#fic fotw

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Fireflies Over The Wall - Chapter 11

Relationship: The Bell Keeper & Meiri (Original character)

Summary: "The troll brought with herself, every night without a fault, a baby.

Every night, she placed it upon the grass, and pointed upwards, showing her baby the stars and constellations. Showing her baby the fireflies.

Holding it tight. Cuddling with it. Making sure it saw the beauty the world had to offer. He had never considered himself a sentimental man. Yet this image, for some reason, never failed to make him return home feeling something gaping and void inside of himself.

Every one of his former coworkers must have returned to their families.

Who would Edmund return to when he could work no more?

What would give him a reason to get out of bed when the fireflies were no longer enough?"

An OC's origin story as well as a Bell Keeper character study, because this character is much more fascinating than I'd been giving him credit for.

Notes: Title from ‘Monster’ by dodie

 Many thanks to @blaithnne who taught me that you can add another - to the - and make it a –. No, it wasn’t obvious to me. Leave me alone 😭

Chapter title: I’ve said my speech through sharpened teeth

Read it on ao3

For all that had been said, not a lot of ‘change’ had gone on in their lives. Edmund still worked as a bell keeper, though there were less and less of his colleagues every day, he still didn’t go out much even if he was putting an effort – reluctantly, but he was – into connecting with more people outside of just Kaisa, and he still thought cucumber sandwiches were a perfectly acceptable lunch. Meiri still popped around whenever she felt like to play and talk (further proving that the orphanage crew really couldn’t stop her from doing anything at all), still slowly evolved towards opening up, and still denied vehemently the possibility of white bread with scarce vegetables being a nutritious meal.

And while on the topic of continuity, the troll mother and baby still came to that same spot near the wall almost every night. A good deal of mushrooms had grown around, which meant that now Edmund was even more helpless not to smile when he watched the stone child play with them. They had changed, though. The kid was learning how to utter sounds, now; mostly variations of ‘ah’ or ‘bah’ that he’d hear them say it every now and then, making him come to the strange realisation that he was being witness to the growing process of a creature he was supposed to be protecting the city against.

Ah, well. At least he could say he had two kids in his life, one way or another.

It was only a shame that he only had that to entertain him during the night. The days remained as boring as ever, considering there were no trolls, no fireflies, and Meiri was generally at school. She wasn’t one to ditch class, and even if she were, she probably knew he wouldn’t endorse it and go somewhere else should she ever decide to slip away.

Which was why Edmund was so startled – almost to the point of falling off the wall, mind you, a situation exclusive to when the girl popped up without a notice – when he heard his cabin’s door bang on an early Saturday morning when she should probably have been on her science program activities. Or something. He still didn’t really understand how those worked.

No one was around; someone very rarely was. So Ed didn’t think three times about going down there to check what was going on, since it could only possibly be Meiri causing that noise. She was the only one who he had ever given a key to.

He did, of course, think twice, because if only Meiri had it, then it could very well be a burglar and even if he was confident he could win in a physical fight, he’d still rather avoid it; he wasn’t in the mood. But also because if it really was Meiri, then chances were she was not in a good mood and it would be playing with fire to try to talk to her depending on how true that was.

So, after a moment, away from his post he went to practise some freestyle malabarism with torches.

His door had been closed, but left unlocked. After the way it had been banged so loudly that he had been able to hear it, that had been the second sign that something was wrong. Meiri would usually lock the door after coming inside if she knew it had been locked before. He walked in making as little noise as possible, not seeing anyone on his couch, trying to reach his kitchen counter, looking disapprovingly at his fridge contents, nor perusing his bookshelves. Sign that something was wrong number three.

“Go away!” Said an obviously distraught voice from his second floor. Sign that something was wrong number four.

Or, well, proof that something was wrong at this point, he supposed.

“Meiri, if you want to be alone, I can leave you to yourself. But only if you come down here and promise to stay here while I’m away. There are cutting things up there, I’m not leaving on your own with them.”

After they’d come to their agreement, Edmund had cleared the first floor of most anything that could bring harm to a six – now seven – year old child. Save for cutlery, of course, it’d be ridiculous to take those to his bedroom, and he was counting on his cupboard’s height to gatekeep them from her for the near future. But he hadn’t actually done anything to make sure they were inaccessible should Meiri ever go to the second floor. Which now felt like an oversight.

“Fuck off!”

The months that had passed had brought more opportunities for Meiri and Kaisa to interact. Some of the appeal that the witch had held in her eyes seemed to have faded, being switched into suspicion every time she failed to hide her magic and annoyance every time she failed to hide her idiocy. But the connection between a young girl and the cool older woman they’d picked as a role model was no fickle thing, so even if Edmund managed the colossal effort to not swear in front of her, it was all in vain and she’d picked up a thing or two. Edmund walked towards the ladder with as much dignity as he could manage while being told off in his own house by a kid a quarter of his size.

“That’s no way to talk, young miss! I see you’re upset but there are better ways to handle this.”

He climbed up the ladder, needing only to climb three steps until he could catch a glimpse of the girl. She was curled up beside his bed in her typical distress position, but lifted her head to glare at him with red eyes as the creak of the ladder denounced his approach. There were no tears running down her face, but that didn’t make her look any less upset, her mouth curled back and the lines of her face sharp.

“Leave me alone!” She snapped as Edmund raised himself into the second floor, not standing up since he’d loom over her but rather sitting on his heels with some two metres between the two of them. He was dangerously close to the edge of the platform; an unforeseen imbalance could tip him to fall backwards into what would be a very ugly fall. But Edmund didn’t think Meiri would feel comfortable if he got any closer. She already didn’t.

“Meiri, talk to me. What happened?”

“None of your business!” Was the angry answer to his levelled question. “None of it is!”

Now, Edmund had never considered himself the most patient of men. Nor the calmest. But even though her words were clearly meant to sting, they couldn’t hit their mark. Not when he knew her so well. Not when he could see that she was only a child, too young to properly process everything that was going on around and inside her. Especially not when he could see her eyes, staring at his defiantly. Angry, but not in a cold way. Like an animal lashing out.

Her voice kept raising in volume, and he wasn’t sure if it was intentional or if she’d just lost control over that in her anguish.

“You’re always bothering me! You keep asking me stuff you can’t possibly care about, and telling me things that I don’t care about!” Her shouts rang loudly in the cabin, echoes of a pain he thought he’d never properly understand. “You’re just a sad man who has to talk to the first freak who shows up on his porch because nobody else wants to!”

Edmund nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly. He had no idea what one was supposed to do in that situation, other than the very basic (if often forgotten) guideline that you don’t lash out at literal children no matter how pissed you are. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t actually feel mad at her, not in the slightest. It was as if his worry had overtaken any other feelings he might have. Considering the only parameter he had to dealing with similar situations was trying to calm down actual angry animals, he decided that following that logic was as good of a conduct as any. Which meant keeping calm and not moving fast.

“And why wouldn’t I want to talk to you?” He spoke normally, but compared to Meiri’s current tone it sounded like a whisper to their ears.

“Shut up! I know what your deal is.” His concern was momentarily exchanged for curiosity as Edmund hoped someone would at last be able to say what the hell was up with him, before he remembered that a seven year old was probably not where his philosophical answers were going to come from. “I know you’re just sad and alone and nobody likes you! I know your life is crap and that's why you put up with me. I know you’re only sitting there because you have nothing better to do!”

She looks at him expectantly. Waiting for a fight. Whether she was challenging, expecting, hoping, he didn’t know. But she definitely was waiting for it. Which was too bad, he’d have to disappoint her. Because her words were sharp, yes. Not careless, but carefully chosen to attack every one of his weak points which she’d gotten to know during their time together. Unfortunately for her, he had gotten to know her just as well as she had him, and he could see through it. He could see that the worst of it wasn’t directed at him. He could see, in fact, that none of it really was.

After moments of silence, during which she only seemed to get more upset and confused judging by her miserable expression, he softly sighed.

“Go on.”

Meiri blinked, clutching her legs closer to her chest, preparing for whatever the conclusion of this trap would be. She knew what to do with anger. She knew what to do with crying. She knew what to do with pointing fingers and accusations that she wasn’t even trying. With this strange request, though, she hadn’t the slightest clue. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly a couple of times before she could articulate a single word.

“What?”

Edmund didn’t smile. He was tired, and he was worried. Not only that, but he knew that even if punishing her wasn’t acceptable (and not even his place, obviously) the impression that her own behaviour was ideal or something to be repeated at will wasn’t one he should give. Instead, he kept on looking at her eyes while her anger waned and she began attempting to set her gaze anywhere else without looking like she was backing away, maintaining his best poker face.

Guess the card games at The Salty Maiden served some purpose, after all.

“Go on, firefly, get it all out.” He said, slowly so as to be sure he was making himself understood. “Nothing you say will change how much I care for you. So let it out. If you hold these ugly things inside yourself they will only make you feel bad. It’s okay.”

He might as well have told her he was going to have her sleep outside the wall with hungry wolves and lurking trolls by her reaction. Edmund didn’t think he’d ever seen her – or anyone else, for that matter -- look so terrified and wretched. The crying restarted, though now of a different kind; tears flowed freely down her face, which he couldn’t really see since it was immediately hidden, her forehead resting on her knees. Edmund sighed, and almost sat back on the floor before realising there was no floor behind him and he’d just take a two metre high fall. He scooted forward just enough to sit cross legged, but no closer, feeling helpless to do anything but look dejectedly at the sobbing girl in his bedroom.

Maybe this was a mistake. He had only seen her cry like this once before, and both times had been because of him. They were currently sitting in the house’s single bedroom, which she would have to share with him if she ever came to live with him. His futile bits of random information on How To Act Around Children combined with his apparently rancid instincts had led her to a breakdown after she’d come to him already in crisis. Who was he kidding?

True, she’d been the one to come here in the first place, apparently trusting it as a safe space on a bad day. And he didn’t think his reaction had been damaging to her, all in all. But it was hard to know. Too many things could hurt a child. He didn’t want to be one of them.

And yet, she came, mused his mind as he slouched, doing nothing other than watching her hopelessly for a couple of moments.

And yet, she came, whispered his mind as he climbed down the stairs, as silently as possible.

And yet, she came, shouted his mind as he dialled the number he had already memorised by now on the black phone by his door.

And yet, she came, cried his mind when he hung up, knowing the conversation had been too silent for her to hear over her sobbing. And his mind continued the cry up until the moment his door was knocked at.

At that point, Meiri’s crying had already subsided; Edmund had placed a glass of water near her some time before, but he highly doubted she had so much as looked at its direction. She remained in the same spot and position, though, meaning she didn’t get a visual of what was happening at first but could definitely listen.

“Thank you for calling.” Terry said, looking almost as defeated as Edmund did. “The school already had and we were already on our way, but everyone was very relieved to be certain she was here.”

Edmund nodded. He wasn’t sure he could do much else. Before he could try to reason with himself about whether it would be better if he went to get her or if Terry did, the blonde had already entered his house and headed to the ladder. He instantly knew that was the wrong move.

“I don’t want to go!” Meiri shouted with apparently preserved lung potency, even if the sound was raspy due to her scratched throat. The man hadn’t even climbed the ladder fully, and he sighed.

“Meiri, you need to.” Terry argued gently. “Edmund needs his house, dear.”

Even if he couldn’t see her, Ed could imagine what she must look like, trying to curl herself even tighter, squeezing herself against the side of his bed, unable to back away any further.

He heard a sniff. A dry one. She probably wanted to cry again, but had run out of tears.

“Meiri.” Edmund said with the warmest voice he could, even if it came laced with exhaustion. “You need to be somewhere that actually makes you feel better. I don’t want you to stay just to feel worse. But if you want to, that’s between the two of you. I have to go back to my post.”

With the girl finally having scooted closer to the edge of the second floor, Meiri’s head finally became visible as Edmund headed for the door, trying his best to pretend like he was remotely interested in actually returning to work. But he had to. He had a feeling they’d never get anywhere with him in there, because he’d correct Terry every time the man implied she had to leave for Edmund’s sake, and he wouldn’t even feel bad for it.

“Wait!” She cried, almost throwing the caretaker off balance with how quickly she’d arrived at his side. “Can I come back?”

Edmund sighs, gripping the doorknob a little too tightly.

“You always know the answer to that, Meiri.”

He walked away and really hoped that the troll family didn’t show up that night.

[lasanya539]

update <3

[foxgirlplushie]

Also looking at the list of fics I wanna write there are uh. 17 of them. And I have actually started... 6.

[theysherobinbuckley]

snippet from "flies on the windscreen" my serial killer!Eddie fic that keeps me up at night

(mentions of violence but no graphic descriptions in this section)

The worst thing about interdimensional monsters tearing a gaping hole through Hawkins, Indiana wasn’t the nightmares that kept Eddie up at all hours of the night. It wasn’t the empty new mobile home the government had “gifted” him and Wayne, devoid of all of the things Eddie thought made a house a home. It wasn’t being literally hunted for sport by idiot Bible-thumpers who thought that just because he was trailer trash it meant he was a killer. It wasn’t even nearly fucking dying to save the same people who wanted him dead.

Well, maybe it was a little bit that last thing.

It was that Eddie, Steve, Nancy, Robin, Dustin, all the kids, all of them—they had all given so much (too fucking much) just to save a shitty town that couldn’t understand any of it, any of them. A town that still blamed Eddie for everything that happened. A town that still raised kids like Jason Carver and Billy Hargrove and let them fucking terrorize everyone else who lived in it. A town that still shoved all the undesirables to the side and held up its golden children (athletic, preppy, heterosexual, drugged out only on the weekends like good little boys and girls) like they were gods to be admired.

A town that would never know how close it had come to total annihilation, saved only because a handful of teenagers had deemed it worthy of saving, if only for the simple fact that they lived in it.

Vecna was dead. Chrissy was dead. Not Jason, not Tommy, not anyone who had spat on him and called him a queer, not anyone who had outright threatened Jeff and Lucas and fucking Erica for daring to be Black in Indiana. Chrissy fucking Cunningham.

All that, and nothing had fucking changed.

Except–

Except Eddie wasn’t a fucking coward anymore. When Jason and his idiot goons cornered him in the hallway or in the parking lot of the only place in Hawkins that deigned to hire him after graduation, he stood his ground, fists already clenched, itching for a fight he knew he would lose.

But then Steve had taught him how to throw a punch for real.

Once Eddie knew how to fight back, he couldn’t help himself. He fought with a ferocity he hadn’t known he’d possessed, driven not by the desire to stay alive but by the desire to make someone hurt. Someone had to pay for all the shit that went down that spring, and the government’s hush money just wasn’t cutting it.

Someone needed to bleed for it. And it sure as fuck wasn’t going to be Eddie. Not anymore.

He’d thought for the longest time that maybe, deep down, he really deserved everything he got. But then there was the Upside Down, and he knew he deserved better than that. So maybe he deserved better than Jason Carver, too.

When fall came and Jason and the rest of the graduating class hightailed it out of Hawkins (sans Eddie, who didn’t bother applying anywhere, and Robin, who took community college classes one town over), Eddie was almost… disappointed. It was nice not being hunted for sport, but the loss of a viable outlet for his anger had left Eddie reeling.

To his surprise, he’d come to rely on the feeling of Jason’s fists bruising his skin, of tumbling around on the ground pulling hair and scratching eyes until someone pulled one of them away, both of them bleeding and snarling like animals. He missed it.

Now he had all this fucking pent-up energy, all this electric rage coursing through his body, and it just kept on fucking building, pooling in his fists and in his feet and in his gut, and he had to get it out. He had to get it out or he was gonna fucking explode on somebody who really didn’t deserve it.

So he disappeared every now and then. Took some time for himself, drove up to Indy without telling anyone where he was going. He wandered around town looking to blow off some steam, maybe try to find some new drugs or drink himself into a stupor. Anything to get the lighting to stop crackling around his fingers.

Eddie wasn’t a coward anymore, but he definitely wasn’t brave. He was stupid and reckless and curious. So when he heard a commotion around the back alley of a club he’d been trying to get Corroded Coffin into, he froze. Decided to check it out.

The night was dark and still, streets illuminated by the full moon and flickering street lights. Most of the bars and clubs still teemed with sweaty, horny twenty-somethings desperate to forget themselves for a night. In another world, or maybe just on another night, it could have been Eddie and Steve dancing and drinking and kissing until the early hours of the morning, worried about nothing except the drive home.

Tonight, as Eddie crept silently around the corner, there came a sharp cry that almost moved Eddie to tears right then and there.

Some douchebag had pinned a girl to the wall, one knee between her legs and a hand fisted in her shirt. Eddie couldn’t see his other hand. The girl yelped again, sobbing, pleading.

Now, don’t get it twisted. Eddie would’ve stepped in anyway, even if he hadn’t been looking for a fight. There was no fucking way he’d just watch some guy feel up a girl who definitely wasn’t into it, especially not if she was screaming and crying so loud he could hear it from the street. Not on his fucking life.

It just so happened that tonight was a bad night.

[kindsummer]

i guess i have to set a calender notification for the 29th then...

also "6th MA Baltimore Riot fic cause Edward F Jones do be in charge of the 6th Ma". eddie jones maryland truther !!!

both fear of the water AND the justified fics are currently in motion...get pumped, get thrilled, get ready for TRAUMA.

listen, i know the truth!!!! plus, i'm the type of research obsessed idiot that deep dives on ancestry to find fucking ;;; find census, birth records, etc and i know for a fact that eddie is from maryland. tho that doesn't explain his accent, @ anyone from around whiteford, maryland DO we know the answer??? but hell yeah, i have a pretty intense obsession with the civil war as well (everyone can blame my parents) and the 6th MA has a special place in my heart so when i realized there was a shared name connection there i could not HELP but jump on the chance to add that to the list. 🤌🤌🤌

[choicesficwriterscreations]

Red Carpet Diaries 2023 Masterlist

✒️= Fanfic | 📱= Text Fics/Edits | 🎨= Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+

January 2023

New Traditions ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - theartoflovingthomashunt

Brooklyn's Birthday ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!MC - @tveitertotwrites

February 2023

Above & Beyond ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!MC - @peonyblossom

The Universe Gave Y'all to Me ✒️| Thomas Hunt x NB!MC - @peonyblossom

March 2023

RCD Drabble ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @lilyoffandoms

April 2023

New Beginnings (Series) | Thomas Hunt x F!MC - @hopelessromantic1352 Chapter 13 ✒️

Hoppy Easter ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @theartoflovingthomashunt

Distraction ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @theartoflovingthomashunt

The Morning After ✒️Ⓜ️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @alj4890

Girls Morning ✒️ | Victoria Fontaine, F!MC - @tveitertotwrites

May 2023

The Bogart Diaries (Series) | Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @theartoflovingthomashunt A Special Day ✒️

Evidence ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @alj4890

Together as One ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @theartoflovingthomashunt

Slipping Away Together ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @alj4890

Sparks of Hope ✒️| Thomas Hunt x MC - @alj4890

June 2023

Confession Time ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @alj4890

Love Among the Pages ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @theartoflovingthomashunt

No Greater Gift ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @theartoflovingthomashunt

July 2023

Direction (Series) | Thomas Hunt x MC - @moodyvalentinestories Chapter 30 ✒️ Chapter 31 ✒️

Sick ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!MC - @tveitertotwrites

Worth the Wait ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @alj4890

In The Stillness of Sunrise ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @theartoflovingthomashunt

Worth the Wait (Series) | Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @alj4890 Part 1 ✒️

August 2023

Coffee & Dinosaurs ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - @theartoflovingthomashunt

That Boleyn Girl (Part 1/2) ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!MC - @tveitertotwrites

November 2023

Thomas Hunt x MC Drabble ✒️🏳️‍🌈by @lilyoffandoms

Brooklyn Moore 🎨| RCD F!MC by @/coffeesforchole for @tveitertotwrites

Dress Up ✒️| Thomas Hunt x F!MC - @tveitertotwrites

December 2023

Always and Whatever Comes Next ✒️🎨🌟| Thomas Hunt x F!OC - art by @weetlebeetle fic by @theartoflovingthomashunt

Thomas Hunt x MC Holiday Art 🎨by @cashweasel (C: @peonyblossom)

[lizzybeth1986]

Rose Gold

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Hana Lee x Kiara Theron

Rating: PG

Word Count: 4, 304 words

Content Warning: Mention of Gun Violence, Character Injury.

Summary: Six months after King Liam and Queen Esther's wedding, Hana and Kiara take their next big step as a couple.

A/N: Set in the P&Tverse. Since P&T spans the timelines of Books 2 and 3 (the Engagement Tour and the Unity Tour + Liam & Esther's wedding), most of this fic takes place after the series is meant to end, and there are references to things that happen there that aren't canon.

The first half of the fic, however, takes place just before the group reunites with the MC and Drake at the safe house (TRR3, Ch 1).

I've borrowed a few elements from Hana's own engagement to the MC in the books: the rose gold ring, the coin throwing ritual at the foundation and the proposal at the lake.

Tagging @hanaleeappreciationweek for Day 5: Romance, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW and LGBTQ Archive, and @choicesmaychallenge24 for Hera: Marriage

October 14th, 2017. Half past Midnight.

Foolishness. Sheer foolishness.

The voice inwardly chiding her right now sounded suspiciously like her mother; for that reason alone she was desperate to ignore it.

But what else would one call an impulse to jump out of a car that could take her in complete secrecy to the city's best safe house, only to race to Argyros and Sons - Cordonia's premier jewellery store - for a gift she wasn't even sure would be accepted...a promise she wasn't even sure its intended recipient would want?

"Looking for something specific, Your Grace?"

Surprised, Hana looked up from the case displaying an assortment of glittering diamond rings. The eyes that met hers in a speculative survey were ocean-blue, marked by wizened crow's feet. It was at the tip of her tongue to correct him (Lady Hana, sir!) when she spotted the Twitter feed on the iPhone in his hand.

News sure does travel fast around the Capitol!

But no sooner had that thought left her head, than the riptide of memories began to flood her.

The Homecoming Ball. Hors d'oeuvres. Speeches. Fireworks. Announcements. Please welcome Esther DuPont, Duchess of Valtoria, and Hana Lee, Duchess of Krysanthe. Cheers. Expectant Gazes. And then...

Darkness. Gunshots. The acrid taste of fear.

Hana bit back a grimace. How long would memories of tonight haunt her? How long would it be before she heard people address her by her new title, without memories of the violence that followed?

She held her handbag with a sudden death-grip, forcing herself to breathe. To push forth happier, sweeter memories.

Unbidden, comes the one memory that had managed to keep her sane this night.

Her laughter.

Sharp. Raucous. Loud. Jarring against the tinkling sounds of cutlery and glassware, as far away as one could get from the soft, windchime quality of delicate laughter, that every female courtier was taught to emulate.

She thought she'd known love until that moment, fool that she was. Thought that no matter who she dated, no matter how distant she'd be from those memories of the social season - Esther would somehow remain her first and forever love.

Until she had taken that one fateful look at Kiara's wildly joyous face, heard her cackle - the kind one would never normally dare to do at court - and realized with piercing clarity that if she were to compare her feelings for these two women, they would be nowhere close.

Her love for Esther had all the subdued warmth of a crackling bonfire. But these newfound feelings for Kiara?? They made her feel like she was plunging herself headfirst into a raging volcano.

Something within Hana had trembled violently in that moment; some premonition that felt searing in its finality.

Kiara was the one. She was all Hana had ever wanted, without knowing it; all that Hana would ever want, from now till eternity. The one in whose arms she would want to stir awake, every day for the rest of her life.

Kiara Thorne, or no one. Kiara Thorne, or lifelong loneliness.

The phrase rang in her ears like a verdict: final, eternal, unchangeable.

When Hana opened her eyes, she found to her consternation that they were blurry from unshed tears. Quickly blinking them away, she noted dully how different the rings on the display now looked.

Certainly she must have moved to another part of the store without knowing. Where before she'd seen glittering, brilliant, ostentatious diamonds, set in white gold and platinum...now she saw stones nestled in the embrace of a warmer, almost blush-toned metal.

Rose gold.

The metal that was all the rage in her mother's birthplace Bethulia, for its delicate shimmer and soft pink hue. Mama had told her often enough in her childhood that their barony's love for it went far beyond just the colour...that her mother - Hana's Nanimaa - loved it for being such a perfect union of gold, silver and copper...

A whisper of a memory of Nanimaa, the one time she'd ever seen her. At a fountain, glowing from the glimmer of abandoned coins.

It took her less than a minute to find exactly what she didn't know she'd been looking for. Had you asked the jeweller about her, he would have told you that the newly appointed Duchess of Krysanthe had chosen her ring with the greatest confidence. The confidence of a woman who had probably wooed her beloved, confessed her love, basked in the joy of being loved back.

A confidence Hana didn't feel.

When she returned to the limo, she was greeted with the sight of a pensive Liam, rubbing the frown between his brows absently with his fingers. A telltale muscle jumped inside his jaw.

"Any news?" Hana whispered, almost dreading the answer.

"Yes," his voice was grainy from exhaustion and guilt. "Three people injured. Bastien, Esther's press secretary, and...."

"And?" Her voice had gone small and high, that a fearful child's.

"And Lady Kiara. She was..."

Hana blinked once, then blinked again. Liam's mouth was moving, yet no sound seemed to come out. All that she could hear was a low, keening noise, like a muffled siren...or like the moan of a woman in terrible pain.

Kiara. Kiara. Kiara.

--

May 12th, 2018. Afternoon.

"How far from the palace are you taking us?" Kiara asks, her voice alight with laughter.

"Not even outside its gates," Hana replies, grinning. Kiara looks down at their fingers laced together, palms almost touching.

They've been together for just six months, and still somehow, the lines on Hana's palm feel as familiar to her now as her own. Without even looking she can conjure up the memory of the heartline on Hana's left palm at a moment's notice - long and deep, starting from her index finger, suggesting she would be a wonderful lover with a very fruitful love experience - and her marriage line, stretching from one end of her palm all the way to her ring finger...suggesting friendly in-laws.

(The thought of luring Hana to marry her under the premise of palmistry is sounding more and more tempting by the minute)

Involuntarily - perhaps to stop herself from checking her trouser pockets once again for that tiny box she took from her vault today - Kiara's hand tightens around Hana's.

Can she dare to hope that fortunate beloved could be her?

She steals a glance in Hana's direction, noting with alarm that her fingers are trembling in Kiara's hand.

"We're here," she says, her voice suddenly small and quivering against the gurgle of water in the courtyard fountain. It's been a palace fixture for several decades now - ornate and imposing - a legacy from King Liam's formidable grandmother, the late Queen Mother Cassandra. According to Kiara's father, the woman had married into the family as a young princess from Monterisso, and for her foreignness alone was expected to be crushed by the strictures of the palace and the expectations of her people - yet in a decade's time she had somehow became the most imposing figure there! There was very little in the palace that didn't have her stamp of approval first.

As they come closer, Kiara sees the one thing Queen Mother Cassandra may not have predicted when this fountain was built - the glimmer of coins, all gleaming in the sunlight like they were minted just yesterday.

Her own smile begins to tremble on her lips, even as she notices Hana swallow a telltale nervous lump in her throat. For the first time since they have gotten here, Kiara notices that Hana's other hand is fisted around something. Something that could very likely be the same coins they just saw in the fountain.

She takes that hand gently in hers, knowing now how nervous Hana must feel; knowing that if they complete the ancient lover's ritual that she so hoped to do today, there will be no going back. She uncoils Hana's fisted hand, finger by quivering finger, watching her face as her breathing quickens. She smiles again - a smile more aimed at reassurance than amusement.

"Are we going to do what I think we're going to do today, ma moité?"

For several seconds, Hana doesn't respond. The three coins in her hand (Heavy. Ornate. Engraved with apples. Ancient) are proof enough. The answer, when it finally comes - almost like it is torn out of her throat for fear that Kiara's feelings may not match her own - is barely audible.

"Only if this is what you want too."

Gold. Silver. Copper. Tossed in one after the other in an ancient lover's ritual - one that Kiara knows only because she'd learned about it from her mother, who'd had friends in Bethulia where this ritual was most popular. Maman and Baba themselves had done it on a trip there when she was a teenager, still squirming over her parents' ability to still act like swoony romantics in their (and this would be said well out of their earshot) "fucking forties!".

Wiser now, Kiara feels the same anticipatory tingles that her parents must have felt back then.

This ritual wasn't for the faint of heart in ancient days. You did it only when you were certain. When you looked at your lover and knew that a life without them wasn't a life worth living.

Well, Kiara muses as she watches a hundred emotions flit in a second over Hana's face, I think I've known that long enough. I've known ever since I saw you fight your father in Shanghai, even when you knew it would cost you everything. Since that one moment, I've been yours.

Planting a tender kiss on the corner of Hana's mouth, she takes the coins. "Ready when you are," she whispers softly.

Hana swallows again, her eyes glistening and moist and relieved all at once. In a silk pouch that dangles from her wrist, she fishes for three coins identical to the ones on Kiara's palm. She breathes deep once, twice, three times.

Kiara links their free hands, grips them tight as they turn their backs to the fountain. Hana looks up, a question in her eyes.

"For friendship!" Kiara says, tossing the copper coin into the fountain. Faint memories of something that almost feels like another lifetime glimmer and fade in her memory. Applewood, sipping water, giggling over their favourite fruits and flowers. The Beaumont Bash. Watching from the sidelines as Hana did the verbel equivalent of ripping out Olivia Nevrakis' spine at the Coronation Ball.

Hana takes out the silver coin, and waits for Kiara to holds up hers'. "For love?"

Engagement tour. Fearing Hana would hate her in Fydelia, but never understanding why that should suddenly matter. Standing with her against a bridge in Paris, each mourning their lost loves.

Finally learning what love really was, when she opened her eyes and truly saw Hana for the very first time.

Kiara nods, touching her forehead to Hana's. "Par amour." Their coins splash in unison in the water.

Her girlfriend lets out a watery giggle as she takes out the final coin, glittering and golden on her palm. Her voice breaks a little as she tosses it behind her. "For...bel- belonging".

Kiara's own sigh releases in a shudder as she lets the final pledge sink in.

There were very few places in the world that truly felt like home to Hana. Not the place where she was born, not the barony that could have been her legacy. It took her months to even find comfort or security in her future in Cordonia - much less belonging.

Without a moment's thought, and without releasing the golden coin in her hand, she cups Hana's face and kisses her. Hana shudders and buries her hands in Kiara's hair, her lips trembling against the unspoken promises in her lover's.

"For belonging," Kiara says it like it is a vow. "And I don't care how long it takes - I give my word right now. I'll never let you feel like you have lost your home. Ever." Another kiss - this time on Hana's temple. "I hope you will always find one. In me."

Hana's smile is warm and dreamlike, her eyes closed as if to savour this moment, her fingers playing with Kiara's curls. She barely notices the sound of Kiara's gold coin landing in the fountain. "I love you, Kiki."

Kiara chuckles at her teasing use of the nickname, brushing Hana's nose with her own. "Together forever?"

Their hands, now free, close around each other. "Together forever."

It's quiet now, except for the sound of collard doves, the rustle of leaves and branches in a light breeze, and their breathing. The air smells of wildflowers, citrus and a subtle floral scent that Kiara knows to be the perfume Hana has been using for months. Orange Blossom. She grins as she remembers. It's a scent Hana has often loved to wear, just for her.

Hana's thumb feathers lightly over the ring finger on Kiara's left hand, almost as if to commit the bare space on it to her memory. Kiara doesn't miss that gaze - bright-eyed and soaked in longing - and how it mirrors a need she has felt ever since they landed at the Capitol last week.

Kiara swallows. She had wanted to take things slow, she really did. Woo her, bathe her in every luxury possible, make this trip even more unforgettable than Hana could ever imagine, and then spring this surprise on her - like a kirsch-soaked cherry topping on an already very tempting Black Forest Cake.

But...but that gaze of Hana's has always been Kiara's undoing.

Simply, she says, "come with me."

Puzzled, Hana looks up. "Where?"

"To Lake Sôse," Kiara whispers, wasting not one more moment and grabbing her hand. Hana lets out a nervous, slightly incredulous laugh as she allows herself to be pulled along.

Kiara isn't sure why she's suddenly rushing this. When she thinks of the elaborate plans she'd been constructing all week - chocolate-dipped strawberries and champagne at one of the Capital's premier restaurants, flowers everywhere, a proposal at the hedge maze with a picture together by the swing to commemorate the occasion - she wants to laugh. She isn't even sure why Lake Sôse was the first place she'd thought of just now.

She takes a deep breath, and grounds herself. Uncommonly impulsive though it may be, her decision has been made. There is even a part of her that seems to prefer it to happen this way!Kiara has never been one for last minute changes of plan...but ever since she fell in love with Hana, she's learned to expect - and enjoy - the unexpected.

It's only when she sees the shine in Hana's eyes that she realises why her mind took the turn it did.

Lake Sôse. The one place Hana Lee has always chosen for solace and comfort. The one place in the Capitol where she felt the most at home. It had been here, Hana told Kiara once, that King Liam had told her his plans to appoint her Duchess of Krysanthe. It was here, hours later, that she'd shared that momentous news with her best friend Esther; where Esther - herself aglow with love and a newfound purpose - hugged Hana and told her that the world would now be Hana's oyster.

She'd brought Kiara to this lake for the first time the day after King Liam and Queen Esther's wedding, following a night when the queen herself had been kidnapped, and Hana had joined the king's entourage to rescue her.

A night that Kiara - in constant fear of losing her forever - had recklessly kissed Hana. In public. In front of the entire court. Braving gazes of teasing approval from Kiara's parents, and near-murderous glares from Hana's. The night everyone outside of Hana's friend circle finally realized the two were a couple.

Kiara remembers the day after that like it was yesterday. Something must have changed fundamentally in Hana that night, because the fear seemed to have gone, and with it the compulsive need for hiding and subterfuge and constantly looking over her shoulder. It was as if Hana had faced what she'd thought was the worst thing that could happen to her, and realized she really was strong enough to face that fear.

You're my safe place among people, Hana told her that morning, her fingers lacing through Kiara's. The one I feel most at home with. I want to bring my safe space..to the place in Cordonia I've always felt safest in.

It is afternoon, and the yellow crocuses behind them exude a warm, buttery golden glow in the sunlight. Hana lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh. "You seem like a woman in a very huge rush today, Lady Thorne."

Kiara's own laughter in response is high-pitched and halting. She tries to hide the moistness of her palms as she makes a blind grab for the small velvet box in her purse. "Believe me, this wasn't the way I'd planned this to go at all."

Intrigued, Hana's eyes follow Kiara's hands, and her eyes widen as she recognises the familiar deep blue velvet, the embossed silver lettering on top. Argyros and Sons.

"Is that --"

"Yes," Kiara says, clearing her throat, "I'd been planning this. All week. It was going to be romantic, elaborate, I was going to sweep you off your feet. Just like I'd planned to ask you out seven months ago."

Hana lets out a watery giggle. We all know how that turned out, don't we, qīn'ài de? Kiara can almost hear her saying.

But the humour stops almost immediately when she looks at the box again, and suddenly Hana seems too still, too shocked...too far off from how Kiara hoped she would react.

Kiara lets out a deep breath, then lets the words gush out of her. She's too scared to stop, too terrified to think - the fear that she may be doing too much too soon is so overwhelming that she knows if she stops she won't be able to bring herself to do this for a long, long time to come. The humiliation would be too strong.

"I'm not one for impulse. I never have been. I've never felt comfortable with anything if I didn't have a plan for it first."

Kiara gives herself a moment to half-smile at the irony of it all. Approaching Hana Lee with a smile and a bottle of water, after that first eventful bite of a Cordonian Ruby was definitely an impulse. So were half the things she had done with Hana since. So will many, many, many of the things they may wind up doing together, if (if!) this leap of faith works in her favour.

She looks up at Hana to see if she's laughing at the memory too. She isn't. In fact, Kiara isn't even sure Hana's reacting yet to what she's saying. Perfectly still, her eyes never moving from the box, so wide that they would go bloodshot if they were widened any further. Kiara swallows, and finds that her throat feels suddenly, inexplicably sore.

"I could never tell what it was about you that changed all that. I still don't. All I know is that...around you, Hana, I feel so much more brave. To let go of the need to plan and organize. To not be too afraid of what will follow - whether it goes in my favour or not. I find myself not just willing, but eager, to trust my gut."

Kiara's eyes search every inch of Hana's face as she opens the box, revealing the ring inside. It's a gorgeous piece, all platinum and sparkling diamonds. The smaller stones form a cluster around a massive one, leading the viewer to believe they are seeing a glittering snowflake, fallen fresh from the heavens.

Kiara had known the minute she saw the ring that it was the one. That it would remind them of the first time they confessed their love. Of their very first date, of the first time they shared Hana's cup of homemade hot chocolate. Of why the two of them will always love winters.

Hana's fingers move, trembling, towards her mouth, her face suddenly flushed. She remembers it too.

"Hana Lee," A frisson of fear slithers down Kiara's spine. "Will you marry me?"

When Hana finally opens her mouth, several seconds later, Kiara has to strain to hear her voice.

"I - I -" her eyes dart away from Kiara as if she's just remembered something important - her beautiful bronzed skin suddenly a little drained of colour. The next few words, she says in a "I.... I'll be back. Give me five minutes? I...just remembered something."

She leaves without waiting for an answer.

Kiara sinks into the grass, covering her face in her hands.

What have I just done?

--

All the way back from her room in the palace to the lake, the pouch hanging from her wrist feeling only a slight bit heavier, Hana cannot stop mentally kicking herself.

"You fool! You imbecile! Bèn dàn!!" Hana curses herself as she speeds up her sprint into a run, "What happened to your tongue? What kind of reaction was that?? What will Kiara think?"

Her mind now sprints miles ahead of her feet, racing in panicked ferocity over the possibilities.

With any luck, Kiara could still be waiting - puzzled and perhaps a little worried. Or she could be actively panicking, the way she does (on very rare occasions) when a plan goes terribly wrong.

Or...or...

Hana holds the silk pouch from her wrist in a deathlike grip as she speeds up towards Lake Sôse. Or.

The thought of that lovely, open space completely devoid of Kiara, of that beguiling combination of rose and jasmine emanating from her favourite Dior J'adore perfume, makes Hana's stomach drop to her feet.

It isn't until she sees that that heartbreakingly familiar figure of Kiara's, hunched over the grass, that Hana allows herself to breathe.

Kiara is there. Shoulders bent, head buried in her hands, almost stumbling as she tries to get up when she sees Hana.

Morose. Defeated. But still there.

Without another thought, Hana rushes into Kiara's arms, almost knocking her off her feet.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Hana whispers against her hair. "I wasn't trying to run away. I really had to get something. For you."

Kiara pulls back to look into her eyes, and when she does Hana's heart twists at the sight of unshed tears. "I thought I'd scared you off."

Hana's own laughter quavers, pitched high in disbelief. "I've just pledged myself to you this afternoon, body and soul, at the palace fountain. This -" she lifts Kiara's left hand to her chest, her thumb caressing the empty space on her beloved's ring finger " - just makes it so much more real."

Kiara's arms wrap around her, pulling Hana flush to her. Hana can feel Kiara shake as she giggles in response. "...you mean to say that I'd have saved myself so much stress if I'd just remembered those coins."

"Yes, qīn'ài de, a thousand times yes." She cups Kiara's face, pressing their foreheads together. "Place that ring where it belongs, Kiki. I can't wait to see it on my finger."

Hana holds her tight until Kiara's breathing becomes slower, calmer. She raises her newly-adorned hand for Kiara to see - marvelling at how the ring really mimics the glow of a snow crystal in the winter sun.

When they part, shyly, reluctantly, Hana begins to fiddle with the silk pouch.

"Here's what I'd gone to bring."

Kiara's eyes brighten at the sight of the box in her hand; a wave of warmth floods through Hana in anticipation of her response. Kiara gasps the minute she opens the box, revealing a delicate, intricately carved rose gold ring, flanked by small diamonds on all four corners, cradling a bigger one at the center.

"Rose gold," Kiara murmurs in wonder.

"Yes," Hana brushes her fingers over Kiara's knuckles. She'd told her once, long ago, how revered that metal was in her home province Bethulia. How Bethulian jewellers and goldsmiths and young women swore by the rosy hue it exuded. How it was a perfect amalgamation of three precious metals - all highly valued in the province. How tied it was to their folktales and bridal rituals.

"Copper..silver...gold." Kiara's tears glitter like diamonds before she lets them fall. "For friendship. For love. For belonging."

Hana smiles, her hand still stroking Kiara's cheek. "You remembered."

Kiara rolls her still-moist eyes, trying hard not to sniff - it would take out all the humour in this situation. "It's hard to forget a ritual we'd performed just ten minutes ago, ma moité."

"I'd planned to give you this ring a week from now," Hana says, shaking her head at her own impulsiveness as the ring she'd chosen on a fanciful whim so long ago, now finds its home. "I've been holding onto it for far too long."

Kiara caresses the stone on her own finger lovingly, admiring the way the rose gold glows on her skin. When she speaks, her voice is breathless in anticipation. "How long?"

For several minutes, Hana's only response is to pull Kiara back in her arms again. Her hand slides slowly, almost with a tinge of regret, down the dip of Kiara's waist on her left side. The wound that had once served as a constant, searing reminder of so much (of her vulnerability, of her inability to run from pain, of what she'd once considered her failures), has healed in more ways than one - only a faded scar that Hana never fails to kiss, now remains.

"For seven months," Hana's voice shakes at the memory, "Since the night after Homecoming Ball."

With a choked sob, Kiara enfolds Hana into her arms, almost as if she'd want to absorb her into every cell of her body. Fervently, reverently, she presses her lips all over Hana's face - her eyelids, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, all the little-known, barely-noticed parts of her. It takes her a while - perhaps too long, in Hana's opinion - for Kiara's lips to meet hers, but she welcomes the sweet torture of waiting.

"Mon cœur," Kiara says between kisses, "ma raison de vivre."

When they part, the two women keep each other's hands interlinked, one left hand over the other. Neither of them will remember how long they stay at the lake; only that they never want this joy, this warm afterglow of seeing their dreams come true...to end.

The empty spaces on their ring fingers, over which they'd each stolen such secret, hungry glances today, now bear the mark of their lovers. Now bear the most tangible signs of their love, their memories, their promises, their commitment.

Together forever.

--

Translation:

Ma moité - a romantic endearment in French, meaning "my other half"

Qīn'ài de - Mandarin Chinese for "my dear"/"darling"

Bèn dàn - Mandarin Chinese cuss word that means "stupid egg!"

Mon cœur - French endearment, meaning "my heart"

Ma raison de vivre - French for "my reason to live"

--

References for Hana and Kiara's engagement rings:

Kiara:

(Source: Maxine Jewellery)

Hana:

(Source: This article on engagement rings, but the actual pic itself came from Blue Rose Photography)

[pmdfanfiction]

Introducing the Fic of the Week program!

With version 1.5.0, every week, a randomly chosen story will be highlighted on the website's front page as well as on our social media and the server's announcements. To opt-out from having your fic chosen for FotW, give it a tag called "No Fic of the Week". This is something we on the dev team have always thought about since day one of this website's conception, and we hope you are as excited as us to finally bring it into reality.

The first Fic of the Week is Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Age of Shadows by StarFalcon555 (aka me, your humble social media manager I SWEAR IT WAS A MASSIVE COINCIDENCE LMAOOOOOOOOO)

Check the fic out and let us know what you think! You have one week to do so!

https://pmdfanfiction.com/story/pokemon-mystery-dungeon-age-of-shadows/

[jerzwriter]

Why don't you share all fics on your fics of the week list? There are some that I don't see on it.

Hi Nonny,

Thank you for asking.

Our rules for submitting fics for our FotW event can be found here. In order to ensure a fic is posted, the writer needs to copy @choicesficwriterscreations in the post, and it is recommended they use the tag #cfwc fics of the week.

Recently, we attempted to post fics using the main tags, but encountered two issues:

It is just an inordinate amount of work. CFWC is run by me and Kathy, real people with real jobs and responsibilities - there just weren't enough hours in the day. And,

Some people don't want their fics posted on the list.

As the FotW admin, if I see a fic by a writer who has not previously utilized CFWC, I will send a welcome message and offer the opportunity to be included.

It is our wish to have as many writers represented as possible, but we also don't want to force anyone who may not wish to participate.

If you have any other questions, please let me know!

[twentyonepilotsficlibrary]

Fic of The Week

Sahlo by strawberrykiwicaprisun (11/11 | 25734 | Teen)

He is worn and weak. The Bishops are always coming for him. Josh is there to save him every time.

The one where Tyler has a soft spot for animals and gains a new friend while trying to survive in Trench.

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Hmmm yeah, they definetly went to look at the mushrooms after all that was over

[lasanya539]

It’s been probably less than a week since they’ve defeated the Shredder, but the Hamatos seem to be doing better than ever. Their weapons look cool, magic’s strong, and connection even stronger (both Ninpō and Wi-Fi). They’re even playing IRL Subway Surfers at their new lair with chalk and spray paint! So imagine their surprise when Mr. Rat-of-the-Year decides to go ‘nuh-uh’ and puts Leo of all people in charge of their little vigilante group, starting a cascade of emotions through the traumatized crime-fighters in a way that dismantles all their old rules and roles and leaves each to his own devices (but mostly Donnie’s Genius Tech™). With convenient timing, the criminal underworld is already up and running, suddenly very interested in these mystic mutants who seem to have saved the world with little more than ‘the power of family’. When all their lives are all on the line, the only question remains: how strong is it, truly?

shameless plug <3

[southsidewrites]

Sweet Pea x Lisa Wilson || Hidden Rivals

“Dumb jock clearly doesn’t know a beautiful girl when he sees one”

by @inlovewsweetpea

[outropeace]

🌟Fic of The Week:

↳ Anybody Have a Map?  by  2tiedships [@2tiedships2] (13k)

Louis met Harry in NYC where they bonded as fellow Brits in the large city. Years later, with Louis’ upcoming heat, maybe it’s time for their friendship to become something more.

*remember to leave kudos and nice comments if you liked the fic ✨🌸

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC FotW - August 20-26, 2023

Ⓜ️ = Adult/Mature Content 18+ 🔥 = Explicit Material/NSFW 18+ 📱= Text Fics/Edits 🎨= Includes Fanart

BLADES OF LIGHT AND SHADOW

Chosen by Light | Mal Volari x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

CRIMES OF PASSION

Crimes Drabble | Trystan Thorne x MC - @lilyoffandoms

Save it for Desert | m! Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @a-cloud-for-dreams 📱

Take Me Out | m! Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @jerzwriter 🎨

Tides of Change | f! Trystan Thorne x Juliana Grogescu, Sebastian Thorne x Juliana Grogescu - @coffeeheartaddict2 Ⓜ️

IMMORTAL DESIRES

Snow in Crimson, Starlight in Gold (Series) | m! Cas Harlow x m! Gabriel Adalhard x nb!MC - @aria-ashryver Chapter 35: Sink Your Teeth In, Part 2 Ⓜ️

IT LIVES WITHIN

Love by Any Other Name (1 / 4) | Amalia de Leon x F!MC - @professor-abeloved

OPEN HEART

RED CARPET DIARIES

That Boleyn Girl (Part 1/2) | Thomas Hunt x F!MC - @tveitertotwrites

THE ROYAL ROMANCE

Baking Memories | Liam Rhys, Constantine Rhys - @kristinamae093

Black Silk (Series) | Liam Rhys x F!OC, Drake Walker x F!OC - @aussiegurl1234 Chapter 16: The Steer Ⓜ️

Can't Take My Eyes Off You (Series) | Bertrand Beaumont x Olivia Nevrakis - @alj4890 Chapter 3: Olivia's Ballroom

Mosquito | Maxwell Beaumont x MC - @chocopeppermintcake

The Royal Heir's Royal Romance | Drake Walker x MC, Royal Heir x OC - @whatisreggieshortfor

...Sometimes Not (Series) | Liam Rys x F!OC - @ao719 Part 8: Turn a Blind Eye

Through Hell & Back (Series) | Olivia Nevrakis x Anton Severus - @queenmiarys Part 1: First Impressions

Turning the Page (Series) | Liam Rys x F!MC - @tessa-liam Chapter 2: The Sacrifice Ⓜ️

[lizzybeth1986]

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 the man who had crushed her umpteenth attempt to impress him to dust. 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 wherever 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 courtier'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 a little 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.

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??"

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.

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.

"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.

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?

"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!"

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."

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..."

"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". It's a popular Gujarati saying, I think, but it's associated most with the Parsi community.

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