AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello! I wrote this the other night as a joke, and ended up going over it again with a fine-tooth comb. I'm not normally this…dark?...but I don't hate how it turned out, so I figured I might as well throw it on here and see what people think.

DISCLAIMER: This deals with the subject of rape. It doesn't get sexually graphic in its description by any means, but the story revolves around the rape of a character (and no, I'm not talking about how the writers have royally ruined Tina's character this season). Obviously if you're against the notion, then hit the back button.

— Glee —

Photographs of a Tragic Anderson: A Collection of Odes to Loki

Volume 1: The Alley

Blaine whistled to himself as he walked, almost danced down the street. He had just had the most perfect night with Sam. It had been their third date together, but he already knew that it was something special, that Sam was something special. The adrenaline he had from his night was beginning to wear off and he was beginning to feel the cold surround him as he made his way down the block. His apartment was only a few blocks from Sam's, and so Blaine had decided to walk. It hadn't been cold when he left for Sam's, but on his walk back, it seemed as though the temperature had taken a drastic turn. Even as he pulled his coat tighter around himself, he refused to let his spirits be dampened by a little cold weather. As he turned the corner, Blaine noticed an alley beckoning his name, promising a shortcut to his apartment and saving him precious minutes from the cold.

As he stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets and jogged across the street, his breaths billowing around him, his heart raced slightly from his exertion as he calmly walked down the narrow way, his mind continuing to dance in the memories of his night that he had just spent with Sam: his perfect night.

He could almost hear the strings of the orchestral soundtrack to this moment as he meandered down the alley, noticing how the moonlight glinted off the wet brick walls on either side of him. He was living a movie moment, one so perfect that he pitied those around him for not being able to experience the joys that were engulfing him in that moment. He felt like bursting out into song, as corny as it may have been. He couldn't remember ever feeling so happy or full of energy: it far surpassed the time when he was a student at Dalton Academy, dancing on furniture and belting out Top 40 tunes in a five-part harmony with his friends. The world shone a little brighter as his smile refused to leave his lips.

His heart began racing again, though for a different reason, when he saw a large man emerge from the shadows of the alley. It was as if someone hit the pause button on his soundtrack and dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over his head. He was frozen in his tracks, a chill running up and down his spine, warning him to just turn around and take off running. He wanted to run, wanted to sprint in the opposite direction, but found himself unable to move.

"You look lost," the man said, his words slicing through Blaine like a knife. The words danced through the air, mocking him with their fake kindness. The man wasn't sincere. They glint in his eyes spoke of a much more malicious character.

"I'm not," Blaine stuttered, his words coming out in segments, though he tried his best to not appear as terrified as he suddenly felt, "I'm just taking a short cut. Sorry to distur-"

And the rest of Blaine's words were lost in the moment and forever forgotten as he felt himself slam backwards into the wall and a rough hand descend upon his mouth. It all happened in a fleeting moment. One second he was standing in the middle of the alleyway and the next he felt the hard bricks scratching the small of his back as he shirt had been untucked somehow in the moment. He winced as he felt a slight burning on his now cold skin. The combination of heat and cold was soon forgotten though as his mind focused back on his attacker.

"Shh," the man purred menacingly, "it's no fun if someone hears you and interupts us..."

Blaine felt tears of terror freeze on his cheek as the rough hands invaded him. His silent cries filled the nothingness around him. He struggled, pushed, kicked; he did anything he could think of to get free, to get away. He continued with all he had, fueled by his fear and echoes of a battered high school freshman outside his Sadie Hawkins Dance. He didn't want to relive that night. He didn't want to add a second act to that horrible memory.

Why was it happening? Why did life have to punish him for a second time? What could he have possibly done to deserve it all again?

He jerked his head back and forth futilely, trying to free his mouth to at least scream for help—scream for someone, scream for himself—but it only resulted in a deep, throaty laugh from behind him. Tears streamed down his cheeks, creating small pools on his attacker's hands before flying away as they were whipped to and fro. He continued to fight, but felt himself being drained of everything as each second passed. He felt weaker and weaker, more helpless than he had ever felt as his muffled shouts and screams turned into broken whimpers.

He could feel the man continuing his forced intrusions as he slowly felt the world turn to black around him.

Blaine lay on his cold, cement bed. He felt nothing. He felt nothing, and yet he felt everything at the same time. He felt empty and hollow, as if his entire being was no more. He felt useless and used, no longer a person. He was a ghost, a forgotten memory, a shell of human that could no longer be considered a person. His insides had been stripped away despite his protests, his pleadings. All that resonated with the raised skin as the wind continued to howl around him like a predatory wolf, just waiting to make its fatal strike.

But he also felt every bit of burning flesh that made up his body in that moment. He felt every surge of hurt and anguish as the man had barreled into him. He felt the hot breath on the back of his neck as he begged for an end, begged for some semblance of mercy to descend upon him in that moment...but no saving grace ever arrived. He felt the phantom pains that weren't actually phantoms, but fully real sensations, betrayals that his body continued to force onto him, even after the nightmare had ended. He was a slave to these sensations and memories.

He had passed out sometime in the middle of it, he wasn't sure when, no longer able to withstand his existence; and there he was, lying in the middle of the dark alley, in the shadows that his attacker had appeared from. There had to be some poetic irony in that little fact: emptiness returning to where the thief had first appeared. Blaine felt so unlike himself in that moment, so different from how he had only seconds before the devil had appeared to him.

Broken.

Battered.

He didn't even know that he was crying until another heartless wind blew down the enclosed space and chilled the backs of his wet hands. He almost expected the tears to freeze and create little patches of ice on his skin. He blinked and tried to pull himself up from his lowly place on the dirty ground, but all he felt was a fire shoot through him, burning every inch, every millimeter of his skin.

He cried out, or he attempted to, but all that escaped his bloodied lips was a strangled attempt at noise. It sounded almost animal-like. It wasn't his normal voice, not a normal sound that usually made.

His throat hurt, he suddenly realized as he brought a shaking hand up to it and flinching when his cold fingers made contact with the exposed skin. He could almost picture the bruises that were surely forming on his skin. He then remembered the calloused hands coming to close around his throat, squeezing tightly every time Blaine felt himself trying to scream out for a savior.

Blaine let his head fall back down to the ground, defeated, lying next to a rusted old dumpster. The putrid smells of its contents rushed at his nostrils, further mocking him with their offense. Their scents seemed appropriate and echoed the way he felt. He felt another jolt of pain as his head landed on a small stone, sucking in a breath at the small-unexpected addition of pain. It was nothing compared to the hell that was coursing through his muscles. He stayed there another few minutes...or possibly more? He didn't even know. Mere seconds could have passed, yet it felt like he had spent an eternity in his current purgatory. After what seemed like three more eternities had passed, Blaine was finally able to hold the ringing phone next to his ear.

"Sam?" he choked out, coughed, the name almost unrecognizable as it barely made its way through the night's air. His voice was a muted ghost, unable to make itself known.

"Hello?" came the confused reply.

"Sam, it's me..." Blaine's throat continued to burn and a new batch of tears began descending, though Blaine wasn't even entirely sure that he ever stopped crying.

"Blaine? Blaine is that you? I can barely hear you."

"I need you Sam…I need your help…I need you…"

Blaine's voice was small, regressing back to that of a child's as he pleaded, entire body shaking as he used every last bit of hope left in it. No more words were formed, only tears and half articulated sobs. He couldn't stop, couldn't control himself. He hated himself in that moment, hated what he had become. He was weak, unable to even answer the questions being directed at him.

He heard Sam freaking out on the other end of the line, begging him to tell him where he was and what had happened, but just like Blaine's pleas that were made earlier, they went unanswered. Blaine thought the answers, tried to push the information out of his brain, hoping it would somehow find it's way to the worried blond.

The world around him began to fade away again. He should have panicked. He wanted to panic, but in that moment, Blaine found it hard to care enough to exert himself like that. There was a small sense of relief as the pain began to ebb away, releasing him from its prison and torture as numbness set in. His lasts thoughts before everything went completely dark were of the shy looks that he had caught Sam giving him earlier that night. He thought of the shy looks. He thought of the…

— Glee —

Some more time had passed before Blaine felt a new sensation of warmth spread through his body. He wasn't able to open his eyes, but he had an unsure belief that he was being carried. He didn't know who it was or if he was even hallucinating the warmth, but somewhere deep down inside of him, a stubborn sliver of hope prayed for those arms to belong to a blonde man with hazel-green eyes, to someone who stole shy glances.

— Glee —

AUTHOR'S NOTE: No lie, I was pretty hesitant to put this up because this isn't exactly my comfort level in subject matter, but Loki Firefox (co-author of the great story "Brand New Ground") essentially told me to shut up and post it lol. So I'd like to thank him for his brassness, as well as my current writing partner (one that I am stealing away from him for my upcoming story) TheFauxMe for suggesting that I send it to him in the first place. Most of all though, I'd like to give a shout out to the ever-perfect openmymindcomeinside because if it weren't for our Skype conversation about ridiculously horrible sex scenes, this blurb would never have been written (especially since I wrote the first half as a joke and then was forced to finish it, per her demands lol). It started off as a 400-word joke and ended up turning into this.

So this isn't the beginning of the next fic that I had been talking about. Actually, that one is still in the process of being written. The good news is that our entire first chapter is written 8,000+ words as well as an outline for the whole story. We want a few chapters under our belts before we post, but keep an eye on the lookout for it in the coming weeks, I'd imagine.

So I'd appreciate it if you took a minute or two and jot down your thoughts or impressions. Feel free to tear it apart or give it a thumbs up. I'm always too eager to get a "review" email notification. Thank you in advance to all who do! Much appreciation.

UPDATE: So I started this off as just a one shot, something that amused me one night...as odd as that may be to say about a rape fix...awkward...but I've decided to continue this as a sort of collection of unrelated one shots dealing a less than lucky Blaine Anderson. I'm dedicating this to Loki Firefox, partly because he's the one who encouraged me to post THIS chapter of it, but also because of his undying love for all things Darren Criss/Blaine Anderson...and I'm just a huge douche bag who is amused by the shenanigans of doing horrible things to him (Blaine) in Loki's name. :)