#hebled

Her life had never been simple, never even been normal. Growing up, she thought it had been normal for herself to be passed around, thought it normal for her Father to be at the center of everything bad that had happened to her. Surely this was what families were like, right? Everybody dealt with this sort of thing...

She couldn't have possibly known at the young age she had been when it all started. When she got older, however... that's when she started to defy him...

And that's when her life got substantially worse.

For years she had been abused by the sex trafficking piece of shit she called her father, caged like an animal along with many others... but her Father took great pride in targeting her specifically, keeping her where the others were freed from their prisons to go to a new fresher hell.

She could have never known that a sting operation had been ordered on him. All she knew were the loud noises overhead terrified her in a way she hadn't been scared before. And when the door opened to the basement? She did her best to hide away... and the sight that would come before the man that descended the stairs was likely a show of just how proper this sting had been.

Shackled to the wall half naked, the dirt caked to her skin and hair, the half shirt she wore showing the malnourishment she was enduring thanks to the ribs sticking out... but beyond that was the dried blood. The wounds on her body were relatively fresh, long angry marks from a whip striking against bare flesh striping across her skin...

Tim looks at Beck with a small smirk on his face, not one that would be obvious to people outside of the small circle that Tim keeps close. And apparently he's letting Beck get that close. "Well, I'm gonna need some more specifics there." He lets his words trail off, eyes moving down from Beck's face to the long line of his throat, the broad length of his shoulders, and the rest of his body, before shooting back up to meet his eyes again.

THE CIGARETTE IS HEAVY ON HIS lips, but he's yet to light it. Hands are shaking, just a little, QUIVERING under the dark black gloves, the leather a familiar and soothing feeling against his skin. Fever is staring at Beck with that sort of look that could only mean one thing, like he's looking right through him, like he wants to EAT him. ❝ 'S good t'see you. ❞ SOFT.

Tour had dragged, towards the end. The EXHAUSTION is obvious in the bags under his eyes, in the way his jaw clenches and loosens with every breath he takes. The musician was a live wire about to SNAP at any moment, but when he looks at the veteran, there's an unfamiliar sweetness in his eyes. They'd started as a hookup, a one off one night where he'd played guitar in a bar as a surprise. Fever had seen him across the room, and they'd locked eyes. He'd sucked him off in the parking lot, given him his phone number and told him to text.

There was just SOMETHING about Beck's eyes.

Perhaps it was cruel of Zach to give Beck only the barest warning about his sister—“She doesn’t bite without serious provocation, but trust her bite is worse than her bark if you push her far enough.”—but he knows Mazie is better experienced than explained. At least he’s not abandoning Beck to the mercy of his sister, leading him to her office and knocking on the door. At her muffled, “Yes?” he answers, “It’s me, Zee.” He grins; he can feel her irritation through the hardwood. “Come in,” she calls eventually, and he opens the door, following Beck through.

Mazie gives her brother a tired glare before shifting her attention to his companion. Ice eyes slide over him, cool and dissecting, before she returns her attention to Zach. “Another angry soldier?” Zach shrugs. “You wanted fighters who can take orders easily.” She sighs. “Suppose I did.” She unfolds from her chair, circling her desk. After another beat of studying Beck, she says with a faint grin, “You’re a Royal Marine. Explains why Zach likes you.” She gestures to the chairs in front of her desk. “Come make yourself comfortable. Would you like anything to drink, eat? I should like to get to know you a little better before I offer you a position in my company.”

For someone as observant and alert as him, it would be a lie to say he hasn’t noticed their lack of sleep at night at times, his brain pushing the concern away by assuming they might have been doing it during the day in short intervals, maybe they’re a 3-4 hour sleeper. He can’t know, and he isn’t going to pry unless prompted to for their benefit. He is no foreigner to INSOMNIA himself, let it be for the engines of his brain never halting or the nightmares haunting his sleep, and sometimes, it could be as much as being dragged and tortured by a demanding gang. Luckily, he is too important to just dispose of simply. 

Tonight, little did he know he is in for a trap. A colleague has asked of him to not so urgently help with a patient, not a pressing matter, but he is not one to turn such a plea down, especially that it concerns the health of an innocent person. A sigh escapes his lungs before his door is open, too busy locking it back securely: Click— Click! Just as fingers are ready to retract the key, the other’s voice startles him, shoulders jumping, the jacket he is carrying on the other arm falls, and to everyone’s luck, the key is still stuck to the lock so it doesn’t fall and make a memorable noise.   ❝  Fuuu—  ❞   He almost curses, eyes closing for a moment before dragging the keys out, heart still pounding against his ribcage. He bends to reach for the jacket, dusting it off before sliding the keys into his pocket, finally turning his face to the source: his neighbor. A hand runs through the alternating shades of his hair, their question setting in.   ❝  So sorry if I woke you up! These walls are really thin, huh?  ❞   The GUILT is obvious on his features, wishing there is anything to make up for it— but then they make that comment, and it doesn’t fail to get a chuckle out of him, the smile still on his face when he replies.   ❝  Hope people share the same opinion.  ❞   He jokes, the silence that follows is enough declaration that he doesn’t know where to go next. Had it been an earlier time, he would have offered a drink or a meal on him— Maybe he actually can.   ❝  So,  ❞  he starts.   ❝  It’s too late for a drink or food, and you probably need to make use of my absence to get some peaceful sleep.  ❞   Humor coats his words for a moment.   ❝  Maybe I can make it up to you with a delicious meal of your choice or your pick of a drink?  ❞   His manner is not pushing, only inviting.   ❝  Only if you feel like it of course.  ❞

Meeting cute dogs wasn't the primary reason that Hughie had his lunch at the park, but it was one of its perks. His primary reason was that he lived in an apartment in New York and visiting the park was about the closest he could get to experiencing what having a garden was like. He inadvertently tended to attract dogs simply because he was almost always eating at the park and today was no exception.

His face was buried in his phone when he saw a big, black, wet nose in his periphary. Hughie put his phone down to see a big, fluffy alsatian pulling on its leash, trying to push his face into Hughie's lap. His face automatically split into a grin. He couldn't not smile when he was around animals, dogs especially.

meredith's sense of smell is warped from years of smoking cigarettes and rigorously abusing alcohol, but even she can smell the man at the bar, the stale heat of his poison of choice lingering pungent on his breath. she's dizzy, her stomach is churning, and she knows the only thing that will help is a drink. she approaches him with all the grace of a newborn gazelle, legs buckling at odd angles like a marionette as she slips in beside him, a hand moving to grip in his shirt flirtatiously, fluttering her eyelashes gracelessly as she hangs off him. "—buy me a shot?" she asks, her voice hoarse and dark even while she aims to sound girlish and appealing.