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thosehallowedhalls · 4 months

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The 2 AM Christmas Tree Farm (1/2)

Pairing: Trystan Thorne/MC (Emma Rose)

Summary: Trystan is haunted by regrets. But when he's granted a wish to undo the worst of them, he finds that the price might be more than he's willing to pay.

@choicesjanuary2024 @lilyoffandoms Day 10, "Change"

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

When the first flurries of snow fall and Christmas lights begin to go up, Trystan always battles a certain melancholy. Growing up, the holiday season was a time of year when royal responsibilities were somehow more overwhelming. His mother always breathed down his neck a little extra hard, which made the extra number of public appearances, guests, and boring so-called ‘parties’ more unbearable.

Then, during the one holiday he spent with Juliana, things shifted. Juli loved Christmas. Her enthusiasm and joy were so contagious that Trystan found himself genuinely enjoying it for the first time. She talked about the annual Christmas ball they would hold when they were king and queen, and she swore it would be an enjoyable one - unlike his parents' usual tedious affair.

He has wrestled with bittersweet memories ever since.

But this year is different. This year, he has Emma. She makes everything better, and he finds himself looking forward to the season for the first time in years. She always makes sure to attend the Rockefeller Center tree lighting in honor of her dad. He’s looking forward to going with her this year. He’s looking forward to a lot of things.

He can’t completely banish the regrets, though. This year, Sebastyan has joined Juli in his personal hall of ghosts. He no longer blames himself for their deaths, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever fully get over the guilt of not seeing that they needed protection.

He hasn’t told Emma this, but he imagines she knows. She has her own regrets, after all. Her own ghosts.

“Trystan, are you going to help or are you just going to fool around?” Exasperated, Emma tries to wrestle the Christmas lights out of his hands.

He pretends to think about it. Then he wraps them around her. “Option B.”

She blows the hair out of her face. “Seriously?”

He plugs in the lights and grins when she starts to sparkle. “Oh yeah. They look much better on you than they would on the tree.”

“You know, when you asked me to help you put up some Christmas decorations, I assumed that we’d be decorating the tree.”

“But you’re so much more interesting than a tree.”

“Then why, exactly, did we bother going to that horrifyingly packed tree farm yesterday?” She shudders. “Seriously, when a New Yorker tells you that a place is bound to be too busy, listen to her.”

“But the people were the best part! When those two elderly gentlemen almost came to fisticuffs over the tallest fir? The angst. The drama.”

“The extra half an hour that breaking them up added to our day.”

He waves this aside. “You’re determined to see only the negative. Besides,” he wiggles his eyebrows. “Didn’t I make it up to you when we got back to my apartment?”

Her lips twitch. “We could’ve had another two hours for you to make it up to me if we’d had a tree delivered.”

Trystan gives her a pitying look. “What would your father say about having a Christmas tree delivered?”

“… He would say only philistines do such a thing. How could you possibly know that?”

“Easy. A man who takes his daughter to see the tree lighting every year is a man who takes Christmas seriously.” He wraps his arms around her waist, pulls her still glittering form close. “I intend to carry the torch.”

She gives him a suspicious look. “Am I being managed? Did you ask me to decorate with you to make sure I have fun this Christmas?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m simply lazy and unwilling to decorate an entire tree by myself.”

“Did you even have a Christmas tree these last eight years?”

“Naturally. The biggest tree of them all. A veritable tree farm in my living room.”

She kisses his jaw. “Not that I want you to make managing me a habit, but… thanks.” With a sigh, she pulls back. “It’s getting late. I have to go.”

“Stay,” he murmurs, his lips against hers.

“I can’t.” She nuzzles his neck, her tone making it clear she wishes she could. “Tommy has a date with Sofia. I promised to tend bar tonight.”

“Responsibility isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” he says forlornly.

“Welcome to adulthood.” With a last kiss, she walks out.

He drops down on the couch, intending to watch a movie, but finds himself musing on Emma’s words.

Did you even have a Christmas tree these last eight years?

He tried once, the second Christmas after Juliana’s death. But it felt like a mockery. An accusation. Christmas was always Juliana’s thing, so what right did he have to enjoy it? Why should he have a good time after failing to save her?

As usual over the last several weeks, thoughts of Juliana turn to thoughts of Sebastyan. Bas always did enjoy Christmas more than him. Did Juli’s death also ruin the holiday for him? He could ask Mags or Lydea, but he isn't sure he wants to know.

He wishes he had not drunk so much the night of Mags’ debut. That he hadn’t fallen asleep almost as soon as he and Juli fell into bed. That he had been a better brother to Bas. That he’d been able to save them both.

Perhaps, if she had lived, Bas’ life would have been different. He never saw the charm and warmth that Marguerite talks about, but they apparently existed once. Maybe he would have moved on with his life without the specter of Juliana to haunt him. Fallen in love with someone else. Been happy.

Maybe.

Regrets coursing through his veins, useless wishes clamoring in his heart, Trystan dozes off.

The scent is the first thing that stands out to him. It’s easy enough to recognize – after all, it was filling his nostrils only yesterday. Firs and spruces, hot cocoa and candy. The Christmas tree farm where he spent a chaotic yet marvelous afternoon with Emma.

What in the world is he doing here?

“Hello?”

“Oh, hello.” The man who sold them his fir yesterday smiles. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

“You were… what?”

“Lots of visitors this time of year,” the man, his name tag reads Jacob, says.

“Well, yes. I would assume that late November is a busy time for Christmas tree farms.”

“Indeed.” Jacob nods sagely. “And an even busier time for regrets.”

Well aware that he sounds like a broken record, Trystan blinks. “What?”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? That’s why everyone is here.”

“About that. You sure work late. Or early, depending on your perspective.”

Jacob waves this off. “2 AM is the perfect time for regrets. No other time of day invites them quite as enticingly.”

Trystan shakes his head. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me."

"You have regrets, don’t you?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Ordinarily, you deal with them well. But every once in a while, they suffocate you.” His gaze sharpens. “Tell me, Trystan, if you could have a second chance, if you could undo a regret… what would it be?”

He's given up on trying to understand what's happening. The oddity of the question doesn't register anymore. It only brings back to the surface the wish that's been playing on his mind in a painful loop. “I would save Juli and Bas.”

The alarm goes off too early, as it invariably does. He stirs when he feels lips on his cheek, fingers trailing down his chest.

“Mm. ‘S nice.”

The responding giggle is melodious, beautiful, and very familiar. It sounds an awful lot like… like…

“Good morning, my love.”

His eyes snap open. Awareness slams into him like a freight train. “Juli?”

“For your sake, you had better not have anyone else waking you like this,” she teases. “Happy Christmas Eve. Now get out of bed and let’s get to work.”

“Juli? He asks again, dumbfounded and wondering when in the world he started lucid dreaming. Because this… surely it is only a dream?

Concern softens her features. “Darling, are you all right? Do you want me to fetch the doctor?”

He struggles into a sitting position, feeling the silk against his skin and realizing that… oh. This isn’t a dream. But then…

I would save Juli and Bas.

Oh my god.

“Juliana?”

“That is my name, yes.” Her tone is light, but she only looks more concerned. “Wait here, I’ll have Elias call the doctor.”

“No, wait.” His hand shoots out, taking hold of her wrist. “How are you here? How am I here?”

“Where else would we be? The Christmas Ball can’t very well happen without us.”

The Christmas Ball?

He looks at her, truly looks at her. She’s as beautiful as always, but there’s a new maturity to her face. This Juliana has lived longer than twenty-two years. “What year is it?”

Her eyebrows disappear under her hair. “Oh no. Please tell me you aren’t hungover. We have a million things to do today.”

Trystan tries to smile. “Humor me?”

“2023, of course. Same as the last 356, and the next eight, days.”

She’s thirty now.

She’s alive.

He throws his arms around her in a hug so sudden that Juliana squeaks in surprise. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

She curls into him, bringing on a deluge of emotion and memories that nearly topple him where he stands. She still wears the same perfume. “Likewise, husband of mine.”

Husband? But…

She presses her lips to his, tenderly stroking his cheek. For a moment, Trystan holds motionless. Part of him feels twenty-two again, kissing the woman he loves when love is a new and dazzling experience that he never expected to have. But deep inside, a voice blares a warning.

Wrong.

He pulls back. Juliana considers it a tacit suggestion.

“Yes, yes, you’re right. We need to get to work. There are a hundred details to finalize and even more to double check. I’m happy that we’re to finally be the hosts of this ball, but I don’t think I truly realized how much work it was going to be.”

If they’re hosting the Christmas Ball, then that means he’s… and they’re…

Fear trails cold fingers down his spine, and he finishes untangling himself in a burst of panic.

Where is Emma?

“Well? Are you ready to get started?”

His royal training kicks in, allowing him to keep his turmoil in check. “Right, yes. Remind me what’s on the agenda for today?”

She rattles off an intimidatingly long list, complete with receiving the guests who would be arriving for the week. “Bas and Em will be here any minute now. Play nice.”

It’s unexpected that Sebastyan and Emika would arrive anywhere together, but the warning is fair – or it would be, if he weren't so relieved that his brother is alive. Presumably, he thinks with a pang of shame, this Trystan still despises his little brother. “I’ll do my best.”

“I mean it, Trystan. You know she doesn’t like you, and the last thing we need is you antagonizing one of our guests.”

He stops. “She?”

“Oh, please get it together. Emma already didn’t like you before. Now that she and Bas are together, she’s unlikely to see you in a more positive light. You know how in love they are.”

Everything inside of him goes cold.

It can’t be.

“Of course. What is Emma’s last name again?”

She gives him a look. “Trystan, darling, Rose is hardly a difficult name to remember. What is the matter with you today?”

“It’s n-nothing. Give me a moment.”

He locks himself in the bathroom before she can reply.

He can’t breathe.

Emma doesn’t like, let alone love him. She’s in love with someone else. With his brother. The words keep replaying in his mind, equally unbelievable each time. It’s like someone completely changed the rules of the game and threw away the handbook.

He doesn't know how to live in a world where Emma doesn’t love him.

All this time, when he was wishing he could have saved Juliana, he never stopped to consider that if he had, he and Emma wouldn’t be together. Much less that Emma might be with Bas.

What the hell does he do now?

The thought emerges fully formed. I want to go back. But can he truly wish for a world where Juliana and Sebastyan are dead, simply because the woman he loves is in love with someone else? Is he truly that selfish?

Trystan emerges back into the suite with a forced smile. “You go ahead, I’ll get dressed and meet you in a moment.”

His heart is hammering in his chest when he heads to the front entrance, fully dressed and looking as regal as he’s capable of looking. Juliana is hugging Bas, and right next to him is… He sucks in a breath, drinking in the sight of Emma, holding back the desire to rush to her side and take her in his arms. Then she looks up and sees him standing at the top of the staircase.

Her smile fades.

His heart trembles. Even when they first met, before he wormed his way into her good graces, Emma never looked at him with such patent dislike.

Juli and Bas break apart, and she moves to hug her. “It’s so good to see you! It’s been too long.”

“I know. I’ve been busy. For that matter, so have you.”

Juliana waves this off. “Never too busy for a friend. I thought you’d be coming over sooner. Didn’t you arrive a few days ago? Oh, what am I saying. Bas wasn’t going to let you out of his apartment after spending all that time apart.”

Sebastyan wraps a possessive arm around Emma’s shoulders. “I didn’t get to see her in over two months. I wasn’t ready to share her.”

Juliana laughs, then glances over her shoulder. “Trystan! What are you doing up there? Come greet our guests.”

Somehow, his feet carry him to the foot of the stairs. “Hello, Bas. Emma. It’s good to see you both.”

“Trystan.” Sebastyan’s stiff tone says that he doesn’t like him any more than he did in the original timeline. But Trystan can tell he’s making an effort, probably for Juliana’s sake. “We appreciate the welcome.”

“No need. This is your home, too.” It’s probably Sebastyan’s home more than it’s ever been Trystan’s, but that’s neither here nor there. His eyes slide over to Emma’s.

She lifts her chin a fraction. “Your Majesty.”

It’s all wrong. Emma has called him Your Majesty before, but the tone was always affectionate and teasing. This… this sounds like she’s talking to his mother. Polite. Formal. Cold.

“Please, Trystan is fine.” He holds out a hand, and after a brief hesitation, she takes it. He resists the impulse to pull her to him, but he can’t help savoring the feel of her skin.

Emma’s hand tenses in his, and he realizes that he’s been holding on to it. He lets her go quickly. “Well, you should be shown where you're staying.”

Juliana gives him an odd look. “They already know where they're staying. In the same room where Bas lived for twenty years, and where they stay every time they come over.”

He would be more confused by that twenty years remark if the singular room hadn’t sucker punched him. His gaze falls on their entwined hands. “Of course. My apologies, I’m afraid I’m running on little sleep today.”

All three of them look like they don't quite believe him. But Emma… Emma looks the way she always does when a new mystery fires up her mind. He can practically hear the cogs of her mind turning.

Then she shrugs and turns to Sebastyan. "We should unpack."

Juliana smiles. "Certainly. Don't forget that we're having a small family dinner this evening."

"We'll be there," Sebastyan says, before wrapping an arm around Emma's waist. They both head upstairs.

Trystan's gaze follows them. Sorrow swells up in his chest.

What the hell has he done?

#trystan x mc #trystan x emma #crimes of passion #trystan thorne #detective rose #emma rose #sebastyan thorne #juliana georgescu #the 2 am christmas tree farm #angst #all the angst #chapter 2 coming tomorrow

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moominofthevalley · 5 months

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made all the crimes of passion characters into sims 4 and well. juliana is for sure dead! 😭

#sims 4 #crimes of passion #trystan x mc #playchoices #choices crimes of passion #choices #crimes of passion 2 #trystan thorne #choices stories you play #choices cop #choices game #sims #juliana georgescu

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jerzwriter · 10 months

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I really hope PB don’t make Juliana alive the whole time (I think that trope is very rarely done well and c’mon it’s been eight years in-game) but the angst potential? I AM HERE FOR IT. That prologue of her and Trystan was so sad 🥺

Hey Nonny,

I agree. Like you said, the trope is overdone, it's usually not done well, and my trust in PB is minimal at best. Also, deep down, I do always want a happy ending - I mean, they're so rare in life I want them in fiction.

BUT... the angst potential is DELICIOUS.

Juliana would likely have been holding on to hope for eight years, believing in her heart Trystan would never give up on her and they'd be together... only to find he's fallen in love with someone else. (You can't blame him, but... ouch.)

MC is happy and in love, and let's face it, they've endured so much in their own life. Everything seems settled then... It is hard to be with someone who lost the person they loved to death. Unlike other breakups where one or both realized it wasn't for the best, that never happens here. They're cruelly stolen. Now, the person is back. Where does that leave MC?

Then poor Trystan. Finally found love and happiness again; now, the two loves of their lives are there. The last thing on earth they'd want to do is hurt either of them, but really, there is no way to avoid that. Sure, we could be in the polyamorous argument, but I'm here to say there is a very, very small percentage of society that can do polyamoury and make it work. It really takes a level of self-confidence that most just don't have. So while that could be a fantasyland ending, I don't think it's a realistic one, and a choice would have to be made.

I have just one thing to say....

#crimes of passion #crimes of passion 2 #crimes of passion choices #trystan thorne #juliana georgescu #playchoices #asks answered

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a-cloud-for-dreams · 7 months

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The three Thorne brothers def have a type because they ALL had romantic feelings and/or was in a relationship with Juliana. Her power ✨

#i lowkey wish we had more time with her she seems like such a sweetheart #juliana georgescu #trystan x juliana #trystan thorne #playchoices #crimes of passion 2 #sebastyan thorne #vasili thorne #mir's musings 💬#choices book club

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jamespotterthefirst · 10 months

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Sebastyan killing Juliana and pinning it on Trystan is too easy of a plot. The answer wouldn't be this obvious, especially this early in the book. Much like last book's cult plot, there is something much more complex happening here.

#Crimes of Passion #trystan x mc #trystan thorne #Playchoices #Sebastyan Thorne #Juliana Georgescu

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livelaughlovecassie · 8 months

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I’m sorry but they’re so insane for this

#idk they’re so fascinating to me #i can’t explain it #but they were insane for this trust #also bas is a 100% a red herring #crimes of passion #crimes of passion 2 #choices crimes of passion #choices crimes of passion 2 #playchoices #juliana georgescu #sebastyan thorne

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storyofmychoices · 8 months

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Just thinking about this... the metaphor with a scene and cards... I feel like that has to be relevant to the person.

It's not Trystan or Sebastyan. It doesn't feel like Astrid. She just goes from person to person it seems. Kaspar and Emika don't ever separate. Mags and Patryk would be minors. So Vasili or Lydea?

I originally thought Vasili was dating Juli and he and/or Eveline killed Juli. It seemed so obvious at the beginning, but the only actual evidence toward Vasili is he has no evidence pointing to him. Even Lydea has had suspicion throughout. Literally everyone has been suspected accept Vasili (excluding minors at the time of Juli's death—Mags and Patryk)

Is he that good that there is no evidence? A lack of evidences does not evidence make.

I'm having a lot of thoughts and feels. I'm not sure what they are, but I'm having them. I just feel disappointed in MC and Trystan in their rush to judgement and their lack of interest in the case when they just keep going off to fool around. Like I get it, I love you both, but there is an actual mass murder and you're not even paying attention,.

#dani rambles #dani is too tired for this lol #dani plays cop2 #crimes of passion #crimes of passion 2 #vasili thorne #trystan thorne #lydea thorne #juliana georgescu #choices book club

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peonyblossom · 8 months

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juliana is aspec sorry i don’t make the rules

#crimes of passion #crimes of passion 2 #juliana georgescu

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korgbelmont · 10 months

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Ad for Juliana Georgescu

#playchoices #crimes of passion #juliana georgescu

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talesfromcordonia · 5 months

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Countess Juliana Georgescu

#choices stories you play #playchoices #COP #crimes of passion #juliana georgescu

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choicesficwriterscreations · 7 months

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Tragedy: The Origin

Book: Crimes of Passion

Characters: Trystan Thorne, Juliana Georgescu, Maksim Thorne, Marguerite Thorne

Premise: It consists of events that occur after Juliana's disappearance.

Warnings: No warnings necessary.

Words: 2.1k words

Author: @starsarewithinme

#choices fanfic #crimes of passion #trystan thorne #juliana georgescu #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #playchoices #playchoices fanfic

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gaiuskamilah · 12 days

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my brother's keeper

crimes of passion | M | 1.1k words

relationships | vasili thorne & sebastyan thorne, background f!trystan thorne/nb!main character (will rose, he/him)

warnings | character death, graphic depictions of violence

In which Vasili Thorne kills a brother in the name of Drakovia.

[read on ao3]

—

Duty was the one word that rang through Vasili’s head, has been almost all his life. The garrote felt like a dead weight in his gloved hands. There was a slight tremor in his fingertips as he mindlessly fidgeted with the weapon, thoughts preoccupied with the price he was about to pay.

Sebastyan. Duty now demanded for his darling little brother, Sebastyan.

Eight years ago, duty demanded for Juliana. Vasili’s beautiful Juliana—taken from him by none other than one wretched Trystan Thorne. Trystan never was satisfied. The gift of the crown in her lap, the world at her fingertips, and she could never see it as the blessing that it was, as the opportunity to serve and fulfill duty in the most honorable of ways. It was a competition ever since Vasili was born, and Trystan did nothing but take and take and take. In the end, even Juliana, Vasili’s Juliana, Trystan took for herself.

Juliana’s death had been incidental. The glitter wasn’t for her. But duty worked in mysterious ways, and in a haze Vasili awoke to find himself with the syringe at his beloved’s throat. He held Juliana as she died. Her eyes, once full of love and admiration for him, only held accusatory betrayal.

But her death was a gift, a promise.

It was easy to frame Trystan. The death of Juliana Georgescu, a beloved Drakovian countess, at the hands of Princess Trystan? The same Princess Trystan who refused to keep herself in line, who neglected her duties? Not even their father’s favor could save her from something so scandalous as murdering Juliana.

Or so he thought.

One pesky cult and Detective Rose had the king and queen recalling his sister back to Drakovia. The trial for Juliana’s death recommenced, and Vasili’s luck was starting to run out.

Nadja had failed in where Vasili needed her. In turn, he sliced Nadja’s throat open, stabbed her for good measure, and left her in Trystan’s room for the spoiled princess to find. But the work was sloppy, and the only thing that happened next was the start of an investigation by Trystan’s run-of-the-mill American detective. The crown wouldn’t even allow for a Drakovian’s death to be investigated by a Drakovian, no, it had to be Will Rose and his ragtag team, because Princess Trystan always got her way.

Pfaugh! It made Vasili sick.

He wanted to humiliate Trystan, wanted to take everything from her, wanted to make her bleed. In due time, he will, but as of now—

Vasili hid in the shadows of the opera box where he’d soon meet Sebastyan. Vasili steeled himself as he waited. This was different from the previous two—Juliana’s murder was a true crime of passion, a spur of the moment. Nadja’s took longer, but Vasili felt little sentiment for the lawyer that wasn’t disappointment. She was a means to an end, and since she failed once, at least her death could be used for something.

The doors swung open and it was with bated breath that Vasili watched Sebastyan walk into the opera box. The younger walked up to the open balcony and leaned on the railing. It was always a habit of his, ever since they were children—Bas would take in the sight of the world below him before coming down and taking his seat.

With Sebastyan’s back turned, Vasili quickly strode over to the other side of the opera box. He pressed Sebastyan’s body against the rail, holding his brother in place with his own weight and the metal and concrete. “I’m sorry, Bas,” said Vasili, just loud enough for Sebastyan to hear.

“Vasili—”

Vasili cut Sebastyan off as he wrapped the garrote wire around his brother’s throat and strangled him with expert hands.

The wire dug into the exposed skin of Sebastyan’s neck and cut right through his carotid artery. Blood spurted from the wounds and it was with both agony and sick sense of satisfaction that Vasili strangled the younger. Sebastyan thrashed under him, but Vasili was stronger. He held Sebastyan in place and pulled—the wounds on his neck were deep, and Vasili was certain there was no going back now. It would be only a few minutes before Sebastyan would leave him forever. With quick hands, Vasili untangled the garrote wire from around Sebastyan’s neck, and turned the younger man around to face him.

Sebastyan stared back at him with a look not unlike Juliana’s all those years ago. The younger prince spasmed in his older brother’s hold as blood continued to flow down from the wounds on his throat. His white tux, almost always pristine and proper, was stained red by the blood. Holding Sebastyan flush against himself, Vasili pushed Sebastyan’s hair out of his eyes.

“Shh, Bas, shh,” Vasili hushed, his voice soft in an attempt to soothe Sebastyan, much like he did when they were children. Sebastyan’s blood and spit spurted from his mouth, specks of it falling onto Vasili’s face. “This is for Drakovia. Drakovia will thank you, she will remember you. We will remember you.”

Vasili cupped Sebastyan’s face with a gloved hand and silently lamented the fact that he couldn’t feel his brother’s skin under tips of his fingers, that this had to be done with the blasted latex just to make sure Vasili wouldn’t leave too much of a traceable mark. He wanted to hold his little brother properly, wanted to let Sebastyan know that he was treasured and adored by the same person who spilled his blood out on an opera box floor. He wanted to let Sebastyan know that his death would mean something.

Sebastyan let out a choked sound as Vasili pressed his fist against Sebastyan’s neck. The gloves were just thin enough to allow an indent of his signet ring. “I will see our plans to fruition, I promise. Drakovia loves you, and she will love you even more, sevenfold.” Vasili pulled his fist away and ran a thumb over the new indent on Sebastyan’s skin, one in the shape of the Drakovian royal crest. Drakovia’s — Vasili’s — mark. Vasili pressed a kiss on Sebastyan’s forehead. “I love you. I will love you, forever.”

Vasili watched as the last light left Sebastyan’s eyes. With a shaky breath, he shut Sebastyan’s eyes closed when the younger finally fell pliant in Vasili’s arms. Pure grief washed over Vasili as he held Sebastyan in a hug for what would be the final time. Then, he steadied himself, careful to not let his emotions get the better of him. The voice of his brother’s blood cried to him from the ground, from their bloodstained clothes, from Vasili’s gloves—there would be time for it later, when the prince’s death would be revealed to the rest of their kin.

For now, Vasili placed his brother’s body on one of the opera seats, wiped the blood off of Sebastyan’s mouth, and disappeared before Trystan could find him.

—

tags: @choicesficwriterscreations

#playchoices #choices #crimes of passion #vasili thorne #sebastyan thorne #trystan thorne #my writing #ive had this in my drafts since november might as well just post it lol

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moominofthevalley · 7 months

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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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