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jerzwriter · 14 days

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Choices Fandom Acts of Kindness - April 2024

Hello @moominofthevalley ! I am your secret pal for the @choicesfandomappreciation Acts of Kindness event. After driving relatives around to see the cherry blossoms last week, I thought this would be the perfect spring day for Trystan and Emily. But it's not all hearts and flowers; it comes with a bit of sarcasm, too. I truly hope you enjoy this, I always get nervous writing other characters, but I hope it fits! (This is some serious fluff! lol) Thanks so much for being such a kind and supportive member of the fandom—I'm so glad you're here! 🩷🩷

Spring's Eternal

Book: Crimes of Passion

Pairing: m!Trystan Thorne x f!MC (Emily Rose)

Rating: Teen

Words: 700

Emily attempted to hide the grimace on her face as she looked at her watch. It was 6:35, and she was more than ready to go home. Her aching feet would provide the perfect excuse, but that would require admitting Trystan was right about wearing more comfortable shoes, and she was not about to give him that.

"Trystan!" she hollered, but he had already taken off. Bolting ahead with the excitement of a child who had just spotted a candy display.

In some ways, he had. The city was coming to life after its long winter slumber. Flowers seemed to pop up everywhere, dotting the cityscape with vibrant bursts of yellow, purple, pink, and blue. New York was nature's canvas, and even the most jaded native had to admit... this artist had created a masterpiece.

Its crown jewels were the cherry blossoms in Central Park, and that's where Emily thought they were heading when they headed out at the crack of dawn. But, no. Trystan insisted on starting on the Lower West Side and meandering the length of Manhattan Island until they reached the crowning glory.

Emily walked as fast as her sore legs could take her; her enthusiasm for the beautiful blossoms had diminished somewhere around Rockefeller Center, but not Trystan. Trystan spun around, camera hung around his neck, taking shot after shot after shot. She couldn't help but roll her eyes as she approached him; the goofy grin on his face was priceless. No matter how much she wanted to go home, she wasn't about to deny him this, but that didn't mean she wouldn't tease him.

"Trystan Thorne," she huffed upon approach. "Do you understand that we live here? You're not a tourist; you don't have to take a million pictures to ensure you remember this all."

"Ah, but I do," he grinned. "We live in New York all year round, but these delightful pink treasures are here for a very short time, and I want to remember them."

Emily chuckled in spite of herself. She had to admit that Trystan's zeal and enthusiasm were softening this tough detective's edges, even if she didn't fully understand why.

"I don't get it. You've lived in New York for how many years? Yet you're acting like you're seeing spring in the city for the very first time."

"I am," he said, looping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her near. "After all, it's the first time I'm seeing it with you, and that makes everything immeasurably more beautiful than it was before."

Emily wrapped her arms around his waist, nuzzling her face against his body as she held him close. The moment was precious, and she craved the closeness, but there was more: she didn't want him to see the full effect of his words.

"Trystan, you need to stop this. I have a reputation to uphold, and you're doing all you can to erase it. I won't have it."

"Don't worry," he laughed, stopping to place a kiss upon her head. "You're reputation will still be firmly intact, and I'll defend it to the fullest. People will believe it too because the softer side of Emily Rose... that's something reserved for those closest to you, and this year, I'm so happy that includes me."

He let out a breath as her hand smacked his chest. "Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it! You're going to give me diabetes with all this sweetness."

"Fine," he smiled. "I'll dial it back. Besides, I know you're tired. Would you like to head back home?"

"I did," she said, watching the blue sky melt into a palette of purple and pink. Once more, nature put on a show for free. The air was beginning to take on a bit of a chill, but Trystans's embrace kept her warm. The truth was, she wished the moment could linger forever. "I did. But now... I don't want this to end. You're right; spring is entirely too short, and we should enjoy it."

"It is, but it's going to be a little longer this year."

"It is?"

"Sure is, spring's eternal now. I have it whenever I'm with you."

~~~~~

(I imagine about a week later, on a cold, rainy day, Trystan gave Emily the collage he created (above). She hung it on the wall in her bedroom, and though the skies were grey outside, spring was eternal... it lived in their hearts.)

#crimes of passion #trystan thorne #trystan thorne x f!mc #trystan x emily #moominofthevalley #choices fandom appreciation #spring kindness week

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thosehallowedhalls · 24 days

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A Special Gift

Book: Crimes of Passion

Pairing: M!Trystan Thorne x Emily Rose (F!MC)

Rating: Teen

Word count: 682

Summary: Emily's birthday is a difficult time, so Trystan takes it upon himself to cheer her up.

A/N: For @moominofthevalley. Happiest of birthdays! I hope this new year brings you nothing but joy. You're a bright light in this fandom, and I hope you know how appreciated you are. (Also, may I just say, you have amazing taste in books.)

Emily sits hunched over at the counter, her head buried in her arms. The din of The Drunk Tank echoes around her, its comforting familiarity a welcome embrace during what is invariably one of the worst days of her year.

Her birthday.

Everyone always thinks that Emily doesn’t like her birthday because she doesn’t like the fuss. While true, that’s only part of the story. The bigger part, the one that lies under lock and key in the deepest, most secret confines of her heart, is that she can’t bear to think that she continues to get older, meet milestone after milestone, and her dad isn’t there to witness any part of it.

I miss you, she thinks, her gaze falling on the framed badge and gun hanging in a place of honor behind the counter.

“You miss him,” a voice says behind her.

Emily doesn’t start. She already knew Trystan was there. She sensed him the moment he stepped foot into the bar. “I do.”

“That’s to be expected. But don’t you think he would want you to enjoy your birthday?”

“Why? The only difference my birthday makes is the exact number I use to fill out paperwork.”

“Emily.”

She blows out a breath. “Yeah, he would want me to enjoy my birthday.”

“Why don’t we steal, I mean, borrow a bottle of Tommy’s best wine and head out to the roof? I have something I’d like to give you.”

“You know I don’t like to celebrate my birthday.”

“We won’t be celebrating. We’ll be sitting and drinking, and we can be completely quiet if you want. But I hold firm on the present. Everyone should get a present on their birthday.”

She smiles in spite of herself. “You make it difficult to stay here and brood.”

“Then mission accomplished. Come on, my love.” He holds out a hand. She takes it almost automatically. “Let me try to make your birthday bearable?”

As they climb up the stairs, Emily remembers the first time they did so together. A wave of love and gratitude washes over her.

No matter what happened in the past, she thinks, she has so much to be grateful for.

Once on the roof, Trystan asks her to uncork the wine. Grudgingly, she does so before turning around to give him his glass. “There. Why you decided I had to do any physical labor on this day, I don’t…”

Her mouth snaps shut when she sees the package he’s holding out. “Well, I’m sorry, but I had to distract you somehow.”

“Sneaky,” she says admiringly. “Is it a book?”

“You only have to unwrap it to find out.”

She does, more eagerly than she cares to admit. She finds herself smiling when she takes out the delicate tissue paper surrounding what is definitely a book. But her smile falters when she sees the title. “Wuthering Heights?” Her voice shakes on the words.

“My dear detective, did you really think I wouldn’t remember your favorite book? Or why it's so important to you? I know you already have a few copies, but…”

“No, no.” She hugs the book to her chest. “It’s perfect. I didn’t have this edition.”

“I should imagine not. It’s a hundred years old.”

“It is?”

“I tried to find a first edition, but I couldn’t quite swing it on short notice. But I imagined you would appreciate an older copy of this particular book.”

She just stares at him. “Don’t let this go to your head, but you really are the perfect man.”

“Naturally.”

Emily’s next words come so quickly that she doesn’t realize what she means to ask until she has. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

Trystan freezes. They both know who Emily always read Wuthering Heights with. “You would share that me?”

“I would.”

“Then by all means.”

He sits on the couch, and Emily promptly follows, her legs on his lap. She clears her throat and begins: “1801—I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with.”

#trystan x mc #trystan x emily #trystan thorne #emily rose #crimes of passion #playchoices #30 drabbles in 30 days

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inlocusmads · 4 months

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interborough loops ~ emily x trystan

Emily puts her feelings to words after taking a leap of faith - something she'd not consider doing if it weren't for watching the people around her. However, Trystan isn't a huge fan of words.

wc: 3.4k+ | strong language | teen and up

A/N: This is just pure vibes, no plot. I wanted to write a little something feel-good for Emily (who is @moominofthevalley's MC) on account of @choicesfandomappreciation's Secret Pal event (surprise, surprise, it's-a-me!) and something introspective at the same time. I hope you enjoy it!

The thing about exit ways were that, it took a longer time giving her mere seconds before the train could leave. The platform was sticky to walk through, which made it all the more difficult. She never made such mistakes if it weren't for the Odysseus-esque journey of a commute to the station.

Sounds of the PA announcement, the whirring of the train on its tracks and the amicable chattering of the passengers within made things all the more familiar to Emily. Then again, she did see him in the oddest of places. Not him as in cleanly-combed blonde hair, bright eyes that shone like a lamp - some kind of caricature many New Yorkans shared, rather in abstract blurry congealed messes.

They say you're more susceptible to falling in love with things that are familiar to you. Something like the faint smell of sugar reminding one of an old ube jam recipe. Then again, the 'they' referred to a drunk Emily had to wrestle off from latching onto her arms near her uncle's bar.

Anyway, it was as if her mind was trying to tell her something during commutes everyday. Only on the commutes, where the one or two times she took the T, she’d see other faces.

There were more obvious things, such as waving at the right person from a distance.

Today there was a woman fiddling with a black ring on her index finger. Another one’s phone played The Ink Spots’ We’ll Meet Again, the headphone jack loosely connected, enough for anyone close to hear and sigh. A man flipped through the newspaper, earnestly reading about world politics that had a travel column with picture of the Carpathian Mountains.

Then there were less-than-obvious things, such as mistaking an exiled prince for a ruthless murderer. Anyone could assume anything, which is why people wrote books about this feeling.

The window through which Emily saw the stations pass by, as the hollow tube careened through the twisted tunnels deep in the underground, were huge. As tall as what she recalled a French window would look like. The coughs around her were uncomfortable, but familiar in a way buttered toast was familiar to the tongue. A person loudly opened a pack of thin mints, hungrily eating through, sleep-deprived with a flask of coffee next to them.

Businesspeople-with-briefcases loudly swore into their phones, tired of placing their tenth international call that day. A faint hint of lemon and piss reminded her of the dark alleyways with just one voice to focus on, apart from her own breathing.

There were pleasanter things to look at-- say the kind of books people read: pirate fantasy, fantasy fiction, Blades of Light and Shadow-knockoffs, more pirates, self-help books, enemies-to-acquaintances romances, contemporary lit, poetry. Books with knives on the cover, books with eyes on the cover. Girls in black hoodies reading them. Boys in corduroy jackets aimlessly mulling over the same sentence over and over again - stuck in some endless time loop.

Scratch that. They were all more than obvious things. Clear as day.

Like a hamster wheel, Emily had perfected this routine. It was either the T, the taxi or driving. She kept her options open. For breakfast, it was either plain wheat toast or cereal -some form of carbohydrates that’d help her get around. Hair falling flat in clipped bangs, a dress shirt, jacket and trousers - inside her pocket: phones, keys, wallet. She allowed herself very little room to think, whilst keeping her choices spread out quite neatly.

This felt strange. Fixating on one specific thing. It’s what her therapists have told her: “Just stop thinking! Journal things down if you fixate on a thought over and over again!” as if it were that simple. She’d written some down, before tossing them in the fireplace because letters -scalded or not didn’t bring her father back.

Her phone rang. A visible ‘T’ popped up on her screen, before she exhaled.

“No, I don’t want whatever you’re selling. Fuck off.” she hung up on the telemarketer. They’d gotten out of hand these days. From dating manuals to ring-up dinner services, it was getting fairly ridiculous. It had been a while since she had something new to divert her attention to. A rush of adrenaline coursed through her as she moved away for a tall man with a black blazer to enter through the doors. She kept her eyes on the ground from then on.

All of them carried shopping for the holiday season. The markets did open earlier in those weeks. Snow was coming. Blizzard warnings were issued through news tickers and psychic warnings. You could have snow, you could enjoy it, but never too much of it. Summed up Emily quite astutely. A coffee she liked today would belittle her with guilt tomorrow. What guilt? She’d have no idea.

It was just a familiar feeling. If love (personified) were to stalk you stealthily, this must be what it feels like.

The people on the T were just people - ordinary people with ordinary griefs who were trying to be someone- wear a certain brand of shampoo to appease their partners, take off their wedding rings when meeting other people, barbers hiding scissors and telling pretty dates they were billionaires with a dark past of tax fraud, mothers lying to other mothers they never had a child before, priests giving sermons in the morning and drinking at night. Not many people were lucky.

Everywhere they went, they were reminded with this familiar feeling of being there. It called for this necessity to be cautious, be watchful, always on edge. Do a little Superman swap with the glasses and everything, because you didn't know if the feeling was there to stay.

Emily wore an array of faces for all sorts of these fleeting feelings.

A brave one for Mafalda. Only the bravest reserved for her boss.

Something witty for Luke and Ruby so they didn’t get bored at their desks. Another courageous one for Uncle Tommy.

One for Jimmy with clean hands and a presentable face; to tell him she’d been holding up okay and hoped he’d like peonies instead of tulips. Sick sobs later on. Nobody had to know.

A stern one for the T, so people didn’t cross her and something hopeful for her clients. Sometimes she’d let the face fall, just for a second, to take a bite of her marshmallow-filled sandwich or watch the window run through stations like a blur but fortunately only one took notice.

And maybe something for Trystan. He was always good at seeing past these faces anyway. Which is why it made it even more difficult. How was she supposed to tell him, when she wore them for so long it was difficult to discern if it was real or not?

***

The train doors opened and she got off at her stop. Right in the front was a tabloid poster stuck to the pillars of the walls. It was funny how quick word got around about Trystan’s antics. Even New York had to stick them on walls like a you-must-remember-this because each day was different from the rest.

Slam poetry went on in one corner, as were some saxophone players some morning, breezy tunes - all plagiarised anyway. People paid to have something written for them. Emily watched a man tuck in a picture of his beloved’s in his wallet, before taking out the right wad of cash to have someone compose something on the spot as an early sentimental Christmas present to take home and surprise the partner with. One could also fill it up with gimmicks; like a band of kids sticking ‘kick me’ to a banker man’s shoulder.

There were always firsts during the end of the year. The banker man had a book from the New York Public Library under his arm - one about Christmas desserts because he didn’t want to have his wife do the cooking, preferably. A first. Kids who never read, read books, just to come up with a kickass end-of-term essay. Likely.

People who never took pictures had armfuls stuffed in their wallets, so much so they’d mistake it for cash at least half a dozen times. Subway jazz players decided to pick up the violin just to play Billboard’s Top 10 in a classic flair; the others biting their tongues because they didn’t think of it first. Very very strange.

A leap of faith into the new year, a leap of faith into January, February, March, April - twelve months, twelve years, well God knows how long and the tunnels would still somehow exist and people would be walking back and forth, the subway would continue to play all kinds of music until they’d rid it entirely out of existence, people stuffing novelties into their bags until they invented bigger bags - it was suffocating. This familiar feeling that Emily shared with everyone else spiralled into madness. She had to tell him. She had to.

Bit on the nose to do it over the holidays, no?

Yeah, well, people were lucky. Some people, in the movies, happened to get the perfect time, with the perfect bit of snow. Others had messier stories that made good pub discussions or over-the-phone conversations on the train. God, the amount of love stories were palpable. Friends meeting friends. Family hugging family. Relationships broken and forged. Everything was familiar because Emily had been there - keenly listening to every conversation ever. She’d stopped listening to her daily discography of Fiona Apple a long time ago. Not exactly a gossip person, her, no. Never. Then again, it was familiar. Wasn’t exactly a new thing.

The station was immortalised in this constant state of being, that only the obvious things changed.

For starters, the entirety of the subway station worked synchronously, like the parts of a Rube Goldberg machine: the marble rolling down an inclined plane, setting off a car to lodge into a wedge before tossing a spatula at a wheel-and-axle mechanism that began rotating spontaneously, tugging at a pulley entwined around its circumference. The pulley, mounted on a screw, does the job of sending a bucket of more marbles rolling down the plane. Today, there was chaos. Disorderliness. An apparent lack of a taser and a serving tray. The less-than-obvious disarray was her bread and butter as a private eye. While things looked that way, people clamouring in and out instead of the neat files they were used to.

A hint of the nicer cologne would cause her to turn in the other direction. The PA announcer switched people every now and then, so anyone with a jaunty voice would make Emily tilt her head upwards. Packets of stale bagels were sold in pop-up shops, one with avocado shmears, cream cheese and chilli flakes. Any signs of black jackets or shoes that were a little too polished garnered her attention.

Talks about breakfast food gripped her ears as if someone were twisting them. Very strange. Wasn’t exactly a sign to do “anything” per se. People saw loads of signs in her line of work. You’d classify most of them under a crime involving a sudden strong impulse rather than driven by thought.

It wasn’t exactly required for her to tell him anything. No obligation. No requirement to wear a face, but also no requirement against wearing one. Each set off a different Rube Goldberg machine in progress, until it repeated itself in a loop.

Santa Claus (1989) was technically the ‘first’ Christmas movie. Then sparked the invention of the Hallmark confessions. Even more movies were made with a jaunty holiday theme. You don’t save just one picture of someone on your phone when they mean a lot to you. No. One family photo doubles into seven by the time the phone turns a month old.

A couplet gets stitched together to form poems and poems set to music make pop anthems. Then back from pop anthems to Christmas movies to the crowds clamouring into the subway - being a private detective was a curse because your job involved figuring out connections like some grandeur Tetris championship even with the absence of any apparent signs.

Emily was going to need a big one with neon lighting to convince herself. Until then she knew she was going to be eating her breakfast, waiting and reading the train schedule over again after getting bored from listening to the saxophone player play the same two songs.

Once again, why should it be over the holidays?

March, April and May were out. Her memory told her that was probably when her dad could have been murdered. Could have. Trauma did this weird thing to your head where it made you relate with strangers aboard a train, but made you a peeping tom character in your own life. She’d never taken laminated pictures or had really familiarised herself with pirate books or discerned between two different accents, but "Hey-- uh, when did her father die?" Somewhere, somewhere. September was out.

Emily dusted off the crumbs of breakfast from her jacket, wondering when the next train to Astoria would show up. Now wasn’t the time to really revisit anything or she’d be faster than light in letting go of her control on the wheel.

The train to Astoria was packed but Emily didn’t have options. She squeezed into a comfortable spot, a hand on the railing, another on a pole. People with familiar shopping bags and familiar looking faces occupied the seats. Tired, sullen, babies to feed, partners to take care of. Some grief-stricken. Emily could see that.

She saw it in Diana, a kindred spirit who had lost her wife. She’d maintained a positive attitude, something Emily considered would be in the cards for her. Others bereaved the loss of another year; too tired to cling onto anymore but too cautious to let go. Body language said very little about the person, but how they interacted spoke miles. Emily used this little trick on her clients a lot - to separate fact from fiction. Now everything tasted like strawberries and dark chocolate.

She had to tell him.

The man on her left was loudly speaking to his divorce attorney.

What’s the worst thing that can happen?

The woman on the right was fussing with her baby, almost as if the baby was so unwanted she had to stomach having her shopping bags on the sticky floor.

Well, a lot could go wrong. Emily knew the persistence of memory was like cheese on grilled bread. Spread evenly and made no fucking sense as a metaphor here. However, the memory was rather persistent to say the least. Anyway, what about memories anyway, if she couldn't differentiate between the kinds of love that existed, mostly because she'd much rather not deal with them at all? What about those faces anyway - when she had one for each of those familial, platonic, romantic ec ceteras; what's the point of wearing it and anticipating this massive attack which never comes? Does she owe Trystan the words back? Was this the perfect time? And why must it always revolve around the fucking holiday season, when she was perfectly content two hours ago?

Emily felt like a commander anticipating an attack over the hill, when there was not even an enemy to wage war against.

It was getting a little wacky now; the fact that the signs weren’t signs but more of her mind wanting to occupy everything else. Very strange. Snow did not make things better. The Drakovian Palace looked majestic in all the rain and hail they had, but even water couldn’t dissolve Vasili’s blood from her fingernails.

A leap of faith. There was nothing much to it besides that. You just did it. People had other ideas. Step one, take them to a fancy dinner date. Second, let them order whatever they want. Third, begin a comprehensive powerpoint of your relationship history. Fourth, rehearse your speech a thousand times. Five, confess. Six, home. People also advocated for the spontaneity of it. Both seemed tempting options.

But did it have to be now?

Emily was stalling for time. It felt good to do that. She reasoned it with the fact that 'snow made things even more depressing' and she should think of another time to owe Trystan his words back.

Her phone rang again, lighting up with another ‘T’.

“For the last time, I don’t need-”

“Emily, Emily, Emily, it's me!"

“Oh- hi.”

"Just called to check erm-- where are you, though?"

“I’m on my way, Trystan. Give me --” Emily flicked her wrist to check her watch. “Fifteen minutes?” - It was a lucky guess. The ride would take her thirteen minutes, with a quick brisk two-minute walk to Astoria Forensics.

“Right-o.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I am kind of tackling a heavy object. You’re on speaker phone by the way.”

“Anyone else with you?”

“That is your concern? I am literally dying out here.”

“I’m only assuming Ruby gave you the task of taking the Christmas tree out."

“Why does a forensics facility need a Christmas tree? And why me? Everyone else’s got the more fun duties!”

“Well, you could start with being not dramatic. I've been on tree duty and it isn't all that bad."

“Very astute advice, Rose. Ten-out-of-ten. Much advice, such-- argh! The twigs! One of them poked my eye! In the name of everything holy, this tree deserves to be burnt!”

Emily laughed. “Stop dicking around! The sooner you get it done, the sooner you can swipe some cookies off of Michael Dodd's tray."

“I hope there isn't some underlying subtext in there-"

“Why--" Emily inhaled sharply, "-Why would there be hidden subtex-- they're warm cookies!"

"Oh my god, cookies! I can't wait to get my hands on those delicious little treats as a reward for all this grunt-work!"

"Your sarcasm is duly noted."

"Mind getting here a little faster?"

"I think I'll take a detour and get some coffee."

“Your helping tendencies are atrocious!”

"Did you call me just to tell me to get there?"

"Is it not the purpose of a phone call?"

"The purpose of this phone call is--" Emily trailed off for a second, watching the stations zip past from the window.

The harsh lighting outside softened to a sun’s glow. The train moved at such a speed that made the tunnel look snow-white. The train was quiet and you could hear a pin drop, like all those lonely streets Emily had to walk through to go home.

Only now, she had a hand to hold. She met the man-with-photographs-of-his-wife who nodded at something that wasn’t there. The other man with the cookbook was going through each page with such care and thought, scanning every word to ensure he had the recipe memorised to do it over and over again - regardless of whether tis or tis wasn’t the season.

Bags of shopping promptly disappeared from her view, replaced with more people filing in, latched onto each other’s arms. An elderly woman was peeling oranges for her grandchildren. Kids pointed and took pictures of the subway to be printed and stuffed in deep pockets.

Emily hated the idea of a perfect time. She loathed the idea of signs, even though they had some objective weight to them. She'd rather wear a hundred faces if it meant she didn't have to take any leaps of any faiths and would only reluctantly offer up something if there was a deed to check off from a list.

But when it was so easy for a grandmother to hug the two little girls she'd taken out for the morning, to tell them she loved her so much and she was scared that they'd get an awful cold from the unpredictable weather. When it was easy for the man with the pictures to kiss his wife's photograph, smiling at his selection of flowers for her grave and not let her be alone for a second; even though it was the bravest, biggest leap of faith he'd taken and everything seemed so large and intimidating. When it was easy for those hooligan teens, appearing cold and uninterested, to drape an arm around each other, give them a little punch in the shoulder and tell them 'Hey it'll be okay' when nobody else at home did.

There was no perfect time, no perfect sign and well, faces were bullshit anyway. Emily wanted to be able to take a step forth.

“--I love you.”

There was a long pause. Then Trystan’s voice crackled over the phone-

“Yeah well, this does not exempt you from helping me out with -- goddamn this tree! To hell with you and your manufacturer, tree!”

“No, I mean it.”

“Of course I know that. I love you too."

“I -- erm -- yes, yes, of course-- you did tell me."

"You know, you don't have to say it just because it is an obligation."

“I know that. I know. It’s just --” Emily took a deep breath. "The words matter, don't they?"

She saw two strangers on her train mouth something at each other. Emily figured it out to be something-something 'happy holidays'. It boggled her mind sometimes. How while people wore faces, some of them let it fall.

“No it does not.”

“Wonderful. I prepared and -- looked at the signs and everything and-- I have about thirty strangers looking at me like I’ve gone fucking crazy.”

“What do you mean you had to prepare and 'look for the signs'-- this tree!"

"Maybe you can deal with the tree and call me back?"

"Emily, you don't have to transcribe it into words. You make me feel loved everyday. And I don't have to tell you that either, because you already know, somewhere. Semantics matter very less to me."

"I don't know -- it is the season and everything."

"The only thing that matters to me is that you aren't afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of losing me to something that you have to punctuate your actions with words."

"No that isn't it. I'm -- nervous if I don't say it now, I won't ever say it."

"Keep waiting for the perfect time, darling. By that time, you would be knee-deep into dissecting for the right sign, you'd fail to notice you were loving with all your heart all along. I love you."

Trystan hung up the phone, giving Emily a lot of things to think about. The Obvious Thing wasn't around her; rather within her. She didn't owe him the words, she said so because she felt like it.

Something about the power of kissing your friends and hugging your lovers. Weren’t the songs singing something about it?

Regardless of any common ground, you could find warmth in a bullied banker man with a briefcase of letters he was taking to his husband’s graveyard, a team of single moms carrying wreaths with a flurry of “excuse me!” and “sorry about that, pal!”.

Kids hunched over on benches, playing a game on their phone while their fathers scoured through maps to make sure they were in the right station - those limited edition scooters were in a shop in Queens, but where in Queens? Relatives greeted each other by fussing over how skinny and hollow the others had gotten. The smell of a morning bagel and coffee filled the air as Emily walked down the platform, amidst the 10 o’clock crowd.

A troop of amateur singers were belting out to I’m Beginning To See The Light, a Yamaha keyboard keeping the band afloat. Emily stood by to listen for a few seconds, before walking down the same chaotic line of crowd to the subway’s entrance.

***

A/N : Happy holidays and a happier new year @moominofthevalley! Honestly I was super into how you incorporate a lot of contemporary elements into your story and I want this to be all about them vibes, y'know? I'm also taking a gamble here with writing a New York setting because it's quite chaotic from what I've heard, but I hope it is an accurate enough of a depiction to have people from all kinds of backgrounds and life stories in one place.

It was also a bit of an uphill climb getting to know Emily as a person too. She's very perceptive as a character from what I've gathered, no-nonsense and does this thing where she's able to connect a bunch of discrete things together. I also wanted to shed some light on her Filipino heritage, fondness for poetry, music and her inner battles with dealing with intense emotions like grief and love. It was so great getting to know her! I really really hope I was able to get her view of the world right or at least, resembling something right. I also hope I was able to sneak in a bit of Trystan lore in as well.

I know it's a bit late for Christmas (it's already the 26th here), but I hope it still has some of that festive-cheer esque vibes. (Also I'm not sure if this is a canon-breaking fic-- I'm so sorry if it is!)

Thank you so much for reading!

***

#choices secret pal event #moominofthevalley #trystan thorne x emily rose #crimes of passion fic #gifts for friends

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choicesfandomappreciation · 12 days

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Secret Pal Event Masterlist—April 2024

Kindness is never wasted! Thank you to everyone who joined this Secret Pal event! I hope you enjoyed learning more about your matches' characters and pairings and enjoy the gift given to you. I've loved seeing what everyone created! Keep spreading kindness and sharing your characters and pairings with our wonderful fandom! 💖

Alphabetical by user name of the giftee Please let me know if you see any errors or any links that are wrong

💖 To: @aallotarenunelma 💙 From: @noesapphic

Dan Pierce x MC moodboard and poem

💖 To: @abelflints 💙 From: @storyofmychoices

Lincoln x MC Art

💖 To: @cadybear420 💙 From: @lilyoffandoms

Tom x MC Art

💖 To: @jerzwriter 💙 From: @peonierose

Trystan x MC Art

💖 To: @ladylamrian 💙 From: @moominofthevalley

Blades MC Moodboard + Tavern Playlist

💖 To: @lilyoffandoms 💙 From: @cadybear420

Trystan x MC Edits

💖 To: @moominofthevalley 💙 From: @jerzwriter

Springs Eternal: Trystan and Emily enjoy a perfect spring day.

💖 To: @noesapphic 💙 From: @aallotarenunelma

Lucas x MC Aesthetic

💖 To: @peonierose 💙 From: @tveitertotwrites

Luna Moodboards

💖 To: @princess-geek 💙 From: @ladylamrian

Desire & Decorum edits, moodboard, and drabble + Blades drabble

💖 To: @storyofmychoices 💙 From: @thosehallowedhalls

Comfort: Alex is less than happy with her performance. Can Thomas offer comfort?

A Stagger in the Woods: Mal had a little too much to drink. It's up to Daenarya to help him make his way through the woods.

💖 To: @thosehallowedhalls 💙 From: @abelflints

Blades MC Edit

💖 To: @tveitertotwrites 💙 From: @princess-geek

Tobias x MC Moodboard

Thank You Mini Moodboards for Participants

@aallotarenunelma — Ash Clark

@abelflints — Lincoln McQuoid

@cadybear420 — Aiden Zhou

@jerzwriter — Tobias x Casey

@ladylamrian — Nik x Alex

@lilyoffandoms — Tyril x Maiele

@moominofthevalley — Trystan Thorne

@noesapphic — Vasili Thorne

@peonierose — Bryce Lahela

@princess-geek — Beatrice Foredale

@thosehallowedhalls — Trystan Thorne

@tveitertotwrites — Derek x Charlie

#choices #playchoices #choices fandom appreciation #choicesaprilactsofkindness #choices fandom events #playchoices game #choices game

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choicesficwriterscreations · 6 months

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CFWC F/AotW - Nov 5-11, 2023

✒️= Fanfic | 📱= Text Fics/Edits | 🎨= Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+ 🏳️‍🌈 = LGBTQIA

BLADES OF LIGHT AND SHADOW

BLOODBOUND

Lily Spencer Fanart 🎨 by @sazanes

CRIMES OF PASSION

Emily Rose 🎨🏳️‍🌈 by @/coffeesforchole (IG) for @moominofthevalley

In the Grey ✒️🏳️‍🌈| Trystan Thorne, Eveline Goncharov, etc - @starsarewithinme

My Love, Mine All Mine ✒️| Trystan Thonre x F!MC - @moominofthevalley

No Kissing! ✒️🎨| Trystan Thorne x F!MC art @/artbyainna (IG) fic - @storyofmychoices

Rollercoaster ✒️| Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @jerzwriter

Trystan Thorne Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈 by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

THE CURSED HEART

Kieran x MC 🎨 by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd (C: @operationnope)

THE ELEMENTALISTS

Elementalists MC 🎨by @/coffeesforchole (IG) for @starsarewithinme

GUINEVERE

Lersa (F!MC) 🎨by @/coffeesforchole (IG) for @violentinecrl

IMMORTAL DESIRES

Indigo Blood ✒️🏳️‍🌈 | Cas Harlow x NB!MC - @aallotarenunelma

IT LIVES SERIES

It Lives Beneath MC 🎨 by @/coffeesforchloe for @livelaughlovecassie

Noah Marshall (ILITW)🎨by @myautumnrose

NIGHTBOUND

Lyra Lexington* 🎨 by@/coffeesforcholoe (IG) for @a-cloud-for-dreams

Toward the Future ✒️| Nik Ryder x F!MC - @ladylamrian

OPEN HEART

RED CARPET DIARIES

Thomas Hunt x MC Drabble ✒️🏳️‍🌈by @lilyoffandoms

THE ROYAL ROMANCE

For Palestine ✒️🎨| TRR MC Art by @rosefuckinggenius fic by @petiteboheme

Midnights Like This (Series) ✒️| Leo Rys x MC, Liam Rys x F!OC - @queenrileyrose Part 12: Wanting More

The Pricess's Secret (Series) Chapter 6 ✒️Ⓜ️🔥- @liamsqueen1984

Turning the Page (Series) ✒️Ⓜ️| Liam Rys x F!MC - @tessa-liam Part 5: Against All Odds

CROSSOVER

Bloodbound/Nightbound

Disembodied (Series) Part 5 ✒️ | Adrian Raines x MC, Nik Ryder x MC - @mynotsohealthyobsession

NOTE: If you notice any corrections that need to be made, please send a d DM to @jerzwriter

#choices fanfic #blades of light and shadow #bloodbound #crimes of passion #the cursed heart #the elementalists #playchoiices #playchoices fanfic #playchoices fanart #guinevere #immortal desires #it lives series #nightbound #open heart #red carpet diaries #the royal romance #choices stories you play

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alj4890masterlist · 1 year

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30 various Choices drabbles all centered around kiss prompts. *Updated list of kiss prompts and pairings*

Evidence (Thomas Hunt x OC)

The Green-Eyed Monster (Ethan Ramsey x OC)

The Statement (Jackson Nevrakis-Walker x Nicky Beaumont)

Escaping for a Moment (Ernest Sinclaire x MC)

Silence (Drake Walker x Olivia Nevrakis)

The Sleeping Bag (Aislinn Tanaka x M!MC) *NSFW*

The Truth Comes Out (Hugh Crawford x MC)

The Apology (Ethan Ramsey x OC)

On Impulse (Maxwell Beaumont x OC)

Making It Believable (Prince Emerick Rhys x Juliet Nevrakis-Walker)

It's Over (Leo x Madeleine)

Over the Top (Tobias Carrick x F!MC)

In Times of Comfort (Thomas Hunt x OC)

To Make It Better (Tom Sato x F!MC)

Just Try (Liam x Madeleine)

Slipping Away Together (Thomas Hunt x OC)

So This is Goodbye? (Jax Matsuo x MC)

Visceral Reaction (Tobias Carrick x F!MC)

From the Heart (Ethan Ramsey x OC)

Anytime, Anywhere (Liam x MC)

Just You and Me (Prince Ellis Rhys x Emily Beaumont)

Snap (Bertrand Beaumont x MC)

Sparks of Hope (Thomas Hunt x OC)

The Promise (Liam and his daughter)

Right At Last (Jackson Nevrakis-Walker x Nicky Beaumont)

Just a Dream (Tobias Carrick x F!MC)

It's Time to Say Goodbye (Maxwell Beaumont x OC)

Second Thoughts (Raleigh Carrera x MC) *NSFW*

Washing Away Your Troubles (Trystan Thorne x F!MC) *NSFW*

Confession Time (Thomas Hunt x OC)

#thirty kisses in thirty days #choices the stories you play #choices fan fics

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a-cloud-for-dreams · 1 year

Text

Mira's Masterlist!

Fun Fact: I change my blog theme to fit my current MC or OC I'm obsessing over

~Fave RC MCs~

-> A Collection of the Most Gorgeous RC MCs

NOTE: These are not listed in any particular order, I used the canonical given names so the ones in quotes are ones I personally changed, and I may have forgotten to add some MCs so don't take it too personally! I'll remember to add them at some point imao (you could also just ask if you're curious!)

Amala Basu (KCOD)

Deviya Sharma (KFOS)

Evthys (SOTCN)

"Renée" de Noailles (VFV)

Selena/Lilith (ARC)

"Audrey" (ABH)

Vyxaria (SL)

"Irene" (SOL)

Mei (LOTW)

"Lane" (HSR)

Novalie (W:TC)

Lou Reed (Psi)

"Agatha Harrington" (CY2)

Lale Hatun (DALS)

-> RC Reading List

~MY OCs~

-> Scarlett Vera Sandiego

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Eiza Gonzalez *w/ auburn hair*

Animated FC: Princess Elena Castillo Flores from EOA

Fandom: Carmen Sandiego 2019/Laws of Attraction

Designated Tag: #scarlett sandiego oc

LI: Soren Turner (OC)

-> Detective Haelyn Rózsa

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Kelsey Merritt

Fandom: Blades of Light and Shadow I and II/Kiss of Death/Crimes of Passion I and II

Designated Tag: #haelyn rózsa oc

LI: Trystan Thorne (AU that matches the OG Rose/Thorne dynamic from the CoP books)

Ship Tag: #haelstan🌹

Artist Credit: The Trystan x Haelyn fanart at the top of this post was by @hydn-jpg!

-> Verena Solaris

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Neha Velan

Fandom: The Elementalists

Designated Tag: #verena solaris oc

LI: Shreya Mistry

-> Kashmiré Blanche

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Anya Chalotra

Fandom: Carmen Sandiego 2019/Open Heart

Designated Tag: #kashmiré blanche oc

LI: Python/Henry Cavill he's the face claim with the same name in this universe lol

Ship Tag: #kashénry

Here's my MC Intro for Chandini Ramakrishnan (distant relative)

-> Aaliyah Hadid

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Dina Denoire -> Rihanna

Fandom: The Nanny Affair/Criminal Minds

Designated Tag: #aaliyah hadid oc

Main LI: Spencer Reid (Aaron Hotchner/Luke Alvez/Derek Morgan in some AUs)

-> Lyra Lexington

FULL Character Intro Post (To Be Updated)

FC: Alyssa Raghu -> Naomi Scott/shredz55 (Insta)

Fandom: Ride or Die/Nightbound

Designated Tag: #lyra lexington oc

LI: Trystan Thorne (subject to change)

Anonymous Fanart Commission!

-> Lady Aria Lockhart

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Neelam Gill

Fandom: The Unexpected Heiress/Desire and Decorum

Designated Tag: #aria lockhart oc

Main LI: John Somerset (Hugh Crawford in some AUs)

-> Salem Rae Nightingale

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Jessica Alba

Fandom: Carmen Sandiego 2019/Blades of Light and Shadow/ Criminal Minds

Designated Tag: #salem nightingale oc

Main LI: Mal Volari (Prince Aerin in some AUs)

-> Kendall Hayes

Character Intro Post

FC: Lucy Hale -> Phoebe Tonkin

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Designated Tag: #kendall hayes oc

LI: Derek Morgan

-> Vendetta Varshini Viswakumar

Character Intro Post

FC: Dheekshitha Venkadeshan (Dhee)

Fandom: Criminal Minds/Open Heart/Carmen Sandiego 2019/ Mother of the Year

Designated Tag: #vendetta (varshini viswakumar) oc

LI: Emily Prentiss

-> Princess Sabrina Aveiro

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Banita Sandhu

Fandom: The Royal Romance/Open Heart/Foreign Affairs

Designated Tag: #sabrina aveiro oc

LI: Tatum Mendoza

Ship Tag: #mendeiro

-> Nayeli Lopez

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Rachel Zegler

Fandom: Crimes of Passion * many liberties taken*/Criminal Minds/Carmen Sandiego 2019

Designated Tag: #nayeli lopez oc

LI: None

-> Mirage Aléxia Gomez

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Becky G

Fandom: Carmen Sandiego 2019

Designated Tag: #mirage (aléxia) oc

LI: None :) she's aromantic

-> Emmelinè Sinclaire

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Christina Masterson

Fandom: Greenhouse Academy/Desire and Decorum (Ernest Sinclaire's ____daughter)

Designated Tag: #emmelinè sinclaire oc

LI: Dylan Mayuran Cavill-Blanche

-> Astríd Rivera

FULL Character Intro Post/Role in Designated Survivor

FC: Nailea Devora

Fandom: Designated Survivor/The Cleaning Lady/Go! Live Your Way

Designated Tag: #astríd rivera oc

LI: None at the moment

-> Cerise Hexley

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Hande Erçel

Fandom: Bloodbound/It Lives Within

Designated Tag: #cerise hexley oc

LI: Sebastyan Thorne

-> Athena Deveraux

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Vanessa Morgan

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy/Criminal Minds/Carmen Sandiego 2019

Designated Tag: #athena deveraux oc

LI: Olivia Valentine (OC)

-> Xiomara Isabel Calloway

Character Intro Post (WTD)

FC: Adria Arjona

Fandom: Carmen Sandiego 2019/Wake The Dead

Designated Tag: #xiomara calloway oc

LI: Troy Hassan (WTD) // Gigi Sinclair (LOA; Windverse)

-> Harshini Halawai

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Amita Suman

Fandom: Desire and Decorum/ Bridgerton

Designated Tag: #harshini halawai oc

LI: Prince Hamid (died during a war) -> Annabelle Parsons? (True nature of the relationship is unknown to historians but were very close); Ernest Sinclaire (one-sided from him)

-> Ophelia Hassan

Character Intro Post (WTD)

FC: Rashan MH

Fandom: Carmen Sandiego 2019/Wake The Dead/Perfect Match

Designated Tag: #ophelia hassan oc

LI: Damien Nazario AND F!Hayden

-> Violet Hale

FULL Character Intro Post

FC: Chloe Bennet

Fandom: Agents of SHIELD/Criminal Minds

Designated Tag: #violet hale oc

Main LI: TBD

~MY FAVORITE PARAS ~

-> Wheel of Witches

Credit: Completely goes to @evermore-grimoire who came up with the whole universe and mythology. It's so fun to daydream this scenario, especially with my own OCs

FULL Backstory

-> Nancy Chavez and Two Ghosts

Credit: Completely to @lcvrreid on TikTok for coming up with an amazing plot and backstory for her CM OC based on Ghostface. I definitely recommend her fanfic!

-> Lilac Allende & Open Heart

Credit: @jamespotterthefirst who makes incredibly detailed MCs to the point where I cannot imagine anyone else as said MC

~MY FICS/EDITS~

Geneva -> Supernatural Sci-Fi Original Story

Livin' the Luxe Life -> Original Story Based on Home Furnishing Magazines (Weird, right?)

Broken Stars w/ @magicwithineleteo -> HSMTMTS x GMW Crossover; Spotify Playlist; New Info Will Be Updated

The Scholars of Bellachoix Lane -> Academia!Playchoices AU

The Scars of Revenge -> Carmen Sandiego x Graham Crackle; feat. Scarlett Sandiego (F!OC)

Once A Shattered Heart -> Bryce Lahela x F!MC (Dr. Chandini Ramakrishnan); feat. Aishwarya Pillai (F!OC)

Doctor Date -> Bryce Lahela x F!MC (Dr. Chandini Ramakrishnan); feat. Dr. Aaliyah Hadid (F!OC)

My Baby Penguin -> Spencer Reid x F!OC (Dr. Aaliyah Hadid*); feat. Cleopatra Emilia Reid

A Sweet Mistake -> Aaron Hotchner x F!OC (Dr. Aaliyah Hadid*); feat. Jack Hotchner

Sleepyhead -> Derek Morgan and F!OC (Dr. Aaliyah Hadid*)

Overthinking -> Raleigh Carrera x F!MC (Destiny Katz); feat. Aaliyah Hadid

Here For You -> Aerin Valleros x Salem Nightingale (F!MC); Mal Volari x Salem Nightingale (F!MC)

fire on fire -> Gabriel Grant x Amala Khan (Independence Route)

timeless -> Radha Basu x Devi Sharma

Save It For Dessert Text Fic -> M!Trystan Thorne x F!MC/ OC (Dr. Lyra Lexington); feat. Detective Nayeli Lopez

Vigilante Sh*t CM Edit -> feat. Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid, Dr. Aaliyah Hadid, Aaron Hotchner, and Elle Greenaway

Aesthetic Quote Post Masterlist

Carmen Sandiego (Netflix) Edit to "Ride" by Sir Mix-a-Lot

Happy Birthday Carmen Sandiego Edit for @/tiredguyswag

Corrupted Aerin Valleros Edit

Livin' the Luxe Life Intro Edit

Candella Edit to “Paparazzi” by Lady Gaga

Devi/Renée/Amala/Evthys MC Edit

*Just to clarify, I currently intend to leave Spencer and Aaliyah as the main pair while the other fics would exist in an alternate universe of some kind where she didn't end up with him. For some reason, I just like writing her with multiple characters so I can see who I feel most comfortable writing her with

~Social Media ~

Ao3

Wattpad

TikTok

Honestly, just ask me if I have social media/what my account is. The links aren't working and it would be more fun to send everyone who comes here on a wild goose chase

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adarafaelbarba · 2 years

Text

So as mentioned in my previous post about this bingo, my birthday is next month. And for that occasion I wanted to host another bingo! Like my last bingo in October 2021, this one will have moodboards to the squares. You don’t have to use them, but they’re there for inspiration, and can also be used in your fics as a “cover” if you’d like 🥰 I’m gonna have the moodboards up before the bingo starts on Monday 17th of January 😅

here are some rules:

1. It’ll start on January 17th and ends on February 17th at Midnight (Norwegian time)

2. Write one, ten or all of the fics. But don’t feel like you have to write them, this is a fun little writing exercise

3. You can write a head canon, ficlet, multi-chapter (one moodboard/square per fic) or a one shot. But please, if it’s longer than 500 words, put it under read more.

4. The fics can be fluff, smut, angst, etc if you feel like they would fit with the aesthetic of the moodboard you write for. Please remember to tag the fics with the right warnings before posting it.

5. Tag me when you post it, so I can keep tracks of the fics that are posted for this challenge and use the hashtag: #adarafaelbarbabirthdaybingo

6. Characters allowed (reader insert, oc, ships)

SVU:

Rafael Barba

Sonny Carisi

Mike Dodds

Nick Amaro

Peter Stone

Odafin “Fin” Tutuola

Alex Cabot

Casey Novak

Olivia Benson

Amanda Rollins

Rita Calhoun

Kat Tamin

Elizabeth Donnelly

Other Raúl Esparza Characters:

Jackson Neill

Nevada Ramirez

Jonas Nightingale

Bryan Kneef

Frederick Chilton

Paul Mendelsohn

911 / 911 Lone Star:

Evan Buckley

Eddie Diaz

Maddie Buckley

Chimney

Hen Wilson

Bobby Nash

Athena Grant

Owen Strand

T.K. Strand

Grace Ryder

Judd Ryder

Marjan Marwani

Paul Strickland

Carlos Reyes

Tommy Vega

Mayans MC:

Miguel Galindo

Angel Reyes

Ez Reyes

Bishop Losa

Emily Thomas

Coco Cruz

One Chicago:

Matt Casey

Kelly Severide

Brian «Otis» Zvonecek

Joe Cruz

Stella Kidd

Gabby Dawson

Violet Mikami

Sylvie Brett

Emily Foster

Jessica Chilton

Gianna Mackey

Evan Hawkins

Jay Halstead

Antonio Dawson

Adam Ruzek

Kevin Atwater

Erin Lindsay

Hailey Upton

Vanessa Rojas

Sean Roman

Kim Burgess

Connor Rhodes

Ethan Choi

Will Halstead

April Sexton

Crockett Marcel

Jeff Clarke

A Discovery of Witches:

Baldwin Montclair (Trystan and Peter’s version, but specify it 😅)

Matthew de Clermont

Marcus Whitmore

Diana Bishop

Miriam Shepard

Domenico

Sophie Norman

Nathaniel Wilson

Gallowglass

Satu Järvinen

Juliette Durand

Phoebe Taylor

Hamish Osborn

Chris Roberts

Ransome Fayrweather

Outlander:

Ian Murray

Frank Randall

Jamie Fraser

Clair Fraser

Briana Fraser Randall

Roger Mackenzie

Fergus Fraser

Marsali Fraser

Jenny Fraser

Harry Potter/Fantastic Beasts:

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

James Potter

Newt Scamander

Young Dumbledore

Kingsman:

Eggsy Unwin

Roxy Morton

Harry Hart

Merlin

Charlie Hesketh

Percival

Lancelot / James Spencer

Ginger

Whiskey

Tequila

Characters from the King’s Men

MCU:

Thor Odinson

Steve Rogers / Captain America

Tony Stark / Iron Man

Dr. Bruce Banner / Hulk

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow

Sam Wilson / Falcon / Captain America

Bucky Barnes / Winter Soldier

Dr. Stephen Strange / Dr. Strange

T’Challa / Black panther (rip Chadwick 🥺)

Shaun / Shang-Chi

Xialing

Wenwu

Wong

Peter Parker / Spiderman (Tom, Toby or Andrew. But specify it 😅)

Clint Barton / Hawkeye

Wade Wilson / Deadpool

Scott Lang (Ant-Man)

Carol Danvers / Captain Marvel

Baron Helmut Zemo

Yelena Belova

Monica Rambeau

Wanda Maximoff / Scarlet Witch

Pietro Maximoff / Quicksilver

Charles Xavier / Professor X

Erik Lehnsherr / Magneto

Druig

Makkari

Dane

Thena

Sersi

Ikaris

Ajak

Gilgamesh

Kingo

Phastos

Note: If there’s a character/fadom not listed, feel free to DM me.

7. No RPF/real person fic. No underage character (includes reader/ocs)

8. Please signal boost this post, regardless if you participate or not

9. Most important! Have fun! 🥰 Feel free to dm me with any questions or concerns

#adarafaelbarbabirthdaybingo #law and order svu #one chicago #chicago pd #chicago fire #chicago med #kingsman #marauders #fantastic beasts #outlander #a discovery of witches #marvel #mayans mc #karen hosts a bingo

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moominofthevalley · 4 months

Text

Turpentine

While snowed in together, Trystan asks the Ginovesi crew a morbid question.

Characters: Trystan Thorne, Emily Rose, Ruby Webster, Luke Watanabe

WC: 2.1k

R: Teen | CW: Talks of death & Spoilers for 2.15

CFWC Prompt: Stuck in a snowstorm

Glistening fairy lights cornered all four walls of Luke and Ruby’s apartment, the yellow bulbs warming their hearth. A tree dusted with faux snow and wrapped with pink garlands sat by the TV, brimming with gifts underneath. Honeysuckle wine and a charcuterie board made by Emily were set on the table, crackers and prosciutto splattered across. The surly detective giggled, crossing her arms at Trystan’s creation.

“You are such a showoff.”

Trystan laughed at her remark as he set the main course on the dinner table. Husks of steam slipped out of the honey-glazed duck, leaving their mouths watering. Roasted pears and plump blood sausages sat beside it, the heavenly aroma wafting around the air.

“You know I live to boast, darling.”

“I think my dish is way better,” Luke beamed, setting his strawberry spongecake beside the duck. Ruby giggled, laying a batch of cookies on the table.

“It certainly looks amazing,” Ruby said, “I can’t wait to try it, honey.”

“Ah, yes, but did you spend two days making it?” Trystan teased, pouring himself a glass of wine — a floral zest with a crisp aftertaste, exquisitely sweet and spirited. Emily elbowed him, playfully furrowing her brows.

“Anyways,” Ruby cleared her throat, “I’m so glad we’re finally home.”

“Agreed,” Luke plopped a grape into his mouth, “I don’t think I can ever handle being in a room with every Thorne again.”

Emily and Trystan shared an uneasy glance, silently unveiling mutual sorrow. Months have passed since their ungodly case in Trystan’s homeland, though the time spent there forever stained them. Emily’s mouth ran dry as Sebastyan’s and Vasili’s corpses rushed through her mind. The dagger tight in Vasili’s chest, the petrified eyes of Sebastyan as he died at the hands of another Thorne. Two ghosts clinging on their shoulders.

“It’s hard to believe our little stint in Drakovia is over,” Emily shook her head, “I wonder what our next big case is gonna be.”

“No more cheating husband cases for you?” Ruby asked, her brow cocked amusingly. Emily grinned with a mischievous shrug.

“As tempting as that sounds, I might need bigger fish to go after.” Trystan chuckled, splaying his hand on top of Emily’s.

“Drakovia has spoiled her. Good luck getting her to take the common cases again.”

“Do you think you’d ever look into…your dad’s murder?” Luke asked, almost nonchalantly. Ruby sent him a warning glance, lightly bumping his feet underneath the table. Trystan’s hands curled into Emily’s, solace in his eyes.

Emily gulped. Each time she debated looking into Jimmy’s death, there were far too many holes, far too many questions, and not enough evidence for her liking. Distant memories of bickering with Uncle Tommy and Trystan struck her, and she cringed at how horrible she became. Desperately hungry to solve the only question she had left. She refused to let her and Trystan turn into a pair of tectonic plates – subtly rubbing against each other, then drifting away forever. To not catch the death of a relationship until it’s already rotting, staining every moment with resentment and twisted words. Even the slightest possibility of another heartbreak sent her spiraling downwards.

“I’ve…thought about it,” she frowned, “One day, though.”

“One day.”

The heavy moment passed, and the Ginovesi crew - bar Malfada - began their feast. They all vehemently agreed, to Luke’s dismay, that Trystan’s duck was the clear winner. Luke’s shortcake was no match for the savory and crisp flavors of the traditional Drakovian dinner. Though his cake appeared light and fluffy, it was overly dense and oddly sour. Ruby’s cookies and Emily’s board tied for second place, both sweet and made with love. A blend of cookies framed like snowflakes, snowmen, Snoopy in Santa hats, and candy canes bunched together on a plate. The charcuterie board was a splendid still life, adorning moon drop grapes, saltine crackers, and sprigs of rosemary. Plates were stuffed and spirited laughs rang across the warmly-lit home.

“Good God!” Emily groaned, swallowing a bitter slice of Luke’s cake, “What the fuck did you put in this?”

Luke’s eyes widened, “Do you not like strawberries?”

“Try it yourself! I don’t even…” Emily spat out the remaining bits, nearly gagging.

Reluctantly, Luke cut himself a small serving. Trystan and Ruby cackled as his face turned red, spitting the remains onto a napkin.

“Jesus!” Luke shivered, “Okay–I think I know what happened.”

“What did you do?!”

“...I may have used salt instead of sugar.”

“Oh my God!” Trystan laughed, slapping his knee, “You are a horrible baker!”

“It-it’s not my fault!” Luke said sheepishly, throwing his hands in the air. Ruby snickered, patting his shoulder.

“Babe. You literally made the cake.”

Rounds of laughs echoed through the kitchen, contentment and joy present on the soft New York night. Blissful moments fell around them as heaps of snow tumbled down like raindrops, piling up minute by minute.

* * * *

Standing by the window sill, Emily’s eyes tracked the ebb and flow of snowfall. Faint Christmas tunes slipped through the window crack, presumably from the neighbor. She hummed delightedly, eyes shut at the still moment. Moonlight burst into the room, dimly lit and warm despite the glowing chill from the glass before her. The swell of nearby trumpets and saxophones and Earthly beauty brought her to ease.

“Don’t tell the others, Detective, but your charcuterie board was my favorite,” Trystan grinned, sitting beside her.

“Oh really?” Emily smirked, “Are you sure you’re not being biased?”

“Hm,” Trystan gave her a so-so gesture, “Definitely not.”

Cupping both sides of her face, Trystan’s pupils widened fondly. Emily turned slightly, kissing his palm.

“Your hands still smell like garlic!”

Trystan chuckled, sniffing his hand. Sure enough, the pungent odor attacked his nose. He shrugged it off, focused on the gruff detective.

“I love you, my little moon!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know! You’re a bit…glum. And very short.”

“I am 5’3, you tall shit!” Emily swatted his arm, “I would call you my ‘sun,’ but you’re more like a little dog.”

“What? How?”

“You follow me around all day. And listen to my orders – for the most part.”

“Not to ruin the moment,” Luke announced as he pointed to his phone, “There’s a snow squall warning. It’ll clear up tomorrow morning, but you guys will have to stay the night.”

“How fun!” Ruby squealed, “It’ll be like a sleepover! I’ll go get blankets so you two can sleep on the couch.”

She disappeared into the hallway closet, hunting for the thickest blankets and pillows possible. Luke cocked an eyebrow, unamused as Trystan and Emily sat on the couch across from him.

“So when you said you loved Ruby’s cookies you were lying?” He asked Trystan, crossing his arms in faux-anger. Trystan chuckled, unashamed.

“I did love Ruby’s cookies – they were phenomenal. Much better than your shortcake anyway,” He teased, “Emily’s just happened to be my favorite.”

“You two are such children,” Emily said, snorting. “I–”

Darkness surrounded them. The only light left was the waning candlelight on the kitchen table. Gusts of wind flickered from the cracked window, a biting chill creeping up on their skin. Concerned, Ruby poked her head out of the closet.

“Hot-diggity-daffodil!” Luke proclaimed, “I guess the power’s out, too.”

“We can see that, Luke.” Ruby returned with a bundle of blankets. The crew settled in the living room, the window now shut, bottles of wine and lively candles by the coffee table. An easy silence shrouded the room, with only the croaking rats in the walls and the crackling candles to distract them. They all sipped the remains of the honeysuckle wine, sweetness trickling down their throats like candle wax melting onto the table.

“I have an idea,” Trystan cleared his throat, “It is a bit morbid, though.”

“What is it?” Ruby asked, curious.

“In Drakovia, we go around in circles asking certain…questions. Usually around New Year’s, but we’re in the middle of a snowstorm. It’s not like we have much else to do.”

“What type of questions?”

Trystan sat still, contemplating. An eerieness in his eyes, a peculiar tenacity about him. He flinched at the briefest second, then shrugged.

“If you were dying, how would you like to pass away? What would you like to have with you?”

Quietness surrounded them once more, their breaths slightly more tense and strained. Emily sat closer to Trystan instinctively, craning her head against his shoulder. The candles continued to wail, as Ruby cleared her throat with somberness in her eyes.

“I think…if we ever got one,” She glanced at Luke, “I’d like to have a little cat in my lap. And Luke to hold my hand. And maybe a cup of tea, but only in that calico-printed mug you got me for our anniversary.”

Luke wiped feeble tears from Ruby’s cheek, a rare solemness on his face. He grinned weakly, pressing a kiss on the side of her face. Ruby’s heart swayed in the lull air, her hand tight in his.

“I need Ruby next to me, laying by me. And I want it all to be quiet,” Luke murmured, “I don’t want to be able to hear anything. But I want there to be a window. So I can look up at the sky one more time. I don’t care if it’s day or night…that’s all I want.”

Silence lay steadily upon them, the croaking rats having vanished. The candles remained lit, embers mute and growing frail. Warmth bloomed between them, huddling closer together. The moon climbed further into the night sky, its silvery rays illuminating the apartment. Trystan fiddled with his fingers, as Emily’s hands rubbed circles around his legs. It was like muscle memory. Rituals and silly minuscule traditions became more familiar to the two of them with each passing month. Chopping garlic cloves, peeling oranges, collecting ugly trinkets.

“I’d want someone to play old Drakovian music…the songs my father showed me as a kid. And,” Trystan grinned at Emily, a smile so unabashedly bold and bare it nearly brought her to tears, “I want you to kiss my forehead. And rub my feet.”

Emily pecked the top of his head, her eyes burning as Diana’s kind words echoed in her mind. Trystan wiped away her tears, tenderness with every touch.

She was familiar with death. A one-sided friendship, a shadow lurking behind her with every step she took. It offered no hope and no excuses. The only things bereavement brought were ghostly memories and pearls from the past rolling in her hand, daring to be dropped. Her fingers trembled, her mouth dry as she urged herself to go on.

“I don’t want it to hurt,” Emily said finally, slightly panting, “Every single one of them died in pain. And alone. Sonja. Bethany. Nadja. Sebastyan. I don’t want it to be like that. I want to be ready. And...Trystan next to me.”

They all leaned against each other. The candles shined well into the night, fickle and bright. Empty wine bottles scented the room, warm and heady. Emily shut her eyes, picturing herself as a sleeping child being carried to bed after a long drive home. Laughter through the walls, the ticking of a nearby clock, soft jazz slipping through the window, a kiss on her cheek. Perhaps it’d be good to her. Just a brief second and all that’d remain was a tombstone with her name.

Emily unveiled her vision, the rest of her friends in tears. Trystan stroked her hair gently, still smiling. It was simple. It was clear.

“All we want is everything we have,” He said, their faces inches apart, “And I’m the richest man in the world.”

* * * *

Ruby and Luke shut their bedroom door, Emily and Trystan now alone on the couch. With her legs in his lap, he rested a hand on her thigh, tracing lazy circles. The candles had long died out, leaving only moonbeams and constellations to light up the room.

“Em?” Trystan whispered as Emily moved over to lie on his chest. She gazed into his argent eyes, exasperation clear on his face.

“Mhm?”

“Do you remember when I refused to go on that plane? All those months ago.” Emily snorted quietly, Trystan gliding his hands along her back.

“Of course I do. I knew you weren’t going to.”

“Do you remember what you said to me after that?”

“Mhm. I told you there’s a reason partners and romance don’t mix well. That it’s trouble waiting to happen.”

“And then I told you that I just so happen to like trouble.”

They smirked, noses crinkled and eyes bagged. Trystan cupped Emily’s chin, palms still smeared with the scent of garlic.

“I’m glad we’re partners.”

“I am too.”

* * * * A/N: Happy holidays, everyone! Thank you for reading this – I came up with this idea FOREVER AGO but was never able to execute it until now. I’ve always loved the idea of thinking of death, not as something to fear (though I still struggle with that), but rather as something that is just a little moment. That’s painful, and maybe not necessarily beautiful, but something that just happens organically. Like that one poem that’s like “I hope death is like being carried to your bedroom as a child.” I actually wrote a poem about that, if anyone would be interested in me posting it. Anyway – thank you again for reading!

Click here for a list of all my works so far!

Tags: @choicesholidays @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @mooserii @stars-are-within-me @shadyinternetblizzard @urcowboyboyfriend @lexicook74-blog @leahtine @jahrobin @calisomnia @kyra75 @icarusfallsforever @inlocusmads (let me know if anyone else would like to be added to my crimes tag!)

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moominofthevalley · 5 months

Text

The Girl with the Glass

Trystan finds a mysterious scrapbook. Emily has a deep conversation with a stranger.

Characters: Trystan Thorne x Emily Rose

WC: 2.5k

Rating: Teen | CW: Mentions of Grief

CFWC Prompt Used: ‘Visiting a Holiday Market’ & ‘The holidays won’t be the same now that they’re gone’

A/N: Happy Holidays, everyone! This drabble is inspired by an influx of things – mostly my favorite film, “Amélie,” if you couldn’t tell by the title. (Which, of course, is not-so-subtle-symbolism). Enjoy!

“It’s your turn, Trystan!”

Snow sprinkled downwards, little husks of angels drooping to the wintry ground. Crowds of faces walked the busy New York streets, surrounded by shiny knickknacks and dusty clothes. Cheeks were stained pink, and lips curled upwards in the holiday spirit. Trystan urged out a cocky grin, arms around Emily’s waist.

“Is it, now?”

“Yes, it is! I’ll go and get something for us to eat.”

Trystan pecked her forehead, whispering, “Do something good!” before disappearing into the crowd. He grew fond of these new habits of love, searching for a trinket to take back to their hearth.

It was a silly tradition, but a tradition nonetheless. It began with a scratched Pierrot figurine Emily bought from a vintage shop. Ivory skin and porcelain eyes, and a black-and-white costume with a frilled collar. Like some haunted elf on the shelf, the clown explored the apartment all by itself – according to Trystan, at least. The second well-loved piece was a gift from Marguerite: a brass ladybug ashtray. Neither Emily nor Trystan smoked, though the aureate bug was far too interesting to be thrown away. The most recent find was a print of Renoir’s The Luncheon of the Boating Party Emily purchased from a local art gallery. Both of them adored it; the celebration of warmth and good company, the splendid wines and fruits, calmness in beauty in the mundane. Drinks and company aside, Emily was far more fascinated with the girl with the glass. A sullen woman drinking wine in a sea of chatting strangers.

It was Trystan’s turn, and he was keen on finding an old book of sorts. He insisted on a leather novel of yellowed papers and annotated lines, with intricate Victorian details along the spine. Trystan paused, exhilarated at the antique booth before him. Forgotten scrapbooks, noir polaroids, rotten thrown-away cameras, and fringed lamps cornered him with an enticement to explore.

Emily wandered around the opposite side of the market, searching for nearby food vendors. A strange harmony bubbled inside her; a soft scent, a beam from the clouded sun. She breathed in the scent of chestnuts and red wine, a wintry chill slipping through her bones. Silver bells danced in the December wind, faces greeting each other with a blissful smile. It was a perfect moment, a painting from her own eyes.

On the sidewalk stood a white-haired woman in a vibrant Christmas sweater, her cane tapping the frozen ground. Breaths escaped her parted lips in subtle clouds of white. Trystan’s words repeated in Emily’s head, a determination settling within her. This was peace and contentment; the mundanity of a random December afternoon.

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you need help?”

“Yes, please!”

“Careful of the curb, here we go!”

The woman held onto the cane, her other hand wrapped around Emily’s. Her heart burst at the scene developing around her. Laughs and joyous days echoed around her, the wind so sweet she gulped for more.

“Hear that? That’s a florist laughing, he has crinkly eyes! A booth that smells like eucalyptus and rose is selling crystals and botanical postcards. The food truck across them is selling lollipops and hot cocoa for children. A farmer’s booth has rows of persimmons, oranges, and tangerines. Next to the fruits, a baby is watching her dad throw his hat in the air. We’re at the end of the market, there’s a bookstore and a vinyl shop in front of us. I’ll leave you here, goodbye!”

The elderly woman struck out a pleased laugh, touched by moments folding around her. Memories of today fell like dominoes, scattering about like new snow. Her cheeks shined pink as Emily cradled her hand, stilling the woman’s trembling fingers.

“Have a good day,” She whispered before walking off.

“Wait,” The woman called out, “Are you hungry? Let me get you something to eat!” * * * *

Emily and the white-haired woman split an orange and two empanadas on a quiet bench. Emily, of course, contently peeled the oranges in thirds, ignoring the pith underneath her nails.

Familiarity struck her as she handed the woman an orange. Her father’s willow-leaved eyes resembled the stranger’s. Perhaps in another life, Jimmy Rose grew old and never walked the wistful grounds of Box Thirty-Two. To breathe with wrinkled skin and grey hairs, lines creasing about his lips and forehead.

“What’s your name?”

“Diana.”

“I’m Emily,” she hid the third orange wedge in her coat pocket, “Do you like the food?”

“I love it,” Diana grinned, “God, that vendor was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

Emily gulped, taken aback, “How could you tell?”

The other woman laughed and patted her lap, “Partial blindness. I can only see things if I’m up close.”

“Oh!” Emily blushed awkwardly, “I’m sorry – I didn’t-”

“Don’t worry.”

“But, er, yes, the vendor was beautiful.”

Diana perked up, casting an amused grin, “Are you a lesbian?”

“Bisexual. And my boyfriend wanted to check this market out. He’s looking for…I dunno, some silly trinket to take home, and I told him I’d get us some food. Are you…also…?”

Diana nodded.

“How old are you?”

“Sixty-eight. And you?”

“Twenty-eight,” Diana winced.

“Don’t worry, it does get better.”

Emily shrugged, unconvinced. Her bones were brittle as if made of glass, jaded memories of Drakovia hitting her like violent waves against a sandy beach. Grief thrashed inside her head so intensely she’d wake up in the night, begging for air. There was avoiding it, no going under or over it. Whether she’d acknowledge it or not, trauma and grief permeated her life.

“When?” Emily asked innocently, her eyes burning. Diana scooted slightly closer, resting her wrinkled hand over Emily’s.

“When does it get better?” Emily nodded, cringing at her childish question, “However long it takes. Eventually…it’ll pass.”

It had been sixteen years. Sixteen lonely years, and it had, indeed, not passed. She swore that she’d be done with everything by twenty. That foolish promise broke, and twenty-eight was no different than twenty. All that was left of Jimmy Rose’s legacy was a cruel memory.

“It’s been almost twenty years. I don’t think it will.”

Emily gritted her teeth ruefully, furrowing her fingers into her hands until they became beet red. With a blink of an eye, she was no longer the famed private detective who took down the Heartache Killer; but a tall child with no father.

“Oh, Emily,” Diana cooed, “I’m so sorry. But that’s simply not true,” She murmured, struggling to find the right words, “Nothing lasts forever. Things pass, lives go on, and it feels fucking awful when you’re…stuck. But when we are stuck, all we have is each other. To get by, at least.”

Emily’s walls began crumbling. Her hands instinctively covered her face, sheltering herself from the world. Diana granted her some space, moving closer to the other end of the bench.

“I’m sorry,” Emily rubbed her face, grasping at anything to change the subject. With a pained sigh, she uttered, “Y’know, I don’t really like Christmas. I just–I’m just here because of a stupid tradition.”

“I don’t either,” Diana said, “But my wife loved it. Every year, God bless her soul, she’d always cook the worst beef wellington ever!” Diana with a familiar gleefulness, “I’d always eat it. I mean, it was atrocious and entirely raw, but she cooked it. Made with love…and absolutely no seasoning. I would do anything to have it this year.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Emily whispered, “Her wellington must’ve made your day. My dad took me to Rockefeller Square every year until he passed. I always thought he was a king for that,” She chuckled, “I remember seeing it for the first time. I didn’t even know trees got that big.”

“He sounds like an amazing Dad. I’m so sorry he was lost to you.”

“Thank you. I try to remember the good things about him. It helps keep his spirit alive.”

Inklets of snow trailed down and stained their hair, solemness in the wind. Emily cleared her throat, pushing past the silence.

“Can you tell me more about your wife?”

“Of course,” Diana beamed, “Her name was Dani. She lived in the apartment next to mine. She was an amazing pianist. I’d always hear her playing through the walls. One day, I knocked on her door and asked if I could listen to her.”

“Do you remember what song she played?”

“Yes! It was, hm, ‘Camptine?’ No – ‘Comptine d’un autre été.’ You really should listen to it sometime.”

“I’ll hold you to that…how long were you two together?”

“Twenty years and ninety-eight days – but who’s counting? We were completely different and so unlike,” Diana’s face grew serious, “And she was so different in the end, too. It’s odd to see someone die when they’re already gone and so, so small.”

Emily fiddled with her hands, jaws clenched, “I’m so sorry, Diana. I can’t imagine losing–” She choked on a small pit in her throat, “I just can’t imagine a loss like that.”

“Thank you. The two of us had an amazing life. We really, really did. I mean – sometimes I still see her, even in little things, I still feel her with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I see her everywhere,” Diana’s lips quivered, “I see her when it rains, and I think of the song she played for me when we first met. I saw La Traviata last summer, and all I thought about was her. Whenever I walk by a deli, I think of her God-awful beef wellington and cry.”

A glint of doubt shimmered in Emily’s eye. Uncertainty twisted her insides, striking with fierce ripples of despair and mourning.

“Listen to me,” Diana said sternly, “One day at a time is all we got. So go on and live. But, when the time does come…kiss his forehead, rub his feet, and play a song that reminds you of him. It will be hard, and I don’t think it will ever go away completely. But I promise – after some time, you’ll wake up and feel, maybe not better, but as if you’ve adjusted to the pain of it all. And then it won’t hurt so much.”

A surge of preemptive grief washed over Emily, though tears never flooded her eyes. The burdens of the past and deaths of the future weren’t gone, but instead quiet and still in her mind. Death is only a moment, a bitter soul slipping into the next room. Two words repeated in Emily’s head until she was content.

“Thank you. I never thought of it that way…thank you.”

Easy silence lay upon them, the words shared by each other warm in their throats. Flurries of unknown faces passed by, snowflakes tangling in their hair with ease. Spotting Trystan in the crowd of strangers, Emily greeted the mischievous smirk on his face, hands tucked behind his back.

“Hey partner,” Trystan kissed the top of Emily’s head, “And who’s this?”

“I’m Diana…and you must be the boyfriend Emily was telling me about!”

“Oh, yeah? What’d she tell you?”

“Your deepest and darkest secrets, obviously,” Emily deadpanned, “...You hiding something back there?”

With a smug grin, Trystan unveiled a wrapped gift. He chuckled, “You’ll see! I’ll show you later.”

“Hey, I also got you something!” Emily grabbed the orange slice from her pocket, wiping away tiny beads of lint. Trystan’s face lit up, mouth agape.

“I love you. Thank you,” Trystan pecked her forehead once more before biting into the citrus, “And it was lovely meeting you, Diana. I hope Emily didn’t tell you every secret of mine.” Diana laughed, shaking his hand.

“Of course not. And Emily?” She whispered into her ear, “Remember what you’re here for.”

* * * *

“Do I seriously need to be blindfolded for this?”

“I mean,” He pressed his hands tight against Emily’s covered eyes, “Yeah, you do.”

Emily grumbled, rolling her eyes through the thick wad of fabric tied around her head. A week had passed since she met Diana, and all that was in her mind were her tender words. Emily fixed her pout, forcing a tooth-shining smirk as Trystan led her across the apartment.

“The things I do for you.”

“Careful, darling,” Trystan gently moved her away from hitting the coffee table, “And sit…err, right here!”

“Can I take the blindfold off now?”

“Not yet!”

Sounds of scuffling surrounded her, and Emily grew curious. Trystan had been hiding something since the trip to the market. Whenever she’d mentioned it, he’d waggle a finger to his lips and utter gibberish.

Emily scoffed, amused, “Is this about that thing you got last week?” Trystan snickered with a childlike excitement.

“...Maybe.”

The tussling stopped, and Trystan sat beside her. Resting a hand on her thigh, he grinned, “Okay! You can take it off now.”

“Oh…my God!”

A leatherbound scrapbook and a dainty film camera plastered with Hello Kitty stickers sat across them. Colorful children’s doodles scuffed the book cover, crayons covering every inch. Squiggly letters in blue and red revealed the title: RoSe fAmilY aDveNtureS. Emily gasped, flooded with faint memories of her father. With flushed cheeks, she turned to Trystan and gawked.

“Trystan!” Emily squealed, “You found this last week?”

“Mhm,” He bobbed his head, “I showed it to Tommy to make sure. He said he must’ve accidentally donated it while cleaning up the attic. It…may or may not have taken me a long time to figure out how to use the camera – but it works! I’ll hook it up to the TV, okay?”

“I fucking love you.”

Emily and Trystan flipped page after page, soaking in long-forgotten moments of Emily’s past. At the top of each page contained a laminated label. Little Emily as San, Halloween 2002. Trip to Luzon, June 2005. Fluffernutters and Chocolate Rocks!

Stacks of polaroids were taped against each other, smiles and blissful memories in every photo. One quickly seized Trystan’s attention. ‘2001’ was written at the hem of the photo. At the center, a pigtailed Emily smiled widely at the camera, boasting her half-eaten yan yan.

“God,” Emily grazed her thumb over the polaroid, “I can’t believe you found this.”

“Me too. Maybe we can look through Tommy’s attic sometime. There has to be other scrapbooks we can find.”

“Can we look through the camera now?”

“Of course, dear.”

Emily grinned at Trystan, warmed by his gift. It’d been years since her heart grew so fondly, a quiet ease running through her body. Her bones were, indeed, not made of glass. She was not brittle and weak, but rather brimming with love and sentiment. Pain and sorrow were in her veins, too, yet on this still and snowy morning, Emily was at peace.

* * * * A/N: This fic was both such a pain and so nice to write lol. I wanted to give a little thank you to @jerzwriter @lexicook74-blog and @logolepzy for helping me edit this fic! Thank you all so much for your feedback, I appreciate you all SO much.

Tags: @choicesprompts @choicesholidays @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @mooserii @starsarewithinme @jonathanmoores @shadyinternetblizzard @urcowboyboyfriend @lexicook74-blog @leahtine @jahrobin @icarusfallsforever @kyra75 @calisomnia (let me know if else would like to be added to my crimes tag!)

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moominofthevalley · 7 months

Text

Sullen Girl

After returning to New York from a few grueling months in Drakovia, Detective Rose looks into her past.

Characters: Trystan Thorne x Emily Rose

WC: 1.7k

R: Teen | CW: Mentions of Grief & Death of a Parent

No matter where she was, Emily Rose was always in Box Thirty-Two. The chanting of the crowd, the stadium organ, the death rattle from her father endlessly cemented in her mind. A ghost in a haunted house, an unwilling participant in an escape room with no key to escape.

She was only thirteen when she found her father dead on the floor, and yet all she had to cling to were faded memories and a tombstone with his name. There were so many moments the late father missed out on. Her first heartbreak, her graduation, the moment she quit the force and became a detective. Emily Rose will spend the rest of her life thinking of her father through a child’s lens.

Emily knew what closure does to people. To Trystan. She stared at Juliana Georgescu's grave, sitting with Trystan as he looked back on the love they once had. The love that was robbed from him. Placing the novel beside her tombstone. The resolve in Trystan's eyes. The robin in the tree from above, chirping knowingly.

When a parent dies, their children are supposed to know how they passed. It broke Emily’s heart to think back to the night of her father’s death. Helplessly staring at Uncle Tommy as he tried his best to sugarcoat the news; staining the two of them with a burning question in their hearts. She should have known then, and yet, fifteen years later, the flame in her heart continued to flicker.

Opening her eyes, Trystan’s arms wrapped around her waist. She scooted closer, her forehead resting on his chest. Trystan squeezed her back lightly, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

“What’s wrong?”

Cold tears slipped down Emily’s cheek. She sat up from his bed, her hands trembling. Trystan sat up immediately, his hand stilling hers. Her eyes were baggy and thick with tears.

“My dad,” Emily clutched her chest, “I keep thinking about him.” Trystan wrapped her in a tight hug, tracing circles on her back.

“I’m so sorry.” His arms stayed around her, patiently waiting for her to go on.

“I keep...getting nightmares,” she gulped, “of what happened. It started getting worse again...ever since Drakovia.” Her head drooped low, eyes stinging with heavy tears.

“I’m so sorry...” He trailed off, pondering what to say, “If you’d like...you can talk about him and I’ll listen. Tell me anything about him while I go make you some breakfast, okay?” Emily nodded, rubbing her eyes.

“Yeah, I’d like that. Thank you.”

The couple got out of bed, the windy New York weather sending goosebumps up and down their arms. As soon as Trystan opened the door, a thrilled Twilight ran up to them, her tail wagging. Emily smiled at her furry friend, raking her hands up and down her back.

“Go lay down on the couch with her. Breakfast shouldn’t take too long.”

Emily laid down; Twilight followed suit as she rested her head on the detective’s lap. Emily tried her best to reminisce about the fond moments with her father. She tried, she did, but the only thing her memories brought was bitterness. She’d never have another moment with him. That was the cold truth. She’d never sit on his lap, never be able to watch Ghost Busters with him when she was sad, never be able to tell him another ‘I love you.’ Emily Rose was never granted a gentle last moment with her father. Children are never supposed to lose a parent, not at thirteen, not until they become grey and worn down. She never got to see her father grow old; instead, she saw him bleed out and die right in front of her.

“...Emily?” Trystan looked up from the kitchen, concerned.

“Uh—fuck! Sorry. I got carried away,” she uttered, clearing her throat. Steadying herself, a memory quickly popped up. A hint of a smile curled at the corners of her lips.

“When I was a kid,” Emily chuckled, “I was super into rocks. Crystals, gems, whatever. And one day, Dad told me that he ate a rock and it freaked me the fuck out. He showed me this huge bag of rocks and then he...put one in his mouth and told me to try one. I tried one, and they’re made of chocolate! Chocolate fucking rocks! I don’t know, I just thought it was the funniest thing ever.”

“That’s a sweet story,” Trystan said, grabbing two mugs from his cupboard. “You must’ve gotten your wit from him, huh?”

“Yeah,” she grinned, “I did.”

“So, are you gonna tell me what you're making me?” Emily asked, her eyes on Trystan as he began brewing coffee.

“Nope! You, my dear, will just have to wait and see. Now, tell me another story.”

Grumbling, Emily patted Twilight’s head, searching for another moment to be shared. She scanned Trystan's penthouse as if looking at the abstract paintings around the apartment reminded her of her father. Her eyes turned to a nearby bookcase. Emily marveled at the sight, admiring the scratched-up beauty. A golden snake was engraved at the very top center, clearly a Thorne heirloom. All sorts of books, antique and modern, were delicately set on each shelf. From afar, an entire collection of the Aubrey-Maturin series sat at the very top of the shelf. Emily’s heart grew, adoring that both she and Trystan shared a fascination with literature.

“My dad named me after Emily Brontë. Wuthering Heights was his favorite book. Every night before I’d go to bed, he’d read me a bunch of her poems. I never understood what they meant as a kid, but...I still loved listening to him.”

“Emily is a lovely name,” Trystan smiled, “I don’t have Wuthering Heights, but I do have Jane Eyre on my bookshelf if you’d want to read it.”

Emily glanced at the two mugs sitting beside the stove, her heart bursting. What a joy everything was — to love and be loved. To wake up in the cold mornings with her bare feet cuddling Trystan’s; enjoying the soothing touch of his mismatched socks. It was all so new, how there’d be two of everything every time she cooked breakfast. Two scrambled eggs, two cups of coffee, and two plates to get from the cupboard. It was all so beautiful, so mesmerizing. How someone entered her life, and soon enough, her life no longer followed a single, straight line — instead, it became jagged with two pairs of footsteps following the path. To love another being so intently was the best thing she ever did.

She watched Trystan pour them a cup of coffee, keeping their hearth warm. Emily wandered over to the kitchen, sitting on a barstool. Her head tilted at the tub of peanut butter and a sandwich on two separate plates.

“You made me...just a peanut butter sandwich?” She asked, unamused. Trystan smirked, handing her one plate and keeping the other for himself.

“Just try it!”

Emily took a bite out of the sandwich. Her mouth watered at the taste of peanut butter and marshmallows. Moments of her father and her younger self flickered through her mind. It was silly how such a simple taste made her relive so many memories. Emily swallowed the first bite, glancing at Trystan warmly.

“Oh my God," She gawked, “you made me a fluffernutter sandwich?” The memory of them both trapped in a freezer coursed through her head. Cuddling together, shivering as if they were on the brink of death, and Emily; telling Trystan the loving moments she had with her dad.

“You remember that?”

“Of course, I do darling,” Trystan grinned. “Mind of a steel trap! Even when we’re both locked in a freezer.”

“I love you, Trystan.”

“I love you, too.”

Wiping away a splotch of peanut butter on her lip, Trystan gazed into her soulful eyes before kissing her. Pulling apart, another twinge of grief crept up on her. Emily resented herself at that instant, furious that such a sweet moment lasted only a mere few minutes. Her eyes were hooded with sorrow, bereavement clouding her mind.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s been...fifteen years since he died,” she murmured, “And I’m so fucking scared of forgetting things. What if everything I remember about him just...goes away? What if I never find out who killed him?”

Trystan sighed, sitting next to her. Placing his hand in hers, their eyes met. “Emily, I think...as long as you keep talking about him, he’ll never go away. And one day, you will find out who murdered him. It might not be today, or even this year, but it will come.”

She thought of her father’s face, and how wonderful it was that they shared the same features. Nearly every aspect of him has always been a part of her. She admired that she kept his narrowed earthly eyes, his strong nose, and his heavenly grin.

Emily thought of the engravement on her father’s tombstone. ‘Life is not measured in years, but the memories we leave behind.’ Not only did her father leave behind a loving childhood to look back on; but he also left her his legacy. It’s hers to keep, hers to share if she’d like to; and it’s hers to cherish.

* * * * A/N: today is ‘national fluffernutter day.’ figured it would be perfect to post this lol. and if you can’t tell, i’ve been listening to lots and lots of mitski, watching mike flanagan shows, and re-watching Fleabag as of late! death & love are just such interesting things to write about, and luckily crimes of passion is just full of that haha! hope you liked it c:

click here to find a masterlist of all my writings so far! more coming soon!

tags: @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @mooserii (let me know if anyone else would like to be tagged when i post more crimes of passion fics!)

#playchoices #choices #choices cop #crimes of passion #choices crimes of passion #crimes of passion 2 #choices game #trystan x mc #trystan x emily #trystan thorne #choices stories you play #jimmy rose #moominofthevalley

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moominofthevalley · 6 months

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My Love Mine all Mine

Emily peels Trystan some oranges on a rainy Sunday afternoon

Characters: Trystan x Emily

WC: 583

R: Teen

A/N: A very short drabble inspired by both the song ‘My Love Mine all Mine’ by Mitski, as well as the poem ‘The Orange’ by Wendy Cope.

And that orange, it made me so happy. As ordinary things often do.

Emily’s eyes met the hustle and bustle of the city. Dewy droplets fell on the large window of Trystan’s penthouse. An overcast of grey clouds blanketed the afternoon sky. The leaves of nearby trees were a faded green; how lovely the world became during late spring. Behind Emily lay the sleeping man she loved more than anything.

They had just gotten back from a walk with Twilight, their boots stained with mud and dirt. Twilight, of course, loved it all; her fur still drying from the rain. Trystan slept on the couch, his furry friend curled up by his feet. The two looked adorable, and Emily managed to take a quick photo of them cuddling.

Emily walked over to the kitchen, her bare feet cold from the hardened floors. Coffee beans and all their love filled up the room. Her heart fluttered, hands curling about the two mugs by the coffee machine. This was all Emily ever wanted – lazy, rainy days with her found family.

Plump oranges were bunched up in the fruit bowl. Picking one up, the scent of citrus ran to her nose. Her father cut her fruits as a child, an Asian rite of passage. To be told ‘I love you’ through a bowl of fruit.

For her, love was peeling oranges. To ignore all the pith gathering underneath your nails, to split it in half; and to give your lover the bigger piece.

Emily peered into her chest, content with everything inside. All Emily truly had was love; love for her father, love for Uncle Tommy, love for the agency, and love for Trystan. Her heart will forever be hers. It will grow and crack through time, but it’s hers to mend and hers to cherish.

Digging her nails into the orange, juices and white strands cluttered under her nails. To love someone is to peel their oranges, cut their fruits, kiss the back of their neck when zipping up their suit; to seal their nights with care.

With the skin of the orange off, she split the fruit in half. Her hands were sticky with orange pulp, and Emily smiled at the silly burden. Her ears pricked up as the bubbling coffee sang, steam coming out of the machine. Fondness danced inside her, admiring how much loving someone was essentially just habits and actions. To build a routine, for your body to become used to being seen by another.

Emily poured two cups of coffee, the well-loved mugs and the freshly peeled orange being set on the table in front of Trystan. He continued slumbering, occasionally snoring, and – although he would never admit it – drooling as well.

Nothing was outstanding about today, but for Emily and Trystan, it was perfect. Despite the rain showers, the grey skies, and the muddy paws, they still had a beating heart at the end of it. Emily adored waking up in Trystan’s arms, making pancakes for breakfast, and walking around Central Park in the spring weather.

This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

Emily gently laid on her lover, her face resting on Trystan’s chest. Instinctively, his hands met the back of her head, stroking Emily’s hair. Her cheeks rose in heat as she reached to kiss his forehead. His eyes met Emily’s, glistening with affinity. One word from Trystan could silence her forever.

“I love you. I’m glad I exist.”

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A/N: this was just so lovely writing :') i hope u guys all loved it! <3 (can you guys tell that food is my love language..)

click here for a masterlist of all my written works so far!

tags: @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @mooserii @starsarewithinme @shadyinternetblizzard @urcowboyboyfriend @lexicook74-blog @leahtine @jahrobin (let me know if anyone else would like to be added to my crimes tag!)

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moominofthevalley · 2 months

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WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @jerzwriter and @dutifullynuttywitch! I’m still currently editing my fic but here you go :) Here’s a wee sneak peek of Iron & Rot coming out.....eventually! *also this is still in pretty early stages! and if anyone would be interested in beta reading i’d appreciate it!

The common room, not sane, had no love built between its corners. Walls were thick and oppressive; faded bars of white shielding honeysuckles that blinked back at her. On windowsills sat blistered flies, their rotten bellies facing the ceiling.

I shouldn’t be here, Emily thought, Why would Trystan come here? She continued as if resigning to her mind, the scent of mold and popcorn following her. She tiptoed across the room like a docile lamb, beads of sweat down her brows. For the case, Emily swore, For-

#crimes of passion #trystan x emily #choices #playchoices #trystan x mc #choices stories you play #trystan thorne #choices crimes of passion #moominofthevalley #crimes of passion 2

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moominofthevalley · 7 months

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I Will

A murdered body brings light to the detective’s past. A grieving Trystan seeks comfort from the person he loves the most.

Characters: Trystan Thorne x Emily Rose

WC: 1.8k

R: Teen | CW: Major Spoilers for Chapter 12, Detailed descriptions of a dead body

Inspired by the song “I Will” by Mitski

There was blood on Trystan’s hands and Sebastyan Thorne was dead.

Sebastyan’s eyes were frozen in time, in horror, in shock. His ivory-toned suit was blackened with his own blood. Emily stared at the dead Thorne's throat, a deep cut slashed across his neck. Rot and copper filled their noses. Dropping down to her knees, Emily checked his pulse — yet, even before she searched for any possibility of life, she knew that Sebastyan Thorne was dead. Murdered.

The detective’s hands trembled as she jerked her vision away from the cold body and onto her partner. Trystan stood beside her, his mouth agape, his entire body shaking. Tears of bereavement escaped his mortified eyes, and within an instant; Emily wrapped him in a hug, the stains of Bas’ blood painting Trystan’s suit.

“Bas...he’s....” Trystan couldn’t bear to finish his sentence. To accept it. Emily shielded their bodies away from Sebastyan’s, as if not seeing his corpse could undo the painful death that he endured. Trystan curled his arms around Emily, tightening their mournful embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Trystan.” Turmoil bubbled inside of Emily, pangs of guilt and grief overwhelming her.

“How did we get it so wrong? We could have helped him. We could have-”

Wiping his tears away, Emily pulled away from the hug as the sounds of footsteps crescendoed. Opening the curtains of the theatre box, Lydea entered, her eyes immediately stumbling on Sebastyan.

“Holy fuck-”

It didn’t take more than a second for Lydea to mask her grief. Straightening her body, Lydea wiped away all of her tears before Colette appeared beside her. Although Colette’s lips formed into a seemingly shocked pose, Emily saw a slight twinkle; a lack of sincerity in the woman’s eyes.

“Oh no,” Colette uttered, her hands cradling her face.

“When did you lose sight of him?” Lydea snapped, facing Colette.

“Only five minutes ago, I swear!”

“Lydea, where the fuck have you been?” Emily growled. Trystan put his hand on her arm, throwing her a pleading look. She ignored him, continuing.

“Where I said I’d be,” Lydea answered plainly. Emily crossed her arms.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why didn’t you contact Colette? Why didn’t you respond to our texts?”

“Because, Detective, I was busy doing my job." Lydea cocked her head, one of her hands resting on the hilt of her sword. “Now, I need you two to clear the scene. Now.”

“You can’t just kick us out! This murder is connected to my investigation!”

“A murdered prince changes things, New York. This is Royal Guard business. And I will not hesitate to arrest some glorified tourist who tries to interfere.”

Emily reached a breaking point. Anger burst out of her, her brows furrowing. Jabbing her finger into Lydea’s chest, the detective threw up all the shock, pain, and guilt that sat inside her for the past few weeks.

“No, you fucking listen to me, Lydea. If we had arrested Bas or taken him into custody, or whatever you do when someone is suspected of being a murderer in this fucked-up country, he wouldn’t be dead right now, would he, Lydea?” Emily hissed, her heart beating frantically. Lydea, with not even a twinge of hurt inflicted on her face, stared back at the seething detective in front of her.

“Get. Out. Now.”

Trystan placed a hand on Emily's shoulder, yet again looking at her with bereaved and pleading eyes. Before steering the two of them out of the room, Trystan choked back a sob and glanced at his deadpan sister.

“Understood, Lydea. But we do expect to see a report on this as soon as possible.”

* * * *

After a painful investigation of the crime scene, Trystan and Emily were left alone in a large amphitheater.

“Emily. We need to tell the family what happened.”

“You know, maybe you should sit this one out. No one would blame you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Trystan whimpered, nearly gasping as tears left his eyes. “I owe it to Bas to stand here and wait to hear what happened to him. It’s the least I can do.”

Emily nodded solemnly, stepping closer to him.

“We’ll wait together. And Trystan...” Her voice died off, guilt clouding her consciousness. Trystan held her hand, offering her a muted sense of comfort. “I am so sorry that I yelled at Lydea like that. I’m so, so sorry Trystan. I should have...I should have stopped.” Without a word, Trystan nodded. Emily searched her prince’s eyes, trying to gauge what Trystan might feel towards the detective’s outburst, and it pained her to find thinly veiled disgust. She continued, ignoring the exhaustion and bitterness all over her body.

“And I’m sorry that our investigation got in the way of you and Sebastyan having the chance to repair things.” Trystan glanced at Emily, the emotions in his eyes trying their best to fade away.

“I’m...not sure we ever would have. I've seen him more lately than I ever bothered to otherwise.” Trystan sighed, struggling to go on, “at least...I hugged him once in our lives. Even if it was only to get that stupid ledger.”

Backing away, Trystan began to head towards the exit. “Well then...we should go on. Tell the family what happened.”

About to take another step, a faded memory crept up on Emily. A ghostly one. The scent of stale popcorn, the sound of a stadium organ ringing in her ear, the impending dread that the walls would crush her. Something else was there – a new body thrown into the mix. The face of a dead Sebastyan Thorne was imprinted on her mind, and even if her eyes were completely shut, she still saw his corpse sitting in the theatre box.

“...Emily? Emily?” Trystan rushed to her, an understanding look on his face.

“Uh...sorry–sorry! I'm sorry. I got...I was just thinking.”

She felt Trystan’s worried look as the two left the theatre, about to ruin the lives of the Thorne family.

* * * * Eveline’s sobs rang in the detective’s head all night.

Emily was sick. Exhausted. At the very core of her being, in her chest, in her heart; was absolute agony. The stinging cuts and bruises from chasing Trystan around the maze could not compare to the turmoil, the fear, and the guilt that warped her head.

The sullen detective dealt with death before. Rarely had she ever encountered one on the job, bar the Hand of Mahra, yet all she thought about was how the Thorne’s coped with Sebastyan’s death.

A sob escaped her — a loud and sudden, single sob. She clutched her chest, as if holding herself could mend her grievances. Disgust rotted her body, Sebastyan’s bloodied corpse glued in her mind. She jumped up from the bed, only to find Trystan’s back facing her, sitting down on the ottoman.

“...Trystan?”

He turned around, and Emily moved to the edge of the bed. It didn’t take a detective to know that he’d been up all night. Cupping both sides of his face, her callused fingers rubbed the bags under his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Her heart bled for his, and it broke her seeing Trystan look so utterly lost. She set her hands on Trystan’s lap.

Dried speckles of Sebastyan’s blood clung to Trystan’s suit, and even though she fought her hardest to wipe it away, the blood sat still, a grim reminder of their loss.

“Trystan...” She murmured, “Let me wash you. Please. If you can’t sleep, can I at least give you a bath?”

Silence washed over them. Emily patiently waited for Trystan to answer, ignoring the pitiful quietness. Without uttering a word, Trystan nodded softly.

Emily’s feet jumped at the touch of the cool, tiled bathroom floor. Trystan stood still as Emily drew a bath for him, bubbling and rising with warmth. Condensation fogged up the corners of the mirror. She grabbed a few towels and rested them on the counter.

Trystan watched her work, completely mute. Although grief burrowed in his heart, the soon-to-be king still made room for the warmth he had for his Rose. Before resting in the bath, Trystan urged a weak, grateful smile.

“I’ll take good care of you. I promise.”

Tenderly, Emily washed Trystan’s back with warm, soapy water. She delicately rinsed off the blood, small splotches of crimson soaking the tub. Trystan shivered, startled by the sheer amount of care and empathy given to him. Rubbing his shoulders, Emily sighed, grateful to have this intimate, yet bittersweet, moment with him.

Turning him around, their eyes locked, drunk with their own grief. Trystan stared blankly, numbly, as if he ran out of tears. Emily’s eyes burned at the sight; it ruined her to see someone so full of life and wit become so morbidly robotic. Her hand held his for a brief moment, lightly scouring Sebastyan’s blood off his shaky fingers. She continued, raking the damp towel across his scratched, hairy chest. The couple sat in the tub in complete stillness, with Emily dutifully caring for her partner, and Trystan, sulking in his grief. He opened his mouth, shaking slightly.

“...He died thinking I hated him.” Trystan sobbed, a dam breaking down; tears ushering down his face. Emily put down the towel and wrapped her arms around him. It was undeniable: Sebastyan Thorne died believing everyone hated him. Worse yet, someone close had killed him — someone he thought he could trust.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you couldn’t make amends with him. I’m so sorry that everything with your family is just so fucking complicated.” Emily whispered in his ear. “But I can promise you that we will find out who killed him. His death can’t be for nothing.”

With that, the hug broke, and Trystan nodded. Emily stood up from the bath, at last, all the blood stains faded from Trystan’s skin. Trystan followed suit, drying himself off with another towel.

The pair lay down in bed, their foreheads touching. Emily smiled, her lips gently pressing against Trystan’s. Their arms cradled each other, in the night, in a secret hidden world only they know of. Trystan sighed delightedly, admiring every inch of his surly, private detective’s face.

“Emily, I...” His hands embraced her cheek. “I don’t know who I’d be without you. Thank you.”

Their eyes met once more, sharing a mutual fondness; a desire that’s better left unsaid. Three words echoed their minds, yet neither of them itched to say it out loud.

“I will take care of you,” she promised him. I will, I will, I will.

* * * * A/N: mitski and crimes of passion, two of my favorite things ever! anyways, i made this because i felt like,, there could've been MORE?? to trystan's grief besides the kovmorti scene. i hope you liked it babes!! here's to waiting a year or two for book 3!

p.s, i also have another oneshot of trystan & mc! it's much less angsty, with lots more flirting, and way more wholesome!! click here to read it!

click here for a list of all my work so far!

#crimes of passion #moominofthevalley #trystan x emily #choices crimes of passion #choices stories you play #crimes of passion 2 #choices #choices cop #playchoices #trystan x mc #mitski #spotify #bury me at makeout creek #angst #mitski i will

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