#[2AM] *STARING AT MY MONITOR AS THE TEARS ROLL DOWN MY FACE*

[lululeighsworld]

reasons why dawntrail fucked me up last night, a story in three parts [lvl 98 quest spoilers]:

[6sakusa]

‘play’ suna rintarō.

warnings: angsty af lol sorry, implications of a toxic relationship, smoking, mild swearing.

“i just want you to understand how i feel.” you huffed, doing your honest best to hold back your screams and shouts. you and suna had been in his car for hours, him quietly listening to you complain about how he’d been neglecting you without much care, with one blunt in his hand and the other on the steering wheel. you pleading for him to hear you out and change his ways even though you knew it was a long shot and that he was barely listening from his lack of reactions.

“suna.” you raised your voice this time, breaking whatever trance he’d seem to be as he deterred his stare from up ahead turning to you at the use of his last name. “suna?” he spat, his expression growing dark repeating your words back to you with a scoff. “have you even been listening to what i’m saying?” you sighed, burying your head in your hands as the lowly vibration of his moving car rang throughout your body.

“you were saying i don’t treat you well enough or some shit, am i right?” he bore his usual deadpanned expression with a lazy tone as if he couldn’t even be bothered to give a fuck about how you felt. the vehicle became engulfed in silence as he took another hit of his blunt waiting on your response.

“you don’t seem to care much.. as usual.” your voice trailed off towards the end, your eyes wandered to the window, taking in the view of the moving scenery before you. “what’s that supposed to mean, princess?” he chuckled , emphasising the last word in a mockish tone highlighting just how entitled he truly thought you were acting.

“it means i want to spend more time with you, and not when you’re like this.” you gestured towards the blunt in his hand, anger beginning to bubble up in your abdomen as you realised you had to ask your own boyfriend to want to spend time with you. “you’re with me right now no?” he took one more hit before rolling down the window and chucking out the blunt before turning back to face you. “see, and now that’s gone, this is what you want right?” he gripped the steering wheel just a fraction harder than before.

“yeah but i want something more, like a real date.” you sighed in both appreciation and exasperation, watching how the two of you were beginning to drive out of the city behind you and onto the motorway at 2am in the dead of the night. “God you’re so high maintenance, you know that angel?” he smirked, smoothing over his words with pet names. you scoffed leaning back into the passenger seat not letting the implicated insult fly over your head.

“well, if you really want to go on a date let’s go somewhere right now.” he smiled lazily and suddenly butterflies arose in your stomach which was a feeling that had been absent for the longest time. “really rin?” you leaned over hugging his abdomen as he raked his hands through your hair, the sensation had always calmed you. “yeah, if that’s what you want.” he chuckled, retracting his seat slightly before lightly pushing you back to your own.

“so where are we going?” your excitement was practically pouring out and you had stars in your eyes as you watched your boyfriends features slightly contourt as he contemplated. “you’ll see.” he shot you a devilish smirk before turning back to the steering wheel, retracting his seat further. you raised an eyebrow but disregarded his statement as a surprise.

closing your eyes you smiled into the passenger seat, humming in content as you were finally getting what you wanted. “is your seatbelt on?” suna’s voice broke through the silence but he didn’t bother to spare you a glance to actually check. “yeah?” you responded in a puzzled tone before the car began speeding up immensely. “rin what are you doing?” you gripped the seat below you.

he didn’t bother responding and instead flashes you an unrecognisable look before chuckling, applying slightly more pressure to the peddle below him making the two of you go even faster. “you’re approaching the speed limit too fast, slow down.” you scoffed expecting him his actions to align with your orders but alas you were wrong, horribly and miserably wrong.

instead, he pressed down even harder, glancing at you to capture your reaction as you watched him wide eyed and you could swear he was enjoying it. “you’re approaching 70.” your eyes flicked to the monitor and back to his face continuously in the hopes of him choosing the slow down but he hardly seemed to care, biting back a laugh he slid his hand to the edge of your seat, reclining it just like his.

“what the fuck are you doing.” you swatted his hand away as you watched the car surpass the speed limit. you couldn’t fully see what was going on ahead anymore as your eyeline was met with the dashboard. “put my seat back up.” you shot him a venomous glare and even he could tell that you weren’t playing anymore, yet he still didn’t reply.

your breath began to hitch as he approached 120, a lump forming in your throat gripping the door handle besides you. “stop the fucking car.” you were raising your voice now, you weren’t in control of your the way you were reacting, it all seemed so involuntary, like your body had gone into autopilot as you faced a situation that you were completely helpless in. you were panicking, big time.

you resisted the force pushing you backwards leaning over to shake your boyfriend into listening to your pleas as he approached 200 on the motorway, miles above the speed limit. “suna stop, please.” tears had began to form, glazing over your eyes. ‘we’re going to die’ you thought to yourself biting your bottom lip harsh enough to draw blood while you pleaded with your boyfriend to stop with no avail.

before you knew it your own words we’re being drowned out, what were you even saying again? it was all a blur as different memories began to bombard your thoughts, equally happy and tragic. ah, it made sense now.. your life was flashing before your eyes and you were just realising it as you sat motionless in the passenger seat, tears finding their way into your lap in a pathetic silence.

at the absence of your pestering suna looked over to see you in an almost catatonic state, everything about you was utterly lifeless and if it wasn’t for your visible crying he would swear that you were dead. “y/n?” he asked slowing down the car to 40 in mere seconds. “y/n i was just kidding.” he moved to shake you to reality. “hey y/n.” he waved a hand in front of your face, eyes flickering between you and the road up ahead.

“stop the car.” you said in a croaked whisper, as if speaking up just the slighest bit would utterly break you. for the first time in your entire life you could say that you were scared, completely scared of suna rintarō. the car came to a halt, but not without hesitation from your boyfriend.

you leaned towards the door without a word, opening it as you tumbled out, barely able to gain your footing. “y/n chill, i was just playing around.” he moved to grab your hand but you pulled it out of his grasp as you stumbled onto the sidewalk. you had no idea where you were apart from that you were not in your city and you also had no idea where you were going. regardless, you turnt backwards and began walking.

“no, i don’t think i want to play anymore.”

you can read more of my suna work here:

8 hours

the man you’d marry

[fletchphoenix]

Little Secret

Okay this is chapter 9 of the High School AU

PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION - TW for an attempt at s**c*de, s*lf h*arm and some other morbid shit. please don’t read / skip over the italics if you aren’t comfortable reading about those topics. Please. This is more of a vent piece as well but please be careful.

I love you all so so much.

As Hugo left, Varian let himself lay back on his bed and let out a huff. Wincing at the constricting feeling in his chest, he changed into his pyjamas and laid back in bed. Ruddiger, ever the saint, sat beside his head and let out gentle noises to soothe him, nuzzling his cheek against the boy’s as he calmed him enough to settle into a deep sleep.

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

Teardrops dripped from his eyes and onto his phone as his breath shook with each inhale and exhale he took. Blue light from the screen stung the already teary eyes, the hurtful words that looked back at him instead of his reflection on the screen made the suffering even worse. His throat burned as he swallowed down acidic bile and his shoulders shook. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes away as the shock of the situation finally set in and his hand flew to his stomach, his gags finally ceasing after a few minutes.

He was well aware of the blood that rolled down his arm, indents from fingernails also stinging and buried deep into the pale, freckled skin that now had an ugly coat of scarlet that concealed them from his view. It ran down onto the bed steadily, not even ceasing as it still continued to run and flow across the expanse of skin and pool onto the sheets. They were red anyway. It fit right in, only a slightly deeper red than the covers.

Raising his head, he looked into the mirror - a true sight to see. Rather than a sight for sore eyes, he looked like something that would make someone gouge their eyes out. He wouldn’t blame them either. He felt like a freak, the weight of his secret almost crippling in his brain. Everything looked wrong about him - the way his hips jutted out too much for a boy, his overly feminine face, his chest...he wanted to rip that off. The material that constricted it made it almost hard to breathe every day, his chest heaving as he knew he had it on for too long, but he couldn’t risk taking it off. He just couldn’t.

Quirin had lost it when he found the last one, so buying a new one would be...too difficult. Well, as soon as the man had found out Varian’s secret, he’d lost it on the boy. Told him he’d ‘never be his son’ and refused to even look at him for a few days. He hated it when he cut his hair, even though he’d always kept it at a moderate length to keep Quirin happy. Well, if Quirin wasn’t going to call him his son, he wasn’t going to call him father.

What he hadn’t anticipated was this.

He only told one person his little secret. His almost deadly secret that he couldn’t risk getting spread because he’d already been transferred from Old Corona High to Saporia High, Old Corona apparently not being ‘good enough’. He’d left behind all his friend, everyone he’d ever cared about was gone and he wasn’t going back. 

He met Andrew in his first week and almost instantly they’d bonded. They bonded over thinking the Corona High students were snobs and didn’t even deserve the air they breathed. He’d told Varian that everything he did was great and encouraged him to do more. He cared for Varian when his father was being difficult and had wiped away countless tears. He’d been there for him no matter what. 

So he told Andrew his little secret.

He’d told Andrew. Andrew swore he wouldn’t tell anyone. Well, he swore until Varian befriended Rapunzel and her husband, Eugene. He didn’t even know he hated the pair, oblivious to the fact until Andrew had forced him to stop talking to them just the other day. Obviously he’d refused - why wouldn’t he? Rapunzel and Eugene cared for him. They loved him.

And so Andrew told everyone. Everyone in Saporia High knew his little secret, which is definitely not what he needed in a school that was almost built on republican values. It ached and pulled at his heart as he threw his phone across the room, it banging against the wall and he could swear he heard the shattering of the screen. It didn’t matter though anymore - not as if his father would have to fix it.

He rose to his feet. He had some business to attend to.

The burning returned as shaky legs dragged him towards the bathroom, fists clenched and locked himself in there, the tears still rolling down his cheeks. He felt too warm all of a sudden, sweat gathering and forming beads along his eyebrow as he heaved for breath and a pain spread and blossomed throughout his chest. He’d closed his eyes as he pulled off his shirt before he opened his eyes and stared at the binder that covered his chest. He wasn’t right. He didn’t know why he was born the way he was. The still shaking hands raised to open the glass cabinet in front of him as he took out two containers of pills. If he wasn’t gonna be listened to, he’d make them hear him.

The next time he woke up, all he heard was the persistent beeping of a monitor. A heart rate monitor. He remembered that from when his mother was in hospital. His vision was still blurred as he looked around the room, faces of doctors with masks and nurses opening doors appearing first, then the face of a familiar blonde rushing to his bedside as soon as the aforementioned door was even the slightest bit open. 

“Rapunzel.” He coughed, forcing a smile onto his features. Everything ached. His stomach ached. He let out a wheezy cough as a dainty hand was raised to press against his cheek, the touch welcome and spreading a cooling touch against his skin. He felt too hot. Far too hot. He assumed that was normal, the humid air of the hospital being uncomfortable. The place was too sterile as well, too uniform.

Distantly, he heard screams of ‘Vivian! I want to see my daughter!’. Quirin. He raised his head from the comforting hand pressed to his cheek and dread filled his stomach. “Please don’t let him in.” He gulped, Eugene moving away from the bedside to stand in front of the door and help the staff holding the man back.

 Rapunzel gripped his hand, a poor distraction as Eugene stopped Quirin from entering. “Oh Varian, we were so worried.” The soothing tone of the woman replied, the yelling outside ceasing as Eugene took a glance over. In fact, Lance and the girls were there as well as Cassandra and her girlfriend. A sad smile graced his features as he leant into the hand resting on his face and tears rolled down his cheeks.

“...And for as long as I live, you’ll never see him again!” The finishing yell of Eugene declared as the door to his room slammed shut and he rushed to his side, giving a silent nod to Rapunzzel. “Kid, you’re living with us. I’ll go get all your stuff and whatever you need, I just...fuck, kid. You should’ve told us sooner. We could’ve helped you, V. We didn’t know it was...that it was that bad. I just...fuck. I'm so sorry, Varian. I’m so sorry.” He explained, very clear tears welling in the man’s eyes as he apologised profusely to the boy.  

By the end of the week, Eugene and Rapunzel had helped him move out and set up his room in the attic of their house. He didn’t want to be an inconvenience to them, but the couple seemed to welcome him with open arms as they took him away from Quirin. They’d also arranged for him to start at Corona High instead, having helped him legally change his name to Varian. No one would know other than the teachers.

Thank god.

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

Varian woke up with a start, sitting up and wheezing. Oh, that was right. Hesitantly, the boy gripped at the sheets before removing his shirt and the binder residing under it before putting the shirt back on again. Rapunzel had always been sure to tell him when he had to take it off, ever the observant. She’d also always been the one to tell him to take his hormones. He knew she and Eugene loved him even after he came out.

But would Hugo? Well, that was a whole different story but...fuck it.

His fingers drifted to pick up his phone. 2:37am. He took a deep breath. He was sure Hugo would still love him either way, even if he wasn’t a biological boy. He was still Varian and he was still the boy Hugo fell in love with. Inner turmoil filled him as he let out a determined breath and dialled his number before raising the phone to his ear. There was no going back.

“Sweetheart, what’s up?” The raspy voice on the other end asked. God, he sounded amazing. Guilt still settled in his stomach as he took a large gulp. Shit, he was calling Hugo at 2am. They had school tomorrow and he’d probably woken the other up. Oh fuck, he’d certainly hate him now- “Baby, you gonna talk? I’ve gotta finish this level on-”

“I’m trans. Well, I was a girl. But I’m a boy. Well, I was never really truly a girl, I’ve always felt like a boy and I guess what I’m trying to say is I’ve always been a boy but I have a girl’s body and I thought you should know.” He stuttered out, silence meeting him on the other end of the phone. He facepalmed mentally, wanting to just curl up and die. Was he really this awkward? Why couldn’t he have just been normal and told Hugo face to face. ‘Hello my ridiculously handsome boyfriend, I’m transgender and I hope you love me!’

“Oh..” The other finally said. Varian could tell he was carefully choosing his next words, he could practically hear the cogs in his head turning in the deafening silence. “Well, I still love you and that isn’t gonna get rid of me, V. But thanks for telling me. You’re still my amazing boyfriend and I don’t love you any less.”

“Thanks Hugh. Sorry, I’ll let you finish your game. I uh-I love you. Goodnight.” He replied, hanging up and setting his phone aside as he stared at the ceiling. Hugo didn’t care. Hugo still loved him either way. A warm feeling filled his chest and a goofy grin took over his features as he slowly, but surely, fell into a deep and very happy sleep.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

caution: this drabble contains explicit child abuse (from lux’s past, but written as if it’s current). please proceed with caution.

When he hears it, Lux’s movements falter for just a moment. Flinches are mocked, are punished, so he doesn’t let the remembered pain associated with the clinking of a belt buckle jerk his shoulders up or force him to step closer to his room. He hasn’t done anything particularly annoying today so it’s probably not gonna end up with him in pain. He hasn’t done anything wrong.

There are eyes on him. Lux can tell. He hates these long, terrifying moments when his father’s eyes lock onto him, searching for some glaring fault to tear at. The warlock turns the page of his chapter book and tries not to shift his weight on the squeaky kitchen chair.

He’s read this page about four times but the words still aren’t sinking in. It takes another two attempts for him to build up the courage to flick his eyes up, to glance over toward the living room.

There his dad lounges in his armchair, looking just as dangerous as ever. Sometimes Lux wishes he had the kind of dad who has that same type of chair and seems to melt into it, out of shape and lazy, tossing an empty beer can at the TV at most. But no, his dad isn’t like that. He’s a proud veteran of the war, short sleeves rolled up to display the tattoos from the service, his gun on the table beside him in pieces ready to be reassembled. And he’s staring straight at Lux.

His belt is undone, the end hanging free of the buckle. Lux swallows past a lump in his throat and meets his father’s eyes again. Just an angry day, he guesses, and the only solution is hitting. He dog-ears the page of his book subtly.

“Get over here.”

The paperback flops onto the table as Lux hurries to stand. His legs carry him in the exact opposite direction of where he wants to go. “Yeah, Dad?”

There’s nothing but mild disgust on his father’s face. In his resignation, Lux’s mind runs through all the serious dangers he needs to keep track of: the sniper bullet in the glass case that’ll be used to kill him one day, the unassembled gun on the side table, the bat by the back door. It’ll definitely just be the belt right now, so he’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.

“Get on your knees.”

Lux hesitates, searching for some excuse to avoid this. But searching for a lie and then being caught in it is dangerous, so after his few seconds of inaction, the warlock kneels, eyes searching for the spot he likes to lock onto. There, a hole, a bullet hole in the carpet. That’s from when he was little and he tottered over to fumble his dad’s gun off the table only to set it off by accident. He got hurt for that, but whatever the punishment was, it’s faded in his memory in the haze of all the others. It just feels like a small, safe act of rebellion to remember pissing the guy off that badly, startling him with a gunshot that came out of nowhere.

The belt clinks again. In eleven years, Lux hasn’t managed to figure out why the belt is used for hurting. Punches work well enough, and they’re random, they’re easy to use and move on, get back to doing other things. This whole thing, though, being made to kneel and take off his shirt and take hits that leave plain stinging, and then welts, and then eventually dark bruises if it goes on long enough? It’s just a lot of work to be put into one little punishment. It’s embarrassing, somehow, to have made his dad so angry that this whole process is the only way to make a lesson sink in.

He doesn’t have a shirt to take off, so there’s one step they can skip. Already he’s thinking about school tomorrow; how the welts will chafe under his shirt, how he’ll be grumpy and distracted, how he’ll get in trouble for his attitude and maybe end up in detention. He could try to be nice and act fine, he thinks, to avoid that, but the thought of having to pretend like he isn’t in pain just makes him angry. Lux curls his fists around two little fluffed-up tufts of carpet.

Thwack. Lux jerks and his brow crumples; he has to bite his lip to keep quiet. He wouldn’t get yelled at for making a sound, probably, but just knowing that his dad would see it as a sign of weakness makes him want to prove he’s tough. The bullet hole in the carpet remains, and his eyes stay locked on it even as they tear up with the coming blows of folded leather against his back. It’s eerily silent in between the lashes. He never feels more alone than when he’s taking the belt, when he remembers sorely that no one is near, no one can make it stop. Not even his mom, who couldn’t ever stop it from coming, but who helped after, all gentle and worried. No, Lux is alone. Alone with his dad, and the belt, and their quiet house.

~

Walking through the hallways at school with welts under his shirt is when his thoughts are always darkest. When he’s bitter that no one’s noticed what’s been done to him, and when he desperately hopes that no one will notice. Sometimes he gets home to find small lines of blood on the inside of his shirt from where the worst welts apparently bled, and he crumples with relief knowing that the blood didn’t seep through and get him caught.

He steps to avoid students hurrying to their classes, angling his shoulders to avoid all bustling. If anything, a backpack, an arm, a swinging locker meets his back, he’s going to make a sound. The teachers standing at their doors waiting for their students watch him, some subtly and some with open concern or judgement. Lux adjusts the textbooks in his arm, cheeks flushing. Yeah, he’s got his books for once. Puts a strain on his back that’s no fun, but he’s so anxious over what his dad will do if he gives him a reason to get angry, so today he’s gonna try in his classes. That was the plan, anyway, that he formed last night at 2am to calm himself down from a wave of panic. He can try in his classes, and he won’t get detention, and everyone will be a little less pissed at him than usual.

History class. That’s this period, and it’s going to be good. A relief, maybe even some fun. Lux hustles, a little bit, to get to his favorite teacher’s class on time.

Mr. Carter holds the door open for him with his usual smile. Lux flashes a half-smile back. If Mr. Carter ever suspects anything or worries about Lux, he doesn’t let it show, not at the start of class. Lux thinks he knows more than he lets on, but wants Lux to think he’s getting away with hiding things, and that makes it so much easier for the warlock to shed his stress for the span of a class period and listen.

Finding his seat and sliding his books onto the wire shelf underneath, Lux folds his arms onto his desk and leans forward in an attempt to look casual without letting his back press against his seat.

“Good morning, class,” Says Mr. Carter, letting the door close behind him as he walks over to his whiteboard. Lux relaxes at the guy’s posture alone. Mr. Carter just walks, he doesn’t stride, doesn’t take heavy angry steps, doesn’t put on any kind of haughty demeanor that authority figures tend to put on. The guy leans against his desk, popping the lid off a dry-erase marker and seeming to consider the color of it before looking back up at his class.

“So, today, we’re going to be debating, class.”

Lux perks up, eyes watching keenly for everyone’s reactions, and watching the teacher too. Lux loves debating, Mr. Carter knows that. But can he really work up the energy to do it today? Is he in such a rotten mood that he’ll get offended and lash out and be laughed at?

“Everyone will participate. Even if you don’t want to talk in front of the class, I want everyone to write down their arguments and slide them over to their debating team members, alright? And if it doesn’t get too heated, guys, pizza on Friday.”

A rare smile breaks across Lux’s face. Free food, and incentive for the class not to get all loud and angry today? A chance to debate, or to just write down his ideas, no pressure? Mr. Carter is the best.

Mr. Carter glances at him, and Lux’s stomach flutters with the panic that comes with being noticed, only to instantly settle into he knew I’d like this plan, he’s got my back, this is gonna make today so much less sucky.

~

The debate has heated up, and Lux, usually eager to jump in and land a well-executed point, is slinking back in his seat, avoiding eyes. Mr. Carter is watching every point of action, keeping an eye on his students’ volume levels and movements. Here and there, though, he glances at Lux, worried that maybe this debate topic has veered over the line.

“Cops are dying and those no-good killers are just roaming the streets! They’re all a bunch of crackheads you know, they’ve got knives and guns and no permits, they’re all fucking-”

“Language, Mr. Peterson,” Chides Mr. Carter, arms crossed, tense as he considers how to calm down a classroom full of passionate, but misguided, young people. “And remember what I always say about assumptions versus facts? This is less of a debate and more of a witch hunt at this point.”

“Witch hunt! Speaking of, let’s talk facts,” A girl chimes in, and Mr. Carter seems to relax. She’s one of his most clever, quiet students - if she’s joining in, she’s got to have a good, mature point to make. “Witches have been burned at the literal stake, hunted down, and today it’s not poking a girl to see if she bleeds and then drowning her in front of the town. It’s monitoring your search search history, it’s cops dragging people off the street with guns and tasers. How far can we go with murder and oppression in the name of safety before we become the thing we fear?”

Mr. Carter reels from the force of her logic, nodding. “Excellent, Miss-”

“Warlock sympathizer!” Cries the guy that was cut off for making assumptions, pointing at the girl who refuses to back down. “They’re killers, that’s not an assumption that’s a fact, government says so, news say so, my dad’s a cop, he-”

“Then your dad’s the killer,” She shoots back, face flushed. “Witches are getting murdered, can’t find a safe place to live, can’t even get a job, they’re dying out there. There’s no healthcare for women with magic-”

“Women with magic? Like people of color?” Jeers someone from the back of the classroom, and snickers break out.

“-and some of us can’t even afford food for kids, for warlock kids who got kicked out for being who they are, the witches give the kids food and the warlocks don’t because they need the strength to go fight off the cops dragging their friends off to die, and… and…” Her argument fades as her voice falters. The whole classroom is staring at her, dumbstruck.

“Witch,” Someone mutters, and her skin goes grey.

“Incredible,” Cries Mr. Carter, sweeping forward. Lux isn’t breathing, where he sits at the deck farthest from the debating, his instincts screaming at him to run, get to the door, before the grabbing, the accusations, the death. “Excellent. Thank you, Miss Abby. You can sit now.”

She does, legs wobbling, somehow summoning a nervous smile.

“I asked her to drop that point into her argument at some point today, so I could see how you’d all react. That’s the real lesson here, today - Mister Connor, put that phone away, no texting your girlfriend in my class, you know the rules.” Mr. Carter shakes his head as the class snickers at Connor, who opens his mouth, hesitates, then turns off the phone that shows the number for reporting a warlock sighting half-dialed. “Class,” Continues the history teacher - and Lux spots a tremor in the man’s hand as he raises it - “You all just fell victim to the number one pitfall in debating. You panicked at hearing something that’s seen as a taboo in our society, and instantly all logic left the room. You were ready to pick up your pitchforks and jump into your assumptions rather than facts, weren’t you?”

“But, Mr. Carter, we’re supposed to report-”

“Not in my class, you’re not,” Interrupts the teacher, eyes hard with stern disapproval. “Listen. I’m not discussing the broad topic of dangers to society and what role in that magic users play. I’m talking about logic and reason as used in debates in this isolated environment. I’m talking about your instincts in an argument, and how you can avoid losing an argument when it really matters. For example, Miss Abby, as I asked her to, aimed to distract you all. It worked instantly. In a political debate that you’d see on the news, the first mention of warlocks switches the debate from taxes and civil rights and the funding of things like hospitals. Do you see that now? How she could have been arguing something that would establish a policy that your political party is directly opposing, but with one buzzword like witch, she distracted you?” Mr. Carter presses on with a lecture about the strategies used in debating, a long winding talk that bores everyone out of their near-frenzy to attack.

Lux and Abby, meanwhile, take the time to remember how to breathe and keep their eyes on the floor. No one seems to remember that they’re there as everyone tries to find a sneaky way to scroll through apps on their phone or doodle in their notebooks as the teacher rambles and starts to write his talking points on the whiteboard.

Lux wonders, sitting very still to avoid reigniting the pain in his back, if Mr. Carter really knew Abby was going to say that.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Almost

The series is as follows :

Mama Scully’s Party …. Morning … Underwears … Maps … Nachos … Foul Ball … Promises … Stay … Phone Calls … Flannel Interruption … Awakening… Friendly Compromises … Scrabble … Apart …  A Long Week … Lightning … Missing You … Interim … Stuff … Waiting … Going … Hands … Unsteady … Fear … Fast … Slow … Regardless … Into the Dark … Light … Surfboards … Curbs … Showers … Borders … Canyons … Soaked … Ice Cream … Never Happened … Deep South … Almost … Blue-Suede Shoes … Unwelcome … Remarkable … Stars … Doorbells … M&Ms … Knees ... Home

___________

Their dual hangovers were nursed at the pool, no tacos in sight but plenty of water and one rum and Coke apiece seemed to ease the burden. By that evening, they were out and about, taking a touristy ghost tour at Mulder’s insistence, “because if you’re looking for a good haunted place, Scully, you look to New Orleans.”

“Ghosts don’t exist, Mulder.”

“Remind me to go to bed tonight with a sign on my chest stating, ‘she said it, not me’ and an arrow pointing to you.”

He kept up with the guide fairly well, his height affording him better acoustics than Scully, who’s shortness kept her in the muffled area of everyone else’s shoulders. She was okay with this though, given the sheer rapturous look on Mulder’s face the entire time. He absorbed these stories like a sponge and Scully had more than one thought that they’d be on a case down here soon, if he had anything to say about it.

She was so enamored watching him she was surprised then their group broke up, the tour over, the evening coming to a close. Mulder gave her a smile, then leaned in to her sightline, “you so totally spooked you can’t move? Please say you are. I’ll buy you a Beignet if you say you are.”

Catching the corner of his mouth in a kiss, she first patted his cheek, thumb running over where she’d just kissed, then ever so lightly scratching her fingernails down his two days worth of stubble, “how ‘bout I buy the Beignets and we call it good.”

“I’m already calling it pretty good.”

Once they were at the little café across from the hotel, listening to the band do their jazz thing, Scully reached across the table, pulling gently on his pointer finger knuckle until he opened his hand and she slipped her fingers through his, palms pressed together lightly, “you know what?”

His eyes were locked on hers, “what?”

“I haven’t gotten to hold your hand since you broke your leg. It’s eight days.”

Tugging her forward, he raised her fist to his lips, kissing randomly, tasting both powdered sugar and delicious Scully, “nine, actually.”

The fact that he knew the count better than she did warmed her instantly, “I’ve missed it.”

Still nursing her knuckles, “me, too.” Etta James began in the background and Mulder grinned at her, “I’d ask you to dance but I imagine I’d fall over right now.”

“We’ll dance, Mulder. When you’re better, we’ll dance.” Her eyes shined at him, “and then we’ll hold hands and forget about the world.”

“Like we are right now?”

Moving her second hand to him, she caressed the soft hairs on the back of his hand, making the ones on his neck stand up, “exactly like we are right now.”

The things lined up on the end of his tongue to declare to her were rudely banished by a clumsy waiter accidently throwing a large mug of hot coffee on Mulder when he stumbled, tripping on a neighboring table’s chair. Forgetting about broken leg, cast and crutches, Mulder flew backwards in his attempt to stand, to brush the burning liquid from his chest, crotch and bare legs. Instead of smooth execution, he went for formless crashing flat on his back, his head cracking painfully against a low brick wall, effectively ending his consciousness immediately.

It also saved him from seeing the heart-wrenching look on Scully’s face as she dropped beside him.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

The first face, thankfully, that swam in front of him was hers and not some annoying, pimply-faced doctor, entirely too young to have any kind of degree and telling him to remember three stupid things for his concussion test.

“Mulder? You with us?”

It was only then that he realized he was on his side, “huh?”

“You waking up?” Her fingers were on his forehead, playing with the hair at his temple, “don’t try to roll over, okay?”

She was blurry and his head ached, “what?”

Her expression shifted from concerned Scully to concerned doctor, “Mulder? Can you hear me?”

Shutting his eyes would be better. if only he could figure out the words to tell her to move out of the way, to tell her he was about to throw up from the room spinning and the pounding in his head.

The next thing he knew, she was in front of him, wearing a scrub top, worrying the corner of her thumb, “hey, you’re gonna make it bleed if you keep chewing on it like that.”

His ears and Scully’s, however, heard some kind of garbled mess, the only word standing out was ‘chewing’ and she removed her thumb, “you scare me like that, I reserve the right to gnaw on my thumb.” He went to nod and pain exploded in his head. A whimper escaped his pale lips and Scully shushed him with the same thumb now on his cheek, “don’t move, okay? You’ve got an impressive amount of stitches in the back of your head from the brick wall you slammed in to as well as a pretty good concussion.”

“Matching scars.” She had to lean forward to hear him repeat, “matching scars. You and I.”

Letting out a wet chuckle that gave away her very recent tears, “yes, matching scars.”

His hand drifted up and he watched it, slightly confused as to how he was moving it, given he couldn’t really feel it, the clouded haze of his head making his limbs feel detached and weightless. Finally, he ran into her cheek, “you were crying.”

Given it was 2am and she was tired and her nerves were frazzled and this was Mulder, she nodded against his fingers, “yeah. You had me scared there for a little while.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me and not in jail. I should have been with you when you fell. I’m sorry I wasn’t with you.”

His words were clearer now but he was still slurring and that look of concern was back. Removing her face from his hand, “I’m going to go grab the doctor. I’ll be back.”

The third time he opened his eyes, she was there again, this time looking exhausted. Her smile, however, was wide, “welcome back.” Resting her elbows on the bed, she tilted her head to see him straight, “do you remember how to spell Elvis’ middle name?”

“Aron.”

“How many fish do you have?”

“Six.”

“Do you think Frohike is cute?”

“Only when he wears his bunny pajamas.”

Brushing her lips over the tip of his nose, “I can finally understand you.”

This time, he could control his hand when it reached for her, wrapping his fingers around her forearm, thumb running over the crease of her elbow, “you’ve been crying again.”

Blinking rapidly a few times, “over you? Never.”

“Yes, over me.”

“Believe what you want. Mostly I’m just really tired.”

He smiled at her as best he could, “I’d invite you up here with me but I’m afraid to move. Last time I did, someone let off a jackhammer in my skull.”

“I’m fine in my chair, I promise.” Giving him one last concentrated stare that made his heart skip a beat, which registered on the monitor for God and Scully to witness, “you have 22 stitches.”

“Damn wall cracked me open like an egg, didn’t it?”

Moving forehead to forehead, eyebrow to eyebrow, nose nestled to nose and lips so close there was no light between them, “I don’t like being scared like that. Don’t do it again, okay?”

He desperately wanted to close that last micron of space but his head pounded and his heart’s erratic rhythm was making him nauseous, “I’ll try.”

She could hear the monitor doing funny things and she pulled away, “you okay?”

“Puke,” was the only word he got out before she had a basin under his mouth and a cool hand on his clammy forehead as he dry-heaved.

When he finished, she moved the still-empty container, leaning over to kiss his cheek lightly, “you’ll feel better soon.”

“Drugs?”

“I’ll go see what you can take. Hang on while I’m gone, okay?”

Knowing not to nod, he just shut his eyes, waiting for either death or his Scully to return.

&&&&&&&&&&&

He spent the dismal remains of that night and the next in the hospital, his concussion severe enough to need constant monitoring and bless her, Scully sat next to him the whole time, going back to the hotel only to change and shower.

When he was finally released, he moved slow, thoroughly afraid of falling again, resorting to a wheel chair instead of his crutches. She packed their things and checked out of the hotel, then came to pick him up at the hospital entrance, helping his maneuver into the Jeep, “comfortable?”

Pillow behind his back to keep his head from resting on the seat, “sure. Why not.”

Taking that as a ‘yes’, they pulled into traffic, “home?”

“Do we have to?”