#because the homophobia was so bad you had to beg for scraps of humanity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bonesthebeloved · 4 years

Text

Complicated- creativitwins

Digging up old drafts baby here we goooo.

The father in this story doesn't have a name so you can imagine it as anyone you'd like/ as simply a stranger. Happy reading.

Trigger/ squick warning: father figures, complicated relationship with parental figures, mention of screaming, child services mention (in like...one sentence) mention of crying, mention of animal death (bunnies) mention of homophobia. <- if I missed any let me know.

Edit: I did not check spelling. We die like men

Pappa had always been with them.

When they were three and just formed their first memories they might remember in distant futures when all was quiet and nothing was holding them back from reminisent, they would remember about the time they’d gotten two big stuffed bears bigger than themselves When Papa had still been alone and Dad hadn’t been with them yet.

They would remember the soft fur in their little hands as they cuddled close to the things when it was naptime.

Pappa was always there for them

When Roman was five and he woke up from a nightmare where a squirrel was chasing him around the playground pappa was there to wrap his long arms around him and tell him that he was safe and that he would get his squirrel catching gear out of the supply closet the man they had started calling Dad had built for them, first thing in the morning.

When Remus faked being sick the first day of school because a kid in his class had laughed at the white streak in his hair he'd had since birth pappa had come and picked him up, explaining that poliosis is nothing to be ashamed of and laughing warmly as his son tried to pronouns the word.

Pappa would always protect them.

When Roman first talked about his pappa and dad in school the teacher had looked like she'd eaten something nasty. Later on Roman was moved to the same class as his brother, his own teacher saying she didn't want to be associated with his kind.

When Pappa came to pick him up that day Roman asked what that ment. And for one of the first times in his life he'd seen pappa frown.

They baked a cake to celebrate them being the same class that evening and Pappa and dad lifted the two of them high up in the air and twirled them around while cheerful music played.

When Remus got told off by a teacher for the first time because he had pushed another kid in his class he had to sit in the corner for ten minutes.

When he was allowed to go back to his spot Roman thanked him for protecting him and Remus threw the paper ball that had been thrown at him right back.

When Pappa came to pick him up he and the teacher had a long talk and they left quickly afterwards. Pappa holding both his and Roman's hands in his own big one's and telling them about how they had done the right thing.

Pappa would always comfort them.

When Roman came back home with scrapped knees and an attitude Pappa had asked him what had happened.

Roman hadn't answered and his brother had later told their dad's that he had seen Roman getting pushed around by some older kids. The had been yelling a word he didn't know the meaning of. When he had told it to pappa he had looked angry. And told his boys that those kids were mean and to never use that word because it made fun of good people.

When Remus began to get more friends his pappa asked him to include Roman in all of their games.

His brother had trouble connecting to people and was quickly becoming the bullied kid. And while Remus would gladly take any bullets for him he couldn't protect him at all times.

And while Remus played star wars with his friends, running around the playground and pretending to know the characters, Roman sat and drew in the little notebook pappa had given him for school.

And Remus bought him a new one with his own pocket money when a mean kid threw it in the lake nearby when they went there to explore with the class around the time that eggs would magically appear in their garden and they pretended like it was a bunny putting them there.

Pappa would always be with them.

When they went to highschool and Remus his friends could no longer play starwars with him because one moved away, one said she’d never liked him and two others went to the same school but suddenly forgot about their being friends, he sat with his brother more often.

And when Roman got friends that he wasn’t sure he liked but hung around anyways because it was better than sitting alone, Remus was left sitting at a table at lunch, other kids coming to sit at the same one in the hopes he would get up and leave.

When he had refused to do just that they’d began whispering about him pretending he didn’t hear them. And when he acted like he didn’t hear they had began calling him mean things.

After two months at the new school they came home and both called for their Pappa with shaky voices too quiet to bare any sort of good news.

And when Remus showed off his bruised wrist he’d gotten when a kid had grabbed him harshly and Roman told him about how his friends hadn’t been friends but bullies in a trenchcoat and a mustache to make him think they were friends before telling him he was too weird to hang around, Pappa had brought them both into his arms. Whispering something like ‘oh my poor, brave boys,’ before holding them a bit tighter and then telling them that sometimes, the world was mean like that and that, sometimes, it takes a while before you find the right people.

And when they went to bed that night they laid in the room and stared at the same ceiling. Both pretending they couldn’t hear Pappa arguing with Dad in the hallway.

Both pretending they weren’t crying silently until they fell asleep to Dad accusing Pappa of being a vile and horrible human being.

Pappa didn’t have all the answers.

They learnt that when they were on their second year of highschool and both of their pet bunnies died in the same night.

Roman had sniffled and stood near the gardendoor as he watched them dig a deep hole all the way at the back of their garden.

Remus decided that he would be sad about this at night when nobody would see or worry and stood close by Pappa as he put the two bunnies in a shoebox and put it in the hole. Saying they had probably died because of the rat poision Dad had spread across the lawn and that the mice must’ve gotten into their food somehow.

They learnt this when Dad and him had sat them down after breakfast that had strawberries to tell them that sometimes love died and that weddingrings would rust and be put in two seperate homes in two seperate boxes that would never be opened again.

They learnt this the fifth time that Remus came home with bruises and Roman began to listen to darker music and emote less dramatically. Unlearning all the expressions he’d picked up from those animated childrens series they weren’t allowed to watch but watched them anyways. He faked having imagined a happy place when the woman that was supposed to help them through the divorce told him to invision one. Instead invisioning Remus, and how he should have punched the guy that had made him drop his books the moment he saw it happening.

Pappa was a human being.

They realised this more clearly than ever when he’d found out why Remus only wore long sleeves and got sent to therapy after their Pappa had hysterically cried over it and begged his son not to leave them before he could grow old.

When Roman stared at the ceiling after he’d taken 14 paracetamol and googling how many it would take to leave them before he could grow old, only to find that he would probably be fine and go to school the next day feeling as empty as usual. Pappa had yelled at him when he had gotten back to be more careful and not get invloved with his brothers troubles after he’d shown off the scratched shoulder from where he’d been thrown against a fence when he'd tried to stand up for him.

And when Remus got diagnosed with dyslexia and Roman with depression they said nothing. Roman shaking his head when the doctor suggested therapy and Remus sitting quietly as they explained that he might have adhd aswell.

Their father wasn't perfect.

They learnt this when Remus came back from school with a black eye and a failed math test and the test was all that was focused on. Shouting not unlike the one they'd heard all those years ago when love began to die and rings began to rust booming through the house and piercing through the music Roman was listening to in his room. A bottle cap with water falling off his desk and the little growing plant in it falling with it.

They learnt this when Roman said he was asexual aromantic and their father said that he should consider therapy again because surely that couldn't be normal.

And when Roman told him that maybe they weren't normal he'd been send to his room. Doors slamming shut and noises too loud for Remus to process.

Their father was wrong sometimes.

They realised this when Remus first brought a friend home and jokes about countries the kid wasn't from were made around the otherwise uncomfortably quiet dinner table. And when religion was brought up in a house full of atheists Remus stood and took his friend's hand, saying that they'd eat something at a foodtruck and storming of, leaving Roman to feed little stripes of unseasoned meat to the cat.

Their father was bad sometimes.

They learned this when the both of them started college and the racist microagressions turned into jokes about how they'd never make it since they were both going to art schools.

And when Remus showed him his homemade costume he huffed and said it looked great in a tone that Implied anything but. And when Roman showed him the finished piece he'd worked months on he said it looked nice even if it had mistakes while pointing at every single one of them while his son, hands still stained with markers and pencil smudges, gave a watery smile and the artwork was put in a art map to never be looked at again.

Their father wasn't good for them.

They realised this. Finally realised this, when Remus was twenty and had decided to move out, getting a small apartment would have been to expensive had his brother not eagerly asked him if he could come with him.

And they told their father while their bags were already packed and the rent was already payed.

And their neighbours registered a noise complained and whispered about calling childservices when their father started another screaming match to tell them how much he didn't want them to leave and how they wouldn't make it.

And they painted the walls mint green while Roman painted a mural around the spot where their couch would be.

And they ate lukewarm noodles from the plastic canisters while sat on the empty apartment floor.

And Roman bought a dozen succulents to take care of and make it feel more like home.

And the wall was always covered in outfit designs and storyboards as the jar they had put the sticker 'for a couch' on slowly filled up.

And they still send him Christmas cards but didn't plan on visiting that house for a long long time.

And their father would have killed them for the mess they made of the apartment sometimes.

And they preferred it that way.

This is both an extremely specific vent and goes out to all the kids with complicated relationships with their parents.

You're allowed to not like your caretakers. You're allowed to not want contact with them after you've moved on. You're allowed to think how they treated you was unjust because it probably was.

Taglist

@purp-man @crazycookie13o @deceitifullies101 @sapphire-knight @ragingdumpsterfiremess @chronophobica @lance-alt @mylifeisadeceit

71 notes · View notes

priorireverte · 3 years

Photo

Congratulations Snapey!

Your application for Severus Snape has been accepted. I really love how much depth and thought you put in to how his history and life shaped him in to the man he was when he died. I am so excited to see how he’ll be shaped by his untimely un-demise. If he ever gets past the initial panic and doomandgloom.

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Snapey, He/Him

TIMEZONE:GMT

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Probably 2 paras a week with occassional explosions of activity flooding the dash

ANYTHING ELSE: Got a looooot of experience. Lots. Also my Snape is both a bad person and a good person because I read the books. I don’t know if this is the place for it, but Severus, being a product of the 1970s has a lot of internalised homophobia, and while, I, Snapey, like to think I’m pretty up to date on prejudice and privilege, this grumpy old turd isn’t. If I post something that’s ruining your ability to enjoy the RP even if it isn’t in the triggers list, or you’re not in the thread, let me know. I never want fun to become work.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Severus Snape

BIRTHDATE: January 9, 1960

DEATHDATE: May 2, 1998

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Male, he/him, probably heteroromantic, definitely bisexual but low self image, so get past that, suitors. He is comfortably male despite his more feminine aspects.

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

OCCUPATION: Returned

FACECLAIM: Adrien Brody/ Louis Garrel, either works, got plenty of age appropriate gifs. Got more sneers for LG tho :D

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

POSTBELLUM:

At first Severus thought that what he was experiencing was the effects of a brain starved of blood and oxygen, combined with hypovolemic shock. Nothing made sense, but that was all well and good when he thought the world around him was a delusion. His behaviour at first was unusual, almost excitable. Every night he went to sleep, sure that this would be the time he never awoke and finally his consciousness would fade into the ether. Morning always came. And oddly, his dying neurons never provided an image of either of the two wizards he had served for more than half his life….nor did they show him the boy he’d made it his life’s work to protect in anything but scraps of conversation and images on newspapers. All in all the delusion was a strange one but it had to be false…didn’t it?

It started to become clear to him that this was not the case, and he was neither awaiting trial for his crimes nor being nursed back to health- the wound that should have been on his neck was not even visible, though sometimes he was sure he almost felt the sharp stab of Nagini’s fangs into his throat. Finally, he realised his position, and the old guarded Severus returned.

PERSONALITY:

Severus’s personality appears to many to be a mystery. Equal parts anger and sadness, all held tight behind a number of walls. Deeply traumatised by the events of his childhood and youth, Severus hides a great deal, afraid to show too much of any emotion, lest it be considered weakness. The only emotion he allows himself to experience around others is anger, since his upbringing has told him it is the only feeling a man is allowed to have. Rage makes him feel for a moment to be powerful.

Severus is quintessentially Slytherin, despite what the late Albus Dumbledore may have implied with his heinous ‘sort too soon’ comment. Resourceful, practical, and driven, Severus has the makings of a great wizard. If only he had got his name into the history books for something else.

His strengths lie in logic, creativity, and problem solving, but he takes them too far at times, seeking to analyse and overanalyse every action. Looking too deeply for too long.

Severus, despite his former jobs as Head of Slytherin, and later, Headmaster, is not a leader. He has never been such, and never will be. He is solitary partially through choice, as he feels it more comfortable than to have to watch his words and wait for whatever fresh hell will be foist upon him.

His interaction with other living things has always been a weakness, be it plants, creatures magical and mundane, or other humans. He does not trust them and they often do not trust him. And considering all that he is….can you blame them?

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Severus’ family comes in three parts.

His home, a muggle father tossed about on the sea of Thatcherism in the industrial north and a pureblood witch for a mother who had greater concerns than the welfare of her son. It was not a happy home, even though it had moments of brightness.

Lily Evans, his best friend during childhood and a lamplight in the dark of the almost slums of Cokeworth. Her effects on his character and personhood were immeasurable.

Lastly, the Death Eaters, and specifically those he was at school with. As a boy with nowhere to belong, caught between the bright academia of Hogwarts and the dingy grime of Cokeworth summers, the Death Eaters offered him something he had long craved. A disenfranchised, talented youth, he lapped up their promises and made one of the defining choices, and mistakes of his life.

HISTORY

Poor, working-class, neglected, too smart for his own good. Severus had the deck stacked against him at an early age. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, as the cliche goes, Severus succeeded monumentally in the Wixen world. A star Potioneer, an expert in the Dark Arts, an occumplished Occlumens. But those would be victories hard won, working twice as hard as his housemates, for scant praise.

While his childhood was grim, there was some hope, borne by Lily Evans. The girl was bright and vibrant and importantly, a witch. Severus did not know tthe manner of her importance on his future only that he was sure she would be a part of it.

The first stumbling block to their friendship was their Sorting, but even that did not yet spell doom. They still spent plenty of time together, exploring spellcraft and potions, though Severus’ interest was always very practical and with a Darker bent to it. Their housemates however, had different opinions. While Lucius Malfoy’s favour protected him for his first two years from much of the open Blood purity rhetoric by which point he had proved his worth to his housemates, it was always there in the periphery, and the poison dripped slowly into his ear, along with the promises of power and whispers of a world where he never had to deal with muggles like Petunia and his father.

Come his fifth year, in the dead of winter, his distrust for authority, bolstered by the lack of interference from his teachers into the campaign of bullying he had endured, hit a new peak. Not only had his terrorisers attempted to kill him (Severus surprisingly believed better of Sirius Black than to use an ignorant friend as a murder weapon- and worse of James Potter, sure that the other boy had only come along because of the consequences it would have on Remus Lupin’s continued freedom), but there was to be no speaking of the incident and certainly no real material punishment. Add in the stress of standardised testing and the pressure to prove himself every bit the wizard his mother’s blood made him, and once summer rolled around and the sun and blood was high, he lashed out at his stalwart friend, ending a seven year friendship in an instant.

He tried to make amends at first, but pushed away, sought some small comfort in the bosom of brotherhood. And soon enough he was standing shoulder to shoulder with them in a war. As time passed and he began to realise that the aims of this organisation, and more importantly, the methods, were not only distasteful but in direct opposition to those morals he still held, his loyalty began to waver. And once again, a push in the form of an overheard prophecy and Severus found himself knelt at Albus Dumbledore’s feet on a windy November night begging for mercy. For himself, but more importantly for his old friend, no faith in the man who had been his master.

And so began the cat and mouse game, where Severus was always the mouse, tossed between two cats, two masters. Adding to the stress of being a teacher barely older than his oldest students was the constant threat, the fear of discovery, and of the sword hanging above the Potter’s heads.

When news of the Halloween attack on Godric’s Hollow reached him, the bottom fell out of his stomach. He felt -and not for the first time- that perhaps his death at Remus Lupin’s hands in the Shrieking Shack at 15 had been fated, and it was this divertion from the tapestry woven for him that had lead to so much anguish. Certainly he felt like a dead man walking then. And all the worse for knowing that the real target of the attack had survived. It was in an attempt to make amends that he put his life into Dumbledore’s hands. He clung to the last shred of Lily inside himself and out.

Harry Potter- the boy who would occupy many of his waking moments. Even before the boy came to Hogwarts, before seeing the cocky, miniature James Potter sitting in his class, glaring at him with Lily’s eyes, Severus lay awake many nights wondering how the boy would turn out. He hoped, of course, for more of Lily. More of that bright, almost holy, goodness. Time and distance had toyed with his memories somewhat, so when he recalled Lily, he no longer thought of the arguments, or the paranoid way he had viewed her friends, or even his anger at her. A resigned grief and loss was what he felt. But Severus had never had the easy way of things, so when fateful 1991 rolled around, while he knew he was in for seven long years, he could never have predicted how long and how hard they would be.

Firstly, the boy had neither of his parent’s genius. He was lazy with his work and only too eager to play silly quidditch games, putting himself at risk and Severus into mild heart palpitations. Not only did he have to continue to worry about the safety record of his potions class, but watch an ever worsening parade of Defence against the Dark Arts teachers, and a worrying resurgence of the old ways in the Slytherin common room. He tried his best to be the teacher he had never had, but in loco parentis meant something different from his perspective, and he was a stern taskmaster. His colleagues, those he should have been able to bond with at least a little were all older than him, and somehow less mature. They were frivolous in many ways he could not afford to be, they seemed to have no idea of the depths to which mankind could sink, and they doted on Potter.

Three years and multiple apoplectic rages later, terror re-entered Severus’ life. A growing itch on his arm, a darkening Mark until at last, the thing Dumbledore had somehow known would come, came. The Dark Lord returned. And so did Severus. Now he was older, and less susceptible to the Dark Lord’s flattery and promises, but the knife’s edge he walked grew ever sharper the more he ingratiated himself into the Dark Lord’s graces, no longer part of what had once been akin to a family.

And so the Order was resurrected, but he didn’t belong there either, and no-one let him forget it. Nevermind that he was now not only supposed to teach the boy Potions-which he had no skill in- but also Occlumency -which he was even worse at. As the year grew darker, with an ever more invasive ministry presence, and an ever more combative pupil, he found himself removing more and more memories, reliving them each time he returned them to the cramped tense space in his mind. He could feel all he had worked so hard for crumbling beneath him; he was losing his Slytherins to a side he dare not tell them the cruel truth of, the boy he had promised to protect was increasingly reckless, and under it all, like a viper hiding in the long grass, was the very real threat of the rising Dark Lord.

When at long last, the Headmaster aquiesced to what had now become his yearly routine of applying for the Dark Arts post, he knew that a monumental shift in the balance was coming. And he was not wrong. Not only was he to protect Potter, but Draco Malfoy. He was now a trusted lieutenant of the Dark Lord, and almost sole confidant to Headmaster Dumbledore. Severus retreated further into himself, socially and mentally. He knew he did not know all that either wizard had planned, but he knew enough. He knew that he had been used even worse than he had thought. There was no protecting Potter for the memory of those lost, or the hope of those yet living, there was just …maintaining him. Until the time was right. Until the finl chess move, trading one piece for the black King. It ate away at him. Every time he saw Lily’s eyes in that hated face, and knew that the boy must die, had always had to die. And then clever Draco, letting Death Eaters into the school. And first he had to stun Flitwick, in the midst of a growing companionship, if not quite friendship, and then….on the tower…

It probably came as no surprise to his supposed allies that he had betrayed them. And though he now had as sure a position among the Death Eaters as any wixen, was now truly embraced by them. It felt dirty. He felt dirty. Every spell he cast, no matter which side it was for, no matter to what end. It was as if the smog of Cokeworth, kept at bay for so long had finally spread throughout his veins, curled around his nerves, even around his magic.

The office, gifted to him by men he held nothing but disiluusioned distaste for felt colder and lonelier than his self-imposed isolation in the Dungeons had. He had long felt alone, but never had he been so truly alone as when he sat, surrounded by long dead wixen who had held the post before him, in a school that had been more pain than home. But he endured. He had sworn to. It was perhaps the only thing he had left to cling to. And so he did what he could, to lessen the suffering of others, to save them where he could. And the whole year, he knew that should he choose, he could fall back in with the old crowd, could abandon the plans a portrait whispered to him. Could deserve the hate in every glance from old colleagues, every whisper from the students. Could be the traitor they all thought him.

Only stolen glances at a scrap of paper never meant for him and a torn photograph kept him alive those dark days. It was almost a blessing to be ousted from the castle. Almost. The boy was alive, though Severus knew it couldn’t last, mustn’t be allowed to last.

And then came the battle. The grass he had picnicked on torn up and the dirt churned into mud. The loft battlements brought down to rubble. And he couldn’t find Potter to tell him, if he even would have listened. Lucius gave him a summons from the Dark Lord, and unwilling to break cover when there was still a chance to find the boy, he answered it. Back in that dirty old Shack, back where he should have died at 15. And this time, 23 long, hard-fought years later, he did.

And in those final moments, blood and memories pouring from him, all that he was, muggle blood flooding out along with the wixen, left him, but at least, at that last moment, he saw her eyes again, and there was no hate to be found. A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. He hoped he had done enough.

OOC EXPLORATION:

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? Getting to flex my RP muscles in a seriously challenging environment, exploring a post-war Severus who isn’t free, who isn’t happy, and who has to once more adapt and survive.

ANYTHING ELSE?

The cot creaked as he sat up. Another day in this fresh hell. Only it couldn’t really be hell, because there were others here who didn’t deserve it. He closed his eyes briefly, but only briefly, because while there were safe people here, there were also very unsafe ones.

His hypervigilance, forged as a child, sharpened during his school years and honed to a razor’s edge by his years of spying and supervising children around cauldrons served him well as he made his way towards the canteens, watching as another no-longer dead wixen was dropped off. The Unspeakables still hadn’t let on their plans or what they knew of these Returned.

He waited patiently for some space, knowing he would feel safer with a cup of coffee in his hand, and less irritable to boot. As he poured his cup he turned suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He was being watched. He didn’t know if it was by friend or foe, not that he had many of the former. Severus almost hoped it was the latter. He had too often caught glances thrown his way that held an uncomfortable level of respect.

Of course he wanted that, had always strived to be respected….but this was…not right. He drew his issued robes tighter about himself. The mug felt warm in his hand, and he slowly raised it and took a sip, peering from behind the greasy fringe at his fellow inmates, daring them to meet his gaze.

Show yourself…

#prioriannouncement #prioriacceptance #severus snape #admin.emmy

2 notes · View notes

cesabutterflywrites · 4 years

Text

The Duke of the Bay: Part 4

If you want to be put on a taglist for this please let me know!

[Spotify Playlist] [Youtube Playlist]

First Part, Ao3 Link, Next Part

Story Warnings: Guns, threats, alcohol, homosexual slang used pejoratively and positively, internalized homophobia, ask me to add any if need be

Chapter warnings: mildly implied prostitution, ask me to add any if need be

Chapter Word Count: 2042

Summary: Patton O’Hearty was a great detective. Most people didn’t take him for one at first glance, especially when he dressed casual. He was abnormally chipper; he thought everything was the cat’s pajamas. He had a smile for everyone he met. He was always tipping his hat at the dames and gents when he walked the streets of the Bay Area.

The only person he could never catch was the leader of the planted mob in Emeryville, nicknamed The Duke. The Duke was good at hiding his dealings and joints well, and he rarely had a snitch in his ranks. The few who tried, well, somehow they disappeared before they could give the police any substantial information. He was well hidden, but popular among the residents of the town. People talked boldly of his rambunctious parties, never revealing the locations though. He was hard to catch, to say the least.

So what happens, when instead, the detective is the one that’s caught?

Mr. Doris was standing outside the small diner, holding a young brunette girl by the elbow. He was obviously struggling to hold her still. There weren’t many people in the street to witness, though a few eyes in the diner were peeking through the blinds in the front windows.

The lady was a firecracker. She was putting up a fuss for sure. She was spewing profanities that would make a sailor blush. Her brown hair was falling out of it’s pins, and her tan coat was ripped at the shoulder seam.

She paused her fighting when she turned and saw the detectives. Her eyes grew large as she recognized the men.

“Alice!” Logan called. He ran up to Mr. Doris, holding his arm up to sucker punch him in the face. Patton was lucky to pull him back first.

“Detective!” he scolded, “Backup up is on it’s way, don’t lose your cool.”

Mr. Doris’ grin was sinister. He had straight teeth that made his smile seem dangerous. He was a handsome man, objectively. His narrow eyes were almost hypnotic. They were such a light hazel that in the daylight they were almost golden yellow. His scar gleamed in the sunlight.

The detective and Mr. Doris stared at each other, both waiting to see who made the first move. When the sirens of the backup were heard, the man in the bowler hat threw Alice forward and turned tail. Alice cursed as she stumbled.

Patton pushed her into Logan’s arms, “Get her to the station!” he called as he ran after the sneaky, sinister snake of a man.

Mr. Doris was fast. The soft-spoken man clearly had many tricks up his sleeves that Patton would need to catch up to. His body was short and stocky, yet he practically glided through the streets as he was chased. Patton once again was struggling to keep up with a criminal because he underestimated them. He underestimated the entire gang, it seemed.

The detective’s heart pounded as he chased the spy through the streets. He barely noticed the pedestrians moving out of his way. He couldn’t let himself get distracted again. His lungs burned, yet he pushed. His legs were aching but the fury he held edged him forward. He shed his jacket behind him, not letting himself get over heated as he ran.

Slithery Mr. Doris turned into an alleyway, so Patton followed- only to see a car barreling towards him. He jumped back, watching with disbelief at the vehicle. Without a thought he found himself chasing the black Rolls Royce on his own human legs. It may have been futile, but the detective didn’t care at that moment.

He looked at the license plate, trying to make out the figures through his own sweat. He stopped running as the car got further and further ahead.

He couldn’t run any more. He threw his hat down and cursed. He paced in the road, cursing at himself for once again not being able to keep up with a criminal. This was the third time not being able to catch up. He felt tears well in his eyes but held them back. Crying would do him no good, now.

A loud horn interrupted his episode. He looked up and saw Logan behind the wheel of their Ford police car. He bit the inside of his cheek, meeting Logan’s glare with his own through the window. He leaned down to pick up his hat, then trudged to the passenger seat.

Alice was seething in the back seat, “Either of you gents want to tell me what the hell is going on?” she yelled. Her voice wasn’t scared. If Patton weren’t so upset, he would have been concerned by her lack of fear.

“Watch your tongue, we’ll explain it when we get to the station,” Logan ordered through grit teeth. He glanced at Patton, an unspoken question in his eyes.

What the hell is going on, indeed?

Patton scrunched his face in worry. He didn’t understand what was wrong with him, himself. He wasn’t usually so careless. He always had a clear head when on a case. He never had such intense feelings on the job. He was meticulous in his dealings with people. He was steady, he could stay objective no matter how sensitive the matter. He was a good cop. He was good.

Wasn’t he?

He internally cursed himself for letting himself get too attached to the Duke. Not just as a victim of seduction, but as a policeman. He was so antsy to set the head criminal behind bars. To see what the man looked like without the backing of his operation. He was craving the satisfaction in putting an end to the madness before the madness even began. He was so damn anxious to go to the party when he found out Logan got that tip.

Anyone would have known the damn note was a trap. Why did he fall for it? Even Logan had warned him. He thought it was just an anonymous do-gooder. He had blind faith in the goodness of people. Patton cursed himself again for being so gullible.

He felt bitter, with a million questions forming in his mind. If the trap was so obvious, what caused him to disregard it? Why did he need to be lured in that way in the first place? If it was clear as day, why the hell did their captain approve the mission? Why didn’t the captain even pause when he was told the plan the morning they got the tip?

Patton remembered he had smiled in satisfaction. There was a memory of the captain’s blue eyes grinning in triumph that flashed across Patton’s mind. At the time he dismissed it as confidence in the plan, but what if...

His eyes widened in disbelief at the connection. The captain…

He looked to Logan, panicked. “We can’t take her to the station, Logan!”

“Are you nuts? Why not?” Logan asked incredulously. “You’ve been acting like a loon for a month, Pat. Why should I trust your judgement now?”

“Because the captain is in on it! Please,” he softened his voice, “trust me this once.”

“I agree with...whoever you really are,” Alice piped up from the back seat.

“Patton. Patton O’Hearty,” he introduced, half paying attention to the kid. He was staring at Logan. “Logan, please. She’s a kid. I can’t endanger her.”

Alice crossed her arms and huffed. Logan’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. He set his jaw in consideration. It was a moment before he spoke again. He looked at Patton once more, and saw that Patton resembled a puppy begging for scraps at the dinner table.

“Alright, alright.” He pulled over to the side of a lake. He turned his torso to look at his passengers. “Where do we go, then?”

----

They walked into a dirty apartment located in the ghettos of Oakland. The place was small. It was cramped with the three people occupying the space. There were still beautiful decorations despite that. Pieces that showed Alice’s determination to not be deterred by her circumstances.

Patton’s heart broke for Alice. She was only sixteen. She lived alone, braving the world on her own.

Alice had drawings covering the wall by her small vanity to the right of the doorway. There were little notes she had stuck to the mirrors, and there were perfume bottles that glittered in the dim lighting. The clutter was beautiful. It told a story of a girl who kept as much beauty in her life as she could. Patton admired the strength Alice had.

“Sorry about the mess, usually the visitors I have don’t care.” Alice remarked. Her voice was masking her panic well. Patton had barely caught it.

“Don’t worry, Miss. We’ve got bigger things to worry about than the cleanliness of your home.” Logan replied for them. His face betrayed him, though. He and Patton shared a look of concern for Alice’s well being.

Alice walked to the stove in the far corner of the room. “Could I interest you two in some tea before we start our discussion?”

The two men shook their heads. Logan made his way to sit down on the pillows on the ground. They looked like the type of pillows Indians used for sitting on the ground, Patton thought. Logan looked awkward, as always. Patton walked to the mirrors to read the notes.

“Hold on, Alice.” “The future is bright.” “Only a few more years to go.” “I love you - Lola”

Patton shook his head. He was so enraptured by his curiosity that he jumped when Alice spoke up behind him softly, “I try to keep my head up when things get bad.”

“Why is Mr. Doris after you, Alice?” Logan asked. He stared at the two with curiosity.

Alice turned to look at him. “I borrowed some money from the Duke. I needed to pay rent. I had lost my job, and I couldn’t lose this place,” her eyes shined. She looked at the wall, but her face told the men that her mind was in another place.

“I’ve been in between jobs before. Usually I can handle it. I have a backup. I have friends who help me. Well, more like acquaintances. I tried to reach out to them.

“They’re all married now, or engaged. They didn’t need my trade anymore,” she blinked away tears. “I knew borrowing the money was risky. The Duke has a reputation for a reason, you know?”

Patton had tears of his own shining in his brown eyes. Logan seemed sympathetic, as well. Alice was being careful not to admit about her other crime, and they let it slide. The implication was enough. She was a desperate kid in a desperate situation. The detectives discreetly nodded to each other, silently agreeing to help this girl get her life in order.

Patton laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. He looked into her eyes. He saw her strength, her passion. She hadn’t let her circumstances kill her will.

“Let us help you,” he requested. His voice was gruff with intense emotion. “In return, you can help us catch the Duke.”

Alice turned her face to look at the vanity. She looked at the framed picture of Lola and smiled.

“Sure,” she agreed enthusiastically. “Let’s put the bastard behind bars.”

“If you work with us, you’re going to have to watch your language,” Logan chastised. His voice was still kind. “Now Patton, what’s this about the captain being in on this?”

Patton took his hat off to run his hand through his messy brown hair. He was nervous. Implying the captain being dirty was serious. If he was wrong, he could get suspended for making a false report. That, or worse, get fired.

If he was proven wrong, the captain could have that implication follow him for life. The man had a wife. He had a baby on the way. Patton admired the leader, he truly did, but could that admiration be misplaced? He’d been misplacing his trust a lot lately.

He took his time to figure out his words. He wasn’t aware that he started pacing. He felt nearly manic. He couldn’t explain why he thought the captain was in on it. In fact, his thoughts were telling him he was being irrational. It was his mind who was telling him how ridiculous he was for questioning his faith in the captain.

His gut told him something else entirely. There was something missing. It was a jumbled up puzzle. Which is why he needed to tell Logan. Logan was good at puzzles. He still trusted his partner. He looked at Logan eyeing him warily. Patton was aware of what he looked like to Logan; he was going mad.

Alice sat at her vanity to brush her hair. It had become untamed in the chaos of the afternoon. She still looked at the nervous detective through her mirror, also curious about the theory Patton had. She kept her mouth shut, though, aiming to fix up her appearance with the chaotic mess of beautiful, cheap makeup.

Patton sucked in a deep breath, and began to tell Logan everything he had so far.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this story!

4 notes · View notes