#thank you mafalda

[mafaldaknows]

Instagram: vandacapriolo

From TheRealMafalda™️ 💖

[argentiniancharactertournament]

With no great surprise....

MAFALDA WINS THE BEST ARGENTINIAN CHARACTER TOURNAMENT!!!!

Thank you all so much for participating and voting, bonus rounds will start tomorrow

[sheeple]

Miracles don't exist | 34: Stay and leave

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): None really [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

You wouldn't have thought that shadowing Dolores Umbridge was the worst part of the Voldemort takeover. But surprisingly, it is. The woman takes a true delight in bringing dread and sorrow to other people. 

You're not even listening to the hag questioning the poor Muggle-born witches and wizards. Instead, you write letters with no intention to send them. They're mostly to Sirius. You miss the man. The safety and comfort he provided is a far-away concept in the middle of the war.

Sirius,  How are you? Are you safe? Is the Order still fighting the fight? I wish I could join. But I am under close observation at the Manor. The Dark Lord has great expectations for me and I am scared what will happen if I don't follow them to a T.  I am married now. For a while actually. To Theodore Nott. It's the same boy who was at the hospital. Despite it being a forced marriage, I am happy it's him. He takes good care of me, so don't worry. We keep each other safe in the eye of the war.  How are Harry, Hermione and Ron? Are they safe? The last thing I've heard was that they are on the run for the Ministry. Do you know what they are doing? Maybe I can find some things out for them to help them?

You look up from the letter and your frustration with the words on the page only grows when you look at the pink hag. There is a constant high-pitched ringing that follows Umbridge wherever she goes. And it seems like only you can hear it. It brings you to the brink of insanity and your hands itch to grab your wand and silence the witch and the ringing once and for all.

A chill rolls over your back while your head twitches. The thoughts scare you. And they have been getting a lot worse ever since you have been ordered to shadow the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. You glance up at the ceiling, where a pack of dementors hoover above the Patronus barrier Umbridge created. 

Mafalda Hopkirk has been giving you skittish looks the whole time and every time you give her a small but awkward smile when you catch her eyes. She then quickly looks away, her eyes wide as saucers. Shaking your head, you crumple up the letter to Sirius and put it in the pocket of your jacket. 

The high-pitched ringing around Dolores picks up when she speaks. "Marry Elisabeth Cattermole. Of 27 Chislehurst Gardens, Great Tolling, Evesham?"

"Yes", whispers Mrs Cattermole scared.

"Mother to Masie, Ellie, and Alfred? Wife to Reginald?"

Mrs Cattermole turns her head. Her husband gets dragged in by Albert Runcorn, the former having a skittish look on his face. Mafalda tenses in her seat at the arrival of the two men and you raise your brows. Interesting.

Mr Cattermole goes to stand next to the chair his wife is seated on while Runcorn stands in the doorway.

Umbridge continues after thanking Runcorn, "Marry Elisabeth Cattermole? A wand has been taken for you upon your arrival at the Ministry, Mrs Cattermole. Is this that wand?" She holds up the wand.

Runcorn starts to circle Mrs Cattermole as she answers the crude questions the hag throws at her, her voice getting thick with desperation.

As Umbridge accuses Mrs Cattermole of lying, Runcorn's face hardens with hatred. It piques your interest as the man always has seen impartiality of the many claims Dolores makes. You sit up straight, no longer leaning with your head on your hand.

As the poor woman begs her husband to defend her, the ringing intensifies. It's almost unbearable. Your head snaps towards Umbridge, seeing that Runcorn has snuck upon her, his wand in his hand.

Suddenly, Runcorn's face starts to bubble and deform. A nightmarish sight as his face morphs. "You're lying, Dolores. And one mustn't tell lies." 

Runcorn- no Harry! Harry fires stupify at Umbridge, who slumps in her seat. As Mafalda reaches out and janks something from her neck, Mr. Cattermole hits Yaxley with a spell, which makes him fall off his seat.

You have no clue why the two strangers help Harry, but you're quick on your feet, running after them as they bolt out of the interrogation room with Mrs. Cattermole. 

The dementors swoop after you as the Patronus charm disappears with Umbridge rendered unconscious. Just before you jump after them in the elevator you send your hippogriff down the hall, which fends off the dementors.

The elevator speeds off and you're met with two pairs of wands in your face. You hold up your hands in surrender as you try to catch your breath. "Please", you pant, "I'm on your side. We have to escape the Ministry as soon as possible as it is likely that the fireplaces will be shut off at any moment. But we have to pretend. Please..."

Mr Cattermole takes a step towards you, his wife still tightly clutching his arm. "And why should we believe you?" Now that you hear his voice you recognise him. It's Ron. So that means that Mafalda is... the Poli-juice has run out of her system and Hermione looks at you, an unreadable expression on her face. But she gives Ron and Harry a look that tells them to trust you.

The doors of the elevator open and you all bolt out. You decided to run behind them so it looks like you're chasing them. As the police storm your group, spells fly around your ears. You can hardly dodge them.

"They're mine!", you growl at Yaxley as you pass him, throwing spells yourself that you misfire on purpose. 

With Yaxley hot on your heels, you fire Depulso at the man so he crashes into the opposite wall, before diving after the Golden Trio into the last open fireplace.

You twist and turn, your body contorting uncomfortably until you roll onto the ground, dirt and try leaves in your mouth. You cough and wheeze as you try and scramble upon your feet.

Your wand flies out of your hand and a hot glowing tip gets pushed into your face. You up scared at Harry as he holds you at wand point. But painful wailing catches your attention and you look to the side.

Ron lies squirming on the ground, the flesh of his arm removed in graceful twists. Blood coats Hermione's hands as she tries to comfort the wailing redhead.

She yells to Harry for him to grab the bottle of Dittany from her bag. As he searches haphazardly, you reach for your wand before crawling towards them. "I know a spell. Please, let me help."

Hermione nods, tears and panic paint her face. Closing your eyes, you begin to recount the sing-like incantation of Vulnera Sanentur, the same spell Snape used on you after your incident in the toilets a couple months back.

Ron's twitching slowly eases as his wounds gradually close. Hermione pets Ron's head while she watches you work. Her bloodied hands leave red streaks on his forehead.

You sit back on your heels, watching your spell work. Your eyes travel from Hermione and Ron towards Harry, who stands off to the side with something in his hand. A necklace or some sort.

"Why- what were you thinking?! Do you realise how incredibly dangerous the Ministry is right now for you lot?!" You raise from your feet, dusting off your knees. You run frustrated a hand over your face. "Was it at least worth it?"

Hermione and Harry share a look with each other, the former giving Harry a sympathetic look. Harry sighs and holds up his hand, showing you what Hermione snatched from Umbridge. A locket.

You reach for it and when you touch it, a weird feeling goes through you and your head twitches violently to the side. And so does Harry's. 

"Wha-what is it?"

Harry still looks hesitant. "A Horcrux."

Raising your eyebrows, you look at Harry, silently asking him to explain.

The bespectacled boy sighs. "You-Know-Who has split his soul into seven pieces in order to be immortal and put them in objects. And to defeat him, all those objects need to be destroyed."

Your eyes flicker towards the locket. "So... You're telling me that a part of the Dark Lord's soul is in that locket?"

Harry nods and you sigh heavily. "How many did you destroy already?"

"Dumbledore managed to destroy two, but other than this one we have no clue what those objects are."

Chewing on your bottom lip you frown, thinking deeply. "I imagine that the Dark Lord keeps those objects close to him or in a secured place. I mean... I wouldn't be surprised if Nagini is a Horcrux. She's everywhere he goes. Except for a couple of times, she's with me when it is not safe for her to join him."

While you and Harry discuss the locket, Hermione has set up a tent and is placing protective charms around the encampment. Her voice makes you turn towards her.

"I have to go. If I stay any longer people will be suspicious."

"You-you can stay", blurts Harry out, his eyes wide. "With us... if you want. Or we can bring you to Sirius, where you are under the protection of the Order." He takes a step towards you, his hand reaching out. But you flinch away from him, not having forgotten the pain his curse caused.

You shake your head, playing with the ring on your finger. "You know I can't Harry. I'm so afraid of what they'll do to him if I don't return. Once they discover I betrayed them, they will kill Teddy to make an example. I am sure of it." Your bottom lip wobbles at the thought of those warm, brown eyes staring up at you blankly. Just like Mrs Burbage's.

"You're married?" Hermione has finished the protective enchantments and grabs your hand, examining the ring. "It's beautiful..." Her eyes catch the faded outline of the bracelet around your wrist and frowns. She looks at you with silent questions in her eyes.

You snatch your hand away, tugging it behind your back. "Ancient wizarding traditions", you say, hoping it explains enough. 

You turn around to walk out of the protective barrier, but just before you stop. Turning around, you say, "you have to hit me with a spell. Preferably in my face."

"I'll do it", quips Ron, who you honestly to Merlin kind of forgot that he was there. Hermione shoots him a look.

"Yaxley saw me leave with you. I can't come back and claim to have battled you without any proof. I'm not saying you have to break my nose. But just a few cuts here and there."

After some convincing Hermione reluctantly agrees to do it, as she is arguably the most skilled out of all of them. She stands a few metres away from you, wand at the ready. 

"Just... don't scar my face again, please", you say before closing your eyes. 

You hear Hermione take a sharp breath in before wordlessly firing a spell your way. It hits you square in your face and sends you flying back a few metres. A pained groan escapes you as Hermione hurries towards you, helping you to your feet.

"How do I look?", you ask weakly, half a smile on your face. You feel blood run out of your nose and staining your lips while your forehead stings. "Thanks for not going easy on me."

Hermione engulfs you in a tight hug. "Please be careful."

You hug her for what could be the last time for a very long time before stepping outside of the boundary. The encampment is gone when you turn around. Taking a deep breath you dissipate back to the Manor.

You land safely back in your and Theo's bedroom. Expect it's a total mess. Every door, drawer, and cabinet is wide open, and clothes and papers are strewn about. Everything is turned over like it was searched for something. And then you see it. The box you stored all your letters to Sirius is pulled from its hiding place under your bed and empty, every letter taken away.

Shit! SHIT!

The door flies open and you raise your wand. Theo stands in the door opening, eyes wide and hair dishevelled like he has been running his hand through it. 

The two of you stare at each other before it finally clicks in your mind. You wildly search the pockets of your coat for the letter you wrote today. But it's gone.

Within two strides, Theo's next to you and grabbing your face, wiping the blood away. "What happened? They are turning the house inside out in search of you. Why are you covered in blood?"

"You have to leave", you say, turning around and grabbing the first bag you find and stuffing it with clothes for him. But he grabs your arm which effectively stops you. You look at him guiltily, casting your eyes to the ground. 

"I'm not leaving without you."

You shake your head. "Listen to me, Teddy, please. They will kill you if you don't leave. Please." As you beg, you grab his hand and push the bag into his hold. "Quickly, before they find me."

You hear footsteps down the hall. Panic floods your system and you look around the room. you spot one of the first letters you wrote for Sirius and take it, pressing it in his hand. "Go to 12 Grimmauld Place and show them this letter."

"I'm not leaving without you. We're married, (Y/n). We're supposed to do this together."

Shaking your head, you hear the people near your room. "Now, Theodore", you growl, your breath picking up. 

Just before the Death Eaters storm your room you hear the distinct sound of disapparition and Theo is gone.

The door gets thrown open and a handful of Death Eaters pour into your room. "Get her!", one says before they pound upon you.

Taglist: (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry  @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore​ @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what @mypolicemanharryyy @fals3-g0d @decapitated-coffee @thatgirljas13 @slytherinambitious @raineisms @mastermindmiko @timmytime17 @regsg18 @supernatural-lover @bubybubsters @lafrone @hermionelove @the-sander-fander @akengii @aliciacat20 @unstablereader @burns-in-the-sun @rachelnicolee @damagelove @mqndrqke @llpovi @clairesjointshurt @222244445555 @jolly4holly @padf00ts-l0ver @fandom-life-12 @prettyb1tchsblog @pari-1 @f14ever @nopedefe @randomgurl2326

[jerzwriter]

Thank you, Nonny, for this three-word ask. As someone who grew up in New York City and cities in New Jersey, the moment I saw your Trystan x Carolina prompt, I knew exactly what I wanted to do! I hope you enjoy this!

Book: Crimes of Passion Pairing: Trystan Thorne (M) x Carolina Rose (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 602, plus 2 text messages Summary: There's a blackout in New York City, and Trystan runs into some issues attempting to get home to Carolina.

A/N: This was just what I was looking for when I asked for 3 word asks! Just some light fun! Thanks so much for this, Nonny! Participating in @julychallenge Pink: Playfulness, Love, Fun Black: Seduction, Attraction,

Carolina lay atop her bed in her darkened room, with sweat dripping down her neck. It was only four PM, but the shades were drawn to keep the sun out as much as she could. She did her best to remain motionless—anything to help with the brutal heat. Heatwaves were never fun, but in New York City during a power outage? They were hell. She had been in the office when the lights flickered out, and Mafalda picked up her phone.

“Yep! Con Ed confirmed it, it's a blackout!”

“Ah, fuck,” Carolina groaned, tossing her pen across the desk. “Just what we need!”

“Yeah, well, with the heat as bad as it’s been, it was bound to happen sooner or later. At least it's still light out. Why don’t you head home? We can’t do anything here, and I’d prefer you were off the streets before dark.”

Carolina quickly took her up on the offer; she knew the chaos backouts could bring to the city and would be happy to avoid it. She text Trystan to fill him in.

Nearly an hour had passed, and despite her discomfort, she couldn't wait for Trystan to arrive. Suffering in this heat was not fun, but somehow, suffering together didn’t seem as bad.

A commotion on the street below caught her attention, and she jumped out of bed to see what was taking place. She peered out the window to find children laughing and running around a fire hydrant they had opened, spraying water everywhere. She smiled as she remembered the summers from childhood that she spent the same way. Her father would open the hydrant and then tell the children:

¡No les digas a los bomberos que un policía hizo esto! (Don't tell the firefighters a cop did this!)

Her phone beeped again, pulling her from her memories.

Carolina couldn’t help but laugh,  imagining Trystan impeccably dressed, now drenched from head to toe. When he knocked at her door, she rushed over to let him in. There he stood, water dripping from his normally well-coiffed hair, his designer clothes clinging to his frame. Carolina bit her lip to stifle a giggle, but when Trystan broke out laughing, she happily joined in.

“Well, this isn't quite how I envisioned my arrival,” he said, stepping inside.

Carolina shook her head, a grin spreading across her face. “You look ridiculous.”

He took her hands, pulling her close to him despite his dampened state.

“Ridiculous or not, I’m here. And so glad to be with you.”

She leaned into him, relishing the coolness of his wet clothes against her burning skin.

“I missed you too.”

Trystan looked around the darkened room. “So, back to our original discussion... what can we do without power?"

“I have a few ideas," she winked. "But first, let’s get you out of those clothes.”

“Wonderful!” He smiled, batting his eyelashes. “It sounds like we have the same idea!”

“No air conditioning, remember!”

“Lina,” he begged, gently trailing his tongue over her lips. “You’re not going to let a little thing like that get in our way, are you?”

“Of course not,” she smirked, taking his hand and leading him to the bathroom. “That’s why God created showers!”

“Shower sex!” He exclaimed. “I like it! Can we have another power outage tomorrow?”

Carolina pushed his back against the tile wall, her lips overtaking his as she turned the water on them – clothes on and all.

“That can be arranged,” she cooed.

For the remainder of the afternoon, the heat outside was nothing compared to the heat in Carolina's apartment.

@choicesficwriterscreations

Tagging others separately.

[thosehallowedhalls]

Tabloids, or a story in 5 headlines

Book: Crimes of Passion

Pairing: Trystan Thorne x F!MC (Emma Rose)

Rating: Teen

Word count: 1542

Summary: Tabloids keep speculating about the nature of Trystan and Emma's relationship. But how accurate are they?

@choicesjanuary2024 Day 13, Whispers. @lilyoffandoms

@choicesflashfics "How are you going to explain this?"

@choicesficwriterscreations

One: A Princely Affair?

Something’s up.

Luke smirks every few minutes, which would be alarming enough on its own – Luke Watanabe doesn’t smirk – but he’s doing it in her direction, and she doesn’t need to be a detective to know that doesn’t bode well. 

“Spit it out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Luke...”

“For god’s sake, Watanabe, show her the post already,” Mafalda orders through her open door.

“I was working up to it! Detectives,” he grumbles. “None of you have any patience.”

“Luke.”

“Fine, fine. Check this out.” He opens a tab and gestures to the screen.

A Princely Affair? Exiled prince Trystan Thorne was spotted with a mysterious brunette out and about the streets of Manhattan last Thursday. “It looked like they were on a coffee date,” a source says. Does the Drakovian expat have a new woman in his life?

“Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

“Well, if you think it’s a tabloid speculating about whether you and Trystan are dating, then I’m afraid it is exactly what you think it is.”

“It might not even be talking about me! There’s no way in hell I’m the only brunette that Trystan has had coffee with.”

“On Thursday? When you spent all day together cramming for tonight’s gala?”

“It might have been in the evening.”

“Yes, because I’m sure Trystan Thorne is an evening coffee date kind of guy.” Exasperated, Luke throws his hands up. “Why don’t we just ask Trystan?”

“Ask me what?”

“Of all the detective agencies in all the cities in all the world,” she mutters under her breath as Trystan strides into the office. “Forget it. You said we had to meet with someone before the gala?”

“Ah, ah, ah. I distinctly heard my name, and now you’re trying to change the subject. My detective senses are tingling.”

“Once again, you do not have detective senses.”

He gives her a pitying look. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Two: A Prince in Shining Marguerite

“You made the tabloids!” Ruby exclaims with concerning glee.

“Again?”

“What do you mean again? What did I miss? Anyway, look!”

She shoves the tabloid in Emma’s face and… oh, good lord.

A Prince in Shining Marguerite Trystan Thorne attended the ill-fated Iverson gala last night in the company of Cordonian noble Anastasi Zimena. The night ended with a bang when the prince carried his paramour out of the burning governor’s mansion in true princely fashion.

“A Prince in Shining Marguerite?” Incredulous, she takes the paper from Ruby’s hands. “Seriously? Who writes this crap?”

“Journalism majors who couldn’t care less about Trystan Thorne and an unknown Cordonian noble but still need to eat?”

Emma laughs. “I guess. At least my cover is still safe. For now, anyway.”

“What’s still safe?” Trystan asks, walking into the agency with a coffee tray. “I think I remembered all your orders. I make an exceptional delivery boy, if I do say so myself. If only my mother could see me now.”

Ruby plucks her cup from the tray. “Yep, a caramel macchiato for me. Thanks, Trystan.”

“Who knew he had his uses?” Emma quips, but she smiles a thank you as she takes her own cup. “And to answer your question, what’s still safe is my cover. We may have burned down the governor’s mansion, attracted the attention of the NYPD, and gotten dangerously close to getting kicked off the case, but at least my name is out of the press.”

“Mine isn’t.”

“Perils of being literal royalty, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me read that.” He grimaces. “A prince in shining Marguerite? Who writes this?”

“That’s what I said!” She taps his shoulder with one finger. “Look on the bright side. You couldn’t have come out of this looking better if you tried.”

“Okay, but can we focus on the part where they bought that you two are together?” Ruby asks. “Whatever you did last night, it worked.”

Emma nods. “Which means we can continue to use Anastasi whenever we need to pursue a lead with that crowd.”

“You can admit you want to be my pretend date again, Emma. No one would blame you for wanting more of,” he gestures to himself with a grin, “this.”

She rolls her eyes. “You caught me. This whole murder investigation is just an excuse to get close to you.”

Trystan nods magnanimously. “Admitting it is the first step.”

Three: Has Trystan Thorne Found Love?

“Seriously, you guys, the romance rumors are getting out of control.” Luke waves his phone in their direction. Then he makes a show of clearing his throat and reads the article, pausing now and then for emphasis.

Has Trystan Thorne Found Love? Crime-fighting duo Trystan Thorne and private investigator Emma Rose were seen sharing a meal at Rosetti’s yesterday evening, fueling romance rumors. Click the link in bio for details.

“Apparently anyone can tell from the way you look at each other,” he says with a laugh.

Trystan and Emma exchange a glance.

“Hilarious,” he replies.

“A hoot,” she adds.

There’s an undercurrent to their words.

Neither of them is ready to examine it.

Four: Trystan Thorne and Emma Rose, sitting on a tree

“We need to be more careful.”

Trystan looks up from his book to find Emma holding up her phone. “Hello to you too.”

“Hi, yes, hello. We need to be more careful.”

“We’re always careful.” Trystan waggles his eyebrows. “Not looking for any little princelings here.”

“Trystan. Stop cracking jokes and check this out.”

She holds out her phone. Trystan takes it with a preemptive grimace.

Trystan Thorne and Emma Rose, sitting on a tree Rumor has it that Trystan Thorne and Emma Rose were kissing outside of a Bronx bar yesterday. “I swear they were making out,” a source says. “I tried to take a picture but my battery died.” But not all evidence is lost! Another source sent us this picture of the pair getting up close and personal as they left the Ginovesi Detective Agency.”

“At least their phone died?” Trystan offers feebly.

“Thank god for small mercies. But this.” She points at the grainy photograph. “This is bad enough.”

It’s a picture of them standing close together, his hand on her arm, hers on his chest. It happened in a split second, such a small moment that neither realized anyone had noticed, let alone snapped a photo.

“It’s a close call,” Emma says. “Too close. How are you going to explain this? How are we going to explain this?”

He snaps his fingers. “You tripped!”

She nods slowly. “That could work. You grabbed my arm, and I put my hand on your chest to find my balance.”

They both wince when they hear it spoken aloud. As far as excuses go, this one’s rather flimsy.

“Nobody will believe us.”

“Maybe not. But it gives us plausible deniability.”

He pulls her into his lap. “One of these days it’s going to come out, you know. The whispers keep getting louder.”

“I know. But the longer we can put it off, the better.” She rests her forehead on his. “I’m not ready to share you with the world just yet.”

Five: A Royal Romance

Emma walks out of the bathroom after showering to find Trystan sipping a cup of coffee and scrolling down his phone.

“Secret’s officially out.”

“Oh? What does it say?”

Trystan puts the mug on the bedside table and hands her the phone.

“See for yourself.”

She reads. It’s hardly different from any other article speculating on their relationship, except that this one comes with undeniable photographic evidence: she and Trystan leaving The Drunk Tank, their hands intertwined.

A Royal Romance Trystan Thorne is taken, ladies and gents! The once-exiled prince, now former king of Drakovia, has been spotted holding hands with private detective Emma Rose, confirming long-standing rumors of their relationship.

She was… not drunk, precisely, but definitely tipsy when these pictures were taken, and she could no longer remember why they had tried so hard to keep their relationship a secret. Once upon a time, sure, it made sense, but now? She’s so happy she could burst. She was not going to hide it from the world anymore. Looking back, she has the sneaky suspicion that Trystan has felt the same way for a while now and was just waiting for her to come around to his way of thinking.

Fortunately, tipsy Emma and fully sober Emma are in full agreement on this topic.

She grins at him. “You’re officially off the market now, Thorne.”

He takes her hand and yanks, causing her to fall on him. He flips them around, one hand on her hip, the other on the mattress next to her head. “I’ve been off the market since a certain detective broke into my home and pointed a taser at me.”

“No wonder you stayed single so long if that’s what it takes to get your attention.”

“What can I say? I’ve always loved a grand entrance.”

“You certainly do.” She presses a lingering kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now how about we go out for breakfast and give them something else to talk about?”

[hprarepairfest]

Post Fest Round-Up

The fourth edition of the rare pair fest has come to an end! And with 81 submissions, it's safe to say it's been a wild success!!

With so many fics, it's a bit much to do a masterpost so we've summed up the highlights below!

Pairings:

This year, the fest featured 66 different pairings, the most popular being: 🍐 Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson in first with 5 fics, 🍐 Harry Potter/George Weasley in second with 4 fics, 🍐 Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange in third with 3 fics!

Those 66 pairings featured 68 different characters, with the most popular being: 🍐 Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy tied for first with 10 fics each, 🍐 Pansy Parkinson in second with 9 fics, 🍐 Neville Longbottom, Regulus Black, and Remus Lupin tied for third with 8 fics each!

Also, this year we had several tag-launching fics! 💞 fire burn and cauldron bubble launched the Merope Gaunt/Romilda Vane tag 💞 Forever in Your Debt launched the Mary Cattermole/Ron Weasley tag 💞 Heliotrope launched the Mafalda Hopkirk/Fabian Prewett tag 💞 Let Me Help You, Mr. Lupin launched the Lyall Lupin/James Potter tag 💞 A Purrrfect Evening launched the Blaise Zabini/Dolores Umbridge tag

Art:

This year, the rare pair fest featured 2 art submissions! 🎨 At the Library of Delphi 🎨 We got a lot of bridges to burn, tables to turn

Fic:

The remaining 79 submissions were fics with the following highlights ⌨ Most prolific author: PhantomGrimalkin with 4 works ⌨ Longest fic: God/Monster at 34,654 words ⌨ Most popular tag: Fluff with 13 fics ⌨ Most common rating: Explicit with 31 fics

And finally!

We want to give a big thank you to every one who participated in this year's fest. Whether you prompted, claimed, beta-ed, left kudos, commented, or shared the submissions with others, you've all made this year a rousing success! Next year we'll be taking a break as the mod team is currently running the Rare Pair Fest as well as the Rare Pair Secret Santa Exchange and have decided to host them on alternating years. So next year, we'll be hosting the second Rare Pair Secret Santa Exchange followed by the fifth edition of the Rare Pair Fest on the following year.

If you want to see the whole collection, click HERE!

If you want to discuss and share rare pair fics in the interim, we have a non-fest server dedicated to rare pairs so please feel free to join us!

Thank you again to everyone for all of your effort and enthusiasm!

[txttletale]

hi hi!

originally, i was going to ask something but i would just like to say that your posts i saw shared on other blogs and your mafalda pfp lead me to follow, which i’m glad i did! your essays and other writings seem really well thought out to me, some have even changed my mind on/opened my eyes to certain subjects! you seem like someone who’s always actively thinking, is well informed with her thoughts, and at core wants the things that lead to a safe & comfortable life :)

i hope you’re still having a nice time on the computer!

also your ttrpg seems cool, hoping to buy and play it sometime soon :D

thank you! im glad to be a gathering point for all mafalda fans on this website

[storyofmychoices]

Dealing with a Narcissist

[Trystan Thorne x Lilah Rose Masterlist]

Pairing: Trystan Thorne (M!MC) x Lilah Rose (F!MC) Book: Crimes of Passion Word Count: ~450 Rating/Warning: Teen (references to adult situations) A/N: This is my first time writing these two! I hope you enjoy it!

Prompt: @choicesjunechallenge: romance, @choicesbookclub

Synopsis: Lilah is attempting to read a new case file but Trystan is being distracting.

"Don't you ever get tired—"

"You should be well acquainted with my endurance by now—" Trystan interrupted, winking in her direction. "Do you need a reminder?"

"—of talking, tired of talking!" Lilah continued with a scoff. " Ugh! You're such a narcissist!"

"And you love it." He smirked in satisfaction, leaning closer toward her ear. The warmth of his breath tickled her skin as his voice lowered. "You love the sound of my voice almost as much as I do."

"Says who? You?" She pressed her hands to her hips, her brow cocking up.

"Says you," he brushed a kiss below her ear before inching away. "You fell for me, narcissist and all!"

She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore him. "If that's how you remember it—"

"I remember something like, 'Oh, Trystan—" he swooned, "—'I want you,' and then... you proceeded to demonstrate quite aptly how much."

"Shut up!" Her eyes widened, her hand attempting to cover his mouth.

"Make me," he laughed, swiftly avoiding her.

"What are we five?" She turned away, hoping to focus on the file she had been trying to read prior.

"I hope children wouldn't engage in what I was alluding to—"

Lilah growled something under her breath, spinning back into him, capturing his lips, and cutting him off. 

His hands wrapped around her hips, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss.

"Rose!" Mafalda scolded. "I like to pretend this is still a place of business."

Lilah held up a finger, signaling she needed a moment as she guided Trystan backward one step at a time, his fingers tangling deeply in her hair. 

With his eyes closed, he trusted her lead. His only focus was on the sweet taste of her lips and the heat of her body pressed against his. 

Lilah grappled with the doorknob opening it wide.

"I like the way you think, Rose." His hands raked down her body, slipping beneath her shirt as he waited for the door to close, enveloping them in privacy.

She smirked at his words. "I hope you like what comes next," she teased, nipping at his lower lip.

A throaty growl escaped him. "I know I will."

Their eyes met for a lingering moment; a slow smile adorned her face. "So will I." Lilah firmly pressed her hands against his chest, roughly propelling him backward through the newly opened door. Before he knew what was happening, she slammed the door, locking him on the other side. She leaned back proudly, only then remembering the others in the office. "What? Like you weren't tired of listening to him?"

Without another word, and with Trystan pouting on the other side, she returned to work. 

This is just a silly little drabble, but I felt it captured them well and I hope you enjoyed reading it.

Thank you for reading and making it this far. I appreciate any and all support of these two lovely characters!

[lilyoffandoms]

Crimes Drabble (Trystan x Noel)

Warning & A/N: A little gift for @hydn-jpg as a thank you for all the beautiful art you created for free a few weeks back for our little fandom. You are a gem!! Imagine this takes place right after book two.

The tension that leaves me with the momentary weightless feeling of the plane taking to the air has me breathing a sigh of relief. If I believed in a higher power, I’d say a prayer in thanks.

I watch out the window as the Drakovian capital slips further and further away. I watch until the clouds begin to blot out every neighborhood one by one. If only they could blot out the bad memories that linger in the air.

Luke and Ruby sit snuggled close together near the front of the cabin. Some Drakovian spy thriller plays on the screen before them. I can’t help the small smile that threatens to break at their critiques of the acting, realism, and cinematography.

Mafalda and Tommy sit with a glass in their hands sipping whiskey and reminiscing over old cases. Again, a small smile seeks its way to the surface as I think of how lucky I am to have all four of them in my life.

I start as a hand slips into mine and a bottle of whiskey is set between us.

Of all the people I am most thankful to have found in my life, I worry it may be him.

“What’s the for?” I question the bottle and no glasses.

“You look like you need it. Have you even taken a breath since takeoff?” he grins.

“I’ll breath when we are out of Drakovian air space.”

“Noel,” he chuckles at me.

The smile finally breaks and I shake my head at him and turn back to the window to watch the last of the godforsaken place and case disappear beneath the clouds.

“Have a drink with me.”

“We can have a celebratory drink when we touch down in New York,” I state and rest my head on his shoulder.

“Noel,” he laughs again.

“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine. I can agree to that,” Trystan whispers into a kiss to the top of my head.

I close my eyes and pray to gods I don’t believe in that the worst is finally behind us.

[mafaldaknows]

Ask me anything:

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?

Hello, Anon:

Let it go and let love in. Show compassion for your fellow human beings. Live with gratitude for whatever you’ve got, share what you have, with whomever you can, when you can. Be joyful. Be kind. Be brave, come what may. Love fearlessly, with all your heart.

That’s all that matters in this world.

Thanks for your question. 💖😘🌎🌍🌏✨

[choicesmonthlychallenge]

🌷Week Five: March 25-31

Thank you to EVERYONE who has submitted a creation to this event or supported a creator who participated in this event. You are absolutely amazing! I have absolutely adored all of your beautiful creations! Thank you for sharing your talents with us! If I am missing any entries, please let me know so I can fix it!

Late entries will be accepted through April 6

[March Prompt List] || [Weekly Masterlists]

⟢America's Most Eligible:⟢

Adan McIntyre (MC) 🎨 by @lilyoffandoms

⟢Blades of Light & Shadow:⟢

Safe 🎨 [Mal x MC] art by @wisejazz ; submitted by @storyofmychoices

⟢Bloodbound:⟢

daffodil (Kamilah) 🎨 by @gaiuskamilah

⟢Crimes of Passion:⟢

Hidden Romance 🖊️ [Trystan x MC] by @storyofmychoices

Home 🖊️ [Trystan x MC] by @thosehallowedhalls

Lofi Beats To Supress Your Anxiety To 🖊️ [MC, Mafalda] by @inlocusmads

⟢Nightbound:⟢

One Special Day 🖊️ [Nik x MC] by @ladylamrian

Peacock Princess 🖊️ [Nik x MC] by @ladylamrian

⟢Open Heart:⟢

A Bite of the Apple 🖊️ [Tobias x MC] by @jerzwriter

Couples Skate 🖊️ [Bryce x OC] by @storyofmychoices

Las hijas de Luna 🖊️ [Bryce x MC] by @peonierose

Say Carrots 🎨 [Bryce x OC] by @storyofmychoices

Spring Shower 🎨 Bryce x OC] by @storyofmychoices

Unlikely Adventures 📱 [Sienna x MC] by @liaromancewriter

Yellow Hibiscus in Bloom 🖊️ [Bryce x MC] by @aallotarenunelma

⟢Unbridled:⟢

Lily of the Valley 🎨 [MC / OCs, Ryder] submitted by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd ; art by @rosefuckinggenius

[moominofthevalley]

Do You Hear Singing?

A talk with a friend forces everyone back into action.

part 2 of 2

trystan x emily

teen | wc: 2.9k | cw: depictions of a dead body, knife fight

a/n: finally, here’s part 2! hope you enjoy it, and have a happy Halloween!

Emily stood in silence. It took her a while to recall exactly who the man was, but quickly enough, the memories from The Drunk Tank robbery ran through her mind.

“How?”

“He was stabbed,” Olivia sighed, “in his cell.”

A ghostly moment crept up on Emily. Her father’s limp hands clinging onto hers, the walls of Box Thirty-Two closing in on her, a pool of blood reaching her feet. Shaking her head, Emily looked back to the night sky.

“And?”

“Police think he got in a fight with another prisoner. But do you believe that?”

Emily scoffed.

“The police are fucking idiots,” she shook her head, “if that’s what they think happened to the loan shark who had ties with the mafia, then...I don’t know. I don’t know. I arrested him and those Russian assholes last year and that was it. I don’t know anything else.”

“Do you know Viola Scarlotti?”

The hair on Emily’s neck prickled, a shiver running down her shoulders.

“He mentioned her before the cops took him away. You think that’s who killed him?”

Olivia shrugged, a curiosity in her eyes.

“Maybe. And maybe...you should look into it.”

“I’ll think about it. Thank you, Olivia.”

A beat passed. Emily stared at the mass of trees in front of her, tall and plump strands of green separating her and every guest from the rest of civilization.

“I think you should go back to the party, Detective.”

“Yeah. I think I should.”

Olivia patted her arm, a warmth spreading across her skin.

“I’ll be in touch.”

Closing the door behind her, Emily’s heart ached. It had been a few weeks since she returned from Drakovia, and the detective wondered to herself what the following months would bring. Was she ready for a new case? Not only that, but a case that might have connections to her past — to her father.

Shrugging it off, Emily glanced across the room. From afar, she spotted Trystan chatting with Aislinn and her group of friends. Emily marched over to the crowd, Olivia’s words replaying in her head.

“Hey,” Emily murmured as she linked one of her arms with his, “Have you seen Mafalda and Uncle Tommy?”

“They’re over there,” Trystan pointed to a nearby table, “are you okay?” He asked, looking at Emily’s lips as they quivered.

“I need to tell you all something,” She whispered, “come with me.”

The two went off, walking to the table where they sat. Shooting them a tipsy glance, Uncle Tommy handed both Emily and Trystan a glass of whiskey. She shook her head, putting the cup back on the table.

“Niko Borodin is dead,” Emily blurted out, “the guy who robbed your bar? He was stabbed in his cell.”

Mafalda and Tommy stared at each other, conspiracies running through their minds. Trystan sat down beside them, taking in the news.

“Holy shit,” Trystan said, his pupils going wide. “You just found out?”

Emily nodded.

“Do the police have any leads?” Mafalda asked, still staring at Tommy. Emily shrugged.

“They just think it was from another prisoner. But I was thinking-”

“Big V,” Tommy uttered, running his hands over his head.

“What do you think, Mafalda?”

The woman was in deep thought, her brain wired with thousands of questions, and so far, no answers. She and Tommy both knew the Scarlotti’s and their power. She knew that Big V, or one of her ‘helpers,’ could easily kill some loan shark and leave the crime scene without a trace. But why The Butcher?

“He definitely had ties with the Scarlotti’s,” Mafalda said. “It’s a possibility. We can start looking into it tomorrow. Not right now, tomorrow.”

Emily nodded, a tingle of impatience rising through her body. Trystan put a hand on her shoulder, his touch lending her muted comfort.

“Emily,” Trystan gave her a weak smile, “Why don’t you come with me for a bit?”

Following him, Trystan led her to the pastry table. Grabbing a tiny plate, he glanced at Emily as a million different feelings went through her.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, using a tong to grab two pieces of belladi.

“I don’t know. A lot? I feel a lot.”

“Do you think it might be...connected to your Dad?” Emily gulped, her lips curling into a pout.

“I...don’t know. It might be, but I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“I understand,” Trystan said, Nadja’s corpse on his bedroom floor in his mind. “Well then, my darling…would you like some belladi?”

“Of course!” Emily smiled, sniffing the steamy scone dusted with sugar. She took a bite, the gooey chocolate melting in her mouth.

Chuckling, Trystan stared at her lips, a dab of chocolate at the corner of her mouth.

“You’ve got a little something right…”

“Where?” Emily asked obliviously, her fingers running over her cheek.

“You’re hopeless. Allow me…” Trystan leaned in closer to her, running his thumb over the curve of her lips, wiping the chocolate off.

“I love you,” Emily said, her eyes glowing under the warm chandelier light. Trystan grinned, his hand lingering on her cheek. Emily turned her head slightly, kissing the inside of his palm.

Above them, vintage Drakovian music with saxophones and piano solos blared from the speakers. Offering his hand, Trystan smiled at his darling detective.

“Would you like to dance?”

Emily took the offer, one of her hands holding onto his shoulder. Trystan’s free hand rested on her waist, the touch causing her cheeks to blush.

Emily’s heart burst at the sight of her ardent lover. The two began to gently circle across the room, more and more guests piling onto the makeshift dance floor.

The room was complete with couples, new and old, all adorning spooky costumes. Sets of faces met each other, intertwining their hands and hearts. A consonant of laughs and lively music rang all across Marguerite’s manor. In those moments, the surly detective lost herself in the dance. Trystan admired the woman in front of him, completely ignoring every other face besides Emily’s.

“You may have stepped on my feet twice, but I still love you.” Trystan joked, laughing as Emily’s face lit up in faux anger.

“Hey!” Emily jabbed, lightly hitting his shoulder. “Give me some grace. I am an amazing dancer. Admit it!”

“Never,” Trystan replied, his eyes flitting to her lips.

“You know, tonight was...different than what I was expecting,” Emily said.

“You said that at the Iverson Ball, do you remember that?”

“Jesus fuck, you have a good memory.”

“It’s not hard to forget the night we found a dead body and then had to get out of a burning mansion.” Emily shrugged, ignoring her trembling hands as she recalled finding Bethany Delgado’s corpse.

“Anyways...I’m just glad we all got a chance to just. Fucking drink. And dance. Tonight was pretty...nice.”

“I think after everything, we definitely deserved this,” He said, the song coming to an end.

From above, Trystan found a figure standing at the top of the stairs. His smile faded, concern covering his eyes. Grumbling quietly, Emily was slightly pissed that such a sweet moment that they had all to themselves ended so abruptly.

“Is that...Marguerite?” Emily asked, watching the same figure.

“I think so. We should check up on her. I haven’t talked to her since we first got here.”

Looking over the railing, Marguerite somberly watched all her guests as they danced and drank together. A troubled expression washed over her features, the skin on her face warm.

“Mags?” Trystan called out, he and Emily approaching her. Chuckling her pity away, Marguerite shook her head, her eyes darting to the couple in front of her.

“We haven’t seen you all night,” Emily chipped in, “What’s wrong?”

Marguerite sighed, her shoulders heaving with anguish.

“I can’t stop thinking about Bas...and Vasili.”

Emily and Trystan glanced at each other, a lump lodging in both of their throats. Sweat trickled down Emily’s forehead, recalling Vasili’s last words.

“I’m so sorry that I-”

“Emily. I will never be upset with you for what you two had to do. I get it,” Marguerite said grief-sickeningly, “But shit.”

“Yeah,” Emily whispered back. “Shit.” She looked over at Trystan, frowning at his blotchy red eyes. Pangs of guilt built up inside her, and no matter how many people continued to tell her ‘You did what you had to do,’ Emily would never forgive herself. Ignoring her inner torment, she wiped away Trystan’s tears.

“What you two went through in Drakovia was a lot,” Emily whispered, “and I’m so fucking sorry for what happened.”

“I…appreciate it,” Trystan said genuinely, gazing at Emily’s face.

“Thank you for checking up on me,” Marguerite uttered, wiping away a weak trail of tears. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” Gritting her teeth, Marguerite smiled.

“Now, go and enjoy the rest of the party!” She called out, before promptly disappearing into the crowd of guests.

The two of them glanced at each other, alone. Squeezing his hand tightly, Emily sighed.

“Trystan, I...” She trailed off, struggling to continue, “I need to tell you, I’m so sorry for doing what I did to Vasili. I feel like I-“

“Emily, listen to me,” Trystan whispered, his fingers grazing the corners of her lips. “If we had arrested him, I know he would have found a way to get out and try to find me. I will never be mad at you for killing him.”

Emily’s body stood still. The muscles in her back loosened, and for once, the ghost on her shoulders had vanished.

“I’m sorry,” Emily repeated, her hands holding still Trystan’s.

“Don’t be.” Trystan cooed. “I think...we could definitely use some tissues, hm? Come on, there’s a bathroom nearby.”

Emily and Trystan entered a long corridor, a myriad of paintings and awards hung on the walls. Emily read all of them, doing anything to absolve herself from the guilt. Trystan squeezed her hand, heart aching.

“All of these awards are Marguerite’s?” Emily asked, reading a few of the titles. Best New Designer, Designer of the Year, and a few written in Drakovian that she couldn’t understand.

Before Trystan answered, Emily stopped in her tracks. Outside the bathroom, they heard a loud scuffle and a quiet groan behind the door.

“Hello?” Emily asked, knocking.

More scuffling.

“Hey? Are you okay?” Trystan asked, pressing his ear against the door. Emily rattled the doorknob.

“It’s fucking locked,” she snarled. Emily shoved the door open, gasping at the sight in front of her.

A large, brooding masked figure lurked over Uncle Tommy’s dead body, heaps of blood pooling out of his stomach. A few strings of guts spilled out, bright red and pink body parts staining the tiled floor. Tommy’s rotting eyes stayed open in horror, pointing upward to his killer. The familiar scent of copper ran through their noses. His skin became light grey, nearly zombie-like. The lips under his bushy mustache were stained a dark purple, chapped, and bloody. Emily’s heart jumped down to her stomach, all the oxygen in her body seemingly gone.

Emily wasn’t afforded the option to hold his dying hands. Her whole body shook, and for a brief second, Emily was back outside Box-Thirty Two…

The killer growled, holding onto a clean knife, as they lunged at the detective.

“Emily! WATCH OUT!” Emily ran to the side, and the masked killer immediately fell over onto the ground, the knife falling beside them. Without a second thought, she tackled the murderer, eyes burning with hatred. Her face turning a bright red, Emily spat on the murderer’s mask.

“I will fucking kill you,” she yelled, her hands digging into their wrists. The killer grunted, using their legs to kick Emily to the side, picking up the knife as they ran off. Clutching her stomach, Emily groaned.

“Trystan, let’s fucking go!” She screamed, racing after the killer. Sprinting downstairs, she and Trystan were only inches away from them. Their breaths grew short, their lungs straining as they went on running.

Zig-zagging through a gust of guests, commotion rang through Emily’s ears, but she tuned everything out. Her eyes were fixated on the person in front of her, the person who took Uncle Tommy away from her.

Reaching the crowded bar, the killer stopped in their tracks. Emily and Trystan growled as the detective reached for her taser, aiming it at the fucker.

“Last chance, asshole!” Emily bellowed. The killer ignored her, turning towards the bar. Without a second to waste, Emily pressed the trigger, the killer narrowly dodging it.

In the blink of an eye, a bottle of whiskey was in the killer’s hand, using their other hand to grab a lighter from their pocket.

“EVERYONE, GET OUT!” Trystan yelled as the killer threw the lighter and whiskey behind the bar. Screaming and crackles of fire echoed around the detective and the prince. Crushed glass fell to the floor, and the panicked crowd ran over the shards. The fire spread quickly, flames engulfing the wooden bar. Socialites hurried over to the exits, frantic and sobbing. Thick smoke swirled around the air, Emily and Trystan gagging as it reached their lungs.

Pushing past the stampede, the killer ran towards a long empty corridor, Emily and Trystan following suit. The soles of their feet were sore, flaky calluses forming beneath their socks.

“Oh, no you fucking don’t!” Emily shouted, her eyes furrowed in grief. The two chased after the killer, as they made a beeline to another exit. Picking up his speed, Trystan tackled the killer, his body tight against them.

“Fuck you,” The killer spat, his voice deep and unrecognizable. Twisting out of his grip, the killer mustered enough strength to punch Trystan’s face. Trystan’s eyes watered, blood gushing out of his nose.

“FUCK!” Trystan winced, his hands cradling his face as the killer ran off, “Emily, keep going!”

Emily chased after the killer, the back of his head finally meeting her eyes. The two were alone, now only a few feet away from each other. Emily reached out with her hands, wrapping them around the killer’s neck. Her head was pounding, and her guts felt like they were engulfed in flames, but Emily ignored it. She wanted him dead.

Grasping a tighter hold of the murderer, Emily mustered all her strength to ram him up against the wall. His head banged against it, letting out a tiny whine.

“Hands behind your back!” She scowled, using one arm to keep him pressed against the wall.

“Fuck off,” the killer shouted. As Emily was about to taze him, the killer grabbed the knife from his pocket and violently forced it into Emily’s shoulder. Just like with Vasili, she heard a loud crunch as it entered her skin. Blood trickled down her body. Howling in pain, Emily instinctively went to cover her wound, letting go of the killer. Growling, she limped forward, knowing that it was too late.

Thick strands of blood oozed out of her shoulder, her torso numb. Gritting her teeth, Emily carried on. Clutching the wound, Emily wobbled as she ran out a nearby exit, the killer long gone.

Large droplets of rain poured down, as the fire continued to spread throughout Marguerite’s manor. The vines on the walls turned to crisp, the orange flames raging. Hundreds of eyes watched as the mansion slowly crumbled. Ash flew around the night air, the dark grey smoke flailing upwards as the fire continued. From afar, sirens wailed on, the red and blue lights seeping through the thick trees.

“Emily! Oh my God,” Trystan said, running over to her. Putting his arms around her, he led her across the lawn. His eyes darted to the knife in her shoulder, worry taking over him. She studied his face, pained at the sight of his bloodied nose and swollen eyes. Emily looked back across the manor, realizing that Uncle Tommy’s body would soon be lost to rubble and fire. Images of his flesh meshing into the flames flickered through her mind, and Emily cringed at the thought.

“Oh fuck,” Emily sobbed. As the adrenaline died off, the grieving detective realized that the only other person who truly knew her father was now gone. Another Rose to be buried, and this time, with an empty casket. Emily’s chest ached, the bereavement fastening onto her heart. She leaned onto Trystan in support, her body going frail.

“There they are!” Luke yelled, the rest of the Ginovesi crew following behind him. Mafalda looked at the detective concerningly, her eyes fixated on the dagger stuck in her shoulder.

“The...killer...got away,” Emily huffed, her vision going blurry.

“Emily? What happened?” Mafalda asked. Looking down, Emily gasped at Tommy’s blood staining her hands.

“Uncle Tommy was murdered.”

* * * * A/N: Hope you guys all liked it! Let me know what you guys think :)

Click here for the masterlist of all my fanfics!

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

[peonierose]

Top 10 Funny Moments 🩷 For @choicesfandomappreciation

I actually saw @aallotarenunelma post this and I thought this is genius, and so I’m going to share some funny moments from my stories 🤣

Summers Kiss

”I’m pretty sure there’s no magic involved in sex. It was pretty much watching my ovulation, waiting and peeing on test stripes to see the words pregnant. But if it makes you feel better B let’s call it the magic of our bed.“

”It was our bodies who created the magic, the bed was just a side piece.“

Cake by the Ocean

”What? I’m just saying. I can’t even say that I knew there was something going on? Way harsh dude,“ he says

Soraya gives him a pointed look

”I‘m not your dude,“ she says.

Aunt Joe clears her throat and they both shut up.

Bittersweet Symphony

”You’re my date, you shouldn’t have to do that.“ I say and lean on the kitchen counter next to her.

She snorts.

”Did you get stuck in the 18th century Sinclair?“ She teases me and I have to laugh at that.

Nightbound vs. Hänsel and Gretel - Chapter 2: Strange Encounters

“Pie-boy is getting roasted. I knew something was missing,“ Nik says grinning.

Hänsel cracks his knuckles.

“Bite me blondie,“ Hänsel says.

Niks grin widens and he just smiles at my brother.

“I’m afraid you’re not my type,“ he winks.

Neon Lights

”Get a room,“ Ethan and Aubrey say at the same time.

Bryce and I grin and share a smile.

”Is it just me? Or does anyone else think this is creepy?“ Elijah asks and I add.

”Me too. They’re almost the same person. Though Ethan is a bit grumpier, which makes him adorable,“ I say and Sienna nods in my direction.

”I thought I was the only one who thought so,“ she says and we fist-bump each other.

Ethan sighs deeply.

”Can we please just play? I don’t want to have front-row seats for Lahela's make-out session. I’m getting annoyed by this banter and about the fact that you’re trying to make it about me,“ he says his tone getting grumpy.

Bryce can’t resist adding.

”Oh come on man you’d learn a thing or two,“ B adds.

Ethan just sighs.

”If you’re talking about tips on how to make out? I’ll pass. Thanks though,“ Ethan replies.

Peppermint Kisses

“Buddy you picked the wrong nonna to pickpocket.“ I say and pull out my phone to dial Mafalda’s number.

“What’s a nonna dude? It’s not some weird fetish you guys have, is it? Because I don’t want any part of that.“ Zac stated.

“Nonna is the Italian word for grandmother you genius.“ I replied.

“Have you no manners? First, you steal and now you’re being a little punk?“ Trystan asks but Zac just rolls his eyes.

Girls Night Out - Chapter 3 - Streaking past your neighbors house

“I wish I had such good-looking strippers at my bachelorette party,“ Addi chimes in.

Both officers exchange looks, then turn to us again.

“You’re married ma’am?“ Officer Clarke asks, he looks more closely at Addi now.

“Well it’s complicated,“ Addi sighs

“I’m sure it is,“ Officer Clarke says his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“If we can’t have a lap dance, would you like one? So we can all forget about this little incident?“ I ask moving closer, but Sofia stops me with a hand on my arm.

“You are going to get us into trouble,“ Sofia mutters under her breath.

“And you are?“ Officer Kane turns to Sofia all mirth gone, replaced by a serious look on his face.

“Just an innocent bystander Sir. I was trying to help,“ Sofia stutters.

Home is where the heart is

”How’s the pregnancy going? Any weird food cravings that drive Bryce up the wall?“ he jokes and laughs.

”Does Bryce count as a food craving?“ I ask.

I am trying to act serious but I have to laugh at Ethan’s expression. He looks as if he bit into a lemon.

”I shouldn’t have asked,“ he mumbles.

Go Blonder

”Oh for fucks sake. Why in three hells are you only in your underwear Dr. Varma?“

Ethan’s voice. And he sounds super annoyed.

”I didn’t have any clean clothes,“ she says not wanting to admit she lost a bet.

He sighs

”You could’ve worn anything else. Please get something else to wear. This is just inappropriate,“ he says

”I can’t do that,“ she says.

He squints his eyes at her. Realizing there might be more to it.

”Clothes Varma. Now. And no that wasn’t a request,“ he says

Jackie laughs

”Aye aye sir,“ Jackie salutes and goes to get on some clothes.

You can see Ethan pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing.

”What kind of madhouse am I working at? I need a vacation,“ he mutters to himself. That’s when the video ends.

Go with the Flow

”Alright let’s go, before you turn into a popsicle,“ I laugh.

She just gives me the finger.

Which makes me laugh even harder and I have to stop and hold my stomach.

“So feisty today I like that side of yours,“ I kiss her fingers, which are ice cold.

[jerzwriter]

New Traditions

Trystan may have lived in New York for years, but Thanksgiving was always just another day. This year, he's spending it with Carolina, Tommy, and their friends. He's impressed with their celebration's Latin flair and their generous, unique traditions, all of which lead him to a bit of self-discovery.

Book: Crimes of Passion (Post Book 2) Pairing: Trystan Thorne x F!MC (Carolina Rose) Other Characters: Tommy Rose, Luke Watanabe, Ruby Webster, Mafalda Ginovesi. Words: 1,800 Rating: Teen A/N: This had been in the works already, but I appreciated the ask as well! Participating in @choicesnovchallenge - Thanksgiving / @choicesholidays - I'm thankful for you... / @choicesficwriterscreations Holiday Event

Full Masterlist | COP Masterlist | Holiday Masterlist

Carolina stood quietly in a darkened corner behind the bar, eyes focused on her task. The day before Thanksgiving was always chaotic at her uncle's bar, but she had only one care in the world: slicing plantains with meticulous precision. She was grateful for the repetitive task, for while it was a happy chaos that surrounded her, it kept her out of the melee.

“Luke!” Rubby yelled from across the room, eyeing the seating chart on her clipboard. “What did you do? This table isn’t supposed to be here.”

“If we put it this way, it will give us more room to walk behind and serve food,” he insisted.

“Yes. But if we put it this way,  we can’t put another against the wall. If the same amount of people show up as last year, we won’t have room for everyone to sit.”

“But....”

“But nothing,” Mafalda scolded from a few feet away. “I personally put Ruby in charge of the seating for a reason. We aren’t expecting as many as last year; we’re expecting more, and we have to maximize seating.”

“Fine,” Luke sighed begrudgingly. “I’ll defer to the boss.”

“And in this situation, that’s clearly Ruby,” Carolina winked. “Right, Luke?”

Luke was about to retort when he was interrupted by Uncle Tommy running through the room. 

“Coming through! Coming through! I have the pernil!”

“He has the Pernil,” Mafalda sang joyfully.  “Now, we know it’s going to be a party!”

“Yeah, too bad it’s not for us,” Carolina chuckled.

Tommy turned to his niece with sympathetic eyes. “Sobrina, you know the rules. You’ll have plenty of your own pernil... tomorrow.”

“I know, I know... I’m just teasing! I love our community Thanksgiving. I wouldn’t change it for anything!”

There was a loud tap on the front door, and Carolina’s face brightened visibly when she saw Trystan outside, his arms loaded with boxes filled with baked goods. She and Ruby both rushed to greet him.

“Hello, gorgeous!” Carolina beamed, placing a quick peck on Trystan’s ice-cold cheek as Ruby helped take the falling boxes from his hands.

“Thanks for the help there, Carolina,” Ruby teased.

But Trystan wouldn’t have it. “Hey! Priorities!” He took off his jacket, and a chill ran through him. “God, it’s cold out there.”

“Well, perhaps you should begin dressing for New York winters,” Carolina reprimanded.

“Says you!” Luke interrupted. “I’ve never seen you in more than that unlined leather.”

“Yes, but style matters to me... and besides... I don’t complain about the cold.”

“She’s got you there,” Ruby agreed.

“No matter,” Carolina dismissed, “Because I have the perfect way to help you warm up.”

Trystan raised a brow as he took Carolina under his arm. “Oh, do you now?”

But she pushed him away with a giggle. “Easy there, tiger! I meant you could work up a sweat helping me slice the plantains. We have five pastelons to make, and they’re not going to cut themselves.”

He followed her behind the bar and lifted the largest plantain with an adolescent amusement.  

“Oh, slicing phallic-shaped fruits into pieces... that’s how I’m going to warm up.”

“Yes it is,” Mafalda smirked. “And I’d be careful if I were you! Because Carolina finds that task very relaxing.”

“Yeah, I’d be good if I were, pal,” Luke cautioned.

Trystan wrapped his arms around Carolina and pulled her into a kiss. “As if I’d be anything but."

“Iww. Gross,” Luke protested. But Carolina wouldn’t have it.

“Hey, you started it!”

Tommy came in from the kitchen with some appetizers, and the group gathered around the bar as Trystan and Carolina continued slicing away.

“So, what are pastelons anyway,” Trystan asked.

“It’s sort of like a lasagna, but instead of layered pasta, we use layers of sliced plantain,” Carolina advised.

“And it’s delicious,” Ruby salivated. “Pastelon, Tommy’s pernil, and some arroz con gandules... that’s all I need to be happy in this world.”

“Good to know," Luke deadpanned.

“I meant foodwise, of course.”

“While everything sounds delicious, I’ve done some research, and this isn’t traditional Thanksgiving fare.”

“It’s traditional Thanksgiving fare when you’re dating a Puerto Rican from the Bronx, my love,” Carolina smiled.

“It’s not as if we won’t have the rest,” Tommy piped in. “I have three turkeys in the oven right now, along with stuffing, and my mashed potatoes are to die for.”

“What about yams?” Trystan asked, earning him peculiar looks from all in attendance.

“Honey... no one eats yams.”

“You’re kidding me!” He gasped in mock horror. “Now, my entire holiday is ruined! I was led to believe there would be yams!”

“Babe,  you’re making far too big a deal out of this.”

“I know. I yam,” Trystan grinned.

Carolina playfully smacked his arm as the others groaned.

“How did we end up with him?” Luke asked.

“It was sheer luck on your part!” Trystan stated. “So, how did this evening's tradition begin?”

“Opening the bar to the community?” Carolina asked.  “We’ve been doing this since I was very young. My father and Uncle Tommy always loved doing this, and I followed in their footsteps.”

Tommy poured some wine for all as he began to share the story.

“Jimmy and I were working late one year, and a woman came in quite distraught.  Her husband had recently died, leaving her with three young children.  She didn’t have the money for a proper Thanksgiving dinner, but it had been her late husband’s favorite holiday, and she didn’t want the kids to go without. Jimmy and I just shot each other a look; we knew what we were going to do.  We told her not to worry about it and, on Thanksgiving Day, we brought everything her family needed to her apartment. It was the best feeling to know we could help.”

“This has always been a low-income community,” Carolina added.  “So, there are a lot of families who have to do without.”

“She’s right,” Tommy nodded.  “But it isn’t only about money.  We have a large immigrant community, and sometimes they don’t have family here, and it can be hard to spend the holiday's alone."

“Exactly,” Mafalda agreed. “Not to mention, everyone isn't blessed with a loving family. Some choose not to spend the holidays at home because their family isn’t accepting.”

“Amen to that,” Carolina agreed. “I remember when I told my father and Tio that I was bisexual.  They were great, but many of my friends were not that fortunate.  Let’s just say the holidays can be the most depressing time of the year for many people, and we like to do our part to help that where we can.”

“So we decided we’d always open The Drunk Tank to the community on Thanksgiving Eve.  No one is turned away.”

Carolina nodded in agreement. “And once local residents and businesses learned about this, they began to give us donations, and it’s gotten bigger every year that we’ve hosted.”

“Yep, and all we ask is that everyone pay it forward with an act of kindness to others.”

“This is a beautiful tradition,” Trystan said, his voice rife with emotion.  “So you have Thanksgiving with your community today and again with the family tomorrow.”

“Almost,” Tommy corrected.  “We get to have Thanksgiving with our family today and tomorrow. Our extended family today, and our closest family tomorrow.”

“We don’t do much eating tonight,” Luke informed. “Tonight, we’re here to serve. But tomorrow, make sure you wear your yoga pants, Trystan, because eating becomes a competitive sport.”

“Yoga pants?” Trystan asked. “I don’t think I own yoga pants.”

“Well, then you better squeeze into a pair of mine,” Carolina insisted.  “Because, trust me, you won’t survive the day without the benefit of spandex.”

Shortly after, people began to arrive, and the flow never seemed to end.  It was hard work, but the team worked together, and you could feel the joy and electricity in the air.  Time passed quickly, and before they knew it, Tommy was locking the door after the last guest left shortly after midnight. After quickly cleaning up, Tommy happily lined up glasses on the bar for one last tradition.

“Oh! This is my absolute favorite part of the night!” Mafalda grinned. "Coquito!"

“This isn’t my favorite part of the night,” Carolina said, grabbing her delicious coconut, rum and spice beverage. “This is my favorite part of the year."

“Yeah, why don’t we have coquito year-round?” Luke asked.

“Because if we did, then it wouldn’t be so special now.” Tommy said as he raised his glass.  “To another successful Thanksgiving, and to the most important thing of all... family.... which includes every one of you.”

“Hear, hear,” Ruby nodded as glasses clinked together.

Later that night, Trystan mindlessly played with Carolina’s hair as she nuzzled her head on his chest.  Exhausted but still buzzing with joy, they simply reveled in the thing they were most thankful for that year... each other.  Though he was silent, Carolina could tell Trystan was deep in thought. 

“What’s on your mind,” she whispered. “You’re never this quiet.”

“Are you saying I’m a loudmouth?” He asked.

“Just answer my question,” she laughed.  “I won’t be forced into brutal honesty on this special day.”

But Trystan refrained a moment longer, and Carolina felt when he swallowed hard. “That’s just it,” he said with a broken voice. “This day is special, and I’m sure tomorrow will be, too.”

“It will be.  We are pretty casual about it, but it’s a day filled with fun, food, and the people we love.”

“It’s about... family.” Trystan paused, gently lifting Carolina’s chin to face him.  “You know there are plenty of us Thorne’s; if we follow the textbook definition, it is a family.”

“Yes...”

“I’ve spent most of my life with them, and I always felt so alone.  But tonight... here with you, and Tommy, and everyone... Carolina, this is the first time in my life I’ve ever spent a holiday as part of a family, a true family... and that’s all because of you.”

With tears in her eyes, Carolina leaned over and met Trystan with a warm, gentle kiss.  When they eventually broke away, each wore blissful grins.

“It’s not all because of me,” she insisted. “We wouldn’t let just anyone in, you know. It took someone pretty incredible.”

“I am incredible,” he smirked. “Aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.  And you’re humble... oh, so humble.”

They both giggled as Trystan pulled her close.

“I love when you acknowledge that,” he teased. “But all joking aside... I’m so grateful for what we share. You... you’re my family, Carolina.  And I never plan on letting you go."

“Damn right,” she beamed. “Because you’re my family too, and family is forever.”

~~~~ So, our Drakovian prince and New York Rican princess are happy again... I sense some drama coming soon! lol Thank you for reading!

Tagging on separate post.

[thosehallowedhalls]

A Beginning

Book: Crimes of Passion

Pairing: Emma Rose (F!MC), Ruby Webster

Rating: Teen

Word count: 476

Summary: The beginning stages of Detective Rose and Doctor Webster's friendship.

A/N: Day eleven of my 30 days of drabbles. This is another one I want to expand on when the month is over. Prompt: friends from @choicesaprilchallenge24.

One

Emma looks at the body before turning to the medical examiner. "Dr. Webster, what was the cause of death? Your preliminary report said gunshot, but you registered some doubts at the time."

"As it turns out," Dr. Ruby Webster begins, "that was the cause of death, but Mr. Brown would have died regardless. He took a lethal dose of fentanyl some time prior."

"Any way to track down where it comes from?"

"I'm afraid that's your area, Detective..."

"Rose." Emma pushes her hair back and sighs. "Well, it was worth a shot. Thanks, Doctor."

"Any time. I must admit, I'm glad you noticed those doubts in the first place. Officers Holbeck and Morris seemed... less than inclined to do so."

She resists, barely, the urge to roll her eyes. "That's not a surprise. Please let me know if you find something else."

"Will do. I hope you find whoever did this to him."

Emma's eyes harden. "Oh, I will."

Two

"Medical malpractice case," Mafalda announces. "The client wants to prove that her mother's death was a direct result of Dr. Allen's negligence after surgery."

"That might be hard to prove."

"We'll need to consult with a medical examiner. The issue is that my usual guy just retired."

Emma cocks her head. "Actually... I might know someone. Ruby Webster. She works at Astoria Mortuary, I dealt with her a few times when I still worked at the precinct."

"What's she like?"

"Brilliant, perceptive, open-minded. And she seems to really care about justice for a change."

Mafalda nods. "Okay. Reach out to her. If she works out, we might have found our new consultant."

Three

"Dr. Webster!"

She turns to face her. "Detective! It's been a while."

"Yeah, I've..." Emma forces a smile as she holds out her card. "Taken a career detour. I'm with the Ginovesi Detective Agency now."

"That's a surprise. But considering you were waiting for me outside the mortuary, I assume you must have a professional reason to be here?"

"You assume correctly. A 57-year-old woman, perfectly healthy. Died three days after an appendectomy. Her daughter thinks it was malpractice."

"I'm guessing you have more details."

"I do. Any chance you'd be willing to help me out? Detective Ginovesi would reimburse you for your time, of course."

Webster looks at her watch and nods. "I want to help, but do you mind if we do it over coffee? I've been up for 18 hours."

"Sure. I owe you.”

Four

"Interesting place."

"Don't let the appearance fool you," Webster says with a laugh. "Best coffee in the city."

"Oh? I might owe you on more than one front in that case."

"You're a coffee person, too?"

"What other motivation is there to get up in the morning?"

"Exactly! I knew I liked you, Detective."

"Emma."

"Emma, then.” She smiles. “And please, call me Ruby.”

[theseshipsshallsail]

When he visited in ‘94, he couldn’t bring himself to make this specific trek - just as he couldn’t bear to set foot in the bedrooms upstairs - but after several greedy clinches against the bike shed door it was inevitable they’d find themselves here, ensconced on a craggy outcrop as the mugginess of the day dissipated, permitting a cool prickle of reprieve in its stead.

Chapter 6

If anyone were to ask when he’d checked-in at Portsmouth International - which Oliver’s sincerely glad they hadn’t - if he intended to spend his afternoon making out like some horny frat boy, his response would’ve been a resounding no. 

Yet here he is. 

Safe from prying eyes in a utopian meadow. 

Blood streaming south at a gallop as he drinks from the fountain of his misspent youth; each groan Elio feeds him a one way ticket to his personal San Clemente Syndrome. 

Only this time, there’s something else, also. 

Something deeper. More profound. 

Elio kisses like a symphony - less a grace note pealing in the dark - and Oliver? 

Oliver feels reborn.

“Fuck… how I’ve missed you,” he whispers, the fast bracket of Elio’s thighs spawning vibrant fantasies of taking him right there in the open. “All of you. Not just your body, but your mind, too. Your spirit. Your voice. God…” Oliver breathes him in: bergamot shampoo, and the token hint of cologne. “Your voice!” he declares. “Absolute madness. My Nokia doesn’t do it justice…”

Elio mewls at his carotid; dexterous fingers carding his still-damp hair. “Salvalo, Casanova... we’re well past the point of stroking my ego.”

“Your ego?” Oliver eases up on his elbows. “Believe me, my little dissolute, I’m seconds away from stroking your -”

An intrusive beeping exudes from Elio’s phone. 

“Accidenti…” he grouses, flinging his arm out. “That’s my alarm,” he explains, hurriedly cancelling the polyphonic tone. “Maddalena prefers we cement dinner plans in advance. Decreases the odds of confusing Maman with last-minute amendments.” 

“Wise woman,” Oliver says, cheeks aching from a besotted grin. “Does this mean I’ll have to let you up?”

Elio offers a phoney pout. “Either that, or get chided by Mafalda for having to remove our place-settings?” 

“Perish the thought…”

It’s sweeter than manna - the fire that kindles in his belly - and Oliver can’t help laughing when Elio clambers to his feet, makeshift bathers drooping low - and sublimely tented - on his narrow, grass-stained hips.

“This spot is probably what I’ll miss the most,” Oliver’d professed once, clutching his knees as the surf’s brackish spray saturated his clothing, and with the obvious exception of Elio, himself, he’d been correct. 

When he visited in ‘94, he couldn’t bring himself to make this specific trek - just as he couldn’t bear to set foot in the bedrooms upstairs - but after several greedy clinches against the bike shed door it was inevitable they’d find themselves here, ensconced on a craggy outcrop as the mugginess of the day dissipated, permitting a cool prickle of reprieve in its stead. 

Annella - it transpired - had opted to take supper in her quarters, and with neither of them especially peckish thanks to their post-riposo apéritifs, Elio’d assured his culinary tag-team that yes, the leftovers from lunch would be plentiful. Yes, he’d remembered to stop by the butcher’s to increase Saturday’s order. And no, he had zero inclination of squirrelling la muvi star away for the foreseeable future.

The last was delivered with a brazen pinch to Oliver’s buttock. A retaliatory swat before his attacker scurried out of reach. They’d had that discussion - or something similar - umpteen times since June, and every cell of Oliver’s being radiates with contentment; knowing Elio’s rebuttal couldn’t be further from the case. 

They’re committed for the long haul. All seven blessings; should a progressive law change allow. Oliver’d mentioned it in the journal: how on the sixteenth of November each Fall, he’d devote a few hours to commemorating Elio’s birthday - honouring his inner Poseidonian and the life they might’ve lived - and despite the severed ties and burned bridges that could still cost him dearly, the gamble, he’s positive, is more than worth the risk. 

With Elio. For Elio. For them. It’s worth everything.

“I felt sick about it,” he says, the sun-baked rock pleasant at his back. “I wanted you - I’ve always wanted you - but I couldn’t have kept you; not then.”

An elderly couple trudge by with their dogs - three Yorkshire terriers and a doddery greyhound - but Oliver pays them no heed as he cuddles Elio tight, both arms enfolding his torso as their legs dangle free of the bluff’s eroded edge.

“I feared I’d forget your face, your voice, your smell, even,” he continues, chest seizing at the admission. “But I found a new spot wherever I was living. Somewhere not far from my office. Usually overlooking a lake.”

The soothing weight of Elio’s palm envelops his bicep. “A vigil, my father would have called it.”

“And rightly so,” Oliver says, cozying into his collar. “Because I was wrong. I’d forgotten nothing. I couldn’t.”

“Did you try?” 

Oliver frowns. “In the early months, perhaps.” When he was drugging his sins with dime store bourbon, blasting the Furs on a loop, and marathoning Battlestar Galactica when sleep evaded him to the brink of deprivation. “But then I realised my reluctance to seek you out was due to us never really parting. Not up here,” he insists, mouth brushing Elio’s temple. “Or here.” A firm hand splays above his heart. “That regardless of where we were - who we were with - whatever stood in our way… it wasn’t over for us.”

Elio swallows hard, pain clouding his gaze. “How could it be?” he asks, magnifying the sting behind his eyelids. “You’re my Polaris.”

“My guiding light,” Oliver agrees, staring at his chiselled profile. “There is nowhere else for me, Elio Perlman. Nowhere but you. So when the stars aligned - when you sent me a battered notebook one dreary Friday morning - what sort of fool would I be to squander the chance to prove it?” 

“Which you did.” 

“Which I did.” 

And woe betide he somehow gives him cause to doubt.

There’s a family with young children on the flaxen stretch to the east; their extensive parade of lopsided sandcastles invoking flashbacks of day trips to Shakoma Beach when Noah and Jesse were small.

“I wish my father were alive to see today...”

To anyone else, the segue could seem baffling, but Oliver’s well-versed in Elio’s trips to left field. “So do I,” he says, the grief ever raw. 

Pro wasn’t just a mentor, but the shrewdest man of his acquaintance, and while Samuel hadn’t questioned his judgement in marrying Micol, he’d been a staunch advocate for Platonian other halves: cleaved at the middle and bleeding though they might be. 

“For years I worried I’d let him down,” Oliver mutters absently. “By leaving, that is.”  

The you isn’t so much implied as showcased in neon letters, yet Elio just snuggles in, running his thumb along Oliver’s knuckles. “How unhappy is he who cannot forgive himself,” he quotes, caressing the undersides of his wrist. “You left because you had to, amore mio. You wed because it wasn’t our time.” His breath hitches on a sigh. “It was the presumption that bothered me, moreso. The fact you made the decision for us both. But you did what you needed - wanted - to do… and I respected that.”

“Elio…”

“I didn’t blame you,” he says, burying his face in his fuzzy jaw. “Not for pursuing the road most travelled. I simply wasn’t ready to let you go.” 

It’s the god’s honest truth if he’s ever heard it, and Oliver’s choked reply is silenced by a kiss so toe-curlingly decadent that when it eventually ends inestimable minutes later, he’s largely convinced his consciousness has transcended to a higher plane.