choicesmaychallenge24

[choicesmaychallenge24]

Book: Crimes of Passion

Pairing: M!Trystan Thorne & Lydea Thorne

Rating: General audiences

Word count: 1151

Summary: "How can you tell when Lydea's happy?" "Her threats to kill you become more whimsical."

A/N: I wondered how Trystan got to know Lydea enough to be able to tell when she's happy. This was meant to be an entry for @choicesmaychallenge24, prompt: Apollo and Artemis, but I missed the deadline by a mile. Submission for @choicesjunechallenge2024, prompt: midnight.

It begins with an end.

The bitter, violent end of one relationship. The trembling beginning of another.

The night after Vasili’s arrest, Trystan finds Lydea swinging a flask of vodka in the gardens. He pulls out his own flask (why did he not know they share the same make-me-forget drink?) and settles next to her in silence. Before long, however, he knows he has to ask the question that has occupied his mind for the last few days.

“Why were we never close?”

Lydea gives him that look. The one that strikes cold fingers of fear in hearts everywhere. “We’ve been over this?”

“Have we? I’m a scant year older than you, we might as well be twins. Yet it feels like we’re decades apart.”

“If you try to pull some big brother bullshit on me…”

Trystan laughs and takes another swig of vodka. “God forbid. If anything, you’re the one who gives off big sister vibes.”

“I can live with that,” she decides.

He sobers. “Maybe it’s more appropriate to say it feels like we’ve always been continents apart.”

“Maybe we would’ve known each other better if we’d spent more time together.” She shrugs. “But we all know how adept you were at getting out of your responsibilities.”

“Guilty, I suppose.”

After a beat, she inclines her head, the tiny crescent moons in her ears catching the slanting moonlight. “You were Father’s favorite.”

“I… was?”

“If you tell me you haven’t noticed, I will poison you with this belladonna over there.”

This has never occurred to him before. Oh, he knows he’s one of their father’s favorites. But… “You mean it was sibling rivalry?”

“Maybe. I was only seven.”

“And I was eight. You can’t hold it against me forever.”

Lydea considers this. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Will you look at that? I fear the end times are nigh.”

“I wasn’t making an idle threat earlier, Trystan.”

“Do you ever?”

Satisfied, she tips her flask to him. “Not a chance.”

He makes it a point to seek her out. Nearly every day, he hunts her down in her office. She’s stopped asking what he’s doing days ago. Instead, she’s skipped straight to telling him to leave.

“You can’t have this much free time,” she explodes.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m swimming in free time now that I dumped that crown on you.”

“You’re still a prince. I know I’ve given you tasks to fulfill before you fly back to the States.”

“Are you accusing me of shirking my duties?”

She presses her fingers to her temples. “Believe it or not, no. I know you’re carrying out all your appointments. Just like I know you’re spending an appalling amount of time with New York…”

“Are you ever going to call her by name?”

“… And your friends. How do you have time to pester me?”

“You’re my little sister. It’s my job to pester you. I’ll make time.”

There’s a flash of movement, and suddenly she’s holding a dagger to his throat. “Want to say that again, dear brother? I know how to stab a man in twenty-seven different ways.”

“You wouldn’t kill me.”

Lydea files her nails on the dagger. “You think so?”

“You wouldn’t risk the scandal so soon after taking the throne.”

“Think you know me so well, do you?”

His smile breaks out like the sun. “I’m starting to.”

It’s midnight when he awakes from a particularly bad nightmare, sweat gathering in his lower back. Emma mumbles next to him, her hand resting above his heart. Trystan takes a deep breath, grounding himself in her touch. He doesn’t attempt to go back to sleep. Even if he could, he knows it would only bring back the nightmares.

Juliana standing on the deck of the yacht. Bas leaning against the rail of the private box. Both glaring at him with accusation in their eyes.

How could you let this happen to us?

So no. Sleep isn’t an option.

He slips out of bed, careful not to wake Emma. Not that he should bother, he thinks with a small smile. When she’s this far gone, a herd of elephants wouldn’t be able to wake her.

When Trystan walks out of his suite, he doesn’t know where he’s going. The gardens, maybe? They provided some much-needed respite a few days ago. He crosses the secret passage, doing his best not to think about the lethal dagger that lay here not a month ago.

“What are you doing?”

He starts. “Jesus, Lydea. Warn a man next time, will you?”

She shrugs, unapologetic. “Your own fault if your reflexes are lapsing. Why are you not sleeping?”

“Look who’s talking. Insomnia?”

“Hardly.” She tilts her head. “You?”

“No.” He blows out a breath, aware that he’s opening himself up to her mockery. But… he no longer thinks Lydea would mock his weaknesses. “Nightmares.”

“Ah.”

“What about you?”

She hesitates. “This is the only time I have to myself.”

“If you regret taking the throne…”

“I don’t.” She says it with such absolute certainty that it leaves no room for doubt. “Not at all. I’m...”

He bites back a smile when she twitches. “… Happy?”

“I don’t do happiness.”

“Is that so? Because I noticed something, these past few days.”

“Is that so?” She mimics.

“Mmhmm. I think, sister…” He pauses for emphasis. “I’ve cracked your code.”

“What is my code?”

“When you’re happy…” Trystan grins when she snarls. “Your threats become very whimsical.”

“My threats?”

“They used to be very run-of-the-mill. I’ll kill you, you’ll suffer, blah blah. But now you’re creative.”

“Oh yes. A real artist. I’ll make an oil painting and shove it down your throat. Let’s see if you can be a smartass when you’re choking to death.”

He holds out a hand. “I rest my case.”

Lydea will deny it to her dying breath, but Trystan is sure that her lips twitch ever so slightly.

“Leaving?”

Trystan nods. “Just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Don’t get maudlin on me,” she warns. “That’s not my style.”

“You’re telling me.” He adjusts the carry-on slung over his shoulder. “Do try not to arrest me again in the future. That’s not a tradition I’d like to set.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t bother arresting you. If you misbehave, I’ll just sic our siblings on you.”

He makes a face. “Noted.”

“What are you going to do over there?”

“Work at the agency. Be with Emma.” A pause. “Live.”

“Tell your boss to reach out if she ever needs a list of ways to put you in your place.”

“Always so accommodating.”

“Hey, I grew up with you. I know what a pain in the ass you can be.”

“Speaking of being a pain in the ass, how would you react to a hug?”

“I’ll kill you,” she says simply.

He tilts his head. “No embellishments this time?”

She glares at him.

Trystan smiles. “I’ll miss you too.”

[choicesmaychallenge24]

“I put men first in pity, then found there was none left for me.” ~ Trystan Thorne, Sebastyan Thorne (crimes of passion)

WC: 1.3k | Teen and up for strong language

Summary: Sebastyan discards his loyalty and finds himself with no purpose.

A/N: This is ofc a very late entry to @choicesmaychallenge24 but this has been gnawing at my head for a good few days lmao. The title is taken from Prometheus Bound - hence the Prometheus and Epimetheus imagery. I don't know if I did a good job since this was very rushed but I hope you enjoy! Banner cred: Prometheus cautioning Epimetheus against Pandora by Walter MacEwen (1860-1943).

Trystan had always insisted he be loud. That Sebastyan demand for things of his own. After all, it got his eldest brother an opportunity to clean up, be less like Father in a few odd ways - but then again, he was even more comfortable with walking straight back into the trap and ensnaring himself against the hook. A demand so in character for a king. So Bas would try to be loud and he would be given a purpose, something to be revered for, something to be loved unconditionally for - but it was only means to fight others’ battles for them. A fool through a few eyes for being too loud. An afterthought.

In the last and perhaps, the only conversation that had gone past a few minutes that he would have with his eldest brother, he had cursed him.

“I don’t understand, Trystan. I personally think — you see — I could really use your support.”

“Do you still think I killed Juliana?”

“Oh— to hell with h—” he composed himself. “To hell with you. Let’s not go there. But I love you, I do. I do, okay? I believe in you.”

Bas’s words sounded so foreign; so unlike him to his own ears. It was likely he’d dreamt the whole thing up - the comfort from imagining he’d loved his brother. Sparse miracles like that. It almost made them both sound like honourable people. Sebastyan couldn’t tell if it happened today or a few years ago or somewhere in the utopian, ideal world of his that made everyone in his family think he was just that foolish. Then again, how many times do you really get to say thank you?

Sebastyan didn’t think Trystan would live to see 50. Something about him being the first child, the last of the barrel. He didn’t think he would get to grow old himself. Ambition grew on him like fungus. He didn’t have a lot of time. But he did believe in his brother, even if he didn’t believe in him. Even if they all thought he was a joke, only as important as the people he associated with. He loved his family in a way that he’d given them too much love when he was a child and didn’t have any left.

“Do you think you can — does he know I’m there?”

Everyone knew Sebastyan Thorne was a hopeless case. There was no war he wouldn’t fight for someone else to plant a vote for himself deep within its roots. Every fight must happen because of him and every fight shall end with him as a mediator. He has to. After all, without a good fight, they wouldn’t have a reason to hate him so much. Perhaps he wouldn’t be thought of as hopeless or a forgotten fourth sibling, rather a ruthless killer. Someone who gives until he dies early, so they would have something to talk about him.

‘Does he know I’m there?’ — do you think Father might stop to think the first few children he had were mere imperfect, burned cakes out of the oven? Do you think he knows I will do anything, that I possess a capability for love so much I can’t tell if it is really that genuine? Do you think he knows I will follow him and the crown around like a dog bred to fight in a ring? Will he give me a chance one day? That I will do anything for it, even bleed out young? That he knows I am an honest fool for willingly throwing myself in a trap? That he might see something in me?

“I think so. Maybe. I think he sees everyone.”

“Right, yes, that makes sense. Perhaps you can help me.”

“I am not of much help these days, Bas.”

“Sure you can. You think I can do a good job, right? Everyone thinks you are some kind of a — fallen hero or something. That you have taken the full extent of the wrath. I still see you.”

“I appreciate it. But do you think it is a little too soon to ask me for a recommendation letter?”

“Anything helps, Trystan. I will do anything.”

A flash of a look of authority went through Trystan’s face like lightning. Their eyes lit up with a sense of importance. Bas knew the look all too well. Shoulders relaxed, head held up, a dejected look that blended away into something more stoic. A tightening against the leash. Perhaps it was Bas’s own unadulterated loyalty or maybe he really was such a fool for telling his family he would do anything if they could perhaps, throw a glance his way but there was something about Trystan’s posture that said he was too important to give his brother attention. That Sebastyan cannot possibly be more than what he was always worth. That he wouldn’t be mourned so quickly, only regretted in hindsight. Even if he were loud as his own siblings had suggested, even if he walked the earth like a Titan - the aftershocks wouldn’t be enough to kill anyone.

“I think he isn’t going to give it to you. He already has plans to give it to me.”

“But you are going to say no, right?”

“I don’t know.” Trystan shrugged. “I might give it a chance. It is my penance, after all.”

“I don’t see it as such. It is upto us to take care of the house when they’re gone. It’s an opportunity. Unlike you, I actually have some skin in this matter - some experience. I also hope for all good things too. The family can use me. Someone like me, at least. Maybe I’m just too kind sometimes, you know? I’m sure I am not Father’s favourite, but I can do something with my time here, Trystan.”

“Remember the time when we were kids, we — erm, went for a picnic or something - I forget, but I remember you fed stray dogs all the chocolate your Mother gave you, because one of them liked it?”

“Do you really think so little of me?”

“You’re too loyal sometimes that you get swayed with even the slightest bit of hope. I mean it as a compliment, by the way. It’s nice when people like us can be kind. I’m sure Father appreciates it and I am certain he has something special for you. But then again, if you really do want it —” Trystan wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead, “— I will see to it that he thinks about choosing you. I make no promises, Bas, but you’re better than us.”

“It’s a no, then.”

“I said I will try.”

“Fuck you.”

“— if not what you want, I will ensure you have a good, stable future, all right?” Trystan clasped Bas’s hands in his in a prayer position. Sebastyan knew people keep him around just to make themselves feel like their demands were more reasonable. Trystan wanted to be out of the cage, yet with a crown on his head. But next to Bas’s deep desire to be given a chance, even if it took the form of an approving glance from a father who wouldn’t spare him any thought, even in hindsight, Trystan’s aspirations seemed plausible. A good future was nothing. What would his purpose even be?

Maybe I am too loyal. Maybe I do think the nicest things for people. Maybe I do fight like a guard dog even if I have no caretaker. Maybe someone is listening and they aren’t impressed. Maybe they want me to have razor sharp teeth to tear everybody’s flesh off. What kind of battles do they like best and where should I get good enough to bear my teeth and have bets placed on me? How loud should I bark?

“Trystan, I hope you fucking die.”

____

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I do plan on writing some more mythology-centered fics even after May - here's to hoping the inspiration strikes lol.

Also I don't have a specific timeline for this fic. I just think this happens a few moments after Trystan is named successor but they're uncertain about it themselves, so maybe somewhere middle of Book 2.

Tagging:

perma: @stars-are-within-me @dutifullynuttywitch @thosehallowedhalls @tessa-liam @quixoticdreamer16

crimes only: @trappedinfanfiction @moominofthevalley

[choicesmaychallenge24]

MASTERLIST

Thank you sooooo much everyone who participated, I've so lived seeing all your creative works 🙇🥹✨💕

@inlocusmads

"Of most dreadful suffering, I am the cause"

"In childbirth grief begins"

"Let me not then die ingloriously, and without a struggle"

"I beg you, pass me by"

@lizzybeth1986

Reader Fatigue

Rose Gold

A Child of Babel

@liaromancewriter

Scenes From A Marriage

It Happened One Miami Night 1/5

It Happened One Miami Night 5/5

Have A Punny Day

Miracles

@rosesnink

All For Love

@gaiuskamilah

Hades and Persephone

@oh-so-youre-a-nerd

I need to know

"O what will she do, a should bitten into with wrong?"

(You look back)

@thosehallowedhalls

Glorious or terrible, benevolent or full of wrath

@jerzwriter

Mostly Pleasant Surprise

A Rose and a Thorn

@choicesmc

Swear A False Oath, I Dare You

Home is with Her (But You're Close Enough)

Let This Be My Punishment

@aria-ashryver

A Pinch of Sugar

[choicesmaychallenge24]

Mostly Pleasant Surprises Fanart

It only took me three years of writing for my beloved Tobias & Casey to share how they finally got together and stayed there! That moment had to be capped off with a commission, and that commission had to be by @/artbyainna (IG) who, of course, captured it perfectly!

This wasn't their first kiss, it wasn't even their first attempt at dating, but it was just after the kiss that sealed the deal for the rest of their lives. ❤️

Side note: I gave Ainna the vision and told her to do her thing. I did not ask for Tobias's hand on her butt, but OMG how perfect is that. She said it just felt right! lol So I incorporated it into their HC. The butt grab is now part of their official lore, and I LOVE Ainna for it! lol

Mostly Pleasant Surprises MasterlistTobias x Casey MasterlistMy Full Masterlist

@openheartfanart @choicesficwriterscreations

Participating in @choicesmaychallenge24 Passion, Celebration &

Tagging others separately.

[choicesmaychallenge24]

Mostly Pleasant Surprises 4 / 4 And that's what happened...

This is the final installment of "how they finally got together." 😊 🎊🎈🍾🎊🎈🥳🥳🍾🎊🎈🍾🎊 You have no idea how happy I am that this is finally on 'paper'!

Book: Open Heart (Book 2 Timeline) Pairing: Tobias Carrick & Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 5,000

Series Summary: It's been months since the chemical attack, and "kind of" exes-turned-friends Tobias & Casey have been stubbornly denying their growing feelings for each other. But when a series of events threatens to come between them, will they find their way back together?

Part 4 Summary: Their friends have given up. Misunderstandings, misassumptions, and good old-fashioned fear lead to turbulence and turmoil for Tobias and Casey, but after a week of no contact, only one of them seems to be hurting, at least on the surface. Tobias is determined to move on, but will his haste put a nail in their coffin or help bring them back together?

A/N: It's finally done!!!!! Did I mention how excited I am? 🥳🥳🥳 I don't care if no one else cares, I CARE, and it's done! My babies deserve this! :) Participating in @choicesmaychallenge24 We've got wine, passion and "Good night, my love."

Series Masterlist || Tobias x Casey Masterlist Full Masterlist

Showing up early to work wasn’t out of character for Dr. Carrick, but showing up at 7:00 AM when his shift began at noon could only mean one thing...  he couldn’t sleep. When his good friend, Sasha, realized he was already there at this early hour, she headed to Caffe Bene and purchased two cups of matcha latte. It was her hope that frothy green beverages would be part of a celebration and not something to lift his spirits, but to play it safe, she added his favorite honey bread to her order, just in case comfort food was required. She smiled when she stepped into his office, assuming her worry was for naught when she found him in such good spirits.

“Hey,” she smiled. “I got our favorite!”

“Awesome!” Tobias grinned. “That’s a big improvement over the Lipton tea bag I was about to brew.”

“You’re in a good mood so early in the day,” Sasha noted. “Is there a reason?”

“Sure is! I’ve got a big date on Saturday.”

“Really!” She squealed. “YES! You and Casey finally got your shit together! Now, give me the details! Where are you taking her? It better be someplace nice!”

Tobias took a long sip of his tea and slouched back in his Italian leather chair.

“Who said anything about Casey?”

“You said date... so I assumed... if not Casey... who?”  

“Sophia,” he smiled to his friend’s consternation.

“Sophia? Who the fuck is Sophia?”

“I guess I hadn’t mentioned her. I treated her sister in the ER a couple months back...remember the gymnast from BU?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Her sister broke her leg during practice, and Sophia made it abundantly clear that she wanted to show her appreciation. I never called her because... well... I just didn’t. But last night, I figured, what the hell. Now... Saturday night, it is.”

“Jesus,” Sasha groaned, grabbing a slice of honey bread for herself. “You’ve spent the past eight months talking my ear off about Casey. Why the change up?”

“Because eight months is a long time, and Casey’s made it clear that she doesn’t want me that way. So, I’m done acting like some pathetic, lovesick schoolgirl. I don’t know what came over me to begin with.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Sasha insisted. “Love, you idiot. Love came over you.”  

“Exactly!” He snapped his fingers. “Something I’ve always done my best to avoid, and it’s time I get back to that.”  

“Tobias...” Sasha groaned.

“Tobias, nothing. This isn’t fun, Sash. All this time hoping for something that will never be, just to get my heart ripped out? Nuh-uh. I want to have fun again, and Sophia... she’s a sight to see. She’s up for partner at WilmerHale, and she’s sexy as hell. Old Tobias would have jumped on that months ago, and new Tobias is lucky dragging his ass didn’t ruin his chances.”

“So you’d rather be with Sophia than Casey?”

“Look... I don’t love Sophia, and I don’t want to. I want to kick back and have fun. Eight months pining over Casey – longest goddamn dry spell of my adult life – nope. I’m done.”

“T,”  Sasha cringed. “I don’t need to know every detail of your life.”

“Trust me, I wish I didn’t know that little stat either! It’s time to get back in the game.”

“Did you even give Casey a chance to explain what you saw?”

“I know what I saw.”

“But it doesn’t sound like Casey at all. And... even if she was on a date... you two weren’t a couple. Tell her how you feel, and I guarantee she’ll forget about this other dude in a nanosecond.”  

He pushed back from his desk, the bravado he was trying so hard to portray beginning to crack.

“Sorry, but after all the time we spent together, all the kisses and her ‘I’m just not ready yet’ professions....”

“Wait! The what?”

“Irrelevant!” He snapped. “If she’d rather be with some mid-white-bread radiologist from Edenbrook, she can have him.”

“Tobias, would you listen to yourself!”

A knock on the door distracted them, and Aurora entered the room, to Sasha’s delight. Feeling the tension, Aurora looked nervously between the two friends and colleagues.

“What’s going on here?”

“Nothing work-related,” Tobias grumbled. “Sasha was just leaving.”

“Tobias, you’re such an idiot!” Sasha turned to Aurora. “Perhaps you can reinforce that after I leave?”

“Uh...he is my boss.”

“And I’m in hospital administration. I can have you transferred to another attending tomorrow.”  

“Really?” Aurora grinned. “We may have to talk.”

“Hey!” Tobias yelled. “She’s my best resident! Emery, sit down! You’re not going anywhere. Goodbye, Sasha.”

After reviewing their morning cases, Aurora silently looked over her notes as Tobias grew increasingly restless. He tapped his pen against his desk incessantly before blurting, “What?”

Aurora looked around in confusion. “What, what?”

“Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking and get it over with.”

“Because I have nothing to say. But if you plan on asking me about Casey, don’t. I’m jumping off the Tobias & Casey train.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not discussing her with you, nor talking about you with her. You two could drive the sanest person crazy, and I’m done.”

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

But Tobias was anything but fine. No matter how hard he tried to focus he turned to Aurora again after a few minutes of typing jibberish.

“Was Casey all right last night?” he asked out of nowhere. Aurora didn’t even look up from her laptop.

“If you’re so curious, I suggest you call her and ask.”

“I don’t want to talk to her. I just want to know if she’s OK.”

“Then it seems you have a problem. Because, as I said, I got off that train. Especially since you’ve got a date with someone else this Saturday.”

Tobias looked up, stunned. “How... how did you know....”

“Your voice carries Dr. Carrick,” Aurora said, shutting her laptop with a thud. “I could hear you and Sasha talking halfway down the hall.”

“All right, so I have a date. I’m single; what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Aurora agreed.

“Then, why the attitude?”  

“Because I don’t get you. You’re one of the most intelligent people I know, a brilliant doctor, but when it comes to Casey, you act like a twelve-year-old. I understand this is probably predicated on fear and past issues, but if you don’t talk soon, you’ll both live to regret it.”

“There’s nothing to say; we’re just friends.”

“Fine,” Aurora rose to her feet. “Then don’t ask me about her. I like and respect you, Tobias, but mention Casey again and I’ll be talking to Sasha about that transfer.”

“You wouldn’t,” he challenged as Aurora reached the door.

“Oh no? Try me!”

~~~~~

Saturday night at eight o’clock, Casey was home from work and was eager for her own big plans: sweatpants, the couch, a pint of Haagen Dazs ice cream, and a spoon. Her friends would be there, too, she reminded herself, so it wasn’t that pathetic.

How the past week had dragged at a snail's pace yet also went by in a flash remained a mystery to her. But not communicating with Tobias since Sunday likely inspired the former. This was the longest they had gone without contact since the attack, and while she put on a brave face, it was eating her alive. Seeing his jovial posts on Instagram didn’t help. She took them as reinforcement of what she believed to be true. He didn’t want her. At least not the way she wanted him, and he probably never did. If heartbreak wasn't enough to cope with, feeling like a fool just added insult to injury.

“I really think he’s merely protecting himself,” Sienna stated as the friends tried to agree on a movie. “He’s probably as scared as you are. We all know he cared about you.”

“Cared,” Casey repeated, bringing another spoon of ice cream to her mouth. “Past tense.”

“But that’s not true,” Bryce jumped in. “I ran into him just before he went to Donahue’s. He was heading there to tell you how he felt. I didn’t say anything sooner because you were so upset, but you should know.”

“Really? Then why the 180? He wanted to tell me how much he cared but saw me sitting across the table from Jake and did an about-face? Then he didn’t care as much as he believed.”

“In fairness, you were holding the guy’s hand,” Sienna noted.

“Barely!” Casey snapped. “Besides! He should have known better.”

“Oh, for fucks sake!” Aurora groaned as all turned her way. “Casey, stop it. I swore I wouldn’t reenter the Tobias/Casey drama, but I can’t take this anymore. You’re not exactly innocent either.”

“Excuse me?”

“Maybe Tobias jumped to conclusions because you had been giving him the cold shoulder for a week before he saw you with Jake. He probably surmised that was the reason why!”

“But she only did that because of Audrey’s post,” Sienna defended.

“Yes!” Aurora acknowledged. “Because Casey thought he was on a date with Audrey, but guess what? He wasn’t. But you were quick to believe the worst and wouldn’t give him a chance to explain. Does that sound familiar?”

“I was going to ask him about Audrey's post when we had lunch the next day... but he canceled.”

“You were going to ask him a week later? Casey, I know you’re both scared, but you’re so afraid of getting hurt that you are hurt when you don’t have to be!”

“But he didn’t even let me finish a sentence. Every time I tried to explain, he shut me down!”

“And how many of his texts did you ignore after Audrey’s post?” Bryce asked. “You need to talk to him, Case, before you guys blow this for good.”

“Exactly!” Aurora agreed. “All these games, and now he’s on a real date, and who knows...” she froze mid-sentence, her eyes wide when she realized what she just said.

“A what?” Casey stammered. “A real date? With... with who?”

“OK,” Aurora lamented, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know with whom, but if you refuse to talk to him, you have no reason to be upset if he moves on. If you don’t want him to... talk to him!”  

The pain in Casey’s eyes was visible as she jumped from the couch and retreated to her room... insisting no one follow her. She wasn’t sure why she ran there, though collapsing into bed for a good cry sounded appropriate. She got into position to do just that, but the tears never came. Her emotions were a roller coaster ride she hadn’t been prepared to take. Regret, sadness, anger, and despair shifted inside her by the second, leaving her lost and out of control. The only certainty was another sleepless night ahead, and she couldn’t afford that. Reaching for a Tylenol PM on her nightstand, anger took control once again. She looked at the clock, 11:00. It was early enough. She jumped out of bed and threw on the first clothes she could find, rushing out the door to stealthily evade her friends. Tobias Carrick might be on a date, but when he came home? He was going to have to answer to her.

~~~~~

Tobias looked himself over in his bedroom mirror before heading out for the night. He had to admit... in his black silk long-sleeved Brunello Cucinelli t-shirt and matching chalk stripe trousers, he looked damn good. He slipped on his Burberry overcoat and sprayed one more pump of Oud Wood cologne for good measure, a grin spreading across his face. He still had it, and as he headed out the door for his first date in longer than he cared to admit, that old Carrick confidence was falling into place again.

Sophia insisted on meeting him at Contessa, strongly suggesting that their separate arrivals didn’t dictate how they’d depart if dinner went well. When she arrived, Tobias was already seated at their table, and he had to give her credit; the woman knew how to make an entrance. Her smile lit up the room as she sauntered his way in a spaghetti-strapped burgundy cowl-necked dress that hugged every curve and directed the eye to her most impressive assets. Her dark brown curls framed her face and spilled down over her bare shoulders, and as she got closer, Tobias felt his apprehensions melting away. Perhaps this night wouldn't be so hard after all.

“Tobias,” Sophia smiled as he rose to greet her. Taking his hands in hers, she leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. “You look wonderful tonight.”

“Me,” he simpered. “I lost any chance of being the hottest person in this room the second you walked in.”

“That’s OK. I’m fine being on a date with a man who comes in a very close second in that category,” she winked. “Can you handle that, Dr. Carrick?”

“Oh,” he grinned, motioning for the waiter to begin pouring the Volpaia Chianti Classico. “I can handle that and a lot more.”

“Good,” she smirked. “Then let the evening commence.”

Sophia was beautiful and captivating in every way. Her enthusiasm when discussing her quest to make partner at her firm or her little sister’s gymnastic career was endearing. And when Tobias spoke, she listened so intently he felt like the only person in the world. Things were going great... so why couldn’t he shake the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach? At any other time, he would have thought this date was off to a perfect start, but there was one big difference between this date and all the others in his storied career: this one took place after he had met Casey MacTavish.

Sophia looked over her shoulder when Tobias’s eyes lit up, and he waved at someone seated at the bar.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “That’s a board member from Kenmore. He and I have been playing phone tag for over a week, and I need to touch base with him regarding a grant we’ve been working on. Would you mind if I stepped over to speak with him? I promise I won’t be more than a couple of minutes.”

“Of course not!” Sophia replied. “Trust me, if I see one of the partners that will decide if I’m joining their ranks soon, I’ll ask you to return the favor.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

Sophia took a sip of wine and decided to check emails on her phone while she waited. When she reached for her phone, a text came in on Tobias’s, which he left face up on the table. While she wasn’t proud, Sophia did manage to sneak a peek. A local politician’s robotext asking for campaign donations. Benign enough! But her thoughts on the date took a turn when something else she saw piqued her interest.

Tobias returned quickly as promised, apologizing profusely for the interruption. But, ever the attorney, Sophia wasn’t wasting time getting to the point.

“Tobias, I have to ask... are you married?”

“What?” He choked, placing his wine glass back on the table with a shudder. “God, no!”

“Then do you have a girlfriend? Because if you do, I don’t play those games.”

“Sophia, I’m single as can be...trust me. Where is this coming from?”

Knowing honesty was her only option, she tapped a well-manicured nail on his phone.

“A text came in when you were gone, and I saw the beautiful blonde on your screensaver. Who is she? And please, don’t tell me she’s your sister. I won’t believe you, and that would be creepy as hell.”

A line appeared between his brows as he clicked on his phone, and there it was.  

It had been his screensaver for some time, and he never thought to change it. But staring at it now, he was transported to another time as he recalled that day.

It wasn’t long after the chemical attack, and Casey had been having an especially tough day. Even a ride with a promise of ice cream from Honeycomb Creamery in Cambridge couldn't pull her from the darkness she found herself buried in. As they sat in his front seat licking their cones, he told her she could select his new screensaver. Her face lit up in an instant as she grabbed the phone from his hands, playfully sticking her tongue out as she posed. She was delighted with the blurry, off-centered, silly-faced photo and immediately set it as his screensaver.

Tobias loved that picture. Not only did he think she was stunning, but she was happy. For a moment in time, when gloom surrounded her, she found a moment of joy. She was happy... and that’s all he ever wanted for her. In the months that followed, Casey often told him he could change the screensaver, but he had no intention of doing so. Unbeknownst to her, he had made himself a promise. That screensaver would stay in place until it could be replaced by a picture of the two of them... once she was finally his. He didn’t care if it took a year or a decade; he would see it through.

“I guess I should have changed this,” he muttered. “I’m really sorry... I honestly forgot it was still there.”

But it was Sophia’s job to pay attention, and there was no way she could misinterpret his reaction.

“Is she your girlfriend? Or... an ex?”  

“No,” he said sadly. “But I wanted her to be with all my heart.”

He looked up at Sophia, sincerity in his eyes. “We were just friends, close friends... I guess I always hoped we’d become more, but it wasn’t to be.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Even so... I just realized I'm not even close to being over her. I’m really sorry I dragged you into this, but... I need to get over Casey before I can move on with anyone else. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“At least you’re honest,” Sophia shrugged. “It’s not like you screwed me and ghosted me when regret set in the next morning. So, I have to give you some credit.”  

“I’d never do that,” he said emphatically. But Sophia responded with a smirk.

“Seriously?”

“All right, I would never have wanted to do that,” he grinned. “Well, now that I’ve ruined our date, do you want to call it a night? I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“Oh, hell no! You’re still treating me to dinner, Carrick! That’s the very least you can do!”

Tobias handed her a menu with a smile. “That’s more than fair, and please, feel free to order the most expensive items on the menu.”

“I assumed that was a given!” she smiled, reaching over the table to take his hand. “Why don’t we go the friend's route, Tobias. But... if time goes on, and this woman is too foolish to come to her senses and seal the deal with you, let me know when you’re ready. If I’m still on the market, I may give you a second chance.”

“Being friends sounds good,” he replied. “Though you’re quite a catch, I’m sure someone will snap you up before I come around.”

“Well, it will still be nice to have another friend,” she said with a squeeze of his hand.

Tobias looked at their entwined fingers just as they parted. The vision of Casey holding Jake’s hand popped into his mind... and he realized he had been a total fool.

~~~~~

Tobias had walked Sophia home hours before, but the thought of returning to his empty townhome wasn’t remotely appealing. He decided a long walk was in order; it might help with all the thinking he had to do. His mind was in a fog as he meandered down Boston’s gaslit streets, too overwhelmed to notice the dropping temperatures.

Every so often, something pulled him out of his fugue: a honking horn, music from a passing car, or a police siren whooshing by. Those he could handle, but it was the laughter of a couple passing by that sent him reeling. Their arms were wrapped around each other as they whispered sweet nothings into each other’s ears, leaving Tobias frozen in place.

How did things go so wrong? The past few months with Casey had him believing he had grown up, but when it came to matters of the heart, he still had plenty to learn. He didn’t know what the future held for him and Casey, but he knew the time of hiding had come to end. He needed to talk to her, to tell her the truth. No more treading water... it was time to move on, one way or another. He took his phone out of his pocket; it was already 11:30. Too late to start that conversation tonight, but he vowed to call her as soon as he woke up tomorrow. It was time.

He pulled his coat closer as he turned onto his street, his clarity of thought finally making him aware of the cold; he was grateful he only had a half block to go. But as he neared his home, he squinted, trying to make out the blurry figure on his steps. His heart skipped a beat when she came into focus... wearing no more than a sweater and a pair of tights, Casey sat shivering on his front steps. Head buried in her hands, she didn’t see him approach, and she was startled at his words.

“Casey?” He blurted. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” she said, jumping to her feet in a visibly emotional state. “I was about to ask you the same thing!”

“Uh... I live here,” he said with confusion.

“I know that!” she snapped. “But you’re not supposed to be here! Or at least, you’re not supposed to be here alone!”

“Casey,” he huffed. “What are you talking about?”

She marched up to him, pounding her hand against his chest. “You had a date!” she fumed. “A freaking date!” Tears welled in her eyes as she continued. “How the hell could you have been on a real date tonight?”

“How did you even know... Aurora...” he grumbled.

“How I know is unimportant! What’s important is that you were on a date!” She struggled to hold back a sob as she continued. “So, how was it? I’m your good friend Casey, right? So you can tell me! Was it fun? Where’d you go? Did you take her anyplace we’ve ever gone together?”

“Casey, stop!” he exclaimed, reaching for her arm. But Casey jolted away as if his touch would sear her.

“No!” She hollered. “Answer me! Who was she? Is she pretty? Did you sleep with her?” She turned on her heel and began to pace, her hands flailing about. “Well, that’s a stupid question!” She spat. “Of course you slept with her! You’re Tobias Carrick!”

“What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he chided, with a flash of anger in his eyes.

“You have a reputation, T! Everyone knows you’ve banged anyone you’ve ever dated – and god knows how many you didn’t even bother to date! Oh, everyone except for me, that is! I guess that makes me special, huh? You hear that, Boston?” She declared. “It’s me! I’m the one person Tobias Carrick dated and didn’t fuck! I’m more rare than a goddamn unicorn!”

“Casey, stop it!” He exclaimed. “Yes, I had a date tonight. But it ended before it began and, no... I didn’t sleep with her!”

“You... you didn’t,” she whimpered.

“No! I didn’t!” He said, frustration mounting. But frustration or not, all he wanted to do was scoop Casey up in his arms and never let her go, and it took everything in him not to see that through. He may have been able to ignore his desires, but he couldn’t ignore how her body trembled in the cold. He began to remove his coat, “Casey, you’re shivering; please take....”

“I don’t want your coat!”  

“Then... then come inside and warm up a bit. It’s freezing out here.”

“No! I don’t want to!”

Exasperated, he threw his head back with a groan. “Then what do you want? Why did you come here? To scream at me? Insult me? Because if that’s all you want, I’ll call an Uber to get you home."

“I came here tonight because you were on a date!” She cried. “I was sure you’d bring her home, and I needed to see it with my own eyes.”

“What? Why? Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I love you!” She yelled, the shocked look on her face making it clear she was as surprised by her words as he was.

“You... you... what?”

She wanted to run, but there was no place to go now that the cat was out of the bag. She wiped her nose with her sleeve and summoned the courage to continue.

“I love you, Tobias. I love you.” She said through tears. “And if you don’t love me, then I need to know so I can move on. Because... I love you. I’m sorry I told you like this,” she rambled. “I never wanted to tell you like this, and maybe I shouldn’t have told you at all, but it’s too late now. I... I love you. I’ve loved you for....”

Maybe it was the shock, or perhaps because he moved with the speed of a gazelle, but Casey never saw him coming. Before she knew it, his arms encircled her, their lips came crashing together, and they gave in to the burning passion that had been ignited in them for so long. Neither wanted to let. Letting go might prove that this was just another dream. But this time, the bright smiles on their faces confirmed... they were very much awake. Tobias let out a grunt as their lips came together again, lifting Casey off her feet, she giggled t as he spun her around, placing her back down again against his gate.

“You... you love me?” he gushed, joy radiating from his face.

“I do!” Casey beamed. “I love you so very much.”

“Thank God,” he gasped, pressing his forehead against hers. “Because I love you Casey... I love you so much I swear, it hurts!”

She reached up and caressed his cheek, then his jawbone, gazing into his crystal blue eyes as if she were seeing them for the very first time.

“Love’s not supposed to hurt,” she smiled.

“Then let’s make a deal, from this moment on, you and me... we’re all about love without the hurt. Can we do that?”

“I’m in... I’m in if you are,” she grinned.

“I am SO in! Casey, my date earlier today ended practically before it began because the truth is, I want you and only you.  Today, tomorrow, for the rest of my days.  I want you, Casey Mactavish. I love you... and you have no idea how great it feels to finally say those words out loud.”

“I love you, too,” she cried, pulling him into a fiery kiss that melted the winter’s cold.

Tobias began to chuckle as his hands dropped to Casey's waist. Mid-kiss, Casey pulled back with a smirk.

“Why are you laughing about?”

“If I tell you... you have to promise to not get mad.”

Casey raised a brow and gave him a teasing look. “Oh, you’ve got my attention... you have to tell me now.”

“Having you in my arms... it feels like a dream... but....”

“But?”

“Can I grab your ass, Casey? Because God knows, I’ve been dying to grab your ass. I’ve dreamt about it, and if you’re OK with it....”

“Fine! Fine, fine, fine,” she laughed. “You can grab my ass, Tobias!.”

Without hesitation, he lowered a hand to her left butt cheek and gave a generous squeeze. Casey couldn't help but giggle as a grin spread across his face.

“There! Was that everything you imagined it would be?"

“Everything and more,” he growled.

“So,” she said, after another kiss. “Is that all you/ve been imagining doing with me... or is there more?”

“Oh, hell no,” he laughed. “I have a very active imagination, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Well, then,” she cooed, running her fingers down his lapel. “If the offer still stands... can we go inside? Maybe you could show me some of those... other things?”

Casey was right earlier that night—sleep was not to be had—but this time, neither she nor Tobias minded one bit.

Just before the crack of dawn, they lay together in his bed, Casey blissfully sleeping under his protective arm. Careful not to disturb her, Tobias reached for his phone to check the time, and there it was staring back at him... Casey’s goofy screensaver.

He held his sleeping girlfriend closer. No, they hadn’t had that conversation yet, but it was the first thing he planned to do when they woke. But he was confident—Casey was his girlfriend. He pulled her closer and snapped a quick selfie of them, immediately making it his new screensaver—a promise had been kept.

Placing the phone at his side, he rolled over and spooned behind his love, kissing the top of her head, he whispered.

“Good night, my love."

His love. At long last, Casey was his. He was hers. And he fell asleep soundly at her side, knowing that their new life had just begun.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

[choicesmaychallenge24]

swear a false oath, i dare you

MC: Rin | Book: The Freshman | Prompt: Deity Inspiration List - [Horcus] | taglist: @choicesmaychallenge24

Creator's Note: Tried something a little different! lowkey want to know what you guys think of it/y'all's theory on what's happening. no pressure to share ofc! just wondering :D

[choicesmaychallenge24]

home is with her (but you’re close enough)

MC: Jiahao Thorne Book: Immortal Desires Word Count: Summary: Jiahao is terribly homesick for her sister an ocean away. Luckily for him, her mom can be too much like her. Banner: After the Bath by Joseph Lorusso Prompt: Hestia Taglist: @choicesmaychallenge24

The avocado was too firm to mush. That much Jiahao knew. Frustration coiled around him.

Adanne never struggled to mash a chunk of avocado. Her fingers flew over ingredients, weighing and mixing and measuring everything with her heart. She never had to pause to check a label. Never had to wrestle the peel off of something. 

Not that it mattered. 

Remembering the ease Adanne moved through the kitchen did nothing to soothe the gaping hole of longing that ate at Jia. In fact, every memory was coated in a poisonous layer of nostalgia that only fueled the homesickness that ran through her.

It emptied her. 

And Jiahao hated feeling empty. 

So when the bowl flew right out of her hands and smashed against the wall, leaving green half-mushed chunks to crawl down floral printed wallpaper, a quick shot of satisfaction tingled through Jia. …Right before being swallowed by the ever-growing void that longed for Adanne. 

“Jia?” 

He didn’t move, anger stiffening his stance, “What?”

The edge of her tone must have scared Charity off because she said nothing more. Instead she inspected the seasonings and powders lining the countertops and the odd egg here and there. 

When her eyes landed on the shaobing Jia clutched in hand, understanding dawned. 

“You’re peckish,” she stated, hands already flying over ingredients, making measurements with her heart. 

Jia said nothing, merely taking mental note of his mother as she flittered around the kitchen. 

Charity murmured under her breath –like Adanne did.

Her steps were light, barely making a sound as she  moved from counter to counter. Something Adanne did too.

Her eyes stayed trained on their task, barely pausing to let anything else catch their interests. Again. Just like Adanne. 

It was disgustingly sweet how much Charity resembled Adanne. Jia would’ve rolled her eyes if her soul didn’t sing at each similarity. It was embarrassing how tightly she clutched at every unexpected piece of Adanne that flowed through his mother. 

Voice tight, but honest, Jia spoke up, “How can I help?” 

Charity froze, excitement and neutrality battling for dominance over her expression. Ducking her head, voice high and breathy, Charity replied, “Sure, yeah, just, just grind the dried peppers, okay?” 

Jia nodded, reaching for the mortar and pestle. 

This wasn’t home. At least not without Adanne. But, Jia’s eyes flicked towards Charity, perhaps there were enough slivers of Adanne to make do anyway. 

A RECIPE CARD

A/N: another one juud? <- yes.

anyhow, something a little sweet this time <3 + yes the recipe does actually work both! It's a small snack I make from time to time. I promise you, it tastes a lot better than you might think. (i actually had some this morning!! but didn't think to take or a picture or smth, so hopefully i remember next time 🤞)

ENJOY!

[choicesmaychallenge24]

“O what will she do, a soul bitten into with wrong?”  ― Euripides, Medea

@choicesmaychallenge24

[choicesmaychallenge24]

A Child of Babel

Book: The Royal Romance

Characters: Kiara-centric. Hints of Drake x Kiara (unrequited) and Hana x Kiara.

Word Count: 3, 484 words

Summary: The five times Kiara uttered the proverb of a language under her breath, and the two times she did it to someone's face.

A/N: I really wanted to try out a 5+1 fic format but somehow it became a 6+1 fic instead haha

Tagging @kiaratheronappreciationweek for KTAW Day 3: Languages, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW, @choicesmaychallenge24 for Hermes: Travel

Wolof

Princesses Lerato and Lesidi will never forget the exact moment they knew Lady Kiara Thorne would become their friend.

At lunch today, it was hard initially to tell if the meal today was to her liking. She'd made all the right noises, said all the right words. Rich. Meaty. What bold flavours. But how does that count? She's the kind of girl who has likely been coached enough in courtly propriety and gastrodiplomacy (at age 11. Eleven!), that you can't quite tell if she genuinely enjoyed the food or just wanted to please her hosts.

The sisters shift uncomfortably in their plush seats at the dining hall of their palace, their eyes barely leaving the young girl's plate. Benachin jollof rice was hardly for the weak of heart (or stomach) but that never stopped the royal family of Orphys from showing pride in this particular dish. It was, after all, the jewel in the crown of their ancestral Senegambian cuisine.

So it would pierce the Orphysian soul to its core, in very specific ways, if one didn't like their jollof. Probably just as much as it would shatter a Cordonian's spirit, if you told them you thought their Cordonian Rubies tasted vile.

"Ohhh," Lady Kiara mumbled, visibly relaxed at last. "Xifuma wante samay bët suruñuuuuu". The final word comes out elongated by a leisurely moan of satisfaction. I’m not hungry but my eyes aren’t full.

For a moment, the two girls are stunned to stillness in their chairs.

Little Kiara - Lerato is beginning to recognise - is trying to utter an old Wollof proverb about the joys of their ancestral cuisine. It's said so softly you can barely hear her, and both she and her sister can hazard a guess as to why.

Of the five words said, she pronounced three wrong. Kiara knew that, and felt ashamed.

The sisters pass each other a look of knowing affection. Not many in Europe, outside of Orphys, know this proverb that well. It is indeed the kind of phrase you will chance upon only if you've been consistently trying to learn.

She had to have been learning for over a year to get to this point.

Terrible pronunciation be damned. Next time they meet Kiara again, Lerato and Lesidi sure as hell know they're gifting her the recipe.

French

"Dammit," Kiara hisses at...well...no one in particular, and especially not to the retreating figure of her longtime (and forever clueless) crush. Now that he's gone, the urge to kick herself is becoming increasingly more difficult to suppress.

Drake Walker's loose overshirt flaps against his back as he walks out of the stable, in quick, sure, decisive footsteps. There has always been some sense of purpose in his movements whenever he leaves someplace, even if - to Kiara's knowledge - he hasn't exactly had a job as such ever since that stint he took at the stables the summer she turned fifteen.

It's almost as if that is the only thing he's certain he wants to do here. Leaving.

Kiara presses her head against the door of the stable, his fists balled up so she can resist the unnecessarily dramatic urge to bang it against the wood. She's done everything - everything her admittedly-gauche, relatively-inexperienced 18 year old brain could think of - to catch his attention.

Educate herself on horses (for obvious reasons).

Read up on woodworking (Olivia had mentioned once in passing that he adored good carpentry - nothing much was said about whether he liked practicing. Still, not a bad idea for a conversation starter)

Tried to enjoy whiskey. (Didn't get past half a mug, unfortunately. It was...interesting. She treated herself to her favourite bottle of Tempranillo later).

Came to the stables today for what she tried to pass off as a friendly chat about the winning stakes at the upcoming Derby. (She could have been talking to a haystack for all it mattered. He just looked up from his saddle tack set, took off his disgustingly well-disguised earphones, raised his eyebrows and said, "You were saying something??" before leaving without an answer)

(She'd worked so fucking hard to sound like she knew what she was talking about)

Kiara groans again against the door, weakly punching it one final time before she opens it, muttering furiously underneath her breath.

"Just give it up, Kiki," she scolds herself, hands jammed into the pockets of her coat. "C'est comme pisser dans un violon."

"Eww," a high-pitched, rather sweet voice says behind her, "That sounds like an...uncomfortably specific preference for a place to piss."

Kiara tries - and fails - to hide her grimace. On any other day, she'd be proud of Savannah for coming this far in just a few months. She's certain that her dear friend's rather successful attempt at translation is more a miracle of guesswork. A combination of remembering the few words she has been taught so far, and figuring out the ones that sound closer to their English counterparts.

(And that is how it must be. That is how Kiara knows that Savannah is serious about learning this language)

On any other day she'd praise her. But today... today she just wants to erase the last ten minutes from her brain. The last person she wants to know about her deep, tragic humiliation is the sister of her man who laid her umpteenth attempt to impress him to rest with his fucking headphones.

"Forget you ever heard that," Kiara mumbles, "come, let's go see what snacks they have for tea. I'm starving."

Darija

On the day Prince Leo and his fiancée, Countess Madeleine, visit Castelserraillan after their engagement tour, there are only two members of the Thorne family waiting to receive the entourage. Kiara, and her father.

Ezekiel is barely - if ever - noticed and he would rather leave it that way. But Maman...they had to create a story for her.

The official excuse is that she'll be hosting an immensely important international art fair around the same time - one that heralded the work of Cordonia's local artisans. One that was time-sensitive and couldn't possibly be shifted around, Crown Prince or no.

In reality, her mind had been made up, the moment Lady Kaouther - the young woman her parents had sponsored for the social season this year - returned to the province in tears, swearing to never set foot in the Capitol again, reluctant to even tell Maman and Baba what had gone so wrong.

But Maman had found out anyway. The press was loath to criticize the countess' treatment of her ladies-in-waiting, drooling like sick horses over every scrap of charm and quotable quote she threw their way.

But when Ana de Luca is close enough to you to have your number of speed dial, there's no end to the tea that'll be willingly spilled at your table.

Poor Kaouther was still getting threats and harassment from afar. Mostly to keep her mouth shut about her former employer's exploits. Both midly annoying and deeply sadistic. Both sober and rum-fuelled. Some may be impressed at how Countess Madeleine managed to maintain such secrecy, from even the royal family she is marrying into.

Maman cursed and swore she would never entertain a viper like that in her presence, and who could blame her?

Kiara swallows as she sees the entourage approached. Baba knew his relationship with the royal family was already hanging by a frighteningly precarious balance. He couldn't afford any further damage, and he hardly wanted to expose Madeleine's misdeeds without Kaouther's consent either.

So yes. They were going to go through the motions of greeting the royal entourage. They were going to be perfect hosts. But Madeleine would know. Madeleine would hear their words - cascading in waves of poisoned honey - and know. And be unable to tell anyone anything. That will be Kiara's unsaid, unheard promise to Kaouther, and to herself.

The Countess is stopped by the press before she walked over to their manor, her smile perfectly in place and her hand on a rather diffident Prince Leo's arm as she answers their questions. Yes, we are in love. Yes, our economy is strong. Yes, my aim is to build strong relationships with my people where I go. To let them know I do it all for them, and them alone. To be the Queen that Cordonia needs, that my subjects can trust.

Kiara has never heard so much horseshit spill out of a courier's mouth, and she's been part of enough royal courts to see the worst.

"Shakuwn daha fik alhurirat 'aw albalbulat nahar aleid!" Kiara says roughly in Darija as the entourage - led by the Crown Prince and his future consort - approach. She thinks she's so special, but really she's only about as special as a plain harrira soup served at an Eid-ul-Fitr banquet.

Hakim gently nudges his daughter's shoulder with his own. "But ya Babba," he teases, probably to lighten her mood before the group arrives, "I thought you liked harrira soup."

Kiara gives Madeleine one last glare before schooling her face to a more neutral expression.

Her next words are going to be quite nasty by Castelserraillan standards, but for all the sacrifices they are making today her father can surely afford her this one luxury. "Not if it wears a face as sour as her's."

Greek

Just a five minute break, Penelope had promised, thirty minutes ago.

Kiara has only herself to blame for believing that nonsense, after being in close quarters with her for an entire month - but there's something about that woman that makes most people want to keep giving her the benefit of the doubt.

('Me,' Kiara wants to say, 'I'm people')

The beam she is carrying for the barn-raising is small, but heavy enough that you'd get tired out quickly if you didn't take help. By ten minutes Kiara has to will herself to move ahead. By fifteen her thighs begin to cramp, and by twenty her head is swimming and she has a brief spiteful thought about making Penelope carry twenty beams as a belated apology. Though knowing her (and it pains Kiara to admit this; she likes Penelope too much) she would find some way to make herself the victim.

Thirty minutes have passed now, and the only energy she has left is wasted in gritting her teeth and groaning "Just...a few more...steps...till I can drop this...stupid plank...Mon Dieu!!!"

Kiara's mind goes blank for several seconds as she feels the weight of the beam falling on her, a dull pain already throbbing on her ankle.

"Ohhh thée mou," she hears a rough, gravelly, rather disgruntled voice above her, its sound causing her heartbeats to pound violently in her chest and its owner already using his strong, strong hands to save her...

"Ópios den théli na zimósi," she whispers, completely drained, "déka méres koskinízi."

It's a proverb Kiara has often heard in the Capitol - specifically for procrastinators - and she has now lost count of the number of times Penelope has left something she doesn't like to do "for later"...often leading Kiara to finish the job alone.

Drake stares back at her, confused. Mentally, she kicks herself. Again.

Of course. She should've known. Drake Walker is familiar enough with Greek that he'll maybe cuss or blurt out a phrase he'd learned from his childhood in the palace, but clearly he has no patience for metaphors, allegories, idioms or proverbs.

"Oh, uh...merci beaucoup," she backtracks, awkwardly.

Kiara locks eyes with Drake, and for once he meets her gaze. Doesn't say anything, doesn't even show a reaction - but at least he isn't looking away like she doesn't matter.

Drake shakes his head - his eyes, amused, still on her face - and throws the beam away. It doesn't mean much, but that ten-second glance is fuel enough at this point for a month's worth of dreams.

Almost as if from a great distance, she thinks she can hear Esther's voice, low and concerned. "Kiara? Are you okay??"

She smiles brightly. "I am now."

Gujarati/Mandarin

Married as they have been for six months now, Kiara can tell by several small, subtle signs when Hana is nervous.

Not that Hana makes observing a very hard task, not at all. She has an immensely expressive face.

Kiara massages the soft parts of her palm - just the way she likes it - while Hana takes several deep breaths.

"This is the first Parsi wedding I'll be attending, ever," Hana says slowly. "The bride is my cousin. This is supposed to be my family, and yet all of this feels as alien as if I never had a mother from this community." She closes her eyes then opens them again, gazing at the wedding sign on the gate. Delnaaz weds Zubin. "What if I mess this up?"

"You won't," Kiara takes both Hana's hands in hers. "And even if you do make a sliver of a mistake, Delnaaz is not going to judge you. And she's the bride; she's the one who matters. She's nothing like your mother or your uncle Cyrus."

Hana lets out a shaky laugh. "God I hope not." Her finger strokes lightly against Kiara's cheek. "One last kiss? For luck?"

Kiara presses her forehead against Hana's after they're done, sighing gently. Mon Dieu, how I love this woman.

"Remember that saying you hear from practically all the nice people in Bethulia," Kiara winds her arms around Hana's waist. "It's so prolific they should start painting it on their coat-of-arms. In Gujarati."

"Khavanu, pivanu, majja ni life." They both laugh gently as they whisper the phrase, hugging each other tighter. Eat, drink and be merry, indeed.

Hana seems to take that advice to heart once they go in, and most of the family (whether enthusiastically, or under duress - the latter perhaps a result of Delnaaz having a stern talking-to with relatives who had rejected Hana earlier) openly welcomes Hana into the fold.

The wedding goes terrifically: Delnaaz appears resplendent in a gorgeous white silk-and-lace Parsi Gara sari (that, Hana informs her, has been the family heirloom for five generations now), her (now) husband looking very distinguished in his white dagli and a black fetah atop his head. Once she finds herself comfortable among people who should treat her like family, Hana practically shines in her interactions - scintillating at conversations, singing and dancing and joking with the rest when she can.

Her Gujarati is a little shaky still, but that's hardly a problem. After all, this is the first language we're going to learn together, ma moitié, Kiara had reassured her once.

A few hours later, when the party started winding down, Hana and Kiara shifted to a smaller, more secluded alcove within the wedding venue. Dinyar - another of Hana's Bethulian cousins - pointed it out to Kiara, whispering conspiratorily that very few in the wedding party noticed this place at all and they could have all the privacy they wanted. Hana made sure they carried a sweet along.

And so here they are, now, inside a romantic little gazebo, sitting together - Hana taking a spoonful of Lagan nu Custard and raising it to Kiara's lips. They close their eyes as they savour. Silky. Creamy. Decadent.

"Look at us, playing hooky at an event when you were so worried about behaving right just yesterday. Yet won't you say this little moment by ourselves was the best one?"

Hana winks. "You know me so well."

"Only as well as you do, darling," she says, cupping Hana's cheek, "My soulmate."

When they kiss, Kiara can taste hints of cardamom and nutmeg on Hana's tongue. She laughs into their kiss.

"Zài tiān yuàn zuò bǐ yì niǎo..." Kiara says, the grin hardly leaving her face when they part.

"...zài dì yuàn zuò lián lǐ zhī!" Hana wipes the last bit of custard on the tip of Kiara's nose, then uses that as an excuse to gently bite it off her.

They tighten their arms around each other. That saying has always been a favourite with both of them.

In heaven let us be two birds flying ever together, and on earth two trees with branches interlocked forever.

Bonus: English (with a tiny side serving of Cajun French)

Queen Esther seems almost transformed when their entourage sets foot in Louisiana. In some ways, she seems even more at home here than she had ever seemed even in New York. And to think, everyone thought that place was her home!

"It is," she'd explained once, when Kiara had asked her, "but NOLA was where I was born. I spent my entire childhood here. A part of me will always remain here."

She takes them to an old favourite of her parents', a mom-and-pop shop that's still miraculously standing and - according to Esther - that still possesses the same incredible flavours. Hana is already all praise for the gumbo and the bananas foster.

Kiara's eyes are set on what seems to be a more humble (but moist, glistening, crisp on the outside!) preparation. A croquette of some sort?

"Try the beignets, Hana," Esther suggests, her eyes sparkling at her open joy. "Dip them in the hot chocolate. Best that way!"

She does...and next thing they know, Hana's best friend and wife are treated to a happy dance on a chair.

"Boulettes de chevrette," the server replies, closely watching her face.

"...shrimp?" Kiara says, after a pause too significant for Esther to miss. The server nods.

"You certainly took a little extra time to mentally translate that," she says. "Is it called something else in French?"

"Yes," Kiara replies, "We call it crevette. But that's not the part I find interesting."

Intrigued, Esther raises an eyebrow, nodding at her companion to continue.

She clears her throat. "I'm beginning to find that certain words in your French have retained their original form from older versions of our language. And with others, they've evolved over time into different words, while in our language that word remained the way it was. Chevrette was what we used to call shrimp before we started using the Norman regional variant, crevette."

"Oh wow," Esther says, amazed, "I had no clue."

Kiara smiles. "Now you do."

Later that evening, the queen confides in her.

"You know...I used to be nervous speaking French in front of you."

Kiara's eyebrows are knit together in confusion. "Pourquoi?? You spoke very well."

Esther sighs. "It's silly."

"Tell me all the same."

Esther laughs, almost as if at the foolishness of her younger self. "I thought you'd make fun of me for "speaking French all wrong". That you'd look down on me."

Kiara's heart sinks to her stomach. "Did I really sound that snotty back then?"

"Oh no. No," Esther reassures her. "Especially not with languages."

Kiara is familiar enough with Esther now to teasingly nudge her arm a little with her elbow. "At least not unless you're asking me to sleep with you. You can't imagine how many people would just say voulez vouz coucher avec moi ce soir to my face, and think they could get away with it. And this was even before Hana introduced me to Lady Marmalade!"

Kiara nodded. She did remember how hard that season, and the subsequent engagement tour (which she often things of with a little regret), had been on Esther. And she'd never allowed those fears and insecurities to show on her face. "That makes sense," she says, "but you know there's this saying I read a while ago..."

Esther rolls her eyes, chuckling ruefully. "I introduced her to that one."

The laughter doesn't last very long. Lines of humour then dissolve into lines of tension on Esther's face. She isn't quite done explaining yet. "I guess I was just...feeling a little out of place. So I may have projected a little back then."

"What?" Esther asks, her curiosity now piqued.

"'We should learn languages because language is the only thing worth knowing even poorly.' It's a quote by a Hungarian translator mamed Kató Lomb."

Esther seems to open her mouth to protest the appropriateness of the quote, when Kiara stops her. "For the record, it doesn't correctly apply to your use of Cajun French. That is a dialect. It has its own rules. En vrai, I'd love to learn more."

The Queen relaxes, even smiling at the casual reference to her - something she knows Kiara will only use when she's sure they are friends.

"I'm just saying that even if you did get phrases in a language wrong, that wouldn't be reason enough for me to scoff at you. I'd be a hypocrite if I did that. After all, I wouldn't be this good at ten languages if I weren't constantly making mistakes."

As she often does since that eventful first meeting in Orphys, she remembers the kindness Lerato and Lesidi showed her, despite her terrible, terrible attempt at saying something in Wolof. The recipe for Senegambian-style jollof, that they gave her the next time she had visited their kingdom, still holds pride of place in her personal collection of precious things.

"I think what I'm saying is," she says, taking a deep breath, "when you make mistakes but the result is that I'm hearing a new language come out of your mouth, it's a wonderful thing. To me, it means you want to learn. And everyone's pace is different, so I'm no one to judge if you take more time to learn it than on someone else. There is never anything wrong with that."

Esther smiles again, softer this time, and more admiringly. "Noted," she says softly. "And we should definitely pack some fried alligator and remoulade sauce from here to snack on later."

Kiara grins. Her mouth is already watering. "We certainly will."

Translations:

--

Xifuma wante samay bët suruñu (Wolof) - I’m not hungry but my eyes aren’t full (basically the food is really really delicious). Source: Grace in Senegal

C'est comme pisser dans un violon! (French) - It's like pissing inside a violin! (Used to describe something useless and ineffective, or to complain about not being listened to after asking somebody to do something. Pissing in a violin is ineffective, it won't make a sound.) Source: Untranslatable

شكون داها فيك الحريرة (أو البلبولة) نهار العي

(Darija)

Describing someone who is incredibly pleased with themselves, but in actuality they are like Harrira on Eid al Fitr. Used to criticize someone who thinks very highly of themselves but has no justifiable reason to do so. Kind of like saying "you think you're hot shit in a champagne glass when you are really cold diarrhea in a Dixie cup". To explain the cultural context a little, Harrira is the soup Moroccans eat every day during Ramadan. On Eid, it stays in the fridge and people eat a lot of sweets. Source: Arabic Easy Language blog

Όποιος δεν θέλει να ζυμώσει, δέκα μέρες κοσκινίζει (Greek) - "Whoever does not want to knead, sifts for ten days". It is used to describe a procrastinator who finds every reason not to engage with their assigned task. Source: GreekPod 101.

Khavanu, pivanu, majja ni life (Gujarati) - khavanu refers to eating, pivanu refers to drinking, majja ni life means life is fun/amazing or to enjoy life. So it's basically "eat, drink and make merry".

在天愿作比翼鸟，在地愿为连理枝。(Mandarin) - In heaven as two birds flying together, On earth as two trees with branches interlocked forever. Basically a romantic proverb about soulmates. Source: China Plus

Notes:

The full quote from Kató Lomb goes like this:

"We should learn languages because language is the only thing worth knowing even poorly. If someone knows how to play the violin only a little, he will find that the painful minutes he causes are not in proportion to the possible joy he gains from his playing. The amateur chemist spares himself ridicule only as long as he doesn’t aspire for professional laurels. The man somewhat skilled in medicine will not go far, and if he tries to trade on his knowledge without certification, he will be locked up as a quack doctor.

Solely in the world of languages is the amateur of value. Well-intentioned sentences full of mistakes can still build bridges between people. Asking in broken Italian which train we are supposed to board at the Venice railway station is far from useless. Indeed, it is better to do that than to remain uncertain and silent and end up back in Budapest rather than in Milan."

The line about chevrette/crevette is something I read from the LSU website, from their Department of French Studies. This is what it says:

"Change is inevitable for living languages. It would be unreasonable, however, to expect change to happen in the same way in places remote from each other. In some cases, Cajun French has maintained words, structures and pronunciations which the French have long ago abandoned. For example, Cajuns have maintained the original chevrette to refer to shrimp, while the French adopted the Norman regional variant crevette as their standard word. In other cases, Cajun words or pronunciations have evolved while the French word remained stable. The French recevoir, for example, has become reçoir in Cajun French."

Source: LSU Department of French Studies

[choicesmaychallenge24]

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) ♥

[choicesmaychallenge24]

"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

___

[choicesmaychallenge24]

(You look back)

For @choicesmaychallenge24 prompt: Orpheus

[choicesmaychallenge24]

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

[choicesmaychallenge24]

It Happened One Miami Night (5/5)

Series Premise: A work trip to Miami means finally accepting that some risks are worth taking. Or are they?

Fandom: Choices Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angsty Fluff Words: 1,125

Series Masterlist

A/N: Finally we come to the end of this series (the longest I've ever taken to write one). If you've read it so far, thank you! I appreciate it. If you haven't, see the series masterlist link above 👆🏻😉

Submission to @choicesmaychallenge24 prompt "Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. (The Illiad)"

What did it mean when a man went from depriving himself on a moonlit balcony to aching for a lover’s scent in the dark? That, for a few heavenly moments, he’d been willing to take the risk, steal the girl, even when he knew he shouldn’t?

Unable to sleep as useless thoughts crowded his brain, Ethan Ramsey folded one arm behind his head and stared at the shadows dancing on the dark ceiling.

He bent his knee and pulled his bare feet back under the covers. The pull-out couch in the living room wasn’t designed for tall frames, and his feet hung off the edge whenever he stretched his legs.

The silence in the hotel suite was deafening. But Ethan was also hyperaware of Cassie Valentine sleeping on the other side of the thin wall separating the living space from the bedroom.

He turned on his side, punching the pillow, and watched his reflection in the glass pane of the door leading to the balcony — the scene of his downfall. A reminder of his weakness.

Never before had a woman tempted him like this. In recent years, he’d become particular about who shared his bed. But he certainly wasn’t a monk. He enjoyed sex and, depending on the woman, the intimacy that followed.

What was that line from The Illiad? Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed.

And that was the real kicker. Despite his early rationalizations, Cassie wasn’t the right woman. Maybe once she finished her residency — and if she stayed in Boston — they could have a chance. Once they were peers. Equals.

But as long as she was in the running to join his team…. He sighed.

Even if she didn’t get the fellowship, he wanted to be responsible for her professional development. When he observed her around the hospital, often from a distance to preserve his objectivity, he saw a doctor who could be great with the proper guidance.

She’d told Delarosa she chose Edenbrook because of him. He’d selected Cassie because he’d seen the potential in her application. He owed her the best of him.

That was that, as far as he was concerned. From now on, he would keep things professional. He was an attending and had to set an example.

First thing tomorrow, he was going down to the reception desk and forcing the issue until the hotel gave them separate rooms. Ethan exhaled, closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

He had a plan. He could do this!

The sun was high in the sky when Ethan’s eyes drifted open. Groggy from oversleeping and late-night musings, he yawned loudly and shoved the covers aside, feet falling onto the carpeted floor.

He grabbed his wristwatch from the coffee table and stilled at the envelope with his name scrawled across the front. His lips were pursed as he removed the notepaper tucked inside. Stunned, he read the hastily written words, his mind in shambles again.

Cassie sipped coffee from her to-go cup and watched the view from the window of her new hotel room. It was definitely not as lovely as the couples’ suite—there was no balcony either—but it was the safer option.

During a restless night, she’d come to a decision. She couldn’t avoid Ethan forever; that would be counterproductive to her goal of becoming a doctor. But she needed space from him for what remained of this trip.

Knowing hotels always kept inventory for last-minute bookings, Cassie pulled up the property’s website and reserved the first available option. The room was small—barely the size of her bedroom in Boston—but it was hers, and hers alone.

When she saw Ethan next, she’d be strictly professional (even if it killed her) and pretend that she hadn’t felt his hardness when she straddled his thighs. It might be cowardly, but faking temporary amnesia never hurt anyone.

For a moment, everything between them had been legendary, from one kiss to almost going all the way. And then it had come crashing down, like the waves below, washing away everything in their wake and leaving behind flotsam.

Cassie knew it wouldn’t be easy. But she couldn’t break down now. She’d already done that last night, and it was enough.

In a few days, she’d look back and know it wasn’t hopeless, that it wasn’t their time yet. She wouldn’t be a resident forever, and his excuses wouldn’t hold up then.

Just get through today, tonight and tomorrow, she repeated to herself like a mantra.

Her phone pinged the arrival of an email. Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced at the screen, only to release it when she realized it wasn’t Ethan. Check-in for the return flight was now open.

Cassie thought about it, clicked on the email, waited for the website to load and logged in to complete the process. She quickly changed her assigned seating, likely beside Ethan’s, selecting a single seat at the back of the first-class cabin.

She reminded herself that it was better this way and, as a precaution, took a screenshot of the confirmation message.

That done, she grabbed her bag, checked that her conference pass was tucked inside, and left the hotel room with her morose mood behind.

She could do this, she consoled herself as she stepped into the elevator. She was a Valentine, for Christ’s sake! Perseverance was practically the family motto!

---

Ethan glanced surreptitiously at Cassie. This was the first time he’d been alone with her since that night on the balcony. He’d caught glimpses of her weaving through the crowds, but aside from texts to coordinate their departure, she’d been out of touch.

They were in the back of a cab heading to the airport for their early morning flight, dawn breaking through the rain clouds that had moved in overnight. She was staring out the window; her face turned away from him, lost in her thoughts.

He’d worried about seeing her as they met in the lobby after check-out. Concerned that she’d mention what had happened between them. Demand that they discuss it or reproach him for taking advantage of her, something.

But she hadn’t done any of those things; she just gave him a small smile and walked out the revolving doors.

His gaze had sharpened at her calm, practically indifferent attitude. As if twenty-four before, he hadn’t cupped her breasts in his palms, thumbed her nipples or devoured her lips.

Ethan thought it was for the best. They didn’t need to say anything that hadn’t already been said. This time away from time was coming to an end. When they returned to Boston, things would go back to normal.

He was an attending. She was a resident. Strictly professional.

A/N2: Want to know what happened once they returned to Boston? Check out Words We Never Say.

When I planned this series, I wanted to ensure it fit within the narrative of previous Miami-adjacent fics: Out of Control, SOS: A Text Fic (last section) and Words We Never Say. This way, it's a continuation and not a stand-alone.

---------

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

[choicesmaychallenge24]

Scenes From a Marriage

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Format: Manip / Edit

A/N: Submission to @choicesmaychallenge24 prompt "marriage"

In 1x16, we know Ethan had a photo of him and Naveen receiving an award mounted on the wall. But other than that, my hc is Ethan didn't have many personal photographs in his old apartment. After Cassie, that changes. In the home they're making together, there are pictures of them in frames everywhere.

Tags under the cut

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso

@mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16

@justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[choicesmaychallenge24]

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.’

[choicesmaychallenge24]

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 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