Choices MC Appreciation Week

- a non-binary flag pin. Saini's pronouns are they/them.

- a pink flower pin. It's a nod to two of their nicknames given by Skylar and his family: Rosa. Skylar's turned this into light teasing by calling Saini Flower.

- the Parental advisory explicit content, which is a nod to their and Skylar's favourite book series.

In Saini's bag can be found:

at least one notebook to jolt down notes from the classes they are attending.

they also have few pieces of paper they use as draft or to take notes quickly, since they dislike when their notebooks are not well-presented and their writing, messy.

books for the classes they attend/will attend during the week.

at least one pencil, because there's always a need to write something, and it can't leak inside the bag.

a packet of tissues in one of the two pockets at the front of the bag, always handy in any situation.

a small refillable bottle of hand sanitizer, in that same pocket, again handy in any situation.

a small pouch which contains:

- several types of band-aids and a bandage.

- some cash.

- their keys.

a hand cream with peach extract, their favourite fruit, in the other pocket at the front of the bag.

a pink lip balm rose-scented that Cas hates, in that same pocket.

their phone, a Nokia, their favourite brand because it makes them feel closer to their father.

their phone's charger, just in case.

a can of cherry or peach sparkling water, cherry is because they were born in Cherryfield, Maine.

at least one oat bar with some fruits.

----------

Abbey Vo called the agency two days ago, convinced her long-term girlfriend, Moira Barrett, was cheating on her. All month, she’d come home at sunrise, keeping quiet about her whereabouts.

Reminders of their relationship were scattered around the apartment, inside jokes only the two got. Framed photos of them on every wall. A trio of polka dot egg cups on the dining table. A dead succulent on the windowsill. A scrambled-egg-shaped jewelry dish by the door. 

The detectives settled on the couch, maroon crushed velvet with indents on the center cushions. Abbey sat opposite them in a matching armchair, biting the insides of her cheeks. 

“So.” She gulped. “What’d you two find?” 

“We tailed her yesterday.” Emily plopped the case file on the coffee table. Abbey flipped to the first page. Moira’s dossier. “After she finished class, she went back here, as you know. Then sometime around midnight, she left while you were still sleeping.” 

“...And then?” 

Emily and Trystan frowned. With a nod, he turned to the last page. A photo of Moira in another woman’s arms. Abbey scoffed. 

“That’s Eleanor – that’s one of our friends! Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“We are so sorry,” Trystan muttered, his hand on hers. 

Emily cleared her throat. “Is there anything else we can do for you?” 

Abbey floated above her body, welling up with tears. Her skin pulsed, static enveloping her limbs even as she dug her nails into her palms. “Christ, I’m sorry! Can–can one of you, maybe, stay here for a bit? I don’t really wanna be alone right now, y’know?” 

“Please, do not apologize. I will get you some coffee while Emily stays with you. There’s a cafe across the street, no? What would you like?” 

She wiped her nose with a giant wad of tissues. “Anything! As long as it’s with almond milk, please. Thank you so much.” 

“Of course. Your usual, Rose?”

Emily nodded. Trystan patted Abbey’s hand before walking out the door. 

Alone with the poor girl, Emily stiffened in her seat as Abbey choked back sobs. She groaned and tilted her head away from the detective. 

A gold-framed Polaroid sat on the mantel. Halloween 2024 was labelled on the bottom center. Abbey was in a homemade egg costume, oval-cut white felt with a lopsided yolk in the middle. Moira kissed her cheek, also in costume. Red felt horns, a trident made of painted cardboard tubes, and a long spaded tail. 

“I can’t–breathe–!” 

“Hey.” Emily rubbed her back. “You wanna step outside? Get some fresh hair?” 

“Mhm–guh! Please!” 

They sat side by side on the front steps, knees bumping against each other. Abbey clutched her chest, wheezing in and out.  

“Do you need help? With breathing?” 

“Yes!” 

“Okay.” Emily scratched her chin. “Can you tap your legs and count random numbers? They can be any number.”  

“Uh. Okay.” Shutting her eyes, she hit her shins. “Four. Twenty-six. Nine. Fifty-four. Thirty. Forty-nine. Twelve. Ninety-nine. Sixty-seven. One. Eight. Thirteen.”

“Better?” 

“Yes. Thank you for that. And for catching them.” She unclenched her jaw, the choppy breaths fading. “Six years down the drain. God.” 

“I’m sorry again.” 

“It’s okay. Where’d you learn that counting thing?” 

“An old therapist. It was a grounding technique she swore by.”  

“Well, it worked.” She clicked her tongue. “Have you ever been through a breakup?” 

Emily clenched her teeth. 

“Sorry! You don’t have to answer that. That’s a weird thing to ask, right? I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s okay. I have. Relationships aren’t really…Blech.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re what, twenty-two? I had my first breakup when I was your age. Breaking a lease sucks. Maybe this’ll be good for you. Clean slate.” 

“How did you get over it? How do you even get over someone you’ve known half your life?” 

“Time, I guess. Sorry. That’s a boring answer. But this’ll pass. You’ll find other people, eventually.” Emily chewed her lower lip, gazing at the cafe across the street. “Also, Eleanor is a terrible name. Not a fan.” 

They shared a laugh. 

“You promise? That I’ll find other people?” 

“I can’t promise that. Nothing’s for certain. Maybe you’ll never be with anyone else. Sorry. That’s unlikely. Maybe in six months, you’ll meet someone you can mildly tolerate.” 

“‘Mildly tolerate’?” 

“Someone you like. You’ll be okay, Abbey. Give it some time.” Emily patted her lap. 

What else was there to say? She shoved her hands in her coat pocket, perking up when a round, plump object grazed her knuckles. 

“You want an orange?” 

“Oh.” Abbey shrugged. “Sure.” 

Digging into the fruit, its pith and juices cluttered around her fingers. She split it in half, the orange peel falling to her feet. She grinned, handing her the whole piece. 

“To peace and contentment.” 

“To peace and contentment.” Abbey swallowed a slice. “She never peeled eggs for me.” 

“Sorry?” 

“I always did them myself. I eat them every day.” 

“Oh. I see.” 

She rolled her eyes. “She never opened up, either. Never told me what she was doing. I guess that makes sense now.” 

Emily bit her lip. “Maybe she was scared?” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I was the one who said ‘I love you’ first. But whatever. Fucking throw this all away for another girl, I guess.” She sighed. “Thank you for the orange.” 

“Of course.” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Go for it.” 

Abbey slumped her shoulders. “Sorry, I’m not calling you old, but…Do things ever get better? I feel like everything’s always been so ‘blech,’ you know? Do things get easier when you’re…” 

“...Older?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well. I imagine things get better when you’re not being cheated on. Sorry. But again, nothing’s for certain. You can be doing really well at twenty-eight and be doing really bad at sixty-eight. But…I think I like where I’m at right now.” 

“God. You’re such a realist.” 

“I guess.” 

“You’re very nice. If not a little…” 

Emily picked at her nails. “...Much?” 

“No. Really fucking awkward.”

“Ha. Sorry about that.” 

“Trystan’s nice.” 

“Hmph.” 

“He’s your partner?” 

“Consultant. He follows me around. Shadows me, I guess.” 

Abbey chuckled. “That sounds like fun.” 

“Eh. Only sometimes. Usually, he just gets me in trouble.” 

“Ha. You like working with him?” 

“...Mildly.” 

They laughed again. 

Trystan returned, balancing three coffees and a pastry in a cup holder. 

“This is for you.” He handed Abbey a mocha with almond milk and extra whipped cream. ‘You’ve got this!’ was scribbled on the lid. “Oh! And I’d figured you’d like this as well.” 

“An egg tart?” She gasped. “Thank you! You are quite the detective.” 

“Consultant,” Emily reminded her. 

“And how can I forget about you, Detective?” He winked, their shoulders touching. Emily drank the Americano, scorching her hands. ‘You’ll be alright’ was written on the sleeve in faded Sharpie. 

“Thanks, dude.” She shoved her free hand back in her pocket, a tiny orange peel left inside. 

“Are you gonna be okay here?” Trystan asked.

“I’ll be fine. I can’t wait to tell Moira it’s over.” 

“Ah. Good luck with that. And with everything else. Believe me, the right person will come along.” His hand brushed against Emily’s. 

“Thank you both. Good luck as well.” She winked at Emily before closing the door. 

Trystan licked his lips. “Huh. What’d you two talk about?” 

“Eggs and oranges.” 

“Naturally. Let’s get back to work, Rose!” He jumped from the top step to the sidewalk, his latte swirling. “What do you think we’ll solve next? City-wide insurance fraud? A suspected gambling ring at a retirement home? A…custody dispute, perhaps?” 

Emily snorted. “Probably just another cheating case.” 

“Well then. Let’s go.” He skipped past her, car keys and drink in hand. 

Emily’s stomach fluttered, a rise of heat rippling through her skin. She scratched her neck, suppressing a giggle. “Hey, Trystan!” 

He turned around. “Yes? What is it?” 

Their eyes met, Emily’s knees quivering. Someone you can mildly tolerate, was it? She grinned. “Hey. You’re a good egg.” 

* * * * a/n: someone has a cruuuuuuuush. emily doing All That after she’s already fucked trystan btw. girl he wants you too !!!!!

tags: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesmcappreciationweek @jerzwriter @jahrobin @urcowboygirlfriend @calisomnia @tessa-liam @dutifullynuttywitch @juudaimes-true-form @im-the-galactic-starfish @tinytimism @loreofyore (if you’d like to be removed or added to my tag list, please let me know!)

You can learn more about Pilvi and their relationship with Parker and their family, as well as with my other It Lives MCs in the following stories:

Timeline Collapse

Timeline Collapse 2

Répondez, S'il Vous Plaît ! (feat. ID MC)

Répondez, S'il Vous Plaît ! 2 (feat. ID MC)

Répondez, S'il Vous Plaît ! 3 (feat. ID MC)

Other HCs I come up with as I'm reading/thinking:

Plays lacrosse, is a midfielder

Was on the debate team at her last school

Her father was a Navy pilot who died in the line of duty. (not sure if there is background for MC's dad in the book, but I'm leaving this here for now)

“Journeys end in lovers meeting,” Emily Rose whispered, a stone laying at the pit of her stomach. She debated heading home. Running away before everything started, never seeing the unveiled atrocities of the manor; unable to fulfill the promise she made to herself. Emily gritted her teeth. The doorknob was cold and brute and even a strong woman like her struggled to bust the door open. Her eyes widened at the withered stranger before her, her skin jumping at the other being in front of her.

“Are you…Mafalda Ginovesi?” The older woman scoffed, standing up from the distressed couch. 

“No,” she croaked. “I’m Ms. Thompson. The caretaker.” A frostiness settled on Ms. Thompson’s face, her tone bitter and cruel. Emily nodded, handing her two suitcases to the dutiful caretaker. Thompson motioned Emily to follow, her frail body heading upstairs. Their steps were met with a guttural groan. Emily’s chest ached, lost in an unforgotten memory, one that she longed to be buried six feet under.

“You will sleep in the yellow room,” Thompson ordered, both of them standing in the center of the corridor. Colorful doors covered the walls and a brass mirror hung in front of Emily. She studied herself before entering the room, goosebumps on her shivering arms. Her skin was milky, devoid of all blood, her earthy eyes too uneven to be on her face; like they were just floating in front of her. 

“Miss?” Thompson asked, dropping Emily’s suitcases beside her. 

“Right. Sorry.” Emily huffed, gripping the doorknob. The caretaker grasped her shoulder, stopping her. Emily turned, meeting Ms. Thompson’s gaze.

“One more thing,” she warned, her grip tight despite the frailness of her hands. “Don’t ever leave your room at night.” 

“What?”

“I leave the manor after I set dinner. I don’t stay during the night. I leave before the sun sets.” 

“Okay, but–” 

“I live in Hartfeld. Miles and miles and miles away.” 

“I understand.” 

“We couldn’t even hear you, that far away, and in the dark.” 

“‘We’?” 

“Nobody can hear you that far away, you understand? No one wants to come here in the middle of the night.” 

“Will you just tell me-” 

“In the night,” Thompson whispered as her eyes twitched. “In the dark.” 

Emily rolled her eyes, shutting the door behind her. Dusty yellow walls cornered her, and another fragile mirror stood beside the door. A bed sat in front of her with more yellow trinkets scattered about. Emily shook her head, enticed by Thompson’s foreboding words and irked by how increasingly monochrome her room was. 

She sat on the yellow bedsheets. Even the ceiling was a bright yellow. Though the print had long died out, faint pale lines ran up and down the walls. The lines were thick, almost resembling rusty iron bars. Anybody of sound mind could go mad staring at the ungodly wallpaper for a minute longer. She darted down to the wooden floor, creaky and scratched. A knock at the door interrupted her jumbled thoughts, her eyes trained on the stranger before her. 

“Are you part of the study?” a woman, not too much younger than her, asked. Her face was warm and welcoming, opposite Ms. Thompson’s.

“I am.” She stood up, crossing her arms. “Who are you?” 

“Ruby Webster. Who are you?” 

“Emily Rose.”

Bags peppered under Ruby’s eyes, covered by her tortoiseshell glasses. A coffee stain was evident on the hem of her sweater, the circle damp and wrinkly. Uncrossing her arms, Emily stood face-to-face with her. Ms. Thompson’s warning repeated in her mind, though she dared not tell Ruby what was said – at least not yet. 

“What room do you have?” she asked, peering into the hallway. The corridor had only three other doors, the closest being a pleasant emerald door left ajar. A scratched-up orange door sat across from the green room, its vibrance now dulled. At the end of the corridor was the red room. Emily shuddered, her nails digging into her palm. She turned back to Ruby.

“That one.” She pointed to the green door. “Everything inside is just green!”

Emily chuckled, pointing back to the monochromatic room she was designated to. 

“Everything in my room is yellow. I don’t really care for it.”

“I don’t either,” Ruby answered. “Would you want to check out the grounds with me? When I got here, I saw a huge garden by the side of the manor, but Ms. Thompson told me to come in before I could see it.” 

“I’d like that.” 

* * * * 

The garden was heaven on Earth, the grass topped with inklets of rain. Roses and daffodils bloomed on the bright Spring day, circling a tiny man-made pond; moss plaguing its waters. Sprigs of flowered cattails stood tall at one of its edges, its stem a husky green. The most splendid part of the garden, however, was the weeping willow. Large branches hung heavy green leaves, adorning vibrant yellow flowers. Emily hummed in delight, taken aback at how such a vile mansion could be home to such an innocent plot of beauty. 

“So, what do you do?” Ruby asked, the pair lying down on their backs. Angelic clouds glistened in their eyes, the soggy grass soaking their jeans. Before laying her head down, Emily grumbled at the mass of gravestones a few feet behind her. 

“I’m a...detective,” Emily replied. “What about you?” 

“I’m a medical examiner. I graduated high school when I was fourteen,” Ruby said, smiling weakly. Emily turned towards her, debating on intertwining their fingers in a celebratory fashion. She settled on keeping her hands by her side. 

“Are you kidding me?” Emily grinned. “That’s fucking impressive!” 

“Thank you. I usually work night shifts. It’s pretty quiet and peaceful…even though I’m working with dead bodies and murder weapons.” 

“Exactly how many hours do you work in a week?” 

Ruby scratched her chin. “I think I did eighty or so last week. Eighty-five?” 

“Eighty-five hours? How do you find the time to sleep?” 

“You’re the detective! Don’t you guys run on coffee and…I don’t know, donuts?” 

“Those are cops! But…I guess I do drink a lot of coffee, too.” 

“Anyways...” Ruby giggled. “I have a futon in my office when it gets too late.” 

“I think you need an assistant.” 

“Absolutely not! Some busybody getting in my way, making a mess, and needing emotional support? No, thank you!” 

“I think you’re describing a toddler.” 

“Toddlers, assistants – same thing, really. I just like working alone.” 

“That’s not the part I’m worried about. It’s–hey!” Emily stood up, the hair on her neck prickling. With a squinted view, a small flurry of red ran across the field. Her heart sunk, her fluttering eyelids twinged with worry. Without another word, Ruby stood beside her. 

“Did you see that?”

Ruby shook her head, the tiny dot of red having vanished. 

“We’re in a garden. It must’ve been a rabbit, right?”

Emily stood still, her fingertips at the top of her holster encasing a taser.

“...Yeah. You’re right. We should probably head back now.” Emily grazed away from the taser. Journeys end in lovers meeting. 

Grass crunched beneath every step as they headed to the veranda, still curious as to what they had seen. Emily attempted to shrug it off. After all, they were in a garden – it’d make perfect sense for a little creature to streak across the lawn. Nonetheless, the whole ordeal was quite peculiar.

“The fuck?” Emily spat, a small puddle of blood by her and Ruby’s shoes. The front door stood ajar, a pool of chilled air seeping through. With a taser in the detective’s hands, Emily ordered Ruby to stay outside. 

A broken lamp was scattered across the wooden floor and a concerning amount of blood trailed from the entrance to the living room. A bloodied grey button-down curled up on the couch, the sleeves torn. Emily called out, as she walked towards the living room: 

“Hello? If there’s anybody here, come out with your hands up!” 

No answer. 

Emily furthered herself into the manor, clearing the nearest hallway. Floorboards croaked with each step, brushing away the particles of dust and cobwebs off the surface. Cracked walls with gold-framed paintings and mirrors passed her until a single door stood across from her. Though it was sensibly shut, something in her dared Emily to unlock it. 

“...Ms. Thompson?” 

The door opened in a blink of an eye, revealing a shirtless stranger. A crimson cut on his forearm continued to bleed out, yet the man ignored it; he was more focused on the trespasser with a taser pointed at him. He reached for the closest thing to him: a serving tray. 

“Who are you?” the man yelled. Darting to the taser as Emily was prepared to shoot, he scoffed. “Ah. I see.” 

In a seamless motion, the man hurled the tray, hitting Emily’s wrist. Wincing, the taser flew out of her hands. Without the chance to sputter another sentence, Emily spun around in the man’s grip, his arms crawling around her neck, her back arching up against his toughened torso. Gasping out tiny gasps of air, Emily struggled to fight her way out. With a final growl, she twisted out of his chokehold, shoving him hard into a wall. 

“I’m a detective! I’m part of the study! What the fuck!” 

“You’re a cop?” 

“I didn’t say that! Who attacks a stranger with a serving tray?” 

The man shrugged nonchalantly, circling Emily with interest. Sparkling eyes of grey studied the stranger, a hint of allure in his glance.

“You know,” he said, trailing up and down Emily’s body. “I’ve had several run-ins with law enforcement, and they didn’t look anything like you.” 

“What? Annoyed? Furious?” She scoffed, arms crossed. Trystan let out a cheeky smile. 

“Smart, competent, extremely well-dressed.” He pointed to Emily’s leather jacket. “And dare I say, sexy?” 

“‘Sexy’?” Emily repeated, cheeks red. “Fuck you. Do you seriously flirt with people you fight with?” 

“Only if they threaten to tase me first.” 

Emily rolled her eyes.

“Well, I suppose you can’t blame me for jumping to conclusions when a strange woman points a taser at me.” 

“Fend off a lot of assassination attempts, whoever you are?” 

“Trystan Thorne. I apologize for the misunderstanding, Officer.” 

“Not officer. Private Investigator Emily Rose. I’m here for a group experiment, I didn’t really expect to get attacked on the first day.” She furrowed her brows. “How did you get that cut on your arm?” 

“...I saw a fox on the way here.” 

“And?” 

“It bit me after I tried giving it some of my trail mix.”

Emily laughed, the blood on Trystan’s arm still slowly trickling down his hand. 

“Just now? Another person from the study and I saw an animal out on the grounds before I came in.” 

Without answering, a thunderous shriek from upstairs crescendoed. Ms. Thompson threw her hands up at Emily and Trystan. Her wrinkled face twisted into a new form of anger unfamiliar to either of them. 

“You tourists! Blithering idiots, always making a goddamn mess,” Ms. Thompson complained, mumbling insults under her breath. “You!” She pointed to Trystan. “Did you break that lamp in the living room? Go clean it up, there’s blood and glass everywhere!” 

The old woman stormed out, stomping back upstairs. With a turn, vintage paintings greeted Trystan, silently wincing at his blistering wound. 

“Wait!” Trystan stopped in his tracks. “You’re still bleeding! Let me clean you up.” 

Sitting down on the living room sofa, Trystan sat down as Emily let Ruby back into the manor. Wearing a non-bloodied button-down from his bag, the front door creaked as the bubbly stranger greeted him and Emily. 

“Is everything okay?” Ruby asked, meeting Emily’s disheveled face. 

“Fine,” Emily answered. Ruby blinked at Trystan. “The lamp just got–” 

“...I know you.” 

“Oh.” Trystan shrugged. “Did we, you know…” 

“What? No, not like that! I just meant from TMZ! You’re that exiled prince, right?” 

Emily turned back to Trystan, skeptical. A fucking prince? In some random study? That was surely one for the books. 

“Wait. Emily, what are you doing hanging out with a literal prince?” 

“Believe me, I didn’t know Trystan was a prince until just now. I was just about to clean up this bite he got. You know that little orange thing we saw in the garden? It was a fox, it bit him right before he got here.” 

Emily opened up a medkit from the kitchen pantry, revealing a mass of health equipment within. Ruby sat on the chair across the unlikely duo, studying them as Emily dawned on gloves. 

“Can I ask why you were exiled?” Emily asked, wiping a clean cloth against his wound. Trystan chuckled. 

“Of course. But the answer is that it’s none of your business.” 

“And if I guess it?”

“Well, if you manage to get it right, I’ll tell you everything you most desire on the matter.” 

Emily set the cloth beside her lap, grabbing a random tub of ointment from the kit, and slathering it on his wound. Trystan quietly gasped at the pressure.

“Hm,” Emily mumbled. “A murder most foul, perhaps?” 

“How riveting! Do tell.” Trystan cast a mocking grin. 

“You must’ve killed someone in a passionate rage after discovering they were having an affair behind your back.” 

“How steamy,” Ruby chipped in, throwing a teasing glance at the prince. 

“Cheating lover?” He scoffed. “Is that the best you can do? I suppose it’s the occupational hazard of being a private investigator.” 

The detective hunted for every minuscule feature on his face. It was clear the guess had slightly hurt him, yet for a prince with years of knowledge on dodging pesky questions, it was a walk in the park for him to quickly mask it with a veil of indifference.

Emily bit her lip. “At least you didn’t call me an officer this time.” 

“I’m going to hazard that you used to work with the police?” 

“Changing the subject awfully quick, aren’t you, Thorne?” 

“Just answer the question, Rose.” 

“...Yeah. Homicide.” Emily gulped, sticking a bandaid on his forearm. 

“You don’t strike me as the type. It’s hard to picture you in one of those blue uniforms.” 

Emily exhaled sharply, a memory flashing within her. A limp hand cradling hers, the stench of hardened popcorn, the walls suffocating her. Her eyes went distant, fingers digging into her palms until the stale air within the dwelling brought her back to her senses. 

“I grew up with cops. My father was one, like his father and my uncle before him.” 

“What happened?” 

“He was killed.” Emily cleared her throat. “They never caught who did it.”

“I’m sorry,” Trystan said, eyes sincere with a hint of understanding. Ruby stayed quiet, yet an empathetic glance from her was more than enough for Emily.

“After that, it was like my calling to follow in his footsteps. I’d honor him and his legacy.” 

“What went wrong?” 

“Honestly? All of it. Widespread brutality. Abuse of suspects. Forging evidence. Corruption and bribery, all the way to the fucking top.” Her fingers trembled at the mention of her father, though Emily carried on. 

“I tried to expose it all. I built a case, I gathered evidence, but those fuckers at Internal Affairs turned on me. They threw out everything I spent years gathering on a ‘technicality.’ And that’s when I started finding dead rats in my locker.” 

“They fired you, I’m guessing?” 

“No,” Emily sneered. “I quit. But not before losing everything I’d spent a decade working on, not to mention most of my friends. The only person who still has my back is my Uncle Tommy…and he’s retired.”

“There’s an old Drakovian saying: ‘The hero isn’t the one who gets the treasure. He’s the one lying dead in an unmarked grave.’” 

“That’s pretty bleak,” Ruby added. 

“Eastern European cynicism can be like that,” Trystan replied. “And thank you, Emily, for putting a bandaid on me.” 

It wasn’t like her to pour her heart out to two total strangers, yet something inside her ached to do so. It was an urge spilling out. Perhaps in another life, these two strangers were to be acquaintances, potentially even friends. 

“Did Mafalda tell you guys anything else about this study?”

Trystan and Ruby shook their heads. 

“No,” Ruby said, “Everything she said in her emails was vague.” 

“Mine was too,” Trystan added. “Maybe she’s just…senile. Outdated!”

“Excuse me?” a dark-haired woman by the front door spat, “Senile?” 

The trio stood up, and Trystan’s cheeks flushed. Carrying two bags into the living room, the ‘senile’ woman propped a hand on her hip. Without a doubt, the woman before them was Mafalda Ginovesi. 

“If you ever call me senile again, so help me God, I will send you back to Drakovia with my bare hands, Trystan Thorne!” 

Emily and Ruby stayed silent, giggling at the exiled royal’s expense. Large bags belonging to Mafalda sat on the floor in front of them. A scrawny man followed behind Mafalda, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. Trystan smiled apologetically at her, which the professor hesitantly accepted; the perks of being a rich and charismatic moron. 

Spring raindrops met the Earth, the windows of Braidwood Manor soaked in condensation. The dimly lit room glazed with warmth from the brick fireplace. Bright embers spat onto the scratched floor, fizzling out with a ‘tsk.’ Mafalda and her unnamed assistant stood by the fireplace. Pouring herself a glass of whiskey, the professor swirled her drink idly. 

“I think it’s time I tell you all about Braidwood Manor.”

* * * * a/n: Thank you guys for reading!

tags: @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @mooserii @starsarewithinme @jonathanmoores @shadyinternetblizzard @urcowboyboyfriend @lexicook74-blog @leahtine @jahrobin @kyra75 @calisomnia

let me know if else would like to be added to my crimes tag!

Possible AU

Fashion Moodboard

A Day in the Life

She stood by the counter with her mouth wide open as Tommy closed up shop. Wiping down the bar with an old rag, scrubbing at a stain that’d been there all day. Yapping about something Emily had long tuned out.

“Emily? Hey, Emily?”

A spider made its way to a shelf of glasses behind Tommy. Last week, Emily found one belly-side up in her mug. Perhaps this one would avoid the same fate. The fuzzy thing crawled towards the ceiling, ignoring whatever she and Tommy were up to. Emily wouldn’t mind watching it build an entire cobweb; she’d rather that than deal with what she actually had to do.

“Kiddo? You doing alright?”

The ticking of a nearby clock echoed in her ear. She cleared her throat, finally meeting Tommy’s gaze.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m alright. Are you okay?”

Tommy chuckled, still scrubbing the counter. “I’m okay. This goddamn stain won’t come out. Is there something on your mind?”

“Yes, actually. I need to tell you something.”

Tommy draped the rag over his shoulder. “Alright. Is it about school? You doing okay there?”

“Yes! Don’t worry about that. It’s actually–”

“Oh, is it about the new place? How’s that going?”

In January, Emily moved out of her shoebox dorm and into a two-bedroom. White brick walls and sandpaper carpet that scratched her legs anytime she sat on the floor. She needed out. And what was New York without its high rent? Somebody had to help with the bills. She’d wound up renting with a girl from her psych class.

“I’m bisexual!” she blurted, digging her fingernails into her palm. “I’ve been wanting to tell you. I thought about telling you yesterday, during the party, but then I figured that’d be weird. April Fools’ Day and all that. Didn’t want you to think I was joking.”

Emily clenched her stomach as Tommy kept quiet.

“Also, I hate parties. Maybe next year it could just be us? I mean, Mafalda is cool and all, but I barely know her, y’know? We could have a little thing here, or maybe at my place, if I decide to stay there for another year. I was–”

A burst of laughter stopped whatever word vomit she was spouting. Tommy patted Emily’s back with a hard THRAWP! His lips curled into the biggest grin she’d ever seen.

“Ow!” she whined, eyes wide. “Are you okay with that? The whole...bisexual...thing?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Tommy rubbed Emily’s shoulder. “How long have you known about this ‘whole bisexual thing’?” 

“Hm. Only recently. But I’ve felt like this since high school. I thought Holly from ceramics was cute. I also thought Lucas from physics was cute. But health class doesn’t exactly teach you what ‘bisexuality’ is. Just how to use protection and whatnot. Ha! Sorry. Anyways, I started calling myself that this year. I think it suits me.”

“Your hands.”

Emily tilted her head. “Sorry?”

“You gotta stop clenching ‘em, kiddo. You know, I’m not surprised in the slightest. Remember last summer, that bartender I hired? Stevie?” Emily nodded. “You were as subtle as a damn brick through a window!” Tommy howled, slapping his knee.

“Oh my God, I forgot about that! I knitted her – what was it? A bunch’ve frumpy little gardenias!”

Tommy slid his hands over Emily’s, a hearty smile still on his face. She unfurled her fists.

“It’s a bit of a tragedy you two didn’t get together, no? She was cute.”

“Eh. It is what it is. Plus, I barely spoke to her. I think the only time I did was when I asked her if she liked flowers,” Emily said, shaking her head.

“You are terrible with women,” Tommy teased. “I oughta be your wingman next time.”

Emily scratched her neck. The clock kept ticking as clocks always do. The spider was gone. It hadn’t stayed to build a series of intricate webs or gotten stuck in one of the cups. She sighed.

“Anyways — I know it’s not Pride Month or a particularly special day, but I felt like I ought to tell you that. I’m not the biggest fan of talking about stuff, as you know. I have some crazy heartburn right now.” Emily drummed her fingers against the counter. “Also, I really fucking like my roommate.”

Tommy raised a brow. “First off, I have some Tums in the back if you need them. Secondly...what’s their name?”

“Thank you, Uncle. Her name’s Aislinn. You’d like her. We’re still figuring some stuff out, but yeah.” Emily’s face was beet red, slick with sweat. She scratched her neck again. “That’s all. Your favorite niece is bisexual.”

“You are my only niece.” Tommy waggled his eyebrows. “Perhaps I could meet this Aislinn one day?”

“Hm. Perhaps. I’ll think about it.”

“You know,” Uncle Tommy said, fidgeting with his hands. “I dated a man once.”

Emily’s jaw dropped. “Oh, my God. How is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”

“It was before you were born. His name was Paolo. The most handsome man in all of Manhattan.”

It’d been a while since Paolo crossed his mind. The early nineties, the sweltering heat, The Roxy, the sweat on their young skin. What a shame. He was out there somewhere, dancing from sunset to sunrise. Tommy spent night after night cleaning his grimy bar. He cleared his throat, wiping his mouth with the back of his trembling hand.

“I can’t believe you never told me! Did he sing to you? You gotta tell me about him!”

He lifted a finger, a dry laugh escaping his lips. “That is a story for another day.”

“Oh, c’mon. Please?”

Tommy waved his finger again, smack-dab in his niece’s face. “Another time, I promise.”

Emily nodded, defeated. “Another time.”

“Listen, kiddo, I am very glad you like women and all that, but can you please help me clean the damn place? I’ve been trying to get you to help me for the past twenty minutes!”

“Psh! Okay, fine,” Emily grumbled. She held his hand before he went back to wiping off that pesky stain. “And, Uncle Tommy? Thank you.”

* * * * a/n: long time no see ♡ i finished this silly little fic last night and it is currently 5, nearly 6am, and i haven’t slept lol. forgive me if what i’m about to say sounds sappy and far too overdramatic — again, i have not slept.

it’s been a little over two years since i last wrote something, isn’t that wild? i know the choices community has been dwindling more and more each year, but i’d like to stay here for a bit longer. i fucking loves crimes of passion. and i really fucking miss interacting with all of you guys. i remember how active everyone was during the crimes 2 finale, what a time!

anyway. somehow i got all burnt out from writing and took a break. then i lost my best friend to suicide in late 2024, the day before my grandma’s deathiversary. that was definitely a time. then i just didn’t wanna write at all cause all i wanted to write about was death lol.

i had jaw surgery last month and since then i’ve been replaying crimes and it made me wanna come back here. i’ve been reading old crimes fics from all my crimes mutuals and crying lol. i don’t know if anyone will read this — if you did, thank you so fucking much — i hope you’re doing alright. take care of yourself!

crimes of passion has been my special interest for the past three years. i got a fuckin dagger from the game tattooed on me. i’ve been playing this stupid game since its release. (i have not played any of the new stories considering the ai bullshit, just fyi.) if there’s anybody there who ever needs to chat or something, about crimes or really anything at all, i’ll be here. thank you again for reading ♡

(also yes. emily dated aislinn tanaka when she was in college!)

p.s: there is a two-year old ask in my inbox and honestly? i think i’ll finally turn it into something. maybe i’ll even write a fic of trys coming out, too...? we shall see!

tags: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesmcappreciationweek @jerzwriter @shadyinternetblizzard @lexicook74-blog @leahtine @jahrobin @urcowboygirlfriend @calisomnia @kyra75 @tessa-liam @dutifullynuttywitch @juudaimes-true-form @im-the-galactic-starfish @tinytimism @loreofyore (if you’d like to be removed or added to my tag list, please let me know!)

Name: Emily Rose

Birthday: April 1st, 1995

Race & Ethnicity: Asian, Filipino

Appearance: Light-tan skin. Dark brown eyes and hair. Currently has a collarbone-length mullet. Has oddly large feet for someone 5’3.

Style: Emily prioritizes practicality above all else. She always wears shoes she can run in. She gets her clothes tailored, never wearing jewelry or anything baggy while on the job. She fancies business casual attire: turtlenecks, plain sweaters, pleated straight-leg trousers, and corduroy blazers.

Family: Jimmy Rose (father, deceased), “Talia” Therese Rose (mother, deceased), Uncle Tommy

Education: Bachelor’s in Criminal Justice and a Minor in Philosophy

Occupation: Private Detective at the Ginovesi Private Detective Agency (Current), NYPD Homicide Division (Formerly)

Growing Up Emily Rose is a first-generation Filipino American. Her parents, Jimmy and Talia Rose, immigrated to Queens in the early 80s. Jimmy joined the police force right after, while Talia worked as a bank teller. Emily’s early life was rough. The day after she was born, her mother passed away due to birth complications. When she was 13, Jimmy was murdered while on duty. Losing both her parents at such a young age wrecked her. Since then, she suffered chronic panic attacks, obsessive thoughts, anxiety, and dissociation. She struggled with making friends. She’d make kids eat mud pies during recess and give locks of her hair to a girl just because she said she liked them. When Emily was eight, she cursed out a classmate just because she stole her Tamagotchi. Uncle Tommy adopted Emily right after Jimmy’s death. In an effort to help her cope, he put her in therapy. Every Wednesday from the ages of 13 to 16, Emily would meet with Dr. Mary Reyes. She was eventually diagnosed with PTSD and OCD. Throughout high school, she was prescribed a bunch of different antidepressants, but hardly any of them helped. In her junior and senior years of high school, she developed a crush on two of her classmates, Holly Leach and Lucas Chen. However, nothing came to fruition, as Emily was extremely avoidant and despised rejection. College Years Emily attended the John Jay College of Criminal Justice. She minored in philosophy. She was the cream of the crop, acing every test and studying as much as possible. She dabbled in partying a few times, but it wasn’t particularly her thing. Two years into her degree, Emily moved into an apartment with her classmate, Aislinn Tanaka. They eventually started dating. It was both their first-ever relationship. However, the two broke up a year into dating due to differences. Emily was far too emotionally unavailable, and Aislinn never wanted anything to change. Emily came out as bisexual to Uncle Tommy the day after her 20th birthday. He was extremely supportive and loving. Police Work At age 24, Emily became the youngest person to join the Homicide division. She later quit two years into the job after recognizing the mass corruption within the force. Becoming a Private Detective After quitting the force, Emily spent two miserable weeks working at the Drunk Tank. Her savings account was dwindling, most of her friendships ended after she left, and she had no motivation to do anything. She drank every day, sulking over the fact that the past six years amounted to nothing. One day, Tommy called out to an old friend, Mafalda Ginovesi. She offered Emily a job as a private investigator at her agency. Begrudingly, she accepted the offer, unsure of what it would bring her. She soon came to love it. She had a steady income, a supportive boss, and spent most of her work completely alone. She became friends with her coworker, Luke Watanabe, and with medical examiner Ruby Webster. The three of them frequently hang out outside of work, going to bars and restaurants together. At the end of every month, they go to Mafalda’s home outside the city for a Ginovesi Family Dinner.

Trivia

She was named after Emily Brontë. Jimmy’s favorite book was Wuthering Heights, and he’d read it to her every night.

Her comfort food is fluffernutter sandwiches, something her father would make her as a child.

Emily hates celebrating her birthday. Instead of a party, she and Uncle Tommy go to the Drunk Tank and take a shot of Horse Creek.

Emily is left-handed, as was her mother, Talia.

I posted a bunch of entries throughout @choicesmcappreciationweek, but I wanted to group all of Daenarya's together here.

Fashion || Relationships || Day in the Life || Home Decor || AU

Art featured in collage by: ArtbyAinna (IG), @rjschoicesstuff, @oh-so-youre-a-nerd, @whispersleo, and @acesamateurart; additional art in AU moodboard by @cashweasel (how am I just noticing my Mal x Daenarya collage had no art by Lou?!! what is wrong with me!!!)

Art Gift

Have you seen this beautiful Daenarya art by @lilyoffandoms? Go look at it! It's gorgeous!!!! 💛💛💛💛

Some Asks Answered

Favorite Planet: two words. diamond rain. [x]

Do they clap when a plane lands? Daenarya definitely does. She's just happy they made it. She trusts a drake more than a flying metal death trap. [x]

Tea, coffee, juice, or water: Those choices seem to be very much lacking in choices that involve wine or ale. Daenarya will see you in the wine cellar.

Feel bad for inanimate objects? Daenarya will deny that she does, but she'll have a soft spot for old, worn, well loved inanimate objects and will want to rescue/restore them. She grew up without much, so she’s practical about things, but also more sentimental than she admits. [x]

Can she dance? Daenarya is the most natural at dancing of my MCs. She's got moves, and when she's with Mal there are literal sparks flying. [x]