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1lostone · 5 months

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Welp. I’ve read the entire Broadchurch tag on AO3. I’ve read the great ones, the good ones, and the not-so-great-but-I’m-desperate-to-stay-in-this-verse ones.

I guess it’s time to write something. Here’s me scoootching into a fandom, almost 10 years late.

Do I have any Ellie/Alec peeps that I can scream with?

#broadchurch #alec hardy #ellie miller #hardy/miller #miller/hardy #Ellie/Alec #miller x Hardy

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leupagus · 7 months

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Would Hardy say "breasts" or "tits" in his narrative voice, I can't decide

His mobile goes off at half-four on a Sunday; the whole drive up to Kingsgrove Wood he has his mum's voice echoing in his ears that it's God's day, for rest and prayer and not mucking about in the woods. The voice gets louder as he's lead further in by a pair of constables, their torches flailing through the darkness for nearly twenty minutes before they arrive at the scene.

Miller's there already in a full noddy suit, talking in low tones with Brian as she juggles her phone, her notebook and a thermos just outside the forensics tent. "Go away," she says cheerfully as Hardy finally stumbles into the clearing.

Brian glances over his shoulder, makes a face, and disappears back into the tent. Hardy's about to follow him inside when Miller gets in his way. "Miller," he warns.

"Listen, we're all overjoyed at the prospect of seeing your smiling face at… five oh seven in the morning," she says, glancing at her phone, "But this is why you've got a DS. I can brief you later."

"Brief me now," he says. She sighs and thrusts the thermos into his hands. "This for me?"

"No, lesson learned there, you'll just leave it on your desk until it gets mouldy." She waves her hands a bit — noddy suits don't have pockets — before unzipping just enough to slip her phone into her bra. She then flips her notebook open and peers at her handwriting, nudging him out of the floodlight positioned above the tent. "All right, a pair of adventurous young people were out here 'for a walk' at just past eleven, saw 'something weird' sticking out of the ground, poked around and found a jawbone, which I'm fairly sure wasn't how they wanted their evening to go. They've been statemented and released; Katie's running them home under protest."

"Under protest? Why?" Harford's got better in the past six months or so — Miller's oddly fond of her now, Hardy will never understand people — but if she's whinging again about basic aspects of the job, he's not above giving her a bollocking. He's cut back on caffeine, but shouting makes for a passable substitute.

"The lad was sick all over his own trousers." Miller grins. "And he had vindaloo last night."

Hardy uncaps the thermos and takes a whiff — burnt coffee, which seems to be the only kind Miller drinks. "What about the jawbone?"

"'Human' is about as far as they've got; they're digging up the rest now. We did take pictures of what the area looked like before they got their trowels in — looked completely undisturbed. This area doesn't have much in the way of footpaths; it's part of one of those preserves that's been popping up all over this area the past twenty-odd years. Makes me wonder a bit about how our outdoorsy friends just happened to trip over it, to be honest."

"Seems a bit out of the way, aye." He wouldn't be surprised if this was the most people who'd stood on this ground in the past few centuries.

"Mm. Something else odd. From what SOCO's got so far, the body was definitely buried — about three feet deep — but with the angle of the hill here and all the rain we've been getting—" She makes a complicated gesture; her phone lights up her breasts in a very distracting way. He frowns down at the thermos. "And there's another thing," she adds. "We haven't found the actual… head part. Yet."

Hardy forgets about her bioluminescent chest for long enough to glare at her. "You lost the skull?"

She glares right back. "It's probably rolled down the hill! It's pitch dark! We'll find it, it's just—"

"For God's sake—"

"Oh, don't 'for God's sake' me at this hour, we're doing the best we can!"

"Minus the skull!"

"Which might not have even been buried with the rest of the body!"

He hands her back the thermos, keeping his eyes off her glowing tits. "Find it, all right?"

"Dawn's still an hour off," she shouts after him. "We don't even know how old the body is! It could be from the bloody Bronze Age for all we know!"

#'gus is this gonna be a casefic where a long-dead skeleton is used as an analogy for buried feelings and repressed longing'#well‚#look‚#shut up #broadchurch fic #ficcage of interest #broadchurch motherfuckers #miller/hardy

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nipuni · 29 days

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