#tw: brief rape mention

[xaphrin]

Anymore upcoming Raven × Jason works?👀I absolutely adore how you write them

Here is the beginning of my March Year of OTP piece. I chose "fairy tale" and made a weird amalgamation of Beauty and the Beast, and Eros and Psyche. So... ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

- - -

This should have been expected. It didn't make it any less frustrating, but it should have been expected. 

Jason halfheartedly pulled at the rope that bound him to the wrought iron gate, frowning. This was his punishment then? Leaving him here for the demon to consume. He had been hoping to be hanged, but this must have been Bruce’s doing - pulling at strings, trying to control Jason’s fate, and morals. Jason didn’t want to have special treatment though. He knew what he had done was wrong, even if it was for the better good of the city, and he was prepared to take his punishment.  

The world was better for not having the Joker in it, and hanging would have been preferable to being a sacrifice for a demon.  

“I want one month where I don’t walk outside my home and find someone tied to my gate.”

The voice was soft and low, and Jason turned to see a figure step out into the dying light. It was as if smoke and shadows followed the hooded figure across the overgrown, wandering path. He watched the creature slink forward, their hands encased in thick, long gloves. 

It stopped in front of him, and stared at Jason through the bars. The head was covered with a hood, and a dark veil obscured their face. Whatever was behind the cloak was intent on keeping themselves hidden. 

“I don’t know why the town thinks that I want sacrifices. Never have I asked for sacrifices in my long existence.” The voice had a pleasing lilt to it, and Jason was almost certain it was a woman. She continued to stare at him from behind the veil, and he had the distinct impression that she was frowning. “Well… tell me your name and how you’re innocent so I can get on with the process of figuring out what to do with you.”

Jason’s eyebrows knitted together. “I’m not innocent.” 

The figure straightened as if surprised by his answer. “Oh? And what is your crime?”

“I killed a man.” 

“In self defense?”

“In cold blood.” 

The figure paused, their head tilting to the side as if they were surprised. “And you have no remorse.” It was more of a statement than anything else. 

“If I had allowed them to continue to live, they would have senselessly destroyed half the city and killed recklessly.” He twisted his shoulders, displaying the jagged scar that curled along his throat and down his chest. “He nearly killed me, and left my someone close to me permanently paralyzed.” 

Jason got the feeling the figure was staring at him, unsure what their next step would be. “If you’re going to eat me, can you get on with it? I was hoping to die by hanging - you know, a nice short death.”

“I don’t eat people. I don’t even know why the town continues to tie sacrifices to my gates like I want you.” She sighed, and Jason felt the ropes around his wrists melt away. “It started nearly a century ago that Gotham began leaving people tied to my gate every full moon. I never asked for it, I don’t know what idiot got it in their head that I want you, or anything to do with you.”

“What did you do with the sacrifices then?” He rubbed at his wrists and stared at her. “They’ve never returned to Gotham.”

“Depends on their crime. Stealing bread to feed their families? That gets them transported somewhere they can be safe and warm, their family too.” Her veiled face turned to him. “Senseless murder? Defilement of a person's body? Sent somewhere… decidedly different.”

“And me? Is that where I’ll go?”

“Murder for the greater good is a gray area, especially when you have no remorse for your crime. I could send you back to the prison cells in Gotham. Let you meet your fate there.”

Jason considered it, but there wasn’t a reason to go back. For all intents and purposes, his family considered him dead. He gave a low, humorless laugh. “I don’t suppose I could stay here with you?”

The figure jerked back as if surprised. “Here? Why?”

“I’d rather not go back to Gotham. But… I don’t feel as though I deserved to go anywhere else.” He blinked, watching her through the bars of the gate. “I’m in limbo, waiting for something to happen - a choice to be made. And… I don’t want to be the one to make it.”

“Hm.”

[taeaura]

The Over-Simplification of Thomas Hewitt

TW: Self-harm, Self-mutilation, Rape {only mentioned twice, and very brief}, Hoyt warning, TCM-Canon-Typical Violence

Thomas {Hewitt} is such a complex character that I feel is taken to such extremes - he's either oversimplified or outrageously radical. For example: The two most-common tropes I see for him {which I'm not demeaning, just critiquing} are A.) He's an extremely sadistic, unforgiving maniac who has no form of empathy or depth to him {this trope usually makes him a rapist, sex-fiend, or someone who uses sex as a way to resolve disagreements.} B.) An extremely-traumatized individual who can do no wrong, doesn't understand the weight of his actions, a consistently-scared man who's socially unaware of EVERYTHING, and just generally a character with no depth. {This trope ALSO usually portrays Thomas as a sex-fiend as well as someone who uses sex as a form of apology.} The truth is - Thomas is such a complex man; Not only in his character but truly in his nature {which I guess is another word for character but whtever.} YES; He is sadistic. YES; He's traumatized. Yes; He's socially unaware at times - But he's NEITHER of those extremes - at least not by default. I understand the first trope , considering he does appear that way to victims - especially Kemper and Bailey. That being said, he {in the mentality of Thomas} had "valid" reasons to target those two: Bailey referred to him as a "what" {"What is that?"} and Kemper barged into the house uninvited. Thomas knows Erin was invited, he was watching through the basement peephole. He knew Andy wasn't invited based off the way Monty treated him. Also - let's address an obvious-but-often-overlooked aspect of Thomas' "killing patterns": The men he kills - the masks he makes - the way he treats the "masks-to-be" all seem to hint at his potential jealously and envy. He tortured Eric by skinning his fuckin arms - he knocked Kemper out with a sledge hammer and presumably {implied by him picking up a chain of meat hooks} attaches him to a meat hook. Kemper's WAKING UP on a meat hook just to get killed and skinned. Thomas' forms of catharsis are destructive in nature - which seem to extend beyond his victims. In the unrated version of the film, during the "first supper" scene, as Thomas rests his arms against the head crest of the dining chair {this is the most popular GIF of him}, there's multiple scars around his arms - all which vary in size, depth, and location. Sure, these could be work-related accidents, which I'm sure some are, but some seem to be a form of self-harm as well. I wouldn't be surprised if the majority are self-inflicted; Considering Thomas has no other outlet of emotional regulation or consistent support system. To get into further detail, let's break down his prominent character traits individually:

Protective + Family Oriented {and Selfless}

It's very obvious that Thomas is protective, both of his things and his people. He's not possessive, at least not in my interpretation. His devotion to his family comes in selfless ways; Including sacrificing his own safety just to keep the family alive and well - Together. He refused to stop chasing Erin; Even after injuring his leg and losing his arm. He killed the slaughterhouse manager because he insulted his family; Insulting him and his family's hard work to survive. He lost not only his job and his purpose that day, but his family's main income. His selflessness often leads to him getting taken advantage of and overworked. For example; The family fully relies on him and Hoyt for their survival; Though mostly Thomas. Hoyt can do enough, sure, but if Thomas was gone, the whole family would go with him one way or another. I find he genuinely doesn't view himself "on their level." As in he's subservient to them. This post is essentially the essence Im hinting at. He focuses on his purpose - If that purpose isn't fulfilled, "I haven't done enough - I'm not trying hard enough - The family's not proud of me - They shouldn't be proud of me - ect."

Reserved / Distant

Thomas is very reserved which is very obviously a defense mechanism developed in early childhood. He's distant not only because of his trauma, but his personality as well. I've always interpreted him as a natural introvert - which would've been amplified if he so happens to be autistic. Of course, not all autistic individuals are introverted, I just figured because of his predisposed characteristics. Thomas prefers to observe rather to interact; Almost acting as a shadow amongst concrete - Or a fly upon the wall: Watching every movement and discerning every sound. I talk more about this in a previous post.

Cautious {and Selective}

Adding on to the previous segment, Thomas is very cautious {and selective} with the people he surrounds himself with. Strangers? Absolutely not - unless it's obligatory. His family? Yes. I think this traces back to his trauma and social anxiety; His speech impediment makes it excruciatingly difficult to socialize, further isolating himself and his family from 'evil outside' civilizations. Hoyt's consistent hatred for 'hippy' city-slingers and the family's already-biased ignorant and overly-traditional values make Thomas' social pool a drying puddle.

Judgmental, Envious, {and Violent}

To add onto Hoyt's hatred for city-slinging, draft-dodging, hippy protesters; This hate definitely rubs off on Thomas. He's judgmental - both for survival and out of envy. His momma's "Christian teachings" about how full of sin the world is surely don't help the judgment issues. It's a calamitous cycle which gets worse with each year they spend in solitude. Their fear of society - fear of judgment - keeps them hidden from the rest of the world: Abandoned by the government as they're forced to fend for themselves. Forced to lay low within the shadows so they can remain together, as opposed to rotting in separate jail cells. In a way, it's their own "solitary confinement." Solitary confinement can cause an increase in violence / violent tendencies - Which is no surprise in the case of the Hewitt family. According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness,

"Those with mental illness are overrepresented in solitary confinement, despite the vulnerability and threats to the mental health of those incarcerated. Research shows that the effects of solitary confinement on mental health are often fatal, both during and after incarceration. Half of all suicides in prisons and jails occur in solitary confinement. A recent study shows the long-lasting effects; that any amount of time spent in solitary increases the risk of death in the first year after release. Individuals were overall 24% more likely to die in the first year after release, including from suicide (78% more likely) and homicide (54% more likely). They were also 127% more likely to die of an opioid overdose in the first two weeks after release."

How does this relate to judgment and envy? I'll tell you:

Thomas is so conspicuously envious - We can see it in every scene with Eric. When he beats the shit out of Eric whilst caressing his face in admiration - Only to calculatingly caress his own in desperation. The way he gasps once he sees Kemper's wedding ring {for Erin} - Only to follow it up with wearing his face to visit her?? His envy comes out as judgment; His anxiety comes out as judgment. His judgment comes out as violence. It's a continuous cycle which he's learned over time from multiple sources.

Creative, Appreciative, Resourceful

Do I even have to explain this one? Nah I'm kidding.

Thomas is a creative and skilled individual who knows taxidermy, sewing, patchwork, leather-working/smith, all that jazz. It's not only a form of catharsis, but a form of hiding himself from the world. He takes pieces of what he finds beautiful, stitches them together, and presents himself as that "collection" of beauty. It's his way to turning himself "beautiful." This leads me to believe he finds beauty in the smallest things. A decaying carcass? A new mask. Withered and rusting jewelry? A new accessory. Left-behind tools? His tools now. He takes care of the things he loves, and loves to take care of what's been forgotten. He's appreciative of small things; Especially considering the Hewitt family didn't {and still doesn't} have much but themselves and their old farm. He notices the small things. The usually insignificant, under-appreciated, forgotten things. Maybe it's out of necessity; Maybe it's because he feels he's one of those things - Just not one deserving of the same grace.

Reliant {and Independant}

Notice how the family always calls for Thomas? They call multiple times, sure, but that seems to be more out of annoyance than worry. They know Thomas will get the job done - He always does - and he does it damn well. He works hard; He was quite literally one of the slaughterhouse's hardest workers. He worked 'till he was forced out of there. Thomas is stubborn, sure, but it helps get his work done. And - it keeps him safe.

Besides meal-prep, housing, cleaning, and transport, Thomas is very independent. He can hunt forage his own food; Protect himself and others; Make his own clothes; Hell, he'd learn how to cook and clean if he needed to. He doesn't really need transport - at least not in his mind. He's content - He'll make do with what he has. It's like the quote from 'Pearl' "One day you will understand that getting what you have isn't what's important - Making the most of what you have is."

___

Apologies for this being relatively short compared to my other previous analyses; My brain's been kinda foggy recently but we're recovering!

Tommy my beloved socially awkward {autistic} Texan🫀

[sapphicmsmarvel]

the night courts justice

pairing: platonic!rhysand x reader

summary: rhysand learns your past traumas are more alike than he assumed.

Tw: MASSIVE trigger warning for r*pe being mentioned. Graphic, graphic violence. Feminine rage, unhinged female rage. Unhinged. 

Would like to preface: this is a work of fiction, uh, yeah. 

I know people write more detailed shit than I did however, I just wanted to give the violence disclaimer bc this is the most violent thing i've ever written (i usually just write fluff!)

Happy reading to my unhinged vengeful girlypops <3 

After you turned, you got bad. You had always struggled with depression, however the fae transformation increased that feeling. 

Rhysand noticed first because you were showing the signs that he did after under the mountain.

“You’re taking care of them, so they’ll be okay when you leave.”  He had approached you on the balcony.

You weren’t an idiot. “Sometimes, I do wonder what would happen if I just…” You waved your hands around. “Ceased.” 

“You wouldn’t see Feyre again.” His voice cracked. “She was what was keeping me from…ending it after I got back.” 

“I don’t know the extent of what happened to you.” You began, “but I can fill in the blanks.” 

“How so?” “From one rape victim to another, I can see the signs.” You simply stated.

It was silent and then, “Feyre found me that night.”  Your voice was a whisper in the wind.

He paused, he could feel the sorrow radiating off of you. You swallowed, “she found me abandoned in the woods, that’s where I was taken. At the time, we had no idea who it was, or where he was from. It was close to the wall. Hence how she found me. I had been there since the previous night. Missing for almost a whole day plus a night. She was hunting at night so people wouldn't get greedy when they saw her with prey. She brought me back to the cottage, her dad was asleep, Nesta woke up because I couldn’t get up the steps and she heard a bang.” You sucked in a deep breath, “I couldn’t get up the steps because….he had hurt me too badly.” He put a hand on your shoulder, he wasn’t one for physical affection like this with someone he barely knew, but he knew you needed it.

You didn’t push him away. 

“Fey and Nesta got me up the steps, it was the first time I had seen the two of them work as a team. They got me in the bath, cleaned up the blood that was staining my legs, my…everything.” 

He tried to keep his rage contained, however it was hard, you felt the air turn denser. 

“I appreciate the sentiment, Rhysand.” You laughed bitterly. “It’s over and done with.” 

“Do you want revenge?” 

You sighed, “Yes, which makes me terrible-”

“No it does not.” He hissed.

You shrugged, “it doesn’t matter.” 

After a brief silence he asked, “You said, at the time. Who was it?” 

“He was from the Spring Court. Not Tamlin or Lucien. Or the guy that Fey killed. But now that I am here, and I have the heightened senses. I recognize the different courts, it’s the smell. He smelled like the Spring Court.” 

“Can I see what he looked like?” Rhysand asked. 

You nodded and let him into your mind.

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

During the war, it had completely slipped your mind that you had told Rhys about these things. Or rather showed him the face. Feyre had come back and then you were off fighting a war. Not too much time to dwell on things. 

But, one day you were called to “the torture chamber” as you called it, however Azriel disapproved even though he also agreed. He just didn’t like how blunt you were about it. 

“What is this?” You asked. 

That’s when you could smell it. The smell of dandelions and dewy grass. The smell that had haunted your nightmares long before Hybern had. You saw him tied to a chair, beaten and bloody, his mouth had a gag stuffed in it. Azriel was behind him, Rhysand off to the side and Feyre was behind you, she had come with you. But based off the look on her face, she knew all along. 

“You can either kill him or I will.” 

“Doesn’t this look bad, High Lord?” You asked, quirking an eyebrow. “If this gets out…” 

“Oh it can, I don’t particularly care, let them know I don’t tolerate anyone being raped, let alone someone in my court. Let Tamlin come and try to defend this.” 

“He’s an asshole, but he never raped me.” Feyre walked up and put a sword in your hands. “Gut him like a fish.” 

You took the sword, ready. You looked at him as he wept. “Do you remember me?” 

Silence. 

You lifted his head with the tip of the sword, drawing blood that trickled down the metal. 

Gods, nothing has ever looked so fun. 

“I said, do you remember me?” You asked in an innocent voice. 

He shook his head, screaming around the gag. 

You widened your eyes, mockingly, “you know I screamed that night too.” 

HIs eyes widened, you didn’t know if he was recognizing your scent, or if he had done this to multiple people and he’s trying to figure out which one you were. “You went across the wall, found an innocent sixteen year old girl. A child. You took me out there and you raped me. And then at the end, when I was crying into the dirt, begging for the Mother to put me to sleep so I would stop hurting; do you remember what you said?” You asked. 

He didn’t answer, so you shoved the blade in deeper, causing a bigger waterfall the color of revenge to cascade down the blade. “I asked a question.”

He shook his head. 

You let a cruel smile slip. “You said that with the way I was acting, I had it coming.” You laughed and his eyes widened. “And now, you’ll see what you’ve had coming all these years.” 

With that you moved the sword. He let out a breath, but then saw you go to the table and grab pliers. 

“How many people?” You asked starting with his finger, that’s when you saw the wedding ring. You laughed coldly. “What poor person did you trap?” 

He glared, you smiled and took the pliers and pulled off a fingernail. He screamed around his gag and it was music to you. “I ask again, how many?” 

He kept screaming, so you kept pulling. 

Once you started on the other hand, that’s when he stopped screaming and began nodding. “You’ll tell me?” You asked. 

He nodded so you removed the gag. “Nine.” 

You let out a laugh through your nose. Not a genuine one of course, but one that showed you were about to become even more angry. “Do you remember their faces?” 

He nodded and you looked at Rhysand, “if you’d ever be so kind. I want to pay them a visit.” 

To let them know their monster is dead, and he did not die a slow death. 

Rhysand nodded to let you know, he intruded the male's mind and then left the room with Feyre. 

He would show her their faces, she would draw from memory. Then you would find them to give them peace that he was dead. 

Only Azriel was left in the cell.

Then you smiled again, a twisted and evil one, “and now our fun begins.” 

That’s when you smelled the urine. 

And your smile grew bigger. 

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

The male was later found staked to a rock by the wall. An ice pick through his forehead and his hands, pinning him to the old stone. The word “rapist” was carved into his naked chest. All fingers were broken and nine teeth were pulled out of his mouth. 

Then a letter was sent to eight houses, explaining that their monster was dead and if they chose to, they could see what became of him by going to a certain spot. 

All eight showed up. 

Well nine but no one could see her. No one could see her or the High Lord of Night Court watching. 

“You feel better?” 

You sighed, “murder is bad, however I can rest easy knowing he’s dead.” 

“Yeah, you definitely know he is.” 

You snorted, “I may have had a bit of fun.”

“He definitely deserved it, the thing with his penis though was twisted.” 

You laughed outright at that. “That was Azriel’s touch.” 

Rhysand shuddered, “once again the guy deserved it, but Gods, you filet’d that thing.” 

“They’ll find it in the autopsy.” You shrugged, sipping your hot chocolate, that fought off the cold Sunday morning. 

He lifted his cup over for a cheers and you clinked, and both of you took a sip. “We’re fucked in the head aren’t we?” You said. 

He nodded, “Oh we definitely are. At least we’re surrounded by other fucked individuals.” 

“Cheers to that.” 

And once again you clinked mugs. 

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

The next day you were called into the Feyre and Rhysand’s office, part of you wondered if it meant that the mortals had connected the murder of the Night Court and now you’d have to pay for what you’d done. 

But when you walked in, Feyre was smiling genuinely. 

Rhysand gave her a loving look, “could you at least pretend it’s something bad just to mess with her?” He drawled teasingly. 

“She’s my best friend, she’d know I was lying.” Feyre responded as if Rhysand was dumb. 

Could confirm, you would know. 

“I thought I was your best friend.” Rhysand put a hand to his chest as if he was offended but you both could tell he was not. 

You and Feyre shared a look and rolled your eyes in unison. 

“Can I just know what’s going on?” You asked. 

“We want you to be the Night Court’s Justice.” “...Isn’t that what Azriel is for?” 

“Azriel is for collecting information on enemies. You will basically be an assassin for us.” Rhysand explained. “If you so desire.” 

“Who would I go after?” 

“Anybody that poses a threat to my family.” His eyes flashed with anger. “Someone hurts anyone, including you. Then you have our full permission to slit their throats.” He said. “Obviously, we’d give you assignments. When you don’t have assignments you’d be working alongside Azriel.”

You nodded and then went, “fuck it. Okay.” 

“You don’t want to think about it?” Feyre asked. 

“If I’m taking out people that are like the bastard I just killed, then I will do it. Rapists deserve nothing else.” 

Rhysand smirked, “welcome to the court.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

tw for very very brief mentions of rape and incest and other taboo subject matter - only brought up for discussion.

i feel like it is kind of beating a dead horse when i bring up the relationship between fiction, reality, and the exploration of dark/taboo. given the nature of my blog and the change it's made over time—it's brought up repeatedly many times and in many context in which im forced to defend.

outside of that though, i have never really taken a moment to thoroughly break down the reason (or one of them) i find the it important which is the idea of fictional exploration as a sort of third space of processing and development.

there are many arguments surrounding the exploration of taboo relationships, ideas, and incidents in fiction built on the basis of morals. our greater, societal infrastructure relies on the idea of morality to justify any and all material violence. whether that violence be physical harm, systemic injustice, or psychological / verbal abuse etc.

there's a quote by frank bidart that goes "you can convince human beings to do anything if you convince them it is moral" that i think of often when we debate about what is moral and why. all people are equally capable of committing great material harm to other people if they are under the impression they are in the moral right.

so you examine morality as a mechanism for forming social contracts. it is largely debated whether or not morality is subjective or objective - but regardless of either thing, it is a fundamental part of creating a social circle. big or small.

human beings are also naturally social creatures. we want the approval and attention of our peers and we want community. and it will cause us to act in ways, whether that be conscious or unconscious, that are unsavory. whether that be passivitiy to maintain the status quo or othering another person in order to gain social status or favor.

a lot of the people who are staunchly against any forms of taboo in the exploration of fiction are people engaging with this kind of social behavior. at the core of there reasoning, they are seeking solace with peers over a sense of moral superiority all while not contributing anything materially—except often the verbal abuse and harassment of the opposite party.

none of this is very novel for me to point out. there are also plenty of other things that contribute to why this kind of debate happens online so frequently, particularly a strong taboo towards any all sexual content stemming from old-school religious conservatism and other fascist ideas etc.

but i bring it up because of how it relates to my feelings about the concept of fiction as a sort of third space in the same way the internet is a sort of third space.

engaging in this kind of moral crusading online is done by people who are seeking out social spaces that connect them to other people. this is especially true online as the internet has become a third space for people to interact with others that share similar interest and views. they do this to have a space to reaffirm themselves and their morality.

most importantly, they do this because the internet is an easily accessible space to like-mindedness and self-assurance. it's unreliability is overshadowed by the fact that young people engaging in this kind of critique can get ahold of their peers easily this way. humans are social. they seek companionship and our real life third spaces have become more and more sparse over the years.

so, online spaces have become a place for people to process their social development and their emotions with their peers.

now there's an understanding—that people need a way to process their internal world, concepts and ideas somehow.

but there are social contracts that can't be broken in these online spaces. though they are meant to be an escape from the constraints of real life, you are still subject to scrutiny and at risk of becoming a bad actor that is shunned by their own online community and circle of friends.

on top of that, if human beings are capable of committing horrific acts of violence, they are just as capable and if not more, of experiencing that violence in their lives. this also requires processing similar to the normal, everyday social processing people do online.

this much is obvious, even to many people who oppose the idea that fiction doesn't equal reality. you'll often hear them utter words about seeking counseling / therapy underneath posts involving dark subject matter.

but then, there are social contracts of acceptability and palatability. and more, there is inaccessibility.

all human beings are subject to some form of violence or some other type of struggle. whether that be in their class, race, or sexuality - the average person has material conditions and complex emotions that can't be neatly resolved nor shared comfortably with their peers.

everyone needs space to air these aspects of themselves out healthily. you are automatically going to experience a specific amount of negativity in your life that requires an outlet and there is no real way to find a universal solution to answering those feelings. unresolved, it can lead to substance abuse or suicidal thoughts/

and there is no universal, easy to access place for people to unilaterally express and process their feelings and thoughts.

but there is writing fiction.

this, to me, is the one argument that i think is important to bring it up but rarely does. because there are many angles to approach this discourse and this is just one of them.

writing is also a kind of third space. a place to communicate that isn't home or work. a third space in to connect with and break down these emotions—somewhere that can be shared to find camaraderie. it can also be shielded to hide away from the scrutiny of your peers. it is a place where you can inadvertently process these great, overbearing emotions that is neutral and welcome to all.

and it's not that fiction can't cause harm at all. because it certainly can and has

but the very presence of taboo is not the sole cause of harm in what makes something fictional hurtful. propaganda and insensitive messaging and all the ways fiction can hurt people exist with in a predefined context and social climate. that kind of harm spreads through massive scales of government and print and makes its way onto shelves.

more than that, human beings have a sense of morality. it is agreed upon that rape, incest, violence and murder are materially harmful. in the misplaced desire for censorship, it seems people are attempting to affirm this by monitoring works of fiction that have this subject matter at all.

but in that monitoring, you are taking away what makes these kinds of spaces comfortable - which is a lack of hostility.

if you believe this to be the most optimum solution, i implore you to critically examine whether or not you think it morally correct to take away from someone the means to process their emotions. and if you believe still, that it's the best thing to do for all parties i next ask, how will you then make space for them? what space will replace this one?

what are the other solutions have the same level of access to all? can you implement a space for someone with no other healthy outlets, to vent and untangle and smooth out these feelings, without requiring the hypothetical labor of someone else? can you promise you will be able to provide something that offers a similar catharsis for the often deeply complicated feelings being addressed (whether that be directly or indirectly) through the presence of themes like incest, rape, or abuse? can you provide another alternative to the repetitive behaviors of trauma that insist on recreating / imagining these harms in a controlled environment over and over again?

to be clear, it is unnecessary and against my beliefs that you must have experience those things directly to write about them. in fact my point is the opposite.

the thematic concepts that come along with the taboos are the catharsis themselves. a person with a disconnected trauma about neglect or abandonment finding healing in the themes of incest about forbidden love or love that goes against all. a person with no trauma at all, who longs to be free from the daily life stresses of work may find catharsis in the writing of rape which strips autonomy and choice.

human beings are complicated. these examples may feel extreme to you. you are welcome to view them that way. that is your right.

but for other people it is a good solution, one of the best solutions - to strip down these desires bare and explore them where no one is being hurt. where they do not hurt themselves materially or anyone else. art is one of the few spaces you have for yourself. you can argue that distribution is the problem—but if you are able to identify when it is wrong, does your moral superiority extend so far as to believe that that's something only you can do?

and most importantly - are you prepared to take that space from them and provide other outlets? do you think it fair to prevent people from safely having access to something that you, yourself, depend on heavily for social and emotional affirmation?

are you willing to hold space for them when no one else can or no one else will?

[gauloiseblue]

Medic!Reader × Poly!141

Part I | Part II | Part III

[TW: attempted rape, a little bit of violence]

A/N: I'm gonna highlight the TW part so you can scroll down to skip it

It'd be thrilling for you to be on your first mission, if not for the fact that Graves himself requested it

You have the ideas, but not getting the ideas on why at the same time

You could see why he recruited you to the field, but you're not among the best medic out there, you're just a new recruit so you're basically unqualified for such missions.

If his intention is to get into your pants, well… you won't know what to do

If he's the type who likes to chase women around, then it's easier for you to be the 'easy target' for him. But at the same time, you shudder at the possibility of having to sleep with him

On the flight to the field, you mull over the choices you have

"Johnny."

"Hm?"

"Would you be…. Would you…. Hm," Your face scrunched, "... No, that sounds wrong."

"Wha' is it? Spill it out."

"... Would you be my fake boyfriend for a while? Okay, let me explain first."

Still, he wears the bewildered face, even after you explain everything

"I don't mind, but is it really necessary?" He furrows his brows

"I know it doesn't make sense, but hear me out. You knew what kind of letters he sent to me, you said it yourself that he's getting bolder each day, and trust me when I said that I have known this kind of man my whole life. They won't stop until they get what they want."

"Seems like yer an asshole magnet." He chuckled, "On a serious note, don't ye think he'll get more aggressive after knowin' that you 've a 'boyfriend'?"

"You're right." You rub your face in frustration, "But I don't have a choice, I don't wanna sleep with him."

He thought for a second. "I'll see what I do." He then wraps his arm around your neck, tugging on you in a joking manner, "But don't you think I could misunderstand your request?"

"No, you're just not the type." You laugh, "Besides, I can't see anyone in the team who would be willing to help me, for this kind of stuff…"

"... Now tha' I think 'bout it, yer right."

Upon arrival, the soldier tells the team to move immediately to the base. You're only given 5 minutes to settle down before briefing

To say that the briefing is unpleasant… is an understatement

While the commander gives an introduction for the team, you feel an uncomfortable gaze on you

You don't have to guess it, because when you lift your head, you can see Graves' been eyeing you

It feels like an eternity before it's over

Even then, it's not really over. Because once the commander is done with his speech, Graves casually mentions that he need to talk to Price in private, while not looking away from you

Thankfully, Price dismissed you from accompanying him

Back at the new base, you notice that your room is quite separated from the rest of the team, and that Price's room is farthest away from you

The closest one from your quarter is Ghost, and you can't see yourself asking him for help

That is, until 3 days have passed, and you find two cockroaches under the bed

You scream and jump, and sprint out of the room

And somehow you bump into him in the hallway before you can even acknowledge who's there

(If you knew who it was, you'd rather stay in your room, even with those cockroaches)

He's slightly annoyed by the incident, but asks you what's wrong. You swallow your pride and tell him that you saw cockroaches

"You can just step on it."

"... I'm too afraid to do that."

Seems like your scream attracted more attention, as you saw Gaz and Soap getting out from their room as well, asking if something's up

Ghost gives him a brief explanation, making Soap laughs out loud

"Jeesus, I thought we were under attack or something."

"We should kill them then." Gaz suggested

"Don't kill them." You said

"What'd ye wanna do then? Lettin' them be and hopin' that they'll politely leave yer room?"

"No, just… put them outside or something."

"Ya think they won't come back again?"

While you're busy bickering with Soap, Ghost slips into your room and takes care of it. You only realize it when he comes back with 2 cockroaches dangling in his hand, still wiggling

You almost screamed the second time if you didn't immediately hide behind Gaz

"You still wanna let these things loose?"

"Yes—yes, put them outside—"

And he obeys it without question

Which is surprising, to say the least

While you're grateful that your problem was solved, it actually creates more problems in the future. Because Soap would literally chase you around with a cockroach in his hand (and you have no idea where he gets it)

He'll get scolded by either Price or Ghost though

Anyway, besides the bugs and hot weather, you get used to your new en pretty quickly, as well as your job

Treating minor wounds, talking to injured soldiers, writing and sorting documents, all the usual stuff

You already knew that it wouldn't be easy to treat soldiers in the active warzone, but your team clearly been spoiling you

Most of the soldiers would either scream in pain, or scream at you, and sometimes even both. You attempt to use "You can complain about it later when we finish." but it doesn't work

You could bear it for a few weeks, before you got fed up and straight up running your mouth

"Look, if you wanna get uneven stitches and unnecessary infections, you can keep going. Go on and stress me out, so I will fuck it up."

And when they're still mad at you, you hit them with "I'm gonna report all of your complaints to Captain Price, he's my superior after all. State your name and complain to me, I'll tell him myself."

You felt bad borrowing Price's name, but that's the only thing that made them shut up

Sometimes you hear them muttering "Price's whore" under their breath, but you could care less

You also help other medics when the soldiers straight up humiliate them, by saying that you'll send your report to Graves. It works wonder as well

That is, until the man itself shows up in front of your room when you're just about to call it a day

"I see you've been conducting your survey in the field for me. What was it again? The 'soldier's satisfaction on medic's service'?"

You're actually taken aback by it, but you kept your composure

"I just thought that it's best for the upper rank to hear their complaints, for a reason that they're the one who decides what's the best course of action for the medic."

He chuckles at your explanation, "You're smart, I like that." He then says, "But y'know, borrowing my name for it isn't very wise of you. I can just punish you for that, but I'll let it slide this time."

"Thank you sir, I won't do it again."

"Oh, no. Keep doing it." He put his hand on your shoulder, giving enough weight to emphasize his point, "But keep Price's name out of it. If they complain about you, you should tell them that I would like to request their presence immediately."

After your encounter with him, you feel a sense of dread inside your chest, as if you've been opening a pandora box

Because the next day, Graves decides to oversee the medics' work by himself

Not only that, he'd ask the soldier if they need anything more from the medic, as if he's doing an inspection

His presence gives everyone in the room a tension

One soldier quietly murmurs "This is a warzone, and not a whorehouse for God's sake."

You pretended you didn't hear him

The news about him reach to your own team, and Soap is the first one who confront you about it

"What were ya thinking? Using his name as if you knew him personally?"

"I had to, if not, they're gonna harass the other medics and slow us down."

"Did'ya even think about the consequences? Did it ever cross your mind?"

You want to object him, but you know he's right

"... Sorry, I didn't mean ta shout. It's just that," He presses his hand on his chin, "It's more serious than I thought. Graves wouldn't even bother checking his deputy."

"What should I do then? Should I just… go along with it or ignore him?"

"Don't ever think about ignoring him, it'll only make him excited."

"Then, if I go along with him…?"

"Don't do that either."

He proceeded to explain the probability of him using you for a selfish reason, and it's likely for him to keep you to himself via blackmail

"Okay, then what should I do exactly?"

"Let's see." He thought for a moment, "You could keep doing what you do… no, he'll just prolong your contract." He hummed, forehead creased, "... I think you have to have a rival."

His suggestion causes you to frown, "A rival? Where can I find her? Are there any girls who like him?"

"There's a lot, actually."

He starts to tell you a few names that have caught Graves' attention, from the korean soldier, to the senior in your work

"I don't know…" You bit your lip, "It seems wrong to use my own senior."

"Ye don't have a lot of choice." He shrugs, "They a'ready 've a feelin' for him anyway, ye just need to create the spark between them. Though it'll be hard for ya to do since ye rarely met her, moreover the two of 'em."

"... Okay, we'll see about that."

Several days have passed, and for the first time after your arrival that the fortune goddess smiles at you

You're on your way to Price's office when you spot a brunette girl talking with Graves, and you realize that she's one of the girls Soap talked about

For a split second, your brain decides to prepare a trap, which he falls into without struggle

You've known jealousy for half of your life, mainly from the men you've dated before, so it's easy for you to replicate

And it worked. He really thinks you are, and riles you up by pulling the girl close by her waist

He tugs a smile of satisfaction when you freeze, before passing them with your head down

You continued doing it for 3 to 4 times, while successfully avoiding him in the process. You begin to see him less and less, to the point that you're so sure you're free from him

Until you receive an invitation to a party, hosted by the suspected "businessman" in the neighboring country, delivered by Graves himself

"You're the perfect girl for this mission." He smirks, "It'll be a good time for us to be together, to make up for the time we've lost."

"Uh…." You stare at the invitation on his hand, unable to think, "I… don't think I'm the right person for it, sir. I'm just a medic, I haven't even completed my self-defense training yet."

"I certainly don't mind it if you become a damsel in distress." He teased, which irked you so badly, you almost broke your charade, "Trust me, I know you'll do a great job on it. You'll fit right in with the riches, just like me."

"Well, thank you for the compliment, but really, I'm not cut out of this job. I'm sure Gillian from the intelligent team is more suitable for it."

He let out a sigh, not even hiding the impatience in his breath, "So you'll deny the order from your superior?"

It's enough to shut you up immediately, and you reluctantly shake your head. "No, sir. I'm sorry."

"Good girl." He smiles at you, satisfied, "We'll depart by tomorrow morning, make sure you come on time."

Turns out, Gaz and Ghost are also on the mission. Gaz lights up when he sees you, although a little puzzled because you're not supposed to be on this kind of mission. You have no time to explain to him because Graves already pulls you to the cockpit, separating you with 2 other men

Fast forward, after the disastrous preparation and changing the dress at the last minute (because Graves picked up the most revealing dress that didn't suit you at all), you settle with a long slitted dress and simple makeup.

The party is decent, (you've been to bigger, more extravagant parties, that's why) there's champagne, free buffet, and a chatty host

Graves immediately approaches the man, exchanging greetings and all, while you stick to your role as an arm candy

Before the party, all the members got a briefing about their assignments. Graves would be the one who observes the situation and gives commands, Gaz would be the sniper and distraction so Ghost could sneak in to get the files and the man himself. You didn't get anything, so you assumed you're just an arm candy, until the man offered you a tour to his wine cellar, and you immediately knew that you're the bait

You don't like him one bit, and the fact that you're being used as bait makes you hate him more. He makes a lot of inappropriate jokes and touches, as well as a racist statement when Gaz is captured (he gets the news from the phone)

You try to grin and bear it, until he grabs your ass and presses himself against you. You struggle against him, and he doesn't take it too kindly as he punches your face with his fist full of rings

It hurts a lot that your ear is ringing from the impact. By the time you gain your senses, he's already on top of you, ripping your dress open

"Graves is a good friend of mine, he wouldn't mind if I play with his girls for a while."

You should've taken the self-defense class

It feels like eternity before you hear the door open, and a heavy step comes in. It takes around 3 seconds before the man collapses, with a small arrow on his back

You turn around to see Ghost with black tactical suit, and a different mask, which is just a plain black mask

You quickly cover yourself, fumbling with the remaining of your dress before you hear him calling your name. He calls you with a hushed tone, almost as if he's calling a wounded dog, which is quite accurate, since you don't realize you've been hyperventilating

"Look at me." He commanded, "Take a deep breath… and breathe out. Good, keep it going."

He asks you if you can stand up, and you slowly nod. But as you try to do so, the dress keeps slipping away from your body. Seeing you struggle, he decides to lend you his vest

"Cover yourself with it, and then we leave."

You and him leave the room, with the man on his shoulder, deep in slumber

Back at the makeshift base, they tie the man up on a chair

While Graves and Ghost take care of him, you go to the other room to take care of your swollen cheek. By the time you look in the mirror, it's already blooming red

You make a cold compress for your face, and you hiss at the sharp pain. You sit on the edge of the bed for a while, before you hear people walk in

"What's u— Oh no, what happened to your face?"

You look at Gaz, it seems like he escaped without hassle. "Nothing, just got punched by the package."

"Let me see… Damn, you got a cut."

"No wonder it stings."

He then helps you cleaning the wound, and when he pours the alcohol on the cotton, you stop him

"Let it be."

"Won't it get infected?"

"No, it's a shallow cut. See? The bleeding has stopped."

He chuckles, "I'll trust the medic then."

You both talk for a bit, before Ghost comes in

"We'll be leaving at dawn, make sure you get everything ready."

At dawn, as you and the crew enter the aircraft, you take a glance at the abandoned warehouse to see the man on the chair, unmoving. Graves seems to take notice of it, before he leans in and whispers, "Don't be sorry, he took it upon himself. He shouldn't have touched what's mine."

For a moment, you're filled with so much rage, that you forgot all of your play pretend. "I'm not an object you can play with, Graves." You retorted, words were filled with poison, "I'm not yours, and I will never be."

Which was a mistake, because the minute you said that, his eyes changed almost immediately. And you didn't like it at all

[futurequibblerjournalist]

The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black names explained:

I’ve gotten a few asks about my thoughts on the Black family and specifically their names and the middle names I’ve assigned them so I figured I’d make a post and explain them all, along with how I see the meanings of their names translating to their personalities! I was originally going to do the Black sisters and brothers in this one too but it just got too long so you guys are getting Riddle era Black family until I return with the second installment vjnbjgnbj

tw: brief mention of rape in Lucretia's section

Walburga Irma Black:

Unlike most of her family members, Walburga is not named after a star. Her first name is an alternative spelling of Walpurga which comes from Saint Walpurga, a nun born in 710. Saint Walpurga was also given an annual feast day called Saint Walpurgis Night or Saint Walpurgis Eve. Ironically one of the things she was hailed for was battling witchcraft. She was said to repel witches and was known as a healer of illnesses and one of her only talents not fully related to her religion is noted to be very detailed embroidery. I like to pull things from things like this, especially when it comes to characters we know very little about, so what this tells me about Walburga is that she likely did not have a lot of (female) friends which fits with the fact that I generally think the Black family kept to themselves. She was a skilled healer, which is very interesting considering how she’s usually portrayed as a woman who ruins so much. Is she aware of this aspect of her personality and that’s why she decided to learn so much about healing? And at last, she’s talented at embroidery. This yet again fits with another headcanon of mine that the finer families in pureblood society showed their status through things such as embroidery or homemade lace, to show that the women in the family were so well taken care of that they could focus on nothing but raising a family and making said family look good. I would imagine Walburga was taught by her mother.

Speaking of her mother, Walburga gets her middle name from her mother, Irma Black (born Crabbe) which means she is once again not given a name with a connection to the stars. Irma means complete; entire and is derived from the Old High German word ‘irmin’ meaning ‘world’. One could argue that while Walburga does not have a star specific name she is named in a way that could be interpreted as someone’s whole world.

Alphard Pollux Black:

Alphard is named after the star of the same name, the brightest star in the constellation Hydra. Alphard comes from the Arabic al-fard which, if Wikipedia is to trust lol, means “the individual”. The star is also known both as “the backbone of the Serpent” and “the heart of the Serpent”. From this I like to pull a bit of personality. Alphard has a clear connection to his family, one with a noticeable connection to serpent imagery through the Black family’s consistent history of being sorted into Slytherin. He’s an individual, he’s got the backbone to stand out yet still in a way more acceptable to the family and he’s got the heart to still show love and kindness towards Sirius. I think, and I don’t know if this is an unpopular opinion, that Alphard values his family a whole lot. Which is ironic, because in part that’s what gets him blasted off of the family tapestry. Another name for this star is Soheil Solitarius, which translates to the bright solitary one. I interpret this to think he’s got some sort of loneliness to him, even within a family with so many people. That is what being too much of an individual in the Black family gets you. You can only push it too much before you become an outsider and I think Alphard is living right on the cusp.

Just like Alphard, Pollux is yet another star that is the brightest in its constellation, this time it’s the Gemini constellation. Just like how Walburga got her middle name from her mother, Alphard got his from his father. The name Pollux, albeit also the name of a star comes from the twins Castor and Pollux in both Greek and Roman mythology.

As a fun little extra thing, I think Alphard’s fun older guy that he seduces whenever he feels like it (Arvid Thicket) calls him Hydrae and occasionally he calls him Hydra’s Heart because he’s a sap lol.

Cygnus Phineas Black:

Cygnus was the third Cygnus in the family, being named after his paternal grandfather. It's suspected that Cygnus I was likely Cygnus's great-great-grandfather which would be the father of the second man he's named after, former Hogwarts headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black. Cygnus, the constellation derives its name from the Greek word for swan. Looking at the most common symbolism associated with swans, we can assume Cygnus has a certain amount of wisdom to him, which also works perfectly with the fact that he was named after a former headmaster at a respected institution.

Speaking of said former headmaster, Cygnus got his middle name from Phineas Nigellus Black, the most disliked headmaster of Hogwarts, at least believing the statement from Cygnus nephew, Sirius Black. The name Phineas does not come from a star but instead it is a name of Hebrew origin meaning “the mouth of a snake”/“serpent’s mouth”. From this we can pull that Cygnus not only shares the typical views of his family, but looking at a similar saying “having a serpent’s tongue” which means having a tendency to speak maliciously, we can assume that Cygnus might have been either particularly opinionated, a tendency to come off as harsh or negative or both. I would also like to note that Cygnus is specifically named after Phineas Nigellus and not Phineas Nigellus’s son of the same name (as he was disowned for supporting muggle rights).

Lucretia Elladora Black:

Upon first glance, one might think Lucretia is another Black not named after a star. That would technically be correct, though she is named after an asteroid known as 281 Lucretia, an asteroid belonging to the Flora family in the Main Belt. Lucretia also shares her first name with a noblewoman from Ancient Rome. Lucretia was raped by Sextus Tarquinius and subsequently committed suicide after confessing about the rape to her father and husband. It's said that this act was the/one of the first stepping stones in the rebellion that made the Roman government transition from a kingdom to a republic. While I won't go into details interpreting the fact that her namesake was raped, we can look into the fact that Lucretia was noted to be exceptionally devoted to her husband. I think this is especially interesting given how the Prewett family is connected to the Weasleys. They likely weren't at the time Lucretia married Ignatius but even if they were she probably walked the line of marrying someone too different from the Black family and yet she was so devoted to Ignatius that to her it hardly mattered.

Lucretia's middle name Elladora comes from Elladora Black, the sister of Phineas Nigellus. Elladora was actually alive when Lucretia was born (she died six years later in 1931) so it wouldn't be far off to assume that the two possibly had some sort of relationship. Elladora is another name not derived from a star or anything similar, though it is speculated on Elladora Black's wiki page that the name comes from Elladora's mother possibly being named Ella and Callidora Black (the character known as Callidora Black is born after Elladora of course, being the daughter of one of Elladora's nephews, but knowing how the Black family liked to name their children after previous relatives it does not seem completely unbelievable that there was a Callidora Black born before Elladora that she could have gotten the second half of her name from). There are two takes on "Ella", that it comes from the Norman form of the Germanic "Alia" which means "other" or "Aella", a Greek name meaning "whirlwind". Either way, looking at Lucretia one could argue that they fit in regard to her marriage to someone who is from a family that is not necessarily the most respected and in later years is very much considered an "other" to the Black family. The second half, "Dora" is derived from the Greek word "doron" and means "gift". It kinda follows a similar pattern to Walburga's middle name. Just like Walburga is "someone's whole world" Lucretia is "gift/a gift". Considering the usual take on the Black family I think this is kind of sweet.

On the opposite end, to talk a bit more about Elladora. She is noted as the Black that introduces decapitating house elves and hanging their heads on plaques when they're no longer useful. I think Lucretia would share a similar sentiment to her namesake and a more aggressive/demanding way of handling the elves does not seem far off.

Orion Regulus Black:

Orion is a constellation known for featuring a number of bright stars. It is also known for being a good star to navigate from. Looking at this I think it fits with Orion being the head of his family but also the head of Black family in general based off of the fact that he and his family were the ones to live and grow up in 12 Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the Black family. I’ve always found this very interesting with him being the youngest as well. In ancient Egypt the stars of Orion were regarded as a god and to me this tells me that this man holds himself in high regard, likely above others even his fellow Blacks. Ironically the bible mentions Orion three times, naming it “Kesil” which literally means fool. I think this perhaps speaks more to others perception of him rather than his own. I would suspect that perhaps due to his age there would be circumstances where he wouldn’t be taken as seriously, something that would surely infuriate a man who considers himself godlike. In Greek mythology he is described as unnaturally strong which one could pull from for a physical description though I don’t personally. What I find interesting is that he stood up to Gaia saying he could kill every animal on earth and was thus punished for it by Gaia sending a scorpion (the constellations of Scorpius) after him. He was later revived by Ophiuchus, the serpent bearer. He’s described as a hunter and a skilled one and while the best way I can think this translates to what we know of him in canon, it could be the way he protects his ancestral home with quite skilful magic. The fact that Orion is made up of so many stars, especially bright ones could also symbolise the Black family in general and how many not only came before him but also how tight knit the family is that he is literally made up of them. This could also be a nod to their incest tendencies, especially given how Orion is the only Black we actually know of (other than his wife of course) to marry another relative.

I am personally a big fan of Orion’s middle name being Regulus, no matter if it’s from a cis or trans Regulus standpoint. Either Orion named both his sons after himself which seems entirely on point with a man that likes himself so much, or Regulus looked enough up to his father and valued family naming traditions enough to name himself after the man. Obviously sharing a name with his son there's going to be some overlap when it comes to personality traits that you can pull from it. Regulus means "prince" and/or "little king" in Latin and this is another time where you see Orion with a name that means something of great importance/something that is generally speaking better than someone else. It is also known as "the king", "the great", "the mighty" and "the centre" as well as one of the royal stars in the Persian monarchy. Even if the whole "heart of the lion" does not fit with Orion in the same sense that some might think it fits Regulus, I'd argue that Orion values/possesses/wishes to possess a good amount of the things that a lion traditionally symbolise, such as courage, nobility, royalty, strength, stateliness and valour.

This ended up so much longer than originally planned which is why I'm saving Bellatrix, Andromeda, Narcissa, Sirius and Regulus for another post lol. Hopefully someone enjoys this ramble vjnfjbngjb I've already made multiple people listen to it as it was being made.

This was inspired by an ask I got from @starchildlazaro so I figured I'd tag you since it turned into a post instead of just a normal answer,,,

[mentally-unstabler]

Recovery

Elliot Stabler x Female Reader

TWs- Canonical SVU violence/themes, mention of possible rape (no descriptions or imagery)

AN - this will definitely have a few more parts to it. Check out part 1 here (Disposed). Also we kinda jump around POV-wise this chapter so hopefully it’s not confusing at all.

Masterlist

— 1.1k wc—

Olivia paced back and forth in the waiting room, agonizing over the lack of answers regarding the conditions of her fellow detectives. Despite it being the middle of the night, the whole SVU squad had rushed down to Mercy Hospital as soon as they got the call. None of them had slept in hours.

They’d lost contact with you and Elliot around 6pm the day before, which instantly triggered alarm bells. The raid on the traffickers house was supposed to go down that night and as hours passed without contact, the squad knew something was wrong.

Olivia was the first to raise alarm to the situation. The rest of the squad reserved their worry for a few hours, hoping the two of you had just been caught up and weren’t able to call at the scheduled time.

Eventually, Fin and Munch did a drive by of the target house. When a neighbor commented the occupants left quickly after dinner, they immediately phoned the Captain.

An APB went out on the radios for the missing detectives but no leads panned out. It wasn’t until 2am that Cragen received a call from the Coast Guard, informing him that there were two individuals being pulled from the water. There had been no updates since.

Olivia looks up as a nurse enters the room. The squad was preparing themselves for bad news, seeing as there had been no updates since the initial call to Cragen.

“Is Captain Cragen present?” the nurse asks, scanning the room. She pulls the Captain aside and briefs him on the conditions of his detectives.

Cragen’s face looks relieved as the nurse gave the update, giving Olivia hope that your conditions weren’t as bad as she feared. Eventually Cragen thanked the nurse and returned to where your squad was sat.

“Elliot is recovering from exhaustion and hypothermia,” the Captain explains. “The doctors think they were in the water for over an hour.”

“What about y/l/n?” Fin asks.

“She’s in surgery,” Cragen sighs. “She took a bullet to the shoulder. The nurse said the surgery will be a few hours due to the damage.”

“Ouch,” Fin replies, grimacing at the idea of shoulder surgery.

“But they’ll both be ok?” Olivia asks, worried for her friends.

“They believe so,” Cragen assures her.

All they could do at this point is believe.

IAB showed up at the hospital shortly after dawn. The Captain briefed Tucker on the status of the detectives but explained neither of them was able to give a statement at the moment. Tucker was agitated at the lack of evidence regarding the prior nights events but declined to press for further information out of the Captain.

As soon as Elliot was awake, Olivia and the Captain went to visit him. Fin and Munch hung back in case the nurse had updates on your condition. Also, they didn’t want to overwhelm Elliot, and they needed to keep an eye on Tucker.

“Hey El. How are you feeling?” Olivia asks her partner as she enters his room. The Captain hangs in the doorway, allowing Olivia the time to talk to Elliot.

“Like I got hit by a bus,” Elliot groans in response. “How is she?”

“Y/N’s in surgery,” Olivia replies, sitting on the edge of his bed. “They’re working on her shoulder.”

“I don’t know what happened,” he said. “One second we were talking with the traffickers and the next second they had us bound in the back of a truck.”

“It’s ok,” Olivia reassures him. “We can figure all of this out later. Right now you need to rest.”

“Hey Elliot,” Cragen chimes in. “IAB needs a statement but I let them know you’re still resting. Munch is going to hold back Tucker as long as he can.”

Elliot nods in understanding, his eyes threatening to close in exhaustion.

“I thought she was dead,” he mumbles to Olivia. “She passed out. She wasn’t breathing.”

“How long was she out?” Olivia asks, worried about your condition.

“Too long,” Elliot replies. “I was swimming as fast as I could but she wasn’t moving. She was so cold and limp.”

“She’s going to be alright El,” Olivia states, giving her partner a reassuring smile. Elliot and you had always had a special bond to say the least. It seemed like everyone in the world could see it except the two of you.

“Do you want me to call Kathy?” Olivia asks Elliot.

“Sure,” he replies quietly. “I don’t think she wants to see me but it would be good to let her know I’m ok.”

Kathy had walked out on their marriage months ago and they weren’t exactly on the best terms. Elliot still held onto hope that their marriage was fixable, but was unsure how realistic that outcome was.

Olivia agreed to call Kathy and left Elliot to rest, turning his lights off before shutting the door.

On the way back to the waiting room, the Captain was intercepted by a nurse with a clipboard. Olivia went to join him but Cragen quickly asked her to go update the squad and call Kathy.

Cragen can tell by the look on the nurse’s face that it wasn’t great news.

“Mr. Cragen are you aware that Y/N gave you power of attorney in situations where she is incapacitated?” The nurse asks.

“Yes I’m aware,” Cragen responds. You didn’t have any family and so when you joined SVU a few years prior, you gave Cragen power of attorney in case of this exact situation. You trusted that he would make good decisions on your behalf.

“She’s out of surgery but still sedated,” the nurse explains. “But we need your permission before we can do the rape kit.”

“Rape kit?” Cragen asks, confused.

“The surgeons noted recent vaginal trauma whilst prepping her for surgery. We would have done the kit sooner but she was losing too much blood,” the nurse explains.

“Of course,” Cragen responds somberly. “You have my permission to do the kit. Can one of my detectives be in the room when you perform it? I know she’s unconscious but she’d want someone she knows there.”

The nurse allows Cragen to fetch Olivia from the waiting room, agreeing it may be best to have a female present. Olivia was also your best friend and an older sister of sorts, so she was the obvious choice for the task.

“Captain what’s going on?” Olivia asks worriedly as soon as they leave the waiting room.

“I need you to go in and sit with her while they do the rape kit,” he explains to her.

“Rape kit?” Olivia asks in shock. “Was she…”

“They think so,” Cragen sighs. “I’m going to go and give IAB an update. They may want Elliot to get one too given the circumstances.”

Olivia nods and follows the directions to the exam room, hoping you’d be ok.

[crab-rangoon-slut]

The Blood We Shed Chapter 8: Odysseus. PART 1

Chapter warning: brief TW for mention of rape

Chapter synopsis: Takes place during “Odysseus”. Ody is on his way to kill the leaches that have overtaken his palace, Telemachus and you are trying desperately to devise a plan in the meantime.

Story Tropes: Telamchus x reader/oc Slow burn, best friends to lovers, eventual smut and fluff, eventual bloody smut hehe~

Synopsis: Found here in chapter 1⬇️

Still donning our sparring armor as we arrive at the palace, we’re greeted by 108 men all shouting at once.

The guards have barred the platform of the throne where Penelope stands.

“WE DEMAND YOU CHOOSE A KING, NOW!”

One angry man spits,

“CHOOSE!”

“IF YOU DON'T WE’LL TAKE THE THRONE FOR OURSELVES—“

“ENOUGH.”

Penelope snaps—totally outside of her typical graceful demeanor. Her booming voice bounces off the walls of the atrium.

A silence falls on the crowd.

She clears her throat, returning to her usual disposition.

“Now that I finally have your attention,”

The Queen continues, attempting to keep the mob at bay with her commanding tone,

“Tomorrow I’ll prepare a challenge for my hand. By the end of the day, one of you shall take your place on the throne as the King of Ithaca.” She decrees void of any readable emotion in her diction.

“WE WON'T WAIT!” One of the suitors calls out, beginning to rally the crowd again.

Antinous stands with the men at the front; a glint in his eye as he finds The Queen’s gaze.

“If you don’t choose a man, we’ll take exactly what we want from you…”

His threat stands out from the shouts of the others.

Penelope merely smiles at him.

She’s not scared.

She’s pissed.

While we watch intently, I’m situated beside Telemachus at the edge of the crowd. I awkwardly hold my hands clasped in front of my body.

Currently, I’m trying to focus on what Penelope is saying and not on the tension of being pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Telemachus. I stare straight ahead. My thoughts and my stomach are twisting with all kinds of feelings.

Let's see how many I can name:

One. Fear. Fear for Penelope’s safety and Telemachus’s; and for the fight we’re anticipating.

Two. Anxiety; and impatience. He and I haven’t concluded our little conversation after Poseidon’s interruption. There’s so much I want to say... But the time is far from right.

Three. I’m enraged at the suitors. No. Rage is too kind. I’m just about ready to drive my blade into the back of any given man in an instant. And honestly? I can’t wait to.

Four. Grief.

I find myself grieving my father for a second time.

I’m also anxious for Telemachus and his reunion with his own kin. I pray that Odysseus is everything that he’s imagined. But.. at the same time… I’ve had no father return to me today. Not even in an urn.

For that, I feel a fifth thing.

Jealousy.

I’m fighting the urge to look at Telemachus and try to read his mind.

The air around us is so tangibly tense you could cut it with a knife. There’s a shared understanding that our feelings are not a priority right now… even while the effects of his confession have an iron grip on us.

I do notice something out of the corner of my eye though.

Next to me, Telemachus is clenching and unclenching his fist.

It’s a nervous tic I’ve taken notice of ages ago. His whole body is ridged.

He’s violently aware that the suitors are at their breaking point.—

But so are we.

Penelope is trying to buy more time and I know it. All three of us do. And damned if we don’t need it to devise a plan.

We’re incredibly outnumbered by 108 power-hungry men, many of whom are pushing twice my size.

I don’t like these odds.

On a far wall, I notice our friend Alekos.

He's been trying to catch my eye; he subtly gestures for me to come to him

I look to see if Telemachus has noticed. He hasn’t.

His vision is narrowed, skimming every move of the suitors with keen eyes.

I gently tap his hand; he snaps out of it.

I tilt my head toward Alekos.

He looks at me and then the men, then back at me.

“Go,” he whispers with understanding. He’s holding his post.

I nod, slipping quietly along the outskirts of the crowd.

I make my way to Alekos.

He silently greets me as I join him.

“They’re insatiable.” He mumbles, staring into the herd of suitors.

“That’s an understatement.” I hiss.

“I’ve heard what they’ve been planning,” he says, keeping a watchful eye on Telemachus and Penelope,

“They’re coordinating a detailed scheme to kill the Prince—“

My jaw tightens. I know of their threats, but now they have the means and proper motive to commit such a crime.

“And— they plan on taking The Queen.”

His words are quiet and bone-chilling as he speaks,

“They want to force an heir upon her… and attempt to defile the king’s wedding bed.”

“By the gods…”

I whisper,

“I shouldn’t have assumed any less…”

Alekos nods grimly,

“Odysseus can’t be far. And Queen Penelope has also devised a plan...”

He says with confidence; it then turns to grave concern.

“I’ve volunteered to take up a sword and join the sentries in The Majesties' protection. However… when things go wrong, we need to get you out as quickly as possible.”

I shake my head, arms crossed watching the scene in front of me.

“I’m not leaving. All we need to do is stall just a little longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile,

Odysseus works his way through the back end of the village, chasing the distant palace. His hair is a long, mangy mess, and his beard is overgrown. The calloused man is still sopping wet, disheveled, and determined.

That’s exactly how Athena finds him.

“10 years is a long time, old friend, I hardly recognized you~”

His strides falter as she smiles down, floating beside him. The Divine hadn’t aged a day.

“Athena?”

“Odysseus~”

He's stunned for a moment, however he's quick to remember his mission.

He focuses his pace on the palace again.

“I need to see Penelope.”

“That you do. But you can only stay in the shadows for so long. Let me lend you a hand…”

He raises an eyebrow in interest,

“What did you have in mind?”

Athena hums.

“Hold still, just for a moment,” she says.

She grants him an elaborate disguise, exchanging his clothes for more ragged and plain robes; aging his skin, lengthening his bread.

It’s unsuspecting, he’ll be able to slip by easily.

“We have much to catch up on. Go. Get to your wife and son.”

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 33

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.

Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The rest of the month passes in a blur. Every week is as busy as the last as I continue to juggle managing the cafe, shows, classes, therapy and my relationship with Jensen. It’s finally one week out from summer break. All my exams are done and my assignments are mostly done less a final edit. There are just a few shows left in our run and I feel overly proud of myself for getting this far.

I roll over in the too-big king-sized bed in the too-fancy hotel pull what was Jensen’s pillow to my chest. The smell has since faded but it’s still comforting to know he was here. We haven’t seen each other since that weekend as he’s been busy with filming and a few conventions still, but his last day of filming is on the same day as my last show and I’m more than excited about the possibilities. He keeps saying he wants to come back to watch me take my last bow on that stage, but I just can’t see it being possible when he still has to film. But I can’t let that bring me down. Whenever the sadness or fear starts to set in I focus on the ceiling and do the meditation tricks that Dr. Katelyn has been teaching me and I feel better. Over the past month we’ve managed to cover so much of my past and she’s helped me to accept it. With each session I’ve felt a little more ready to embrace a possibility of a future where I could date again. I can tell Jensen’s still concerned, but I just hope I can prove my how I’ve come over summer.

My alarm blares through the room and I force myself to detach from the pillow and climb out of my safe haven. I drag myself into the heavenly shower and attempt to wake myself up properly. As the hot water streams down my body my mind wanders back to the plans Jensen laid out during our brief call when I was on the Subway last night. I know I still have to call my parents and confirm that we can stay with them on certain days, but I know they’ll be over the moon about it, especially when they know it’s not because I’m running away from my problems but embracing my future.

I call my mom while I eat breakfast. She answers quickly and promptly puts me on video so my dad can talk too. After briefly updating them on how my daily life is going I dip into the real reason I called. “So…Does the offer to come visit in summer still stand?”

“Of course!” the both say, then my mom adds, “As long as it’s for the right reasons.”

“It is. I was also wondering if it would be alright if I brought a friend?”

“Of course,” my mom says as my dad says, “Depends.”

I laugh. “He’s a good guy, I swear. I trust this one. He’s also paid for the flights, so…I tried to fight against that, but he won.”

“He sounds alright, but I’ll reserve my judgement until I meet ‘im.” My dad says.

I sigh playfully. “He’s Texan, daddy. You can take him to Uncle Liam’s range.”

“Your last one was Texan too, a poor excuse for one too. My baby doesn’t get hurt again.”

“I love you, daddy.”

“Love you too, Sweet Pea. Separate rooms, Margie.”

“Daaad,” I whine.

“You father’s right. You won’t both fit in your old bed anyway. He can sleep in the den.”

I hear my dad clap and then hum in agreement. “Alright, well I gotta get going, Sweet Pea. I’ll see you soon.” He says to me and then he kisses my mom before saying, “You keep that girl in line, Marge.” He shoots me a wink and then walks out of the frame.

“You look good, happy.”

“Thanks. I am. Therapy is helping. So, is Jensen.”

“I’m glad. So, this will just be a visit then?”

“Yes. I fully intend to come back to New York to graduate next year and then hopefully do more Broadway.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom. I love you. I’ll send you those dates, but I should go now.”

“I love you too, Sweetie. I’ll see you very soon.”

I blow her a kiss and then end the call. I quickly slip the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, finish getting ready for work and then all but skip down the street to the cafe.

When I get there I help Stewie load up the truck for today’s deliveries to the set. As I shut the backdoor he tosses me the keys. I shake my head, “Stewie-I-It’s been too long. No. I can’t”

“I’ll be with you. I taught my two eldest to drive when they didn’t know the gas from the brakes. You’ll be fine. It would be a great help if I knew you were capable. But I won’t make you go alone until I know you’re confident.”

“Stewie…But-What-the cafe…”

“We’re gonna be late. Come on.”

I sigh and reluctantly get in the driver seat. I tell myself it’s like riding a bike or a horse, it’s muscle memory. It’s not like I don’t which pedal is which or how to change gears. I just haven’t had a reason or access to drive since I left Texas and the roads are so different here to in the country. I take a deep breath and turn the key in the ignition. I slowly and cautiously navigate out of the alley and onto the main road. Stewie stays quiet, he’s much more calm than my dad was when I first got behind the wheel of his Ranger. He calmly navigates me through the city to the film set. When we get to the gate he passes me his ID pass so I can show the security guard. He looks in the window, nods, hands back the ID and then opens the gate for us. I pass through it carefully and then pull over to the side near the back of the catering tent. When I get out and inspect my work it’s by no means straight but I didn’t hit anything or anyone so I call it a win and rush over to help Stewie unload. As I take the first crate of bread rolls into the tent I spot one of the actresses filling a bowl of fruits, likely stocking up for the day. I smile at her as she glaces my way and then focus on putting the crate down carefully. As I come back with a second crate she’s waiting near the back entrance. 

“Hey,” She says quietly.

“Hi,” I respond politely, “Did you want something specific while we’re unloading?”

She shakes her head. “I was hoping we could chat.”

“Is it about the catering? Is something not to your liking? Stewie’s just outside, he does most of the baking you could chat to him if you like.” I say as I balance the crate against my waist to support some of the weight.

“The food’s great. It’s actually something more personal. You’re dating Jensen Ackles, right?”

I barely know how to respond. I know we’d been spotted a few times but I didn’t think the rumors were so clear yet. We had’ve even given ourselves that label yet, eventhough I guess we are. I can’t help but wonder if Jensen told her anything. He mentioned he was close with the director but he’s never mentioned the actors. I try to stop myself from going to the thought that would undo so much work. I force myself to trust him and take a deep breath to quiet my mind as Dr. Katelyn has taught me. I look back at the actress and give her the most genuine smile I can manage as I finally reply, “We are friends. He was a major part in securing this catering gig. Anything more is his story to tell.”

She nods as if she can see right through my careful answer. “It’s best you keep it that way. Relationships between celebrities and…” she looks me up and down, “Don’t tend to last.”

I nod and plaster on a fake smile to hide my hurt. “Thanks for the advice.” I want to ask how well she even knows him and why she thinks it won’t work, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer, or at least not from her. Jensen’s given me no reason to doubt him, not since Valentine’s at least, so I choose to trust him. After staring me down for what feels like an eternity, she finally takes a bite out of one of the shiny green apples out of her bowl and turns away. I quickly compose myself and focus on the reason I’m here.

Later that night, while I’m on the subway after the show I call Jensen. I know he often does night shoots, so he’s not always able to answer straight away, but he made me promise to call him anyway so he knows I’m safe. So, I do. To my surprise, he answers quickly.

“Hey Darlin’,” he says as soon as the line connects.

“Hey Handsome, you busy?”

“You might regret calling me that right now…” Just as I’m about to question it a selfie comes through. He’s covered in fake blood, scars and dirt.

“I stand by my judgment. But I think sending that photo might go against the NDA.”

“Good thing I threw it out then. So, any update on summer?”

“Yeah, I told my parents…”

“And?”

“We have to sleep in separate rooms. My dad-”

“Not a problem. They care about you. Good. But I hope you know I’d never…not in your parents house anyway.”

“I know that. But they don’t. They don’t know you. Just T-”

“I know. I have no doubt my parents would want to say the same thing, except they know me.”

As much as I want to throw myself into all this planning, the actress’s words from earlier circle back through my mind and I feel torn. I follow another pieces of Dr. Katelyn’s advice and ask for the reassurance that I need rather than letting myself spiral. “Speaking of knowing you…How close are you with the actresses at the set we’ve been catering?”

“Barely. Why?”

“Just met one of them today and she seemed to know about us. She told me I shouldn’t get involved with you.”

“Did she use those words?”

I sigh. “No…She just said that celebrities don’t last with people like me.”

“Maybe that’s her experience but she doesn’t know us. She doesn’t even know what kind of person you are. I may be an actor, but so are you. You’re just on a different stage. Doesn’t make us any different. We’re both people from Texas with a dream, my status in the media shouldn’t impact our feelings for each other.”

“Yeah…”

“Alright, Beautiful, talk to me. Put it all out there. I want to hear all those insecurities so we can work through ‘em together.”

“I’ve got a session with Dr. Katelyn tomorrow. I’ll go through it then.”

“Y/N. Don’t shut me out, please. You’re obviously insecure about this…which is normal, but I don’t want you to bottle it.”

“I just don’t even know…”

“Alright. Promise you’ll talk to the doc tomorrow?”

“I promise.”

“What can I do to help you feel better in the meantime?”

“I don’t know. Just be here. There? Whatever.”

“Of course. I’m here and I really care about you. And I can’t wait to see you. This hasn’t changed your plans for summer has it?”

I stare out the window as the city lights zoom past as I think. I think about that fact that Jensen is taking the time to talk to me during his break, all the times he’s come to visit, the hotel room he organised so I would feel comfortable and the numerous other things he’s said and done for me since we met. I make my decision to be strong. “No. I won’t deliberately prove her right. We may or may not last, but that will be on us. Not because some actress thinks we won’t. ”

“That’s my girl. I agree. You almost at your stop?”

I look up at the small screen to check the next stop. “Two stops left. You need to go?”

“Soon. Tell me one thing you wish you could do this summer?”

“Go riding with you on the trails I used to take.”

“Absolutely. What else?”

“Continue to find myself and see where we fit together. I’m no gold digger, Jens. I really just want a quiet summer with you.”

“I didn’t mean to imply-I just-You’ve had a rough time of it all and you’ve been working so hard. You deserve to enjoy your break.”

“Our break. And I’m not taking a break from everything. I talked to the doc about this trip the other day and my anxieties regarding it. I want to continue therapy over the phone with her. I need to be able to make time for that.”

 “Of course. Whenever you need, we’ll work that in.”

“Thanks. Jens, I-”

“Don’t say it. Not yet.”

“Chill, I wasn’t gonna say that! I just wanted you to know that I appreciate you doing this and being here for me despite everything or since everything or whatever.”

“I made a promise. I keep my promises.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never, @deansimpalababy,

@winchesterwild78, @kr804573, @chriszgirl92, @smoothdogsgirl

@speakinvain, @deans-baby-momma, @1967winchesterimpala

@lmg14, @superrey, @kamisobsessed

[aceofwhump]

Broadchurch - Alec Hardy Whump Fanfics

Heart and Lungs by orphan_account Summary: Set between S02E05 and S02E06. While Ellie is at his house working on the Sandbrook case, Hardy passes out and falls in the river. Ellie rescues him and is determined to get him warm again. Whumps/TWs: near drowning, heart condition, heart attack, shower to get warm, water trauma/ptsd, caretaking, worried Ellie,

a habit takes twenty-one days to build and two years to fester by PUNK_MENACE Summary: Ellie finds Alec on the floor of his kitchen one morning. She's worried it's his heart again but when he wakes up, she realizes he hasn't been eating or sleeping properly, and it's been going on for a while. It's time for Alec to really start healing. Whumps/TWs: exhaustion, malnutrition, not taking care of oneself, collapsing, passing out, emotional whump

Deep Wide Ocean by orphan_account Summary: Post S2 AU. Claire Ripley revives the accusations of rape and abuse she made against Hardy, leading to the arrest of both Hardy and Miller. As the detectives race to clear their names, things are complicated by the revelation of new secrets and the return of Joe Miller. Whumps/TWs: rape mention, accused of rape, arrested, nightmares, ptsd, emotional whump, crying, heart condition, panic attacks, poisoned, collapsing, hospital,

Understanding of the Dark by everythingmurky Summary: Hardy becomes the focus of Joe Miller's revenge after he's forced to leave Broadchurch. Tipped off by his daughter, Ellie works to find him before it's too late. Part 1 of Valley of the Shadow Whumps/TWs: non con touching, rape/implied rape/sexual assault, kidnapped, tied up, strung up, pacemaker/heart condition, hospital, rescue, recovery, nightmares

Losing the Light by everythingmurky Summary: After being the target of Joe Miller's revenge, Hardy stayed in Broadchurch and resumed his duties as detective inspector just before a serial rapist attacked another victim. An alternate telling of season three, following the events of Understanding of the Dark. Part 2 of Valley of the Shadow Whumps/TWs: sexual assault/rape/rape recovery, trauma, nightmares, collapsing, hospital, heart condition, not taking care of oneself, intubation, worry, heart attack, non con touching,

Down By The River by nannyogg123 for Hazelmist Summary: Have you ever wondered how Alec Hardy’s and Ellie Miller’s lives would have gone, if the pendant would never have been lost? Fate still brings them together in this AU story, united in seeking justice for those who can’t speak for themselves. A slightly different take on the story we are all familiar with (eventual Alec/Ellie). Whumps/TWs: AU/alternate meeting, heart condition, exhaustion, sick, passing out, hospital, collapsing, past trauma, heart attack, aed usage, he's basically a walking mess the whole fic and it's amazing

A Million Holes Poked In The Soul - Part One by nannyogg123 Summary: This is Part One of the story - Alec Hardy's weeks leading up to the Sandbrook case... Where Alec is planning on taking his daughter to a wedding, but life gets in the way. (AU as we don't know much about life before Sandbrook) Part Two will focus on the Sandbrook case and how it rips Alec Hardy's life apart. There is no Ellie Miller in his life yet, but there is Daisy...Part 1 of A Million Holes Poked In The Soul and is a prequel of sorts to Down By The River Whumps/TWs: AU, heart condition, lightheaded, dizzy, passing out, hospital, heart attack, nightmares, emotional whump/angst,

A Million Holes Poked In The Soul - Part Two by nannyogg123 Summary: This is the story of the Sandbrook case and how it will rip Alec Hardy's life apart. It's a direct continuation of "A Million Holes Poked In The Soul – Part One", and we will meet familiar OCs. So, reading Part One is recommended to put certain things in context, but you can chose not to. A brief synopsis is provided. It may all be AU. Naturally there are spoilers for both seasons. Part 2 of A Million Holes Poked In The Soul Whumps/TWs: This is insanely whumpy and so good. Lots of scenes related to his increasingly worse heart condition, emotional whump and angst, hospital stays, passing out, nearly dying, and more.

A Million Holes Poked In The Soul - Part Three by nannyogg123 Summary: This is the conclusion of “A Million Holes Poked In The Soul”. It’s the final part that deals with the Sandbrook case aftermath and leads up to Alec Hardy coming to Broadchurch. Reading Part One & Two is strongly recommended as this story is a direct continuation. Part 3 of A Million Holes Poked In The Soul Whumps/TWs: Pretty much the same as part 2

the light fails and the fog rolls in by Anonymous Summary: Of course it's Miller who finds him crying on the office floor. Whumps/TWs: emotional whump, crying, tears, comfort,

Wrong Moves by marshmallowfluffiness Summary: Alec decided to stay in Broadchurch and got his job back, and his daughter's life is in danger. An unexpected and highly unliked character returns and it's up to the people to defend themselves. Can the people of Broadchurch take another emotional blow? Can Ellie and Alec survive this? Whumps/TWs: kidnapped, waterboarded, torture, beaten, left to die, hospital, nearly killed, coma, nightmares, strangled,caring broadchurch members, caught in an explosion, character death, severe depression, suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, major character death, unhappy ending

Her eyes look sharp and steady into the empty parts of me by SubwayToHellAndBack Summary: Breathe. He can’t stand watching Miller be so much better at this than him. He doesn’t know how to help and keeps asking Trish the wrong questions. Even though they are the only questions he knows how to ask right now. He can’t tell her what he would like to tell her. So, he keeps on asking these bloody, insensitive questions and letting Miller do all the comforting and talking with that stupid soft voice she’s got. He’s mostly just concentrating on trying to breathe and keeping a calm exterior. It's been working quite well so far if he says so himself. It is making him seem a little grumpier than he would like to be at the moment but it's fine, it’s nothing Miller’s not used to from him by now. She’ll get over it even if she looks at him with this sort of motherly disappointed look. Breathe. Or. A season three rewrite in which Alec deals (tries to avoid) with some past trauma of his and when Ellie finds out about it she's there to help him with it and they become closer than ever. Whumps/TWs: rape, panic attack, past trauma

Alt. Day 28 - Sensory Overload by biscuits_and_whiskey Summary: There’s a reason Hardy hides in his office. Why he generally abstains from prolonged socialization. Why he only has Ellie as a friend. Because generally? People are a lot. And massive social gatherings are not his forte. Whumps/TWs: social anxiety, sensory overload,

Garbage Bins and Denial by twelvehotairballoons Summary: Alec Hardy did not take sick days. Except for when he did, apparently, and Ellie was not about to let him take it all alone. Whumps/TWs: sick, nauseous, emeto/vomiting, caretaking

Broken/Break by InSpaceYoghurt Summary: Hardy was going to murder the person who lost their booking. He had specifically called in and asked for two SEPARATE beds. He would have asked for separate ROOMS if he could afford it. And for good reason, too. The last thing he needed was for his colleague // only friend to find him crying, alone, sitting on the bathroom floor. Whumps/TWs: nightmare, heart condition, caretaking

Save Me by Ilovecastiel18 Summary: Post-series. Hardy almost drowns during a case. Ellie has to calm him down. Hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff. One-Shot. Whumps/TWs: near drowning, panic attack, caretaking/comfort,

Never Again by Rosencrantz95 Summary: In which Alec gets hurt while pursuing a suspect, but he’s fine, really. At least he thinks so. Nothing can be wrong with him because he’s had that damn surgery! He’s fine now! Nothing can be wrong with him. He can’t go back to the worst year (what was almost the LAST year) of his life. He can’t do it. Never again. Whumps/TWs: hit in the chest and goes down hard, heart condition, lightheaded, exhaustion, chest pain, emeto/vomiting, collapsing, passing out, Ellie whump, surgery, Daisy is kidnapped, choked,

Kinsley Road by biscuits_and_whiskey Summary: Broadchurch is dealing with a street gang problem. Hardy and Miller have arrested the leader of a local gang, the Kinsley Road Boys. The gang, in turn, retaliates by targeting Hardy. Whumps/TWs: badly beaten, nearly killed,

Petrol Burns by biscuits_and_whiskey Summary: Alec has been kidnapped; Ellie and Katie are on the trail of his kidnapper and discover the terrifying fate he'd planned for Hardy. Whumps/TWs: kidnapped, captivity, emotional whump, tied up, gagged, beaten, rescue, crying, hugging

Seventeen Suits and a Beacon by RuntotheForest Summary: Ellie and Alec find themselves in a dangerous and seemingly impossible situation. How will they get out of it? Part 1 of Forged in Fire Whumps/TWs: shot, bleeding out, can't get to medical treatment, field medicine

The Grief That Does Not Speak by RuntotheForest Summary: Ellie and Alec deal with physical and emotional fallout from their harrowing day (as described in "Seventeen Suits and A Beacon") Part 2 of Forged in Fire Whumps/TWs: recovery, injury recovery, emeto/vomiting, emotional whump, bleeding, passing out, pain, nightmares, fever, hospital

The Trouble With Normal by RuntotheForest Summary: After the events described in the previous two installments in the series, Alec and Ellie attempt to ease their way into a 'normal' life and relationship, but various issues arise that seem to make 'normal' more challenging than it needs to be. Part 3 of Forged in Fire Whumps/TWs: injury recovery, physical therapy, pain, drugged, non con cuddling, passing out, sick, nightmares, fever

A Shoulder to Lean On by RuntotheForest Summary: When Alec and Ellie head out to make an arrest, things don't go as planned. Whumps/TWs: hit by a car, shoulder injury, pacemaker, injury recover, concussion, sick, dizziness, emeto/vomiting, caretaking,

Pacemaker series by TheBasilRathbone Summary: Alternate First Meeting - If Hardy had never taken the job in Broadchurch in the first place. 7 part series Whumps/TWs: heart condition

Late night in the police station by fan_fics_are_life Summary: Alec ignores his headache and ends up passing out on Ellie. Whumps/TWs: headache, pain, passing out, caretaking

Open Water by biscuits_and_whiskey Summary: Post-S3 For Ellie Miller, life can only be normal for so long. When a figure from her past reappears and takes D.I. Hardy, Ellie struggles dealing with fears both past and present. D.I. Hardy, meanwhile, struggles to survive when his fear is leveraged against him. Whumps/TWs: kidnapped, torture, tied up, starvation, hallucinations, drowning/near drowning as a torture technique, fear, whipping, rescue,

The shift by keyrousse Summary: Alec gets hurt as a consequence of his last case. Ellie has to help him during his recovery and discovers a new side of him in the process. Whumps/TWs: hit by a car, attempted murder, hospital, broken bones, traumatic amnesia, inujry recovery,

Stopgap by sunbeamruins Summary: A slight season 2 AU picking up between the events of episodes 3 and 4 where Lee uses his break in to Hardy's house for more nefarious purposes, and the fall out from said actions. Whumps/TWs: Graphic depictions of rape, rape recovery,

Friends and foes by marlowe78 Summary: Even as he realized where he was – in a field, wet and wobbly and confused, about ten miles out of Broadchurch – he knew that something very, very not good had happened. Because the last thing he clearly remembered was picking up his daughter from school. Whumps/TWs: traumatic amnesia, kidnapped, casefic, noncon touching, strong language, drugged,

Stained Red by Ellezaria Summary: Alec gets in the way of a bullet aimed for Ellie and Ellie is not pleased. Whumps/TWs: shot

Cold Case by shambling Summary: A man has been reported missing, and its all routine; Alec goes off to talk to his boss and Ellie stays behind to direct resources. But things are never that simple. Whumps/TWs: knocked out, locked in a freezer, hypothermia

There Is One Consolation In Being Sick; And That Is The Possibility That You May Recover To A Better State Than You Were Ever In Before by Lord_What_Fools_These_Mortals_Be Summary: When Hardy doesn't turn up to work one day, Ellie goes round to his house to investigate. She finds a very sick, or in his words "completely fine" Hardy, and takes it upon herself to care for him, even if that means force-feeding him chicken soup. Whumps/TWs: sick, emeto/vomiting, caretaking,

Five Times Alec Hardy Was Inconvenienced by His Pacemaker (And One Time He Wasn’t) by GnomeIgnominious Summary: Ellie notices a lot about Alec in the year following his pacemaker surgery. He goes through a very subtle personality change, as though the Dorset weather is finally eroding him into something a little more happy. It's not without its teething problems, though Whumps/TWs: pacemaker, heart condition

She Hates Him, She's Sure of It. At Least, She Was Sure of It. by WhumpTown Summary: "No more broken heart." Episodes come far and few between, nightmares send him into wheezing fits but they don't nearly kill him anymore. One episode, one he can't even remember, ruins everything they'd fought for. He finds himself on the table again but this time, it's not nearly the same. Whumps/TWs: struggling to breathe, pacemaker, heart condition, surgery, collapsing, defibrillation, recovery,

[thecrispydemon]

My Personal Elm Street:What Freddy Krueger and a Nightmare on Elm Street Taught Me about Myself

TW: brief mentions of rape, and abuse

When I was a kid I wasn’t allowed to watch Horror movies, however I’ve always had a fascination with dark things. When I went to the library I often read books about macabre topics such as, ghosts, and urban legends.

I would ask my classmates, or family members about horror movies they’ve seen, because I was afraid to watch them myself. One day, I was in my third grade classroom sitting with some of the other kids, I don’t remember how we began talking about horror, but I learned about iconic figures like Micheal, Jason, Chucky, but the one that made me the most uneasy was Freddy Krueger.

I remember lying awake at night, thinking about him, the burnt face, the glove with soldered razors, but worst of all was the idea of falling asleep and never waking up. Eventually I reached a point where I was tired of being afraid. Before I fell asleep I’d imagine going to meet him. I envisioned myself walking through a forest with serpentine trees poking out of the fog. The trail lead me to some decrepit cabin, and just behind the door he’d be there. The bright, ratty red and green sweater stood out from the rotting grey wood of the cabin. I don’t remember what was said, what I do recall is that I talked to him as if he were a friend, as if he were a misunderstood soul. Of course I knew this wasn’t the case, it was more about psychological comfort. I did this until my fear of him faded, once I accomplished that, so did his presence in my life, until much later, where he impacted me in a way I didn’t expect.

I started watching horror my freshmen year of high school, since I’m slow at watching new things, I didn’t watch a Nightmare on Elm Street until my senior year. The film peaked my interest, so I decided to watch the sequels. My passion for the franchise was cemented when I watched the second film, Freddy’s Revenge.

Have you ever heard a song that gave you chills the first time you heard it? As if the notes resonated off of something deep within? That was my experience watching Freddy’s Revenge, though I didn’t get chills I still felt that deep resonance. I felt a magnetic pull towards Freddy, like a reflection in a funhouse mirror, a reflection of you, but it isn’t. For a long time I couldn’t figure out why. In the beginning I thought I was experiencing another hyper-fixation, similar to ones I’ve had in the past.

For a year I spent my time learning about the franchise, reading, watching interviews, anything I could get my hands on I consumed. Despite my passion, there was a part of me that was anxious I was doing something socially unacceptable, or that I was liking something “the wrong way”, because Freddy is insinuated to be a child predator. I had a gut feeling that what I was experiencing was more passionate than just about being a fan. I felt like he was a part of my essence. I wouldn’t describe myself as a spiritual person, but something that is ingrained in your psyche, that is apart of your being. and I was afraid what people would think if they found out. I tried to convince myself to not feel the way I did, by imposing rules upon myself. I saw videos, and comments about how it’s “problematic” to simply like Freddy, which legitimized my fears. Despite my anxiety I kept on engaging with the series because it gave me a sense of comfort, and reassurance, ironically enough.

Eventually I wanted Freddy to be my next cosplay project. I gathered all of the things I needed, and on Halloween I woke up early to begin the several hours of makeup. I set to work, layering on latex, my face slowly morphing into his. When I was finished I was overcome with euphoria. As the sun began to set trick-r-treaters made their way through the neighborhood, I stood outside handing out candy. I wasn’t seen as my usual self, instead I was treated as if I was him. There was a level of authenticity that I felt. It’s like a suppressed part of me got to finally come to the surface.

While I learned about the franchise I found the fandom, which was a huge turning point for me. I found others with a similar passion, and they all seemed like average people. My worries about enjoying a “problematic” character lifted. However this did not address all of the emotions I was experiencing, because a lot of people didn’t experience the same intimate connection with Freddy as I did.

I wasn’t completely overcome with shame, due to spending time with my thoughts I determined that I don’t have malevolent tendencies, nor was it the cause for my connection with Freddy, instead it was examining his personality, motivations, and backstory that gave me insight.

From being a product of rape Freddy was mocked and socially isolated from his peers he was passed around several orphanages until being “adopted” by an abusive alcoholic. People treated him as evil by default. All throughout his life he’s only seen cruelty and pain. My life thus far has never been nearly as tragic, but being outcasted, and socially isolated is something that deeply resonates with me. Due to having physical disabilities, being queer, not to mention having undiagnosed ADHD made social connection that much harder. Overall I just couldn’t assimilate socially in school. Since I was undiagnosed, my ADHD symptoms were perceived as me being purposely difficult, like I was bad by default and needed to be “corrected”. Over time this led me to attain a strong sense of independence, and fierce internal rage. I became more vigilant and suspicious of others, in turn it made being vulnerable difficult. Though I wasn’t abused, I see some his fears in myself such as being afraid of being vulnerable, or asking for help out of fear of being seen as “weak”. Additionally having a burning determination in our goals.

Although there are nuances between how Freddy and I perceive the world, and how we treat others. To me he not only represents my darker nature, but my passion, individualism, and tenacity. Accepting him as apart of my identity has given me the strength to take up space in the world, that I deserve to be seen, respected, and to not allow myself to be taken advantage of. Throughout my journey I was afraid that my passionate connection to Freddy said something negative about my morality, or that I was endorsing his actions, but on closer examination I realized that I’ve learned a lot about myself. It’s easy to take a dichotomous view on morality, especially when it comes to fiction. The one takeaway I want to share, is to encourage others to examine their relationship with fiction, and what connects with them, because it’s not always the hero that we learn from.

[spencerreidswhore187]

Checkmate (Part One)

By @spencerreidswhore187 for @sackofpissandshit

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Summary: Spencer finds out that reader is not who he thought they were. (Lots of angst)

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Unsub (g!n) Reader

Word Count: 2.3K

TW: Death, violence, brief mentions of kidnapping, rape, alcohol/substance abuse and guns.

A/N: Hi! This is my first Spencer Reid fanfic and I’ve also not proof read it so please don’t judge if it’s not very good. It’s inspired/named after the song Checkmate by Conan Gray and influenced a little by the film Mr and Mrs Smith.

“I’m sorry Reid,” Emily whispered. When the team found out, they had to draw straws in order to decide who’d be the one to tell Spencer. Penelope had tears in her eyes and Emily chewed her nails down to the finger. None of them wanted to be the one to break his heart, not after Meave.

Spencer had experienced heartbreak before but not like this. Whereas before, when he watched the girl he loved get shot, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. It hurt him so much, like a physical wound. But now? His heart was fine and, yet, it were as if the rest of his organs had shut down. He couldn’t feel anything. He was floating. He could see Emily’s lips moving but all he could hear was your voice, playing over and over and over again in his head.

Spencer remembered the day he told you that he loved you as though it was yesterday. It was late at night, stars splattered across the midnight sky; your legs were draped over his as you lay stretched across Spencer’s sofa. You both had spent the day binging the Star Wars franchise for what was probably the a hundredth (in release order, much to Spencer’s dismay.) You’d looked so beautiful with the crimson and azure lights reflected from the lightsabers on the TV dancing across your skin.

Your mouth was full of pistachio ice cream when the words slipped out, “I love you.” Spencer recalled the way your eyes widened - as if no one had ever said those words to you before. “I love you y/n. I love you, I love you, I love you.” Your lips stretched into a soft smile.

“I love you, too, Spence. More than anything, never forget that.”

Spencer would have sacrificed anything to go back to that moment: every IQ point, every novel in his possession, his role in the FBI. But no matter what happened, Spencer could not turn back time. He could not return to a time before he knew you were a killer.

—————————————————————

“He’s a fucking FBI agent.” Ben spat.

“No he’s not,” you protested, “he’s a surgeon.”

It’s why he had so many spontaneous shifts, why he’d suddenly have to leave in the middle of the night or during a date, it’s why he’d sometimes be gone for long periods of time.

You hated the way Ben laughed at you. You hated Ben. Full stop.

“How can you be so ignorant y/n. You are so god damn naive.”

“He’s a doctor. I swear.” Spencer wouldn’t lie to you. He’d promised you, the night he said he loved you, that he would never lie to you.

Ben slung an arm around your neck and pulled you into him, overwhelming you with the vile scent of alcohol and piss.

“Then fucking explain this,” he grinned, showing you a photo of your boyfriend. You lurched forward as you read the headline of the article: ‘Dr Spencer Reid of Quantico’s Behaviour Analysis Unit’.

It hurt. So much. This betrayal consumed you. You shoved your boss off of you and vomited. You could hear Ben’s laugh reverberating off the grim walls of the basement you were in as he stumbled away.

You scrubbed at your lips, trying to rid yourself of taste.

Your boyfriend, your best friend, worked for the FBI. And you were a killer.

You were eight years old when it happened, they’d grabbed you off the street as you were walking home from school. The police would have found you if they’d looked. Then men go took you did not wear masks, nor did they bother disguising themselves or the van they tied you up in the back of. It had taken your parents four days to realise you were gone. It had taken the police two hours before they gave up searching. No one had cared enough to find the little lost child. No one had ever cared about you, until Spencer.

You learnt quickly that the only way to survive was to do what they say. Deal drugs, steal, you didn’t care. You would do anything to live. And these men exploited that. They manipulated you. They corrupted you. They were the first people you killed. You slept better than ever that night, in an abandoned alley. Alone. Free.

That’s where Ben had found you. Ben, the leader of a minor gang, paid you to go after those who’d wronged him. The people who broke his rules - rapists, pedophiles, murderers. You enjoyed being a vigilante at first. But soon you learnt you could hurt them in way worse than death…Ben agreed with you.

You would frame them for crimes, rob them, plant drugs in their possession. You would stand from the sidelines at watch their lives collapse.

And now it was your turn. This was a strange sense of Karma.

You and Spencer played a game of Chess every night before you went to sleep. You were waiting for him to come home as you slipped a vail of hemlock into his drink and placed the glass next to the board. Staring at pieces, you heard the front door open.

“Checkmate,” you whispered.

—————————————————————

Spencer pressed his loaded gun firmly behind his back, breathing heavily as he climbed the stairs to the bedroom. He knew what would be waiting for him, the same thing that awaits him every evening when he returns from work.

You were sat crossed legged in your chair, leaning over the chess board analysing the pieces. You’d been playing this game for the last three weeks - both of you always managed to escape being checked.

You had a glass of water in hand and there was a glass for him next to his seat. Neither of you drank alcohol. Spencer had been sober since his drug addiction and you refused to drink after he told you that he was ten years sober. It was things like that, the small things you did, that made Spencer believe you were gentle and kind. He chided himself for being so stupid.

You looked up grinning at Spencer who was leaning against the doorway. He loved that smile. He hated himself for still loving it.

“Hey Spence.”

How could you be so glib when your hands are covered in the blood of innocents?

“Hi y/n,” he said, fist tightening around the gun.

“How was work? I saw or the news there was crash near the hospital. Did many people get-” you were interrupted by the sound of a gun cocking.

You abruptly stood up and stumbled away from Spencer.

“W-what are you doing.” You tried your best to sound scared when he pointed the gun at you.

“What do you think I’m doing? You are a criminal. You are a fucking murder!” Spencer did not feel guilty when you flinched.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Baby, please, I’ve never heart anyone. Please put the gun down and we can talk.”

Spencer had never noticed your tell before but it was clearer than ever, now. You chewed on the corner of your lip. This was all the confirmation he needed.

He would not be played like a pawn.

“Cut the act, y/n.” You searched his eyes but they were void of any emotion. Her loving Spencer was gone. Dead.

“What act?”

“You know what bloody act. No more games.”

Fine. You couldn’t help but think that things were finally getting fun.

“You’re not going to shoot me, Spencer, you’re an FBI agent. You have a code of conduct. You have morals.” You mocked, disdain evident in your words. “That’s right, isn’t it? You have doctorates but you are not an actual doctor. What you are is a fucking liar.”

That was the first time you’d ever called him Spencer. It had always been ‘Spence’. The facade was truly gone and he felt wretched.

How could you use him like that?

He walked towards you, pressing the barrel of his gun against your temple, forcing you to walk backwards until you hit the wall.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” you repeated.

And you were right. Despite Emily telling him to shoot if necessary, Spencer could not bring himself to do it. He was better than you. He had to be better than you.

“Yes I am,” he whispered.

He was not surprised when he felt the cold metal of a blade kiss his neck. Spencer had walked into your trap.

He was surprised, however, when a lone tear slipped down your cheek. His fingers itched to brush it away.

You looked up at him, “did it mean nothing to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This. All of it. You knew who I was…what I was the whole time and still you made me love you. You made me believe that you actually loved me.”

This was perhaps the first time Dr Spencer Reid had ever been confused.

“I-what?”

“Why did you have to make me love you?” You breathed.

“Y/N. I don’t understand.”

“You lied about being a doctor. You were undercover. You orchestrated this entire relationship just so you could arrest me. I want to, no, I need to know why.”

“That’s not true. I lied to protect you. My job gets people hurt, it gets people killed!” Spencer cried, “I lied to protect you!”

You pulled your knife away from his neck.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I would never hurt you.”

“You have a gun aimed at my fucking head!”

Spencer dropped the gun and kicked it away from the two of you. You were so close that your noses kept brushing with every movement.

He inhaled sharply, “how many people have you killed?”

“I-none.”

“Margaret Sheppard, Claire Daugherty, Travis Smith, Lance Chen and Aidan Keith. Do those names ring any bells?” Spencer pressed into you, his long fingers curled around your upper arms.

Spencer tried not to think of the nights of the murders, the ones you spent as a knot of limbs - not knowing where one of you began and the other ended. He tried not to think of the way you would gasp or how, afterwards, you would pull him to you, leaning your forehead against his, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. The betrayal was the most painful thing Spencer had ever experienced.

“I did not kill any of them. I didn’t,” you protested.

“So explain to me how they all ended up dead within days of each other. Their necks slit and an ‘x’ cut into their wrists?”

“Spencer, I promise you, I did not kill any of those people.”

“It’s your MO y/n. We know it was you.” Or, he thought he did. You weren’t chewing your lip. “You’re telling me that you have never killed anyone?”

“That’s not-”

“Don’t lie to me!” He shouted, slamming his hand against the wall. “Please. Please just tell me the truth.”

“I have killed people before. I have killed to survive. I have killed because I had to. I have killed because I wanted to. I have killed for fun. But I have not murdered anyone in the last three years. I have not taken a single life since the day I met you!”

Spencer couldn’t breathe.

You continued, “Margaret Sheppard drowned her newborn baby because it was crying too loud. Daugherty ran a sex trafficking ring, Smith and Chen took turns raping their 15 year old daughters. Aidan Keith beat his wife black and blue. They are…were…rich. They were going to get away with it. I did what I was told to, I made them stop.

“I stole millions of dollars from Sheppard. She had no choice but to claim bankruptcy. I helped every single girl escape Claire Daugherty before I put her in a coma. I planted very incriminating evidence on Travis Smith and Lance Chen - evidence that landed them both a life sentence in a high security prison. And Keith? I wanted to kill him. He was one of the men who kidnapped me when I was a child, but I didn’t. I saved him for last. I destroyed what mattered most to him: his reputation.

“I lied and I stole and I hurt but I did not kill any of them. I would not have done anything that would have risked my relationship with you, Spencer.”

He pulled away from you and started pacing around the room. You stood frozen as he reached for his drink.

I have killed to survive. Those words were replaying in his head (curse his eidetic memory). He wanted to know what you meant. He needed to know. What did you mean by one of the men who kidnapped me? Neither Emily or Rossi had told Spencer any of this. None of the BAU had. He mentally went through all of the cold case kidnappings from around eighteen years ago in the area but none stuck out. Were you lying? Was this some elaborate trick? A trap? His head was spinning.

Spencer reached for the untouched glass of water next to the chess board and took a sip.

You lurched foreword and pulled the cup out of his hand, throwing it against the wall. Tiny fragments of glass flew around the room as it shattered, water staining the wall.

It all made sense to Spencer, in that moment, as his eyelids grew heavy, you had poisoned the drink. That was why you had kept glancing at the glass. But, if you wanted to kill him, why did you stop him from drinking more? Why did you break the glass? The last thing he did before the world went dark was whisper “I love you.”

A/N: Thank you for reading! Part two soon ◡̈

[chickensarentcheap]

In a Heartbeat- Chapter 7

Fandom: Extraction

PAIRING: TYLER RAKE AND ESME DRUMMOND (ESTABLISHED OFC. YOU DO NOT NEED TO READ THE OTHER STORIES TO UNDERSTAND THIS ONE)

SUMMARY:  Dhaka nearly ended everything before it even began.  In it’s aftermath and with Tyler’s life teetering on the threshold between life and death, Esme is about to realize just how strong she can be.  And that love happens when it happens. There’s no rules. No rhyme or reason. No timeline.  

WARNINGS: profanity, very brief mentions of spousal abuse and rape

TAGGING: @tragiclyhip @youflickedtooharddamnit @secretaryunpaid @thebejeweledwatercat @munstysmind

@asirensrage @residentdormouse @kmc1989 @karimac @arrthurpendragon

@fanficanatic-tw @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @ninjasawakenedmystar

@alisbackalleybbq

My tag list Is OPEN. Please just ask if you'd like to be added :)

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48691714/chapters/141050257

***

Esme lingers on the threshold between the living room and kitchen; perched on the edge of the dining table, a mug of hot chocolate clutched in both hands. Nursing her drink as she watches him sleep; sprawled out on the couch, a lightly snoring Lucy curled up at his feet and two newly acquired chickens snoozing between him and the back of the sofa: his battered, still healing body and his traumatized, haunted mind at rest. Feet peeking out from the bottom of the plaid blanket covering him and the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head; those large, strong hands -with their various scars and calluses- folded together and resting on his chest. Worn out from the day and desperately needing a late afternoon nap; pushing himself past the point of exhaustion in his first full day out of the hospital. Attempting to make up for lost time; stubbornly refusing to cut the day short, or even to take short breaks to rest and catch his breath.

She already knows him so well; fully aware of his reluctance to accept his limitations and the worry he harbours that he’s somehow ‘letting her down’. Afraid -despite the months of devotion she’d already shown by remaining by his side in the hospital, that her continued care of her would soon become taxing; burdened by the task of helping nurse him back to health both physically AND mentally. Despising the mere notion of appearing weak in front of her; he’d turned down all suggestions to sit and rest; ignoring the reminders that they had lots of time left together. There was no rush; there were many more hours -days, weeks, months, YEARS- ahead to enjoy the fresh and get ‘out and about’.

The first hour they’d spent wandering the outdoor market; picking out produce and eggs, various baked goods and freshly cut meats. Afterwards, they indulged in a filling lunch at one of the smaller restaurants. Tucked into a booth at the back of the quaint establishment; engaging in small talk interspersed with sexual innuendos and flirtatious comments while sipping lattes and cappuccinos, and sampling various Austrian foods and desserts. Ending the day by finding a home furnishing store and ordering the first items to personalize their house; a bigger fridge, a stove, a mixer for her baking and new pots and pans. Everything she’d need to make cakes, cookies, pies and other desserts. A brand new -and much more comfortable- bed, dressers, a desk and bookshelf.

They’d only returned to the cabin once a list was made of the other ‘wants and needs’; workout equipment, new laptops, a larger TV. Paint for the both master bath and the much smaller, main washroom, cupboards and countertops for the kitchen. While unsure of how long the Gmunden would be home, they’re determined to make their surroundings as cheerful and livable as possible; planning on keeping the place a ‘getaway’ when it was time to move on to something bigger. Whether it be in Australia or one of the half dozen European cities that had made a ‘shortlist’. Prague, Paris, Zurich, Amsterdam, Copenhagen.

She shivers; a chill setting in as the nearby fire begins to die. Setting her mug on the cluttered dining table, she moves towards the fireplace; adding a handful of dry wood and then using the poker to stoke it ‘alive’. She holds her hands out towards the flames, warming both front and back and rubbing vigorously at her upper arms. And when she hears a dull thud and glances over her shoulder; Lucy’s ears immediately perking up, dark eyes widening, head raising out of curiosity. Tyler’s bad leg -brace and all- now hanging over the side of the couch, foot on the floor as he continues to sleep.

Esme pads towards him; carefully picking up his leg and placing it back on the couch. Peeling the throw away from his body, she stretches it out; tucking it tightly around his sides, under both legs and over his feet. And when she attempts to step away, he grabs ahold of her wrist and pulls her closer; fingers gliding over the top of her hand before pushing their way through hers.

His eyes remain closed. Voice -heavy with sleep- resonating deep in his chest. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Babying you.”

Tyler scowls.

“I was making sure you were comfortable. Your bad leg was hanging off the couch; if I left it like that, you’d wake up in a world of hurt. Not to mention your big ass feet were poking out of the blanket. Don’t want you catching a cold.”

“My feet aren’t that big.”

“Your feet are massive, okay. You can house a family of four in each of your shoes.”

“Maybe your feet are just abnormally small. Like the rest of you.”

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute. Especially when you're sleepy. You’re extra pouty when you’re sleepy.”

“I do NOT pout.”

“You most certainly do.”

He presses the heel of his palm into one eye, followed by the other, then squints up at her. “Everything alright? You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Did something happen? You have a dream where I got hurt or something? Not one of those Dhaka dreams, was it? Gaspar getting a hold of me and taking me to Asif and…”

“No. Thank god. I don’t want to go through that again. Even if it isn’t real. There was no dream. I guess you’re just beginning to rub off on me. I’m starting to worry all the time now.”

“There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m fine. Everything’s good.” Leaning over the couch, she presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “Everything’s very good, actually.”

“Yeah…” As a slow grin spreads across his face, he reaches up to loop wayward strands of hair behind her ears. “...it is.”

“Try and get a little more sleep, alright? You overdid it, today. And I don’t want you to be paying the price tomorrow.”

“Something tells me that’s inevitable.”

“You need to know your limitations. And be okay with them. Slow and steady wins the race, right? I don’t want you pushing it and getting hurt. Pace yourself, babe. That’s the only way you’ll get back to a hundred percent.”

“I was never there to begin with.”

“Well, with all the repairing and fine-tuning they did in Dubai, you’ll probably end up being in even better shape than before. But that’s a long way away. And that’s perfectly fine. You know that, right? That you don’t have to rush things.”

“I just want to be who you need me to be. Who you deserve. I just want to make you happy.”

“You know what makes me happy? You taking care of yourself. And letting me help along the way. THAT’S what makes me happy.”

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Not just me in general?”

“I think that goes without saying. Now…” Pulling the throw up to his chin, she tucks it around his body and then combs her fingers through his hair. Lips warm and soft as they meet his brow. “...you get a little more sleep and I’ll figure something out for dinner.”

“Will it be edible?”

Smirking, she flicks the tip of his nose with her thumb and forefinger. “Fuck you, Tyler.”

Chuckling, he grabs hold of her sweatshirt and pulls her downwards. An arm circling her waist when she loses her balance; giving a small shriek of surprise and then giggling when she lands on top of him. He settles one palm in the middle of her spine and cradles the back of her with the other; fingers pushing through her hair and softly massaging her scalp.

Neither speak again. And she finds herself quickly and easily relaxed by the warmth radiating off his body, the sound of his heart beating within his chest, and the familiar smell that clings to his skin and clothes. She feels content and secure. Adored. Protected. And she basks in the moment. Enjoying the contact; remaining where she is until his breathing slows and softens and his arms fall limp at his sides.

*****

She takes Lucy for her nighttime walk while dinner finishes; soup simmering on the hot plate, a salad waiting in the fridge, garlic loaves keeping warm in the toaster oven. Bundled up in boots and parka, knit beanie and mittens, she trudges through the snow and down to the dock; enjoying the cold, crisp air and the blanket of stars that shimmer within a black velvet sky. She feels free for the first time in a LONG time; able to breathe without the fear of either the past or present breathing down her neck. At last content in her own skin and comfortable and relaxed in her surroundings. Finally able to shed the last of her baggage; the mountains of bad decisions, the trauma left behind from time with an unstable and horrifically abusive man, a child and teenagehood spent walking on eggshells. She had devoted years to driving herself to the brink of both mental and physical exhaustion; weary and worn trying to win the love and respect of the woman who’d given birth to her, but had hated her from the moment she took her first breath.

It seems easier to deal with now. The memories of cruel words and vicious hands, the agony of the wounds inflicted both internally and externally. She has a safe place to fall; someone she trusts with both life and heart. Who wants nothing more than to make her happy and keep her safe, secure, and protected.

Someone who will stop at nothing to make those things a reality.

For once in her life, love doesn’t hurt. It’s patience and it’s sacrifice. It’s caring more about your partner than you do about yourself. It’s feeling happy whenever they’re in the same room as you; enjoying the sound of their voice and laugh, their touch and the taste of their kiss. Never able to get enough of them; the conversations and the feel of their hand in yours. And the way your body not only easily melts into theirs, but is also capable of eagerly and hungrily responding.

They’re halfway back to the cabin when she sees the lights flicker on; followed by the TV and Tyler’s form passing by the living room window as he limps his way into the kitchen. This is her life now. Her home. It’s modest and simple, yet she doesn’t find herself craving more. It’s the most content and comfortable she’s been in a long time; finally ‘seen’ and understood by someone who doesn’t judge her based on her past or things she’d done to make money and survive. Who somehow doesn’t see the mountain of flaws and imperfections that she does. Carving out an existence together; optimistic about both the healing process and their future together.

She’s a foot from the door when her phone vibrates in her jacket pocket. Using her teeth to yank off her mittens, she fishes the cell from its hiding spot; frowning when she sees the name and number plastered across the screen.

It’s become far more than a once-daily experience. Over two dozen texts and voicemails left; ranging from sugary sweet requests for her to call back to annoyed sighs and questions of her whereabouts and her well-being, Culminating in the ranting and raving of a narcissist; attempts at gaslighting, vile name-calling, and threats to ‘track her down and beat her ass’ and ‘drag her back to where she belongs’. And she’s finally had enough; unwillingly to disrupt or sacrifice the peace, comfort, and happiness she’s finally submerged in.

“Hello?”

“So you ARE alive.”

“Is that disappointment in your voice?”

“Don’t start. I didn’t call for THIS.”

“What did you call for, mother? What HAVE you been calling for? Non-stop.”

“You’re my baby. My little girl. My only daughter. Have you ever thought that…”

Esme rolls her eyes. Instead of opening the door, she heads for the battered and weathered loveseat that resides on the porch; sighing heavily as she drops heavily onto it. Lucy dutifully follows behind; lying across her feet, head cocked to the side as she curiously watches her. “Have you been drinking?”

“No, I haven’t been drinking! Why would you…?”

“The only time you ever say anything remotely nice to me is when you’ve got a few in you. How much have you had? If you’re at this level of ass-kissing, it has to be at least a bottle of rye. Or two.”

“Like I told you, I haven’t been drinking. I…”

“You didn’t call to hear my bullshit, and I didn’t answer to hear yours.”

“Okay, so I may have had a couple of glasses of wine with dinner. But…”

“And likely half a dozen for dessert.”

“What is your problem? I call to check up on you and see how you’re doing and this is the treatment I get? For caring about my child? It’s been months since we’ve spoken. Since you’ve even attempted to touch base. I’ve left you all kinds of voicemails and text messages and.…”

“What is your sudden interest in my life? What do you suddenly care about how I’m doing and what I’m doing? If I wanted you to know, I would have talked to you a long time ago. I called you from Dubai. I let you know that I was alive and well, didn’t I?”

“That was almost ten months ago! Almost a full year. Despite what you think, I DO care about you, Esme. I DO love you.”

She gives a derisive snort.

“You were the one that pushed me away. Severed ties. When you decided to up and leave the Marine Corps and abandon your family. You just packed everything up and moved to New York City and…”

“My then-husband put me in the ICU. I left to get away from him. To start a life without him. I…”

“You could have worked things out. Instead of filing for divorce. You could have tried harder. Despite all of his issues and all of his anger, he’s a good man. And he WAS good to you. At times. You just choose to ignore that. If you were just honest with yourself…”

“Being honest with myself would have been knowing to leave YEARS ago. Not waiting until he nearly killed me.”

Her mother scoffs. “It wasn’t THAT bad. But you have always been a tad dramatic. Quite infamous when it comes to exaggeration. Now, I know things got a little…testy…at times, but…”

“A little testy? He used to beat the shit out of me, mom. If he didn’t like the food I made, he’d throw it on the floor, force me down on all fours, and make me eat it. Like I was a fucking animal. ‘Testy’ doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.”

“I know Mark has his faults. I know he wasn’t perfect, but…”

“He used to rape me. When I’d say ‘no’. I was property to him. Something he owned. He said it was my ‘wifely duty’ to put out for him. And it was his duty to punish me when I didn’t. So yeah, he had his faults, alright.”

“You’re not exactly an easy person to live with, Esme. You’re not some angel yourself.”

“I don’t claim to be perfect. In way, shape, or form. But didn’t deserve any of the things he did to me. You have some hell of a nerve sticking up for him, you know that? Choosing him and his bullshit over your own daughter? But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve always been lower than dirt to you.”

“You always have to be the victim, don’t you.”

“I WAS the victim. I was Mark’s, I was yours. But here I am, mom. Thriving. Making a life for myself. Being happy. All those you and Mark tried to kill inside of me? They’re still here. And you’ll never get close enough to hurt me ever again.”

“And just where ARE you making this wonderful, imaginary life for yourself? Where are you…?”

“It’s not imaginary. It’s very much real. And you know, it might not be all sunshine and roses. But it is wonderful. In a lot of ways.”

“Are you with him?”

“I am.”

“So it wasn’t just a passing thing. Like we’d all hoped. When you’d called to say that you’d met someone and were running away with them…”

“I didn’t run away. I didn’t have anything to run away from. I started over. Made a life for myself.”

“You had a life here. A mother, a stepfather, brothers, nieces, nephews…”

“I haven’t bothered with any of you…REALLY bothered with you…in years. I haven’t lived in Colorado in a long time.”

“When you abandoned your husband and your marriage and…”

“I saved myself. You can pretend that Mark is some sort of golden boy; that he’s God's gift to women and has never done anything wrong in his entire life. You can ignore all the evidence that’s been gathered against him; the police and hospital reports, the pictures of all the bumps and bruises and scratches and broken bones. You burying in the sand or up his ass doesn't change the fact that he’s a massive piece of shit.”

“You’re not exactly perfect yourself, Esme. I’ve lived with you. I know what kind of challenge you can be. You’re stubborn and high-strung and confrontational and…”

“And I didn’t deserve a damn thing that man did to me. Look, if you called just annoy the hell out of me, congratulations. You were successful. I’m going to hang up now. Because I don’t have the time or the tolerance for your bullshit. Goodbye, mother. Don’t…”

“Where are you?”

“Somewhere you won’t find me.”

“Are you back in the States?”

“No.”

“Well, I know you didn’t go back to Prague. Kyle showed up at your place a couple of weeks ago; the landlord told him that someone had come for your things and handled what was left on your lease. Paid off the final eight months. In cash.”

“Now you have Kyle doing your dirty work for you? When you say jump, does he ask ‘how high?’? You really will stop at nothing to weasel your way into my life. Stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“You’re my daughter. My child. My…”

“No, mother. I’m a grown adult. Who is minding her own business and building a life for herself. Don’t start pretending to start giving a shit about me. It’s a little too late for that.”

“Am I at least allowed to know where you are?”

“I’m safe. That’s all that matters.”

“With him.”

“He has a name. I know you have this unhinged, bizarre hate towards him, but…”

“He took you away from me. From your family. He’s keeping you god knows where…”

“I’m here willingly. I’m here because I want to be. No one is keeping me under lock and key. Or holding a gun to my head. Why can’t that be enough for you? Knowing that I’m okay. That I’m safe and secure and protected. That I’m happy. Why…?”

“You barely know him. You…”

“Tyler, mom. His name is Tyler. Can’t you show him just that little bit of respect? He saved me. In every way a person CAN be saved. And we’re happy here. With each other. We’re making a life together. And I don’t want you or anyone else ruining that for us.”

“Where exactly is here? Australia? Did you go back there with him?”

“No. Not yet. We’ll get there, though. Eventually. Right now we’re just taking things easy. Lying low. Concentrating on each other. Getting to know one another.”

“And you can’t tell me where all of this is happening?”

“We’re in Europe.”

“Europe is a big place, Esme.”

“‘We’re in Austria.”

“Where in Austria?”

“Bergenz.” The lie rolls easily off her tongue. “A little place right near Lake Constance. It’s nice and quiet. Nothing fancy.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this. Throwing your life away for some man. You barely know him; you went away on a business trip and ended up someone’s whore. You…”

“I love him. And he loves me. He…”

“You’re in love with what he can give you. How rich IS he?”

“What the hell kind of question is that? I’m not some gold digger, mother. I never have. But for your information, he’s just a regular guy. Strictly blue collar. He’s not a rich man by any stretch of the imagination. At least not when it comes to money, anyway.”

“What kind of blue-collar job puts someone in the hospital for months on end?”

“I already told you. He does private security. A job went south. He got hurt. Badly.”

“And you just somewhat randomly happened to meet him? While doing your own job? You do realize how suspicious that sounds, don’t you?”

“It’s what happened. We ended up in each other’s paths. It’s as simple as that.”

“The whole thing reeks, Esme. Your entire story. How you met him, what he does for a living, what happened to him in some shit hole, third world country. You must realize how lame this all sounds, don’t you? How pathetic? I know you’re hiding something.”

“I told you the basics. You don’t need to know anything else. What goes on between Tyler and me? That’s our business. Not yours. So you’ll just have to learn to accept it; the fact I met someone and I’m not coming home.”

“The hell I do.”

“Look, let’s just end things here, okay? You know I’m alive. You know I’m safe. That’s all that matters.”

“It’s only a matter of time. Before things go bad. It’s how things in your life are. It’s how YOU are.”

“Goodbye, mom.”

“Don’t think you can come crawling back here when he tosses you to the curb. When he finally grows tired of your bullshit and lashes out. Just like Mark did. Don’t you…”

“I said goodbye, mom.”

Ending the call before anything else can be said, she sits with her eyes closed as she attempts to regain her composure. She feels light-headed and nauseous; her chest is impossibly tight, her hands tremble violently as they tightly clutch the phone. And she doesn’t move until Lucy gives a pitiful whine and rests her head on her thigh.

“Everything’s okay,” she assures the dog. Managing a smile, she scratches under Lucy’s chin, strokes her ears and ruffles the fur at the nape of her neck. “I’m fine, sweet girl” Leaning down to place a kiss on the dog’s nose, she laughs when her face is bathed in kisses in response. “Best therapist ever,” she declares and stands. “Now let’s go and get some dinner”

*****

Tyler stands at the counter; briefly glancing over his shoulder when he hears the door open. Greeting her with a smile before returning to the task at hand; removing plates, cups, and cutlery from cupboards and drawers, stirring the pot of soup that simmers on the hot plate.

“I was starting to get worried. Thought maybe a coyote got you. Or that you decided to run away from home.”

“Was that wishful thinking on your part?” she teases, as she toes off her boots and yanks the knit beaning from her head. Smoothing a palm over her hair, then shoving the garment into one of the pockets on her coat. “Were you hoping I disappeared? Or that I ended up some tasty snack for the wildlife?”

“Yeah…right…” He uses a pair of metal tongs to scoop salad onto the empty plates “I can’t believe you’d even ask me that.”

“I have bad news for you, buddy…” Shrugging out of her coat, she places it over his as it hangs on a hook next to the door. “...you can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get rid of you at all. Have you ever considered that?”

“Have you ever considered you’re a glutton for punishment? What’s the saying?” Wanders into the living room, she shoves her feet into a pair of Ugg slippers before joining him in the kitchen. “Be careful what you wish for?”

“If spending the next forty, fifty years with you is the worst that could happen to me, I’ll consider myself extremely lucky.”

“Jesus…” Desperately needing that closeness, connection and security that only he can provide, she steps behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his back. “...maybe your brain injury IS worse than they thought.”

“This is probably the most coherent I’ve been thinking in years.” He gives her the time she needs; alternating between sipping a mug of coffee and repeatedly cleaning the same spot on the counter as she clings to him. Not moving or speaking until she pats her hands against his stomach, squeezes his hips, and steps back. Gulping down his drink before turning to face her. “Everything alright?”

“I finally got up the nerve to answer the phone. I wish I could say I’m pleasantly surprised about how things went…”

“That good, huh?”

“Not nearly as bad as I thought it would be, but still pretty goddamn awful.”

“I’m sorry. I never should have got on you about talking to her. I just thought the sooner you did, the sooner she’d just leave you the fuck alone.”

“It’s not your fault she’s a total cunt. And you were right; I did need to get my head out of my ass and deal with her. She would have just kept calling and leaving voice messages until I finally had a mental breakdown. Which…who knows…could be her end game.”

“What did she want?” Handing her a bowl of salad and a fork, he leans against the counter and digs into his own. “Just checking up on ya? Making sure I’m not holding you hostage? Putting drugs in your food? Forcing you to comply and stay in my…what did she call it…den of iniquity?”

“She’s a crazy bitch. She wanted to know when I was coming home. Colorado hasn’t been home in over a decade. I don’t know why the hell she thought I’d head there. Want to hear the most fucked up part? A total mommy dearest moment? She sent my brother Kyle to Prague. To my apartment. I guess she thought I was bullshitting about where I was. That I was merely locking myself in the house and ignoring everyone.”

“Must have been a hell of a shock when he found your place was empty.”

“Just a bit. I told her we were in Austria; just lying low, taking it easy and recuperating. I didn’t say EXACTLY where, though. The last thing we need is her sending a search party to Gmunden.”

“Isn’t the biggest place. They could probably just ask in town and then track us down.”

“It wouldn’t be too difficult. I mean, a six-foot-three Australian with a bad limp and a resting asshole face doesn’t exactly blend into the crowd.”

“You’re going to have to tell her eventually. The WHOLE truth. Because it WILL get out. Somehow. And not hearing it from you will cause a whole world of trouble.”

“It’s not an easy thing to tell people, you know? Would you want to hear it? That your kid was caught up in black ops? That she was selling people out to mercenaries? That she was making money lying about who she was and using and deceiving people?”

“It would be hard to hear. But, they’re still my kid and…”

“My mother is NOT like us. She doesn’t think the way we do. And she’s hardly a parent. At least she was never one to me.”

“Are you embarrassed? Of the truth?”

“What would I be embarrassed of? And please don’t say you, because that is the furthest thing from the truth.”

“I kill people for money. Or I used to, anyway.”

“We are not getting into that conversation. You know where I stand; how I feel about what you do…what you DID. And you’re not going to change my mind But for the record? No. I’m not embarrassed of you. I have no reason to be. I didn’t do anything wrong: I knew exactly who you were and what you did and I went into things willingly. And I STAY in them willingly. I’m not trying to hide you, Tyler.”

“I never said…”

“I’m trying to protect you. And I know what you’re going to say; you’re a big boy and can take care of yourself and you don’t need little old me doing it for you.”

“You are just putting all kinds of words in my mouth tonight.”

“And I don’t mean PHYSICALLY protect you. I mean, look at me. I’m all of five feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet. I wouldn’t do much damage even if I tried.”

“I don’t know, it’s the little ones you usually need to watch out for. They’re cagey fuckers.”

“I’m talking about protecting you…US…from them. I know what my family is like. Especially my mother. She’s already on the warpath; talking all kinds of bullshit and trying to make you sound like some horrible, controlling and abusive person. She finds out the truth? She will make things worse.”

“I don’t give a fuck what she thinks about me. You should know that by now.”

“But I care. It hurts, alright? Hearing her talking about you like that. Because I know who you are. I know what you’ve been through and how you almost didn’t make it out the other side. And because I love you. Who wants to hear mean shit about the person they love?”

“I just think you need to take it with a grain of salt. I don’t want you getting worked up over it. I’m not the only one that’s been through it. In the past ten months. You shouldn't have to go through THIS, too.”

“If I tell her everything, she will make it her mission to tear us apart. She will do whatever she can to come between us. And I know you think I’m brave and strong and…”

“You are. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

“...maybe I am. Most of the time. But I’m tired. I don’t have it in me to fight right now. I am so tired, Tyler. Is it really so wrong that I can’t do it right now? That I just want a fucking break?”

“No.” Plucking the bowl out of her hand, he sets it on the counter, then gathers her into his arms. Hands continuously running up and down her back as her arms circle his waist and her head rests against him. “It’s not wrong at all.”

“I just want it to be US. At least for a little while.”

“As long as you need it to be, okay? No rush.”

“I just can’t do it. I can’t deal with her. Not right now.”

“You don’t have to. She calls back, I’ll answer. You don’t need to worry about her. I’ll take care of things.”

She looks up at him, tears spilling down her cheeks. “What did I do wrong?”

“What do you mean? What…?”

“To make her hate me like she does. What did I do? To deserve it?”

“You didn’t do a goddamn thing. The way she is? It’s not about you. It’s about her. She’s a bitter, nasty old woman. She’s dead inside. She doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but herself.”

“But she’s only like that with me. She’s never loved me. She never even wanted me. Why? What did I ever do? If she’d just told me, I could have fixed things. I could have been better. I could have…”

“Esme…” Cradling her face in his palms, his thumbs swipe at the tears that glisten on her cheeks. “...it’s not about you. It never has been. You didn’t do anything wrong. And you didn’t deserve it. You still don’t.”

“I’m tired. I am so tired.”

“I know.” He presses a kiss to her brow, then gathers her even tighter into his chest. “It’s time to rest now, okay? You’ve fought enough. You don’t need to do it anymore. I’ve got just enough in me to do it for both of us.”

“I just want it to be us. No one else. Just us.”

“It will be,” he assures her, feeling her body tremble against his as she openly sobs. “There’s nothing for you to worry about. She can’t hurt you anymore. No one can.”

****

“When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

They lay on the couch; caught up in a mess of naked limbs and tangled blankets. Basking in both the aftermath of their lovemaking and the warmth from the nearby fire.

His knuckles slide along the small of her back. “Where did that come from?”

“I know, totally random.” Esme laughs against the side of his neck. “Not the most romantic of pillow talk, huh?”

“And you say I’m terrible at it.”

“You talk about food and football and how long it’s going to take you to be ready to go again. Whispering sweet nothings is definitely NOT your forte.”

“Sweet nothings? Who are you trying to kid? You’re not into the shit. You like the absolute filth that comes out of my mouth. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“The filthier the better.” Spresses a series of kisses along his jaw, stopping at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t want you to change, though. I kinda like you the way you are. You’re perfect. At least for me, anyway.”

“Are you sure you’re not the one with the brain injury?”

“You’ll never see yourself the way I see you. I’ve relegated myself to that fact.” Rolling onto her stomach, she places her head on his chest. “I think talking to the wicked witch of the midwest brought some things up. About my childhood. And where I ended up compared to where I’d hoped I’d be.”

“Where DID you hope you’d be?”

“Not here, that’s for sure.”

“So but ass naked with a mercenary wasn’t high on your list of dream scenarios, I take it?”

“No. But that certainly turned out extremely well, didn’t it? Of all the things I have no complaints about, you’re at the top of the list. Well, I could do without your snoring and how you leave your dirty clothes in front of the hamper instead of putting them inside…”

“I’m working on it. I’ve lived alone for a long time. I haven’t had to worry about that kind of shit in a while.”

“As far as cohabiting goes, I’ve lived with A LOT worse. And you’re hot, so you tend to get away with a lot more than other mere mortals.”

“Yeah, you’re not hard to look at either. Which is why I don’t get on your case about squeezing the toothpaste tube in the middle. Or how you leave half-empty mugs of tea all over the goddamn place. That’s something I don’t get, actually.”

“What’s that?”

“How you always leave some behind when you make yourself a drink. But if I do it for you, you drink the whole thing. What’s up with that?”

“Because when you make it, it’s perfect. It tastes just right. Way better than when I do it myself.”

“I think that’s all in your head. How different could it be? It’s boiled water and a tea bag. A bit of milk.”

“I can’t explain it, alright. It’s just the way it is. It’s just so much better.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re spoiled. Or you like to be, anyway. All that independent woman stuff? That whole ‘I don’t need any man’ thing? I think deep down it’s all an act. That you like being taken care of. Probably because no one has ever done it.”

“Is that so wrong?” Raising her head from his chest, she smiles as he pushes a hand through her hair. Fingers slipping through the long, dark tresses; calloused tips brushing against the nape of her neck before travelling down the length of her spine. “If I DO like it?”

“Nothing wrong with it at all. I just wish I was better at it. Not really my strength, you know? Taking care of other people.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

“I think you give me too much. That, and my past kind of speaks for itself.”

“You’re not exactly the guy you were back then.”

“Maybe not. But I’m not even the guy I was when I met you. At least not physically. I can’t take care of you and protect you the way I could nine months ago.”

“Nine months ago, you were clinically dead. I think you’re allowed to be a little rusty. Besides, if you had to? If there was some kind of threat? If I was in danger? You’d find a way to protect me. Nothing would stop you. Not even a bad shoulder or a bum leg. It’s one thing I never worry about when I’m with you. If I’m safe or not.”

“I may not have all the right words, and I may not know how to handle things sometimes, but there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Esme. To make you happy. Keep you safe. Even with my fucked up head. And body.”

“You’ve come a long way. In less than a year. And you’re not broken, Tyler. Mentally or physically. A little banged up and dented and tarnished, maybe. But not broken.”

“You have this uncanny ability of always seeing the best in people. Whether anything good exists in them or not.”

“A lot of good exists inside of you. I’ve never doubted that. I’ve always seen it. It was in your eyes; I saw it the second Nik introduced us. You had this kindness in them. This humanity. This sadness. You were carrying around all this baggage and all this pain, but it was still there. You weren’t like anyone I’d ever met on the job. In many ways.”

“Admit it, you were just thankful you didn’t end up having to be pretend married to some ugly, miserable old fuck,”

“Well, you certainly aren’t ugly. Or old.”

Tyler smirks. “You smart ass.”

“Before I met you, I’d never felt protected. Safe. I didn’t even realize I wanted…or needed… to feel those things.”

“I’m just sorry that everyone in your life has been such a fucking disappointment. Especially that dick head ex-husband of yours.”

“Falling for his bullshit was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. The only thing bigger? Staying with him. I always told myself I’d never be that type of woman; someone who would just roll over and take the abuse and hold onto this faint hope that I could change him. Talk about being a judgy bitch, huh? I never understood why women stuck around. How could they be so weak and pathetic? Why would they just sit back and ‘take it’? And then it happened to me and I realized it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t as simple as just walking away.”

“There’s nothing weak or pathetic about you. I learned that quickly. IN Dhaka. Never mind everything you put up with afterwards.”

“The saddest part of it all is that I started to believe every word that came out of his mouth. That he was the best I could do. I was lucky to have someone like him; he kept a roof over my head, food on the table, and clothes on my back. Even if I didn’t deserve those things. He always called it tough love; the beatings and the verbal abuse helped ‘toughen me up’. I was too sensitive. Too soft. Especially for someone who’d been in the Corps. He used to say I must have ‘slept my way’ through the system.”

“You know, the more you talk about him, the more homicidal I become.”

“As much as I appreciate you wanting to defend my honour and rip him from limb to limb, it’s not why I bring him up. I don’t do it to piss you off; I do it so you’ll know more about me. We didn’t get much time for that kind of thing, you know? We were only in Dhaka for five days and then you were unconscious for half a year after that. We didn’t get much of a chance, did we? To learn about one another.”

“Yeah, we have been sort of thrown to the wolves, haven’t we? Not that I’m complaining. It hasn’t been that bad.”

“Hasn’t been that bad, huh?” She laughs, and tugs playfully at one of his ears. “I know you’re just speaking for yourself when you say that. Because I swear, living with you sometimes…”

Grinning he brings a hand down on her ass in a playful slap, then lightly pinches the supple skin. “Why are you mean to me all the time? Why do you tease me so much?”

“Because it’s fun. And it’s not being mean, I promise, everything I say? I say out of love. And pure animalistic lust.”

“That’s my favourite kind.” His free hand gently gathers up her hair. Moving it away from her face and off her shoulder; palm smoothing down it as it lays on her back. The smile quickly fading, his eyes darkening. “You know it wasn’t your fault, yeah? All the things he said. The things he did. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I’m starting to realize that. It’s taking a lot longer than I thought; coming to terms with just how awful he was and what I allowed him to get away with. I thought it would be easier; I’d just be able to put it behind me as soon as I got away from him.”

“You need to stop blaming yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was never about you, Esme. It was always about him.”

“When I finally left, I told myself I’d stay single forever. It just wasn’t worth putting myself out there; having to explain my past and defend the choices I made. And forget about trusting someone; every person I’d ever had any faith in turned out to be nothing but a fucking disappointment. How do you get close to someone after going through all that? How do you ever feel comfortable with anyone again? Let them even get remotely close?”

“Something must have went wrong, huh?” He chides, and tugs on a strand of her hair. ‘Cause here we are.”

“Before you, the only thing I ever knew…or thought I knew…about love was that it hurt. It was painful; physically AND mentally. Everyone I’d loved…who had claimed to love ME...destroyed me.”

“No. They didn’t. Because if you did, we wouldn’t be here right now. Talking about this. You wouldn’t have even looked at me twice, let alone given me a chance. They didn’t destroy you, Esme. They tried. But it didn’t work.”

“Everything changed when you came along. I changed. All those things Mark said to me? About how no one would ever want me? That I was too difficult to love and didn’t deserve to be? It took you less than a week to prove him wrong.”

“Don’t make me out to be some kind of prize, okay? I’ve got my own issues. Maybe not nearly as bad as his, but…”

“You never hid them from me, though. And you never used them to hurt me. You made me feel beautiful. You looked at me like I was the most incredible woman on earth. And that was only four days into things.”

“To me you were, You ARE.”

“You’re not the monster you think you are, Tyler. You’re a good man who has been through some bad shit. Who’s had to do some questionable things out of self-perseverance. And yeah, maybe you have made some bad decisions. But believe me, even with all your baggage? The drinking and the pain meds? You are nowhere near being like Mark.”

“I’m trying. I don’t want to be a mess forever. You deserve better than that.”

“For what it’s worth, you’re not as messy as you were. I think nearly dying had something to do with that; hard to be an alcoholic and a junkie when you’re in a coma for seven months.”

“I think rehab would have been slightly less painful. Than taking a bullet to the throat.”

“How quickly you forget the seven others they pulled from you.”

“Trust me, my body reminds me every day. The only thing I really hate? About how it went down? The fact that you had to see all of that. That you had to see me completely fucked up.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know how bad things would go. And yeah, it’s going to stay with me. For quite a while. But I’ll deal. I’ll just take it one day at a time.”

“You know you don’t have to do that alone, yeah? Deal with it?”

Smiling, she presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I know.”

Gathering up the edges of one of the blankets, she pulls it further up their naked bodies; tucking it under her chin as she once more lays her head upon his shoulder. Her breath is warm and sweet against the side of his neck as his fingers continuously glide up and down her spine; her own tracing the tattoo on his right rib cage and repeatedly combing through his longer strands of hair. He enjoys the closeness in a way he never had before; failing to remember the last time anyone had made him feel that relaxed and comfortable. This beautiful, impossibly tiny woman somehow his refuge. The one person that makes HIM feel safe and secure.

“You never did answer my question.”

He turns his face into hers, lips meeting her brow. “I forgot what it was.”

“When you were a little boy, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

“You mean other than as far away from my old man as possible?”

“What kind of things did you dream about? What did you hope to be doing as an adult?”

“I had a couple of things that were pretty far-fetched. Although when I was little, nothing seemed impossible.”

“What were they?”

“I wanted to be a professional surfer. Or a pro football player.”

“Honestly, I’m not surprised with either of those choices. You wanted to play for the Western Bulldogs, didn’t you.”

“Guilty as charged. They’ve always been my favourite. Which is weird, considering I was born and raised in the East. Once I got a bit older, I started thinking more realistically about things. Decided I wanted to be a firefighter. Or a cop.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I just can’t see you as a cop. I don’t know why. Definitely a firefighter, though. You’d look so hot in turn-out gear.”

“I didn’t think that kind of thing would turn you on. Not with your brother being one..”

“My brother is…I don’t know…my brother. Totally not in the same league as you. How come you never went in that direction? You would have passed all the training; you were athletic, you had the size, the strength. What made you choose the military?”

“My graduating year, they had one of those ‘career days’. You know where people from all different lines of work come and peddle what they do and try to drum up interest. There was a recruiter from the army there and I’m sure you know what they’re like; fatigues, boots all polished, overly cheerful and optimistic.”

“I was offered that job once. When I first joined the Corps. I was told it was a better choice for me; it suited my personality better.”

“What did you tell them? To go fuck themselves?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“I bet you were underestimated right from the day you were born.”

“I’ve always been a study in contraction. People expect meek and mild. I know you did.”

“I did. And man, did I ever find out the hard way. You didn’t waste your time telling me to get fucked.”

“And not in the fun, sexy way, either.”

“Nope. That came a few days later.”

She laughs against the side of his neck, then places a line of kisses along his jaw. “And when it did, it was very fun and very, very, VERY sexy.”

“I have no complaints.”

“So…” Lifting her head from its resting place, she uses two fingertips to clear strands of hair from his brow. “...this recruiter…”

“You’re nothing if not persistent.”

“I like to know things. About you. And I want to know ALL of them. All the things.”

“This guy knew how to sell things. He made it sound so awesome. I’d get to play with guns, learn how to drive a tank, jump out of airplanes. They’d even pay for it if I wanted to further my education; become an engineer or an instructor or just make my way up the food chain and be an officer.”

“Would you have wanted to be one? An officer?”

“I don’t think so. Being out there breaking a sweat and getting my hands dirty was always my thing. The idea of wearing a uniform, sitting behind a desk and getting old and fat doesn’t do it for me, you know? But you know what really sold it? I’d get to see the world. Travel to different places. On their dime.”

“Yeah, even in the States they try hard to sell that side of things.”

“I hadn’t even turned eighteen yet. I was desperate to escape; I wanted to be as far away from my dad as possible and being in the army made the most sense. But I was young and dumb; I never stopped to think that ‘seeing the world’ really meant going into war-torn places; displacing people even more, killing them, even.”

“That’s not ALL you did. You helped more people than you hurt. That’s something I’m sure of.”

“Isn’t helping what hurts them most of the time?”

“It’s easy to see it that way, I guess. Sometimes the road to helping others isn’t a pretty one. And war is ugly; you and I have seen that firsthand. But isn’t it sometimes beautiful, too? When the means lead to an incredible end? When you see just how much you’ve helped someone? How better their life becomes simply because you showed up in it?”

“I don’t know how you do it. See things…people…the way you do.”

“I learned a long time ago that if I didn’t find the good in everything and everyone, I wasn’t going to survive. Not mentally, anyway. I was there too; in the Middle East. And we may not have had the same job and the same responsibilities, but I saw just how awful things were. I heard the horror stories.”

“You of all people didn’t deserve to be there. Going through all that.”

“But I chose it. The poor people that lived there didn’t. And you know what? it’s so much easier to remember the bad stuff. One horrible thing can wipe out a hundred good things.”

“Every so often, that psychology degree of yours comes out to play.”

“It’s less what I learned in school and more I learned OUT of it. Not to mention PTSD is a monster. Sometimes it makes it pretty hard to see the good in anything.”

“Is there you start psychoanalyzing me? Do you charge by the hour or…?”

“It’s just the truth, unfortunately. And you DO have PTSD.”

“I’m not the only one in this room…this bed…that does.”

“Maybe…” (trails a nail along the length of his jaw, over the scar that mars the bottom of his chin). “...but you’re the only one officially diagnosed, so…”

He doesn’t push it; knowing she’s not in the right ‘headspace’ to confront her demons. That choosing to focus on his healing and his battles effectively -for now- silences and numbs her own.

“What about you?” His hand moves through her hair; dark, silky tresses slipping easily through his fingers, palm coming to rest in the middle of her back.

“What about me?”

“What were you like? When you were a little girl? Not that you ever grew… physically…past twelve.” Grinning, he places a kiss on her brow when she laughs. “What did a young Esme dream about? What did she want to be?”

“God, so many different things. I always had these lofty, little girl dreams; wild and crazy things that would never come true. Like marrying a Crown Prince or becoming a famous actress and winning a record number of Oscars. I even used to practice my acceptance speeches in the bathroom mirror. Or I’d write the next great American novel; it would top the charts around the world and I’d win a Pulitzer. I even once thought I’d invent a cure for cancer and win a Nobel.”

“I’m sure a couple of those weren’t too far out of reach. You could find a cure for cancer. Or write a novel. You’re still young.”

“The craziest thing I ever wanted to be? A fighter pilot. A female Maverick from Top Gun.”

“Now that I CAN’T see.”

“Once I realized I needed to concentrate on something a tad more realistic, I switched to teaching and nursing. I would have loved to have gotten into pediatrics. Or taught kindergarten kids. Catch them when they’re still so innocent and curious and so in love with the world and everyone in it.”

“You’d be amazing at both of those. I can see why kids would love you.”

“Why? Because I’m just as small as they are?”

“Well, THAT. But just the way you are. WHO you are. You see the good in the world. Everything you’ve been through…the things you’ve seen and heard and even DONE…you still find beauty in everything. Not to mention you have the patience of a saint, Look how long you’ve stuck around. Put up with my shit.”

“You’re not as difficult as you think you are.”

“But I AM difficult.”

“You have your moments.” She kisses him; signing into his mouth when he tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls her tighter against him.

“You know, you could still do one of those things. Teach or be a nurse. You’ve got a lot of years ahead of you still.”

“I’m going to have to figure out something. I can’t sit on my ass for the rest of my life.”

“It’s not like there’s a rush. We’re not exactly poor. We’re not going to run out of money anytime soon. And if you wanted to go back and work for Nik…”

“No. HELL NO. That ship has long sailed. You’re not the only one that’s retired. You know what I really want to do right now? Until it’s no longer financially possible or we drive each other crazy? Whichever comes first?”

“What’s that?”

“Just…live. With you. And without having to worry about what comes next. “ She once more settles her head on his chest; a hand on his shoulder, thumb continuously brushing against the Roman numeral tattoo that decorates the skin. “Do you want to know what I REALLY wanted to? When I was growing up? Something I still think about from time to time?”

“Of course I want to know.”

“I wanted to own a bookstore.”

“You know for some reason, that makes total sense with you.”

“I kept a journal for the longest time. Completely dedicated to the dream. I’d write down all my ideas, and even sketch things out. I had it all planned out. It would have snow-white walls, but I’d fill the place with tons of colourful furniture and decor and have neighbourhood kids submit artwork I’d frame and hang. And I have dedicated spaces for people to hang out; chess tables, comfy chairs to settle down and read a book in, a courtyard out back if they wanted fresh air. I’d even have drinks and treats. Coffee, tea, and juices, muffins and cookies and sandwiches.”

“Sounds like a pretty awesome place.”

“I’d have a dedicated kids' space; everything in primary colours, a little play area and craft station, a small party room where they could celebrate their birthday. There’d be fish tanks; a couple for turtles, even. And some cages for birds and a few hamsters. And there’d be a bookstore cat.”

“You had all this planned out?”

Esme nods enthusiastically. “I even had the name picked. Do you want to hear it?”

“You should know by now that you don’t need to ask if I want to hear things.”

“I wanted to call it Turn the Page.”

(smiling, he uses two fingers to loop strands of hair behind her ears) “That’s perfect. And you sometimes still think about it? Owning a place like that?”

“Sometimes. We all hold on to some little dream, don’t we? Something from our childhood that can’t seem to let go of?”

“I mean, it’s not like it’s impossible. If it’s something you really want to do…”

“It’s just a little something I like to think about from time to time. That dream of mine got me through some pretty rough shit growing up. I always could escape to it; when my mom was being extra horrible.”

“Would you WANT to do it? Is it something that would make you happy? Having your bookstore?”

“Right now, I have all I need to make me happy. All I want to concentrate on? Is you. Us.”

Pecking his ips, then moves onto her side; her back pressed against the rear cushions of the sofa, face nestled in the crook of his neck, Their eyes closed as his fingers continuously graze up and down her spine and they listen to the crackling of the fire and winter storm raging outside; the howling of the wind and the rattling of the windows and the patter of ice against the glass.

She yawns noisily, then rubs her cheek against him) “I love you, you know.”

“I know. And I love you. More than you’ll ever know.” He drops a kiss on the top of her head. “You make me want to be a better man.”

S raises her head to look at him, tears sparkling in her eyes. “What?”

“You do. I want to be better for you. I want to be the kind of man YOU want. That you can be proud of.”

“I DO want you. And I AM proud of you.”

“But I want it to stay that way. I don’t want to go back to who I was. I want to be better. Do better. Be what you need. And deserve. Hey….” (gives an awkward chuckle when the tears escape, quickly using his fingertips to swipe them off her cheeks) “...don’t do that. Don’t cry. I hate when you cry.”

“I think that’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me. It’s the best compliment I’ve EVER gotten.”

“It’s all true. It’s the way you make me feel. Not just wanting to BE better, but knowing I can get there.”

She kisses him; long and sweet and sweet; nuzzling her nose against his cheek and his ears and whispering words of adoring and affection that no one has ever bestowed upon him. And she once more tucks herself into his side; tighter than before, wanting, needing, and enjoying the protection only he can provide. Finding herself quickly lulled to sleep by his steady, rhythmic breathing, the stroking of her hair, and the warmth of his skin against hers.

[quietintellectualginger]

(mouthwashing spoilers)

(tw rape, gore, violence, brief mentions of suicide)

(also this is long asf-)

no but that one scene when Anya said she was pregnant- I was SHOCKED

and then I was like “omg wait did one of her crew mates rape her?? LEMME AT HIM IMMA KICK HIS ASS”

(let me hate fictional characters in peace lol)

and then I’m like “OMG ITS JIMMY- HOLY SHIT YOU LITERALLY PLAY AS THE DUDE WHO RAPED HER THAT’S- WOW”

and like… WHY DIDNT CURLY DO ANYTHING AFTER FINDING OUT WHAT HAPPENED?!

he was literally the captain at that point

like sure don’t kill him if y’all are stuck together for 8 more months but at least do something and then realizing that the part at the start where you turn off autopilot and crash the ship was Jimmy and not Curly was just as much of a shock

and like that explains a lot about the hallucinations

also tbh I loved all the gore

like- Daisuke having the huge gash in his head after Swansea killed him with the axe

and then after Jimmy shot Swansea the bullet wounds on his face

and after Anya killed herself the wound on her face and the blood all over her face and neck and shirt

while we’re on the topic of suicides in this game after Jimmy put Curly in the cryogenic pod thing I was like “yep he’s boutta shoot himself” but tbh I was still shocked when it actually happened

and like damn that’s an interesting ending

and really surprising that Curly is the one to survive

like look at this dude (after the explosion thingy)

in comparison to him everyone else was doing pretty good

like until their actual deaths they were all in decent physical health

slightly malnourished from lack of food but nothing noticeable physically

and then he’s the one to survive??

talk about a plot twist

honestly the whole game was so suspenseful and I loved it

I’d honestly consider playing it for myself at some point

like watching the livestream of it was great and all but I feel like actually playing it is a whole other experience y’know?

[ask-the-hws-immigrants]

To Lovino and Tolys:

Any Saints you guys have a particular devotion to?

Tolys: I'm not terribly religious, but there is a certain comfort in having someone looking out for you.

**Contextual Note, TW for brief mention of sexual assault and torture:

Just a brief overview of the saints Lovino and Tolys mentioned. St. Agatha of Sicily was a Christian noblewoman who was killed during the Decian persecutions. She made a religious vow of chastity that a Roman prefect attempted to break. As punishment for rejecting him she was imprisoned and forced to "work" in a brothel. When this did not break her, she was tortured, most notably by having her breasts ripped off with hot tongs. This is why she is often depicted in art with tongs or presenting her breasts. A miraculous earthquake prevented her execution and supposedly St. Peter appeared to her and healed her wounds, but she eventually died in prison of unknown causes. Among other things, she is the patron saint of victims of torture, rape victims, breast cancer patients, fires, earthquakes, and volcanic eruptions (particularly from Mt. Etna). As Lovino mentioned, she is the patron of Sicily, as well as the Sicilian city of Catania.

St. Christopher was also killed during the Decian persecutions. According to legend, he traveled to find a king who claimed great power, only to find he feared the devil. When he found a marauder who claimed to be the devil, he found that this criminal feared Christ. Learning this, he chose to become Christian and serve people by helping them cross a dangerous river. In doing this, he helped a small child across the river who was much heavier than he anticipated, and almost died in the process. After crossing, the child revealed himself to be an apparition of Christ, pleased with his work. Christopher was eventually beheaded after travelling to Lycia to help his fellow Christians. Among other things, he is the patron saint of travelers, transportation, bachelors, athletics, and storms. As Tolys mentioned, he is the patron of Vilnius, Lithuania's capital (Riga as well!)