#rosecrime

❛  hey,  hey.  you’re  gonna  have  to  wipe  that  look  off  your  face  &  tell  me  what’s  wrong  here,  otherwise  you’re  shit  out  of  luck,  princess.   ❜

                Before they knew he was the chief’s kid, they called him Officer Pretty Boy. Once they learned who he was, all friendly jests disappeared. They didn’t dare insult the chief’s kid for fear of it getting back to him. That’s when the whispers started up instead. Many of the people in the precinct figured he only made it through the academy because of his father’s position in the department, without realising he came first in his class all on his own. There’s no other way the chief’s son would’ve made it, right?                 Everything changed when he received that radio transmission. He was the closest, so it only made sense that he responded first. Tobias had seen pictures of gruesome crime scenes before. Sometimes on late nights, his father would forget to close a file all the way -- at least that’s the story Tobias stuck to. This scene was unlike anything those pictures had portrayed. Tobias recognised the house as that of ADA Jolene Fisher’s. Given that little information, it was clearly going to be a high profile case.                It’s been nearly two years since that night. An awful lot has happened. The young Officer Pretty Boy quickly turned into Detective Carlisle. For someone paid to be diligent and observant, he sure does bump into a lot of people. "Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” he says, bending down slightly and offering a hand to her. “I’m so so sorry. Are you okay?”

     ivory coats canines,   dripping down her neck and into the curve of her breast.   beautifully messy,   the same fate would no doubt fall onto lydia---  time could only tell,  with it’s unforgiving ticking cruel and impatient. bloody digits push back chocolate locks, black claws gently cascading down an exposed neck.  ‘  don’t you want a taste ? ‘  she muses,  smiling,   flashing blood stained teeth.   ‘  i won’t bite. ‘  / @rosecrime

          “ nothin’ to see here, kid. just keep walkin’ “ angel says, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the concrete. he leans heavily against the building and pads around in his jacket for his cigarettes. no luck. must have dropped them when he was getting the shit kicked out of him. again. “ wait wait-- you don’t have any smokes on you, do ya? “

                   “ happy birthday, lydie. ”

‘   what’d you do ?    ’     she’s pointing to the small scar on her knee.  it’s a surprise she can even make it out from this distance.

‘ tell me about your childhood, Lydia. Tell me about your life. ‘ // @rosecrime