#choicesmaychallenge24
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glorious or terrible, benevolent or full of wrath
Book: Crimes of Passion
Pairing: M!Trystan Thorne x Emma Rose (F!MC)
Rating: Teen
Warnings: mention of kidnapping and rape in Greek mythology, stroke, death
Word count: 800
Summary: Demeter doesn't always go to hell for Persephone.
A/N: I know Demeter doesn't actually go to the Underworld, but I'm heeding Elliott's word and taking liberties. Submission for @choicesmaychallenge24 (prompt: Demeter). Title from The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms by N.K. Jemisin.
The Drunk Tank echoes with the pleasant sounds of laughter and conversation, the voices of the people she loves reaching Emma even in the relative seclusion of the bench. Content, she takes another sip of the wine she stole from Trystan, then looks at him when he speaks again.
“I know this probably doesn’t mean much coming from me, but… I think your father would be happy with how you handled yourself today.”
Reaching out, she covers his hand with hers. “He’d be happier that I had you helping me out.”
Trystan laces their fingers together. “There’s… something else. Something I’ve been meaning to ask.”
She raises her eyebrows and gestures for him to continue.
“It’s about… your family.”
“You mean my mother.”
“Yeah. You’ve talked about your father, and I know you’re close with your uncle. But you never mentioned your mother.”
Slowly, she pulls her hand back. She ignores the way her skin misses his warmth. “Has it never occurred to you that there’s a reason for that?”
“It has. But…” He brings himself to a halt when she stands. “Emma, wait.”
“I need some air.”
She slips outside through the back door, confident that the others didn’t see her leave. She doesn’t think she can handle their concerned questions. Not right now. But she’s not surprised when she feels Trystan walking up and stopping short of reaching her side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s fine.”
“Clearly it’s not. I’m sorry. Can we pretend I never asked?”
It’s tempting but… She sighs. “My mother walked out on me and my dad when I was six. I never saw her again.”
He inhales softly. “Emma. I’m sorry.”
“She told my dad she would call me as soon as she found a place. She never did.”
“Do you know where she’s now?”
“Dead. A stroke when I was twenty-one.” She shrugs. “My uncle found out through mutual friends and told me. I can’t imagine why he thought I’d care.”
“Didn’t you?”
She shakes her head. “You know, I had a Greek mythology phase when I was growing up.”
Unfazed by the non sequitur, he answers without a pause. “Don’t most kids?”
Her lips curve in a smile. “Maybe. There were so many myths that I loved. But I hated the myth of Persephone.”
“I don’t see much to love in the story of a god kidnapping and raping his niece.”
“That’s not it. Also, I prefer the versions where she has some agency, thank you very much. But that’s not what I hate. It’s Demeter.”
“Why? Demeter goes to… Oh.”
“Yeah. Demeter goes to extreme lengths, to Zeus himself, in order to rescue her daughter. God, that made me so mad. Why did Persephone get to have a mother who would go to hell for her, and I couldn’t even get a mother who’d want to see me?” She fixes her gaze on the metal trash can glinting under the alley lights. “Not all Demeters risk Hades to get Persephone back. Some of them just… couldn’t care less about Persephone in the first place.”
Trystan rests a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Emma, I know we don’t know each other very well, but I know this without a shadow of a doubt. It’s her loss.”
“Maybe.” She pushes her hair back. “You know, I didn’t care when my mother died. She wasn’t my mother, really. She just provided me with half my DNA.”
“Why do you feel guilty about that?”
“I don’t.” She blows out a breath when he remains silent. “All right. I don’t feel guilty, per se. I just… I guess I feel a little guilty for not feeling guilty. If anything, it was a relief to finally get that closure.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I know. Worked through all of that in therapy already. But…”
“It’s a sore spot.”
“Yeah.” Soothed by his understanding, she finally turns to face him. “Sorry I turned a celebration into a venting session. But it’s your own fault for following me out here.”
He laughs. “Leave it to you to turn it all around so it’s my fault in the end.”
Her lips twitch. “I’m just saying.”
“Do you want to stay here? We don’t have to go back inside.”
“No.” She squeezes his hand briefly. “We’re celebrating tonight. She doesn’t get to take that away from me.”
He brushes his fingers against her cheek. “Good.”
They stand there, eyes locked, until Tuppence comes bounding out. Laughing, Emma leans down to stroke her head. “Come on, Your Highness. You too, Trystan. I could use another glass of wine.”
“Fine. But you get your own this time.”
The door clicks shut behind them. The stars glow invisible in the sky, the only witnesses to a conversation that lightened someone’s heart.
#trystan x emma#trystan thorne#emma rose#trystan thorne x f!mc#trystan x mc#crimes of passion#playchoices#choicesmaychallenge24
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Let This Be My Punishment
MC: Fiona Lightwood
Book: Laws of Attraction
Word Count: 730
Summary: Fiona is forever haunted by what he is and cannot be.
Banner: The Dying Swan by Tretchikoff Vladimir
Prompt: Deity Inspiration List - [Erinyes]
Taglist: @choicesmaychallenge24
trigger warnings: queerphobia and homophobia
nothing is explicit but as the center of the fic, i wanna cover my bases.
Fiona knew how to ignore ghosts. He knew how to ignore the whispers of rebuke that gripped him as he patted down his skirt. He knew to move past the occasional queasiness when pressed chaste kisses against Gabe’s soft skin. He knew to stifle the nightmares that wrestled him awake in the middle of the night.
Or, at least, he’d thought he’d known.
He thought he was past the nightmare stage. It’d been so long since he startled himself awake, replaying that damned day over and over in his mind.
He never made the same choices. Sometimes he kept his head down, eyes trained on the burning hands of his fiancee on his thigh. Sometimes, he played it off as a joke, becoming ever so slightly hysterical when no one –not his fiance, not his father, and especially not his mother– believed him.
Sometimes, he left the table yelling and cursing the awful, awful truth. At times, he brought his fiance close, turning to his father and lying through gritted smiles that he’d never, not once, had ever even considered the improbable, unacceptable, impossible idea that he might like the feel of silk dress over the finest pants. Or confessed that men, men!, could be so beautiful as to compel Fiona to his knees in desperate worship. No. He’d bite his tongue like a coward than spit out disgrace.
Not that the outcome ever really changed.
This time, he’d gently taken his mother’s hands and placed them around his neck.
It wasn’t hard. Fiona had always known the virtues of suffering. Always known that the life he now lived required his eternal repentance. It was the only option he’d be given. It was the life he chose. And Fiona was old enough to suffer its consequences.
Uwakwe sat at the table. The first seat to the left of his father. His bride-to-be, his fiancée, Chiamaka sat beside him. Her hand lingered on his thigh, sly and coy, burning against his every instinct.
His mother, Kachu, pressed against Fiona’s pulse. It throbbed under her touch, vein hammering away with each lingering moment. It begged for her forgiveness. Begged to accept everything he was, even if only through his death.
“Uwakwe,” his mother spat, placing her son as yet another obstacle to overcome, “This is not enough.”
No, Fiona prayed, It is not.
“Uwakwe,” his mother spoke. Her hand gave his pulse another squeeze. It was almost taunting. “This is a dream.”
It is real, Fiona whispered, Had I given you my neck, you would have squeezed. Had I said nothing you would have done something. This is as real as it is a dream.
Her hands grew cold on his neck. When she spoke again, her voice warbled, swirling with the voice of his father, mingling with Chiamaka’s. She didn’t speak things Fiona knew to understand.
There was a time I did understand, Fiona wondered, there had been a time when I knew those sounds better than anyone else, hadn’t there?
Instead, he kept perfectly still, allowing his mother to abuse him. Relishing the familiar way she cut at him, the crash of phonemes against his ear, grating and mocking him with each roll of their tongues.
Fiona let that haunting lullaby move him from his bed. He pushed it behind his brain as he picked up his phone, eyes softly closing at the sound of Gabe’s instructing voice to leave a message at the tone.
Fiona left a sweet message. A simple ‘Good morning, darling.’, the type that whispered honey and kisses and soft sheets and lingering mornings. The type that hid worried curses and silent tears. The type that Gabe, somehow, always heard anyway.
Donning his most risqué shirt he could probably get away with, Fiona pretended not to notice as the fabric prickled his fingers, drawing his disgrace to light. Squirming into a tight, bedazzled pencil skirt, he let the criticisms stain him –even pausing to admire his open disobedience in the glimmer of eyeshadow and the gloss of his painted lips.
Fiona didn’t know to ignore ghosts. He knew how to live with them. He knew how to integrate them so deeply into everything he was that to separate him from his ghosts was to give him a purity he didn’t deserve. Fiona would never be pure.
The closest he’d ever get to purity was this endless suffering.
Author's Note: for a little more context you might wanna read [this] post. I associate a lot of Christian imagery with Fiona cuz it's how he was raised so, idk, I foolishly thought it would be kinda easy to find something analogous in greek mythos but, spoiler, it was not.
but the erinyes jumped at me because yeah! that's how fiona lives his life! Hoping y'all had fun/enjoyed reading my suffering (<- loving and affectionate) ♥
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Welcome to our third edition of the Kiara Theron Appreciation Week!!
We have received some amazing pieces during our last two editions - works that explored Kiara in all her complexity and appreciated her gifts. We can't wait to see what our Kiara fans have in store for us this year!
Tomorrow will be Day 1 of KTAW, and we have two themes you can choose from (or even combine - anything goes!)
Our first theme is Culture. As many of you who remember our first venture into Castelserraillan will remember, the duchy is known for its cultural heritage and diversity, for loving and revering culture and art. Kiara embodies this in her knowledge about different places, in her love for languages, in her work as a diplomat. This theme would be fitting for her.
Our second theme is related to the first, in some ways. Festivals are some of the most open and colourful ways to celebrate cultural heritage, and it would be great to see Kiara getting involved and celebrating different festivals!
Any content is welcome!! Just make sure your work centers Kiara, and presents a positive depiction of her. Fic, art, meta, headcanons, edits, icons, interactive media, even simple character appreciation posts!! We also accept WIPs, so if your piece isn't entirely complete by the end of the week, fret not - you can still send us the WIPs!
The themes are simply inspirations. If you bring a piece for one of the days later, it's entirely okay...just make sure you tag the posts with the day you meant it for! We will always be keeping a bonus week in case you couldn't complete the piece during the week itself, so our official deadline for pieces will be June 1st!
We'd also like all of you to know that KTAW 2024 will be open ALL YEAR ROUND. So if you're unable to finish a piece before June 1st, pls do send it whenever you're ready to (and tag us!), and it will definitely be up on our masterlist!!
Be sure to keep these rules in mind while making your posts:
1. Use the tags #kiaratheronappreciationweek and #KTAW in your posts. Make sure to tag the day as well (#KTAW Day 1, #KTAW Day 2, etc)
2. Tag @kiaratheronappreciationweek as well as hosts @sazanes and @lizzybeth1986 in your work, so we don't miss any of it!
Fan Community blogs are super important to our promotion of events, so we'd definitely love for you to check out some of these awesome blogs and their challenges:
@choicesficwriterscreations - Primarily fanfic and fanart (no AI allowed). Check out their rules and roster of events!
@choicesmonthlychallenge and @choicesmaychallenge24 - Any and all content welcome! This month's prompts are delightfully Greek mythology-themed!
@choicesholidays - Any and all content welcome, as long as it is centered around one of the holidays listed! Currently, they are hosting Spring Fling!
@choicesprompts - Any and all content welcome! Currently no events, but you could check out all the cool stuff they've been up to so far!
@choicescommunityevents - Any and all art welcome as long as it is on-theme! Currently hosting the AAPI Heritage Month!
Can't wait to see what you all have in store for us!!
Happy Kiara Theron Appreciation Week, everyone!!
#kiara theron#the royal romance#the royal heir#the royal finale#kiaratheronappreciationweek#ktaw#ktaw 2024#KTAW Day 1#KTAW Day 1: Culture#KTAW Day 1: Festivals
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Miracles
Premise: A chance encounter with Ethan brings an expected revelation for Cassie.
Fandom: Choices
Book: Open Heart
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine)
Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff.
Words: 1,050
A/N: Submission for @choicesmaychallenge24 prompt "mood changed like the weather" and for @jerzwriter Mother's Day event.
Miracle of life, my ass!
It was a miracle the world’s population was edging toward eight billion, given the indignities that pregnancy wrought on women’s bodies.
Cassie Valentine barely controlled a grimace as her patient let out an inhumane scream and tried to push a watermelon-sized human being out of her hoo-ha. The mammoth pregnant belly heaved and metamorphized with each contraction, blood and fluids gushing out from between her thighs.
She was in week three of her intern year ambulatory electives block. She’d chosen Women’s Health, thinking learning more about her body would be cool. However, most of her rotation had been spent in labor and delivery since that team was short-staffed.
Apparently, this was a popular time for giving birth in Boston. What else could horny Bostonians do during the long, cold winter nights?
Contrary to popular belief, babies straight out of the womb were not cute, with their skin red and wrinkly and covered in amnio fluids. Witnessing a mid-morning birth was enough to put one off their lunch.
“You have a beautiful baby girl,” the third-year resident cooed, smiling widely as she laid the wriggling tiny human on the mother’s chest.
Cassie scrutinized the scrunched-up face peeking through the blanket and thought it looked more like a fish, but to each their own.
Leaving mother and child to bond, she followed the team out of the delivery room, discarding the protective sheath and cap in the bin outside, and shook loose her long blonde hair.
Checking her watch to make sure she wasn’t late for afternoon didactics, Cassie strode toward the nurses’ station, intent on completing the notes from this case while it was fresh in her mind.
She didn’t often think about motherhood. After an almost scare in college that had given her and Jackson several restless nights waiting for the results, she’d been diligent about preventing accidental pregnancies.
Still, given that she came from two prolific dynastic families, Cassie supposed it was inevitable she’d have kids one day. But everything she’d witnessed these few weeks hadn’t exactly endeared her to the idea of putting her body through all that!
Her mind came to a screeching halt, and her feet slowed at the sight of Dr. Ramsey leaning against a wall, arms folded, chatting with another attending.
Ethan looked out of place in the brightly painted maternity ward, decorated with colorful wall posters about the benefits of breastfeeding and glittery balloons bobbing in the air as eager parents took their babies home. His somber expression countered the excited hubbub in the busy hallway.
Now, that was a man who couldn’t see kids in his future. Cassie still remembered his ambivalence about family and children when they tested the fMRI machine. Given how his brain scan lit up, it was a sore subject.
Not that it’s any of my business, she thought, turning away. Still, she furtively sniffed her underarms (the delivery room had been hot and sweaty) and sighed in relief. All clear.
Cassie sat behind the desk at the nurses’ station, entering notes into the computer, when a shadow fell over her. She glanced up mid-sentence, instinctively knowing who it was.
“Be with you in a minute, Dr. Ramsey,” the charge nurse said from behind her.
Ethan towered above the station, but his eyes were locked on his phone so Cassie could observe without him being any wiser.
He looked tired, his jawline scruffy with overgrown stubble. His short, neatly styled dark brown hair was unusually tousled—as if he’d run his fingers through it.
Cassie’s hand itched to touch the small, subtle strand of hair that fell slightly forward. It gently curved towards his forehead, softening his otherwise polished (and somewhat austere) look.
She thought it added a bit of character, giving Ethan a relaxed and approachable appearance. Until his striking blue eyes caught you spying. Then, there was nothing casual about Ethan Ramsey.
“Rookie,” Ethan said neutrally, head cocked sideways, his gaze inscrutable.
“Dr. Ramsey,” Cassie acknowledged cooly with a slight nod. She wanted to be nonchalant, but curiosity won out. “What are you doing here?”
He quirked one eyebrow, his expression haughty, for lack of a better word.
“Sorry!” Cassie blurted out, feeling her cheeks flush. “I know it’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s not,” he said, hesitating. “But, since you knew Dolores…”
His Adam’s apple pulsed as he swallowed, emotions swimming in his eyes. He blinked them away, cleared his throat, and shut down any hint of vulnerability.
“Baby Hudson is being discharged from NICU this week. Dolores’ sister asked me to coordinate the transfer to his pediatrician in Minneapolis.”
“Oh. I didn’t know he was still here.”
Cassie realized she hadn’t given Dolores or her baby much thought in the last couple of months. She had moved on to other patients, trying to keep her head above water as the harsh realities of residency and competing in the fellowship competition beat down on her.
Of course, Ethan Hudson was still in the neonatal ICU, given his premature birth at twenty-six weeks. It was a miracle he’d survived the night. She felt terrible for her negligence, even though Dolores’ untimely death had devastated her at the time.
“Why would you?” Ethan commented impassively, drumming his fingers on the desk. “He was no longer under your care.”
“How is he?”
“He——” Ethan sighed, looking away from her briefly. “He’s hit all his developmental markers. Dr. Lozoya doesn’t expect any long-term complications. He has Dolores’ eyes.”
Her green eyes sharpened at the softly spoken words, the tenderness in his voice catching her off guard. From the sudden frown on his lips, Cassie suspected he hadn’t meant to make that admission, at least not to her.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, doctor,” the charge nurse interrupted.
The bubble surrounding them burst. Ethan straightened from the desk and nodded absently before accompanying the charge nurse down the hallway.
Cassie watched his retreating back with a considering look. In the short time she’d known him, his moods appeared to change like the weather.
The man was full of contradictions: arrogant one minute, compassionate another. Dismissive and rude at times, he was also wickedly sarcastic and funny on the most unexpected occasions.
Who, she wondered, was the real Ethan Ramsey?
---------------
All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso
@mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16
@justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction
Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics
Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate
#open heart#ethan ramsey#ethan ramsey x mc#ethan x mc#open heart fanfic#open heart fanfiction#choices fanfic#choices fanfiction#choices fic writers creations#cfwc fics of the week#ethan ramsey x cassie valentine
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"Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle" ~ Nora Rose (crimes of passion)
WC: 800+ | Teen and up; TW for gore
Summary: Nora's relationship with vengeance, explored.
A/N: This headcanon got me cooking a little something. Written for @choicesmaychallenge24 "Ares - War, Hatred". The title is taken from Homer's Illaid (Scroll 22).
Banner cred: Detail of Head of Mars; the French School
____
Moodboard for the fic by @choicesmc
Nora had tasted blood more than her mother's cooking. She'd spat out more of her teeth than the vegetables her father would have forced her to eat. She knows. She keeps count, after all.
The first time it happened, she was bleeding from her cheek. Her knuckles were caked with bright red - blood that wasn't hers. The boy had called her awful names. The boy had pushed her into the ground - a fatherless, motherless child deserves to roll around in the mud, like a dog. The boy was pale before Nora's fist met his jaw. Blood poured out like a waterfall, his cheeks coloured a shade of beet red. Nora kicked him hard, before somebody rushed over to pluck the rocks from her fingers - leaving a horrible scratch across her palm.
It was easier to get rid of her within a night's sleep. The girl's name was removed from the list of students - it was easy to make her friends forget who she really was. Nora went home with a chipped tooth, promising herself she will fight this anger. She will. She has to.
What did she want to be when she grew up? What did she believe in? Who was she, really?
The second time it happened, it snowballed into a full blown fight. Nora’s back teeth were broken. The person she fought against, had a sharp pencil on them that they dragged along Nora's skin. Her toes were caked with mud, scratches all over her legs and hands, bruises with dried blood that she'd washed over a basin. Fistfuls of her hair was missing - yanked and tugged until they'd lost all shape and form. She'd used bandaids to stop her left eye from crying through the blood-cracked scar. Her assailant had insulted her mother.
Listen.
Call Nora whatever you'd like. Pelt stones at her until she crumbles into the very same. Kick her in the stomach like how you'd kick a stray dog until it stopped barking at you. Throw her ten feet deep into the ground, trapping her until she could breathe no more.
You mess with Māmā, however.
It was tough getting used to seeing more of her blood. But somehow it felt good.
It felt good to punch the arrogant smiles off of people's faces when they admonished her father. It felt good to take their heads in her hands and push their noses into the ground until the cement scraped off the tops of their noses. It felt good to watch them shake with horror and fear as she marched down and with all her strength, grabbed them on by their shoulders and tossed them to the floor. It felt good to have her clenched fists crack against their skull, broken noses and teeth and all and carry it with her until the bathroom to wash it all away.
Kill them all. Kill them until you meet your father’s killer. And put a fucking bullet in their head.
Spray their blood on her grave. Eye for an eye.
The last time she felt the familiar swirl of iron and spit in her mouth, she was sixteen. Never again, she’d said as she delivered a punch so hard, she could felt the bones rattle in her arms. Never again, she spoke it into existence after breaking the man’s nose, spilling her relative’s blood on her carpet. Never again will she split more skulls open like breaking a twig in half. Never again will she think of her childhood with her hands scarred, jaw bruised and her legs limp from holding her up for so long. She cannot let her anger take her over. She cannot destroy herself to plant a seed of vengeance.
But she must. She must.
How many bandages will she wrap around her hands, she would ask herself. With no prospect for the future. How long will she feel the hatred for, until it leaves her grasp forever? How many times will she grit her teeth, gnashing them until she can’t eat anymore - until she could feel the satisfaction of watching her father’s killer die. Watching the light leave their eyes as they look up at her- meeting her eyes. Of watching her mother’s doctors die. Setting fires upon fires until every fucking hospital burned a overjoyous victory. Of watching her childhood crumble to the ground, only to nurture new life. She must watch them suffer, she must strangle them until they wither in pain and scream for their loved ones - a scream of a little girl’s as she’s watching her own father bleed in front of her. A soft gasp of a little girl’s as she’s crying, desperately, tugging at their sleeves, asking if mother will be okay.
She dreamt of being covered in the blood of the ones who had wronged Ma and Pa. To severe their heads with a hard iron rod; make them choke as they fought for life. Nora wanted them to lose everything; watch painfully as the trouble melted away from Nora - that maybe that day, her parents can rest easy.
___
A/N:
If Nora was caught in a godly-parent-esque situation, she would totally be a daughter of Ares or related to Ares in some way. I can see she could also qualify for Athena's - given she only breaks people's noses from a very calculated distance.
Tagging my list here:
perma: @stars-are-within-me @thosehallowedhalls @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @dutifullynuttywitch
crimes only: @trappedinfanfiction @moominofthevalley
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This is part two of my rewrite of Chapter 1 of Crimes of Passion: The Proposal. This story is not part of my headcanon, but I couldn't let PB's version stand. Part 1 can be found here! And this is a wrap! 🌹
Book: Crimes of Passion: The Proposal
Pairing: M!Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose (F!MC)
Characters: Marguerite Thorne, Ruby Webster, Luke Watanabe
Words: 2,400
Rating: Teen
Summary: Trystan is eager to share his news and gets a lesson. Meanwhile, Carolina tries to come up with answers before their day is through.
A/N: Participating in @choicesmaychallenge24 - prompt - "who's a good puppy?"
Part One
Crimes of Passion Masterlist
Complete Masterlist
Marguerie entered her office, delighted to see her big brother seated behind her desk, even if his feet were propped comfortably atop it.
“Trystan,” she grinned. “It’s always lovely to see you, but if you want that seat... you have to earn it!”
“I was just keeping it warm for you,” he winked, standing to pull the chair back so Marguerite could take her rightful place.
“What brings you here so early? After the flight back to New York, I thought you’d sleep until at least noon!”
“I could say the same for you.”
“True,” she replied, shuffling through her mail. “But I have a business to run. What’s your excuse.”
“I have a sister that to distract from running said business.”
Without further warning, Trystan leaned across the desk, extending his arm so the blue box that instantly gave his secret away rested just inches from his shocked sister’s eyes. Covering her gaping mouth, Marguerite’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.
“Is that? Is... is that?”
“Do you approve?” He beamed.
“Of the ring or the woman?”
“The ring, of course! I know you approve of the woman!”
“Yes... YES!” She shouted, quickly circling her desk to embrace him. “This is wonderful news!"
She grabbed the ring out of his hand to further inspect it, and she was pleased. Her smile grew by the second as she took it in.
“It’s beautiful! But I had no idea you two were discussing marriage yet!”
“Well, we haven’t... discussed it... that is.”
Marguerite shut the box so fast the gentle thud could be heard across the empty room. Placing the ring in Trystan’s pocket, she made sure to slap his arm when she was done.
“Trystan! You bought an engagement ring without even discussing it with Carolina!”
“Yes... I want it to be special, and... discussing it isn’t terribly romantic now, is it?”
“Not necessarily, but,” she sighed, motioning for him to join her on a nearby settee. “Look... in Drakovia, particularly in our circles, people tend to become betrothed quickly. But it’s not like that here. Couples usually date at least a couple of years first.”
“A couple of years!” He blurted.
“Yes, and that’s not very long to get to know someone when you're planning something that you want to last for the rest of your life. Don’t you agree?”
“I suppose,” he faltered. “And Carolina doesn’t strike me as the type of woman who has had a secret Pinterest wedding board she’s just waiting to make public.”
“Big brother... Carolina doesn’t know what Pinterest is.”
Mags lovingly caressed her Trystan's back as he deflated before her.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You two have been through so much in such a short time. It's amazing that you're where you are! Just take time to enjoy each other and your love in relative peace. Carolina's not going anywhere.”
But when his head flung up, his face drawn, eyes bearing mirroring the scars of all he had lost before, Marguerite was painfully aware that Trystan’s motivation ran much deeper than she initially believed. His voice was broken, barely a whisper when he replied.
“But what if... what if she does?”
“Oh, Trystan!" Marguerite consoled. "My dear brother! I’m so sorry I didn’t see. Of course you’re frightened. You've already lost so much, including the woman you once loved.”
“I can’t do that again, Mags.”
“I understand, and hopefully, you’ll never will. But if becoming engaged was a panacea that could prevent that, well...” She took a deep breath and turned his chin her way. “As painful as it is to admit, you’re right... no day is promised to anyone... but that’s not a reason to get engaged.”
“That’s not why I want to get engaged!” He answered defiantly. “I want to marry Carolina; I want to spend the rest of my life with her... I just don’t want someone, or something, to rob us of the chance to do so before we get the chance.”
Falling back against the settee, he slipped the ring into his pocket. “I feel so foolish.”
“You have nothing to feel foolish about!”
“I do. I have this ridiculously romantic day planned and everything. The proposal was going to be my grand finale.”
“Well, you don’t need an engagement to enjoy a romantic day!”
“You don’t,” he teased.
“Oh, Trystan,” Marguerite smirked. “You really do need to acquaint yourself more with American traditions. There is this thing called courting. I suggest you look into it.”
Trystan pulled away with feigned indignation. “I’m familiar with courting....” he mocked.
“American courting! Not our macabre Drakovian methods.”
“I’m acquainted with American culture, too! I’m practically a native New Yorker by now!”
“Really?” Marguerite chuckled, glancing at his feet. “Those horrible cowboy boots tell me otherwise. Just... go talk to Carolina, I promise you. You’ll feel better.”
Grabbing his sister's nose between his two fingers, just like when they were children, he smiled. “You're right.”
“Of course I am,” she chuckled, pushing his hand away. Then offered one more reassuring hug before he left.
“I love you, Trystan.”
“I love you, too, Mags!”
“Call me later... I’m dying to see how everything goes!”
~~~~~
Trystan had carefully planned his arrival at the Drunk Tank for the late afternoon. This way, Tommy would be bound to be busy, and small talk could be easily avoided. Normally, he enjoyed chatting with Carolina's uncle, but today, he felt a sense of urgency to make things right... even if Carolina had no idea they may have been wrong.
When he flung the door to her room open, he was surprised to see her cuddled up on the couch beside an adorable cocoa-colored fluffball who looked every bit as happy to be at Carolina's side as he was.
“That’s new,” Trystan smiled, pointing at Carolina’s canine companion.
“This my latest solved mystery,” she beamed. “And my cutest one, to boot!”
“You found her so soon?” he asked, taking the seat beside her.
“Don’t sound so shocked!” She replied, nudging his shoulder. “I’m good at what I do! And dognappers? Nuh-uh. Not on my watch!”
“That’s my girl,” Trystan cooed while the overjoyed poodle relished the tummy rub he offered. "Who's a good little puppy? You are!"
“Now, are you proud of me or little Coco here?”
Gazing at his Carolina with an impish grin, Trystan gently placed the Coco on the plush rug at their feet.
“You,” he insisted, sealing his proclamation with a kiss. "Always you.”
“Good,” Carolina smiled. “Then, after Nina shows up to collect her pooch, maybe you can show me just how proud you are.”
Believing he'd like that idea, she was surprised to see him sit back with a sigh.
“You just use me for my body, don’t you Carolina?”
“Nah,” she giggled. “I use you for other things, too. So, is it a plan?”
This time, she received the reaction she had expected when Trystan beamed. “It’s a wonderful plan!"
She rested her head on his shoulder, and he lovingly wrapped an arm around her. A comfortable silence filled the room, and little Coco, sleeping happily at their feet completed the scene of domestic bliss.
“Look at us,” he droned. “We’re like an old married couple, with our little dog and all!”
He hadn’t planned to use those words, but while his intent was innocent, he didn't miss the way Carolina went still when the "m" word was mentioned.
“Or... you know...” she laughed nervously. “Like a disgustingly happy couple in love in New York... with a borrowed dog sleeping at their feet.”
Carolina’s heart raced when she glanced up at him, but the calming look in his eyes quelled all her fears. Trystan knew the time was now.
“I know it’s early, and things are new between us, but I have always believed when you know, you know... and I wondered.... have you ever thought about us... one day... getting married?”
Carolina jolted into an upright position, turning toward her lover like a deer caught in the headlights. She wasn’t used to this sensation... nervous, unsure of what to say or do... a million thoughts filled her mind, and as many emotions flooded her heart. Her mouth went dry, which was just as well, since she couldn’t find the words she wanted to say anyway. Then Mafalda’s words echoed in her mind:
“I always say, if people in a relationship are honest and love each other, they’ll get through anything.”
She was right. Honesty was the only way to go, and if anyone could be trusted with her heart, it was the man sitting before her. With a cleansing breath, she spoke with newfound clarity.
“I have... before I answer, you should know that marriage isn’t extremely important to me. I’ve never understood how a piece of paper changes anything. I know so many loving couples who are unmarried, and I’ve known plenty of married ones who are anything but.”
“True,” Trystan acquiesced. “I don’t think a piece of paper does anything, either. But there is something symbolic about standing before the people we love most and pledging ourselves to each other for eternity. Promising to be there in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, and all of that.”
“I agree,” she jumped in. “And I’m not minimizing that. In fact, I have thought about us... getting married... at least a couple of times.”
“At least a couple?” He grinned, even as fear began to creep around the edges of Carolina's heart once more.
“I have,” she declared, raising her hand to tenderly caress his cheek. “I would love that to be in our future. But right now, I’m just enjoying what we have. It’s new and wonderful and unlike anything I’ve experienced before. It’s precious to me, Trystan... and I want to let it grow and evolve organically. I’m looking forward to everything we can be in the future, but I want to enjoy the here and now as well.”
A knowing look crossed Trystan’s face, and he brushed a tendril behind Carolina’s ear before pulling her into a kiss. The kiss lingered, not because either feared the words that they'd have to speak next, but because Carolina was right. They needed to enjoy every precious moment they shared along their journey, and this one deserved its due. When they reluctantly pulled away, they held each other close, relishing the warm embrace that felt like the universe melding their souls together.
The moment of tranquillity was perfection. Then Trystan whispered:
“You found the ring. Didn’t you?”
Carolina jumped back, her eyes wide, and playfully slapped his arm before covering her face behind her hands.
“TRYSTAN!” She yelled.
Carolina may have been mortified, but Trystan was nothing but amused.
“It’s OK,” he laughed. “Really, it’s all right!"
“No, it’s not!” she countered. “You were planning on proposing to me... and I went and knocked the wind right out of your sails! Please, Trystan, you have to know how much I love you... and I absolutely want us to be forever...”
“I do know that,” he interrupted. “And we don’t need an engagement to believe that's true."
“So, you’re not mad?” She asked sheepishly.
“No. Well, maybe a little... at myself... for planning to propose without discussing it with you first."
“You just wanted it to be a surprise,” she shrugged.
“That was my first foolish move. I’m in love with a brilliant detective! How did I expect to get anything past her?”
“Speaking of which... what the hell were you doing leaving that ring in the kitchen drawer. Please tell me you’ll put it in a vault for safekeeping.”
“That is an excellent idea.”
Coco began to fidget and happily jumped up on Carolina’s lap as the couple nuzzled closer together.
“You know, I’m glad you figured out that I knew,” Carolina stated.
“Why? Because it proves I’m becoming as good a detective as you?”
“What? Hell no! It was a lucky guess on your part. But... I don’t like having secrets from you. It was really eating at me. I’d much rather have this out in the open.”
“I like it better this way, too."
“But I want to know, why was it important for you to ask me now... it is a little soon.”
He paused for a moment, thoughtfully choosing his words.
"Quick engagements aren’t uncommon in my world... but beyond that... I know what I want, and I want you to be by my side for the rest of my life. I’ve been in love before and had it ripped away, and I...” his voice cracked as it trailed off.
“Oh, Trystan,” she replied. “I never stopped to think that....”
“Shhhh,” he interrupted. “We can’t let fear control our every move.”
“You’re right," Carolina agreed. "But is it important to you to have something to show the world we're together?"
“We... we don’t have to...”
“It’s OK if you do, Trystan. But engagement isn’t the only way to do it. Would you like to do something else as a sign of commitment?"
“Other than showing you off every chance I get?” he grinned. “I wouldn’t mind... do you have something in mind?”
“I just might," she grinned.
~~~~~
Three days later...
Ruby gazed at Carolina’s hand with the excitement of a child staring at a counter full of candy. She reached out but stopped just before touching her friend's wrist.
“Can I?" she asked. "Does it hurt?”
“You can,” Carolina nodded. “It hurt a bit at first, but it’s fine now.”
“See, that’s because you’re not Drakovian,” Trystan winked. “I felt no pain at all.”
But the loud whimper that escaped him when Luke promptly slapped Trystan’s left wrist told another story.
“OUCH!” He jumped to his friends' amusement.
“You were saying?” Carolina teased.
“They’re perfect!” Ruby beamed. “Rose and 'Thorne' tattoos... what a great idea.”
“On infinity symbols,” Trystan pointed out. “It was all Carolina’s idea.”
“Well! I love them!" Ruby approved. "Luke! Maybe we should get tattoos!” she declared as her boyfriend looked on in horror.
“Orrr... uh... we could... just... get engaged.”
“Do you seriously think that would be less painful?” Ruby asked.
Luke slid up next to his her and looped his arm around her waist. “How about I take you on a really nice date instead?”
“Make that a double date, and you’re on!”
Luke turned to Carolina and Trystan with pleading eyes. “Well, what do you say?”
“What do you say?” Carolina asked Trystan.
“It sounds delightful..." he replied. "As long as we’re not out too late. I want to get back home to my gorgeous girlfriend, after all.”
“Ah, she’s a lucky woman!” Carolina beamed.
“You know what... let’s just get tattoos,” Luke sighed. “It has to be less painful than watching them act like this all night."
“Too late!” Ruby grinned. “You already promised! Now, let’s go pooh-bear.”
“Oh, God," Luke groaned. "Do you see what you started?”
Trystan opened the door to allow his friends to pass through, shutting it slightly when it was Luke's turn.
“Just wait, my friend! The night is still young!”
~~~~
In case you're curious, this is what the tattoo would look like. Carolina's is on the side of her right wrist, and Trystan's is on the inside of his left.
@choicesficwriterscreations
#crimes of passion#crimes of passion: the proposal#trystan thorne#trystan thorne x mc#trystan thorne x f!mc#playchoices#playchoices fanfic#choices fanfic#choices stories you play#choices#trystan x carolina
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Rose Gold
Book: The Royal Romance
Pairing: Hana Lee x Kiara Theron
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4, 304 words
Content Warning: Mention of Gun Violence, Character Injury.
Summary: Six months after King Liam and Queen Esther's wedding, Hana and Kiara take their next big step as a couple.
A/N: Set in the P&Tverse. Since P&T spans the timelines of Books 2 and 3 (the Engagement Tour and the Unity Tour + Liam & Esther's wedding), most of this fic takes place after the series is meant to end, and there are references to things that happen there that aren't canon.
The first half of the fic, however, takes place just before the group reunites with the MC and Drake at the safe house (TRR3, Ch 1).
I've borrowed a few elements from Hana's own engagement to the MC in the books: the rose gold ring, the coin throwing ritual at the foundation and the proposal at the lake.
Tagging @hanaleeappreciationweek for Day 5: Romance, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW and LGBTQ Archive, and @choicesmaychallenge24 for Hera: Marriage
October 14th, 2017. Half past Midnight.
Foolishness. Sheer foolishness.
The voice inwardly chiding her right now sounded suspiciously like her mother; for that reason alone she was desperate to ignore it.
But what else would one call an impulse to jump out of a car that could take her in complete secrecy to the city's best safe house, only to race to Argyros and Sons - Cordonia's premier jewellery store - for a gift she wasn't even sure would be accepted...a promise she wasn't even sure its intended recipient would want?
"Looking for something specific, Your Grace?"
Surprised, Hana looked up from the case displaying an assortment of glittering diamond rings. The eyes that met hers in a speculative survey were ocean-blue, marked by wizened crow's feet. It was at the tip of her tongue to correct him (Lady Hana, sir!) when she spotted the Twitter feed on the iPhone in his hand.
News sure does travel fast around the Capitol!
But no sooner had that thought left her head, than the riptide of memories began to flood her.
The Homecoming Ball. Hors d'oeuvres. Speeches. Fireworks. Announcements. Please welcome Esther DuPont, Duchess of Valtoria, and Hana Lee, Duchess of Krysanthe. Cheers. Expectant Gazes. And then...
Darkness. Gunshots. The acrid taste of fear.
Hana bit back a grimace. How long would memories of tonight haunt her? How long would it be before she heard people address her by her new title, without memories of the violence that followed?
She held her handbag with a sudden death-grip, forcing herself to breathe. To push forth happier, sweeter memories.
Unbidden, comes the one memory that had managed to keep her sane this night.
Her laughter.
Sharp. Raucous. Loud. Jarring against the tinkling sounds of cutlery and glassware, as far away as one could get from the soft, windchime quality of delicate laughter, that every female courtier was taught to emulate.
She thought she'd known love until that moment, fool that she was. Thought that no matter who she dated, no matter how distant she'd be from those memories of the social season - Esther would somehow remain her first and forever love.
Until she had taken that one fateful look at Kiara's wildly joyous face, heard her cackle - the kind one would never normally dare to do at court - and realized with piercing clarity that if she were to compare her feelings for these two women, they would be nowhere close.
Her love for Esther had all the subdued warmth of a crackling bonfire. But these newfound feelings for Kiara?? They made her feel like she was plunging herself headfirst into a raging volcano.
Something within Hana had trembled violently in that moment; some premonition that felt searing in its finality.
Kiara was the one. She was all Hana had ever wanted, without knowing it; all that Hana would ever want, from now till eternity. The one in whose arms she would want to stir awake, every day for the rest of her life.
Kiara Thorne, or no one. Kiara Thorne, or lifelong loneliness.
The phrase rang in her ears like a verdict: final, eternal, unchangeable.
When Hana opened her eyes, she found to her consternation that they were blurry from unshed tears. Quickly blinking them away, she noted dully how different the rings on the display now looked.
Certainly she must have moved to another part of the store without knowing. Where before she'd seen glittering, brilliant, ostentatious diamonds, set in white gold and platinum...now she saw stones nestled in the embrace of a warmer, almost blush-toned metal.
Rose gold.
The metal that was all the rage in her mother's birthplace Bethulia, for its delicate shimmer and soft pink hue. Mama had told her often enough in her childhood that their barony's love for it went far beyond just the colour...that her mother - Hana's Nanimaa - loved it for being such a perfect union of gold, silver and copper...
A whisper of a memory of Nanimaa, the one time she'd ever seen her. At a fountain, glowing from the glimmer of abandoned coins.
It took her less than a minute to find exactly what she didn't know she'd been looking for. Had you asked the jeweller about her, he would have told you that the newly appointed Duchess of Krysanthe had chosen her ring with the greatest confidence. The confidence of a woman who had probably wooed her beloved, confessed her love, basked in the joy of being loved back.
A confidence Hana didn't feel.
When she returned to the limo, she was greeted with the sight of a pensive Liam, rubbing the frown between his brows absently with his fingers. A telltale muscle jumped inside his jaw.
"Any news?" Hana whispered, almost dreading the answer.
"Yes," his voice was grainy from exhaustion and guilt. "Three people injured. Bastien, Esther's press secretary, and...."
"And?" Her voice had gone small and high, that a fearful child's.
"And Lady Kiara. She was..."
Hana blinked once, then blinked again. Liam's mouth was moving, yet no sound seemed to come out. All that she could hear was a low, keening noise, like a muffled siren...or like the moan of a woman in terrible pain.
Kiara. Kiara. Kiara.
--
May 12th, 2018. Afternoon.
"How far from the palace are you taking us?" Kiara asks, her voice alight with laughter.
"Not even outside its gates," Hana replies, grinning. Kiara looks down at their fingers laced together, palms almost touching.
They've been together for just six months, and still somehow, the lines on Hana's palm feel as familiar to her now as her own. Without even looking she can conjure up the memory of the heartline on Hana's left palm at a moment's notice - long and deep, starting from her index finger, suggesting she would be a wonderful lover with a very fruitful love experience - and her marriage line, stretching from one end of her palm all the way to her ring finger...suggesting friendly in-laws.
(The thought of luring Hana to marry her under the premise of palmistry is sounding more and more tempting by the minute)
Involuntarily - perhaps to stop herself from checking her trouser pockets once again for that tiny box she took from her vault today - Kiara's hand tightens around Hana's.
Can she dare to hope that fortunate beloved could be her?
She steals a glance in Hana's direction, noting with alarm that her fingers are trembling in Kiara's hand.
"We're here," she says, her voice suddenly small and quivering against the gurgle of water in the courtyard fountain. It's been a palace fixture for several decades now - ornate and imposing - a legacy from King Liam's formidable grandmother, the late Queen Mother Cassandra. According to Kiara's father, the woman had married into the family as a young princess from Monterisso, and for her foreignness alone was expected to be crushed by the strictures of the palace and the expectations of her people - yet in a decade's time she had somehow became the most imposing figure there! There was very little in the palace that didn't have her stamp of approval first.
As they come closer, Kiara sees the one thing Queen Mother Cassandra may not have predicted when this fountain was built - the glimmer of coins, all gleaming in the sunlight like they were minted just yesterday.
Her own smile begins to tremble on her lips, even as she notices Hana swallow a telltale nervous lump in her throat. For the first time since they have gotten here, Kiara notices that Hana's other hand is fisted around something. Something that could very likely be the same coins they just saw in the fountain.
She takes that hand gently in hers, knowing now how nervous Hana must feel; knowing that if they complete the ancient lover's ritual that she so hoped to do today, there will be no going back. She uncoils Hana's fisted hand, finger by quivering finger, watching her face as her breathing quickens. She smiles again - a smile more aimed at reassurance than amusement.
"Are we going to do what I think we're going to do today, ma moité?"
For several seconds, Hana doesn't respond. The three coins in her hand (Heavy. Ornate. Engraved with apples. Ancient) are proof enough. The answer, when it finally comes - almost like it is torn out of her throat for fear that Kiara's feelings may not match her own - is barely audible.
"Only if this is what you want too."
Gold. Silver. Copper. Tossed in one after the other in an ancient lover's ritual - one that Kiara knows only because she'd learned about it from her mother, who'd had friends in Bethulia where this ritual was most popular. Maman and Baba themselves had done it on a trip there when she was a teenager, still squirming over her parents' ability to still act like swoony romantics in their (and this would be said well out of their earshot) "fucking forties!".
Wiser now, Kiara feels the same anticipatory tingles that her parents must have felt back then.
This ritual wasn't for the faint of heart in ancient days. You did it only when you were certain. When you looked at your lover and knew that a life without them wasn't a life worth living.
Well, Kiara muses as she watches a hundred emotions flit in a second over Hana's face, I think I've known that long enough. I've known ever since I saw you fight your father in Shanghai, even when you knew it would cost you everything. Since that one moment, I've been yours.
Planting a tender kiss on the corner of Hana's mouth, she takes the coins. "Ready when you are," she whispers softly.
Hana swallows again, her eyes glistening and moist and relieved all at once. In a silk pouch that dangles from her wrist, she fishes for three coins identical to the ones on Kiara's palm. She breathes deep once, twice, three times.
Kiara links their free hands, grips them tight as they turn their backs to the fountain. Hana looks up, a question in her eyes.
"For friendship!" Kiara says, tossing the copper coin into the fountain. Faint memories of something that almost feels like another lifetime glimmer and fade in her memory. Applewood, sipping water, giggling over their favourite fruits and flowers. The Beaumont Bash. Watching from the sidelines as Hana did the verbel equivalent of ripping out Olivia Nevrakis' spine at the Coronation Ball.
Hana takes out the silver coin, and waits for Kiara to holds up hers'. "For love?"
Engagement tour. Fearing Hana would hate her in Fydelia, but never understanding why that should suddenly matter. Standing with her against a bridge in Paris, each mourning their lost loves.
Finally learning what love really was, when she opened her eyes and truly saw Hana for the very first time.
Kiara nods, touching her forehead to Hana's. "Par amour." Their coins splash in unison in the water.
Her girlfriend lets out a watery giggle as she takes out the final coin, glittering and golden on her palm. Her voice breaks a little as she tosses it behind her. "For...bel- belonging".
Kiara's own sigh releases in a shudder as she lets the final pledge sink in.
There were very few places in the world that truly felt like home to Hana. Not the place where she was born, not the barony that could have been her legacy. It took her months to even find comfort or security in her future in Cordonia - much less belonging.
Without a moment's thought, and without releasing the golden coin in her hand, she cups Hana's face and kisses her. Hana shudders and buries her hands in Kiara's hair, her lips trembling against the unspoken promises in her lover's.
"For belonging," Kiara says it like it is a vow. "And I don't care how long it takes - I give my word right now. I'll never let you feel like you have lost your home. Ever." Another kiss - this time on Hana's temple. "I hope you will always find one. In me."
Hana's smile is warm and dreamlike, her eyes closed as if to savour this moment, her fingers playing with Kiara's curls. She barely notices the sound of Kiara's gold coin landing in the fountain. "I love you, Kiki."
Kiara chuckles at her teasing use of the nickname, brushing Hana's nose with her own. "Together forever?"
Their hands, now free, close around each other. "Together forever."
It's quiet now, except for the sound of collard doves, the rustle of leaves and branches in a light breeze, and their breathing. The air smells of wildflowers, citrus and a subtle floral scent that Kiara knows to be the perfume Hana has been using for months. Orange Blossom. She grins as she remembers. It's a scent Hana has often loved to wear, just for her.
Hana's thumb feathers lightly over the ring finger on Kiara's left hand, almost as if to commit the bare space on it to her memory. Kiara doesn't miss that gaze - bright-eyed and soaked in longing - and how it mirrors a need she has felt ever since they landed at the Capitol last week.
Kiara swallows. She had wanted to take things slow, she really did. Woo her, bathe her in every luxury possible, make this trip even more unforgettable than Hana could ever imagine, and then spring this surprise on her - like a kirsch-soaked cherry topping on an already very tempting Black Forest Cake.
But...but that gaze of Hana's has always been Kiara's undoing.
Simply, she says, "come with me."
Puzzled, Hana looks up. "Where?"
"To Lake Sôse," Kiara whispers, wasting not one more moment and grabbing her hand. Hana lets out a nervous, slightly incredulous laugh as she allows herself to be pulled along.
Kiara isn't sure why she's suddenly rushing this. When she thinks of the elaborate plans she'd been constructing all week - chocolate-dipped strawberries and champagne at one of the Capital's premier restaurants, flowers everywhere, a proposal at the hedge maze with a picture together by the swing to commemorate the occasion - she wants to laugh. She isn't even sure why Lake Sôse was the first place she'd thought of just now.
She takes a deep breath, and grounds herself. Uncommonly impulsive though it may be, her decision has been made. There is even a part of her that seems to prefer it to happen this way!Kiara has never been one for last minute changes of plan...but ever since she fell in love with Hana, she's learned to expect - and enjoy - the unexpected.
It's only when she sees the shine in Hana's eyes that she realises why her mind took the turn it did.
Lake Sôse. The one place Hana Lee has always chosen for solace and comfort. The one place in the Capitol where she felt the most at home. It had been here, Hana told Kiara once, that King Liam had told her his plans to appoint her Duchess of Krysanthe. It was here, hours later, that she'd shared that momentous news with her best friend Esther; where Esther - herself aglow with love and a newfound purpose - hugged Hana and told her that the world would now be Hana's oyster.
She'd brought Kiara to this lake for the first time the day after King Liam and Queen Esther's wedding, following a night when the queen herself had been kidnapped, and Hana had joined the king's entourage to rescue her.
A night that Kiara - in constant fear of losing her forever - had recklessly kissed Hana. In public. In front of the entire court. Braving gazes of teasing approval from Kiara's parents, and near-murderous glares from Hana's. The night everyone outside of Hana's friend circle finally realized the two were a couple.
Kiara remembers the day after that like it was yesterday. Something must have changed fundamentally in Hana that night, because the fear seemed to have gone, and with it the compulsive need for hiding and subterfuge and constantly looking over her shoulder. It was as if Hana had faced what she'd thought was the worst thing that could happen to her, and realized she really was strong enough to face that fear.
You're my safe place among people, Hana told her that morning, her fingers lacing through Kiara's. The one I feel most at home with. I want to bring my safe space..to the place in Cordonia I've always felt safest in.
It is afternoon, and the yellow crocuses behind them exude a warm, buttery golden glow in the sunlight. Hana lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh. "You seem like a woman in a very huge rush today, Lady Thorne."
Kiara's own laughter in response is high-pitched and halting. She tries to hide the moistness of her palms as she makes a blind grab for the small velvet box in her purse. "Believe me, this wasn't the way I'd planned this to go at all."
Intrigued, Hana's eyes follow Kiara's hands, and her eyes widen as she recognises the familiar deep blue velvet, the embossed silver lettering on top. Argyros and Sons.
"Is that --"
"Yes," Kiara says, clearing her throat, "I'd been planning this. All week. It was going to be romantic, elaborate, I was going to sweep you off your feet. Just like I'd planned to ask you out seven months ago."
Hana lets out a watery giggle. We all know how that turned out, don't we, qīn'ài de? Kiara can almost hear her saying.
But the humour stops almost immediately when she looks at the box again, and suddenly Hana seems too still, too shocked...too far off from how Kiara hoped she would react.
Kiara lets out a deep breath, then lets the words gush out of her. She's too scared to stop, too terrified to think - the fear that she may be doing too much too soon is so overwhelming that she knows if she stops she won't be able to bring herself to do this for a long, long time to come. The humiliation would be too strong.
"I'm not one for impulse. I never have been. I've never felt comfortable with anything if I didn't have a plan for it first."
Kiara gives herself a moment to half-smile at the irony of it all. Approaching Hana Lee with a smile and a bottle of water, after that first eventful bite of a Cordonian Ruby was definitely an impulse. So were half the things she had done with Hana since. So will many, many, many of the things they may wind up doing together, if (if!) this leap of faith works in her favour.
She looks up at Hana to see if she's laughing at the memory too. She isn't. In fact, Kiara isn't even sure Hana's reacting yet to what she's saying. Perfectly still, her eyes never moving from the box, so wide that they would go bloodshot if they were widened any further. Kiara swallows, and finds that her throat feels suddenly, inexplicably sore.
"I could never tell what it was about you that changed all that. I still don't. All I know is that...around you, Hana, I feel so much more brave. To let go of the need to plan and organize. To not be too afraid of what will follow - whether it goes in my favour or not. I find myself not just willing, but eager, to trust my gut."
Kiara's eyes search every inch of Hana's face as she opens the box, revealing the ring inside. It's a gorgeous piece, all platinum and sparkling diamonds. The smaller stones form a cluster around a massive one, leading the viewer to believe they are seeing a glittering snowflake, fallen fresh from the heavens.
Kiara had known the minute she saw the ring that it was the one. That it would remind them of the first time they confessed their love. Of their very first date, of the first time they shared Hana's cup of homemade hot chocolate. Of why the two of them will always love winters.
Hana's fingers move, trembling, towards her mouth, her face suddenly flushed. She remembers it too.
"Hana Lee," A frisson of fear slithers down Kiara's spine. "Will you marry me?"
When Hana finally opens her mouth, several seconds later, Kiara has to strain to hear her voice.
"I - I -" her eyes dart away from Kiara as if she's just remembered something important - her beautiful bronzed skin suddenly a little drained of colour. The next few words, she says in a "I.... I'll be back. Give me five minutes? I...just remembered something."
She leaves without waiting for an answer.
Kiara sinks into the grass, covering her face in her hands.
What have I just done?
--
All the way back from her room in the palace to the lake, the pouch hanging from her wrist feeling only a slight bit heavier, Hana cannot stop mentally kicking herself.
"You fool! You imbecile! Bèn dàn!!" Hana curses herself as she speeds up her sprint into a run, "What happened to your tongue? What kind of reaction was that?? What will Kiara think?"
Her mind now sprints miles ahead of her feet, racing in panicked ferocity over the possibilities.
With any luck, Kiara could still be waiting - puzzled and perhaps a little worried. Or she could be actively panicking, the way she does (on very rare occasions) when a plan goes terribly wrong.
Or...or...
Hana holds the silk pouch from her wrist in a deathlike grip as she speeds up towards Lake Sôse. Or.
The thought of that lovely, open space completely devoid of Kiara, of that beguiling combination of rose and jasmine emanating from her favourite Dior J'adore perfume, makes Hana's stomach drop to her feet.
It isn't until she sees that that heartbreakingly familiar figure of Kiara's, hunched over the grass, that Hana allows herself to breathe.
Kiara is there. Shoulders bent, head buried in her hands, almost stumbling as she tries to get up when she sees Hana.
Morose. Defeated. But still there.
Without another thought, Hana rushes into Kiara's arms, almost knocking her off her feet.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Hana whispers against her hair. "I wasn't trying to run away. I really had to get something. For you."
Kiara pulls back to look into her eyes, and when she does Hana's heart twists at the sight of unshed tears. "I thought I'd scared you off."
Hana's own laughter quavers, pitched high in disbelief. "I've just pledged myself to you this afternoon, body and soul, at the palace fountain. This -" she lifts Kiara's left hand to her chest, her thumb caressing the empty space on her beloved's ring finger " - just makes it so much more real."
Kiara's arms wrap around her, pulling Hana flush to her. Hana can feel Kiara shake as she giggles in response. "...you mean to say that I'd have saved myself so much stress if I'd just remembered those coins."
"Yes, qīn'ài de, a thousand times yes." She cups Kiara's face, pressing their foreheads together. "Place that ring where it belongs, Kiki. I can't wait to see it on my finger."
Hana holds her tight until Kiara's breathing becomes slower, calmer. She raises her newly-adorned hand for Kiara to see - marvelling at how the ring really mimics the glow of a snow crystal in the winter sun.
When they part, shyly, reluctantly, Hana begins to fiddle with the silk pouch.
"Here's what I'd gone to bring."
Kiara's eyes brighten at the sight of the box in her hand; a wave of warmth floods through Hana in anticipation of her response. Kiara gasps the minute she opens the box, revealing a delicate, intricately carved rose gold ring, flanked by small diamonds on all four corners, cradling a bigger one at the center.
"Rose gold," Kiara murmurs in wonder.
"Yes," Hana brushes her fingers over Kiara's knuckles. She'd told her once, long ago, how revered that metal was in her home province Bethulia. How Bethulian jewellers and goldsmiths and young women swore by the rosy hue it exuded. How it was a perfect amalgamation of three precious metals - all highly valued in the province. How tied it was to their folktales and bridal rituals.
"Copper..silver...gold." Kiara's tears glitter like diamonds before she lets them fall. "For friendship. For love. For belonging."
Hana smiles, her hand still stroking Kiara's cheek. "You remembered."
Kiara rolls her still-moist eyes, trying hard not to sniff - it would take out all the humour in this situation. "It's hard to forget a ritual we'd performed just ten minutes ago, ma moité."
"I'd planned to give you this ring a week from now," Hana says, shaking her head at her own impulsiveness as the ring she'd chosen on a fanciful whim so long ago, now finds its home. "I've been holding onto it for far too long."
Kiara caresses the stone on her own finger lovingly, admiring the way the rose gold glows on her skin. When she speaks, her voice is breathless in anticipation. "How long?"
For several minutes, Hana's only response is to pull Kiara back in her arms again. Her hand slides slowly, almost with a tinge of regret, down the dip of Kiara's waist on her left side. The wound that had once served as a constant, searing reminder of so much (of her vulnerability, of her inability to run from pain, of what she'd once considered her failures), has healed in more ways than one - only a faded scar that Hana never fails to kiss, now remains.
"For seven months," Hana's voice shakes at the memory, "Since the night after Homecoming Ball."
With a choked sob, Kiara enfolds Hana into her arms, almost as if she'd want to absorb her into every cell of her body. Fervently, reverently, she presses her lips all over Hana's face - her eyelids, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, all the little-known, barely-noticed parts of her. It takes her a while - perhaps too long, in Hana's opinion - for Kiara's lips to meet hers, but she welcomes the sweet torture of waiting.
"Mon cœur," Kiara says between kisses, "ma raison de vivre."
When they part, the two women keep each other's hands interlinked, one left hand over the other. Neither of them will remember how long they stay at the lake; only that they never want this joy, this warm afterglow of seeing their dreams come true...to end.
The empty spaces on their ring fingers, over which they'd each stolen such secret, hungry glances today, now bear the mark of their lovers. Now bear the most tangible signs of their love, their memories, their promises, their commitment.
Together forever.
--
Translation:
Ma moité - a romantic endearment in French, meaning "my other half"
Qīn'ài de - Mandarin Chinese for "my dear"/"darling"
Bèn dàn - Mandarin Chinese cuss word that means "stupid egg!"
Mon cœur - French endearment, meaning "my heart"
Ma raison de vivre - French for "my reason to live"
--
References for Hana and Kiara's engagement rings:
Kiara:
(Source: Maxine Jewellery)
Hana:
(Source: This article on engagement rings, but the actual pic itself came from Blue Rose Photography)
#hana lee#the royal romance#the royal heir#the royal finale#hanaleeappreciationweek#HLAW#HLAW 2024#HLAW Day 5#HLAW Day 5: Romance#series: petals and thornes#lizzybeth1986#content: fanfic
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A Pinch of Sugar
Book: Immortal Desires
Characters: Seth Olsen-Cooper, Terri O'Rinn
Ratings/Warnings: General, recurring food motif
Words: 2K
Summary: Seth sees Terri buying cookies for "her son". (Fic takes place within the SICSIG timeline, some months after CH33 when Seth and Terri first cook stew and dumplings together).
A/N: Participating in Choices May Challenge 2024 | Prompt: "I'll take care of you". (Honestly, the “Have you ever been struck by a sudden desire for - soup?” prompt works too. Stew is nearly soup, right?)
Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesmaychallenge24 @lilyoffandoms @stars-are-within-me
Seth’s lunchbox was a cheery sky blue. It was a huge, circular affair; an insulated metal canister with a handle at the top, that unscrewed to reveal a number of little compartments for cold cuts, for snacks, for soup, for cutlery.
The paint wasn’t even scratched yet, because Terri had only just bought it.
For him.
She’d bought Seth his own lunch box.
It was brisk outside, today; the sky a slate grey and smelling like the edge of rain, a line of seagulls slicing through the air to wing their way toward the docks. Probably not smart weather to be sitting outside in, eating lunch alone on the steps behind the gymnasium. But here he was all the same; concrete cold beneath his thighs, lunchbox warm and perched on his knees.
Curls of steam rose up from the stew and dumplings. Ever since Terri had taught him the recipe all those months ago, the beef stew had become one of his safe foods.
Seth huffed a breath, pushing a piece of onion around the bowl with his spoon, his feelings all tangled up in his throat.
He’d come to know the taste of many things, sitting at the O’Rinn’s dinner table.
The crisp snap of Anzac biscuits, butter clinging to his fingertips to leave little smudgy fingerprints on the edges of the newspaper when he helped Terri finish her crossword puzzle.
The creamy indulgence of fettucine alfredo, and the carb-laden groan Luca would always make when they got to the end of their bowl. The second, louder groan that always came on the heels of the first when they remembered it was their turn on dish duty.
The way the taste of Twizzlers grew rubbery and numb on his tongue at 5:27am, when he’d eaten his way through yet another packet, over yet another round of Mario Kart, and Luca had finally passed out beside him on the couch.
The slightly lumpy mashed potatoes Terri made to go with her red-wine braised lamb shanks, that he’d honestly thought would cause him all sorts of sensory issues at first. Until he’d quickly learned that the lumps were his favourite part.
He’d only ever had instant, powdered mash potato under the foster care system. It had tasted like dust.
All of his meals did.
Terri put butter and milk in her mashed potatoes.
Salt, and pepper, and understanding, somehow. Kindness. Care. Sometimes she’d put garlic, or crispy little bacon bits and chives, or some other secret thing. Once, there would have been a time where he couldn’t handle the unpredictable deviations from the norm. The unexpected textures.
Now, he didn’t care as much, because it wasn’t the ingredients that made the potatoes taste the way they did.
Terri O’Rinn’s lumpy mashed potatoes told him, “I'll take care of you”.
They tasted like being loved.
At least, Seth thought that was probably what being loved felt like. No one had ever really…
He’d never had…
Seth swiped a finger around the rim of his lunchbox, sucked at the savoury richness of the stew until the bowl was licked clean.
He wasn’t even really that hungry, to be honest. He just didn’t want to waste it.
It had been a really long time since Seth had gone hungry.
Supermarket lights were one of the few things that drove him mad when it came to being a vampire. Something about the combination of flickering halogens and the hugeness —the sterile off-whiteness— of grocery stores never failed to give him a headache.
Seth hurried through the supermarket —but not too fast; human, human, gotta look human; gosh, these lights are nasty; don’t walk too fast, you’re totally human; nod politely at Mr Philips in the produce section; oh, that’s right, need to finish those homework questions for economics; Luca probably forgot to do his, too— shuffling to a halt in the aisle where all the candy was.
He grabbed a brightly-coloured pack of Twizzlers from the shelf. Two, actually. Because Luca had been staying with Gabriel a lot more often lately, but the past few nights they’d been home, and maybe they would want to play Mario Kart with him again sometime.
Seth was just making his way to the checkout when he caught sight of Terri across the store.
‘Oh, aren’t these cute!’
Terri beamed, laughter in her smile, peering at a display of baked goods near the checkouts.
‘I should get some of these cookies for my son!’ she told the clerk. ‘He absolutely loves cats. Our Minnie adores him.’
As Terri paid for her purchases, chatting happily with the girl at the counter about their pets, Seth found himself frowning. He tucked himself behind a shelf full of bread loaves, lurking where Terri wouldn’t see him.
It wasn’t like her to slip up like that.
Luca hated “son”.
It was one of the gendered terms they despised the most. Seth knew, because he’d asked Terri on four separate occasions exactly how and when he should be using Luca’s pronouns, and what words to avoid. Luca had been so kind to him these past months. Welcoming. He’d hate to get it all wrong and upset them.
“Son” was an absolute no-go.
He knew, because he kept a list in his wallet, and he’d re-read it until he knew it by heart, and still checked it now and then, just in case he’d forgotten.
Pronouns: he/they. Alternate between them, don’t just use one.
“Dude” is a term they like, so is “lad”.
“Boy” is fine sometimes, but it’s not their favourite. Context dependent. Maybe re-work the sentence to use something else instead.
“Man” makes him deeply uncomfortable, and “bro” is hugely dependent on who it comes from.
Under no circumstances should he ever refer to Luca as Terri’s “son”.
Seth hadn’t asked about “brother”, on account of that seemed really presumptuous.
And besides, Seth thought. The mere thought of even asking whether Luca might ever consider himself Seth’s brother made funny little bubbles fizz around in his stomach, like he was a can of cola that had fallen with a heavy thunk off of one of the supermarket shelves, and now he was whizzing around in sticky, dizzying spirals on the linoleum in Embarrassing Coke-Can Hell.
Or something.
A wave of clammy discomfort washed over him. Seth fiddled with the frayed threads at the edge of his sleeve.
But, then again, Seth supposed, trying his best to blend in with the loaves of bread —which wasn’t hard, because sliced bread was very boring, and Cas said he was the most boring person he’d ever met, so maybe Seth had been a loaf of bread in a past life or something, which would go a long way toward explaining his complete inability to ever have a normal conversation with anyone— it wasn’t exactly like he was an expert in being non-binary. He hadn’t even known that was a thing until a year or two ago.
Maybe Luca had just changed their mind about the “son” thing?
…or maybe not?
Ragged, grey threads drifted down onto the linoleum, littering the floor by his shoes.
He’d ask Terri about it again. Just to be sure.
Seth stopped by his room at the Nexus. Or rather, he tried to; he wound his way through the underground corridors, arriving outside his door only to have the keypad flash red when he tried to key in the pin code to his room.
He tried again.
“No Entry”.
Confused, he bumbled his way back through the labyrinthine halls, picking his way to Astoria’s office.
‘I had that room cleared out about a month ago,’ Astoria told him, waving him in. Her eyes pinched in mild confusion. ‘I had assumed your living situation with the O’Rinns had become something of a permanent arrangement.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
Astoria paused, her pen hovering above her documents. ‘Is it not?’
Eyes downcast, Seth shrugged. ‘I dunno,’ he mumbled.
He’d learned not to ask questions.
It always worked better when you were quiet. Helpful. Well-behaved. Didn’t ask too many questions. Questions were the kicker. As soon as you asked too many questions, that was when they dumped you back in foster care.
Or… the vampire den, in this case.
Astoria jiggled her pen between her fingers. ‘You’re not in the least bit curious?’
Seth scuffed the toe of his shoe on the floor and said nothing.
A quiet sigh slipped past Astoria’s lips. She flicked her paperwork aside. In all honesty, Seth couldn’t tell if something had her amused or if she was seconds away from throttling him; she shoved out of her chair, crossing her office in two quick strides to tug a duffel bag from a closet.
‘Here. The last of your things from your old room.’
Seth caught the bag on reflex. It was lighter than he’d expected, but that shouldn’t have surprised him, really. He’d never had that many belongings of his own.
‘I had it cleared out a few weeks ago,’ Astoria explained. ‘Remus is staying there for the time being. But, Seth?’
As much as he disliked doing so, Seth forced himself to make eye contact.
‘That doesn’t mean you aren’t welcome here, too, do you understand that? Family is who you choose to love, and trust, and protect. If you want that to mean the O’Rinns, as well as the Venandis… that’s okay.
Nice Astoria might be even more terrifying than Regular Astoria, Seth thought. She slipped back into her seat and he nodded.
‘Okay. Um. I should head home,’ he said by way of farewell, startled to realise he did actually think of the O’Rinn’s house that way. ‘Thanks, Astoria.’
Astoria smiled after him as the door swung shut.
Home.
What a concept.
‘Seth! Hi, dear!’
Terri was in the kitchen again when Seth arrived… home. She brightened as he entered, bustling over to steer him toward the dining table, where a plastic clam-shell container sat on the warm, age-scarred wood.
‘Here — look what I found at the supermarket!’
Seth took a seat. A number of cookies peered back at him from behind their glossy plastic shell; chocolate, vanilla, caramel, the flavours all mixed and patterned to look like little calico cats.
‘Oh,’ he said, quietly. Seth’s stomach felt all funny again, and he wasn’t sure why. ‘Wow, great. I’m sure Luca will love them.’
Terri’s head whipped around, confusion skewing her expression. ‘No, they’re for you, duckie!’
Fizzing cola can.
Thunking to the floor.
Spinning around and around and around and around and—
Seth stared blankly at the cookies. ‘But you said they were for…’
‘Have some now if you like!’ Terri said, his whispered words pitched too low for her human hearing. ‘Don’t ruin your appetite, though, I’ve got dinner on.’
Seth’s mind was reeling.
Terri hummed a mellow tune to herself as she skirted back behind the kitchen counter, her fingers brushing lightly over his hair as she went.
It seemed... important, somehow, to open the container quietly. The plastic crunched beneath his clumsy fingers, the clam-shell packaging popping open to jostle the cookies about on the tray, crumbs jumping everywhere.
Seth glanced up to see if he’d made Terri mad, but she seemed happy as ever, standing at the oven and tasting the sauce on the end of her wooden spoon, nodding quietly to herself.
Fingers trembling, Seth popped a cookie into his mouth. The first bite was sugary sweet against the wash of salt on the back of his tongue. He chewed slowly, gratefully, coughing against a throat grown tight.
‘So? What’s the verdict?’ Terri called over her shoulder. ‘Are they good?’
Seth sniffed, scrubbing his wet eyes on his sleeve before Terri could see.
‘Yeah. Um. Thank you, Terri, ’ Seth said. ‘They’re perfect.’
#SICSIG#cw food#choices immortal desires#immortal desires#terri o'rinn#seth olsen-cooper#choices fic writers creations#cfwc fics of the week#choices fanfic#playchoices fanfic
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RULES
Every form of work can be submitted: fanfiction, drabbles, moodboards, edits, drawings, poems, songs, sketches, and more—all are welcomed and encouraged, from any choices story or spin-off!
NO AI generated content of any type will be accepted for this month's event.
If your work is NSFW you must use the community label and appropriate warnings.
Please kindly use the tag #choicesmaychallenge24
Additionally PLEASE tag this blog @ChoicesMayChallenge24 so I can reblog and compile a master list!
Thank you!!
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Speaking of @choicesmaychallenge24 I have a prompt that I don't fully know what to do with so I want to put it out into the world. Aka ilitw fans I am PLEASING with you all to consider Dan Pierce and the myth of Cassandra. I offer these paintings:
And this song:
#choices may challenge#playchoices#choices#ilitw#it lives in the woods#it lives anthology#dan pierce#greek mythology#cassandra of troy#Spotify
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some cool inspo I found for this may monthly challenge: [The Gods of Mt. Olympus] photographed by Ana Martinez + styled by Mario Ville for Kattaca
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We're on Day 3 of KTAW now, and there are two amazing themes lined up for you!!
As everyone who has ever read the series knows, Kiara is a polyglot. With a real passion for languages. So much so that she has managed to learn not one, not two - but ten of them!!! So tomorrow, we will be focusing on Languages!
Kiara's home, Castelserraillan, is also well known for its vineyards. Her mother Joelle was the main force behind this particular passion, and the entire family has an extensive knowledge on the subject. In fact, Kiara had even told Drake once that she "prefers wine to cocktails". So it is only fitting that we have a theme revolving around the subject of Wine!
Any content is welcome!! Just make sure your work centers Kiara, and presents a positive depiction of her. Fic, art, meta, headcanons, edits, icons, interactive media, even simple character appreciation posts!! We also accept WIPs, so if your piece isn't entirely complete by the end of the week, fret not - you can still send us the WIPs!
The themes are simply inspirations. If you bring a piece for one of the days later, it's entirely okay...just make sure you tag the posts with the day you meant it for! We will always be keeping a bonus week in case you couldn't complete the piece during the week itself, so our official deadline for pieces will be June 1st!
We'd also like all of you to know that KTAW 2024 will be open ALL YEAR ROUND. So if you're unable to finish a piece before June 1st, pls do send it whenever you're ready to (and tag us!), and it will definitely be up on our masterlist!!
Be sure to follow these rules while making your posts:
1. Use the tags #kiaratheronappreciationweek and #KTAW in your posts. Make sure to tag the day as well (#KTAW Day 1, #KTAW Day 2, etc)
2. Tag @kiaratheronappreciationweek as well as hosts @lizzybeth1986 and @sazanes in your work!
Fan Community blogs are super important to our promotion of events, so we'd definitely love for you to check out some of these awesome blogs and their challenges:
@choicesficwriterscreations - Primarily fanfic and fanart (no AI allowed). Check out their rules and roster of events!
@choicesmonthlychallenge and @choicesmaychallenge24 - Any and all content welcome! This month's prompts are delightfully Greek mythology-themed!
@choicespride - Any and all content welcome, as long as it centers LGBTQ+ characters and/or themes! They will be hosting this year's pride event soon!
@choicesholidays - Any and all content welcome, as long as it is centered around one of the holidays listed! Currently, they are hosting Spring Fling!
@choicesprompts - Any and all content welcome! Currently no events, but you could check out all the cool stuff they've been up to so far!
@choicescommunityevents - Any and all art welcome as long as it is on-theme! Currently hosting the AAPI Heritage Month!
SO excited to see all your entries!!!
Happy Kiara Theron Appreciation Week, everyone!!
#kiara theron#the royal romance#the royal heir#the royal finale#kiaratheronappreciationweek#KTAW#KTAW 2024#KTAW Day 3#KTAW Day 3: Languages#KTAW Day 3: Wine
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Have a Punny Day
Premise: Cassie and Tobias go overboard with food puns.
Book: Open Heart
Pairing: Tobias Carrick, F!MC (Cassie Valentine); feat. Ethan Ramsey
Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff.
Words: 800
A/N: One of the readers on AO3 asked once if I'd consider writing a Tobias and Cassie interaction, similar to the food puns chapter in book 3. This fic is inspired by that ask.
Submission for @choicesmaychallenge24 prompt 'mania' for the use of too many puns and uncontrollable laughter. 😂
Cassie Valentine was run off her feet. As a third-year resident and junior fellow at Boston’s prestigious Edenbrook Hospital, her free time was increasingly being squeezed ahead of graduation. Suddenly, it seemed as if the faculty was determined to dump all their knowledge onto departing minds.
That would have been helpful when she was a clueless intern three years ago. But now, after working with Ethan Ramsey on the most complex medical cases and performing hundreds of procedures, she no longer needed to know when arterial was preferred over central venous line placement.
She scarfed down a banana she’d grabbed from the breakroom between patients and wished it was a chocolate bar instead. What possessed her to give up chocolate for Lent?
Max, that’s what. The bastard had dared her, and she’d fallen for his sneaky insinuations like the gullible idiot she was.
Swallowing down the last bite of the slightly mushy fruit, she disposed of the peel and headed toward the north elevator bank. The buzzing of her pager with a message to report to the Diagnostic Team office had her changing directions.
A short while later, she swiped the access card and rushed into the glass-walled office, breathless from her dash up three flights of stairs.
“Whoa. Cake it easy, Valentine,” Tobias Carrick called out in alarm from the conference table, forking up a chocolate cake.
Cassie watched him in bemusement. “Did you just say ‘cake’ it easy?”
“Oops. Must have had cake on my mind.” He toasted her with his fork, going back for seconds.
Cassie shrugged, joining him at the round conference table. “I’m a layer back kind of person, Carrick.”
Tobias grinned wolfishly. “Well, you’re butter than me.”
He saw her staring hungrily at the cake and pushed the plate toward her. “It’s Maureen’s birthday. I managed to confiscate this from the nurses’ lounge— with great difficulty, I might add. If they find out, I’m in dip chip.”
Cassie snorted at the pun. “What’s life without a few whisks, right?”
Tobias chuckled. “A little cheesy, but grate effort. Here, I grabbed two forks.”
Shaking her head, she pushed the plate away. “Thanks, but my brother challenged me to give up something for Lent. In my not-so-infinite wisdom, I picked chocolate.”
“Yogurta be kidding me!” His mouth dropped open. “I didn’t peg you for being religious, especially with Ethan being agnostic.”
“Anything’s pastable.” Cassie laughed, amused at the hypothetical scenario of Ethan going to church with her. “Besides, it’s not about religion——and if you tell my mother I said that, you’re a dirty, rotten liar,” she warned with a steely-eyed look, pretending to crack her knuckles for effect.
“Max just knows how to push my gumdrop buttons, and we made a bet. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of rolling in the dough,” she added with a secret relish.
Tobias raised his eyebrows. “If you’ve given up chocolate, you must feel pretty desserted.”
“Tell you what.” He pushed his chair back and picked up the paper plate. “Consider this a gesture of my friend-chip.”
So saying, he walked out the sliding glass doors and dumped the rest of the cake into the trashcan outside.
“You’re one in a melon, Tobias,” Cassie said, her lips curled in a friendly smile. “Donut let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“And another one bites the crust.” Tobias winked lasciviously, his voice dropping into a familiar flirtatious tone. “Knew my charm would rub off on you one of these days, Cassie. Admit it. I’ve got you wonton more.”
“Oh, beet it, Carrick!” Cassie burst into laughter, throwing her head backward.
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she tried to still the laughter, but it was a losing battle as Tobias joined her, his deeper chuckles mingling with her lighter ones.
When Ethan and Baz Mirani walked into the diagnostic team’s office a few minutes later, they came to a standstill and stared perplexed. The other half of the team was doubled over in their chairs; bodies wracked in uncontrollable laughter.
“Have you noticed how unruly the team has become since Carrick joined us?” Ethan mused, raising an eyebrow as he glanced from Cassie to Tobias.
Baz folded his arms, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, we could use a break from the usual grind of life and death.”
“I’ll never understand how one person can cause such chaos,” Ethan shook his head, crossing the carpeted floor to stand at the front of the conference table.
Noticing the others had joined them, Cassie and Tobias slowly collected themselves. Their laughter died down to occasional chuckles as they shared one final amused glance before turning to give their attention to Ethan, the levity of the moment settling into a comfortable workday hum.
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All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso
@mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16
@justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction
Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics
Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate
#open heart#ethan ramsey#ethan ramsey x mc#tobias carrick#open heart fanfics#open heart fanfiction#choices fanfic#choices fanfiction#choices fic writers creations#cfwc fics of the week#ethan ramsey x cassie valentine#choices open heart
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"I beg you, pass me by." ~ Trystan x Nora (crimes of passion)
WC: 700+ | Teen and up
Summary: Trystan, Nora & their love languages.
A/N: This was inspired by the differences in Medea's characterization in Euripedes's work versus Seneca's work. Also has some 'Soldier, Poet, King' by The Oh Hellos references to it. Tagging @choicesmaychallenge24 - Prompt from The Love of The Nightingale.
Banner cred: Hand Study, Nicolaas Pieneman (1809-1960)
How many different ways can you narrate a story? How many revisions would it go through in order to fit inside a book until everybody is happy with it?
If given a chance, how would Nora write it down? There was this certain callous attitude she possessed which warranted this horrible rot to take over her that maybe she wasn't devoted enough. How did she know that there were a million other ways to pledge her loyalty without it drawing a bit of her blood like it was some kind of an oath? Leaving a piece of her behind - a phone, a watch, a purse behind - to get money to pay back for her meal at a restaurant. How would she have had an opportunity to learn that tearing things down and ensuring the cycle kept going on, isn’t going to prove she was somehow any more devoted? After all, it still left her with more hatred anyway.
Love is how you heal. Healing is how you can say thank you. Set to the font of ‘live, laugh, love’ was a banner that was hung up outside a hospital room. God knows how many sleepless nights Nora had spent there only to receive bad news. You rip things apart to show your love. You skinned the tops of your knees until you lead your soccer team to a victory. Even at the face of betrayal - at the face of rage, scorn and a deep desire to vanquish everything, you don’t blame them. You blame yourself, cutting off the heads of the people you used to be, because that’s just the way it was.
This is how it was supposed to go. Nora can only narrate her story. It’s the anger that prompts her to love and makes her afraid, which leaves behind too many bruises to count. It’s the most devastating part, given Nora knew she wouldn’t have given Trystan a chance hadn’t he taken a stabbing to his stomach. She wouldn’t have looked back to pull him up from the ground and go after the masked assailant because it was the only thing she knew to do. This composed rage is the closest thing she would experience to love.
_
Trystan’s devotion was the one thing he could not veer it back to his principles. With shaky hands and a still hum in his ribs, the only thing that reminded him that he was somewhat human were the things he pledged loyalty to. An anomaly - an heir who wanted to do good, but cannot; following up with the promises his words had given but giving out at the last minute. Taking helpless breaths of air so he doesn’t take up space. Loud enough to feel alive but a pawn of the throne at the end of it. How would he have the faintest idea to show his devotion in a way that it didn’t require pledging his soul a little bit? Who could have taught him?
“I love my country and I love you. I love my job and I love you. I love my family and I love you. I love the world around me and I love you.” - a little hand clap game they’d made up as kids. Trystan would often fall out of sync with the person he played with the moment his wrists begin to ache after holding his palms up for so long. But he would still try. He would keep going on and on until he couldn’t hold a pencil anymore.This is how it was supposed to go — you held yourself like you were holding the world. It’s difficult for Trystan to remember if he was doing it out of love or for love.
Trystan long knew that he loved best only when all was taken away from him, when he was reduced to mere ashes did he love wholeheartedly. Only when he had no other roles to play, did he wish to show the love back. Perhaps hadn’t it been for Nora reminding him he was a mere fish out of the water in the few amounts of kindness she could spare, he would have been prompted to go back and fight against being affected by a fateful accusation. It was easier to blame in grieving, just as it was easy to love with all your heart when you grieved.
-
Tagging:
It’s difficult. Nobody’s happy with the book. This is how it was supposed to go.
___
perma: @stars-are-within-me @dutifullynuttywitch @thosehallowedhalls @tessa-liam @quixoticdreamer16
crimes only: @trappedinfanfiction @moominofthevalley
A/N: The differences between Medea's story through Seneca's writing and Euripedes's writing is vastly different. Euripedes writes Medea with great sympathy, as a human being and her unfortunate circumstances came with the kind of fate the gods chose for her. With Seneca's, her vengeance overpowers her. She doesn't need fate to do the choosing, she's happy to defy it and has no hesitation to do so.
Which of course reminded me of the Soldier and the King from 'Soldier, Poet, King', with words as a middle ground and miscommunication at the forefront. And hence this fic lol.
Thanks for reading <3
___
#trystan x nora#w:inlocusmads#trystan thorne x mc#playchoices#crimes of passion#crimes of passion fics
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I just couldn't let the first chapter stand. This story is not part of my headcanon. In my HC, Trystan is in tune enough with Carolina to know she'd consider an engagement premature at this stage. But, I can conceivably see Trystan wanting to propose for... reasons. So, I wanted to do a little fix it... and here it is in two parts. Oh, and since I can suck at getting subsequent parts up, part two will be posted later today. :)
Book: Crimes of Passion: The Proposal
Pairing: m!Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose (F!MC)
Characters: Ruby Webster, Luke Watanabe, Mafalda Ginovesi
Words: 2,074
Rating: Teen
Summary: Carolina makes an unexpected discovery in Trystan's kitchen, then runs out to seek advice from her friends.
A/N: Participating in @choicesmaychallenge24 Hera: Marriage
Part Two
Crimes of Passion Masterlist
Complete Masterlist
There’s something special about early mornings in New York City - before the sun peeks through the clouds and the first bird has yet to sing its song. It’s the only time you’ll find the City that never sleeps at rest and it can be intoxicating. But the serenity on the streets of New York at this early hour was nothing compared to the tranquility inside Trystan Thorne’s apartment.
There, he slept peacefully with the love of his life nuzzled closely at his side. But while Trystan was adrift in dreamland, he awakened Carolina from hers, courtesy of somniloquy, or as the masses would call it... talking in his sleep.
“Yes, Your Majesty... Right away... I’ll find it...”
Carolina opened her eyes with a smile; she had seen this show before and found it quite entertaining. It rarely had a repeat, so she never knew what was in store.
“Unhand me, you beast! Otherwise, I can’t promise the search will be thorough!”
She cocked a brow at that one, gently rubbing Trystan's back. “What the hell are you dreaming about, my prince.”
With a quick jerk, he rolled over, desperately reaching out in his sleep. “Don’t go, Carolina! I love you!”
The level of desperation in his voice tugged at Carolina’s heart, and she quickly pulled him into a protective embrace.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, kissing the top of his sleepy head. “You silly man. I love you, too.”
Still sleeping, Trystan's face visibly changed as he snuggled closer; peace and contentment were the rules for the day. Once she was certain he was sleeping soundly, Carolina decided returning to her slumber was the best thing to do, and she was just about to reach that goal when the ring of her phone jolted her awake. Not wanting to disturb Trystan, she lowered the volume and quickly tiptoed out of his room, grumbling the whole way. She saw Mafalda’s name on her screen and answered with an exaggerated yawn.
“Who’s dead?” she asked, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“If you’re calling me this early in the morning, I’m assuming someone died, and you need me to find out who did it.”
Mafalda’s sarcastic grin was so powerful Carolina could hear in her voice. “It doesn’t always have to be that deep... or tragic... But I have a case I want you to start on immediately.”
She went on to explain that one of New York’s wealthiest and most influential socialites had her dog stolen while strolling in Central Park; time was of the essence, and the heiress was willing to pay handsomely to have her precious poodle back home.
“Really?” Carolina asked. “This sounds like an easy payday to me!”
“I admire your confidence; now, see it through. The client’s name is Nina Ricci, and her address is....”
“Hold on a second,” Carolina replied, fumbling through a kitchen drawer. “I need to find a pen.”
Still groggy, she was quickly awakened when her fingers brushed over a soft, velvet box. Her heart stopped when she looked down—after all, she had only seen that color blue in movies... and she knew what it meant. It wasn’t nosiness as much as her detective’s acumen that made her open the box at once, and she gasped loud enough for Mafalda to hear when she saw what was inside.
“Carolina... are you OK?”
It was a ring. Not any old ring, but an engagement ring fit for royalty glistening in her hands.
“No... this... this can’t be....” she muttered.
“Carolina, what can’t be?”
“Oh, uh... Mafalda... it’s uh... it’s nothing. Uhm... I’ll be at the office within the hour.”
She hung up without waiting for a reply, her heart racing as she stared at the glittering gem in her hand.
“This can’t be...” she repeated. “He’s not planning on proposing... is he?”
She brought the ring closer, the radiant light it emanated assaulting her startled eyes. She had never been one of those girls who dreamed about engagements from childhood, so she couldn’t even begin to guess how many carats this was, though she knew it eclipsed the two-carat boulder that graced Mafalda’s left hand.
“This had to cost him more than I’ve earned in my lifetime,” she muttered. “This is crazy! And he has it in the kitchen drawer... the kitchen drawer. The man has, like... five safes in this apartment! And he keeps this in the kitchen drawer?”
She let out a shaky breath as a million thoughts raced in her mind. She’d be lying if she said she never thought about the two of them getting married...someday... in the future. The distant future, but this... this was far too soon!
“Is he really ready for this? Am I?”
A vision of Trystan on one knee appeared before her. He cradled the precious gem in his hand, and that sweet, doe-eyed look she had become unable to deny was all over his face. She broke into a sweat. She considered Googling her symptoms. Dizziness, nausea, and a rapid heartbeat could indicate many things, but she felt guilty for hoping to find "discovering an engagement ring in your lover’s kitchen drawer" among the culprits.
The sound of footsteps plodding down the hall pulled her from her panicked state. She returned the ring to the exact spot where she found it and grabbed a container of orange juice from the fridge. Jumping into a chair at the kitchen counter, she scrolled through her phone, attempting to look nonchalant.
That's where a groggy Trystan found her. "Look at you!" He mumbled as his arms encircled her. “It should be against the law to look that good so early in the morning.”
“Really?” She grinned. “You look pretty good in the mornings, too, sir. If they make it illegal, I would have to arrest you.”
“Kinky,” he growled. “As long as we’re in the same cell, I wouldn’t mind one bit.”
He shuffled to the counter to make a pot of coffee. “What are you doing up so early?”
“Mafalda called. She has a case for me. I’ll be heading into the office momentarily.”
Trystan’s face fell. “Today! But we just got back from Drakovia! Surely, Mafalda can spare you for a day!”
“You have a lot to learn about Mafalda... and what it’s like to be a working person,” Carolina grinned.
“Then it's time I learn. I’ll get dressed and go with you.”
“NO!” Carolina yelled, halting him in his path.
“Why? We are partners, aren’t we?”
“Uh, yeah. But Mafalda only requested me, and, uh, hon... life’s been a whirlwind lately. I think I need a few hours to focus on myself and my work... is that OK?”
“Of course it is. Maybe we could meet up later, at...”
“Oh, look at the time!” Carolina interrupted, planting a quick kiss on Trystan’s cheek before bolting toward the door. “I have to go! Talk to you later!”
“Carolina, wait...” he hollered after her, but it was pointless. She was already gone, and Trystan’s dazed look turned into one of pure amusement.
“I always knew it would be interesting to date an American,” he grinned, raising his coffee cup to his lips. “I just had no idea how interesting.”
~~~~~
A short time after, Carolina burst into the agency, startling Ruby and Luke, who were already there.
“Carolina,” Ruby chuckled. “Is someone chasing you?”
“Ruby!” a red-faced Carolina panted. “I need your help! I need your help right now! It’s an...emergency!”
“If it’s about finding the poodle, I’m not your woman. I don’t know much about dogs.”
“It’s not about the dog! It’s about the ring!”
Ruby scrunched her nose. “Did someone lose a ring?”
“No! No, it’s not about a lost ring; it’s about a FOUND ring! An engagement ring! In Trystan’s drawer!”
The room fell silent as the couple’s eyes grew wide. They exchanged a shocked look before Luke turned to his friend with alarm.
“You’re right. This is an emergency!”
“I know!” Carolina screeched, crumbling into a nearby chair. “This has never happened to me! What am I supposed to do with this?”
Ruby sat at her friend’s side, resting a comforting hand atop her knee.
“ Carolina, I realize this is... soon... and it's a bit of a shock, but the man you adore is planning on proposing. You may not be ready, but this isn’t exactly a tragedy.”
“Well, that depends on how you define tragedy,” Luke injected.
“Honestly, it’s not even all that surprising,” Ruby stated, glowering in Luke’s direction.
“It’s not?” Carolina questioned. “We’ve been together three months, Ruby!”
“Sure. But if you kept up with the latest royal gossip like I do, you’d know that royals operate a much different playing field than us mere mortals. Engagements tend to happen pretty quickly in their world. Granted, most of them are arranged, but still.”
“Well, I’m not a royal!” Carolina huffed. “And I haven’t talked to my Uncle Tommy today, but I’m comfortable saying that he hasn’t been having late-night conversations with Viktoria and Maksim to discuss my dowry!”
Anxiety overwhelming her, she jumped to her feet, pacing the floor furiously before her friends.
“Who does this! Who goes and buys a ring... a very expensive ring, from TIFFANY’S, I might add...”
“Oh! It’s from Tiffany’s!” Ruby cooed.
“.... without even talking about it first! In the year of our lord 2024!” She motioned for Luke to get out of his seat. “I need to sit... I’m hyperventilating!”
Knowing better than to fight her, Luke acquiesced. “Carolina, you could always just tell him you found the ring and, you know, talk about it like grown-ups?”
The three friends turned toward the sound of an exasperated sigh and found Mafalda leaning against the frame of her office door. She crossed the room and placed a steaming cup of coffee before her beleaguered employee. “You need to calm down.”
“How much did you hear?” Caronlina asked wearily.
“All of it.”
“You heard all of it, and you’re telling me to calm down!”
“Yes. Get yourself together! You’ve faced down mobsters, cult killers, and murderous evil brothers; for fucks sake, you can handle coming face to face with a ring in Trystan's apartment!"
“She has a point,” Luke agreed.
“Mafalda, you’re the only expert on marriage present,” Ruby interjected. “What advice do you have?”
“Please,” Mafalda scoffed. “The only marriage I’m an expert on is my own.” She turned to Carolina, arms crossed and a look that was both comforting and commanding on her face. “I know you love Trystan, but have you given any thought to marrying him?”
“I mean... maybe a couple times... in passing. But I imagined it the future... the distant future... Even if marriage was important to me, in the three months I’ve known him, we’ve been busy chasing down those killers and murders you mentioned... never mind clearing Trystan's name and keeping him out of a Drakovian prison! When would I have had time to be thinking about... marriage?”
Mafalda screwed her eyes shut as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You need to talk to him. He needs to hear these things from you, not us. Look, some people have whirlwind courtships, get married, and go on to have a beautiful life together, but Carolina, a marriage takes two people, and if you’re not ready for it yet... that’s fine. But tell him that.”
“Yeah, it’s not like he’s going to up and leave you if you say you’re not ready,” Luke added.
Carolina turned to him, and for the first time today the anxious look in her eyes was replaced with one of fear. “How... how do you know that?”
“Because I have eyes,” he half-smiled. “He’s crazy about you, and you’re crazy about him. Just... go get your timelines straight.”
“He’s right,” Mafalda agreed. I always say that if people in a relationship are honest and love each other, they’ll get through anything.”
Carolina gulped down the rest of her coffee, appearing more at ease than she had since this morning’s discovery. “You’re right. Now, do I tell him I found the ring and have this conversation with him now? Or wait until he proposes and say...no.”
“Offh! That’s a tough one,” Ruby jumped in. “You know Trystan... he’s go big or go home. If he’s proposing, I’m sure he has a flash mob planned.”
Carolina ran a hand down her face. "Thanks for that, Ruby," she groaned.
“You’ll have to make that call,” Maflada smiled, tossing a file Carolina’s way. “But you have some time to mull it over because, right now, you have a poodle to find.”
Part Two will be up later today. :)
@choicesficwriterscreations
#crimes of passion#crimes of passion choices#trystan thorne#trystan thorne x f!mc#crimes of passion the proposal#playchoices#choices fanfic#choices stories you play#playchoices fanfic#choices
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Reader Fatigue
Book: The Royal Romance
Rating: G
Pairing: Hana Lee x Kiara Theron
Word Count: 2, 501 words
Summary: Over a year after she has settled in with her wife in Cordonia, why does Hana not feel the same joy when she reads??
Tagging @hanaleeappreciationweek and @sazanes for HLAW Day 3: Bookworm, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW and LGBTQ Archive, and @choicesmaychallenge24 for the theme "Athena: Wisdom".
Three months.
Hana stirs in her bed, frowning drowsily at the abandoned book on her bedside table. The thought is small, fleeting, a tiny grain of doubt that could be swept away in the wind. Yet it persists, in the harsh, too-bright sunlight streaming in from the French windows in her bedroom, reminding her that it's mid-afternoon; the time she typically would use to enjoy a cup of tea and a light read.
Hana allows herself a small smile as the figure next to her groans and inches a little closer to her, her arms still wrapped loosely around her waist. It's usually Kiara who gets up earlier from their afternoon siestas, teasing her over wanting to read "when your eyes aren't even half-open yet, chérie!"
On weekends, Kiara would encourage her to sleep in a little more. She knew Hana would appreciate the opportunity to binge-read cover-to-cover - perhaps re-read if she really liked the material.
It's been three months now since she's been able to complete a chapter, much less a book.
Hana stretches, catlike, before blindly groping for the book she'd left abandoned on the bedside table. The Crown and the Flame. It's an abridged version, one she'd carried from her childhood home and always found herself devouring in less than two hours...yet somehow she hasn't been able to move past Dominic Hunter's account of his first encounter with a young Princess Kenna at a Beltane festival.
Hana wishes she know how - when! - it had come to this.
When she got married to Kiara last year, it was almost as if the floodgates had opened on everything. Whatever Esther had predicted in that patisserie in Paris - maybe you're fated to be a prim, girly girl adventurer who has unknown depths just waiting to be found! - seemed to be on the cusp of becoming a reality.
Back home in Shanghai, almost every morsel of literature Hana managed to devour was a guilty pleasure; she'd hidden books in secret corners, savoured words and worlds unknown underneath the comforting cocoon of a blanket, uttered half-truths to keep the more scandalous material out of her parents' hands, weaved happy endings and bright futures for favourite couples and charactes, long after she had put the books down.
Hana wonders now if half the fun, back then, was in the secrecy. If half the comfort had come from sharing space with Father and Mother, and knowing they would never truly be able to capture the joy she experienced from reading or make it their own. There was a freedom in that - and for Hana, any freedom would be a luxury to be savoured, like a bonbon from a visiting relative, savoured bite by tiny bite just so the pleasure could last a bit longer.
That shift in circumstances when she married Kiara, had been overwhelming. And perhaps the way she had just gone rogue the minute Kiara gifted her her own personal library, was to be expected.
No rules, no restrictions, no restraints on what she could or couldn't read. The cocoon of her blankets gave way to the vast expanse of her library, with its wide welcoming spaces, its winding staircases, its comforting, velvet seats that allowed her to sink into them, whenever she felt like having a reading marathon.
(Which was often).
Hana had spent so much of her childhood looking over her shoulder as she devoured her books, that the idea of just reading whatever the hell she wanted felt overwhelming. But she grabbed it. With both hands. And embraced the prospect. With all her heart. Hours and hours perusing over every possible scrap of reading material she could find - history, mythology, mystery fiction, true crime, even gothic horror (which she didn't expect to wholeheartedly love the way she does now!).
Whenever the two of them got even a sliver of free time, Kiara would come to expect that Hana would suggest sneaking into the library first.
(For a reading session? To ravish each other against the bookshelves, sending an entire pile of French Renaissance literature tumbling to the floor? Both possibilities held equal appeal)
Hana would even give the occasional gossip rag the once-over, though the abysmal editing and the awful typos made her grit her teeth on occasion.
It was glorious. Novels, poetry, essay collections, her favourite mythological retellings. There was nothing Hana wouldn't read; this library was her oyster. Some evenings when Kiara came home later than Hana did, she wouldn't even bother searching anywhere else in their manor - she'd just make a beeline to the library.
That was a year ago.
Wearily, Hana places a bookmark (handmade, laminated, with pressed dried flowers she had selected herself) on the very page she'd opened, letting out a soft sigh. It's almost as if - after the exhilaration of reading whenever and whatever she liked - her brain has decided it's had enough, and has shut down.
In the first two weeks of this strange predicament, Hana had tried to put it down to different things. Overwork, or the aftermath of juggling all her new roles and all the new skills she'd managed to learn. Perhaps her reading has suffered because she doesn't have the time.
But she knows in her heart that that isn't quite true. Hana isn't sure she has been as free in her life as she has been these past few months. Her calendar has been freed up considerably; she's managed to have more romantic dates with Kiara in the past month than they'd had all year. It can't be a lack of time or even general fatigue, because these days she doesn't do much else that taxes the mind.
No - she has the time. She has the resources - thanks to Kiara, far too much of the resources. And there's no question that she has the desire to keep reading. She just can't ever bring herself to finish.
As she places the book, dully, back on the bedside table, Hana feels a slender arm snaking its way around her waist, a chin nestling against her shoulder with a murmur of approval.
"Mon ange," Kiara whispers, her voice rough, grainy, deep, like freshly-ground coffee. She plants a kiss on Hana's shoulder, lacing their fingers together.
Lazily, Hana turns in Kiara's arms and moves her hands so she can lightly finger her curls, marvelling at how soft they feel in her hands. Kiara takes a long, hard look at Hana as her vision clears, probably wondering what she's hiding. Hana wishes her wife wasn't so good at guessing when something doesn't feel right.
She tries hard to school her features into something more neutral - more fitting for someone who just woke up and wasn't ruminating over something she has lost - but Kiara has never been that easy to fool.
"Everything's okay?" Kiara says, "You've been looking a bit...off for the past few weeks."
Hana looks down, pretending to busy herself with the crocheted fringes of the blanket. Could she laugh it off? Claim that her wife is probably overthinking, that she is worrying over nothing?
Because in the grand scheme of things, it is nothing. She's been doing well. She's never been happier than she is now - she has a home, a purpose, a wife she is madly in love with, passions that she's never felt more free to pursue!
She curses herself as she begins to feel that tell-tale burn in her throat. Struggling to read a book shouldn't affect her this much.
She looks up at Kiara, and almost begins to lie. But Hana knows she's not the best of liars, that most times her eyes give her away. Kiara's fingers are already moving towards the corners of her eyes, brushing the teardrops away.
Hana sniffles. "It's silly."
"Humour me," Kiara nudges her gently. "I don't care how stupid it sounds."
Hana sighs, and tells her. Midway through it all, Kiara props up two pillows against the bedstand and gets them to sit up, Hana safely ensconced in her arms. She tells Kiara everything. How much joy she'd had every time she'd picked up a book. How that joy would spring up double fold if it was about something she barely understood. How easy it was, a year ago, to speed-read the first time, then savour re-reads. How - whenever she felt a little bit naughty - she'd read a book backwards, from the last chapter to the first; giggling as she came to the beginning of the book knowing how it would end.
How...of late...she can find no fun, no joy, in turning to the next page - much less the end of a book.
"It's a stupid, stupid thing to worry about," Hana rails on, "I can just imagine my people at Krysanthe looking at me and shaking their heads and thinking 'oh, the Duchess and her first-world-problems'."
Kiara laughs gently, snuggling Hana closer to her. She passes a small handkerchief to her free hand. "That's all of us, with our people. And they're not completely wrong - of course our lives have always been far better and easier than theirs...most times through their labour. But that doesn't mean that you have to ignore things that confuse or distress you, ma moité." Her hand caresses Hana's shoulder in an attempt to give comfort. "And learning that a pastime so beloved no longer gives you the joy you always got from it...is bound to confuse you."
Hana blows her nose into the handkerchief. "I think a part of it is that...I'm beginning to wonder if I was lying to myself about loving reading books, this whole time."
She takes a deep breath, running her hands back and forth over the soft blanket for comfort. "And if I did...what else have I been lying to myself about? What else will I find I don't like, now that my parents can't dictate the way I live my life? Fashion? Poetry? Music??" Hana takes in a deep breath, almost shocked at the things she's revealing because she hardly ever allowed herself to dwell upon any of this before, much less say it out loud. "What if there's nothing that I liked that I can't put down to parental pressure? What if I keep unraveling, and peeling off, everything I thought I was and find that I'm...well...nothing?"
For one moment, Kiara's eyes seem to search her face, frowning deeply. Then her body goes slack, only her hands enfolding her in a tight, comforting hug. She sighs softly against Hana's hair. "Oh, Hana."
For several minutes, Kiara says nothing - just cradles Hana in her arms, rocking her back and forth, her hands moving in a light caress up and down her spine. When she feels Hana go calmer, she moves her hands to her face, cupping her cheeks.
"What you're facing right now...that's something almost every book lover will have gone through, sometime or other. Especially if their passion was something they had to keep a secret, and they suddenly find that they're no longer bound by any rules or restrictions."
Hana raises her eyes to Kiara's face. "Even you?"
Kiara laughs. "I'm not exactly as passionate about reading as you are, but I've seen that fatigue in Baba often. And I've faced that often with my translation work too. It's what happens when you haven't learnt yet how to regulate your passions. You do too much, you overtax your mind. And maybe this phase...maybe it's your brain and your body screaming for you to find a little bit of balance, darling."
It's now Hana's turn to frown. "What do you mean?"
Kiara's eyes dart upwards, in that way it does whenever she is pondering deeply over the best way to convey a thought. And then she suddenly smiles, almost as if she's found the perfect way to get it across. "You do love chocolate, don't you?"
Hana takes a long, hard look at Kiara's face, then bursts into delighted laughter. "Well, it's impossible to argue about or deny that!"
"What if you gave yourself unlimited access to it...no restrictions, no holds barred, allowing yourself to have as much of it as you've wanted all the time? Would it always taste the same?"
Gazing into her wife's face, Hana marvels at how perfect this analogy is. How fitting. "Of course not. I'd maybe even grow a little sick of it at some point!"
"Does that mean you'd been lying to yourself about loving it this whole time?"
Hana throws back her head and laughs, a full-throated joyful sound this time. "You could even say I'd probably get back to remembering how wonderful it tasted if I spent a little time away from it."
Grinning, Kiara bumps her forehead playfully into Hana's. "Only a bookworm would understand a metaphor that quickly. I wasn't even halfway through explaining that."
Hana slips her hands into Kiara's curls again, just the way she knows her wife likes it. She lets out a watery giggle. "That's very nice to hear."
Kiara exhales and shakes her head. "So much has changed for you, Hana. And it isn't your fault that you found freedom in a thing you loved and pushed yourself into it so much. It's natural for someone who was expected to live her entire life on someone else's terms." She holds one of Hana's hands tight within her own. "When we got married, you approached your reading the way a child would approach a shop full of bonbons for the very first time. Now you're learning the more adult way of doing it - enjoy it... but never too much all at once."
Smiling, her eyes a tiny bit watery, Hana gently cups her wife's chin. "So wise, for one so young," she teases gently.
Kiara playfully punches her arm, pursing her lips in muffled laughter. "Stop sounding like my Baba and act more like my mrati."
In higher spirits now, Hana gives Kiara a quick kiss, then makes a move to get off the bed. "All this talk of chocolate is making me hungry. What do you say I make us a mug each of my special hot chocolate, now that it's almost teatime?"
Kiara smiles, sighing in relief. These are not the words of a woman who is trying to move away, unsuccessfully, from thoughts that disturb her, or an attempt to change the subject. Just a sign that her intrusive, self-flagellation thoughts are moving in a different direction. A better direction.
She nods, eagerly. "Hayati," she says, giving her wife a saucy grin, "when have I ever said no to your hot chocolate?"
--
Translations:
Ma moité - French for "my other half"
Hayati - Darija/Arabic for "my life"
Mon ange - French for "my angel"
Baba, Mrati - Moroccan Darija terms for addressing one's father and wife, respectively
A/N: Post the pandemic I've been struggling a lot with my reading, and had a lot of the same questions my Hana had running in my head. I guess this fic was an attempt to make sense of that, but using Hana's post-marriage context as a springboard.
#hana lee#the royal romance#the royal heir#the royal finale#hanaleeappreciationweek#HLAW#HLAW 2024#HLAW Day 3#HLAW Day 3: Bookworm#lizzybeth1986#content: fanfic#hana lee x kiara theron#series: petals and thornes
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