we’re very glad that you prepared this for us. It was delicious,” she says, trying to inject enthusiasm into her downtrodden heart.

“Yes, thank you very much,” Missy affirms.

Albert casts his eyes in Scully’s direction. A shadow falls over her. From where, she is not certain.

“You are hurting, but you do not need to be. What is yours will find you. There is no such thing as disappearance.”

Scully pulls her lips into a solemn smile. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“It is the truth. The desert acts in its own way, and it is never wrong.”

Scully nods, trying to believe him. Trying to have faith. “Thank you, Albert.”

From across the table, he extends his palms toward her. “Pray with me.”

She clasps his hands and closes her eyes. Prayer is not normally something she engages in with others around, but neither is grief.

Albert begins speaking in the language written on the Defense Department files. She doesn’t understand the words, but his sincerity transcends semantics. The spirit of faith--the spirit of God--is there.

She has been thinking lately of faith. The faith she has been feeling is not that of Sunday mornings and ‘forgive me Father for I have sinned.’ It’s something else entirely, something that has compelled her to do things she would never do... until she looked down at her hands and she was doing them.

So many transgressions to count, and yet she hesitates to even call them that. Injured her partner--a suspected fugitive--to keep him from implicating himself, tapped her sister as her sidekick to take him halfway across the country, and deserted her duties at the FBI, all in favor of the truth.

Maybe truth is faith that good will prevail.

--------------------------

When Scully sits down that night with the motel notepad and a pen, she becomes a conduit for everything she couldn’t say out loud. She copies the entire Mulder file from her brain, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t capture any of his essence, the unique flavor of humanity that he bravely faced the world with which made him so...him.

It is then that Scully realizes you can know all the details of someone’s life without ever really knowing them, and that scares her because she gets the inkling that she has never truly let Mulder in--though he has opened up to her--and what if he dies feeling like he never got further than the young woman whose physics thesis he read? That’s not fair, not when she knows him so well.

She takes a breath and puts the pen down. She can’t compose Mulder to life. Resurrection doesn’t work that way. What she can do--and what she realizes is what every person does in this situation, and there must be something wrong with her because it wasn’t her first instinct--is write about how the man she knows (knew?) made her feel. About the impact his life had on her life.

Her vision blurs as she works to consolidate her unauthorized biography of Fox William Mulder into a passage that suggests the joy their partnership brought into her life. Though Missy said she wouldn’t have to share, Scully can’t shake the feeling that she will need this at some point in time, that having a eulogy on call might not be such a bad idea. It’s a terrible thought, but a truth every agent knows. After all, she and Mulder witnessed each other writing their wills, and that was considered a customary work duty. Nothing is out of reach.

And so she wrote as if she’ll have to read it one day, letting her emotions flow within the confines of her finely tuned self-awareness. The end product turns out somewhat more sentimental than she envisioned, but she caps her pen and walks away, giving herself permission to take up space.

--Fox William Mulder--

As he despised being called by his first name, I must take the liberty of referring to my partner as Mulder one last time. I was lucky to know him. Not as Spooky or the alien-obsessed man in the basement, but for who he truly was. Nothing was more important to Mulder than the truth. And the truest truth I know about him is that he loved his sister, and he wanted justice for her. It’s what he spent his life on, and ultimately, what he sacrificed it for. I am honored to have played any role in his mission, and I hope to continue it in his memory.

If there’s one piece of Mulder that I hope to carry with me for the rest of my life, it’s his tenacity. Mulder never, never let any obstacle get in his way. I can’t tell you how many times I wasn’t sure where he was, only to learn that he had flown to the ends of the Earth to investigate whatever lead he found promising that day. I doubt that I’ll ever encounter anyone who lives up to the passion and determination he contained within him. And it’s a shame because the world needs that...The world needed him.

I needed him too. He challenged me in ways I never dreamed of. Sometimes I wanted to pull my hair out, but mostly, I just kept thinking about how boring my life would be if I never met him. And now...I don’t know what’s next. There were so many possible futures ahead for us and the X-Files. This isn’t just a eulogy for Mulder, it’s a eulogy for all that could have been. He was my best friend. There’s nothing more I can say.

When she reads it back the next morning, she falls to her knees in conversation with God, pleading for a miracle to bring the man she has finally realized she loves back into her life.

#this got tender as hell #truly a labor of love <3 #thank you for reading as always #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #melissa scully #mine

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pynches · 4 years

Text

there’s no one else (i’d love to hold more)

a/n: for @thegirlwhocanbemoved, the “wait, are you jealous?” prompt. It may not be what you expected but i still hope you like it!

word count: 1999

no tw!

For as long as Ronan could remember, everything he dreamt was a reflection of himself, his feelings and emotions implemented in whatever he decided to give life to in his dreams. Often, these feelings and emotions were unconscious, something Ronan wasn’t aware of before he saw them play out in real life.

The first time Chainsaw landed on Adam’s shoulder, gently nipping at his fingers as Adam had reached up to ruffle her feathers Ronan knew he was in trouble.

Chainsaw had taken a liking to Adam from the start. She had been too shy, however, to interact with him. Instead, she stared intensely at Adam every chance she got, much like her creator, flying away whenever Adam happened to look in her general direction.

This went on for a while.

Then Ronan stopped hating himself.

Chainsaw became a lot more affectionate after Ronan stopped denying his feelings. Adam’s shoulder had become a permanent residence for the raven and Ronan couldn’t blame her, he would be touching Adam on any occasion too if he thought Adam would let him.

Adam didn’t seem to mind either, always petting Chainsaw or ruffling her feathers, blissfully unaware of the implications of this, how she was really a part of Ronan’s soul embedded into the body of a raven.

Chainsaw was all too happy with the attention, preening at Adam’s careful fingers and fond gaze, something Ronan had dreamed about having directed at himself for months.

“I think she likes you better than me,” he had said one night at St. Agnes, a loaded confession disguised by an off-handed comment.

Adam laughed at that, something soft and fleeting. Ronan wanted to catch the laugh and put it in a bottle to listen to when the loneliness he often felt was threatening to rip him apart.

“I wonder why,” Adam shot back, his tone sarcastic but not unkind. He scratched underneath Chainsaw’s chin, Ronan had to clench his hands into fists at the sight before he did or said something stupid. Something that would reveal too much of himself and set him up for the eventual rejection he would like to procrastinate until he was less vulnerable, if that time ever came.

Chainsaw watched him knowingly, he had always dreamt up his creatures too smart for their own good. It almost seemed as if she was smiling mockingly. “Look! I’ve got Adam’s hands on me, something you’ve always wanted but never been the recipient of.”

Ronan stuck out his tongue at the bird when Adam wasn’t watching and went back to laying on the floor with a sour expression, his headphones back on his ears to drown everything out.

Not that much later, Ronan felt a soft kick to his boot and opened his eyes to Adam staring at him, Chainsaw tucked against his chest.

“I’m going to bed,” Adam said softly once Ronan had removed his headphones with the customary eye roll. It took him only a few seconds to realise why Adam had reduced his voice to a whisper.

Ronan felt his mouth pull back into an involuntary sneer. “Why the fuck should I care, Parrish,” he said loudly, waking up Chainsaw who glared at him. He would have felt bad for her if there wasn’t a hot surge of something awful coursing through his body at the sight of her nestled against Adam’s body, all protected and warm while he was reduced to sleep on the floor with only his jacket as a sorry excuse for a pillow.

“Jesus, Lynch,” Adam said, his tone reprimanding, his eyes disbelieving. Ronan tried to shake it off like he often had in the past without issue. He had been on the receiving end of that exact expression more times than he could count, but it usually not Adam who was looking at him like that, talking to him like he was something else than just “Ronan”. Something to be ashamed of maybe.

Ronan shrugged, pretended he had brushed the comment off and went right back to closing his eyes, ignoring the happy squawks Chainsaw let out when he was allowed in Adam’s bed.

Ronan’s blood only boiled further until he was so close to saying something he sat up immediately. He shook out his jacket and put it on, ignoring the confusion on Adam’s tongue.

“Ronan-”

“You can babysit the bird tonight,” he said before he walked out of the door. He was down the stairs before Adam could even comprehend what had just happened, he was in his car before Adam looked down at Chainsaw who looked back with a guilty expression.

Nothing ever escaped Adam, especially not when Ronan was the subject of his watchful gaze.

Ronan knew this, he knew he would have to explain himself in the morning but with the wide expanse of the highway stretched in front of him, the deafening beat of some song he had randomly burned on one of his tapes drumming through the thoughts nagging in his brain, he really didn’t care.

He knew Adam, despite his best efforts to remain unknowable so when the next day rolled around and Adam kept glancing at him from his locker, Chainsaw still on perched on his shoulder, Ronan sighed and closed the door, stepping right into Adam’s face. “What?” he asked, though he knew exactly what Adam was going to ask next.

“What happened last night?” Adam asked as if they had rehearsed this.

Ronan kept to the script. “Nothing special.”

It wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t the truth either.

Adam lifted one of his eyebrows with practised ease. “I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t give a shit about what you believe,” Ronan sneered back. This time it was more lie than truth. He watched as Adam looked around the hallway, catching some people glancing at them. They once had been notorious for fighting at any given moment but that changed over the months they had known each other. Now, when they happened to fight, it was treated as a new piece of gossip, happily spread between the bored boys of Aglionby.

“Meet me at St. Agnes tonight?” Adam asked. Ronan treated it as a command. He could never say no to Adam and somewhere deep within him, he knew Adam knew this but that was something he wasn’t ready to think about yet.

Ronan nodded and watched as Adam walked off, Chainsaw still on his shoulder, ignoring Ronan completely.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he did miss Chainsaw, the bird he had hand-fed through the early stages of her life and as much as he loved fighting, he hated fighting with her.

The evening couldn’t come early enough.

By now, Ronan had memorised Adam’s schedule to the minute. That didn’t prevent him from showing up late to St. Agnes. It was half an hour after Adam got off from work and Ronan had sought out every excuse to be this late. He marked it off as being busy but he knew the real reason.

He didn’t want to seem too eager and scare Adam off.

He knocked on his apartment door obnoxiously, impatiently waiting until Adam opened the door.

His hands were still a little dirty with leftover motor oil, his hair in disarray, no doubt from going through it with his hands when he was looking at one of the few exercises he didn’t understand and stressed about until he was practically tearing out his hair and biting through his pencils. In those moments, Ronan wanted to wrap him up and finally show him the softness Ronan kept inside at all times, show Adam the softness he deserved to feel.

Instead, he brushed past Adam into the small room, looking at him with a bored expression even though his heartbeat would have revealed it if Adam could hear it as much as Ronan could feel it.

“What do you want?” he asked, his words venom on his tongue.

Adam sighed as if he was already tired from the conversation, tired from Ronan. It set him off even more.

“To talk.”

Adam nodded his head to his mattress and sat down, staring up at Ronan until he sat down too.

“I don’t have anything to say,” Ronan tried but Adam pretended not to hear him. Instead, he looked at the sunset happening outside of the window that now had his attention. Ronan desperately wanted to get Adam’s eyes back on himself.

“You’ve never acted this way with Chainsaw,” Adam said, pricking through every layer Ronan had wrapped himself up with. “Something is wrong.”

“What do you care?” Ronan asked, hiding his desperation for Adam’s caring nature behind a disinterested tone, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket to match the attitude even though he did it for the added benefit of feeling the heat of Adam’s skin through the leather of his jacket.

“You’re my friend,” Adam said like it was something simple. Ronan wanted to tear himself apart.

“She’s attached to you,” Ronan mumbled, willing for Adam to understand him without having to say anything more.

He didn’t understand it and even if he did, he didn’t let anything on.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s always around you. Sitting on your shoulder and shit,” Ronan said. Adam understood it as it was, the only explanation he was willing to give.

“Wait a minute,” Adam said and Ronan knew this was the end. “Are you jealous.”

Ronan Lynch didn’t lie but that didn’t mean he had to tell the truth either.

They stayed silent for a few seconds, watching as the sun fully disappeared and left them in the darkness, unable to see anything but the shimmer of leftover light outside.

Everything was easier in the dark.

“Are you jealous of me or are you jealous of Chainsaw?”

Ronan swallowed hard.

Adam took his hand, tangling their fingers together. Slight tremors were going through the muscles of Adam’s hand, revealing his own nerves at this development.

It made Ronan feel a little better.

“I don’t like a bird better than I like you,” Adam offered with a small laugh, a way out, a way for Ronan to laugh along with him and forget this happened.

“Do you like me?” Ronan asked instead, letting the desperation he felt bleed through his words. It was the one chance he gave Adam to say something or he would try to get over him even though it felt like Adam had nestled himself in his heart much like Chainsaw had nestled himself against Adam’s chest the night before. Secure and unmovable.

He felt rough fingertips on his jaw and couldn’t suppress the goosebumps rising on his skin. He couldn’t see Adam come nearer but he felt his breath mingle with his own, his lips close enough if he had the courage to lean forward.

He didn’t have the courage.

Adam had.

The kiss was slow, soft, nothing like either of them but right enough it made something unfurl in his chest.

“Does that answer your question?” Adam asked, a whisper against his lips before he was pulled into another kiss.

It wasn’t until they were breathless and lying down on Adam’s shitty mattress, unable to hold themselves up anymore, only illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside table light Adam had quickly turned on, that Chainsaw joined them, bumping her head against Ronan’s hand apologetically.

Ronan smiled unguardedly at her, giving her some crumbed crackers from his pocket he had kept there just in case she came flying back to him.

“You’re still my favourite girl,” he told her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t tell the maggot.”

He felt Adam’s eyes on him but for once he felt unafraid and looked back like he had wanted to do since the moment they met.

Adam smiled at him, his lips stretching over his teeth, and Ronan forgot what he had been jealous about in the first place.

#trc #the raven cycle #pynch #pynch fic #pynch fanfic #pynch fanfiction #trc fic #trc fanfic #trc fanfiction #the raven cycle fic #the raven cycle fanfic #the raven cycle fanfiction #Adam Parrish #ronan lynch #adam x ronan #ronan x adam

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jxneun · 4 years

Text

[one-shot] say nothing more, baby

Pairing: implied Yamato/Taichi from Digimon Adventure

Rating: pg-13, tw: Character death, Hanahaki disease

fic inspiration from the song “like i need u” by keshi.

—

laying in bed waiting for your touch

Restless, tossing and turning

in the dead of the night, ears ringing

stay with me

nauseous, dizzy

eyes growing misty

i don’t want to be alone

filled with regret

wanting to reset

you don’t need me like i need you

yellow carnations bloomed,

these unwanted feelings consumed

wish we never met

left the boy torn, dragged through the mud

petals tainted by splotches of blood

pain, that’s an option

an inevitable infection

trauma inflicted on the destined

—

Yamato Ishida was stunned.

Lost in the confines of Tokyo U Hospital, the blonde felt lost in the eerie feeling the sterile white walls gave. Takeru was by his side when he received the call from Hikari. Speechless, with his lungs threatening to collapse after running into the unfamiliar building, especially upon hearing the news from his best friend’s little sister, whose voice was hoarse on the phone and reduced to mere whispers, as if she had just mustered up the strength to speak on the phone after sobbing relentlessly, informed them that his best friend was in the hospital.

His best friend, Taichi.

His partner-in-crime aside from Gabumon, his comrade, his best friend, his inspiration.

His exuberance, a demeanor akin to no other, shined brighter than a thousand suns. His smiles and laughter imprinted in his memory, alongside the desperately thrown fists and tears, reminded him of home.

For a disease that is allegedly produced in fictional Japanese literature, a disease that is observed to have been a direct result of unrequited love. The physical manifestation of the psychological pain, exacerbated further by heartache, was akin to somatoform disorders, but the disease had limited primary research findings on it as to the origin of the disease. Perhaps, this just served as a cruel reminder that God ceased to care.

Hanahaki disease, a disease ultimately caused from prolonged and extreme pain as a direct result of grieving a lost, unreturned love; painfully beautiful, it was equally fatal, with patients dying within mere days. Going from perfectly healthy, to frail and on the verge of death, all from an unreciprocated love. .

Hikari found out, after finding Taichi collapsed in his room in the late afternoon, with blood and petals left at the scene. Next to him, was the referral from the doctor’s.

Prognosis: severe case of alleged Hanahaki disease.

Duration: onset of disease, 2 weeks with the patient remaining mostly asymptomatic. Flareup occurred on March 4.

Symptoms: Coughing, blood in sputum, dizziness, nausea, fever, mood swings

Condition of patient: requires immediate treatment as soon as possible. Dr. Narukami M.D. at Odaiba General Family Clinic referral to Tokyo U Hospital. Immediate surgery recommended within 1 week, otherwise proven fatal, may result in asphyxiation due to uncontrolled growth of yellow carnations in lungs.

It was a cruel reminder, that fate was never on their side.

They were chosen as children to be the Digidestined, thrown into the Digi World; they were merely children whose clothes were far too big for them, children whose appetites exceeded their stomach capacity, children who were burdened and pressured as result of their parents’ problems and the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Feeble attempts to return to their world, turned into a mission to save both the Digi World and their world. Achieving the impossible, such as going through worlds via portals or a digital device to fight infected Digimon served as a reminder that in their world, the impossible could very easily be feasible. Taichi was resilient, he was a natural born leader. He was an athlete, his immune system stronger than no other, his appetite overwhelmingly large as a growing boy, his demeanor and boisterous laughter so full of life.

Yet, Yamato could not help feeling shocked.

Pale, with a weary smile that masked the pain, Taichi appeared sick, decrepit, and so, exhausted. Feeble attempts to muster up greetings, and reassurances to not worry, since he felt fine, and that he had accepted the outcome. The outcome that his love had not returned his feelings, the love whose identity remained unknown to Yamato. It was too late for preventative care, Taichi had refused to come in for early checkups, and the buds had sprouted into fully grown, beautiful carnations. Carnations that were equally deadly, unfortunate, and tragic.

A mixture of resentment, bitterness, mirth and frustration bubbled in his chest. Yamato was puzzled. Who could Taichi possibly be so in love with, that his love had left him incapacitated? Who would not return their feelings for the brunette boy? Shaking his head, Yamato recollected himself, but his thoughts were interrupted by a series of coughs.

If he did not know that Hanahaki disease was not contagious, he would have thought the persistent scratch and gnawing at his throat was a sign.

The image of Taichi laying in his hospital bed was burnt into his memory, as he quickly was escorted out of the room. One of Taichi’s coughing fits had erupted, so Hikari and Takeru quickly rushed out into the hallway to call the nurse. With blood staining the corners of his mouth, and full blown flowers blooming, Yamato could never forget the image imprinted into his memory of the boy who was reminiscent of courage, ambition, and hope. The stems and leaves filled his esophagus, the sprouts depleted his already limited air supply, and petals covered by blood and bile filled the bucket next to his bed; the damage had clearly taken a toll on the boy, and fast. The nurses escorted Yamato out, reuniting him with Takeru and Hikari, who were lucky to not witness the emptiness in Taichi’s eyes, almost as if he had expected this outcome, but did not let anybody know, due to his stubbornness. Taichi, whose voice was painfully hoarse, made feeble attempts to speak to Yamato, despite his earlier coughing fits. Yet, the following words he muttered left Yamato in an intense flurry of emotions,

“Yamato, please go.”

—

Patient ID: 4242564

DOB: 05/19/19XX

Patient Name: Yagami, Taichi

Diagnosis: Hanahaki Disease

Treatment: Immediate surgery to restore respiratory functioning. Requires removal of yellow carnation flowers from lungs, which are constricting air supply.

Expected recovery: If successful, 7-8 months with rest, close monitoring from family members in case of flare ups.

The paper that Hikari was holding, despite being a thin sheet with printed letters, felt like a quick dose of reality. Hikari called her parents, giving them updates, and the address of the surgery unit. Her parents, frantic and deeply afraid, just as they were when they heard that the kids were returning to the Digital World as mere children, had a semblance of hope amidst their worries. They wanted to put their trust and faith into the medical professionals at the highly-esteemed hospital.

They had giant digital dinosaurs and birds appear in Odaiba. How far-fetched was this disease occurring in their world, really?

Yamato felt torn. Usually, the two were able to communicate non-verbally; after all, Taichi wore his heart on his sleeve. Yet, this time, he simply could not understand. He did not even know that Taichi even loved someone, to the point where he had secretly gone to the doctor's and hid the fact that he needed immediate medical attention. He endured the pain to the point that Hikari had found him cold and lifeless on the floor with the petals scattered around him; the thought of the flowers taunted him, and reminded him of his friend, whose demeanor was untypical of the brunette. The unspoken communication between them bewildered Yamato, and scared him.

Knuckles growing white, his tight grip crumpled and threatened to rip the sheet of paper. Jaw clenched, tears threatening to spill, Yamato was so tense, and furious that the world was against them, and had decided to hurt his friend, his formerly abrasive and reckless friend whose compassion and courage had saved hundreds, if not thousands of people. His friend, whose stubborn nature, was easily just as self-sacrificing and selfless, had demanded his best friend to leave the room, so that he would not have to see him in that state.

With a mirthful chuckle, Yamato wiped away at his tears, which threatened to spill at any given moment. His vision was blurry, and the noise coming from the bustling hospital was deafening. Bitterly, he thought to himself, denouncing the way that movies portrayed grief. His world of color did not come to a halt; traffic lights beamed, and the city of Tokyo was still lively as ever. His world of color, instead was muted, and it was difficult to concentrate on anything. He had dropped everything he was doing, when he received the call from Hikari. He couldn’t stop thinking about Taichi, and his bleary eyes, raw from the hours of crying in the waiting room, failed to shield him from his obstructive thoughts in facing this cruel reality. Hikari was sobbing, almost hysterical. Takeru comforted her, holding her closely, his tight embrace and face buried in her shoulders indicator enough that he was just as distraught. Taichi’s parents rushed into the emergency room, demanding to be at their eldest son’s side. Demanding answers, the duo were frustrated, as to why there were no other forms of treatment, or medication.

To this, the nurses shook their head, despite the couple’s insistence. Taichi was transferred to the intensive care unit of the Tokyo U hospital, and the nurses informed the Yagamis: Taichi, in an unconscious state, is physically unable to consent to the procedure. It was up to the Yagami family to decide whether they should proceed or not. The implications of the surgery was that Taichi would possibly never be the same afterwards, his lungs were salvageable, but his memories would be in fragments.

With such an intrusive procedure, it was difficult to tell how Taichi’s body would heal afterwards, or if he had a strong chance of surviving it. Yet at the same time, this was life-or-death. Hikari, after maintaining her composure, softly asked the questions everyone was thinking,

“Could we please see him? Will he be okay?”

This was all because of deceivingly harmless yellow carnations. His louder-than-life friend, who effortlessly ran from goal to goal and led his football team to victory, was the same person who passionately sprinted across the Digital World to save his friends; this same person looked unrecognizable, frail, and passive. All because of some flowers.

Yellow carnations, the flowers representative of rejection, bitterness, an unrequited love, are simultaneously considered the flower of friendship.

As if time went still, the low-light fluorescent fixtures of the hospital building and the vision of the Yagami family and his brother grew hazy. Yamato felt a sharp, sudden pain in his chest. Unable to hide the discomfort on his face, he excused himself as to not worry the others.

In the restroom, even with the dim lighting, the scene before him was unmistakable.

Orange petals accumulated in the sink, and he was left breathless.

After a quick google search, he realized the cluster of orange petals consisted of marigolds. Marigolds symbolized strong passion, being associated with a legendary brave and courageous lion.

At the same time, they represented cruelty, grief, and jealousy. How ironic.

Fate really was mocking him.

—

no time for nonsense

courage and friendship

a will weaning, weaker than his grip

can’t ask you nothing

grip on this fate

a fate he realized too late

drank, feeling nauseous

Scared and breathless

Oh, he could never guess

too many toxins

to the last beeps on the monitor, the angels sing

yet, what’s left is this scratchy, lingering sting

not even conscious

sheets blood-stained red

regret, from words left unsaid

say nothing more, baby

unvoiced emotions which undoubtedly dictate

the harsh decisions made at this rate

say nothing more

#j9 writes #digimon #taichi yagami #yamato ishida #tai kamiya #matt ishida #digimon adventure #oneshot #taito #yamachi #taiyama #hanahaki disease #they’re in high school so expect teen angst #tw: death #tw: character death #one-sided love

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koalala700 · 4 years

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Chronicles of Nick: Infinity Analysis

When I first started doing an analysis, I tried doing a post for the entire series. I realized that it would have been a huge information dump. To better organize my scatterbrained ramblings, I decided it would be best to do this one book at a time.

Some background: I started out reading the Dark Hunter books and had already finished Styxx by the time that I even got started reading the CON books. There have been so many spoilers scattered in these books and as I try - and fail - to wait patiently for the new SOF series, I’ve been re-reading the CON books and trying to analyze the clues I find. I started coming up with theories about the things I was reading and trying to fit the scenes from the future into an organized timeline of sorts.

I would like to point out that this is not a review as a first time reader but rather an analysis as someone who has re-read the books multiple times, although I do make nods at my own thoughts when I initially read the book. I am highlighting certain points in each book that I found relevant. Again, please note that this isn’t an analysis or review of the entire series so much as it is me picking apart each book for key points.

With that being said, these posts will contain a lot of SPOILERS. If you haven’t read the books, I would advise doing so before reading this post if you don’t like or want spoilers.

The biggest focus for me, while reading this series again, was to focus on the future characters and their involvement in the CON timeline. With that being said, the primary purpose of this particular analysis is exactly that. Making sense of the scenes I see scattered throughout the books. I also note certain parallels that are happening in the series. I do my best to kind of stay in order but I'm a little scatter brained so some of what I mention is all over the place and for that I apologize in advance.

So the first book I want to start with is Infinity. This is the first book in the Chronicles of Nick series. It starts off as an introduction to the characters and sets us in motion for what the series will be about. When we’re introduced to Infinity, we get to see Nick’s past that is briefly mentioned in the DH world.

While getting an introduction to fourteen year old Nick, we also get a glimpse of the Ambrose Malachai centuries after we know him in the Dark-Hunter world. For me, the book was entertaining but really the overall take away from the first book was an introduction to all of the characters: Nick, Ambrose, Adarian, Kody, Caleb, and all of the familiar faces we know and love from DH as I mention above. Having originally started out with the DH series, there were a few things I already knew quite a few things about Nick, before even starting this series. This includes: Nick being the Malachai, that he would become a Dark-Hunter, his mother would die, who and what Caleb was and that he knew both Styxx/Bethany.

The series starts out as with Nick, at fourteen, living in poverty and very much an outcast at his school, St Richards. Something I didn’t realize was that this was a school for the supernatural to attend. We get to see characters again from the Were-Hunter series as well as some of the Squires from the Dark-Hunter series. This book introduces who Nick is and is the first time we have a really deep insight into his POV. I liked him enough in DH but after the events of Seize the Night going forward, I was frustrated with his character. I think that is part of what delayed me reading this series as much as I did. I’m glad I rethought that idea because his series really blew me away. Nick is a lot more than what we see in the DH series and much like other characters we love and/or hate, he is a lot more layered than I initially realized.

This is also the first time we encounter Ambrose in series who poses as Nick’s uncle from his father, Adarian’s side. We find out that Ambrose is there to change Nick’s future so he doesn’t make terrible mistakes that result in the end of the world. While this is the first book we introduce Ambrose, this is also the first book where Nick begins getting introduced to who he truly is. This is one of the first parallels I noted. Most initial novels of a series are an introduction so I'm just stating the obvious but both Nick and Ambrose are introduced as characters and to each other in this novel.

Why me? I don’t understand why this is happening and why they’d give two spits about controlling me. I can’t even walk across the floor without getting grounded.

“Nick, you are key to some of the rawest, most potent powers ever created. The battles for your possession will scar you in ways you won’t know until it’s too late. If you listen to me, I can save you.”

I’m key? Dude, you seriously have me mistaken for someone else.

“No, I don’t. I, better than anyone else, know exactly how powerful you are and what you can do. And deep inside, you feel those powers too. You’ve spent your whole life denying them. Saying it was Menyara or some sixth sense. It’s not a buried sense. It’s your birthright and you have got to embrace it or you will lose everything that matters to you.”

And if I don’t believe this crap?

Images of a dark, frightening hole flashed in his mind. He saw himself in the future looking a lot like Ambrose. Alone. Bereft.

Tortured.

Most of all, he was inhumane and cruel.

“If they can turn you evil, they will be rewarded and you will be ruined. And everyone you love will pay the price.

“Everyone.”

Nick shook his head in an effort to dispel the horrific images. Terror choked him as he feared becoming the monster his father was. Of becoming the creature he’d just seen.

I don’t want to be evil.

"You can’t just say it and make it so. It’s not that easy.”

Of course it is. My mom tells me all the time that we decide between good and evil. What we are is completely up to us.

“And things drive us to make decisions that are beyond our control. Just like your mother. You know how much she hates dancing and yet there she is every night, right on time, often working double shifts to bring in more money. For you. And you haven’t been betrayed yet, Nick. You don’t know what that’s like. What it does to you. The scars it leaves that never fade.”

Not true. Alan, Mike, and Tyree had all betrayed me.

“And you want their blood for it.”

I want to bathe in it.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. That’s the evil seducing you. The malevolent power that is crawling through your blood tempting you onto a treacherous path that will cost you everything you love and hold dear. You have to let that anger go before it’s too late. Vengeance always turns inward and it will consume you until nothing’s left but an empty hole that nothing can fill.”

Nick bristled as he saw that night again—the glee in Alan’s eyes as he pulled the trigger. They shot me!

“And they will pay, but not by your hand. Trust me. Karma has her own plans for them and what she has in store is more painful than you could ever dream.”

I don’t know about that. I have one great imagination. And letting it go is much easier said than done.

Ambrose laughed in his ear. “Believe me, I know.” Infinity

This conversation mentions a few things I already knew and points out what will happen if Nick doesn't accept his destiny and his powers. However, the point I want to take away is the “karma” that Alan and Tyree end up experiencing. The more I read and re-read, the more I wonder if Ambrose knows everything that is going to happen. It’s not himself that he’s trying to stop. He knows his son is the one who will end everything and that comment seems like a sly little way of adding foreshadowing. We see what ends up happening to them in Invision.

The conversation continues and Ambrose explained what Nick really was. There is also some sympathy towards his father, Adarian. By the end of CON, Nick also understands his father and puts away his hatred of him. I spend time going back and forth wondering how much Ambrose knows and remembers about CON. Is it from his own experience as a father that he understands? Is it just from growing as the Malachai and being consumed by hate that he understands? Or does he remember from CON what his father did for him in the end and the choices he was forced to make?

“We��—he indicated the two of them—“are the last of a cursed race. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing as it’s our prime nature to hurt others. When they’re weak and hurting, we swoop in for the kill. But I’m hoping you have enough of your mother in you that you’ll learn to curb those impulses and learn to let things go that I never could.”

Nick hoped so too. I don’t want to be anything like Adarian.

That eerie red tint returned to Ambrose’s eyes—not that Nick needed a reminder that the creature net to him wasn’t human. “Neither did he and he’s not quite the jerk you think he is. In time, you’ll understand him better than you’ll want to. And together, if we’re lucky, we’ll keep you from following in his footsteps. In the meantime, I have to reach you everything I know as quickly as I can.”

Why the rush?

Orange flickered in his red eyes, like dancing flames. “My time’s running out and soon I won’t…” His voice trailed off.

You won’t what?

“I won’t care anymore. About anyone or anything… not even you.” Infinity

When I began reading this book, I was thinking it made sense that Ambrose went back (assuming he didn’t know about who would truly rise to take power after him). If you’ve read about Nick in the current timeline, he’s not in the best of places. Nick lost so much in the current timeline that it stands to reason that he would want to change things, if he could. It should be noted though, from the glimpse to the future, that it isn’t going very well.

“Why can’t I stop it��? he snarled. Why, with all of the powers he’d mastered, all of the elements he controlled, couldn’t he prevent a mere fourteen-year-old boy from being an idiot? No matter what he did, certain events kept unfolding.” Infinity, 329.

This was pretty fascinating to me as someone who had only read DH. Given what I understood about Nick in DH, he didn’t even know about the supernatural until he was out of high school but in CON, he knew about it sooner. This was first brought up in Night Pleasures. It seemed noteworthy that nothing was changing, despite Ambrose having gone back in time and that certain events happen differently or sooner.

This gets explained later in the books why nothing is changing but it was always one of those tidbits when I first started reading that really made me think - that gets the wheels in my mind turning. While re-reading this scene in particular, it seems like maybe things are changing. Maybe he did make an impact but the end of the series just brings us back to square one but Ambrose doesn’t realize this yet. Time-travel is different in every universe but I imagined initially that any changes Nick made would automatically affect Ambrose.

Another conversation that I think is kind of important but can’t really explain is the one between Ambrose and Caleb.

“Caleb leaned forward, between Nick and Ambrose, then said in a low tone, “By the way, boss… you’re not as covert as you think, and I’ve heard everything you told the kid in the car.” He looked straight at Ambrose. “Nice coat, but I prefer the black suit you had on the last time we met.”

Ambrose made a Vader move that made it looks like something had grabbed Caleb in an invisible choke hold. “Don’t push your luck, Malphas.”

Caleb relaxed as Ambrose moved away. “You know, Nick, I like you so much better than that prick.”

For some reason, Nick wasn’t sure that was a compliment.

400, Infinity.”

What does Caleb mean by “the last time we met”? That is something I still haven’t been able to figure out. Is this a hint towards everyone going to the future at the end of the series? Or is this simply Caleb’s coy way of saying that he’s seen him before with Nick. I may be reading too much into this (like some of the other scenes) but some of the conversations and events are hard to make heads or tails of.

The more you read this book though, the more bits of foreshadowing you encounter. One scene that was definitely foreshadowing - that has already played out in DH - is Nick’s death by Ash’s hands. This is one of the more obvious ones, assuming you read DH first.

“At least let me get laid before you kill me... So you have to wait a good ten years before you snuff me. Deal?”

..... “Ten years, huh?”

“Yeah, you can kill me when I’m twenty-four, provided I’m not still a virgin, but not a day before that.”

“All right. It’s a deal... provided you keep your trap shut.”

“Trap nailed shurt, sir.”

“But at twenty-four...” Ash let his voice trail off.

“I’m all yours, babe.”

204-205, Infinity.

Neither character at this time realizes the implications of this conversation. I know Ash doesn’t implicitly swear this, but it seemed like both him and Nick had just set both of their futures in motion by speaking this aloud. As the final fate, Ash pretty much just said what Nick’s fate would be. Ironically, Nick doesn’t realize that he, too, has called on his own death. It seems like this is one of the events that I think completes the circle when it comes to time-travel. Ambrose wants to prevent Ash from being the cause of his death, but what if this scene is proof that it was always meant to happen that way? Like a pith point.

This is also not the first time that one of the two of them have said something that sets Nick’s future into motion. I’m pretty sure in Dance With the Devil or The Dream Hunter (I can’t remember which), Ash actually makes a comment about Nick living and dying for his mother. Madoc then makes a cryptic comment about it being a shame that Ash can’t see his own future (or more appropriately, those close to him). This scene in CON reaffirmed for me that this was always going to play out this way.

The further you get into the series, the less things started making sense (in regards to what we are made to believe so far). That’s a big part of why I made a point to start writing out notes for myself. The thing that was hard for me to understand were some of the times that we get scenes from the future compared to the knowledge that the characters in CON have. It isn’t until the end of CON that some of that confusion is cleared up.

The first thing that confused me was about when the time-travel began and this scene was probably a little over mid-way through Infinity. We see that Ambrose has started time-traveling centuries after the timeline in CON,

“Ambrose grabbed the bookcase and slammed it to the ground, spilling the ancient books he’d carefully collected for centuries across the floor of his stygian office.” Infinity, 329.

Here’s what kind of perplexed me when I first read this. As previously stated, Nick wasn’t always my favorite character in DH. I did understand why he was so angry at the world, after the events of StN, but if centuries had past since his mother’s death and his conversion as a DH, why go back now to change his future? What changed?

While I also knew he definitely had some moments where he is infuriating in the series, it seemed odd that he would actually end the world centuries after his mother’s death if that is the supposed catalyst is the reason for his downfall. Especially when it seems like, later in CON, he’s starting - I say starting, not that he has completely - to come to terms with his mother’s death (in Time Untime, for example). Why not end the world once he found out what he was in DH and unlocked his powers? I always imagined that if it was a future Nick changing the events in CON, it would stand to reason that the future Nick would be closer to the timeline in DH than one that was centuries in the future.

There is another thing I found worth noting. We find out that Ambrose has no idea who Kody is and doesn’t remember her. This scene was initially weird to me because if she becomes a part of his past, why wouldn’t he remember her? Any changes he had made would affect his current memories. Until you get to the end of the series, this is a little confusing. Even going on the assumption she was added to a timeline and had not been there before, Ambrose would still know her from Nick’s memories.

Nick flinched as he forced that memory away and turned his thoughts to something he’d said to himself earlier. “Who is Nekoda?”

Artemis gave him a blank stare. “Never heard of him.”

“Her, Artie. It’s a girl.”

One of her perfect brows shot up as a jealousy darkened her green eyes. “What kind of girl?”

“I don’t know. Nick knows her.”

“You are Nick.” Her tone was testy.

“Exactly. How can I not know who she is?” How could he not have seen her as he looked back? For some reason, she was a complete ghost to him. No matter what power he used, he couldn’t find this piece of his past. Even with certain aspects altered, he should still be able to hone in on her.

Yet he couldn’t.

Why?

Artemis shrugged her thin shoulder, “You forgot her. It happens. You were human… once.” 333-335, Infinity.

While confusing when first reading this (assuming I knew how I time-travel worked), I didn’t think much of this scene at first. It later made me wonder if this meant that she was hidden from him, similar to how Tiyana was (in Inferno, Nick learns the store she works at was cloaked from him). What’s I think is important to note about that parallel to me is that Tiyana in DH was Nick’s possible future. She could have been his wife and mother of his children.

We get the impression from the start of the books that Kody will be important and they both have feelings for each other. How does that impact Ambrose, though? How did Ambrose not know about her? It tells me that she’s important to his future later on. It also leads me believe that when Ambrose started time-traveling, she either hasn’t been born yet or he just hasn’t met her yet. For a while, my theory was that she was already born but Ambrose didn’t know her. I also thought that this scene was interesting because at the end of the series, like Artemis says, Nick does end up forgetting about her. A little bit of foreshadowing perhaps?

As far as the first novel goes, all in all, it was really good. It pulled me and definitely had me wanting to read more. I had several questions after my initial read. Nick is the Malachai. We know this from the DH series but it goes into a lot more depth in CON. In Infinity, my biggest question was why Ambrose was losing his humanity so long after his mother’s death. I was initially curious about Nekoda and who she truly was and her impact in the series. The first glimpse we got into who she truly is was mentioned briefly in Infinity.

But as he reached it, an unbidden image went through his head. It was Nekoda…

Only she wasn’t the girl he knew who made him laugh and who kissed him on the cheek. She was something else entirely. Dressed in armor, she looked like an ancient warrior, complete with a helmet and shield.

And a sword she was driving straight through his heart.

368. Infinity

I would also like to put a pin in the scene where she drives a sword through his heart, as the person she would actually be fighting isn’t Nick. It’s Cyprian, as he is the one who ends the world. Wouldn't this mean she came close to defeating or defeated Cyprian? Or is it just a metaphor for her mission in the past?

The other scene with Nekoda that I thought was a nod to where she truly comes from is this comment by Simi. Nekoda is from the future where the Malachai has destroyed the world so it stands to reason that nothing could be scarier than that. As a first time reader, both of these scenes didn’t mean much to me at the time other than a reference to why she was sent back in time.

Simi came up to lean against Kody’s shoulder. “Oh, the Simi thinks you’ve seen things much, much scarier than that.”

Nekoda paled a bit, but didn’t elaborate.

456, Infinity.

If you’ve read the entire series and re-read it, we get what is, in my opinion, the first bit of foreshadowing about Cyprian (Nick’s son).

Ambrose had learned long ago to fear anyone he let near him whose past and future he couldn’t see. Any time he’d make that particular mistake, the person had done their best to destroy him. 459, Infinity.

Don’t get me wrong, I do understand that Ambrose is specifically referencing Kody here and that comment about trying to destroy him does come to a head in Inferno. To me though, it seems like the implied implication here is pointing to just more than that (having read of all of CON).

Later on in the series, Cyprian is revealed to be his son. Someone would would be “near” Nick but whose future and past he cannot clearly see. It is also interesting because once we are introduced to Ambrose’s son, what does he spend most of our interactions with Nick doing? Trying to destroy him.

SK is one of those authors that doesn’t write things in her books for no reason. What she writes has some deeper meaning or intention, foreshadowing. I feel like the books leading up to us finding out about Cyprian are scattered with foreshadowing of his arrival into the series. I could just be reading too deeply into things but who knows.

The next post I make will be in regards to the next novel in the book Invincible. The first few books have a couple of points that I would like to mention but it really doesn't get in depth until we get to the last few books. Putting some of these scenes together is helping me make sense of some of my theories I have while reading. Like I mentioned before, I initially tried to make one large post about the entire series but it became a convoluted mess so I decided it was probably better to split it up, book by book. Thanks for reading and please feel free to share your own thoughts, comments, theories as I would love to find more readers who analyze this series as much as I do.

#con #sherrilyn kenyon #sherrilynkenyon #sherrilyn mcqueen #chronicles of nick #dark hunters #dark hunter series #malachai #nick gautier #shadows of fire #nekoda kennedy #caleb malphas #ambrose malachai #cyprian malachai

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archivist-shanty · 6 years

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Part 2

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“...I don’t care how wrong we were, I’m not calling you Lex. It’s creepy.” She said just before she ended the call.

She knew full well that the ship he was one was going to be docking soon, maybe even within the hour. She needed time, though to process the implications of what he said. That they were wrong. She needed to think about how wrong they were. And on what level.

Clarke suddenly lost interest in her tea, so she put it down on the table in front of her. She felt oddly calm but know that at any moment the full realization would come crashing down on her. Hard.

While she waited for her freak out to happen, she didn’t know that it would come in the form of a tall, curly-brown-haired man with light blue eyes, and a small amount of freckles dancing across his cheeks and nose. Who was also dressed in a military uniform and was currently angry at her, as well as storming down the hall to the space she rented out in a cafe.

Just as she believed her freak out wouldn’t happen, and that she was more well-adjucsted than what she originally thought, a hand comes flying down in front of her face, and crashes hand on to her table. Barely missing cup of tea, but sadly it was not spared from the aftershock of the land, and so it rattled and tipped over. Clarke jumped up , spun around, and shouted

“WHAT IN GOD’S GREAT UNIVERSE ARE YOU THINKING?!”

“What gives you the right to just hang up mid-vid-holo, Clarke?” was the reply she got hissed back at her

“Well, Alexander” she spat, “I’m wasn’t required to stay on the line with you, now was I?”

“I told you to call me Lex.” he replied, “Everyone else does, why can’t you?”

“Because I am not calling you the name of the archenemy of an archaic comic book character.” she shot back.

“He was an awesome character” was the reply.

Just as they were about to continue on, they heard someone cough behind Lex to get their attention. They both turn to look, and Lex’s face flushes with embrassement.

“I do hope I’m interrupting something” the newcomer said, with a smirk.

Clarke squinted at him, while Lex stood up straighter.

“And you are who, Mr. Mysterious Man?” Clarke questioned.

The newcomer chuckled, grasped his tie as if to straighten it and said “And here I thought everyone knew who I was”

“Well, I’m not everyone now am I?” Clarke snipped back quickly.

This seem to have thrown the man off balance some what, and his eyes widen in either surprise or shock, it was hard to tell some times with people. Clarke has noticed that as humans expanded, certain marco-expressions seemed to have faded from being used, while micro-expressions seemed to play a bigger role in everyday life to those not from the same group or area. She concluded that this could be chalked up to the wider variety of cultures that sprang up across the system. A trait from a time period long pasted, that was making a come back. A way to judge someone by their actions and reactions. It made sense in her mind.

The newcomer blinked a couple times, as what seemed like minutes passed, even though it was a few seconds. Deciding that this newcomer was not going to answer her question, she decided to try and make him.

“Well? Are you going to introduce yourself, or did they forget to program manners into you when they brainwashed you to believe your ego was the biggest thing about you?”

She could hear Lex groan. She smirked. While she will never admit it, she did call him Lex, like he wanted. Just in her head. What can she say, she loved getting that man riled up. Especially when he was in uniform.

‘FOCUS’, she mentally shouted at herself, privately glad that her eyes never left the newcomers.

The newcomer, seeing the smirk, and believing it was part of her jib at him, dropped his hand from his tie, stoned his face, and sneered, “My name is Gerald Grant, I am a Colonel with the Space Marines, 5th Regiment of the 19th Division”

“Gerald Grant” Clarke whispered, playing with the name one her tongue. Pausing she casted a side glance at Lex, looked at the newcomer and put on a giant beaming smile.

“I think I’m going to call you GG”

Just as those words fell from her lips, Lex spun around and shouted “YOU WILL DO NO SUCH THING”

“Aaww, do you have a crush on him?” Clarke asked, once again throwing the man off balanced.

“No.” Lex replied sharply, “He is a superior officer”

“Correct” the man injected himself into the conversation “And as such I deserve to be treated with respect”

“... respect by those under your command” Clarke spat “And I am NOT under your command, last I looked.”

Lex sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He played around with the thought of just giving up and leaving. But the knowledge of how she can get on peoples nerves prevented him from leaving her alone with Colonel Grant. During the time period that he was internally debating on leaving Colonel Grant to his fate or staying and getting an even worse headache, he failed to notice the argument escalating between the two subjects of his train of thought.

Finally coming back to reality he looked between the two as the Colonel tried to make himself bigger and Clarke looked like she was about to grab the nearest thing and throw it at the Colonel, with the closest thing at the moment being Lex.

Taking a deep breathe, he bravely put a hand on Clarke’s shoulder and said “Remember the holo-vid, Clarke. Aren’t you curious?”

Clarke paused, posed with her mouth open and finger pointed. She blinked, and said smartly “This isn’t over yet”

She than turned to Lex, and said “Buy me dinner, without Captain Tag-Along, and we can talk”

Colonel Grant’s face turned red and white in angry at being brushed off so easily. And by a civilian at that. Lex grabbed her shoulders and steered her around Colonel Grant while mouthing the words ‘Sorry’.

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I think the 3rd part is going to be the hardest.... and maybe short...

#humans in space

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