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[fydixie-blog]

.rorysmd:

Baring his teeth as he pulled back his lips at the corner of his mouth, cringing at his faux-pas, Rory could only hover awkwardly on the spot as Dixie scrutinized him. In all fairness, he did find Dixie pretty attractive, so it wasn’t completely irredeemable for him to be eyeing her up, but he hadn’t known it was Dixie, was what made the whole thing a little weird. Though he’d never admit it aloud – for fear of Séamus having him committed, or Dixie herself feeling too smug about the fact that she’d landed herself so firmly in his life – he actually sort of considered the tiny, Cajun brunette something of a little sister figure to him. Of course, nobody could ever replace Aoife, and he had no doubt his wee sissy would be showing up sooner or later to drive her big brother insane, but he enjoyed having Dixie around, and enjoyed the way that they could tease and mock each other in the same manner with which he would his own siblings.

Watching the quip of Dixie’s brow, and the frown that accompanied it, a soft smirk played on the corner of his own lips. After studying her for a moment, however, he faltered when he realised his error. In hindsight, his error was probably more down to his proclivity for flirting and approaching just about anyone on the street without a second thought, and the fact that he never quite knew when to quit. But in addition to that, he’d realised that, while it wasn’t entirely uncommon for him to be on the receiving end of one of Dixie’s glares, he’d probably made the girl uncomfortable at having approached her in such a manner. While he hadn’t known it was her, he did see how it might have been a little disconcerting for her, especially given the state of how Darragh had treated her.

“Sorry, Dix. In my defence, I was only tryn'e be nice,” he teased, keeping his tone light as he shrugged at her.

His eyes fell from Dixie and back onto the bags surrounding them as he recalled his earlier question, glancing back at Dixie’s wrist as he tried to recall whatever bracelet it was she was on about. While he took great pride in his own appearance, and definitely appreciated men and women alike, both in and out of a good outfit, that didn’t necessarily mean he always paid close attention to detail.

“Shite one for ye, Dix,” he sighed, twisting his mouth in pity at the girl.

He’d long since given up on fulfilling his mum’s desires of ever portraying himself as something of a gentleman, leaving Aoife and Cathal in the wings behind him to pick up where he’d never quite left off. Still, he wasn’t always a total arse – though just about anyone might disagree – and he quietly pondered over helping her find the missing trinket.

“Christ, Dix. Can’t y'see jus’ how gorgeous i’m lookin’ today, aye? Lotta effort goes int'e perfectin’ this here look ye know,” he joked, though they both knew there was no real irony in his words. While Rory was confident in the belief that he was always a solid 10, it took hard work and dedication to amp him up to the 15 that he blessed everyone with on a day to day basis. “These pants aren’t made for dumpster divin’, ye know?”

Sighing, he twisted his body slightly as he quickly glanced around him, hoping that in some lazy attempt that he might catch sight of the bracelet, and that perhaps it might have just fallen onto the pavement in her search. He had no such luck, however, and he was just readying himself to be the perfect example of chivalrous when Dixie addressed him once more.

“Hm? Ah g'way with that, would ye?” he grinned, all too amused at the way she was scrutinising him. Dixie certainly wasn’t the first – and surely wouldn’t be the last – to question his morals, but he took no notice of any of it. He didn’t think there was any shame to be had in flirting or expressing his attraction to other people, regardless of gender, and he was all too happy to continue upon his ways, certain that there would never come a day where he’d tire of it.

His mother had once expressed an eager hope that maybe some day he’d find himself a gorgeous girl, or a strapping fella, to settle down with, but he’d never had a lot of luck with long term relationships, especially having been cheating on in the past. He’d decided that he was far better off hopping from person to person with no pre existing presumptions about where it might lead. ‘Light and breezy’ had always been the way forward for Rory, and he liked to keep it that way.

“It’s not about tha’, Dixie. It’s abou’ havin’ fun, ye know? Sure there’s nothin’ wrong with a little fun here and there, is there?” His grin only grew all the wider as he examined Dixie, a glint in his eye as he mulled over his next words. Raising an eyebrow and tilting his head to the side, Rory adopted a look of disbelief, faux-offence colouring his features as he addressed her. “You’re tellin’ me I need t'see a girl to admire her? Women are gorgeous and spectacular creatures, they’re all worthy of a wee bitta flirtation I reckon.”

Letting out a low chuckle, he shook his head as the fake horror on his features gave way to pure, unadulterated humour. He knew that Dixie, of all people, wouldn’t fall for any of his own faux-feminist ramblings. Not that he didn’t respect women, but Dixie knew better than to fall for his nonsense.

“Alrigh’, c'mon. Here’s a deal for ye, aye? I’ll help ye find this bracelet o’ yers, and then ye can owe me a favour.”

“Y’know there are otha’ ways of bein’ nice t’a girl, hm?” Dixie challenged him, even though she knew her words would fall on deaf ears.

If Dixie didn’t know Rory as well as she did, she doubted she would have any time for the blonde. While she knew not to pass judgement on someone based on who they did or didn’t sleep with, Rory tested her patience with all his crude comments half the time. They weren’t half as bad as Darragh, who liked to point out the way a girl’s jeans accentuated her ass when Dixie was right by his side, but sometimes Rory’s comments made Dixie screw up her face in distaste.

“Shite one,” she nodded in agreement, even though her accent twisted around the word awkwardly. Scratching her head through the wool of her beanie, Dixie’s hands eventually returned to her hips as she surveyed the bags around her, hoping to catch a glimpse of her lost bracelet.

“Ain’t no one askin’ you to help. Wouldn’t want you t’dent tha’ ‘do of yours,” Dixie commented dryly. She paired her words with a half-hearted scowl then raised an eyebrow at the half-assed attempt Rory was making of ‘helping her’.

“Don’t hurt yo’self, boy,” she told him, shaking her head. Truthfully, she couldn’t really be exasperated with Rory, just like she was never really mad at Thomas whenever he drew over her work tunic with his crayons and ruined it. She’d been scrubbing floors wearing a dress covered in a doodle of the Hulk for weeks. That familial fondness she felt for her little brother had somehow extended to Rory Murphy as well, but she would never admit that aloud because she knew he’d only be smug as hell about it.

Her jaw dropped open a little bit at his claim and she stared at him like he’d grown another head – just like the mythical swamp creatures her Paw Paw had told her all about back home. Dixie had spent her days on the bayou searching for the monster. Who knew that it’d end up looking like Rory fucking Murphy and hold some pretty backwards ass views.

“Maybe you should ask first if a woman wants some flirtation, huh? Instead’a sneakin’ up on them in the dark,” she suggested, waving a hand dismissively. She wasn’t here to lecture Rory and was content to leave him be now that he wasn’t going to flirt with her anymore. She was sure there were plenty of men and women who would love to be on the receiving end of the blonde’s charm.

Tugging at the sleeve of her flannel, she eyed him sceptically.

“What kinda favour?” she asked him. Given everything that had just transpired, she knew that she had a right to be hesitant, but she also knew that Rory respected her boundaries and would never push her to the point where things were uncomfortable or awkward – and she really wanted her bracelet back. Letting out a frustrated groan, she sighed and dropped her shoulders in defeat.

“Alrigh’, but only if we find the bracelet,” she instructed him and began rummaging through the trash bags again. “It’s leather an’ kinda old an’ it’s got little beads on it. My momma got it fo’ me.”

[fydixie-blog]

The main thing that we tried to do is to differentiate between Clara as a teacher… to have her in the midst of the alien world, and in the midst of the adventure, and to always look like a school teacher.

[fydixie-blog]

.seamuspls:

Maybe it made him a walking stereotype, or maybe it just meant he was proud of his heritage, but either way, Paddy’s day had always been Séamus’ favourite day of the year. Where the likes of Rory, or even Darragh or their Da, tended to favour the day for their day off work and the week-long bender they had in the works, Séamus enjoyed the day for other reasons. He recalled a time when he was small, perched on his mother’s knee as she bobbed along to the Cèilidh music, humming along to the tune as his aunts and uncles danced around them. He recalled the nightly seisún’s that they’d held down in the local town hall, and though they were a frequent thing back home, there always seemed to be a certain magic around the village on Paddy’s weekend.

Of course, being from up North definitely came with some downsides. Belfast in particular, being the capital, meant that he’d had to deal with his fair share of loyalists, people like Darragh who had a screw or two loose and would spend Paddy’s weekend tossing rocks through the windows of nationalist’s homes, or spouting off in the local boozer. Despite The Troubles having long since passed, the aftermath still loomed large, and the stark difference in the way most Northerners viewed Southerners back home was beyond ridiculous. So with the added difficulty of crazed Unionists, claiming that Ireland ‘has no place being anything but British’, the comfort of a much needed Paddy’s day seisún at his mother’s side was a warm relief to Séamus.

There was a stark contrast between Paddy’s day back home to Paddy’s day in New York City. While he missed his mother dearly with each passing year, and he yearned for the comfort of a quiet lock-in with his nearest and dearest, there was something truly charming about being in such a big city, surrounded by hundreds to thousands of people eager to immerse himself in the culture that he was so proud of. While Rory spent most of the days leading up to Paddy’s week whinging and moping about 'what a bunch of feckin’ frauds’ everyone was, Séamus delighted in the entire spectacle. He’d never been a huge fan of large crowds, and he so desperately missed the comfort of their village, but this year was entirely different. He needn’t pass a street corner and be reminded of his father’s fist on the side of his head, and he didn’t have to worry about Darragh’s drunken slurs filling his ears, calling him every insult under the sun. No, he was with the realest, truest family he’d ever known in Rory and the Lynch’s, and had somehow been lucky enough to find Dixie pressed into his side.

As the girl in question waved her phone in his face, Séamus shifted his gaze to stare down at her, smiling fondly as he thought of her mother and little brother. They were some of the best people that he knew and, even after everything that Darragh had put Dixie through, he felt comfort in knowing that her mother still held him somewhat high in her graces.

“Aye, tell 'er I said hey, an’ I hope she and Tommo are havin’ a fine Paddy’s day,” he smiled, before turning his gaze back on the crowds around them. While the cold, New York air should have been biting through his many layers, he found himself weirdly attuned to the awful weather. Between the incessant rain that never ceased back home, and the familiarity of never having had warm water whenever their Da’ drank away money meant for paying bills, he figured he could be worse off. With the crowds growing larger and larger, he was certain they wouldn’t even notice the chill soon enough.

Pulled from his reverie by Dixie once more, he let out a snigger at his cousin’s expense. Rolling his eyes to the heavens, he watched as Dixie leaned over, nudged Rory’s sunglasses, and gave him a quick once over. Coming as no surprise to him, Dixie announced that his cousin had conked out, and was gone to the world for the rest of the day. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, he nodded and offered her a rather smug smile.

“Aye, didn’t I tell ye? That fella never makes it the full week,” he laughed, shaking his head in faux-disappointment. “Pure lightweight, so he is.”

As the crowed loomed, and people pushed and fought their way around them, desperate to get closer the barrier, Séamus instinctively circled an arm around Dixie’s shoulder, pulling her in closer as he edged ever so slightly to James and Taylor. No doubt the noise would soon stir Rory, and certain his cousin was well able to take care of himself, he opted for keeping an eye on the twins instead.

“Right, so. While tha’ one over there’s givin’ us Paddy’s a bad name, are ye ready for the time of yer life?” he asked, addressing both the twins and Dixie. Then, turning his attention solely to the girl at his side, his face split into a wide smile. “I can’t wait for ye to see the Cèilidh dancers, Dix. Not to be a sap or nothin’, but it’s honestly captivatin’.”

Dixie smiled when Séamus passed on his well wishes to her mother and brother. Even though Dixie’s family were a mix of American and Cajun with not an Irish bone in their bodies, she knew that Tommy would definitely be sitting at home, eyes trained on the parade on television and hoping to catch a glimpse of either his sister in the crowd, or the FDNY. Before she’d left after apologising for not being able to enjoy the televised version of the parade with him, she’d stuck a big green leprechaun top hat onto her little brother’s head after acquiring it so he wouldn’t feel left out.

“M’a little concerned he’s gon’ topple over,” Dixie mused, wrinkling her nose up as she scrutinised Rory. The barrier was helping to keep him upright but one nudge from an unsuspecting citizen could easily bowl him over given that his defences were down. Nevertheless, she laughed at Séamus’ teasing.

“Still, he probably did better than I ever could,” she shrugged. Her experiences with her step-father, and then Darragh, had lead Dixie to order tap water over a beer anytime she had somehow been persuaded to go out to a bar. She was sure that the old habit had lessened her tolerance for alcohol somewhat and that she’d be even more of an apparent lightweight than Rory if she went near any sort of spirit.

When the telltale sound of music kicked up, Dixie glanced up excitedly, just like the rest of the crowd who shifted at once and pushed inwards. She was sure that she heard James take in a sharp and worried breath, but noticed Taylor subtly wriggle around him so James was in between herself and Rory and out of immediate harm’s way. Not particularly enjoying crowds that much either, Dixie could relate to his stress, but found herself relaxing ever so slightly when Séamus wound an arm around her shoulders to keep her close. Smiling up at him gratefully, she hoped she could blame the inevitable pink tinge of her cheeks on the cold.

“Kayyy-lee dancers?” she asked, sounding the unfamiliar word out and still feeling like she was butchering the pronunciation with her Southern accent.

As soon as her ears picked up on the music getting closer, Dixie immediately pushed herself up onto her toes to get a better look at the road in front of her, which saw some sort of band marching down, snare drums being hit and bagpipes being played. Wait, bagpipes?

“Ain’t bagpipes Scottish?” she asked, confused. She shot a glance at Rory, probably due to wake up any moment, and she wondered if they would be subject to a discussion about how New York just shouldn’t be allowed to take charge of St Patrick’s Day. The night before, she’d heard all about the St Patty’s Day discourse and didn’t doubt Rory’s ability to keep up a half-coherent rant even when he was still hungover.

However, she caught a flash of green behind the band and a myriad of dancing girls soon followed up and she turned to Séamus, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Those th’dancers?” she asked, wobbling back onto her tiptoes so she could get a better look.

[fydixie-blog]

[fydixie-blog]

Dixie tugged her beanie further down her head to keep her ears warm as the March air nipped at her exposed skin. It may be Spring Break soon and she was sure that tons of students would be flocking to the beaches to party around campfires, but it was still winter weather in New York City and she tightened her scarf around her neck. Used to the hot and sticky summers of Louisiana that chased the bayou even well into the nether end of the year, Dixie did not adapt well to the cold. The good thing about being jam packed into a huge crowd, even though she’d never been a fan of them, was that the mass of bodies served to keep her a little warmer than she might have been if she was stranded alone and shivering.

After finding their place behind the railings for the parade, Dixie had found herself pushed up snugly against Séamus and tried not to think too much about that, while James and Taylor bickered in front of her. Dixie wasn’t entirely sure what the twins were arguing about but she heard snippets of their conversation and managed to piece together that James was fretting about the shamrock Taylor had painted onto her cheek and the apparent effects it could have on her bloodstream.

“JJ said it would be fine,” she heard Taylor try to reassure her brother, but Dixie was quickly distracted when her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket. Pulling it out, she read the text notification and smiled.

“My momma says hey,” she told Séamus, holding her phone up as proof. Her mother had been dubious at first when Dixie had told her she’d been invited to spend St Patrick’s day with the Murphys and the Lynches, but that same hesitation had swiftly disappeared when Dixie mentioned that Darragh wouldn’t be in attendance.

She clumsily tried to text her mom back, the feat of navigating the buttons through the material of her thick, woollen mittens comically difficult. After successfully thanking her mom and assuring Tommy that she would get him pictures of the fire department when they marched, she glanced over at Rory who was slumped against the railing, sunglasses propped on the bridge of his nose and acting as a clear indication of the hangover he was trying to fight off.

“He’s actually doin’ better than I thought he would,” Dixie mused. The bet she’d placed with Taylor about when Rory’s St Paddy’s Week celebrations would catch up to him had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now Dixie realised that maybe she’d underestimated Rory’s stamina. Narrowing her eyes, she leaned over and waved a hand in front of Rory’s face, raising an eyebrow when he barely flinched.

Sliding his sunglasses off just barely, she realised his eyes had fallen closed behind the lenses.

“Oh wait, no, he’s sleepin’,” she announced, pushing the glasses back up his nose and grinning up at Séamus.

[fydixie-blog]

what’s the dealio with dixie? she making the rounds of that family or what?

(via confessmessina)

I ain’t makin’ rounds nowhere, so how ‘bout ya quit stickin’ yo’ nose in where it don’t belong and leave me outta this shitty gossip?

[fydixie-blog]

.seamuspls:

Séamus didn’t like to think of himself as hotheaded, nor did he ever want to entertain the possibility that he might share his father or Darragh’s same proclivity for aggression and cruelty, but it was always there in the back of his mind, the fear of one day becoming like the pair of them niggling away at him. The second that he lost his cool in the cab, exploding at Darragh in such a loud and, quite frankly, horrifying manner, he’d felt that same sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to be like them, and his mam had always told him that the best way to avoid that was to always stay true to himself. She had believed that you always have a choice in becoming the person that you do, and that those choices define us. But surely if Darragh had had a choice he wouldn’t want to behave the way that he did? After everything that they’d witnessed, all that they’d endured at the hands of their father, how could he possibly choose to be such a loathsome and heinous human being?

The mere thought only made Séamus’ blood boil all the more, and he focused his attention on the road and getting them back to Messina safely. He didn’t even want to think about the impact his brief bout of rage had had on Dixie, a selfish and insensitive thought all the same. Knowing full well the effect of his own actions, he couldn’t even begin to comprehend just how Dixie must be feeling.

Now safely – figuratively speaking, of course – back at Messina, Séamus was trying his absolute hardest to remain calm, wanting to reign in his own emotions and focus on the more important matter at hand. His own anger, his own rage, was nothing next to the way that Darragh was behaving, and it was certainly incomparable to the fear that he imagined must be pulsing through Dixie. He didn’t want to heighten any of those feelings inside of her, nor did he want to aggravate Darragh. It would only encourage him.

His resolve caved instantly, however, when he’d seen Darragh lunging towards Dixie, and his words had been loud and firmed as he stood between them two. Unwavering and standing tall, his brother staggered and wobbled in an attempt to square up to Séamus. Had he been sober then Séamus knew fine well that he’d have been successful, always gaining that extra inch above him, his own fury and strength incomprehensible to Séamus. Now, however, his eyes were unfocused, his words slurred as the stench of alcohol clouded the air.

Séamus had no time to react any further to the absolute tripe that he was spewing when Dixie stepped forward, brave as ever in standing her ground. He words were strong as she defended herself, and it felt like almost an eternity before Darragh decided to give up, clumsily bursting into the lobby of Messina and out of their sight.

Séamus hadn’t even realised he’d been holding his breath until Darragh was gone, heaving out a sigh of relief as he shook his head. That same relief was brief, though, when Dixie turned toward him, that same tone from moments before now directed at Séamus. Her words tore into him, but he knew they were completely justified, and that the feeling surging through him now was entirely based on his own guilt. It hadn’t been his place to speak up for her, nor should he have shielded her as though she were some damsel in need of his protection. She wasn’t, and she’d been taking care of herself for far longer than he’d known her.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he told her, his tone entirely sincere. He knew that one ‘sorry’ wasn’t nearly enough to make up for it, though, and he found himself hanging his head in shame and letting out a shaky breath as she continued. “It wasn’t my place an’… I know ye’re well able, I jus’…”

His sentence fell flat as he struggled to grasp for the right words, having absolutely no idea just what he was going to say. He could say any number of things to Dixie right now about how he knew she could take care of herself, but that he just wanted her to know that she didn’t have to. He knew that wasn’t the right thing, however, and that it would only lead to him completely losing it and confessing his feelings to her, and there was no way that would end well for him.

“I know, an’ I swear to ye it won’t happen again,” he started, his tone edging on pleading. He could see the pain in her eyes and it only made him feel all the worse, knowing that he’d had a hand in it by riling up Darragh.

He had been chewing it over in his brain, mulling over just what to say next, when all sense was knocked from him as Dixie fell against him, her forehead knocking against his chest as she clenched the fabric of his jumper into her fist. Without thinking, he immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and turning his head to the side, the top of her hair brushing against his cheek.

“I’m sorry, Dixie. I really am,” he repeated, his words coming out choked as he grasped for the right thing to say.

Rubbing a hand up and down her arm, trying to keep her warm as they stood beneath the dim glow of the shoddy Wellington street lamps, he sighed again.

“I jus’… I stood back time and time again, not once did I intervene when he– when he…” he couldn’t finish his sentence, his voice breaking completely just thinking about the possibility of Darragh harming her. “I saw him lunge for ye, and I jus’… It was me mam all over again, ye know? I couldn’t…”

Pulling away from her just an inch, he carefully placed his fingers below her chin, tilting her face to look up at him. His eyes bore into hers, his heart pounding in his chest as he silently implored for her to understand. He couldn’t change her mind, and he didn’t want to. He might have this idiotic desire to constantly protect Dixie, whether she wanted that or not, but he knew that he should never undermine her the way he just had. Brushing a strand of her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear, he let his hands aimlessly fall against her hair, unconsciously tangling his fingers in her locks as he looked at her.

“I’m just scared of losin’ ye is all, alrigh’?”

With that, he pulled her in once more, and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, hoping desperately that she wouldn’t be mad at him for such a bold action.

Dixie told herself not to feel guilty when Séamus apologised, because she wanted to believe that he should be apologising. She could look after herself just fine without his help, had been doing it for the whole duration of her relationship with Darragh. Maybe once upon a time, she’d daydreamed about a knight in shining armour coming to rescue her, but she didn’t need that anymore. She’d removed herself from that toxic situation and became her own hero. That didn’t begin and end when she’d broken up with Séamus’ brother. She could take care of herself even now.

But she heard the urgency in the other man’s voice and cast her gaze downwards. She grappled with the spark of anger still inside her, wanting to cling onto it so she could maintain that same frustrated energy.

“You jus’ what?” she angrily asked him. She should have known better than to poke and prod Séamus when he looked so flustered, and her impatient words left a sour taste in her mouth. Talking down to Séamus didn’t make her feel any better. If anything, it just made shame curl hotly into the pit of her belly and she clenched her fists by her side.

It wasn’t due to Dixie being Dixie that made her hug the other man, it was because Séamus was Séamus. Dixie could last days in an argument, stubborn pride and the Thieriot family temperament ensuring that she wouldn’t be the first to crack. But it was Séamus’ soft nature and the fact that, out of everyone else she knew, he had the most accurate insight into what it meant to be pressed under Darragh’s thumb, that made her hug him.

It was a reassuring hug. Her nose pressed into his chest as her nostrils pulled at the familiar smell of him, warmer and richer and better than the foul stench of Darragh when he stumbled home at night reeking of alcohol and someone else’s perfume. The wool of Séamus’ jumper rubbed comfortingly against her forehead and she clutched onto it tighter.

A lump appeared in her throat when Séamus mentioned his mother, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Darragh had never explicitly told Dixie what happened to his mother, but there were enough clues for Dixie to piece the whole thing together on her own, and Séamus never denied it when she’d timidly broached the subject. She’d witnessed firsthand herself her own mother’s abuse, but it had never escalated to what happened to Séamus and Darragh’s mom. Dixie didn’t know what she’d do if it ever had.

“It won’t ever be like tha’,” she promised him, her words slightly muffled by his jumper. She lifted her head up so he could hear her properly.

“I ain’t with him anymore. An’ don’t act like you was never there for me when ya damn well were,” she told him, the frown back on her face as she tried to scold him as best as she could. He was difficult to tell off.

Her eyes fell shut when his lips brushed her forehead and she clamped her own lips together so he wouldn’t hear the hitch in her breath. When she was sure that she had composed herself, she blinked her eyes open once more and stared at him.

“I don’t want you getting’ hurt for the sake of me neither,” she admitted. Letting out a sigh, she dropped her forehead against his chest again and gave him another quick hug for good measure before she eventually stepped back.

“Wanna take me home?” she suggested shyly, just to let him know she wasn’t mad anymore.

[fydixie-blog]

.seamuspls:

Darragh’s words tore through Séamus like a knife, as they always did. Darragh knew the ins and outs of Séamus’ mind, whether he liked it or not, and he’d always been so good at reading him. That, of course, was one of the many downsides to growing up with him, he knew him almost better than he knew himself, which meant right now he knew exactly the right things to say to really make him tick. He knew all the buttons to push, and he was using that to his full advantage.

His heinous brother spread his attention back and forth between the two of them, goading and taunting the pair of them with such malice like nothing Séamus had ever seen before. It was so evident that he got off on the utter thrill of making other peoples’ lives a misery, and Séamus felt sick to his stomach at the thought of it. Dixie, who was far more contained than himself, merely brushed off his words, her tone firm and concise. That only strengthened the anger that Séamus felt towards his brother. Knowing that that same ferocity came from a place of habit, from time and time again having to be brave, to be fearless, in the face of such a despicable coward, made Séamus want to pull over and toss his brother onto the side of the road. Dixie was strong, stronger than he’d ever been, and she’d grown a thick skin from dealing with his deplorable brother through the duration of their relationship. She shouldn’t have ever had to, she shouldn’t have had to shrug off his jeers, or grown used to them, and yet here they were.

Darragh’s next question was the icing on the cake, and Séamus felt his entire body tense at his words. His hands were trembling now, and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, forcing himself to stare ahead, to focus on the road in front of him. It shouldn’t matter what Darragh thought, nor should his question grate on Séamus’ nerves so badly. Dixie had no obligation to feel anything of the sort towards him, especially not anything such like what Darragh was implying, but the fact that he had the audacity, and the utter gall, to think it was acceptable to ask her something like that? Every single word that he spoke only further fuelled Séamus’ anger.

How dare he humiliate her like that?

Séamus couldn’t look at him, and he fought hard not to look at Dixie too. All he wanted to do was to reach a comforting hand out to her, to reassure her, but he knew that he couldn’t. Christ, he wasn’t even sure that she’d even want him to. Because of course Dixie didn’t want him like that – how could she? – and it had to be the only thing that Darragh had ever been right about, and it was entirely selfish of Séamus to think that he had any right to comfort her, or to hold her hand like he had only moments before.

“Ye’re disgustin’,” was all Séamus could manage, his words feeble as his throat retracted tightly. He felt as though he couldn’t breathe, as though the world was closing in on him. Was Darragh always going to be a part of his life? Was he always going to be a part of Dixie’s? It terrified him to think that the girl might never break free of his clutches, and that they’d be playing this game for years to come. She deserved better than that.

Chancing a glance towards Dixie, Séamus peeled his eyes away from the road just in time to spot a flurry of movement as Darragh leaned in and planted an unwanted kiss on Dixie’s face, and Séamus instinctively shot an arm out to shove him backwards, pushing him back into the seat behind him in a moment of panic.

“How fuckin’ dare ye?” he roared, his voice mingling with Dixie’s own cries.

He steadied his breath and then shot another glance her way, desperately hoping that she was okay. He knew he shouldn’t have been so quick to act, that she was well capable of defending and speaking up for herself, but he’d seen red.

With his eyes now back on the road, he realised that they’d finally arrived at their destination, and he focused on pulling the cab up onto the curb, pointedly ignoring the gleeful laugh that tore from his brother’s lips.

The second the engine spluttered to a stop, he climbed out of the cab and yanked the backdoor of the taxi open, and grabbed a hold on his brother’s arm, pulling him from the cab. Darragh let out a momentarily yelp of surprise, before pulling himself upright and staggering into the road. No amount of taunts, or even ten minutes of sleep, had been enough to sober him up, and Séamus lazily ducked out of reach of the fist that came swinging his way.

“Whadda ye think ye’re doin’, skipper?” Darragh roared, his movements slow and uncalculated. He turned slowly on the spot, before placing a hand on the taxi to keep him upright as he worked his way around to the other side where Dixie stood up on the curb. He lunged towards her, his arm angled towards her as he tried to snake it around her waist, but with one swift shove Séamus intervened, stepping between the two of them. Towering over Dixie, he laid a protective hand against her own, before turning his face towards Darragh and challenging him.

“Ye either get yerself upstairs to bed now, or I call the police,” he told him, his voice low and firm. He didn’t know how much truth was in his words, and whether he would actually involve the authorities. He’d never done so in the past, a true mark of his own cowardice, but he only hoped that Darragh was too drunk to even question him.

His hopes were in vain, though, when Darragh barked out another crass laugh, his eyes menacing as he leered at both Dixie and Séamus.

“Ye think it’s tha’ easy, do ye?” he questioned, baring his teeth as he smiled at them. It wasn’t a nice smile, though he was sure that in the light of day and under false, sober pretences that some might mistake it as being handsome. “Ye think ye can jus’ tell me te feck awf an’ take m'girl off fer a quick fuck, aye?”

His blood boiling, Séamus merely stared back at Darragh, never wanting to sink to his level. Nevermind his own fear of ever becoming too much like his brother or, God forbid, his father, he hated the tiny snippets of anger that slipped through the cracks, and hated them all the more when Dixie had to bear witness. Steeling himself, he stayed put, still angling himself in front of Dixie should Darragh lash out again, the same way in which he’d stood only moments before when they’d found Darragh outside of the bar. An endless cycle.

“I’m warnin’ ye again, Dar’,” he spoke softly.

It was late, he didn’t want to draw any additional attention to them, and he had no doubt Will was probably still working away inside the Messina lobby. The last thing he wanted was to draw the boy from his desk and involve him in their mess.

“G'way to bed. I’m takin’ Dixie home, and yer not gonna lay a finger on either of us, or I’ll call the police.”

As Dixie pushed Darragh away, her shoulder caught painfully on the door and she bit back a whine of complaint. It wouldn’t help the situation any as the tension inside the cab was stifling. Although her eyes were trained on the road in front of them, in her peripheral vision she spotted Séamus shove Darragh back into the seat behind them, a loud and angry bellow following the action.

At once, Dixie flinched, not used to the other man raising his voice. Wasn’t Séamus supposed to be the quiet brother? Quiet didn’t always necessarily correlate with a lack of anger, but she had never imagined he was capable of instilling such a degree of rage into his tone. She pressed herself back into the seat of the cab and built her lip as guilt washed over her. Séamus was allowed to be angry, and he was only sticking up for her after Darragh’s unwanted advance, but she was still ashamed to realise that he had scared her for a second. In a momentary flash, she had spotted that familiar Murphy temper in the person she least expected to find it in, and the thought made her briefly shy away from the man.

As Séamus pulled the car to a halt, he was out the door in a beat and Dixie sat up straight, blinking in surprise. Before she could take a breath, Darragh was being hauled out into the street and Dixie pulled on the door handle so she could quickly scramble out as well. Her white tennis shoes met dirty, leftover snow that had been trudged into brown slush, but the water still seeped into her socks uncomfortably.

“Séamus, careful,” she warned him, knowing that if he made a scene then it wouldn’t just be Darragh that got into trouble.

Naturally, Darragh had to make things worse and stumbled towards her. He was dazed and still off his ass drunk, meaning when he swiped for her he was due to miss her, even with her bulky puffer jacket on. Nevertheless, she hopped back quickly, the action seemingly unnecessary when Séamus intervened and placed himself firmly in between the two of them.

When he reached out to rest his hand against hers, part of he wanted to snatch her own hand away and the other half wanted to reach out and reassuringly link their fingers together. As it was, she remained still, only moving her head to flash him a look when he insisted he would call the police. That was the last thing they needed, and Dixie hoped Darragh would take his word for what it was and go with the easier option. Darragh Murphy wasn’t renowned for making things less difficult though and simply let out a cackle, as if the ultimatum amused him somehow.

His words sliced through Dixie and she immediately stepped forward, shouldering her way past Dixie.

“Ain’t any of tha’ happenin’ here, Darragh,” she told him as firmly as she could manage, eyes blazing. The alcohol running through his system must have been taken its toll though as, after what seemed like an eternity, Darragh slowly blinked then waved a dismissive hand at them and lumbered over to the door. As soon as he had disappeared inside of Messina, Dixie whirled around and directed her frustration at Séamus.

“Don’t ever figh’ my battles fo’ me again, y’hear me?” she commanded, angrily jabbing a finger in his direction. To a bypasser, it must have looked some sight, a pint-sized Cajun squaring up to a man a head and shoulders taller than her who really hadn’t done anything wrong except tried to look out for her. But Dixie didn’t need anyone to look out for her, and she wanted Séamus to understand that.

“I don’t need ya protectin’ me or pickin’ fights with yo’ brother ‘cause of me,” she warned him. She took another step forward, tears pricking at her eyes that gave way to the worry that she actually felt.

“Couillon,” she swore before letting out a sigh of defeat and dropping her forehead against Séamus’ chest as her hands clutched at his jumper.

[fydixie-blog]

TEXT: DAVID

Dixie: Happy birthday, David! Hope ya have a fantastic day! :)

[fydixie-blog]

.rorysmd:

Running a careful hand through his hair, pinching and prodding at strands of it as he shifted the locks to the side, Rory eyed himself carefully in the mirror. He wasn’t much of a fan of hair gel, despising the greasy feel of it under his fingers, and so it always took him a little longer to perfect that effortless – but, in actuality, hard earned – messy ‘bedhead’ look that he was currently working to achieve. Still not entirely impressed with the man staring back at him, he thrust a careless hand through his locks, mussing them forward until he deemed himself acceptable.

Shooting himself a wink through the mirror, and earning him a disgusted groan from Bennett who was glaring at him from the couch. Turning on the spot and bestowing a wink on the less than cheerful Pemberley that he shared a flat with, he followed up the action by holding up a very swift middle finger, a cheery smile on his lips.

“Don’t look so glum, Benny boy,” he teased, the less than welcome nickname falling fondly from his lips. “Ye’ll give yerself wrinkles, it’ll really mess with that complexion of yours.”

With that, Bennett returned Rory’s own actions from earlier, flipping him off and stalking out of the room and away from the Northern Irish lad. Quite content with himself, Rory snatched his jacket off of the coat hanger, and shoved his arms through it, before grabbing his keys off of the kitchen counter and pocketing them. With one last once over in the mirror behind him, he decided that he’d do, and made his way out of the apartment for the evening.

Ellis, for reasons entirely unfathomable to Rory, had chosen an evening with Henry, over an evening with himself, and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said that he wasn’t just the teensiest bit jealous. Ellis was his best friend, not Henry’s, nor any of these other eejits that were trying to steal his spot as her number one boy. And as much of a gentleman as Henry was, Rory was fairly content in the fact that he’d be the one seeing Ellis at the end of the night, much to Bennett’s dismay, and that he’d be the one swapping stories with her while the rest of the apartment slept. And so, with absolutely nobody eager to join him, and some free time on his hands, he’d toyed with the possibility of seeking out Séamus who he knew was performing a little gig in some Indie bar in the arse end of nowhere. He supposed it wouldn’t do him any harm to go and support his cousin, who no doubt would be singing to a total of four, maybe five, strangers.

Making his way down the Messina stairwell, hopping two steps at a time in a manner that he was certain would pop an artery in poor little James’ forehead, he finally reached the lobby and shouldered the front door open, letting the full force of the cold Wellington wind whip against him. Stepping out onto the pavement, he turned to his left in an attempt to make his way down the empty street, only to spot something he hadn’t been expecting.

In front of him was a woman who was currently bending down in front of some form of bag, or something, her hands busying away at God knows what with her arse pointed skyward. His eyes lingered for longer than was probably deemed acceptable – though he was certain his mother would tell him that any time at all was unacceptable, and that it wasn’t gentlemanly of him to degrade a woman in such a way – he waited patiently as the stranger rose to her full height, the brunette still having her back turned to him.

He couldn’t quite figure out what she had been trying to achieve, but he heeded his mother’s unspoken advice and, quite the Gent, decided to offer a helping hand, a cheeky smile gracing his lips.

“Alrigh’ there, sweetheart?” he asked, a flirting lilt to his tone. “Ye know, if ye need any help with anything, I’d be more than happy to help.”

Taking a few more steps towards her, he wasn’t quite sure he was particularly keen on seeming like a predator, so he made the sensible decision – the first, and last that he’d ever make – not to touch her, but onlycleared his throat to make his presence known.

“I was just admiring that lovely hair of yours, y'see,” he explained, feigning intrigue as he spoke to the back of her head. “I mean, I couldn’t begin to imagine just how gorgeous ye must look behind those lovely locks of yours.”

With that, the woman in question finally turned around, wiping the smug smile right off of Rory’s face when he found himself staring at none other than Dixie.

Dixie, yeah, that Dixie. The very same Dixie who had been unfortunate enough to date his piece of shit cousin, the very same Dixie who had somehow been entirely oblivious to the fact that his other cousin happened to be head over heels for her. That Dixie.

“Ah,” he cried out, staring at her, his lips pulled back into an awkward cringe. “Ye’re… I mean, ye’re still a crackin’ girl, Dix, but Christ.”

He had just been about to divulge the fact that while yes, Dixie certainly was gorgeous, he wasn’t about to make the mistake of hitting on the girl that his own flesh and blood held such high affections for. He knew immediately that not only was that not his information to reveal, but that also she might mistake his meaning altogether, and think that he was referring to that shitstain of an ex of hers.

“Sorry 'bout tha’, girly. Ye lookin’ for somethin’ down there? Ye wanna be careful before ye fall in.”

As soon as her watch began joyfully beeping in celebration of her shift being over, Dixie wasted no time in changing out of her work dress and into her more comfortable flannel and jeans. Pulling a beanie over her dark hair, she haphazardly stuffed her outfit into her backpack, grateful for her mother’s promise to iron it for her when she was home. After hours of scrubbing floors, dusting shelves and hoovering hallways, all the brunette wanted to do was lounge on the sofa for the whole night and watch whichever superhero flick Tommy had nominated to be the movie of the night.

The last thing she needed to do before she left was take the trash out. Shouldering her backpack and shuffling back into the lobby, she spotted Will clocking in for his shift and lifted her hand in greeting. Her eyes lingered on the doorman’s face for longer than necessary, searching for the bruises she’d seen peek through whatever make-up he had worn the day before. She knew better than anyone what that could mean, but she was also keenly aware of what persistent questions could do. Choosing to leave the matter alone in the meantime, just in case she was being horribly presumptuous and jumping to conclusions, she picked up the trash bags and hauled them outside.

Upon abandoning them at the side of the road where the trash collector was due to pick them up in the morning, Dixie glanced down at her wrist which was feeling unusually bare. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw that her bracelet, gifted to her by her mother after her travels in Nepal, was missing.

At once, she began muttering curse words in French, bending down and rummaging through the trash bags in search of a piece of jewellery that had only sentimental value and was now presumably lost amongst pizza boxes, empty milk cartons and week old mouldy sandwiches that hadn’t been eaten. She was so frantically engrossed in her task that she failed to hear movement behind her up until an Irish accent reached her ears and made her blood ran cold. The implications of the man’s words paired with that familiar accent made Dixie straighten up immediately and grasp her phone through the pocket of her flannel.

Steeling herself and making a point to mentally state that she wasn’t afraid of Darragh if it was him, she narrowed her eyes into slits before turning around to face the man. Her defences fell when she saw who it was, recognising Rory at once and being hit by a combined surge of relief and annoyance. Of course it was Rory. She barely took the time to enjoy the embarrassment that etched itself across his face when he realised his error, too busying folding her arms across her chest and attempting to stare him down. It wasn’t a feat easily won seeing as Séamus and Darragh’s cousin was a head and shoulders taller than her, but she was used to casting Rory baleful looks when he made a particularly crude comment about someone they walked past in the street.

“Really?” she asked disdainfully, raising an eyebrow. It was an action executed most commonly in the presence of the other man. While she fought of a mixture of impatience and amusement in the past, it was hard to ignore the wild beating of her heart right now that she associated with the whole situation being a terrifyingly close call. Working in the same building as her abusive ex-boyfriend had never written itself into the history books as a good idea, but Dixie needed the money and Messina was the only place willing to give it to her.

When he queried her on why she was hanging around the trash and raking through the various black bags, she sighed.

“Not that I don’t wanna rib ya for what just happened, but I lost my bracelet,” she explained, lifting her bare wrist for proof. “I figured it musta fell into one of the bags or somethin’.”

She gestured towards them, a crestfallen look on her face that quickly morphed into one of disbelief. Evidently, she wasn’t letting the situation go and turned back to Rory.

“You’re hittin’ on girls you can’t even see now?” she asked crossly, shaking her head. “Where’s yo’ morals?”

[fydixie-blog]

.seamuspls:

His eyes flickering to the rearview mirror once more, Séamus allowed himself a quick glance at his brother as he slept in the back. Dixie was right, he was sure of it. He detested even admitting as such, but even now as he slept soundly in the back of the car, Séamus couldn’t possibly fathom a time where things would improve and Darragh would learn from his past mistakes. It was only worse that he could get, and thus far all Séamus had done was stand back and watch him, without so much as trying to bring an end to his abhorrent behaviour.

Even with Dixie, he’d never really done enough. He’d been a friend to her, of course, but what good was a friend when their brother was the one treating you so abysmally? He knew he should have done more. He’d never spoken kindly of his brother to the woman in question, always doing his best to be clear about just how truly twisted he was, but that didn’t make up for the fact that he hadn’t stopped the inevitable from happening. After all, that had always been his fear, and the biggest reason that he’d brought Darragh along to Wellington with him. He’d known that one day he’d go too far, and that he’d hurt somebody. And that somebody happened to be the same girl that held Séamus’ affections, the very same woman that he had fallen hopelessly for.

“Nah, it’s not wrong at all… What’s wrong is that I never done anythin’ about it,” he mused, shaking his head in disgust at himself.

Darragh was his father’s son through and through, and he’d long since lost any rights to a place in Séamus’ heart. He had no sympathy for the man in the back of his car right now, and he knew that he deserved to be punished for his crimes, but the coward in Séamus always held him back from doing the right thing. He’d lost his mother, and with her any vague trace of a father. What did it say about him that there was still the tiniest part of him that so desperately feared losing his brother too?

“Aye, it’s alrigh’. Ye don’t have to thank me. Ye can call me any time, no matter what, I’ll be there.” It was a promise that he wholeheartedly intended to keep, and he hoped Dixie wouldn’t take it the wrong way. He knew that if Rory were there he’d have some smart-alec comment about how romantic that sounded, how chivalrous of Séamus it was to be at her beck and call. Yet, despite his feelings for Dixie, he hadn’t meant anything by it. He had only hoped to offer some reassurance.

The second Dixie intertwined her fingers with his own he felt a sharp gasp leave his lungs, his ears burning as a kaleidoscope of butterflies soared through his chest, their wings fluttering away beneath his ribcage. Though an innocent gesture to most, the touch of Dixie’s skin against his own only heightened the controversial feelings that he harboured for her, and he allowed himself to enjoy the moment while it lasted, gently massaging his thumb against her skin.

A low chuckle emitted from his throat at her words, her reluctance to accept his compliment only endearing him further. It baffled him beyond belief that someone so brilliant could be so oblivious to their own merits, and the tiniest spark of rage lit up in his chest as he deliberated over just how much Darragh might have contributed to that. How dare he make anybody, nevermind somebody as magnificent as Dixie, think less of themselves, when there was no lower that a person could sink than to his own level.

“Oh, aye? That so?” he asked, smirking towards her. Had it not been for the fact that his brother was sound asleep just behind him, the entire situation would have felt strangely intimate; he and Dixie with their hands interlocked, telling each other just how important they were to each other. In a simpler world – a world without Darragh, perhaps – this could have been the moment where Séamus would have pulled over just so that he could kiss her and tell her just how grateful he was for her. Instead, all he could say was; “Well, Dixie Thiériot, I couldn’t be happier to have you in my life.”

His own sentiments were cut short by Dixie’s next words, her own perfectly mirroring the very same thoughts he’d just been having. There was no doubt in his mind that, despite Darragh’s heinous actions, Dixie’s presence in his life had been the most positive outcome he could possibly hope for on his move to Wellington. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined that he’d meet somebody who could change his life so spectacularly. He wasn’t entirely sure he had the courage to tell her that, of course, and he wasn’t allowed even a moment to contemplate over what he would say when Darragh roused behind him, grunting as he effed and blinded under his breath.

Dixie immediately pulled away from Séamus, her hand shooting back into her lap as she pointedly looked anywhere that wasn’t either Murphy brother. Séamus couldn’t allow himself the luxury of being disappointed, though, as he knew exactly why she had. Darragh would, no doubt, make some wild assumption that they were up to no good, and he’d try his hardest to make Dixie pay for any kind of ‘foul play’ against his ego.

“Oh aye, would ye look at that… Yer a slimy bastard, so ye are,” Darragh slurred, his words elongated and sloppy, both from his sleepy haze and drunken state. “Makin’ a move on the wee bitch, are ye? Couldn’t have 'er before so ye think ye can have 'er now?”

Rage ignited in Séamus chest as he brought his free hand back to the wheel, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip and stared out at the road ahead.

“Don’t you dare speak about her like that, y'here me?” he responded, his voice low and calculated.

No more. He wasn’t going to be the same coward that had stood back and allowed his mother to be beaten all those years ago, and he wasn’t going to sit back and let Darragh speak about Dixie that way. Never again.

“Wah wah. Have I upset my wee baby brother, aye? Ye shouldn’t be upset with me, Sham. Ye should be upset that she’s not interested in ye.” He was taunting Séamus, and he knew that he was hitting a nerve.

Séamus had no doubt in his mind that Dixie wasn’t interested in him the way that he was interested in her, and he was perfectly fine with that. She could make her own decisions and he’d never hold anything like that against her, but what was getting under his skin was the way that Darragh spoke of her, as though she weren’t even there. He spoke of her like she were a piece of meat without a mind of her own.

Shooting Dixie a sidelong glance, Séamus became suddenly aware that Darragh had moved, now leaning his body forward into the space between the driver’s and passenger’s seat. Séamus got a waft of the alcohol on his breath, and only hoped that he wouldn’t be quite stupid enough to move any closer, especially not while they were in a moving vehicle. They weren’t far from Messina now, and he silently prayed that they’d make it the final distance so that he could pull his brother from the car and get him away from Dixie.

“Dixie doesn’t need ye to speak on her behalf,” Séamus muttered, wanting desperately to defend her. He realised how ridiculous he sounded, and knew that Darragh would zero in on the defensive implications behind his words. He hadn’t meant it that way, but he prepared himself all the same for the onslaught of scathing words that were sure to be fired his way.

Dixie’s eyes narrowed in confusion when Séamus practically growled a reply. His anger was directed at himself though, which the brunette thought was highly misplaced. She was known for being self-sacrificing before, but when Séamus exhibited signs of doing the same, it only made her temper flare up. She wasn’t angry at him, she never could be, and more at the mere idea of him beating himself up for something he had no control over.

“Stop that,” she scolded him, shaking her head. “What exactly were you gonna do, Séamus?”

She knew that if Séamus had attempted to intervene physically then Darragh would have something to say about that. Or rather, his fists would, and it made Dixie feel sick to her stomach to think about her ex taking his anger out on her friends. Plus, Séamus had done plenty. He had warned her about Darragh’s behaviour, and even though she knew he was right, she still hadn’t taken heed of his words until it was too late.

“I never listened to ya, so what else could you do, huh?” she pressed.

His promise that he’d always be there should she ever have a problem only made her duck her head. If his fingers sliding in between hers wasn’t enough to make her heart skip a beat, then his words sure were. She was glad that Darragh was still sleeping soundly in the backseat, his snoring that had once grated on Dixie’s nerves providing a comfort to her, as it was reassuring to know that he was still slumbering fitfully while his little brother and ex-girlfriend held hands in the front of the cab. It should have been wrong and Dixie should feel guilty. Truth be told, she did feel guilty, but not as much as she should have. Perhaps that was due to the knowledge of knowing that whatever crush she had on Séamus was surely not reciprocated by the other man.

She practically beamed at his compliment though, her cheeks dimpling as she looked up at him. Dixie, although reserved, wasn’t known for being a particularly negative person. She could be grumpy at times, but there were plenty of things that made her happy. Broadcasting her radio show made her happy, watching other people find love made her happy, spending time with her family made her happy and so did Séamus Murphy. The sight of his warm brown eyes and curly hair caused a tugging in her chest and she found herself wondering just how bad it would actually be if she dared to acknowledge her true feelings for him.

The answer was apparent when Darragh awoke though, his large frame shuffling forward so he could poke his head through the two front seats. The stench from his breath nearly overwhelmed her and Dixie leaned to the side a little.

His harsh words pulled her brows together in a frown, but that was nothing compared to Séamus’ reaction. His voice was low and angry and Dixie barely managed to refrain from reaching out and laying a hand on his arm. Instead, she turned in her seat to face Darragh.

“Ain’t no one makin’ a move on anyone,” she told him firmly. He turned his gaze on her, although his eyes were glassy and unfocused. The sight sent a chill down her spine as she had too many terrifying memories of the man when he’d looked just like that.

When he returned his attention back to Séamus, Dixie couldn’t find it in her to be relieved as it was clear Darragh wasn’t finished. There was no point in contradicting his words, as letting it be known that she had feelings of anything but friendship towards the younger Murphy would cause even more trouble. But she hated that Darragh was getting to Séamus like this.

“Darragh, please,” she hissed.

“Well, if she can speak fer herself, let her tell ye if she’s interested in ye or not. Go on, Dixie Chicks, tell him. Would ye fuck him or not?” he taunted.

Dixie remained silent, casting her gaze down to her lap. Tears pricked at her eyes and she knew that Darragh was only doing this to get at Séamus, but to try and turn the two of them against each other was something else. Dixie only hoped that it wouldn’t work though and sent a mournful look of apology towards Séamus.

“See,” Darragh laughed. “No chance, boy. I got there first.”

With that, he leaned forward and attempted to seek out Dixie’s lips for a kiss. His mouth landed sloppily on her cheek, stubble scratching at her face and she jerked away at once.

“Stop it!” she told him, heat rising in her voice. The confines of the cab were a dangerous place for the whole altercation and she was relieved to look out the window and see them drawing up to Messina.

[fydixie-blog]

.seamuspls:

Séamus allowed himself a brief moment, when lugging Darragh towards the car, to let the corner of his lips turn upwards as Dixie effortlessly caught his keys. It wasn’t really an appropriate moment to be amused by the woman – though, he realised, there was never an appropriate moment for the feelings he harboured for Dixie – but it was a cold night, his own fingers ached from the cold, combined with the damp snow that was seeping through Darragh’s jacket, and he couldn’t help but find it a little impressive that she’d even found the energy to catch the keys he’d tossed her way.

He didn’t miss the frown that graced her own features, however, and a flash of guilt shot through him. He had known as soon as he had suggested it that she woudn’t go along with it, and he understood why, but he had to at least try.

“Right so, no harm in askin’,” he commented, avoiding looking at her directly. He focused all of his attention on carrying the weight of his deadbeat brother instead, not wanting to even entertain the possibility that Dixie might be annoyed with him.

Her insistence that she was staying with him only made him all the more jittery. Her words had been intended as innocent, reassuring even, but the soft thud in his chest only fastened upon hearing them.

It was selfish, really. This wasn’t about him, not in the slightest. It was about keeping Dixie safe, and yet all he could think about was how desperately, and selfishly he wanted to keep her in his life, to see her smiling over at him every day, or even rolling her eyes as they watched Rory hopelessly flirt with some uninterested girl. But he couldn’t want those things, because it wasn’t right for him to look at Dixie in such a way. And he certainly couldn’t have those things if he really wanted the best for her, because the best for Dixie would be to keep her far from Darragh’s leering eyes and hurtful touch.

Shoving Darragh into the backseat of the car, he watched as his brother’s head dropped to the side and carelessly landed on the seat. His feet dangled out of the car, so Séamus lifted his legs and made sure all limbs were securely placed in the car before shutting the door and making his way around to the driver’s seat. Dixie was waiting in the passenger’s seat, her eyes never leaving him as he buckled himself in. He could feel her gaze on him, and he felt his chest constrict as he forced himself not to look back, afraid he’d never look away again if he did.

One hand on the wheel, another shifting the lever into the right gear, he pushed his foot down on the accelerator and set off towards Messina. In his peripheral vision he could see her shifting in her seat, turning her attention to her ex. She wore a strange expression on her face that Séamus couldn’t quite understand, one he’d seen time and time again on his own mother’s face, usually followed by her musings that this time might be different. Not that Dixie was anything like his mother, he knew that they weren’t the same, but that same level of fear that he felt for his mother ate him alive every single second that he had to watch Dixie and Darragh together, and it coursed through him once again while he drove.

“I think it jus’ means yer better than him,” he whispered, sneaking a glance towards her before focusing on the road once more. He frowned as he stared out at the empty streets before them, trying to find the right words – if such a thing as right words even existed. “He doesn’t deserve your pity, you an’ I both know it, but… Sometimes… When ye love someone ye wanna see the best in them. Ye wanna hope that they can change.”

Shaking his head, he exhaled deeply before biting down on his lip in confusion. He wasn’t sure what to tell Dixie, but he thought that a lot of that came down to sharing those very same confusing thoughts that she’d just uttered aloud. Time and time again he’d been stupid enough to give into the hope that maybe one day Darragh would change. He’d given him plenty of chances, their move to Wellington having supposed to be a fresh start for the brothers, a chance for Darragh to prove that he was better than their father had ever been. He wondered if, had they had a better upbringing, would he have been the same, and that same pity lingered in his chest as he stared through the rearview mirror at his brother. But no, he decided, it wouldn’t have mattered. He and Darragh had had the same upbringing, had experienced the wrath of their terrible father on several instances, and still, not once in his entire life, Séamus had never lifted a finger to another man or woman.

“Ah, no. You’re grand, don’t be apologisin’. Ye didn’t drag me anywhere,” he promised, his voice light and sincere. “I wouldn’t have wanted ye to do this alone, ye know that? I know ye can handle it, but that doesn’t mean ye should have to. And, sure, there’s no use gettin’ the guards involved. When ye’ve scumbags like that Morley kid walkin’ around scot-free after hospitalisin’ some fella, I don’t see ‘em bein’ much use to ye.”

With that, he chanced another glance towards Dixie as he pulled up at a red light. Though the car was stopped, he knew he shouldn’t let his gaze linger for too long, but God it was difficult to look away. For someone so small, and seemingly timid to an outsider, there was an undeniable strength inside of Dixie that shone through her, even in the most trying of times. Her abusive ex boyfriend was currently snoring not 3 feet away from her, and she was apologising under some belief that she was the inconvenience. And still, through everything the bastard had put her through, she had enough compassion and kindness in her heart to still feel sorry for someone so unworthy of her time.

A soft, involuntary smile shaped its way onto Séamus’ lips once more, and he swallowed back the lump that was forming in his throat. His eyes followed her every movement, before finally resting on the way her hands were still trembling. The car was fairly warm now, and she certainly had a lot more layers on than himself, and it didn’t escape his notice the way she anxiously fidgeted with the trim of her dress.

Glancing up at the lights, he realised that it was high time for him to get moving, and carefully pushed his foot down on the pedal once more. Steadily, he removed one hand from the steering wheel, and gently placed it atop Dixie’s own.

“Hey, you,” he muttered, momentarily catching her eye. “Yer a wee superhero, ye know that? But ye’re not alone in this, I’m with ye every step of the way.”

It looked like Darragh had finally succumbed to sleep, and Dixie couldn’t help but worry that he’d do something stupid like choke on his own sick while he was unconscious. She supposed he was in no immediate danger when she and Séamus were watching over him though, even if Séamus was determinedly looking anywhere but his brother. Settling back against her seat, she considered the peaceful look on the sleeping man’s face and bit back a sigh. It had been a long time since she felt anything romantic for Darragh, yet her emotions tended to get muddled around him. She wanted to be mad at him for forcing her to endure that hellish relationship between them, yet there was only a hollow and empty pang in her chest when she looked at him in that moment.

“I dunno,” she mused quietly when Séamus spoke up. She appreciated the sentiment, and didn’t necessarily doubt that she was a better person than Darragh, but that was simply because it wasn’t hard to be better than the man slumped in the backseat.

He had treated her like dirt under his boot when the excitement of their new relationship began wearing thin and the two of them began bumping elbows and getting under the other’s feet. That’s when he had begun to snap at her and get ratty with her and Dixie’s own fiery temper had prompted her to snap right back. She wasn’t one for confrontation, but when her blood began boiling, she never let anyone talk down to her. She’d heard him make snide comments directed towards Séamus as well, and felt guilt settle in her stomach when she recalled all the times she had failed to stand up for her friend. She only hoped Séamus didn’t blame her for not jumping to his defense, although he probably understood that doing so would have only caused more hassle, fuelling Darragh’s paranoia that there was something more than friendship going on between the two of them.

What had really maddened Dixie was the way Darragh spoke to her mother, her aunt and her little brother – but especially her mother. His attitude towards Maud Thiériot had been sharp and dismissive, lacking any of the manners Dixie had foolishly believed a boyfriend should exhibit when meeting the mother of his girlfriend. When Tommy had clamoured to show Darragh his set of mismatched action figures, the man’s attention had waned after a mere couple of seconds, foregoing picking up Iron Man so he could battle a plastic Captain America, in favour of tapping Dixie on the thigh and telling her to go get him a beer. She had obliged, all the while ignoring the concerned looks her mother and aunt had sent her from the living room sofa.

Darragh Murphy was rude and violent and nasty and vindictive and manipulative and horrible and Dixie felt like an utter fool for feeling sorry for him.

Upon hearing Séamus’ theory, she tilted her head to the side, deliberating, before nodding slowly. She supposed that did make sense, for there must have been a reason that her mother had stayed with her husband when he did more damage to the Cajun woman than Darragh had ever done to Dixie. Perhaps it was a family trait for the Thiériot women; to still try and see goodness in people, even when it had been swallowed whole by an inexplicable nastiness.

“Yeah, but I think he’s past changin’ now,” Dixie confessed, glancing over her shoulder at Darragh’s sleeping form. It might have been too forward for her to say, but she knew Séamus would understand.

She frowned a little when Séamus claimed that she didn’t need to look after Darragh herself, before he quickly clarified that it didn’t mean she couldn’t. She appreciated that, because the last thing she wanted was to look weak and incapable of protecting herself when she knew fully well that she could. She might have been a victim of Darragh’s temper and rage at some point but not anymore, not after she had escaped.

“Maybe s’wrong of me to say, but I don’t wanna be the one that lands him in jail,” she quietly admitted, wrinkling her nose. Cassie had told her that her nose was cute, but Dixie wasn’t really sure that the other girl, as nice and lovely as she was, was telling the truth. Without thinking, she rubbed it self-consciously.

She stared out the front window of Séamus’ cab at the falling snowflakes landing on the glass before they either melted immediately or were wiped away by the window wipers. A nervous jolt in her stomach helped her realise that she had somehow managed to convince herself that one day Darragh would be put behind bars. His actions outside the pub could escalate with even a tiny drop of alcohol, and it wasn’t as if he shied away from his using his fists. She supposed she just didn’t want to be the one responsible for taking Séamus’ brother away from him, no matter how awful he was.

“Thanks for comin’ anyway,” she smiled at Séamus, noting the way the streetlamps from outside illuminated his face. The subtle differences between the man next to her and the one in the backseat were emphasised even more when she was this close to Séamus. There may be a family resemblance there, but Séamus was also nothing like his brother, his features softer and his hair curlier and his smile kinder.

She noticed the way that his own lips had turned upwards in a smile, one that was directed towards her. At least the car was dark enough to hide her blush.

“What?” she teased, her other words dying away when Séamus started up the car again and unexpectedly lay his hand over hers. She stared down at her fingers intertwining themselves with his, acting of their own accord as Dixie’s brain attempted to process what was happening. She knew that action could only be completely innocent though and she gave his hand a soft squeeze.

“Shut up, I ain’t no superhero,” she argued gently, knowing that Tommy would fully agree with her. Her little brother knew the ins and outs of all sorts of superheroes and she doubted that he’d think his boring big sister would qualify, in any way, for the title.

“I am glad I have ya though,” she told him, sincerely. She wasn’t sure why the words were so easy for her to say, as they bordered on being so sentimental that Dixie feared they would betray her true feelings for the man by her side. But Séamus needed to know that she was grateful for him and for how much he helped her.

“The best thing ‘bout this whole mess was getting’ to meet you. So it wasn’t all bad,” she told him. However, she didn’t have time to blush or regret her words as, with a string of muttered curses, Darragh stirred behind them and Dixie immediately pulled her hand away from Séamus’, guiltily withdrawing it back into her own lap.

[fydixie-blog]

[fydixie-blog]

.seamuspls:

Séamus could really feel the bite of the cold air now as he desperately suppressed a shiver. Venturing out into a snowy Wellington without so much as a jacket hadn’t been his wisest move, but he’d much prefer to spend the next couple of days cooped up in bed with soup than have to live with the possibility of having gotten there too late. When Dixie called his name, the twang of her accent breaking through the barrier that he’d built up around him, took a deep breath as he allowed himself a moment to regain composure. The soft tug of Dixie’s hand against his jumper, and the sound of her voice, was certainly enough to calm him, and he eventually pulled his gaze away from his brother and back to her.

“Leave him? I can’t… I–” he broke off, whatever words he had been planning to say dying in the back of his throat.

Sighing, he resigned, and nodded softly at the girl before him. She could ask anything of him, and he was sure he’d agree. He knew that Dixie was scared, of course she was. He’d be all the more concerned if she wasn’t, but even so, he knew that she was just as scared for him as she was for herself. And above all of that, he knew that she had an inexplicable strength that he’d never comprehend, the bravery with which she stood tall – figuratively speaking, of course – in the face of people like Darragh sending a flash of pride coursing through him. Though he tried to ignore it, it was next to impossible to not notice the warmth that spread through his chest, despite the low temperatures of the City surrounding him, and he knew that had a lot to do with Dixie, and the way that her hand rested on his arm, still gently clinging to the knitted fabric of his sweater.

With bated breath, he waited for Dixie to answer his question. He had seen the way that Darragh’s hands had tightened around her throat, and there was no doubt he’d intended on hurting the girl, and all he needed was for Dixie to confirm it, to tell him that she was hurting, so that he could call the police and finally see the back of his atrocious brother. But, when she spoke it was only with reassurance. He was relieved, of course. He didn’t want her to be hurt, but he knew that he wouldn’t have it in him to do anything about Darragh without her approval.

“Good. Right, good.” His voice was shaky, and he shut is eyes as he let out a lengthy sigh.

He could still feel his hands trembling, his own anger overpowering the biting frost. When he opened his eyes again, he allowed himself a minute to focus on Dixie, his eyes meeting hers once again, knowing she was the only person that could ground him right now.

The slur of Darragh’s words broke through his reverie, and he felt that same anger ebbing inside him as it had moments before. He knew the implications behind Darragh’s words all too well. He remembered the argument they’d had, back when he and Dixie had still been together, when Darragh had accused Séamus of 'tryna steal the wee bitch away from me, are ye?’. It had taken all Séamus had in him to not hit him right there and then. Luckily, Rory had been there, and he haden taken too kindly to Darragh referring to Dixie as a bitch, and Séamus had, instead, had to focus all of his attention on separating the two cousins. The last thing he wanted was for Rory to end up in the hospital because of him.

Edging closer to Dixie as she spoke, Séamus made sure they were on level footing, but that he was close enough to come in between the two should Darragh even think about making a move. Cautiously, he gently rested a hand behind Dixie, his fingers hovering just inches away from the small of her back. He wouldn’t touch her, he didn’t want to startle her, but he needed her to at least know that he was right there, ready to support her should she need it.

Which, in mere seconds, he realised wouldn’t be necessary.

As his brother choked and gagged before him, bile spilling onto the snow, a soft groan emitted from the Irish-man’s throat.

“Aye, not so pleasant is it, Dar?” Séamus asked, his tone spiteful as he stared down at his brother. “Tha’s sorta wha’ happens when ye drink yerself into a stupour.”

He rarely spoke up to Darargh if he could help it, opting for a quieter, simpler life. Before he’d met Dixie he couldn’t recall a time where he had ever tried arguing with the other man, always shying away and apologising for things that were never his fault. This time it was different; the only person who had ever been in immediate danger against Darragh’s temper had been himself.

Glancing down at Dixie, he opted for a stiff nod in response to her question. He didn’t want her anywhere near Darragh, but he knew that they needed to get him home, and his cab was the only way that they could do that without shoving him into the back of a police car.

Trudging forward and sidestepping to avoid splatters of vomit, Séamus leaned down and placed an hand under Darragh’s armpit, hoisting him back onto his feet. His brother spluttered with the motion, but he tried desperately to ignore it as he held him steady beside him.

“Oh, here,” he said, using his free hand to dig into the pocket of his jeans. Pulling out the keys, he tossed them towards Dixie. “Car’s open, warm her and I’ll get this eejit into the backseat.”

Pausing, his mouth twisted and his brow furrowed, he stared back at Dixie.

“Here, I could give Rory a quick bell, if ye like? Get him to come 'n pick ye up, so ye don’t have to, ye know…” he said, nodding towards Darragh.

He didn’t want to sound patronising, and he hoped against everything that he didn’t, but he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t want to be around the other brother, especially in his current state. She’d answered his texts and his calls, his constant cries for attention never going unheard, but that didn’t mean she had to stick around to listen to his pathetic jibes as they made their way back to Messina.

“If ye fancy? It’ll be good for him, sure. It’ll mean some lucky girl has escaped his clutches for the night,” he joked, trying to keep his tone light, though he knew Dixie would see right it.

The brown of Séamus’ eyes, much nicer than her own, was eclipsed by his tightly squeezed eyelids. Chewing nervously on her bottom lip, she watched as frown lines made dents in his face and she half-wanted to reach up and smooth them out with her fingertips. She was shy about touching people most of the time though, and it was hardly a good time to do so when they were both standing in front of Darragh. Although the other man’s gaze was growing blearier and more unfocused the longer they stood there in the empty street, he was still managing to watch both Dixie and Séamus intently, as if waiting for them to give him a reason to lunge forward.

He didn’t seem to be in a state to really do anything though, not when he was doubled over and spitting vomit into the otherwise white snow. It was the kind of white winter weather that Dixie had only seen on postcards before. The humidity of Louisiana had never gave way to a frosty chill, even in the winter months. The bayou and surrounding swamps were always hot and sticky and warm enough for Dixie and her cousins to run around barefoot, worrying more about gators than catching frostbite. She always missed the sensation of stepping outside and feeling like she had been wrapped in a warm blanket, the sunlight filtering through the overhanging trees and shining on her face, but as she stood in the dark, cold street with Séamus and Darragh while her limbs shook and her teeth chattered, she yearned for it even more.

Now that Darragh had painted the ground an ugly looking brown colour, Dixie had to step back so the white tennis shoes she wore for work weren’t in danger of entering the splash zone. Moving backwards meant that she bumped into Séamus’ outstretched arm. His hand on her back was a comforting weight, but it was brief and fleeting as he soon had to move forward and tend to his brother.

Dixie wasn’t squeamish. She was had seen worse sights in the Messina foyer when Nathaniel Andersen stumbled home from a party after drinking one too many shots of sambucca. She’d had to clean the mess one handed while her other fingers pinched at her nose in an attempt to keep the stench at bay. Still, her stomach could handle vomit but she wasn’t sure she wanted to handle Darragh in his current inebriated state. That didn’t mean it should have been left to Séamus to deal with him, but the other man lifted his brother with an ease Dixie wouldn’t have been able to manage, and began to drag him towards the taxi he owned.

As he tossed his car keys towards Dixie, there was a brief flash of pride on her face when she managed to catch them without dropping them. She wasn’t the most athletic person after all, preferring a set of headphones and a broadcasting box over pigskin footballs or anything else that involved a level of hand-eye co-ordination that she didn’t possess. However, the moment was short lived when she heard Séamus’ offer and she immediately frowned at him.

“I ain’t leavin’ you on yo’ own with him,” she argued. She didn’t like arguing with Séamus, especially since the two of them hated confrontation more than they could express, but like hell was she going to abandon him when Darragh was in the state he was. If she were to call Rory, it would be so he could help the pair of them. She knew that Séamus and Darragh’s cousin was more prone to settling matters with his fists than Séamus was though and, while she loved him, that was the last thing they needed at that moment.

“M’stayin’ with you,” she told Séamus firmly, punctuating her decision with a nod of her head. Pulling her jacket tighter around her she opened up the other man’s cab and slid into the passenger seat, sliding the keys into the ignition so she could turn the heater on inside. It took a while for the vehicle to heat up, meaning she was still shivering even after Séamus had bundled Darragh into the backseat then sat in front of the wheel himself.

She watched him for a moment, her gaze unwavering, before it eventually moved to Darragh, slumped in the back. Séamus needed to keep his eyes on the road, whereas Dixie was free to watch the drunk man behind them and make sure he didn’t try anything unexpectedly. She had terrible, sickening visions of him reaching forward and trying to drive them all off the road. Twisting in her seat so the seatbelt cut uncomfortably into her neck, she let out a soft sigh.

“I dunno why I still feel sorry fo’ him after everythin’,” she told Séamus quietly. Resting her head sideways on the headrest, she took in the defeated way Darragh leaned against the door, his head knocking against the window as his eyes slid closed. At that moment, he didn’t look like someone who was capable of causing so much pain, but she supposed that’s what made him all the more dangerous. It was what had lured her in after all, hadn’t it? Along with the charming accent and boyish curls that matched Séamus’.

Her eyes flicked momentarily towards the man at the wheel. She cast her guilty gaze down towards her lap where her fingers played nervously with the hem of her work dress.

“M’sorry I dragged you outta yo’ apartment,” she apologised. “I just figured it was you or the cops an’ I don’t think gettin’ any suits involved would be helpful tonight.”

[fydixie-blog]

.seamuspls:

Days off were hard to come by for Séamus. Juggling three jobs – or, if you asked Darragh, two jobs because ‘you strummin’ yer shite guitar while a few munters flash their knickers at ye isn’t a job’ – meant that he rarely had a moment to himself, because when he was off, he liked spending as much time as he could with his nearest and dearest. Since his move to Wellington, the number of people that he would even consider 'near and dear’ was a fairly small number, but they were still there. So between his three jobs, spending time with Rory, the Lynches, Ailene, and Dixie, and babysitting Darragh, he rarely had a moment alone.

Naturally, of course, his 'alone time’ still consisted of him with with his bum firmly placed on a stool, his fingers delicately tapping away on the piano that he scarcely got to use. Scarcely, due to the fact that any time he even contemplated playing a soft tune in the comforts of his own home, he was usually met with a steely glare from Séamus. Or, on a particularly difficult day, he’d find himself dodging out of the way of some sort of blunt object that was being hurled towards him by his brother.

Tonight was different, though. Tonight was just him and the music; no Darragh, no crowds, no occasional euro or dollar being swiped from his guitar case only to be replaced by a measly bit of pocket fluff. Shutting his eyes, he allowed himself to get lost in the music, as the sweet tune of Hey Jude spilled from the piano. He knew the song was a cliché, all musicians thinking that they could be the next John Lennon, all bands wanting to one-up the likes of The Beatles, but it had been his mam’s favourite, and so by default it was his. No bitterness came as he thought of her, no thoughts of his terrifying father, or his despicable brother. He wouldn’t let them ruin this, not like they’d ruined every other thing that he loved.

A soft smile quirked at the corner of his lips as his fingers slowed along the keys, bringing the song to an end. Content with himself and his momentary peace, he lifted a hand to the necklace that he had worn since that dreaded day. To others, it was merely a symbol of religion, a testament to a faith that many didn’t believe in, a faith that not even Séamus was sure he believed in. But no, that wasn’t it at all. As he allowed his thumb to gently rub across the Celtic cross that he wore around his neck, he lifted it to his mouth to press the cold silver to his lips. The cross had belonged to his mother, and while it didn’t hold any meaning to him by way of some man in the sky, it reminded him of his own higher faith, his mother. It reminded him to stay gentle, even in the face of all the horrors that the world so often threw his way. It reminded him to love, and to be kind, but to always be brave. It reminded him that fear wasn’t cowardice, but a sign of strength, and that the real cowards were those who didn’t know love, or kindness. She mightn’t be with him any more, but the thought of his mother was always the one thing that kept him going through any given situation.

Sighing, and letting the chain fall from his grasp, Séamus glanced up as he heard a soft buzz emit from his phone. Snatching it from atop the piano, he shot out of his seat immediately when he saw who it was from.

He’d be lying if he said that any old text from Dixie wouldn’t elicit that sort of a reaction from him – his feelings for his brother’s ex girlfriend were inexplicable, to say the very least – but in this particular case it wasn’t the same old flutter in his chest that he usually felt towards the girl, but the fierce ache that he felt anytime he thought of his brother anywhere near her. Knowing that Dixie was heading to meet Darragh sent an undeniable jolt of fear through him, and he immediately headed for the door, completely forgoing any thought of a warm jacket or something a little more weather appropriate.

Hopping into his taxi, the only vehicle that he had available at such a time, he hit the gas and pulled away from the apartment complex as fast as his taxi – and the law – would allow him. He knew exactly where Darragh would be, and he only hoped that he’d get there before Dixie found herself at the receiving end of another one of his drunken rages.

His hopes had been in vain, however, as he parked up and spotted his brother across the street, stumbling towards a much smaller Dixie. Before Séamus could even get his belt undone, he watched as Darragh’s hand whipped towards her, his grip tightening around her throat, Séamus’ own tight constricting at the sight alone.

Tearing himself away from the car, not even thinking to lock it, he dashed across the street toward them, his head pounding with rage. He tried to call out, but only raspy, angry breaths managed to rack their way through him as he strode towards his brother. As soon as he caught sight of him, of course, Darragh pulled away. Séamus had nothing on him; he was smaller, softer, and far more timid, but Darragh knew full well not to cross him all the same.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare lay a finger on her, y'hear me?” he growled, his eyes never leaving Darragh.

In response, all he received was an eyeroll, as Darragh edged towards him and then spat at his feet, a sloppy, smug grin covering his features. Séamus felt his stomach turn as he stared at him, that same familiar smile that his father had worn years ago, and took a step back, turning his attention towards Dixie.

Before he said anything to her, however, he swiftly turned back to Darragh, jabbing an accusing finger towards his brother.

“I’m not done with you, alrigh’? Take one step, I fuckin’ dare ye.” He wasn’t actually sure what he’d do, but Darragh knew better than to test him. Séamus might not be inclined to swing his fists on any occasion, but they still had the same father, and he’d do well not to find out whether or not he was the only Murphy brother to inherit their father’s fists.

Turning to Dixie once more, he softened immediately, though his shoulders were still tense, his body shaking from a combination of the cold, and his own anger. Gently, he lowered his head to study her and, once he was sure that it was okay, he reached out a careful hand. Brushing a strand of hair from her face, he levelled his eyes with her own.

“Are ye hurt?” he asked, his head bowed so as to stay on her level. “Be honest with me, alrigh’? What’d he do to ye?”

As he waited for her to respond, he shifted his stance slightly, angling himself to make sure he was standing firmly in front of her. He made sure not to obstruct her entirely from Darragh’s view, though he wanted nothing more than to do exactly that. Dixie might be small, and Séamus absolutely hated the power that Darragh thought he had over her, but she was strong, and they she and he were equals. There would be nothing more dehumanizing than for him to act as though he was some sort of saviour, some White Knight that she’d never asked for, nor even needed.

“The fuck d'ye want, Darragh?” he asked, bile rising in the back of his throat as he hazarded a guess as to the answer. Dixie. He wanted her, Séamus knew that was the most likely answer. But she wasn’t his property, she wasn’t anybody’s, and Séamus wasn’t about to stand by and watch him try and hurt her. Not again, never again.

Seeing Séamus standing there, his tall frame illuminated by the chemical yellow glow of a streetlamp, was both a relief and something that set Dixie on edge. She wasn't scared of Séamus - not one bit - but rather for him. Darragh was never well known for listening to reason, even if it was being delivered by his calmer and more sensible brother. Dixie had voiced that in the past and, while it hadn't ended up with her being a hit - the final straw and the reason she finally broke up the the man - it had resulted in a beer bottle careening through the air and smashing against a kitchen cupboard. She could still envision the chipped woodwork and the way Séamus' eyes had worriedly lingered on it for longer than Dixie had been comfortable with when he visited one night. She'd came up with an excuse about how she'd clumsily dropped one of the dinner plates against it, but the lie had been chillingly reminiscent of the ones her mother told when she sported a black eye and was unable to look at Dixie's step-father, eyes trained on the Cajun woman and waiting for her to slip up.

Darragh's half-conscious body had managed to leave her own slight form trembling and gasping for breath, but Séamus was stronger and more well built than her. She wanted to spit angry words at Darragh with the same fire that Séamus did, but the shock of a calloused hand pressing down on her throat had left her choking back shallow breaths while she shakily climbed to her feet, snow clinging to her bare legs.

She looked pitiful and weak and her old, familiar temper flared up inside her at the prospect of looking so pathetic. It was the same hot-headedness that had got her in trouble back when she lived with her grandparents. Paw Paw had been a soft touch, but Grandmere had refused to take any of teenage Dixie's sharp words when she skipped school or refused to do her chores. Her Cajun blood grew hot whenever she was frustrated, her short fuse lighting up and making her slam her hand down on her soundboard whenever the broadcasting equipment in Victoria's ramshackle radio room failed to work. That temper had always left her feeling ashamed, especially when she remembered the way her Grandmere told her it was nothing to be proud of. Paw Paw had told her she was only human with a classic Louisianan tempermant though, and Dixie realised the truth of his words when it became apparent that her own feistiness paled in comparison to the way Darragh reacted when things didn't go his way.

She heard Séamus' growled threat and bit her lip. The two of them never discussed the lengths of Dixie and Darragh's short lived relationship, but Séamus knew why they had broken up. She'd seen the thinly veiled fury on his face before when she'd had no choice but to show him the bruise on her face before she had time to cover it up. She had never before seen the other man like this though.

"Séamus," she warned him softly as he angrily jabbed a finger in Darragh's direction. The other man looked like he was having too much fun, spitting at his brother's feet and struggling to remain vertical. Pushing her puffy sleeve up, Dixie reached out to tug nervously at Séamus sweater. The fact that he hadn't stopped to pull on a jacket before leaving made her feel guilty. A part of her wished she hadn't disturbed him, but if he hadn't shown up when he did - who knew what damage Darragh could have done? The thought made her legs feel like jelly and she tightened her grip on Séamus' arm.

"Leave 'im," she murmured, brown eyes boring into his when he turned around to face her. Her skin tingled when he reached up to brush a stray piece of hair that had escaped from her short, tufty ponytail behind her ear. It was probably inappropriate to react in that way given their current surroundings, but Dixie's feelings for her ex's brother had never been appropriate to begin with. She had always seen Séamus as a friend, someone whose gaze she could catch in a room and fondly roll her eyes at when Darragh did something dumb. That was during the early stages of their relationship. When Darragh's mood swings grew more frequent and his tone with her became sharper, Séamus had turned into a confidant. His hushed warnings about Darragh had left Dixie questioning why she was even with the man in the first place, and why she hadn't been fortunate enough to have Séamus fall for her instead.

It was easy enough to see why though. Séamus' hands were known for bringing relief to people as he massaged them, and for flying over piano keys to elicit a melodic sound. Dixie's own hands were dry and cracked from scrubbing at the floors of Messina and fiddling with the knobs and dials of a radio soundboard. Séamus had always been soft with a comfortingly familiar lilt in his voice which was all down to the Irish accent that didn't quite sound the same when it came from Darragh. Dixie had always thought her own Cajun accent was an ugly contrast to it when her o's swallowed up her r's and left people politely asking if she could repeat herself. On top of that, she had seen the way girls stopped and stared at the Murphy boys. When their gazes lingered on Darragh, it had never left her feeling jealous but rather self-conscious as she twirled her own mousy brown hair around her fingers and slyly attempted to gauge what Séamus' reaction to all the attention was.

When he looked down at her, she couldn't lie to him. He had seen what Darragh had been doing after all. Still, she had gotten her breath back and figured she was safe for the time being.

"I ain't hurt," she told him eventually. She didn't want to be on the receiving end of one of his disbelieving looks, so she inclined her head towards him. "Really. Swear it."

As he turned his attention back to Darragh, Dixie appeared at his side, determined not to look as if she was taking a step back. Her courage was being fuelled by her anger, making it easy for her to shoot a defiant expression Darragh's way as he sneered at the two of them.

"Course the two o' ye are together," he spat, beady eyes swivelling between the pair of them. Dixie frowned even though she knew what Darragh was getting at.

"Cause both of us need to take care of ya," she told him, trying to keep her voice light.

She wasn't sure what his reply to that was going to be as it was lost as soon as the man doubled over and threw up in the snow. Dixie screwed up her face and ran a tired hand through her hair.

"We need to make sure he don't choke on it," she sighed, lifting her head to look up at Séamus. "Can we load him in yo' cab?"

[fydixie-blog]

The sloppy sound of a wet mop hitting a tiled floor was a sound that reached Dixie's ears every day. Bar the tinny elevator music that filtered from the carriage's door on the rare days it decided to work and whatever awful din Will's younger sister thought constituted as a good song, it was the young woman's only musical accompaniment as she dutifully carried out her laborious job of cleaning the floors of Messina. The task was so familiar to her that any unusual sounds didn't go unnoticed by Dixie as she was always straining her ears to hear something out of the ordinary, distractions never being unwelcome. As she bent over, the small of her back aching, and scrubbed stubbornly at a dirty stain on the floor, the ding! of her phone made her stop what she was doing at once. She wasn't supposed to be on her phone while she worked, but she rarely ever was and her curiosity got the better of her.

The device was hidden in the folds of her apron pocket. Her outfit for work was so different to her usual flannel and beanies that it had taken her a while to grow accustomed to wearing the little collared and pinstriped dress, but there were worse things to be seen in. Her cousin back in Louisiana had been forced to dress up in a giant chicken suit for his job, all the while being forced to stand on the highway and twirl around a giant sign which boldly declared there to be a bargain buffet for poultry lovers everwhere residing just around the next bend. Shaking her head at the memory of Gilbert recoiling anytime Grandmere served them a Sunday roast, Dixie's fingers eventually closed around her phone and pulled it out. As soon as she glanced at the text lighting up her screen, her heart sank.

wehre are yuo it read. The spelling mistakes were undoubtably the result of their sender knocking back bottle after bottle of cheap beer. Dixie knew what kind he liked, because she had been the one who ran to the shop every time he'd asked for it. She continued to stare at Darragh's text, knowing she didn't need to reply if she didn't want to. And she really didn't want to, but a concern that the other man didn't deserve crawled its way up her entire body and forced her to type out a reply with shaking fingers.

Working. Why?

She didn't need to explain herself to Darragh, or answer to him when he harassed her with texts. The first time he'd drunkenly messaged her after their break up, he had been so out of it that he'd completely forgotten they weren't together anymore. Trying to explain the situation to him hadn't been easy and Dixie hoped that this wouldn't be a reoccurrence of that, waiting with bated breath as three little dots appeared on her screen and let her know that Darragh was messaging her back. She could imagine him clumsily navigating the buttons with his meaty fingers, angrily punching out a reply to her, and she suppressed a shudder. With wide eyes, she watched as the three little dots disappeared and dared to allow herself to hope he had given up. Her relief was short lived, however, when her phone buzzed and his name lit up the screen instead, a green circle and a red circle blinking at her and giving her the option to accept his call or ignore it.

Even though she knew she would regret it, she hit the green button and pressed the phone to her ear which was soon filled with the sound of Darragh's heavy breathing and his thick accent slurring out her name. He was demanding that she come pick him up, her insistence that she was working and couldn't go get him going unheard as he continued to plead with her. Dixie's mind flashed back to the last time she'd ignored one of his drunken cries for help. Séamus had needed to talk the police out of arresting him for a public disturbance, and she didn't want to put Darragh's brother through that again. The man wasn't her responsibility, but he wasn't Séamus' either. Despite that, she made herself shoot off a text to the other Murphy brother, letting him know she was going to get Darragh and that she'd make sure he was safe.

She barely had time to zip up her puffy jacket over her work uniform and pull her favourite beanie over her brown hair before she was hurrying out of Messina, silently praying that she wouldn't slip on ice or get fired for running out of work when she was on the clock.

It didn't take her long to find Darragh, sprawled outside one of his usual haunts and letting blood from his nose drip onto the snow he was currently sat in. Evidently, he had gotten himself into another fight and Dixie was hardly surprised. She didn't want to know what the other guy looked like as, even though Darragh could hardly keep himself upright in his intoxicated state, she knew better than anyone how much damage his violent tendencies could cause.

"Heya," she greeted him softly, approaching him slowly and cautiously like he was some sort of dangerous animal. It wasn't far off, proven by the dark glint in his eyes when she knelt in the snow beside him, the cold chilling her bare knees and her breath leaving her in one quick gasp when his hand flew up to close around her throat.

"What took ye so long?" he hissed at her. When she had been in a relationship with Darragh, she was used to being given curfews which were somehow even stricter than the ones Paw Paw set out for her back in Louisiana. She always had to be in time to meet Darragh, and even though their relationship status (or lack of) was fuzzy to the man when he was drunk off his ass like this, Dixie thought that it probably didn't even matter what he thought they were at that point; he'd still think she answered to him.

His fingertips pressed down on her skin and she clutched helplessly at his wrist, attempting to pull his hand away. It was only when a dark shadow, cast by the glow of a streetlamp, fell over the street outside the pub, that Darragh pulled his hand away.

Dixie didn't even need to look up to know Séamus was standing there. Instead, she coughed and attempted to get her breath back, inhaling painful gasps that scratched at the back of her throat as Darragh's other, much calmer brother made their way over to them.

"He's drunk," Dixie announced unnecessarily when she finally found her voice and rubbed sorely at her neck.

[fydixie-blog]

TEXT: CASSIE

Cassandra: WELL he wouldn't say but I think so!! :D

Cassandra: do you think i'm asking him too many questions??? but omg she thinks he's nice so that's good!!!

Cassandra: UM last year I got him a christmas sweater with a reindeer on it and the nose lights up??? does that count as ugly? I thought it was super cute!!!

Dixie: Then at least he ain't blind.

Dixie: I dunno, is it nornal for you to ask questions? If it is, keep it up.

Dixie: It lights up? Even better. Get him to wear that. Momma will love it.