#anyway. cried over her again tonight and then had to listen to five seconds flat

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

I was going to go to sleep early tonight but then I had to Google my most painful ex and listen to the entirety of Five Seconds Flat by Lizzy McAlpine. I may have to listen to it again, so it's going to be a busy night.

[morganaspendragonss]

fall apart when it hurts too much

i had like three ideas for this fic so here’s all of them smashed together! ft. carlos and tk actually not being physically perfectly fine after being trapped in a fire, breakdowns in the shower, and an actual apology for that scene.

It's the smallest thing that breaks him, in the end. Ever since the fire, Carlos has been trying to keep a lid on everything, trying not to shatter even though he's been on the verge for hours now. He makes it to the shower, desperate to scrub the stench of smoke from his body, and then he just—

He drops the soap.

ao3 | 2.9k | 2.12 spoilers

Carlos barely makes it five steps from their house before his knees are hitting the tarmac, falling to all fours as his body heaves and shakes with coughing. He can’t catch his breath, and panic lights up in his chest, fingernails scrabbling at the ground despite the pain. Hands are on him, too big and rough to be TK’s, but Carlos doesn’t have a chance to work out who they belong to before they’re shifting under his arms, dragging him backwards even as their house explodes, a blast of intense heat washing over them.

If he had any breath left in him, Carlos is certain it would have abandoned him in that moment. Everything he’s spent years building for himself, all gone in the blink of an eye. It’s too much, and he collapses back down the second whoever’s holding him lets go. His eyes are streaming, a combination of irritation from the smoke, the tightness in his lungs, and a terror that he suspects won’t leave him for a long, long time. 

He gasps, forehead pressed to the concrete, and then hands are on him again, but these—these, he knows. Carlos sags gratefully into TK’s arms, allowing him to pull him close and resting his head on TK’s chest, right above his heart.

He still can’t really breathe, and judging by the ragged gasps from above him, TK isn’t faring much better. But his heart is beating. 

They’re alive.

Carlos closes his eyes, drifting away from himself as the fire continues to burn and the wail of sirens cut through the night air. TK curls his body around him and Carlos clings to that security with both hands. It means they made it out; somehow, they made it out.

TK’s lips press against his cheek, then his mouth shifts to his ear, voice rough yet still soothing when he speaks. “Baby, we need to move,” he says. “We gotta — They gotta check us out.”

Carlos feels himself nodding, but it’s the only movement he can manage. His entire body is trembling and his mind is frozen, replaying the last five minutes over and over on repeat.

God, had it only been five minutes?

“Come on.” TK tugs at his arm and, after a few tries, Carlos manages to get his limbs to cooperate long enough to begin to rise. A dizziness comes over him without warning and he stumbles, nearly pulling them both back to the ground; it occurs to Carlos that TK can’t be any more steady than he is. They’d been in there for the same time, after all.

Judd catches Carlos before he falls, and he sees through blurred vision Owen doing the same for TK. They’re led - or, rather, carried - to the ambulance, the flashing lights cutting through Carlos’s already pounding skull, and carefully lowered down onto the step. Unthinkingly, Carlos grabs TK’s hand, unsure if the tremor in the touch is coming from him or TK.

Oxygen masks are secured over both their faces and shock blankets wrapped around their shoulders, the soft material comforting. A kind-looking paramedic kneels in front of them, asking them questions about symptoms as she wraps burns Carlos didn’t even realise he’d acquired. He barely manages a nod or a head shake at the appropriate moments, his brain struggling to catch up with it all.

He’s so tired. All he wants is to be asleep in their bed, in TK’s arms, and for this to be a horrible nightmare he’s yet to wake from.

But their bed is gone. Their home is gone, ashes, only the twisted remnants of metal supporting beams left behind.

He’s shaking again, his chest constricting and causing him to cough despite the oxygen mask. Tears fall hot and fast down his cheeks and he practically falls onto TK, hands fisting in the blanket.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobs when he’s caught his breath enough to speak, pulling the mask down. “I’m so sorry.”

TK shushes him, hands running soothingly up and down his back. “It’s okay. This wasn’t your fault. We’re going to be okay.”

“But we almost weren’t.” He pulls back to meet TK’s eyes, the first time since Owen and Billy came bursting in. “I—I thought we weren’t going to make it. I should have had a fire extinguisher upstairs, this should never have… I...”

He cuts himself off, talking becoming an impossibility. TK cradles him close, kissing his head gently and whispering reassurances into his hair. Carlos hangs onto every word, not really believing them, but wanting to desperately.

By the time the paramedic ushers them into the ambulance, Carlos’s tears have eased, but the gaping pit in his chest has only grown. 

He wishes he could wake up now.

*

They’re at the hospital for a few hours, run through a myriad of tests before they’re both declared fit to leave. A smiling nurse gives them the news, telling them that they’ll be home before they know it. 

Neither of them have the energy or the ability to correct her.

Carlos’s parents come to pick them up, his mom producing a bag of fresh clothes for both of them. Where she got them from, Carlos doesn’t know, and he doesn’t ask. He hasn’t said much at all since the fire despite TK’s many attempts to get him to talk, leaning into the doctor’s advice not to do anything that might irritate his throat. He’s not sure what he’s even supposed to say; their house is gone, and that’s… That’s that.

His mom loops her arm through his and walks him through the corridors and out of the hospital. Carlos only half-listens to her talk about fixing up his room for them and what she’s planning on cooking for dinner tonight; he still feels the stench of smoke and ash clinging to his skin, even though they were able to clean up a little at the hospital. He itches with the need to wash it all off, to scrub until his skin cracks and bleeds and the pain eclipses that which lingers in his bones.

TK seems to sense how he’s feeling, constantly providing support in one form or another the entire drive to his parents’ house. Carlos feels guilty for not checking on him, but he’s seconds from shattering. If he tries to focus on anything other than holding himself together, he knows he’ll break.

He realises that makes him a shitty boyfriend, but… But.

His childhood home soon comes into view, a part of Carlos relaxing at the sight. He’s beyond grateful that they came here instead of going to Owen’s; he needs every comfort he can get right now, his mother’s cooking and his abuela’s stitched blanket second only to TK on that list. 

He turns to TK as the car comes to a stop, squeezing his hand gently. “This isn’t how I’d imagined bringing you home for the first time,” he jokes, trying for a smile, but it falls flat. TK gives him a token smile anyway, the same weariness Carlos is feeling heavy in his gaze. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing what teenage Carlos was like.”

“You already know,” Carlos points out. “I’m pretty sure my mom spilled every story there is the other night when we were… Well, you know.”

TK nods. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a mere whisper. Carlos doesn’t get it, how even the slightest thought of their house can send him spiralling, but he guesses that it’s just another thing he’ll have to deal with now. As if there wasn’t already enough.

He doesn’t get a chance to think on it any longer, his parents calling for them to come inside, his mother practically shoving the two of them upstairs. Carlos leads TK to his old room by the hand, the decorations almost untouched since he moved out.

“You can just…” He waves around, gesturing vaguely to the bed. “Make yourself comfortable, I guess. I’m going to shower, you can go in after me if you want, or I won’t mind if you just want to sleep. Bathroom is the door at the end of the hall.”

TK chews on his lip, not letting go of Carlos’s hand just yet. “I can join you?” he offers, but Carlos shakes his head.

“It’s pretty small in there. Better not.”

TK doesn’t look like he believes him (and why would he? it is a lie, after all) but he nods and lets go. Carlos lingers for a second, then leaves, grabbing the bag of clothes his mom left on his way.

He manages to scrub himself fully once before it happens. There’s still a slight tremble to his hands as he reaches for the soap again, the feeling of being unclean sticking to him, and he just—

He drops the soap.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. Carlos stares at where it’s fallen, willing himself to just pick it up and carry on, because that would be the sensible thing to do, right? The normal thing?

But he can’t. Everything—the fire, the house, the goddamn soap—is suddenly all too much, and Carlos has to brace himself against the tiles as emotions he’s tried so hard to ignore pour out of him in a wave of grief and sorrow and despair. He presses his fist to his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, cries wrenching from his mouth, so loud that he doesn’t hear the gentle knocking at the door.

“Carlos?”

Carlos gasps, straightening as TK’s voice cuts through the noise. “I’m okay, I’ll just be a second,” he calls, but obviously he’s not convincing enough as the door creaks open, TK’s face falling when he catches sight of him.

“Oh, Carlos.”

TK steps into the room, silently undressing and stepping into the shower with him. He bends and grabs the soap from where it fell and creates a lather on his hands, looking to Carlos for permission before going any further.

Carlos wordlessly nods, so TK begins rubbing the suds over his body, touch soft and feather-light. They don’t say a word, and it’s not… It’s not relaxing, exactly - Carlos doesn’t think he can relax tonight - but it’s… It’s something. It means he’s not alone, which is all Carlos could ask for in this moment.

A slight pressure on his shoulder tells him to turn around, so Carlos puts his back to TK, facing the spray of the showerhead. He doesn’t know why, but not having to look at him makes it easier, somehow, to say the words that have been spinning in his mind since this nightmare began.

“I’m so sorry, TK,” he whispers. “If we had just had an extinguisher, then—”

“Then, nothing,” TK interrupts, not pausing in his motions. “I used to be a firefighter, Carlos; I know from experience that when a fire burns like that, nothing can stop it. My dad, Billy, and Judd all had extinguishers, and they barely made a dent.”

“I still should have done more. You were so calm, and I was just panicking.”

“Firefighter. I’ve been in plenty of burning buildings before; you haven’t. And, trust me, I was scared too.” TK sighs, his hands stilling on Carlos’s shoulders for a brief second before resuming. “Listen to me,” he whispers fiercely, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You have nothing to apologise for, you hear me? Nothing.”

*

When Carlos wakes the next morning, TK is sitting on the edge of the bed, back to him, his hands twisting together in his lap. The set of his shoulders is tense, and Carlos can imagine the look on his face right now. He pushes himself up onto an elbow and reaches out, intending on comforting TK the way he’s done so many times over the course of their relationship.

What he’s not expecting is for TK to flinch away like his touch burns. Carlos frowns, sitting up fully and crawling over the bed to sit next to him. “Babe?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

TK shakes his head, subtly—though, not subtle enough—shifting away from him until there’s a clear gap between their bodies. It’s so far removed from last night when they could barely stand to let go of each other, and Carlos has no idea what’s causing it.

“TK?” he tries, keeping his hands to himself this time. “Please, TK, talk to me.”

It takes another agonising minute before TK finally, slowly, turns his gaze to Carlos. His eyes are wet and red-rimmed, and he can’t seem to look directly at him for longer than a few seconds. He clears his throat roughly, rubbing the material of his borrowed sweats between his fingers.

“Remember last night?” he says quietly. “When I said you had nothing to apologise for? I meant that—you don’t, but I do.” TK takes a trembling breath, then turns to him with a gasp. “Carlos, I—”

“Stop,” Carlos interrupts, shaking his head. He thought they’d moved past this; he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. “I already told you, it’s okay. You were in shock, you were angry… I get it, okay? You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Yes, I do.”

“TK—”

“Carlos, please.” A couple of tears slip down TK’s cheeks and he doesn’t bother to wipe them away, a desperate look in his eyes. Carlos hesitates, then sighs and nods, gesturing for him to continue. “Thank you. I… If I thought it meant anything, I would say that I’m sorry a thousand times over. I mean, I am, of course I am, but they’re just words, right? The same as saying I wish it had never happened in the first place, because the point is that it did happen and I can’t ever take it back. You had done nothing but support me, and I just—I hit you. There’s no excusing that. I don’t even know if there’s any forgiving that.”

Carlos frowns. “Of course there is.”

“Well, maybe there shouldn’t be.” TK looks down at his lap, shoulders curved inwards. “I wanted to use so badly that night,” he admits. “I was going out of my mind over my dad, and I’d convinced myself that I’d lost you. That I was going to lose you both. It was so tempting to go to the nearest bar or dealer and make it all go away for a while.

“Then I realised that I would only be hurting more people if I did, and I couldn’t do that. I’m not… This isn’t me trying to excuse what I did to you. You don’t deserve that, and I understand completely if you can’t trust me anymore, or even if you want me to leave. I’ll do it, whatever you want, just say the word. I can’t take it back, but I’ll do anything so that you feel safe.”

TK sniffs, his head bowed so low he’s almost folding in half. Carlos hesitates, then slowly reaches out, taking TK’s hands in his own. “TK, look at me?” he asks softly.

TK does, pain written all over his face, and it breaks Carlos’s heart again. 

“I forgive you,” he says, squeezing as tight as he dares. “I forgive you. You might not think you deserve it, but I promise you that you do. I won’t pretend that what happened didn’t hurt me, but I understand why you did it.” He pauses, weighing his next words carefully before he speaks, not wanting to say the wrong thing. Not that he thinks TK will react like before again, but he refuses to make him feel any worse about the situation.

He makes sure he has TK’s eyes on him before speaking, keeping his voice as calm as possible. “But,” he starts, sighing heavily, “you are right. It’s not an excuse, and we are going to have to deal with this soon. Maybe not right now, but we need to have a conversation about these defence mechanisms of yours and how we can make sure you don’t feel the need to fall back on them again.”

TK nods. “I’m going to go to a meeting tomorrow, and I’ll talk to my therapist as soon as I can. I’ll… I’ll be better, Carlos, I swear.”

“I know you will.”

Carlos shifts closer so he can wrap an arm around TK. He stiffens at the touch, but slowly leans into it, carefully resting his head on Carlos’s shoulder.

“I don’t deserve this,” he mumbles.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Carlos counters.

TK snorts. “I think you’ve given me about thirty.”

“And you’ve deserved every single one.” He kisses the top of TK’s head and strokes his side. “I don’t think you could ever do anything bad enough to drive me away. That’s not who you are, TK. You’ve made mistakes, yes, but I love you and I will keep loving you even if you think I shouldn’t because I know my boyfriend and I know he’s a good man.”

TK sniffles, his arms coming up to wrap around him. He hesitates a second, a palm hovering over Carlos’s chest, trembling in mid-air as the seconds drag out. Carlos holds his breath, waiting, then smiles as TK slowly brings it down, letting it rest just over his heart.

The touch is light, barely there, but it’s something. It’s progress. 

They’re both more than a little broken, more than a little hurt, but they can heal. They will heal, as long as they’re together.

[adenei]

Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride - Chapter 1

Readn on: AO3 || FFN

Mozart found his calling at age five, composing his first minuet. Picasso discovered his talent for painting when he was nine. Tiger Woods swung his first club well before his second birthday. Me? I was eight when I discovered my purpose in life.

I was at the Hillsong Church in London for my cousin Tessa’s wedding. It was the first big outing for Dad and I after Mum passed away, and he wasn’t doing very well. I needed to use the bathroom before the ceremony began, so I excused myself to do so. As I was washing my hands, I heard a scream, and the bride came running out of her suite.

“Shit!” she said as she turned to look at the three inch tear on the back of her wedding dress. When she saw me, she apologized for her language. “Sorry, Hermione!”

“It’s okay, we have cable,” I said quickly.

“What am I going to do?” she said woefully to herself.

As I was drying my hands, I looked back in the mirror and noticed the bow that was tied around my head. I had an idea. 

I took the ribbon from my hair, and weaved it into my cousin’s wedding dress to hide the rip. I knew I needed to get back to my seat because Tessa was getting ready to walk down the aisle, but she stopped me as I headed for the door.

“Hermione, wait! Will you hold my train as I walk down the aisle?” Tessa asked me.

 And that was the moment. That was when I fell in love with weddings. I knew that I had helped someone on the most important day of their life, and I couldn’t wait for my own special day.

~o~

“Oh my goodness you’re stunning!” said one of the bridal salon stylists.

“Absolutely beautiful!” a second complimented.

I was smiling from ear to ear as I modeled a spectacular wedding dress made of taffeta with a sweetheart neckline. It really does fit me spectacularly well, I thought before my phone rang.

“Katie! Hi!” I answered. “Yes, the dress fits perfectly! You’re going to look so beautiful—yes, I know! Such a lucky coincidence that we’re exactly the same size!” I paused to listen to the rest of her directions. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. They just finished hemming. Remember, this is your day. You don’t need to worry about a thing!” 

I hung up and looked at the stylists, who seemed satisfied. They helped me out of Katie’s gown so I could change into my bridesmaid dress instead. It wasn’t terrible, considering the other bridesmaid dresses I’d worn in the past, but maybe someday the brides might pick something other than taffeta for the bridesmaid dresses. At least the lilac color was nice.

Remember how I said I fell in love with weddings? Well, I realized I had a knack for making someone’s wedding day special after I graduated from University. A study group partner had a bridesmaid back out and asked me to fill in at the last minute. Of course I said yes, since I didn’t know how to say no, and she gushed that I saved her day.

I would hardly call it ‘saving the day,’ but it did get me thinking. With no active love life of my own and very few hobbies outside of my job at an up and coming publishing company, I decided to put myself for hire. Wilkins Weddings was a one woman show, but my best friend and coworker Lavender Brown helped out on occasion. She was actually the one who came up with my witty slogan. Turn your ‘woes’ into ‘wows’ with this all in one wedding planner and bridesmaid for hire.

It was a decent side business, and tonight would mark wedding numbers twenty-five and twenty-six. I did say I had a hard time saying no, didn’t I? Ordinarily I would have declined the second offer, but this one wasn’t hiring. Parvati was my roommate and good friend at University, and I couldn’t say no! Her wedding was a bit rushed, but the venues were fairly close together with staggering ceremony times. I knew I could make it work.

Satisfied with my hair and makeup, I left the bridal salon’s dressing room and took the wedding dress off the rack on my way out the door. I had five minutes before I needed to meet Lavender, then we’d head to Katie’s venue. Despite being nearly late myself, I still beat Lav to the intersection we agreed on.

“I’m here, I’m here!” I heard her unmistakable voice call.

“It’s about time! I was beginning to worry,” I told her, a frown crossing my face. 

“Yeah, yeah. Remember I’m doing you a favor with this one,” Lavender reminded me.

“I wouldn’t call it a favor since I am reimbursing you for your time,” I retorted. She shot me a look. “Thank you for doing this, by the way.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do anyways. Why do you have all that stuff?” she asked me.

“Oh, nevermind that. Here, take this bag. It has tylenol, safety pins, anything you’ll need in a pinch.” I noticed Lavender’s hair. It looked like it was thrown up haphazardly into a messy bun. “Lav, did you even try to do your hair?”

“What? The bitch said up, so it’s up!” she chirped with an attitude*.

I rolled my eyes at her crassness. “I’ll fix it when we get inside.”

It wasn’t that Lavender couldn’t do her own hair and makeup. She absolutely could. Half the time, she was the one doing my hair and makeup for all these weddings! I just knew that if she wasn’t invested in something, then she couldn’t be arsed about it.  

It didn’t take long to get to the venue. Once inside, I handed the dress off to the maid of honor and fixed Lavender’s hair. Pictures needed to start in five minutes in order to keep the ceremony on time. Things had to run smoothly if I was going to pull this off.

As if they could hear my thoughts, the doors to the bridal suite opened and Katie appeared. She was a beautiful bride! The photographer quickly lined us up for pictures, and in between shots Katie nudged me.

“Aren’t the dresses great?” she asked. “The best part about it is you can shorten them and wear it again!” she said through nervous laughter.

I nodded and smiled. Rule number one was to always agree with the bride. It was funny how that saying had become a staple among all brides. I wondered if it was just something they said to make their bridesmaids feel better about spending all that money on a dress they’d only wear once. Because let’s be honest: no one ever actually shortens the dress and wears it again. I can attest to that.

The ceremony started shortly after we posed for pictures. I was trying to be conspicuous, but I knew I was obsessively checking my watch. The presider of the ceremony was probably the slowest speaker I’d ever witnessed. Finally, the ceremony ended and the bride and groom were whisked away to get their own photos done. I knew I wouldn’t be needed for at least an hour and a half when the reception was due to start, so I quietly slipped away and grabbed my bag.

I made my way outside and hailed a taxi. Luckily it didn’t take long for one to pull over. I climbed inside and pulled my hair out of it’s updo as I addressed the driver.

“30 Portman Square, please, and I’ll give you £300 flat for the whole evening on one condition.”

“Yeah, sure!” the driver said excitedly.

“You don’t look in the rear view at all. I’ll deduct £15 every time you do,” I told him seriously.

He looked surprised. “That’s easy. Deal!” The driver pulled onto the street and I began to undress. I needed to change into my other bridesmaid’s dress before we arrived at our destination. “What are you doing?!” he asked as I pulled my current dress down.

“Hey! We had a deal. You just lost yourself fifteen. No looking!”

He shook his head. “Fine,” he said as he shifted his eyes to the road.

When we finally pulled up to the address, I opened the door and paused before getting out. “I’ll be right back!” I took my bag and headed into the venue.

“Oh, good! You’re here! Do you have any of those extra thingies? I forgot mine,” one of the bridesmaids said as she rushed over to me. 

I reached into my bag and pulled out an extra bindi for her to put on as Parvati came out from an adjacent room. “You’re here!” she cried excitedly.

“Of course I am! I wouldn’t miss this for the world, you know that!”

“I know, I know. Wedding jitters I guess! Are you ready?”

“Absolutely,” I answered. 

The ceremony was a heartwarming blend of Hindu and Christian cultures as I watched from my spot next to the bride. I only had to check my watch a couple of times as the ceremony moved a bit quicker. I stayed for a few pictures before Parvati’s cocktail hour began and then slipped outside. My taxi driver, whose name I learned was Seamus, was standing outside, leisurely waiting.

“What are you doing?!” I cried. “We have to go! Move it!” I knew I was probably being pushy, but I didn’t have any time to spare. I caught him staring again on the way back, and quickly covering myself, I scolded him again. “You’re down to 270 now. Do you really want to keep this up? It’s great for me, but not for you.”

“Alright, alright!” Seamus said as his eyes focused back on the road.

I made it back  to Katie’s wedding in time for dinner, and luckily Lavender didn’t notice my absence. “So, I’m trying to decide between those two groomsmen over there. What do you think? The blonde or the brunette? I’m personally thinking the brunette myself. Tall, dark and handsome...really gives off the mysterious vibe, don’t you think?” she asked me.

“Are you really only thinking about sex right now?” I asked her incredulously.

“What else are weddings good for other than a one night stand? Besides, I really want a man to rip this dress off me with his teeth! You could probably use a good one night stand yourself,” she smirked at me as she got up and sauntered over to the men by the bar.

I shook my head as I checked my watch again. Duty calls, I thought. I grabbed my bag and headed back out to the taxi.

And that’s how my night went. I was secretly thankful for Seamus, even though he couldn’t resist looking in the mirror on more than one occasion. He stopped me before I walked into Parvati’s wedding in the wrong shoes, so I decided I’d give him £10 back for that at least.

The night went by like any other wedding I’d attended; the only difference being me splitting my time between the two. That meant two meals, two different instances where I helped the bride use the bathroom, two times I had to dance to the staple wedding songs like the YMCA and the Electric Slide, and two cake cuttings.

There were also two heartfelt speeches where the brides each thanked me in kind for all of the work I did and how helpful I’d been through the entire process, not that I was in the business for the recognition. I just wanted to see these brides happy with their perfect wedding. 

I was at Katie’s wedding for the bouquet toss. I found myself on the floor with all the other single ladies, but I’d long since given up hope of catching the bouquet. Yet, as Katie tossed it I realized it was headed directly for me! I raised my hands in anticipation and just as it was about to come into my grasp, I was knocked out of the way, and most likely trampled on in the process. It knocked me out, so I honestly had no idea what happened before I came to.

When I did wake up, everything was slightly out of focus. I turned my head to see the most beautiful blue eyes I’d ever seen, and the man behind them was quite attractive too. He was a redhead, which wasn’t usually my type, and he had freckles that covered his face, with a large cluster along the bridge of his long, slender nose. I’d never seen this man before in my life, and yet I felt like I knew him. 

I closed my eyes in an attempt to shake the thought from my mind. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a total stranger, and he was probably the closest person nearby when you fell, I told myself. Lavender and another bridesmaid appeared behind the man as he maintained eye contact with me.

That was when I noticed my head was pounding. I moved my arm to grasp it and tried to sit up, but he stopped me. “Whoa, don’t move. It could be a concussion. That was a serious fall.” I heard him say. He turned around and looked at the bridesmaids. “Okay, I need you to get me some ice, you some strong liquor, at least 80 proof, nothing less, and you, go find a towel to cover the ice with.”

He reached out his hand and helped me sit up. “Are you a doctor?” I asked him.

“No, but Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Drunk were hovering so I figured they could use something to do,” he said as he flashed me a lopsided grin. “Do you know your name?”*

“Hermione,” I said simply.

“Hermione. Good. I’m Ron,” he answered.

I couldn’t help but smile back at him, albeit a bit shyly. “Thanks for helping me,” I told him gratefully.

He helped me to my feet and made sure I was alright. I nodded and touched my head once more. Things felt a little woozy and his strong arms caught me before I started to fall backwards again.

“Maybe you should head home. Let me help you get a taxi,” he insisted. I vaguely remember nodding as he led me to get my things and we approached the door.

Seamus was waiting outside as I got in. For some reason, Ron insisted on making sure I got home safely, even though I told him I was fine. The taxi ride started in silence, but I should have known that was too good to be true.

“Nice knickers, by the way,” he said a bit too casually.

“Excuse me?” I asked. What was he talking about?

“I saw you changing earlier. How many weddings are you in tonight, anyways? Two, three?”

“Two. Not that it’s any of your business.” So much for thinking he was genuine.

“It’s a little upsetting, don’t you think?” He asked. 

Who does he think he is, I wondered. I needed to think quickly. “What? They’re both—” I paused awkwardly, needing to think up an excuse. “They’re both really good friends of mine, so what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let them down because their weddings fell on the same night! It was fine until I was knocked over and hit my head.” It wasn’t a complete lie…

“That’s not the upsetting part. I don’t know how people stand attending one wedding, let alone two.”

“What do you mean? I love weddings!” I defended myself, not that I needed to.

“Ah, yes. What exactly do you love? The bad food? The cheesy dances? Open bar? That’s what has me coming back if I’m being honest.” What was with this guy?

“What? No. If you must know, it’s seeing two people in love. The special time in a couple’s life when they’re bonded together.” I wasn’t about to let him win.

“Ah, of course. Love. How could I forget. Love is patient, love is kind. Love makes me lose my mind.”

I sighed. It wasn’t worth getting into an argument with him, so I changed the subject. “What is it you do again?”

“I’m a writer,” Ron said with a lopsided grin.

“Ah. Makes sense,” I said as Seamus pulled up to my place. I handed Seamus his money. “Thanks for everything tonight. Here’s £150. You know what you did.” 

“Well, thank you for—” I was about to thank Ron for his help tonight, but he was already out of the taxi. “Wait! Where are you going? Shay, don’t go anywhere. He’ll be right back,” I said pointedly.

“Don’t you think it’s a whole lot of wasted money, time, and effort for something that honestly has a fifty-fifty shot at lasting a lifetime?” Ron asked as he walked around to my side of the vehicle.

“Oh, lovely, another man who doesn’t believe in marriage. How relieving,” I said sarcastically.

“I’m just saying! The whole thing is hypocritical. The fancier the event, the less likely things are going to work out,” he said as he shrugged.

“How very insightful of you. Putting in the hard work to help hopeless romantics see reason in the face of love,” I shot back. “Do you also tell small children that Father Christmas isn’t real? Because you’re quite good at bursting bubbles, and someone needs to blow that shite wide open*.” I rarely swore, but this man was getting me all sorts of riled up.

 “Hmm, so you agree? Believing in marriage is a bit like believing in Father Christmas, yeah?” he said with a laugh.

“No! I—” Why was I letting him get to me? I didn’t understand it. I needed to end this conversation and get to bed. That fall was doing weird things to my mind. “I don’t need to be arguing with you about this. I don’t even know you!”

“Because you know I’m right?” 

“No! Marriage is hard. It takes work, and if you’re willing to work at something so much that you want to commit the rest of your life to that one person, then that’s special, and should be celebrated! Cynicism, on the other hand, is easy.” I held out my hand. “It was very...peculiar meeting you.”

“You as well,” he said as he shook my hand.

“Yeah. Goodbye,” I said with an air of finality.

“Bye,” he said. I crossed the street and stepped onto the sidewalk. I’d almost gotten to the steps when I heard him say, “Are you going to be in any weddings next weekend?”

“Very funny. I have to go. You can leave now,” I said, waving him off.

“I’m just wondering. How many have you been in, anyway?”

“It’s none of your business!” I called over my shoulder.

“Come on, just give me a number. Doesn’t have to be exact!”

“Goodnight!” I said as I punched in my code and shut the door firmly behind me. 

I shook my head as I climbed the stairs to my flat. Were there truly no genuine men left out there? Normally I’d put everything away upon walking in the door, but my feet hurt and head throbbed. So, I tossed the bag on the counter and changed into more comfortable clothes. I popped a few aspirin and hung both dresses up. 

I stared at the large closet in my living room and sighed. Even though I was exhausted, I took the few extra steps to hang the dresses up along with the other twenty-four that were shoved into that small space. I wasn’t sure why I kept them all, but I did. Maybe it was my little piece of nostalgia from each bride I helped.

The contents of the closet were about ready to burst, but I managed to shut the doors. Finally, I could sleep. I pulled the covers back on my bed, and closed my eyes as my head hit the pillow. Much to my dismay, thoughts of the negative redhead filled my mind. No matter how hard I tried to shake those thoughts away, he wouldn’t budge. It was a relief when sleep finally consumed me.

~o~

I woke up Sunday morning and followed my normal routine, which meant immediately collecting my newspaper. I sat down on the sofa and sifted through the different sections until I found the one I was looking for.

“Ah, the Commitments,” I said with a big smile on my face. 

As if weddings didn’t already consume the majority of my life, this was the reason I subscribed to The Telegraph, and I had no regrets. Billy Weston was one of the most prolific commitment writers I’d ever read. His coverage of weddings were always so romantic, and I only hoped that one day he’d cover my own. 

“Ha, take that Ron!” I said, thinking of the cynic I’d met last night. 

I was certain he’d never live up to this writer, no matter where his line of work fell. He’d do well to meet the likes of Billy Weston, who proved that romanticism still exists. Someday, I thought. Someday.

[flatfootmonster]

Remember This

Bum wanted to move. His left foot itched where part of his skin was still damp underneath a too big sock that didn’t belong to him. He wanted to drink the coke in front of him. He wanted to cry. All those things were impossible; he was barely able to remember to breathe. Someone had been shouting that—to breathe in and out—after everything had changed; gone black and then bright, gone quiet and then loud.

They’d just been on their way to Nana’s, him and mum and dad, just like they usually did because it was Friday today. Was it still Friday? And when would everything go back to normal? What did he have to do to make it right? But there was no one to ask even if he could talk.

“Listen,” said the big man, dressed in his plain white uniform—all clean except for a smear of something red on the sleeve. He was shorter than Bum's dad, his hair wasn’t as dark, and his face was rounder—so was his body. This man wasn’t Bum’s dad. When would he see him again? “I’m gonna go and talk to the other nurse next door. Do you remember Nurse Clay? The one who brought the snacks? I’ll be back in a few minutes. Sit tight and try and drink something. And, erm… just let me know if you want to go to the toilet next time—if you can.”

He stared at Bum, a deep furrow in his brow, and Bum stared back, not quite understanding why he was being spoken to or what was being said. Nothing made sense, not this place, or the people here, and not the noises everyone and everything made. Words vibrated in the air and became a constant buzz. If he thought about it too much and tried to decipher the sounds, the screams would come. He didn’t want to hear her make those sounds. Right now that was all he could remember of her—his mum.

With a sigh, the man left through the door. It was held open by a thick wedge of folded paper. The bench Bum sat on was hard, his fingers strained in a death grip as if he were instead on a rollercoaster. But he had no control over his body. Bum wasn’t even sure if he had a body anymore or if anything was real. The only other thing in the small too bright room was a table where an open coke and apple sat. The table had one short leg. It wobbled whenever anyone leant on it.

“He’s not talking. He’s not even nodding or—I don’t know. It’s like he switched off.” The first man's voice was still sounding, but it was in the next room now, muffled by walls but not entirely restrained.

“I called next of kin, but it may take a while for her to get here at this time of night.” There was a second buzz to accompany the first. It was higher in pitch but made just as little sense to Bum as the other.

“It’s a mess. A goddamn mess.”

“I haven’t seen anything like it. Not round here. It’s just not right. Two of them. Who’s gonna explain to them where their mummy and daddy are?”

“One’s too young, thank god—no dad though. It happened near their house, that’s what Tan said. They all came out to gossip with the police—the neighbours. There’s no one to call for him, no family anyway. Doesn’t that break your heart? Too young to understand but he’ll never remember his mum, never have any real family...”

There was a pause in the buzzing. Bum’s blood was throbbing in his ears. He was going to explode.

“Did you speak to the EMTs?”

“I didn’t get a chance. I was with a patient when they came in.”

“They said she reeked of booze—the mum of that little one. They think she was drunk.”

“Drink driving? That’s a damn shame. Do we know his name?”

“Not yet. Just the quiet one: Yoon Bum. Poor thing. He’s barely breathing, can’t say a word. I don’t even think he’s blinking. It’s a miracle they came out without a scratch.”

“One’s going to give himself brain damage from all the screaming he’s doing, and the other is deaf and mute—and their parents are dead. Not sure I’d call it a miracle.” There was a long sigh. “I just want to go home.”

“Me too. I need to hug my kids.”

Another door opened, and a low wail oozed along the white-walled corridor, it didn’t sound the same as the screams Bum had been trying to silence and forget. Footsteps tapped their way across vinyl before a third buzz joined the din.

“Did anyone get milk yet? I don’t know what else to do. He won’t stop.” This one was panicked: edgy, high, shrill. Bum didn’t like it. It made the bench shake, and his teeth were chattering because of it.

“Tan went for some. I don’t know where he is now. That was, what, maybe five minutes ago?” A non-committal hum was added to the statement-question hybrid in vague corroboration.

“I’ll go look for him—you guys can check on the baby. I’ve done enough.”

Whatever protests the first and second voices offered didn’t stop the marching footsteps, tapping an impatient path across vinyl again. They quieted until another door banged shut, somewhere far away from where Bum sat in his windowless room with his warming can of coke. The pop-pop-popping of the bubbles bursting against tin was slowing. It would be flat soon—dead. Had the pop-pop-popping in his mum and dad stopped?

“Maybe if we leave him for a few minutes he’ll go to sleep. Babies cry themselves to sleep anyway, don’t they?”

“You’re the one with kids. What do I know about babies?”

“Do you want coffee? I’m gonna go call the wife.”

The crying was all that was left now. It was quieter, muffled by the boundary the door set, but Bum could still hear it. It was slowing too, getting lower. It was pathetic and begged and tired. Was the baby’s pop-pop-popping stopping?

Bum’s lungs jump-started. That was how they worked now; they’d stop for a long time before remembering what their job was. Bum drew sharp, cool air into his chest before he attempted to move the body he was sure still attached itself to his thoughts. In a jerky motion, Bum slid off the bench. His eyes were dry as he stared at the door to the next room along the corridor. Footfalls had disappeared, nothing moved. There was just a low erratic hum like the one remaining buzz was trying to soothe itself. Wiping his clammy palms down the borrowed shorts, Bum tried in vain to still the vibrations that jostled his atoms around. His hands shook, and his feet were numb. He didn’t even register the damp patch that made cloth cling to his thigh.

Bum made a stop-start path across small islands that were made up entirely of vinyl squares, one foot inching forward before it was joined by the other. If he stood outside of those imaginary landmasses, he’d fall into oblivion—he was sure of it. The room was cramped and, at the same time, vast as an ocean. But the wailing pulled him on. They were so sad, the cries. They were so full of sorrow it was surprising the baby hadn’t drowned in it all. Bum understood it better than he did the buzzing the big people made.

A lull settled just as he reached the door. Maybe the pop-pop-popping had stopped? There was no handle, so his sparse body weight became the tool, cracking the tall, heavy door open far easier than Bum imagined was possible. He slipped inside. It was another cell—just as bright and hard as the other. The only difference was a car seat, sat on the floor with the baby still strapped inside.

He had his eyes squeezed closed, and his face was an angry red—wet with tears and snot. Then the moaned wail picked up strength once more. There was an acrid smell to the room. He’d probably cried and thrown up everything that was in his tummy until all that came out was stomach lining—Bum had done that once when he’d gotten ill. His mum had held him and washed him and made everything OK. The front of the babies zipped up onesie was stained and damp. Who was going to clean the baby up?

Bum wanted to hate him. There was some recollection, a bone-deep understanding, that the fault of all this—the screams, the hard bench, the vomit and piss, the warm coke—was due to this baby's mum. That thing inside burned; it wanted a reason or direction, but it wasn’t strong enough. It didn’t singe his skin or catch fire to his consciousness, and it didn’t outweigh the hurt in the cries that only Bum could feel—feel in dark chambers in his heart, only just discovered tonight.

He stood and stared at the baby with no name. As his heart hammered in his chest, Bum became aware of the mess he’d made on himself. The damp patch was smaller than the first time when he’d wet himself in his own trousers. Perhaps he should go, slip back out and sit and wait on his own. But, as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, the wail stilled. There was a quiet that no buzzing or screaming dared encroach upon, the baby’s eyes were open and focussed on Bum. His tiny trapped chest rose and fell quickly beneath the straps that held him prisoner. The breaths fell in time with Bum’s heartbeat; his pop-pop-popping was fine, just like Bum’s.

The baby thrust out his hand, and stubby fingers peeked out the end of a grubby sleeve. He babbled something while a snot bubble burst under one porcelain perfect nostril. The fingers wriggled impatiently, drawing attention to the red on his cuff—just like the uniform of the big man. A baby shouldn’t have blood on them. It just wasn’t right—it wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Bum lurched forward as his feet stole back their gait, islands and oceans forgotten while his own fingers stretched out, answering where his lips were unable. The baby's grip was strong as it grabbed at Bum’s index finger, pulling it towards his chest and compelling the owner of that finger to crouch or else fall flat on his face.

A stuttered shush broke free. “It’s OK. We’re OK,” he said. The baby babbled again before he grasped Bum’s shirt, trying to haul himself out of the seat. “OK, OK, let me try—” It always looked so hard when his mum or dad tried to do this. His fingers trembled while he probed at the button sitting at the centre of the baby’s chest, easing it this way and that before a catch came free and the straps loosened. There was no hesitation once the restraints were gone, the baby pulled himself up onto his saviour. Bum had always been smaller and thinner than most of his friends, and this baby was big, heavier than Bum could hold—almost as long as Bum was tall already. His balance waned then he fell backwards. The impact of the floor against his backside was softened by arms wrapping around him like vines eager for support and fingers digging into him like roots desperate for nourishment.

For a moment, Bum sat where he’d fallen as bemusement kept him stuck in amber. He’d never known someone could be needful for him—it was always him in need of his parents or his Nana. And he still had her—his Nana. If he’d lost everything else there was that, there were his memories, too. But this baby did not have that—any of it. All he had was the heart that drummed against Bum’s chest; all he had was himself.

A small cream blanket was left in the car seat, padding where the baby had laid. The smudge of dirt and single leaf clinging to it meant it was the cleanest thing in the room after the sterile walls. And behind the car seat was a folded coat—judging by the size, it belonged to the baby. Shuffling over to the bench, where it housed a dark cove, Bum one-handedly set out a makeshift cot within the safety of the shadow and away from the bright, white exposure. There he eased himself and the baby down, head resting on the rolled-up coat and the blanket brought up to cover them both. Chubby legs and arms wriggled, pushing and pulling, as the baby crawled upwards until his head was just beneath Bum’s chin. Then he lay still, his breaths deepening, his muscles finally at ease.

Beneath the smell of the hospital, urine, and stomach acid, there was something else. Bum could sense it as soft, dark hair tickled his nose. It was sweet and safe, and it was peaceful and human—reminding him of something that had detached itself when the cars collided. Turning towards the wall, Bum brought his knees up, curling around the baby and holding on as tightly as he was being held. An aimless tune stirred before it came to fruition, hummed quietly down onto the crown of the baby’s head—like Bum’s mum used to when he couldn’t sleep.

A yawn forced his jaw wide. The baby was already sleeping and Bum remembered something else that was human: fatigue. Warmth replaced the hardness, trauma waivered beneath the weight of desperately needed dreams—full of the past and impossibilities, words came without sense. “We’re going to be OK,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “You can remember me. Remember me, OK? Remember this.”

Note: this was/is a time stamp from an AU I’m writing, although I don’t know if it fits better as a prologue considering it’s how things become altered and we have a different set of issues to play with.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Truth - Vampire!Brendon x Reader

Request: Can you make a story where Brendon is a vampire and the readed HATES vampires because her ex-boyfriend was killed by a vampire so Bren hide his vampire secret to the reader, then they became together then the reader found out that Brendon is a vampire and in fact the vampire who killed her ex-boyfriend? I dunno what's next but that's my idea! Warnings: vampires, blood, death, violence, implied plan to rape someone Word count: 1 480

You had always known that Brendon came with secrets, and you had never really cared about it. You figured that if there was something he wanted you to know, he would tell you. And that if he wanted to keep something from you, he had his fair reasons, and so you never asked.

Truth be told, you were happy enough to just have him around. He was sweet and caring, and made sure you always were safe. That made him special.

When you had first met Brendon, you had just broken up with your boyfriend. Brendon and you had taken your time to get to know each other, and he had understood that you needed to take things slowly, the last relationship being still in your mind sometimes. But then your ex-boyfriend, Danny, got killed.

You remembered vividly how the police had turned up at your doorstep. They had told you he had died, had been killed. By vampires. Honestly it did not surprise you that his early death was connected to these pointy-teethed bloodsuckers. He had always liked to take risks, had always loved to provoke them, and with the growing tensions between humans and vampires, the number of victims on both sides grew day by day. In the end he was just another number in a statistic.

His death had thrown you off though. Yes, you had broken up with him, and even though you had not been in love with him anymore, you had still been friends. The memories of the relationship still connected you, and while you sometimes were annoyed by his advances, trying to win you back, you had still liked him. After this devastating news, you had distanced yourself from Brendon, trying not to drown your pain in his arms, because that would not have been fair to him. You knew you had risked Brendon moving on from you, but you were lucky enough that he had not. And about a year after your ex-boyfriend’s death you had started dating, never really worrying about the secrets Brendon was carrying around.

Until now.

The blood that ran down Brendon’s chin was bright red, and your human instincts immediately sounded alarm.

Brendon had stumbled into your shared flat, bruised face, torn clothes, and blood running over his face and from his mouth. Quickly you rushed over to him, stopping half a foot away, not daring to touch him, in case you would accidently hurt him.

“What happened,” you gasped in terror. Had he been attacked by vampires? Had they bitten him? Were they after him?

“Just-“ Brendon lifted his hands, signalling you to give him some space, which you quickly did.

With the sleeve of his shirt he wiped off the blood on his chin and mouth, but when he lowered his arm again, you froze.

The fangs that stuck out from under his upper lip were clearly visible. Everything around you seemed to spin all of a sudden, while your brain was trying to make sense of it. You knew that the infection with vampire blood took several weeks to fully develop, so the fangs were not new, but something he had been hiding from you. And that’s when you started to worry about what else he had kept secret from you.

“(y/n), what-“

Brendon had picked up on your reaction, and it only took him a split second to realise what was going on.

“Shit, shit,” he mumbled, quickly pulling the fangs back into his jaw, “please, (y/n)-“

“You’re a vampire.”

Your voice was shaking, and tears were welling in your eyes. You had never felt more betrayed than in that moment, not even when you had found out Danny had been cheating on you.

Brendon knew how much you despised vampires. He knew how much more you hated them since they had killed Danny. Yet he had kept it a secret.

“I can explain-“

Trying to calm you down, he took a step towards you.

“Stay away!” You could not remember to have ever shouted this loud; Brendon immediately stopped. “Why didn’t you tell me? How couldn’t you tell me?”

A shiver of disgust ran down your spine. You had shared a bed with this monster, had shared a life with him.

“Because I was scared this would happen. (y/n)-“

“Get out! Get out!”

“(y/n)-“

“No, don’t (y/n) me! You know how much I hate vampires; you know what they did to Danny, how the hell do you think it would be okay to not tell me?”

“Please, if you just let me explain for a moment-“

You completely ignored the pain on Brendon’s face; too blinded by your own pain were you. Because even while every fibre in your body screamed in protest and hate, you knew you did not hate him, you knew he was still Brendon, and that he had always been the sweet, caring man, while being a vampire.

“No, no, Brendon, you’re really fucked up, you know that? After Danny you would have needed to-“

“Danny, Danny, Danny! Always Danny! You don’t even know what happened!” Finally Brendon got angry too.

“Oh yeah, and you do,” you challenged.

“Yes because I was there! If you knew what he said, what he planned, what he wanted to do to you, you would have killed him too!”

The shouting in the living room came to a sudden stop.

“You- you killed Danny,” you asked in disbelieve.

You felt sick, you wanted to throw up. How was that possible? How could Brendon have killed Danny? He knew Danny? Why would he hurt him?

“He- (y/n), oh god, please listen,” Brendon plead, but your eyes had grown even colder.

“The police said he’d gotten between the fronts of a street fight. Are you saying you killed him because he was in the way of you and your friends trying to beat up some weak little humans?”

Over the course of your rambling your voice had grown from quiet and shaky to loud.

“I’m not one of these guys that- what do you even think of me,” Brendon wondered, shouting too.

“Until five minutes ago, that you were human, for a start,” you shouted back.

“Well, surprise, I’m not. And Danny wasn’t as perfectly flawless as you paint him in your mind! He was bragging about what he’d do to you! What he’d do to you when he got back together with him! That he’d never need any consent again-“

“You know I never wanted to get back together with him anyway,” you defended, trying not to listen to what Brendon was trying not to put into words.

“He fucking… (y/n), he said if you wouldn’t come back, if you wouldn’t come back to him, he’d make sure nobody else could be with you either,” Brendon started choking up, the memory of the night, the fear on your behalf, the rage, the disappointment, vivid in his mind.

“He wouldn’t have- you can’t prove it,” you cried, “you’re lying.” But seeing the look on Brendon’s face told you he was not.

“He wanted to kill you, (y/n). If you had rejected him one more time, he would have killed you,” Brendon whispered, tears now running down his cheek.

“So you killed him,” you stated coldly.

“Better me a killer than you dead!”

“Out. Now.”

Brendon gave you a long look, before he gave in. With hanging shoulders he walked over to the door through which he had entered the flat, and left.

Shaking you sat down on the floor. Brendon was a vampire. Brendon was the vampire that had killed Danny. Danny had planned on killing you. Brendon had killed Danny to protect you.

For a long time you sat in the living room, and thought about what had happened, what you had learned.

Then you picked up the phone.

“Why were you all bloody and beaten up when you came home tonight?”

“Oh, just some vamps who thought I was a traitor because I value a human life, your life, over my need for human blood,” he explained. His voice sounded slightly slurred, there were voices and music in the background. It sounded like he was in a bar.

“I thought you don’t get into street fights,” you wondered, staring at the table in the living room.

“Not with humans,” Brendon replied. At least that sounded honest.

For a while there was silence on both ends of the phone, only the sounds of the bar reaching your ear.

Taking a deep breath you sat up straight.

“Come home?”

Silence again. You almost feared Brendon would hang up, or had put the phone aside.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Okay,” you answered. Hesitating for a moment you added “Love you.”

There was a small gush of air against the microphone of Brendon’s mobile, making you think he had exhaled.

“Love you too. I’ll hurry.”

Taglist (if you want to be added or taken off, please let me know):

General: @justawriterinprogress​ @robinruns​ @jayloverthe3rd​ @lookalivefrosty​ @butterfly-writes​ @angelevansfalls​ @rene-royale​ @500240​

[somethinginthewayiam]

PRESSing matters (Part 8)

Pairing: Ben x reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1905

Summary: You are finally at the Oscars, watching from the greenroom with most of the cast as the movie wins one Oscar after the other. But you’re so hungry that, when you all waited outside for the car, almost bite Joe’s arm off when he suddenly appears with a doughnut in his hand...

Previous chapter: Part 7

You rode over to the Dolby Theatre in two cars. Pam rode with Rami, Lucy, Allen and his wife Jessica and you shared the car with Gwil, Joe and, of course, Ben. While Gwil sat in the front seat next to the driver, you shared the back seat, sitting between Ben and Joe.

Now that you got closer to the red carpet, you felt more nervous than ever. Although you would just stay on the side or walk behind the cast during the interview section, you really hoped and prayed that you would not trip over you own feet and fall flat on the red carpet. Maybe you would blend in by wearing the red dress if you just didn’t move until everybody was gone.

You jiggled your foot while in thoughts. “Please stop”, Ben said and put his hand on your knee to stop you. “You’re making me nervous”, he said. Not only for you was it the biggest event of your career tonight. “You’re making all of us nervous”, Joe commented, who was evenly unnerved by your jiggling. Before you could say something, your stomach growled loudly in the car, making Gwil turning his head to the back of the car.

“And hungry”, Joe added with a chuckle. “I’m sorry, I haven’t eaten all day”, you explained and folded your hands in your lap. “Does that mean you’re going to be really fun as soon as we got the first glass of champagne in you?”, Joe asked with an excited glimpse in his eyes. “Well, if I don’t get something to eat first, I’m going to be a cheap drunk, that’s for sure���, you exhaled loudly and twisted your fingers.

“Excuse me, we have arrived”, the driver announced and stopped the car. Showtime!

“Alright fellas, listen up”, you said back in your PR headspace. Gwil turned around in his seat and was now facing the three of you. “These are the Oscars and we’re going to have a blast, but first, you need to survive the red carpet. Smiles up, backs straight, be funny, but no shenanigans. Looking at you Mazzello”, you said to the side. Joe commented with an eyeroll. “You know the drill. BoRhap on three”, you exclaimed and put your hand in the middle. The guys put their hands on yours just like you had done before every big press event in the past five months. It had become sort of your thing together. Usually Rami and Lucy would be there too.

“One, two, three, BoRhap”, the four of you said together, bouncing your hands up and down. Then the guys got out of the car. The wall of sound that hit you as soon as they opened the car doors was deafening. But what surprised you even more was Ben’s extended hand to help you out of the car. You scooted over, anxious of keeping your legs together as you swung them out of the back of the car. You reached out, took his hand and stood up. Your other hand was holding on to your clutch. “Thanks”, you mumbled with a shy smile which he couldn’t have heard but he nodded anyway.

You met up with the others in a little tent at the beginning of the red carpet. Getting everybody ready, some make-up retouches, you trying to fix Rami’s crooked bow tie and the next moment it was a go.

Pam walked with Lucy and Rami, you accompanied the other four guys, Jessica by your side. You were happy that you weren’t alone. Also, it helped your nerves that you had something to do as you moved them from one reporter to the next after the photographers were done. The guys snapped a few pics themselves for Instagram, Allen making a video for his followers.

 Only forty minutes later, it was done, you had survived the red carpet. Rami and Lucy were going to their seats in the big hall, right front and center as Rami was one of the nominees as Best Leading Actor. The rest of the cast, Pam and you were in the greenroom-slash-bar backstage, watching it over big TV screens. “I still think it’s a shitty move that you guys don’t have seats in there”, you said, holding on to your glass of champagne, sitting in a booth, surrounded by Joe, Gwil, Ben, Allen, Jessica and Pam.

“Are you kidding me? This is great”, Joe said. “We have great seats, we have booze and we get to enjoy the show”, he said and toasted you with his drink. You clink glasses with him and took a sip, but you still found it unfair.

You were just two sips in, but it already felt like the alcohol was getting to your head. You felt Ben’s hand next to you on the sofa. While you both still kept looking up at the screen on the wall, you put your left hand on the sofa as well, your pinkies touching. You inhaled deeply at that little touch of your fingers. You took another sip of your drink as you moved your fingers over his, feeling brave thanks to the alcohol. For a short moment, Ben closed his fingers around yours and squeezing them lightly.

“Hey, our first category is up”, Gwil said and you quickly let go of Ben’s hand, scooting to the edge of the seat, pretending to fully pay attention to the TV screen. It was the award for Best Film Editing and Bohemian Rhapsody won. Just like the awards for Sound Mixing and Sound Editing.

A little later, the winners came backstage and you congratulated them. You took some pictures of them with the guys and toasting to their win.

When it came to the Oscar for Best Actor, you all stood up from your seats. You watched Gary Oldman and Allison Janney opening the envelope and as soon as they read out Rami’s name, your whole corner started cheering like crazy. You all hugged and filled your champagne glasses as you watched Rami giving his acceptance speech. When you turned around after you hugged Gwil, you found Ben in front of you. You didn’t know why, but for a second you hesitated to hug him because somehow you thought that would reveal your secret to anyone. But it would actually strike more attention if you didn’t. Gladly Ben took the decision from you as he just pulled you into his arms. It didn’t last longer than a few seconds, but you took a deep breath of his cologne as you were pressed against his body.

You turned around to the TV to listen to Rami talking. When he thanked Lucy, you actually had tears in your eyes. “You’re alright?”, Ben asked as he noticed you sniffling. “Yeah, yeah, just…this was just too cute”, you said and motioned towards the screen, feeling your eyes tearing up again. “We should do shots, let’s do shots”, Joe called out and walked over to the bar without awaiting your responses.

There was still one award to go, Best Picture. Sadly, Bohemian Rhapsody didn’t win, but it was the best movie in your book. “Four out of five, that’s still great”, you shrugged your shoulders. “Great? That’s amazing!”, Pam called out and grabbed one of the leftover shots from the trey on the little table in front of you. She knocked it back stone cold and your eyes got big in surprise. “Pam! I’ve never seen you like this”, you called out laughing. “This is a big night for us and as it turned out an even bigger night for the movie we have been accompanying for the past five months. This is a success all the way. It’s time to celebrate that!”, Pam exclaimed, raising her arms in the air. She already seemed a little drunk to you. “Alright, alright. Keep your energy for the afterparty”, you said and pulled her arms down gently.

You were ready to have some fun, dance and drink some more, but before that you definitely needed some food.

 Your little group of Gwil, Allen, Jessica, Ben and you were standing in front the Dolby Theatre, waiting for your car to go to the Vanity Fair afterparty as you saw Joe coming back to your little group with a chocolate glazed doughnut. Lucy had gone back to the hotel to change into a more comfortable dress and Rami was still inside with Pam doing interviews after his Oscar win.

“You can have anything you want from me if you give me a bite of that doughnut”, you exclaimed as you spotted him and stared intensively at the treat in his hand. Where the hell did he manage to get a doughnut from?

“That's quite the offer in a dress like that”, he said with a deeper voice and a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Oh, don't be gross, Joe”, you playfully slapped his arm. “You started it”, he cried out, pulling his arm away from you. It was also the arm he was holding the doughnut with.

“Pleeeease, Joe”, you whined, grabbed his arm and looked at him with your most convincing look. “Jesus Christ, okay! Before you rip my arm off...”, he finally allowed you to take a bite. It actually was the first bite. The sound you made when you finally sunk your teeth into the fluffy, chocolate covered dough could only be described as sexual. “Thank you, Joe”, you sighed as you had swallowed the bite and gave him back the doughnut. He just looked at you with big eyes. “Why do I feel like I need a cigarette now?”, Joe asked and took a bite himself.

“I have spent three nights with you and I have never heard you make those sounds”, Ben whispered at your side. “Well, you’re not covered in chocolate”, you replied with a low voice. He raised an eyebrow and licked his lips. You looked up at him form under your lashes and bit down on your bottom lip.

“Oh, I can do it even sexier than Y/N”, you heard Joe saying to Gwil. Allen was holding up his iPhone, recording Joe. “Wait”, Joe said and got the doughnut in his hand ready. “Make it dirty”, Gwil commented. “Oh, I’m gonna make it gross”, Joe added. “Yeah, yeah, yeah”, Gwil agreed excitedly. “Ready? Wait…”, Joe said and took a little step forward.

Then, Joe turned to the camera, taking a bite of his treat in a very seductive-gross-kind-of-way, chewing with an open mouth. Allen then played it back in slow motion and it was the funniest thing you had ever seen.

“Can I have another bite?”, you pleaded. “That didn’t turn you off of it?”, Gwil asked and pulled a face. “That's it, lady, I'm taking you to 7Eleven”, Joe called out and linked arms with you. “We gotta get some food into you before you take a bite out of all of us”, he added in his dry humor. “Anyone else want something?”, he asked around. “No, I'm good”, Allen shook his head and his wife passed as well. “I'll join you”, Ben announced and linked arms with you on the other side. “Can you guys bring me some pretzels?”, Gwil asked. “Will do”, you nodded and followed Joe and Ben to a cab while Allen, Jessica and Gwil took the car you came with. You would all meet up at the afterparty.

a/n: You know I had to put the doughnut thing in after Joe posted this video on his YouTube channel. Hope you liked my take on it!

Next chapter: Part 9

tag list:

@valentineash @the-limit-doesnt-exist @rogerspoison @rogermeddowstayl0r @i-am-sarah @unbound-chaos @goodiebluebox @the-borhap-boys @leeezie @kimberliinabox @anikatcmh

[rather-impertinent]

The Girl Next Door Chp. 3

A/N: Hi friends! Here is chapter 3 at last! It’s a long one, so you might want to grab yourself a cup of tea or, in the spirit of this chapter, pour yourself a drink! I hope you enjoy it and I’d love to know what you think! xo

Demelza Poldark 9:09pm

DWIGHT <3

Hurry up!!!

Dwight Enys 9:10pm

I’m ready, I’m just waiting for Caroline. Literally waiting right outside her front door. Maybe she’s ignoring me?

Demelza Poldark 9:10pm

Don’t be ridiculous! You’re handsome and lovely, what’s not to like?! X

Dwight Enys 9:10pm

Haha oh ffs how much have you had to drink?

Demelza Poldark 9:12pm

Oh, A LOT! You’ve got some catching up to do! How amazing is autocorrect btw?! Anyways MOVE YOUR ARSE DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER YOU KNOW I WILL

Dwight sighed loudly. She would definitely come over to drag them both out if they didn’t show up soon. Dwight knocked on Caroline’s door again. “Caroline? Are you ready yet?”

“Just a sec!” She called through the door. Dwight heard clattering behind the door and assumed she was likely still getting ready and would thus be much longer than one second. He genuinely couldn’t believe she had agreed to come in the first place, and, more than that, seemed happy to be invited. That is, before she had smiled at him in her unusual way, as she had won an argument they had not been having.

While Caroline was busy still getting ready, Dwight seized the opportunity to take out his phone to see if he looked semi-presentable. He eyed his stubble and began to feel that he should have probably shaved, but he supposed he still looked fine. He smoothed his hair and double checked that there was nothing in his teeth, which of course there wasn’t as he’d literally brushed them twenty minutes ago and had neither eaten nor drank anything since. His aftershave was a little strong though, maybe. Why was he so fidgety? Probably because he hadn’t seen his friends for a while and didn’t want them to go all parental on him if he looked like shit. Yeah, that was it.

Demelza Poldark 9:18pm

DWIGHT WH Y ARE YOU STILL IN YOUR FLAT I CAN SEE YOU ON SNAPCHAT MAPS I WILL PUT MY JACKET ON IN A MIN I SWEAR TO GOD

Just as Dwight began typing a soothing reply to his distressed, inebriated friend, Caroline’s flat door swung open. She snatched her coat off its hanger and grabbed her bag before stepping onto the landing. “Sorry, sorry! My stupid fucking shower took ages to heat up!”

Dwight simply stared at her, blinking several times, as if unable to believe she was real. Yes, normally she was very pretty, but he had never seen her properly dressed up before. She stood in front of him in a one-shouldered white dress, her hair long and wavy, with a pale pink colour on her lips and a light smoky-eye behind her thick, black eyelashes. “Wow. Um – you – ehm – you look great.” She fought a smile at his compliment and smoothed her white dress. “Thank you,” she replied evenly as she buttoned her coat. She then shrugged and flipped her long curly locks over her shoulder, “I know.” He laughed at her lack of modesty. “You do know we’re only going to the Red Lion around the corner though, and not some red-carpet event?” he taunted cheekily, then immediately prayed it wouldn’t offend her. Caroline gasped quietly and eyed him with surprise, but appreciated the tease. “Well, in the words of Coco Chanel: ‘A woman can be overdressed but never over elegant.��” She sauntered past him and headed down the stairs with as much grace as if she was wearing her fluffy pug slippers, that he’d seen when he attended on her pet, as opposed to heels.

It was then Dwight realised that a small dog, by the name of Horace, was following her closely at her heels. “Um, are you bringing Horace, too? I don’t think the pub allows dogs…” He frowned and bit his lip.

She looked at him as though he was the stupidest person in the world. “Yes, Dr Enys, I thought it would be a great idea to bring my pug to a bar that wouldn’t let him and then chain him to a fence for the night while I get drunk inside,” she replied, her voice dripping with scathing sarcasm. “Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m dropping him off at Mrs Figg’s flat, she loves him.”

“The latter sentence would have sufficed,” Dwight said tightly, not caring for her tone at his simple, reasonable, question.

She knocked on door number 12 of their building and awaited an answer. “Well, not for me!” she replied sweetly, a sardonic smiled on her face. Mrs Figg appeared at her door then, very happy to see Dwight and Caroline, and – above all – Horace; whom she promised to spoil rotten, telling Caroline to enjoy herself and that she could come and collect Horace the next day at any time, or even allow him to stay until Monday, if she so wished.

A little over five minutes later, as the door to their apartment building slammed shut behind them, Caroline asked: “So, how far is it to the pub?”

Dwight made an uncertain noise, as it had been quite a while since he’d gone on a night out, and longer still since he had been to this specific pub. “About a ten to fifteen-minute walk, I’d say. Will you manage it in those shoes?” He motioned to her glossy white heels, which made her an inch taller than him.

Caroline looked down at her shoes and then at Dwight and proceeded to laugh heartily. “Oh, trust me when I say I can walk better in heels than I can in flats!”

He looked at her 5-inch heels, genuinely perplexed. “What? How is that even possible?” His mind went into overdrive as he tried to recall the exact, medical formation of the human foot.

“Well, you’ll remember that I said I did a bit of modelling to you yesterday?” He nodded. “I kind of lied. I actually did a lot of modelling, it was kind of my career. It was nice to wear expensive clothes and have your makeup done by other people but honestly, seven years of being told how thin you should be and how you should wear your hair and how you should dress just got really tiring.” She laughed it off, but Dwight had a feeling that the comment wasn’t as flippant as she’d intended it to be.

He scratched his ear, unsure of what to say next. He coughed, which came out in a puff in the cold, night air. “So, is that why you–“

Dwight’s phoned vibrated and pinged at full volume, not once, but twice. He gritted his teeth together – this better be a spam email from Dominos. “Sorry, hold on, two seconds.” He fished his iPhone out of the pocket of his dark jeans and opened the messages. Caroline distracted herself with her phone, too.

 Ross Poldark 9:27pm

Where are you mate?

Think Dem is about to have a nervous breakdown, if I don’t fucking kill her first for being a pain in the arse! Move it!!!

Dwight Enys 9:27pm

OMG IM FUCKING COMING IM LITERALLY AROUND THE CORNER

Ross Poldark 9:27pm

Alright keep your cock on! See you in a min. Want a beer?

Dwight Enys 9:28pm

Yeah please. Heineken

Ross Poldark 9:28pm

Well then hurry up and get here so you can order yourself one ;)

Dwight Enys 9:28pm

Why am I friends with you? Can’t believe I fell for that

Ross Poldark 9:28pm

You should know better by now Enys. We saved you and your lady friend a seat btw ;)

Dwight Enys 9:29pm

Oh don’t fucking start she’s not my lady friend

Ross Poldark 9:29pm

She is a lady is she not? And your friend?? Or are you lying to us and bringing a bloke? If this is your way of coming out Dwight it’s a bit extra but we accept and love you no matter what

Dwight Enys 9:30pm

Omg Ross

I’m gonna kill you before the end of the night I can feel it

If you fucking say anything embarrassing about me to Caroline I will never speak to you again. I will literally unstitch the scar on your face and let you slowly bleed to death

Ross Poldark 9:30pm

:(

Now now Dwight we mustn’t fight, you don’t want to upset your lady friend x

And with that, Dwight firmly locked his phone and let out an exasperated groan. Caroline, who had been watching Horace on her phone via the PugCam she had given to Mrs Figg, looked up at Dwight with furrowed brows. “What’s wrong?” she asked as they continued their way down the narrow streets, Caroline’s heels echoing loudly.

Dwight wiped his face. “My friends…” He sighed. “They are lovely people. Really, truly, the best people ever. But please, please, don’t listen to anything they say about me tonight, they are determined to ruin my life.” He chuckled, but his eyes held a serious, somewhat nervous, gaze.

Caroline placed her phone into her coat pocket as the sign of the Red Lion came into view. “But that’s the best part about having friends, Dr Enys!” she cried in amusement, smiling in victory as Dwight sighed and held the door open for her.

Ross Poldark chuckled as he placed his phone back in his pocket. “Well, I’ve managed to wind Dwight up nicely, so let’s see how flustered we can make him when he gets here,” he announced to the table, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. Francis and George laughed in agreement, but all of the women looked at Ross, appalled. They were very defensive of their ‘little brother’ friend, even though he happened to be almost 4 years older than Demelza and was only 2 months older than Elizabeth.

Demelza slapped Ross on his, admittedly large, bicep. “Enough, Ross. When was the last time Dwight even talked to a girl that wasn’t any of us? He must genuinely like her – even if it is just as a friend – so don’t ruin it for him, please.” She placed her hand on top of his which rested on his thigh. He moved to place his hand on top and shook hers gently before interlacing their fingers, a gesture which Demelza knew meant that he had agreed to her terms.

“Yes, Ross, please don’t ruin it for him,” Elizabeth begged from the top of the table, before whispering aside to her husband: “Francis, darling, please make sure Ross doesn’t do anything stupid.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and brought out her largest doe eyes.

Francis took a gulp of his beer and whined internally at her ability to make him do anything. “I promise I will try, my dear. But you do know that no one can actually stop Ross from doing something stupid, I think it’s part of his DNA at this point!”

Elizabeth chuckled and leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek before wiping away the stain of her red lipstick. “Well, I’m definitely glad it’s not part of your DNA.”

Her phone buzzed, and she snatched it quickly, causing Francis to raise his eyebrows. “Who’s that?”

“No one,” she lied, concealing her phone from her husband’s view as smile spread over her face.

“Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Okay, fine! It’s Emma, I was just making sure that everything was OK.” She showed Francis a picture of Geoffrey Charles and Julia watching what appeared to be Finding Nemo.

“That’s a sweet photo but you’ve got to loosen the reins, darling, he’ll be starting school next year. He’ll be fine.”

“I know. I just miss him, that’s all,” she said glumly, leaning into her husband. He rubbed the side of her arm in comfort and discreetly pushed her fifth glass of red wine further away from her grasp.

George tapped Francis on the shoulder. “Is Elizabeth alright?” he whispered, his brows furrowed in concern.

Francis waved a hand dismissively and pointed at her glass of wine, a small smirk on his face. “Yeah, she’s fine, just missing GC.”

George nodded and continued his conversation with Verity, Andrew and Sam. “So, Sam, why didn’t you stay at home with Emma?”

Sam sat up stiffly, having spent most of the night thus far silently and contentedly listening to the conversations around him. “Well, ye see, she insisted that I go out ‘cause I’ve not seen you guys for a while. Plus, she ain’t feeling too well and was happy to babysit since it’s kind of her job anyways.” Sam smiled, beaming with pride that his soon-to-be wife was the friendliest nursery teacher in all of Cornwall. Resolutely sober on account of his strong Christian faith, he was all too happy to ensure his friends were able to get home safely at the end of, what would undoubtedly be, a long night of drinking.

Demelza and Ross were discussing plans for Julia’s third birthday when Demelza’s phone pinged.

Dwight Enys 9:38pm

We’re here. Where are you guys? Can’t see you, it’s weirdly busy in here tonight wtf

Demelza squealed and leaped out of her chair. “Dwight’s here!” She informed the rest of the table over her shoulder as she pushed through the groups of people, making her way to the front door.

Dwight glanced around the crowd of people in the pub – searching for his friends – before shrugging his shoulders in defeat and looking at Caroline, “Can I get you something to drink?” He had to shout slightly due to the amount of people drunkenly chatting as well as the rather loud jukebox music.

She smiled. “Yes, please, I’ll have a–“

“–Dwight!” Shrieked Demelza, stealing the end of Caroline’s sentence, before flinging her arms around her friend, nearly crushing his bones with the tightness of her hug. Although, it had been about three weeks since they’d last seen each other, and so Dwight wasn’t complaining. In fact, he was quite glad that one of his best friends seemed to miss him just as much as he’d missed her.

“Demelza,” he greeted, trying to smile and breathe. Demelza realised him from her grasp and looked curiously at the beautiful blonde woman who accompanied him.

“Demelza, this is Caroline. Caroline, my friend Demelza.”

Caroline extended her smooth, porcelain hand. “Hi. How do you–“

Demelza ignored her proffered hand and enveloped the stranger in a tight hug instead. “Hi, Caroline! It’s so nice to meet you!” She grinned widely at her, and Caroline couldn’t help but returning the redhead’s infectious, genuine smile. “Come meet everyone!” Demelza insisted, taking her arm and pulling her along.

“Demelza,” Dwight hissed, but it was too late, and they’d already began approaching the table, so he quickly followed like the obedient puppy he was.

The three of them made their way through the crowded pub to their table, which just so happened to be right at the other side of the building but was conveniently located next to the bar. “Excuse us, sorry, pardon me, sorry, excuse me, sorry, can I just get by one second?”

They arrived at the large table to a chorus of “Hey, Dwight!” followed immediately by not-so-subtle staring at the woman who accompanied him.

“Hi, guys!” He cleared his throat. “This is my new neighbour, and friend, Caroline.”

Caroline smiled, confidently waved and said: “Hello! Pleased to meet you all.”

Dwight again cleared his throat, glad that the introduction was over and that he had escaped unscathed. “So, what’s everyone drinking? My round.” George knocked back the remainder of his beer and tried to conceal a burp afterwards. “I’ll have a Becks, please.” “Red wine, please, Dwight,” Elizabeth slurred slightly, a happy smile on her warm face. “Same for me, please,” chimed Verity, her head resting on her husband’s shoulder.

Francis scratched his stubble in contemplation. “Err, I think I’ll go for a rum and coke this time, please.” Ross simply held up his glass, which proudly displayed the Jameson logo, staring at Dwight as though he was questioning the bonds of their friendship. Demelza rolled her eyes at Ross’s inability to simply ask for a drink. “I’ll have a gin and tonic, please, Dwight. Thanks.” She patted his shoulder and sat back down in her seat next to her husband. Dwight nodded at Demelza and turned his attention to Caroline. “What about you, Caroline?” “Do they have any Moët?” she asked as she removed her coat and sat down on the last seat of the booth, peering past his form to studying the drinks behind the bar. Everyone exchanged eyebrow-risen glances at her request. Dwight shook his head slowly. “Um, I’m not sure. But even if they did I’m afraid I don’t really have the budget to pay about £35 for a glass of wine,” he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. Caroline’s eyes widened; she did not know it cost so much for a single glass, and it happened to be her favourite drink. “Oh, of course not. Sorry. Um, do they have cocktails?” she inquired coolly, trying to read the menu behind him.

Again, Dwight shook his head. “Unfortunately, not. This is kind of a shithole pub, you see. But we’re all very fond of it. Great memories and all that!” Everyone else hummed in agreement.

Caroline’s face fell. What the fuck was she going to drink? She couldn’t bear cheap wine after all the fine wines she’s drank throughout her life, prosecco would be a struggle too – as would cheap gin – she knew she did not like rum… Dwight noticed her struggle and the pretty pink flush creeping up on her cheeks. “How about a vodka lemonade?” he suggested lightly. She smiled in relief at her saviour. “Um, yes. Sure,” she replied brightly. “Thank you!” She called at his turned back as he approached the bar. “Oh, shit,” Dwight muttered as he got to the bar, realising he had just accidentally been rude. “Sam, Andrew, do you guys want a coke or something?” he shouted over the playing jukebox, which had been turned up when The Arctic Monkeys came on. “No, thank you,” the designated drivers called in unison. Caroline examined her nail varnish and tried to make herself feel at ease without Dwight being there. She didn’t even know anything about these people, she only knew Demelza’s name, how does one even start a conversation? Demelza sensed her hesitation and opened her mouth to speak before Elizabeth’s excited shriek pierced everyone in the vicinity’s ears.

Elizabeth repeatedly slapped her hand against the wooden table, and off her husband’s arm before pointing to the bar. “Guys, look! Rosina is talking to Dwight!” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Everyone’s heads snapped around and the boys began to wolf whistle, which Demelza reprimanded them for. “Stop it! Rosina is a nice girl, don’t embarrass her!”

Ross insisted: “We’re not trying to embarrass her, love, we’re trying to embarrass Dwight!”

Caroline examined Rosina from her seat. She was a young – late teens or early twenties – pretty, blonde girl, with a curvy figure, full lips and chubby cheeks. In other words, serious competition. Not that Caroline was in competition with anyone for Dwight, of course. He could talk to any girl he liked, she didn’t care. Besides, even if she was interested in Dwight – which she wasn’t – there wouldn’t be any competition. Wrapping men around her little finger is what Caroline had always done best, and could do with Dwight, if necessary. But it wouldn’t be. Satisfied, she relaxed in her seat and tried to catch everyone’s names as they spoke.

Dwight soon returned with drinks and without Rosina. He placed the tray of alcohol on the table and dispensed the drinks to his friends before sitting down.

Elizabeth stared at him, her glance then shifting around the pub. “Where’s Rosina?”

Dwight’s brows furrowed as he took a sip of his Heineken. “What do you mean? She’s over there somewhere,” he pointed vaguely to the other side of the room, “She came out with Ruth.”

“All the more reason to have invited her to join us,” Elizabeth insisited, “Ruth has fancied George since she was about eleven years old! Then George could’ve had a lady friend, too!” Elizabeth smiled, oblivious to the fact that she was the lady friend that George desired.

George physically shivered. “Ugh, she’s so annoying, though! And she’s like half my age!” George protested to Francis before laughing into the rim of his beer bottle.

Ross’s spine straightened. “Actually, George, she’s only nine years younger than you. Demelza is nine years younger than me, is there something you’re trying to say?” He inquired seriously, his narrowed eyes fixed on George’s form as the grip on his glass of whisky tightened.

Demelza placed a hand on her husband’s chest. “Ross,” she warned quietly, trying to push him back against his chair.

Francis, too, placed a hand on George’s shoulder; he had definitely had enough to drink that he would not hesitate to fight Ross if he suggested it. George felt the firm grasp of his friend’s hand and relaxed. “Of course not, Ross,” he said, painfully cordially before taking a sip of his beer. “Not everything is about you, dickhead,” he muttered under his breath.

“What did you just say?” Ross demanded, his voice rising. “Fucking say it again, I dare you!” He stood up, his index finger pointing at George, his nostrils flaring. Demelza grasped at his arm, willing him to calm down, her brows furrowed.

Dwight and Verity groaned. But Dwight merely took another sip of his drink.

“Guys, enough! Stop it!” Elizabeth cried in distress. She hated violence and was having a good night up until now and did not want it to be ruined by a silly fight.

“’Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honour,’” Sam preached, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Francis stood up beside George and grabbed his arm. “Yes, I agree. Stop it. Both of you. Come on George, we’ll go outside for a cigarette until you calm down.” He hauled him from the table by his arm and thence out of the fire exit into the night air.

Caroline tapped Dwight on the shoulder and motioned for him to lean in. “What was all that about?” she whispered, her eyes alight with intrigue.

“Oh, yeah,” Dwight whispered, realising he’d forgotten to explain the politics of his friend group to her, “Ross and George hate each other, they have done since school. No one can remember why, not even them. But George is best friends with Francis, who is Ross’s cousin and who is also married to Elizabeth, the pretty, drunk brunette over there,” He pointed to her and she offered a drunken smile and small wave. “So, they try tolerate each other for the sake of the rest of us.” He then pointed to Verity in the corner. “That’s Verity, Francis’s older sister and Ross’s cousin, obviously. She’s married to Andrew, he’s really nice. He’s in the Navy so we don’t get to see him often. Beside him is Sam, who is training to be a minister and he’s getting married to our other friend, Emma, pretty soon. You know Demelza, and she’s married to Ross, for sins she committed in a past life,” he concluded with a smile.

Caroline sipped her drink through the two little black straws in her glass as she glanced around the table; everyone now engaged in pleasant conversation once again. “They seem nice.”

He smiled thoughtfully. “They are. You should talk to them,” he encouraged, “don’t be scared!”

“OK, I will,” she quipped, accepting his challenge. “Demelza,” she called across the table with confidence, causing everyone else’s conversations to halt, “is that your natural hair colour?”

Demelza twisted a long, copper curl nervously around her index finger. “Uh, yeah, why?”

“It’s amazing! Do you know how many people would die to have hair that colour in the fashion industry?”

Demelza jumped out of her chair and rushed over to give Caroline another hug. “Oh, thank you, Caroline!” She beamed at the pretty blonde. “Dwight, I love this woman! You can stay!” she told Caroline, patting her hand while making Sam move up so she could sit next to her new friend.

Dwight and Ross exchanged amused glances. “So, Ross, how’s work?”

Ross groaned, and sipped his whisky. “Shite, and you?”

“Shite,” Dwight agreed with a strained sigh.

“Nice.” They clinked their drinks together and took large gulps, illogically hoping that the burning sensations in their throats would somehow alleviate the stress of their respectable professions.

Demelza noticed this and sighed in sympathy. Caroline looked at her quizzically and so Demelza motioned to the two drinking men in front of them. “I think they’re both having a bad time at work right now. They’re both exhausted, you can tell, but they won’t ask for help or any time off. Ross works for Shell, and he’s pretty high up in the company,” she paused to smile proudly, “but as the oil industry is a little on the fence right now, he’s been having a hard time. And Dwight… Well, Dwight is just Dwight. His entire life is his job – and he’s worked hard for it – but I just wish he’d spend more time with other people, doing normal things. This is the first time he’s been out for about a month and last time he didn’t even drink because he was working a nightshift the next day! A nightshift!” She raised her arms in exasperation and Caroline laughed at her animation. It was clear that Demelza cared deeply for Dwight, as she no doubt cared for all her friends, thought Caroline. It would be nice to have a friend like her.

Caroline took another sip of her drink, finding – to her own surprise – that she liked it very much. “Yes, Dwight does work a lot. I hear him go to work every day, sometimes I see him leave or come in if I’m walking Horace.”

Demelza’s face lit up. “Is Horace your dog?”

Caroline smiled and immediately pulled out her phone to show Demelza a picture of him. “Yes, I love him so much. He’s my baby.”

“Awww,” cooed Demelza, also pulling out her phone from her handbag. “This is my dog Garrick, he’s getting old which makes me sad but he’s the sweetest dog in the world. This is him with my daughter Julia, she’s nearly three, I can’t believe it!”

“Oh, what a sweet photo! Horace doesn’t like children. Or people in general, really. He hates Dwight!” Caroline began to laugh as she recalled how Horace had growled every time Dwight had touched – or attempted to touch – him.

“Who hates me?” Dwight inquired, his ears turning hot at the mention of his name.

“My dog,” replied Caroline, her eyes dancing with mirth, “And me!” she added, her pink lips pursed cheekily.

Dwight chuckled quietly and took another gulp of his beer, which was now empty. “Aha, see, you clearly don’t hate me; if you did, you wouldn’t have come with me tonight.” He crossed his arms across his chest and smiled in victory at her.

Caroline flipped her hair over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at him, resenting the implication that she was interested in him. “Goodness, are all men so odiously conceited, Dr Enys? Or is it just you?” Ross whooped at her comeback, thinking there was no way his shy friend could retaliate.

He smiled tightly before replying in a light tone: “Demelza, could you look in Caroline’s glass? I thought I asked the barman to put in some lime cordial, but it seems he put in the Oxford Dictionary of English instead.”

This time Ross whooped so loud the table beside theirs turned around to see what was going on; Ross slapped Dwight hard on the back and began to roar with laughter. “Oh-ho, Dwight! Good one, mate! I didn’t think you had it in you!”

“Neither did I,” Caroline commented as she continued to stare at him, her eyes still narrowed. Though Dwight thought she somehow looked… impressed?

Before he had time to contemplate this further, he started as he felt a hand on his left shoulder. “Hi, Dwight!” sang an absolutely inebriated Rosina, running her hand down his arm without hesitation.

Dwight’s cheeks instantly inflamed. “Uh, hi, Rosina,” he said quietly.

Caroline cleared her throat, waiting to be introduced to this pretty blonde, but Dwight took no notice of her as Rosina pulled up a chair beside him. “How’s your leg?” he asked her.

She pulled her dress further up her thigh as if he would somehow be able to see her cured knee ligaments better. “So much better! All thanks to you!” She placed an arm on his shoulder and smiled sweetly.

Dwight laughed uneasily and wished he hadn’t already finished his drink. “You’re welcome.”

The two of them then became engaged in light conversation, which Caroline watched with slightly narrowed eyes. Why wasn’t he paying attention to her? And who was Rosina? And why did she even care? Caroline went to take another drink from her glass but realised it was empty. Perhaps she could win Dwight’s attention over with a kind gesture. “How about we do some shots?” Caroline loudly asked the table, “My treat!” Everyone else agreed immediately and Caroline felt proud of her brilliant idea and went to order twenty-odd Jägerbombs.

A little over 3 hours later, Caroline began to think that her idea wasn’t so brilliant after all, as she sat crouched over the toilet, her sick everywhere except from the actual toilet bowl. Through the incessant ringing in her ears, she thought she could hear banging on the door behind her. It vaguely sounded like Demelza, but she could not make out what she was saying. Her face felt numb, as did her hands and the rest of her body, and the room span so violently she felt like she was on the teacup ride at the fair.

“Caroline! Are you alright? Can you open the door, please?” Demelza heard no reply and began to worry her bottom lip.

Verity came in then, looking for Demelza, very tipsy but not quite drunk. “My dear,” she said, placing her hand on Demelza’s shoulder, “Ross is looking for you. He told me to tell you that he loves you with all his heart and that he misses you and wants you to come back to your seat so he can admire you,” she snickered, “He is so sentimental when he’s–“

The worried look on the redhead’s face made Verity stop speaking. “Demelza? What is it?”

“It’s Caroline, she’s been sick, and now she’s not answerin’! I think I’m going to have to climb over the stall and get her. Will you hold my shoes?” Demelza did not wait for a reply and removed her black heels and placed them in Verity’s arms before climbing onto the toilet cistern and then over the cubicle wall. She landed with a thud but was unhurt. “Shit, she’s been sick everywhere. We’re going to have to take her home. Verity, will you go tell Dwight that we’re going to get Caroline a taxi?” Demelza called through the locked door of the bathroom stall.

“Yes, of course! I’ll just leave your shoes by the sink!” Verity replied, as she went off in search of Dwight.

Six minutes later, having waded her way through the various groups of people, Verity tapped Dwight on the shoulder. He turned to look at her, his eyes slightly glazed over. “Dwight, we’re going to walk Caroline to the taxi rank, she really needs to go home.”

Dwight’s neck craned past Verity, looking for Caroline, his pulse growing faster. “What? Where is she? Is she alright? And you can’t mean the one on Hilton Street? That’s far too dangerous for you guys at this time of night! I’ll take Caroline home, she is my neighbour after all.” He excused himself from Rosina’s company and went to find Caroline, but was halted in his search by one of Ruth Teague’s sisters as he tried to enter the ladies’ toilet.

“Eh, what do you think you’re doing? This is the girls’ toilets; the men’s is over there!” She pointed behind him and crossed her arms in feminist defiance.

Dwight sighed and danced impatiently on the spot. “Look, Tracey, I’m not a creep, you know I’m not a creep.” Weird start, Enys. “I’m just looking for my friend Caroline, is she in there?”

Tracey snorted: “Is she the gorgeous blonde who’s spewed all over one of the cubicles? I think Demelza is looking after her, pretty sure she’s slumped on the floor.”

Oh, fuck. Not good. He would have to pull out the ‘I am a doctor’ card. He willed himself not to slur and said, in his best professional tone: “Yep, that’s her. Could you please let me by? I need to make sure she doesn’t have alcohol poisoning.”

Tracey, mercifully, stood aside and let him enter without another word. Sure enough, Caroline was slumped on the floor, Demelza’s arm around her, trying to coax her into drinking some water.

Demelza breathed a sigh of relief as soon she saw Dwight. “Oh, Dwight! Thank God! Caroline is fucked, I think she’s asleep.”

“I’m… not… asleep…,” mumbled Caroline against Demelza’s shoulder. “I want my bed,” she moaned. “Want my bed.”

Dwight kneeled in front of them on the floor next to the sinks, his jeans becoming wet. Considering the amount of stick men get for being unhygienic, Dwight would wager that the ladies’ toilets were far more disgusting than the men’s. “Caroline? Can you hear me? Do you want me to take you home?”

Caroline made an effort to lift her head, though it felt very heavy. A handsome man’s blurry features can into her view. “Dwight?” she asked weakly. “Yes… please take me home.”

With the combined strength of Dwight and Demelza, they managed to get Caroline on her feet and walking – or rather, stumbling. Their arms were wrapped around her back, holding her up. As they exited the toilet and entered the bar area again, they were met by Rosina. “Oh, Dwight! There you are!” she smiled and ran her fingers through her curly hair. “Elizabeth said you’d gone to find Caroline and take her home. Could you drop me off, too?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“I think we’re going to walk, it will be a nightmare trying to get a taxi at this hour,” he deflected calmly.

His deflection was unsuccessful. “Oh, that’s fine! I only live about 5 minutes away anyways! I’ll just grab my coat.”

Dwight sighed and carefully let go of Caroline, leaning her on Demelza. “I’ll go grab our jackets, too, Dem, one second.”

He returned to their table to find Ross and Francis preaching about the disarray of the government – Verity, Andrew and Sam all ready to leave. Elizabeth was asleep on George, who did not seem to mind one bit. Dwight grabbed his and Caroline’s coats and tried to sneak away without being noticed.

Sam ruined his plan. “Dwight! Do you want a lift, mate?” Everyone looked at him expectantly, except Elizabeth, who snored quietly in the corner.

“No, thanks, Sam. I have to walk Rosina and Caroline home.”

Francis’s mouth fell open before an amused smile stretched across his face. “Rosina and Caroline? My, my, my friend! This is a change!” He raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Before Dwight could tell him to fuck off, Ross grasped his best friend’s hand. “I’m so proud, Dwight,” he slurred, wiping away a mock tear of pride. Everyone else laughed.

“Fuck you all,” Dwight sang, releasing himself from Ross’s grip and making to leave, “Goodnight, dickheads. Love you.”

A chorus of affection rang out as he left the table, shaking his head and smiling. They were the closest thing he had to a family and he loved them all dearly, even if he did – occasionally – want to hit them.

When he returned to where Demelza and Caroline were standing, he was pleased to see that Caroline was finally drinking the water Demelza had been trying to feed her for the past 15 minutes. “This is her third glass of water,” Demelza told Dwight, “she said she was thirsty and hasn’t stopped drinking since you left.”

Dwight smiled slightly. “That’s good. Feeling any better, Caroline?”

She nodded slightly and continued to glug the cooling elixir of life until the glass was empty. “A bit. Can we go home now?” She pouted prettily at him and Dwight could not help but think how much she looked like Horace in that moment.

“Yes, we’re going. We’re just waiting for Rosina.”

“Rosina?” Was all Caroline could say. She refrained from commenting further.

“Yes?” Rosina asked as she appeared behind Dwight, wearing a pretty pink and white gingham coat.

He started when she spoke from behind him. “Nothing. I was just explaining to Caroline that we were waiting for you.” He then turned to Demelza and kissed her on the cheek as he enveloped her in a hug, “Bye, Dem! Give Julia a kiss from me.”

She held her friend tightly. “I will! Bye Dwight. Come over for dinner next Sunday and see her if you’re free, she misses you!”

“That’s perfect, I’m off next Sunday. I’d love to.”

While the two best friends said their goodbyes, the two blondes had engaged in a stare off, which Caroline lost when Demelza bid her goodbye and gave her a friendly hug.

Several minutes later, Dwight, Caroline and Rosina made their way through the dimly lit streets of Cornwall, the old brick townhouses appearing slightly menacing in the dark. Their breaths came out in icy puffs and Caroline shivered, wishing she had worn her wool coat instead. The stars above them glistened steadfastly, and a crescent moon cast some semblance of light as they made their way down a narrow side street to Rosina’s flat. Her flat was luckily one of the first few, though only accessible by a daunting number of steps. Caroline almost whimpered at the sight.

“Caroline, you stay here. I’ll just walk Rosina to her door and then we can go home.” Dwight quickly made his way up the steps, Rosina on his arm, and Caroline sat down heavily on a concrete step. So, he was really going to leave her here, drunk and out in the cold, while he shagged Rosina. She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe she thought that he was a gentleman, a true gentleman, not like the actual gentleman she had met, who were all ridiculously arrogant and pompous. A hand on her shoulder nearly ceased the function of her heart. She gasped out loud.

“Ready to go?” Dwight asked. Feeling her jump, he frowned at her. “Caroline? Is something wrong?”

She pulled herself up by the carefully crafted railing. “Oh, no. It’s just… that was quick!”

He frowned at her, again. “I said I was just going to walk her to her door,” he laughed slightly, and offered Caroline his arm.

She took it and walked down the three steps. “Oh, yeah. Of course.”

It took them ten minutes to walk back to their apartment building, and they did so in silence, both lost in their own drunken thoughts.

Caroline made to fetch her keys from her small handbag, realising she had left it in the toilet of the pub. Her heart rate quickened. “Oh, shit! I left my bag at the pub!” She stared at Dwight in panic.

He pulled out his own keys and opened the entrance door. “Don’t worry, no one will steal it. You can get it tomorrow.” He held the door open for her and she stumbled inside, holding the wall until she reached the stairs, where she then hung onto the railing. They began their way up the staircase to their landing.

“No, but it’s got my keys in it!” she whined. She then clutched her chest, and swallowed, before beginning to pant. “Dwight, I think I’m going to be sick again. I hate being sick. I don’t want to be sick again,” she whimpered in a mumble, pushing her blonde curls out of her face.

“Ok, it’s alright. You can just stay at mine tonight,” he tried to say casually, “and we can go and get your bag tomorrow. It’s way too late and cold to go all the way back to the pub, and it’ll probably be shut now anyways. That is, if you don’t mind staying over.” He was glad he was two steps in front of her now because his cheeks burned furiously. He recognised the implications of his offer but at that particular moment, his only concern was that she would choke on her sick or something.

Caroline considered his offer for a minute. “No, I don’t mind. Thank you,” she said gently, before clearing her throat and raising an eyebrow at him. “Did you not want to go back to Rosina’s or something, though?” She managed to slur this remarkably innocently considering the bitter jealousy that stirred within her, which she convinced herself was merely the cheap vodka swirling around her unprepared stomach.

Dwight laughed a little and shook his head as he searched for his keys for the one to his flat, which he had still not colour coded. “No. Rosina is a lovely girl, but I think she’d be lovely for someone else,” he said thoughtfully, a gentle smile on his face. Caroline’s intoxicated state meant that she could not smother a grin at this news. As Dwight fell asleep that night, he convinced himself that he had imagined her reaction. The door to his flat finally opened, he entered, immediately turned on the light and unbuttoned his coat. He was quickly followed by Caroline, whose white heel caught on the door frame. She swore and stumbled clumsily, before falling right into Dwight’s arms.

[lonestorm]

The Inugami - Short 3: Shippo

Summary: When Kagome Higurashi moved to the bad side of Chicago to help with her grandfather’s restaurant, she expected chaos. Being thrown into a fake gang, caught in the middle of a drug war and grudge that stretches centuries back in time, befriending a grumpy half demon along with a ragtag bunch of three other misfits… wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. High school AU. Inukag.

Rating: T (some language)

Pairings: Inukag, Mirsan

Chapters: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 |  Ch. 10 | Ch. 11

Shorts: 1. Sesshomaru | 2. Miroku | 3. Shippo

**Also on ff.net here.

Who would’ve guessed that some grumpy-asshole-dadfriend like Inuyasha would be so freaking loaded?

Shippo’s mouth dropped open when the Inugami filed into Inuyasha’s flat, gazing around at the massive TV, shimmery, new appliances, tall ceilings, Chicago skyline stretching to Lake Michigan view out of floor to ceiling windows, polished, wood floors…

“I can’t believe,” Shippo finally muttered, aghast, as Sango and Miroku gaped beside him, “that you refused to pay for my dinner last week, you rich bastard.”

Shippo ducked Inuyasha’s swing and wandered over to set his backpack beside the shiny countertop opposite the deep, double sided sink.

“No time for gawking,” Inuyasha barked at them. “Miroku, you’ve got about a week to teach Kagome how to blast people with her miko powers, so let’s head to the gym.”

“Of course you have a gym in your house. That’s normal. That’s not Batmanish or anything,” said Miroku, dropping his backpack by Shippo’s.

Kagome laughed, causing Inuyasha’s scowl to cease and a rather hazy smile appear. Ugh, honestly, those two were so nauseating. He had a love and hate relationship with that nausea. Shippo had, many a time, considered forging them a marriage certificate.

Inuyasha led them to the end of the hall, where the door opened to a gym with a cushy floor, marked with sparring mats, punching bags, and weapons hung on the wall. Shippo kind of doubted they were just for decoration.

He was jarred out of his observation by Inuyasha grabbing his upper arm. “You. Runt. Drop down and gimme thirty while they start. These excuses for arms of yours are twiggy and gonna be snapped against Spiders.”

With a glare, Shippo’s foxfire lashed out of his arm, causing Inuyasha to let go with a hiss. “Since when are you my personal trainer?”

“Since when are you strong enough to make a hit that will do more than tickle me in a spar, huh? You’re in my gym and while we’re here, we’re gonna get ready to storm Naraku’s crib just like Kagome is. Drop down. Gimme forty. Then punching bags.”

Rolling her eyes, Sango came to his rescue. “C’mon, Shippo. Let’s see who can get to thirty fastest. You, me, or Inuyasha.”

Kagome was already near the firing range, having just set up the gun targets for practice. Miroku was quietly explaining something to her, gesturing up his body with purple light drifting from his fingers. She nodded, and they sat, beginning to meditate.

With a sigh, Shippo finally dropped down to the mat in front of him with Sango and Inuyasha to his right. The challenge from Sango had made Inuyasha’s eyes light up in fiery competition.

“Ready,” Sango said slowly, “set… go!”

Shippo screwed up his face in determination; he was stronger than he looked! He was a fox demon… and, well, he was competing with a powerful half dog demon and a demon slayer.

Inuyasha won. Barely. By a second. Or two. Nothing Inuyasha should’ve been smirking about. Of course, he was anyway.

Scowling, Shippo absently followed Inuyasha and Sango to the punching bags. Miroku and Kagome were just standing up from their meditation now, Miroku indicating how to hold out her hand to best channel her power.

Inuyasha had decided, while he’d been trying to escape the hospital again, that Kagome had to learn to use her powers before they asked the Wolves for help and went through with Shippo’s plan. Just for basic attack purposes; apparently barriers were too advanced to learn in a week, but according to Miroku, she should be able to learn purification energy blasting at demons quickly enough.

“She’ll be able to protect herself better,” Inuyasha had said. “She’s very powerful and has the right to fight with all her strength, just like the rest of us.”

AKA, Inuyasha was an overprotective dork about Kagome. Nothing new.

“Remember that nine-step boxing technique I was talking about earlier, Shippo?” Shippo only heard what was being said to him when he remembered that first, to annoy or roast Inuyasha, you had to actually listen to what he said sometimes.

“No,” Shippo said, “I’ve developed this useful habit of tuning you out.”

Of course he remembered the boxing technique. But as if he’d ever admit to seeing Inuyasha as having useful advice or being something close to, like, a father or brother figure. Nah.

Inuyasha made a satisfying, pissed-off huff, crinkling up his nose and everything, before saying, “For frick’s sake… okay, the stance you know at least, right? Left foot forward, balance your weight-”

Shippo was just positioning his feet like so when Inuyasha was cut off by an explosion.

Shippo cried out, ducking his head instinctively as pink light burst into a heat shockwave that blasted the wall to their left into oblivion. It sent brick flying, Miroku and Kagome stumbling to the floor, Sango letting out a shriek, and Inuyasha grabbing Shippo by the back of the shirt. Shippo was shoved behind Inuyasha, where clawed hands kept him firmly while a brick tore through the spot he’d just been standing.

Miroku, bless his quick reactions, had put his hands together to create a barrier, stopping the debris from raining on the citizens below. People on the streets were staring and gasping up at the hole in the side of the tall building, how the purple light was pulling up all the rock to the inside, where Miroku dropped it in the corner. He was panting, and lowered his hands. Luckily, Miroku was mostly uninjured; he only sported some cuts and red spots of skin that would become bruises, from where he’d thrown his arms up over his face.

Kagome was staring at the wall in abject horror, on her feet now and only as hurt as Miroku; apparently, most of the explosion had just been directed outward.

Peeking out from behind Inuyasha, Shippo squeaked, “Kagome? Are you okay? Miroku?

“Fine,” they chorused tightly.

Nodding, Shippo asked hesitantly, “Um, Kagome? Was that… you?”

Sango walked over to the hole, eyes wide as she examined the wall. Shippo followed her, eyes locked on the smoking edges of the hole that was about six by six feet. “Well… I take it something went a little wrong,” guessed Sango.

“A little wrong?” Kagome choked. “I bombed Inuyasha’s house!”

“Well,” Miroku tried, voice high and strained. “Your aim was decent.”

Finally, the group turned their gazes to Inuyasha, who was staring at the wreck with an unreadable expression. He almost looked as blank and unnerving as his brother.

“I-Inuyasha?” said Kagome tentatively. “I’m really sorry! I’ll do anything I can to make it up to you! It was a complete accident, I swear.”

He didn’t exactly look upset. Instead, he turned towards the door and began to stride away. Wincing in apprehension, the Inugami hurried after him.

In the kitchen, Inuyasha stopped and tugged a pamphlet from the magnetic side of the refrigerator. Nonchalantly, while glancing at the paper, he began to dial a number on his phone.

“Inuyasha?” Sango, this time. “Are you… mad?”

He held up the phone to his ear. “Shh.”

They obediently stayed silent. It wasn’t as if the Inugami usually took any orders from Inuyasha, but… they had just kinda destroyed part of his house.

“Hey,” Inuyasha said, once the call was answered. “Yeah, three large deep dish, two of them meat and more meat, one of them chicken sausage deluxe. Also, an order of cheesy garlic bread, mozzarella triangles, loaded potato fritters, and chicken wings, and then could you do a root beer bottle and an entire triple layer chocolate cake from the catering menu? Big tip and I can pay, I promise. You can? Great. Thanks. Yeah, I know it’ll be a wait. Sorry about the sudden, huge order. It’s okay. I’ll still be alive for about five hours. Nah, I’m not in the hospital. No, you don’t need to call the police. That would be extremely counterproductive. No, you don’t want to know. Thank you for caring about my wellbeing more than everyone except my dead mother in my shitty childhood.” Inuyasha gave his address and hung up.

“So…” Miroku trailed off. “Your wall gets blown up, and you order pizza?”

“I refuse to die without feasting on Giordano’s one last time,” Inuyasha said.

“Die?” Kagome said, blinking.

“When my brother gets home in about five hours and sees that wall, he’ll revert to a fratricidal maniac, and tonight is New Moon. It’s over. You’ll have to defeat Naraku without me.” He wandered to the couch and slouched into it like he’d never move again. “Avatar: The Last Airbender, anyone?”

It was Shippo who shrugged, and threw himself down next to Inuyasha. “Ember Island Players. Best episode first. Put in some popcorn, would you, Miroku?”

(It wasn’t until halfway through the second pizza in which Shippo asked Miroku, “Does putting your hands together help you focus to make your barrier, Miroku, like you did in the gym today? Any way you put them together?”

“Yes, any way. Strange, but true. Why?”

“Do you have any excuse for making the hand sign for a shadow clone?”

“...I do not.”)

[labellerose-acheron]

Lullaby *** [Helle]

In which Belle has a nightmare...[takes place beginning of February]

@trip-downtheriverstyx

[tw -- nightmare violence/murder/lil bit of gore not much/ptsd]

BELLE: There is a knife pressed to Belle’s throat. She can feel her heartbeat thrumming against the blade. It is the only thing she can feel. The stained glass window in front of her—depicting the Pieta—shatters, bursting into millions of shards catching in the light like a flock of deadly butterfly wings. Belle jerks, closing her eyes, waiting for the impact, but nothing happens.

Her eyes open and now it’s Urania standing in front of her with her smile spreading wider and wider until blood begins to dribble from her lips. Belle’s hand is around the hilt of a knife, buried in Urania’s belly. She wretches her hand away and blinks and Urania’s face is Persephone’s face and blood dribbles from her lips. She’s holding berries crushed in her hand. She’s holding the hilt of a knife plunged into her chest. Belle tries to stumble forward, but she can’t move. Her mouth opens as if she’s going to say something, as if she is going to scream, but she chokes on the metal taste of blood as it dribbles from her lips.

Looking down, there is a knife in her chest, the blood blossoming across her chest, like ripples over the surface of water. It soaks down the front of her white nightgown, running over the curve of her stomach, swollen with child.

Opal, she thinks.

Her own fingers are clawing at the fabric of her nightgown, as if she is trying to bury inside of herself. The fabric tears like the pages of a book but her stomach is flat and smooth and blemish free. Nothing in her womb.

Opal.

Belle looks up and Phoebus has Opal in his arms. There is a knife at her throat.

She’s crying. Her tears falling and shattering on the floor like pieces of the Pieta.

Opal! Belle can’t speak. Her mouth opens and nothing comes out.

“Demon,” Phoebus hisses. Opal cries louder.

Belle tries to move forward, but it is as if she is held back by some unknowable force. Tears blur her eyes and when she blinks them away, she has her daughter in her arms. Opal is still wailing loudly and clinging to Belle—she can feel her little nails scratching her chest, but Belle clings back.

From somewhere in the darkness, there is the echo of a gunshot. A piercing pain rips through Belle’s chest—

With a gasp and a small jerk, Belle awoke to a dark, still house. She laid for a moment, still in bed, not even breathing as her heart raced. A bead of sweat dripped from her hairline down onto her pillow. Her eyes darted wildly about the room as they adjusted to the darkness and began to make out shapes by the light that seeped in through the curtains. They darted to the clock on the nightstand. It read 3:46am.

The little light on the baby monitor glowed green—and was quiet.

Opal, she thought.

She could still hear her daughter’s distressed, frightened wails—even though she knew she’s never heard such a sound before. It clawed in her belly like a beast and she knew she would not be able to sleep until she saw her daughter: peaceful and safe in her bed.

Despite the cold, Belle sat up in bed; quietly, gently. Hades was asleep beside her, his head half under a pillow, his hand stretched out across the mattress towards her.

The floorboards creaked and stung at her bare toes as she slipped from bed and scurried across the hallway, pulling on a sweater over her head as she went. She nudged into Opal’s room, her heart still racing. Tiptoeing across the room, she peeked over the edge of the crib.

Of course, Opal slept soundly on her back, a fist tucked up by her fat, rosy cheek—her little chest rising and falling slow and calm. Belle reached out and touched it, feeling the breath in her daughter’s lungs, her little heartbeat. She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to wipe the exhaustion from them as she moved the rocking chair a bit closer so she could sink down into it.

This ritual had become routine the last week or so and it left her tired and weary.

She felt as if she had almost nodded off again, with Opal’s hand clutched around her mother’s finger in her sleep, when she heard the floorboards creak and her head jerked up. A startled breath sucked into her lungs at a figure in the doorway, though she released it the next second when she realized it was just Hades, illuminated by the little nightlight in the corner of the nursery.

“Sorry,” she murmured softly to him, giving him a sheepish, tired smile. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” She had been so good about not doing so the past few nights when she’d snuck off to the nursery, thankfully. She had always hated waking Hades, he did not sleep well, and she always felt guilty for it.

HADES:  Hades rarely dreamed. 

If he did, there were only nightmares-- even made-up moments with a dream Persphone could only ever be dark and miserable, Hades waking himself with gasps and shudders. More than likely, he spent his nights in two different modes: dead to the world (insert obligatory ambassador joke here about the irony of his own technical immortality) or-- listening. 

On average, it took him about an hour and a half to two hours to get to sleep. It mattered little if he used earbuds or not. When he was a kid, he used to try to play music but it had always been a poor placebo he’d never fully bought into, because ghosts don’t exist in the parts of your brain set up to translate soundwaves into meaning. Mediums didn’t really hear ghosts. That’s why it was more appropriate to refer to the magic as a sixth sense because it was. It was another part of the brain. It was Other. It could not be stopped or turned down easily. So even when Hades did-- always falling back on the same visualization and meditation tricks that Agape had taught him, despite the fact she’d been a wretched fraud-- the murmurs of the ghosts leaked in, as though he’d left a radio on in the room and was woken every time the white noise tuned in and picked up signal, before fading out again. 

One of the positives of campaign season was that all those long hours, all that stress, meant he’d passed out faster. He had more dead-to-the-world sleeps in him the past few months than he’d had the past ten years. It was like his brain finally retreated from the rest of himself. It needed a reboot in order to work properly the next morning; if it didn’t shut down for at least five hours, he’d be stuck in a kind of sleep-awake limbo himself. 

The campaign was over now, though. It meant Hades was restless all over. 

He wasn’t the only one.

He’d noticed Belle’s strange moods, carried with her like some kind of second coat. At first, he’d figured it was just post-campaign fatigue like himself. That adrenaline rush from debate practices was addictive. Without it, Hades couldn’t help but feel a little bit...empty. But then time kept moving and Belle’s quiet deepened in a way Hades didn’t understand. 

He tried to find something to blame anyway. He blamed Howl. He blamed the holiday season, robbing Belle of beloved school. 

He did not blame their daughter, who was the most perfect thing in their lives. 

None of these answers were a perfect fit. So Hades continued to watch Belle wearily, watch and wonder and attempt to craft a question that might open a conversation between them. He was not anywhere close to a final draft of such a question tonight when he’d gone to bed and shoved his head under the pillow like he did most nights. The question, though, was a distraction from the ghosts. His mind whirred around that, until it dragged him under and he was asleep.

But not dead-to-the-world asleep, apparently. Hades woke with a jolt, like being shot, when the bed moved and Belle left. Hades blinked and watched her shadow drift, then disappear. He stayed exactly where he was, brain doing its slow reboot. Should he follow? What was wrong? Was it Opal? He’d not heard her though-- Hades always heard Opal. 

Hades shifted, pushed the covers down, and swung his legs over the bed. As soon as his feet were on the floor, the ghosts rose, each voice another creak in the floorboards. He didn’t bother to filter. Instead, those voices followed after him as he moved down the hall and toward the nursery. Arthur was not among them; he would already be in the nursery, wouldn’t he? 

Hades rubbed at his eyes as he arrived, and then his eerie blue light blossomed in his hands as he came in, a kind of night-light he carried with him always. 

“What’s wrong?” Hades asked at once. 

This was not the perfected version of the question. This was actually the first, blunt, imperfect, bad draft of the question. It had tumbled out, a symptom of his tired. Too late now to drag back. Hades winced. 

BELLE: This was not the first time Belle had ever had nightmares. She had had them awful after her father had first left. She’d never told anyone this, but she used to leave all the lights in the house on at first. As if that would somehow protect her from the dark things in her nightmares. Those had always been mostly shapeless things—she couldn’t articulate what they were about or why they had scared her.

Now, her dreams had morphed into ones of failure: she had dreams about bad grades, about showing up to give presentations in her underwear. Mostly silly things like that—but ones that still woke her up in the middle of the night and had her checking to make sure her PowerPoint was properly downloaded onto her flash drive and all of her notes were in order.

But there were the truly harrowing dreams. The ones that followed her from waking hours and all the horrible things she had seen. She had had nightmares after Persephone had died, replaying the moments over and over and over. She had had nightmares about Urania, the guilt so thick in her stomach that she often woke up coughing, as if she was trying to expel what had happened from her body. (Funny, she rarely had dreams about dying—but she often had horrible nightmares where she murdered Urania over and over and over.) After Phoebus, Belle had had awful dreams like the one she’d had tonight.

It didn’t take a genius to realize they were stress-induced, but that was what annoyed and ashamed her so much about the dreams she was having now. Nothing had happened to her. Hades was fine, Opal was fine, she was fine. The Order was back in their lives, but only on the fringe, like shadows, flickering in and out, like background noise crackling. They had showed no interest in Opal, in Hades, in Belle. They had, assumedly, learned their lesson. Or, at least, that was what Belle told herself whenever the anxiety seized her.

Despite this, the nightmares had plagued her since Toulouse had taken off after Claude. And even though the poor babe was back now, the both of them safe and sound, she couldn’t shake that feeling. The one that told her the Order was just over her shoulder, just waiting, just watching. Every new stranger she met she grew suspicious of. Were they a member of the Order? Were they back for her family. When she awoke from those nightmares, there was always this coldness in her stomach that told her Opal was gone. That she would walk into her nursery and her daughter would have vanished from her crib, abducted in the night.

This was ridiculous for several reasons. Primarily that they hadn’t heard anything from the Order in the days following Toulouse’s return. The Order had been uninterested in the Acherons. Shuck was not locked up somewhere, he was sleeping just downstairs. Anyone who came into the house would have to face him first—and he could not be felled by tourmaline bullets as easily as another magical beast. And even with his collar on, he was formidable. And if they managed to subdue Shuck, there was Hades, every night, asleep beside her—and never one for heavy sleeping. Not to mention the ghosts who watched like silent, invisible sentries over their little cottage.

So, what was wrong with Belle?

She didn’t know how to put the anxiety into words. How to take the rope that was wound tight around her chest and string it into something tangible. Something Hades could understand.

Her first instinct was to lie. To say she was fine. That Opal had been fussy and woken her and that he should go back to sleep. She would be there in a minute, after she was sure Opal was alright. But Opal was sleeping peacefully and deeply and she knew that she wouldn’t get away with that lie. Hades knew their daughter too well for that. Hades knew her too well for that. And it was too late, too early, too in-between for lies.

Belle sighed and shifted a little, looking from Hades to Opal, moving her hand to stroke at her daughter’s soft hair through the bars. “I can’t sleep,” she told him, her voice still soft and contemplative.

She looked back up at him, blinking blearily, the exhaustion plain on her face in a way she hadn’t allowed it be the last few days. Not that she thought Hades would’ve noticed anyway. He was settling back into his role on the Board, readjusting to the new crowd. They were both busy with the new semester starting as well. She felt as if she’d barely seen Hades outside of these late hours.

“I—” she started and then pressed her lips together. I’m scared, she tried to say, but the little scrap of pride she had after being found out wouldn’t let her. “I had—I’m worried about Opal.” I don’t feel safe. Her lips pressed harder together and she looked back at Opal as the baby sighed heavily in her sleep and squirmed a bit.

HADES:  Hades waited. He wasn’t a patient man by nature unless he saw a purpose for that patience-- there was a difference in other words between biding your time and simply waiting. Hades could bide quite easily as long as he knew the reason and had his eye on the result. 

With Belle, he found himself waiting more than the former option. Though the reasons, the results, these were becoming clearer the more times he stumbled. He knew for example that he had to wait for Belle sometimes simply because she took longer to think through her own thoughts and decide which ones to keep, which ones to toss out. He used to hate this about her. Hades’ filter was more efficient-- his mind and heart almost always on the same page. Belle’s vacillation felt dishonest to him in contrast, a kind of wishy-washiness that exposed a weak character and an even weaker mind. When he didn’t love her, it meant he’d taken advantage of it the way that Hades trained himself throughout his life. Though could you call manipulating a kind person manipulation if they barely noticed, if it didn’t matter what you would do to them, they’d still respond with kindness? It was baffling, and then it was interesting, and now--

Now, Hades admired most of these traits about Belle, even when they pissed him off. Belle’s process was different from his own, sometimes landing on different results, but those results were polished and unique, things that Hades wouldn’t ever think of himself because he was too pragmatic.

So Hades held his tongue. He held any annoyance. He did his own kind of filtering, picking his most productive emotions and coaxing his patience so it was a strong, reliable thing.

He waited, and he waited, and he knew that Belle would reward him.

She didn’t.

He raised his eyebrows at her answer, tilting his head a little. Her answer was filtered, alright-- she’d stripped it back too much. He didn’t doubt that what Belle said was true; she worried about Opal.

But that wasn’t all.

Hades wandered forward and the door shut behind him. He pushed at the ghosts in the room too with the presence of his mind. Arthur was the one who moved the rest out of the room. Luckily there were no nosy spectres these days, and his and Belle’s domestic spats (not that this would be a spat, he didn’t think) were not nearly as interesting as they used to be.

He practiced the same patience, stepping softly and stopping in front of Belle-- far enough to give her space, but close enough that he reached out,  grasped her upper arm, and gave it a light squeeze. His head tilted again.

“That’s not all though, is it?” he said. He phrased this question purposefully like this. He knew if he asked is that all? Belle might be too shy. She’d bury it.

He wanted to let her know that he saw her. That he could...understand. He’d try.

“You’ve not been sleeping well for days,” he added, almost like evidence to support this claim. He stroked down her arm and up again. A small, rather sad smile ghosted over his lips. “And here I thought I’d called dibs on bein’ the insomniac, eh?”  He touched her cheek, and even softer, “What are you thinking about?” 

BELLE: The door closed and Belle blinked. She hadn’t expected that. Maybe she had expected Hades to close it, himself on the other side, heading back to bed. She wouldn’t blame him, if he was too tired to pry and she didn’t really want it either, because she didn’t want a fight—which much of his prying turned into. That wasn’t his fault always. Sometimes, it was Belle’s. Belle, who still, after all this time, had trouble saying what was on her mind for fear of mostly unfounded repercussions. (He’ll leave. He’ll realize you’re not good enough, not strong enough.)

Hades face was soft and contemplative as he stepped towards her. Belle watched him with a confused bend to her brows, tilting her head back to look at him when he got closer. When he touched her, Belle felt her breath catch in her chest. Because she had been so tense, so afraid and hadn’t even realized it, until Hades’ warm hand rested over the fabric of her sweater and easily burned through to her skin. She glanced down at where he touched her, but looked up just as quickly at his words.

Once again, he surprised her. Belle wasn’t quite sure if the reason for this was just because she was tired and it was late, or if it was actually strange behavior.

That’s not all, is it? he asked, but his voice was soft. He wasn’t accusing her, at least not in a harsh way that scraped against the shell she’d made herself. Instead, he was coaxing her. Belle was baffled into a blush, blinking at her husband. That blush grew deeper when he told her that he knew she hadn’t been sleeping well. Belle thought she had been hiding it well. Belle had thought…he wasn’t paying her any attention. (Not that she begrudged him this, they were both busy. She wasn’t used to anyone paying attention anyway.)

Her eyes darted from his own, to his hand on her arm, back up to his face in rapid succession. She felt cornered, as she often did when being found out like this but—

Well, she always wanted Hades to notice, didn’t she? She could admit that to herself. It was a very childish, unfair way to go about things, but Belle had never been given the tools to handle things otherwise. As a child, she had moped about her own house like a ghost—no matter how loud she had sighed, her father had never noticed. No one had ever noticed.

At once, she wanted to burrow into Hades and just hide her face in his chest. She could confess all her secrets, quiet and in the dark, and when they woke up in the morning, she could pretend that she’d never said anything at all. She wanted to be warm and feel safe, instead of how she had felt waking up from that awful dream: like she was balancing on a plank of wood out at sea, like she was fighting off demons from a little boat. Too many demons who were overwhelming her little boat and slowly, slowly sinking it.

Hades hand on her shoulder helped. It said: “I’m here.” And Belle knew that if that was the case, nothing would ever harm Opal—or her. She just hated being so afraid. Once upon a time, Belle had hardly ever been afraid of anything. She’d faced a werewolf and sorceresses and trekked through the Underworld. She hated Phoebus and Merida for taking that fearlessness from her almost as much as she hated them for endangering her daughter.

“I—” she said, reaching up to grab his wrist. She wished they were back in bed, so she could tug him down with her and lean into his side, let his sturdiness and warmth steady her. “The Order,” she admitted quietly. The name slipped from her lips and blew up like a balloon into the room, like one of those foam toys you poured water on and watched expand. She could almost see it, in the shadows which hovered around the edges of the room.

“I keep—having these dreams.” She shook her head and sucked in a breath, feeling tears prick at her eyes. “I-I know it’s silly but I just—can’t stop thinking about what would happen if—they came for you again—” she looked briefly at Hades “—or Opal—” her gaze went to the crib as the rest of those awful thoughts she’d kept tucked inside just started to pour out of her.

“It happens differently in every dream but—there is never anything I can do. Because there isn’t anything I can do. They know that. I-I am—I’m Marie. I’m Nounou. If we’re home alone or we’re out somewhere or—I keep seeing them in every stranger’s face. Anyone who stares too long at Opal in the market. Anyone walking their dog through the park. Customers at the shoppe.” She took a breath and reached up with the hand not still squeezing Hades’ wrist and wiped at her eyes, even though no tears had fallen yet. They’d blurred the bars of the crib, turning it into a blob of white.

“I hate it.” I hate being so afraid. I hate being so weak.

HADES:  The Order. 

Hades blinked, and in the time it took to blink, all of Belle’s actions over the past few weeks made sense to him again. They rewrote themselves with clearer context, the details coming into focus. It had never been about class, it had never been about lack of sleep or fretting over Opal (well-- not the way that mothers normally fretted). It had been, yes, the Order. How cruel of them to materialize almost exactly a year after the kidnapping. Hades hadn’t noticed that until right now. But naturally he wouldn’t, because Hades dealt with trauma much differently than Belle-- that is, he didn’t. He took that trauma, decided it didn’t matter, and he boxed it up. When it returned, it came in dreams for Hades too, but a lifetime of ill-sleeping meant that one nightmare could hardly be worse than another, could it? 

 But he also hadn’t been the one who was kidnapped. 

He felt badly now for once again being blinded by his own perspective. In wanting everything to be so...clean-- his work life, his politics, his home life-- he’d failed again. To see Belle. To really see her. Why did he keep doing that? And why did whatever little progress he made never feel like it mattered?

This wasn’t about Hades though. So he swallowed, his eyes locked on Belle as she worried her words between her teeth and spoke so quietly in the dark, as if the Order was lurking even now. He watched as she wiped her tears. He let her hold his hand. He tried to listen, to really listen. It did feel easier to do in the dark, in the nowhere hour. Times such as these floated, neither yesterday or tomorrow. Hades didn’t feel pressed to organize that time in a way that would have meaning and function. He could just let these hours linger.

“Hey,” he uttered when Belle was done. His eyebrows crinkled and he reached up to wipe at another tear on Belle’s cheek. He pulled his hand from her grasp so he could cup her cheeks and make her look at him. “Hey. Nothing is going to happen like that again. I swear it. You’re never alone, Belle, not really.” 

He let his hands fall to her shoulders, squeezing her gently. “I’m always closer than you think. If anyone tried to harm you or Opal, I’d know. In a second, I’d know. And I’d be there the second after that. Though you shouldn’t discount yourself so easily, my love.” He smirked, just a little, though perhaps the shadows hid it. “You’ve always been more than capable. If you can stand up to the heir of the Underworld and keep him from goin’ outside in a blizzard… you can do just about anything. You have. You’ve survived, Belle. Don’t you see that?” 

BELLE: Hades’ words barely touched her. She wished they would. It wasn’t that she didn’t want them to, that she was stubbornly resisting them out of some sort of bullshit self-preservation or self-deprecation. They just couldn’t get passed the fear.

Even if part of her knew that Hades believed what he said. Even if part of her knew it was true. Hades was powerful. Hades could melt into the shadows and reappear somewhere else. She’d seen it herself. But she also knew sometimes the ghosts didn’t breakthrough. She knew that Hades wasn’t faster than a speeding bullet or the slash of a knife.

Belle was very quiet for a moment all her fear and tears trapped in her chest. She wanted to just nod her head and ask Hades to take her back to bed. Maybe all she needed was to rest her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. Perhaps, that sound of life would keep the foreboding of death away. Maybe, she could just bury it all down, box it back up and put it on the shelf it’d been on for the last year. The very thought felt exhausting.

She was exhausted. Her head began to shake, back and forth, before she even realized she was doing it. The tears began again—frustrated and burning. They finally fell, one and then another, into her lap. Sucking in a breath, she leaned her head back against the headrest of the rocking chair, then turned her head away from Hades, to look at Opal, watch her sleep peacefully.

“I never actually stopped you,” she said quietly. The comment surprised her slightly and she looked back at him, the confusion at her own words plain on her face. Perhaps it was the darkness in the sky that made it easier to pull these secrets out, to speak without thinking. How relieving it was, even if it was also awfully frightening. Her fingers twitched against Hades’ hand, like she was going to squeeze it, like she was going to pull away.

It was true, though, wasn’t it?

“You left, went right out into that blizzard,” she told him, looking at him. She hadn’t known why she’d said it at first, but now she knew: she was exposing the lie of his words. “It was all just technicalities. Perhaps, I was brave, but I never did anything. If Merida hadn’t distracted Phoebus…” she trailed off, knowing well enough that the “what ifs” of that night had haunted both of them. And now, with Claude’s kidnapping behind them and Merida’s strange re-entrance to their life, Belle could admit to her invaluable actions that night. Which only made the whole thing more confusing.

“I haven’t survived.” Her free hand reached up to touch that line on her chest, just peeking out from the top of her nightgown.

“That’s not—it’s not the point.” She shook her head and sighed. “I don’t care about me. I just—I’m not—I’m not powerful enough to protect our daughter. I couldn’t even do it when she was a part of me. How am I supposed to do it when she’s out in the world? When all I have—” she shook her head again, she couldn’t even think of what it was she had to protect her daughter with, except perhaps love. And Belle had seen love do some incredible things, but she didn’t know if it was enough.

“I don’t want magic. Not really. I just—I don’t know how not to be terrified. All the time.”

HADES: Hades had a different reading of all those events. He frowned as Belle tried to rewrite his own understanding, not only of their past trials, but of herself within them. It was his instinct to jump in and cut her off, then begin his rebuttal. 

Because that’s what Hades did. He argued. He liked to think if he presented Belle with a strong case, complete with sources and examples that supported his own perceptions, then the wrinkle in her brow and the trouble in her eyes would simply evaporate. He would defeat her nightmares with debate only and they could go back to sleep, held in each other’s arms, unbothered by a world that attempted to convince the two of them they did not belong in it. 

This was a form of Hades’ idealism, his high-minded, too cocky belief in himself. It worked when it came to matters of politics. It even worked when Hades himself was burdened and he needed to find a way to make himself lighter. Hades struggled when logic stacked against him, rather than the other way around. 

It didn’t work for Belle though. It had never worked for Belle. It led, time and time again, to Hades misunderstanding her and Belle hurt by his misunderstanding. He didn’t want this conversation to end in Belle drawing away-- or worse, in a kind of fight spurned by Hades’ own carelessness. 

So he held his tongue, even though he wanted to insist that Belle was wrong. That she was strong, and more importantly, she was clever, and did she really think that someone like Hades would love someone who he thought was his lesser? No, he would never. He loved Belle because they were true equals: opposite sides of the same coin. Together, they would make Opal into something even better than themselves. 

He held it, and he held it, and he held it, until Belle was done and he felt helpless. 

So Hades did something he normally-- perhaps he had never done before. His hand moved from her shoulder around to her back. He stepped closer and enveloped her in his arms, though his hold was loose. She could easily push Hades away, as though he was nothing but a matchstick. 

“What do you need from me?” he asked, instead of telling Belle anything. “I want to help. I want you to feel...safer. I know it’s hard, but if there is anything…”

He’d even go after the bloody Order himself, burn each and every one down. 

BELLE: Belle blinked, her head jerking in a slightly startled way when she caught Hades moving out of the corner of her eye. She just wasn’t expecting him to come closer. Maybe it was just because she was exhausted, but she felt like she’d stepped into some kind of altered reality, just slightly different from her own. Hades wasn’t acting that strange, but something felt like it was shifting. Belle wasn’t sure what to make of it. She was used to feeling—like Hades would never understand her, that she loved him impossibly. Their love was quite literally, by Fate’s design, impossible. The distances between them, felt impossible.

Hades stepped closer and leaned down, wrapping himself around her. The embrace was slightly awkward, both because Belle was sitting and also because she hadn’t been expecting it, but it didn’t matter. She felt a knot in her chest untangle and she reached up to slip one of her hands around his back, curling her fingers in his shirt. She pressed her nose against the crease of his neck, breathing in the clean, familiar scent of his skin.

Even though she had to stretch up slightly in order for the hug to be effective, she felt herself relaxing into the warmth. She felt his words rumble in his chest, coming from the deep parts of him and she knew that they were true. That he meant them.

It still made her cheeks burn. She still hated how weak it made her sound. Belle hated being weak, and she hated admitting to it even less. If Hades hadn’t caught her in these soft twilight, in-between hours, she never would’ve admitted it at all. Which was another problem, for another day.

Right now, she just shook her head a little and readjusted her grip on Hades like she could tug him down into her lap and tangle up with him.

The answer to his question felt woefully complex and simple all at once.

She laughed, a soft, sharp laugh at herself—feeling ridiculous and suddenly like she had been making a very big deal out of something that wasn’t worth it at all. As soon as Hades had enveloped her in his arms, she felt like all the worry was far, far away.

“Maybe I just—needed this,” she admitted with a little sigh, shifting her head so her chin was on his shoulder, her temple resting against him. She closed her eyes. Sometimes, Belle forgot how nice a hug could be, or a cuddle. It wasn’t that Hades shortchanged her on affection, but in their day to day lives, they didn’t do these things. They rarely snuggled on the couch, apart from Hades frequently putting his feet in her lap. They brushed hands over backs when they moved about their tiny house. They kissed hello and goodbye, good morning and goodnight. They took showers and slept in the same bed, though they rarely snuggled then, either. The both of them used to their own spaces, and on different schedules.

But physical affection was never unwanted. And a hug went a long way to taking all of Belle’s frazzled pieces and putting them back together again.

It was a temporary solution, she feared this time, but for the moment—she was just glad for Hades and his softness for her.

“I—don’t know what to do in the long run,” she confessed into the quiet room. “I don’t like feeling…unprepared or unable to take care of my family but…I’ll figure it out.” She turned her head again, this time pressing her lips to that soft, vulnerable part of Hades right behind his ear. “This helps.” She pulled back a little, her hand curving over his shoulder, touching his neck. Belle smiled at him in the near dark and leaned up just a little so she could kiss the corner of his mouth softly. “We should go back to bed.”