#market update on silver

[financia012]

Silver Price Forecast Update – 22-11-2024

As silver continues to play a vital role in both industrial applications and investment portfolios, the price forecast for November 22, 2024, shows a dynamic outlook. This article delves into the key factors driving silver prices, technical analysis for traders, and market trends to watch as the silver market navigates the evolving financial landscape. Market Trends to Watch for Silver on…

[newsbetulhub]

Gold Price Today: सोना ₹2913 और चांदी ₹1958 महंगी, शादी से पहले खरीदारों को झटका

Gold Price Today: सोने-चांदी के भाव में जबरदस्त उछाल, शादी से पहले खरीदारों को लगा झटका 11 अप्रैल 2025 – सर्राफा बाजार से आज आई बड़ी खबर ने सोना-चांदी खरीदने की सोच रहे लोगों को चौंका दिया है। एक ही झटके में सोना ₹2913 महंगा होकर ₹93074 प्रति 10 ग्राम पर पहुंच गया, वहीं चांदी ₹1958 उछलकर ₹92627 प्रति किलोग्राम हो गई है। GST सहित 24 कैरेट सोना ₹95866 और चांदी ₹95405 प्रति किलोग्राम तक पहुंच गई…

[newschakra]

डिजायर 5-स्टार सेफ्टी रेटिंग वाली मारुति की पहली कार:दूसरी तिमाही में टाटा मोटर्स का मुनाफा 11% घटा, मस्क की नेटवर्थ 2.50 लाख करोड़ बढ़ी

नई दिल्ली9 घंटे पहले कॉपी लिंक कल की बड़ी खबर मारुति सुजुकी से जुड़ी रही। मारुति सुजुकी की अपकमिंग सेडान डिजायर को ग्लोबल NCAP क्रैश टेस्ट में 5-स्टार सेफ्टी रेटिंग मिली है। इसके साथ ही यह कंपनी की पहली कार बन गई है, जिसे किसी भी क्रैश टेस्ट एजेंसी से एडल्ट ��े लिए 5 स्टार और चाइल्ड सेफ्टी के लिए 4 स्टार रेटिंग मिली है। वहीं, ऑटोमोबाइल कंपनी टाटा मोटर्स को वित्त वर्ष 2024-25 की दूसरी तिमाही में…

[beloveds-embrace]

Dukedom au masterlist (yes i need to update it ik) and we will not talk abt the abrupt ending 😭

The grand ballroom of glittered with the light of a thousand candles, their flames dancing across marble floors and golden fixtures hung from the ceilings. A symphony played softly in the background, a perfect complement to the hum of ongoing conversation and chatter. You stood at the center of it all, draped in a gown of midnight blue silk, embroidered with silver thread that mirrored the stars. A gift from Simon, one that had you staring at the beautiful dress in awe.

Tonight, you were the very image of grace and poise.

Your face and movements are calm and collected, hiding what you truly feel beneath. Lately, whispers of dishonor had begun circulating; rumors that your husband had fled a border skirmish back when he’d been deployed, abandoning his men, yet had paid for the matter to be buried. Vile lies, born of cowardice and malice. John’s name, his reputation, and the honor of your house were at stake; disloyalty towards the empire was seen as treason, and that was unforgivable.

You would not allow it.

The first spark of rage had ignited the moment you’d overheard the vile accusations from another lady, one of your more arrogant rivals who had laughed snidely. From there, the rumors spread like wildfire, poisoning the halls of the court and society.

But you were no stranger to such games like these. Tonight, after much planning, you’ll put an end to this farce.

You began with your loyal ladies-in-waiting. Each one owed their position to you, and in return, they offered their unwavering loyalty. “Listen carefully,” you instructed them during a private meeting in your sitting room, the door locked behind you. “Go into the court, the markets, the salons- anywhere whispers thrive. I want names, places, and patterns. Who speaks these lies, and who listens too closely?”

They curtsied and departed without hesitation, melting into the bustling world outside of the manor. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to your maids and house staff. Servants were the lifeblood of any noble house, privy to secrets thought hidden.

You met with them personally with Kyle’s help, ensuring they understood the stakes. “Speak subtly,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “Let it slip that those who spread these rumors do so for their own gain, that there’s no substance to the rumors. Plant doubt. Create cracks.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Kyle nods his head, hands on your waist. He leans down, and kisses your forehead, and you smile all sweet and pretty at him. “Whatever you want.”

While you wove your network of spies, John watched quietly from the shadows of the manor. Though he trusted you implicitly, he couldn’t help but feel a mixture of awe and unease. He didn’t want to doubt you, but he worried nonetheless for you.

In his study, he sat with Kyle.

“How’s she faring?” John asked, puffing a cigar as he leaned back in his chair. Papers were scattered on his desk, though they didn’t require immediate attention or replies. Pressed close to Kyle, bodies warm, he didn’t want to go back to working for now.

Kyle hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “She’s… efficient, John. The staff is utterly devoted to her even without my help. I’ve seen no signs of hesitation in her plans.”

John chuckled dryly, though there was a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. “I am not surprised. She’s scarier than any battlefield, Kyle. And they love her.”

With the groundwork laid, you began preparing to host a big gala at the manor. Invitations were sent far and wide, carrying the promise of exquisite dining, captivating entertainment, and the opportunity to curry favor with one of the most powerful families in the region.

None dared refuse.

Johnny worked tirelessly to ensure every detail of the menu was flawless, and though he would have helped anyways, he still enjoyed all the kisses he got as reward from yoh. “You’re pilin’ it on thick, Duchess,” he remarked one evening, wiping his brow as he inspected a rack of lamb. “Even for you.”

“This isn’t just a party, Johnny,” you replied, humming. “This is war.”

“War it is, then. Anything for you, bonnie.” he muttered, diving back into his work with renewed determination. After a very heated look from you that had him preening, though; he looked handsome in his element. And you’ll make sure to really show him your appreciation for all his hard work later, in the privacy of your rooms.

At every other gala and gathering, you moved through the crowd like a dancer with a purpose. You guided conversations subtly, planting seeds of doubt and faltering those who tried to be a bit too brave- and your reputation as a “people’s princess” helped so greatly. Your allies- the few you trusted among the nobility-played their roles perfectly.

Simon, especially. You had specifically asked for his help, curled warm and cozy on his lap one night. He’d kissed you breathless and told you he would always be there for you.

“Lord Marcan, was it?” Simon mused during one party, his glass of whiskey balanced effortlessly in his hand. The others immediately listen to him; though he isn’t the most talkative noble, his words carry weight. “I’ve heard some interesting things about him. Did you know he’s deeply in debt? I wonder how far a man would go to escape ruin.”

The other nobles exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering across their faces. You watched from a distance, satisfied as Simon delivered the blow with effortless charm.

Your web was nearly complete, each thread pulling tighter around Lord Marcan- the instigator of the rumors- until he had no room to maneuver. At the final ball of the season, the one hosted by you and John, you made your final move.

You descended the grand staircase as the guests gathered, your presence commanding attention. At your signal, the servants unveiled a surprise: a performance of actors reenacting a scene from an old skirmish. But this was no ordinary play; it was a dramatized retelling of that battle, one that highlighted John’s bravery and leadership even when Lord Marcan had tried to say John had fled that day.

The crowd was entranced, all earlier doubts finally wavering and shattering. You saw Marcan shift uncomfortably, his face pale as his lies unraveled before him and eyes turned towards him in disgust.

From the balcony above, John watched with Simon and Kyle at his side. “She’s terrifying.” he murmured, though his voice carried a note of awe.

Simon smirked. “You married a bloody tactician.”

Kyle simply nodded. “She fights for you, for us, John. And she wins.”

By the end of the evening, Lord Marcan was a broken man and his wife, Lady Marcan who had laughed at you by the rumor, was seething. Their allies abandoned them, their name tarnished by his cowardice and deceit and her aftions.

And the rumors about John’s supposed abandonment of his men? Gone.

That night, as you removed your jewelry in the quiet of your chambers, John approached you. His hands rested on your bare shoulders, his touch warm and grounding.

“You’ve been busy, beloved.” he said, his voice soft but laced with admiration.

“I did what needed to be done.” you replied, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I know you could have simply challenged him to a duel… but we didn’t have full confirmation it was him who started. I had to do it this way.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re terrifying, love. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

From the shadows of the room, Simon leaned casually against the doorframe. “She’s not wrong, John. Best keep on her good side.”

Johnny’s voice echoed from the hallway as he came by with a tray of food. Kyle comes as well, carrying glasses of wine. “Aye, and keep feeding her. Keeps her from plotting.”

Kyle sighs, though he has a smile on his face as he sets the glasses down and instead comes to help you. “…he isn’t exactly wrong. You were incredible…. And scary.”

“Perfect, in other words.” John hums, an eyebrow raising. You do not have enough time to ask anything before he and Kyle are gently turning you around on the seat, face to face with John who kneels down. “You’ve worked so hard for me, for us, my Duchess. Let me take care of you now, hm?”

“John…“

“No more words, my love,” he shakes his head, Kyle’s hands reaching to unlace your dress, your corset, until your breasts spill out. John doesn’t even seem mildly bothered by the layers of your skirt, flipping them up until you are indecent in front of your men and he is face to face with your panties. The way they look at you, so much want…

You don’t mind. The slick spot forming speaks more than enough anyways.

“Tonight,” John murmurs, kissing your inner thighs. “Will be all about spoiling you, wife.”

[chaeyoei]

Eeek! Hellooo. Could I request Jing yuan with foxian! Reader who can shapeshifter into an actual fox. And she change the size of her fox form so she can be pocket sizeeee. Imagine Jing yuan carrying her in his pocket in meetings (sleeping on his chest). I kinda got inspired by the manhwa “a symbiotic relationship between a black panther and a white rabbit”

Lmao some of you people are so creative and I'm happily going to dump my mediocre writing here.

"General, I thought you said you were bring your wife with you today?" Fu Xuan looked at the silver haired gentleman.

"Yes. She's here. Well.. in my pocket." Jing Yuan chuckled and placed a little fox in his plam. The fox jumped out of his hand transforming into a foxian.

"..My divination never predicted this." The Diviner stood half impressed and half baffled.

Jing Yuan never foresighted getting a wife who'd be with him every step of his life.. literally. He was amused as well as befuddled.

"Can you transform into a microscopic fox?" He didn't know why that came out of his mouth but it did.

"No."

"Can you go larger than this building?"

"I think so."

"Can I ride you?"

"Probably."

"I've gotten all I wanted."

Ever needed a wife fluffy enough to forget all your problems? Easy.

His golden eyes shimmered despite there being a frown between his brows. The recent alliance meeting had him stressed because it would apply significant changes in the Loufu and his brain simply couldn't formulate a concrete plan to enforce this change.

A whisk of softness came into contact with his skin, the alluring figure of a fox there to remind him that he wasn't alone in his endeavours. He had a wife who'll support him through thick and thin.

He let out a distressed breath he didn't even know he was holding. The fox nudged him, licking to his jaw to divert attention to her. The corners of his eyes softened and the frown disappeared. Impulsively for more comfort, he buried his face in the soft fur. After a while, she transformed back to a normal foxian, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Troubled again?"

"No. It disseminated with you."

Did I mention he loves her fur and brushing it brings him comfort?

His hand would always be in her hair or her fur depending on which form she resides in for that moment. It's subconscious thing and she doesn't mind. His gentle caress are his way of affection.

Now the meeting thing.

No matter how professional and luxurious a building may be, people will bicker like children in serious alliance meetings pointing fingers at each other. The term fish market fits well here.

He usually fell asleep whenever this happened but not anymore when he has his spouse to talk to.

"My ears are about to bleed. They bicker like middle school students. Even kindergardeners have better coordination than them." She complained, jumping for his head to his pocket, unable to bear the loudness of this meeting.

Now to adress the downside.

She kinda hunts all the sparrows that rest on him. And well he cant do much about it.

Unfortunately my brainrot ends here. I'll update it if I do get any idea.

[leighsartworks216]

Cliffside Chatter

dragon!Sylus x blind!oracle!Reader

Series Masterlist - Chapter One - Prev Chapter - Next Chapter

This is officially the last chapter I have already written out. And with that comes the tentative warning that updating may take longer because it is literally the final 5-6 weeks of college for me and all of my work is breathing down the back of my neck. I'm gonna do my best to stay consistent, though, cuz I just love them sm and really want to keep sharing these little moments between them 🥺

Warnings: talk of kidnapping, migraines

Word Count: 1,628

Main Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

A woman with silver hair. She… removes a sword from someone’s chest? Or does she push it in…? Jewel’s chest… What then? What comes next? It’s all a bit too chaotic. Red and black ash obscure the scene. If you can just make out the shapes then maybe…

“Does it still hurt?”

You’re snapped out of your thoughts. You completely forgot where you were, so distracted with the same prophecy you’ve been seeing every night. “Hm?”

The hard plates of his hand grab yours, pulling it from your neck. “You keep touching your throat.”

“Oh!” You clear your throat, but offer as reassuring of a smile as you can muster. “It’s just a little sore. I’m okay.”

He hums like he doesn’t quite believe you, but releases your hand. Really, it doesn’t hurt as bad as the day before - or even as bad as yesterday. He’d diligently helped replace the bandages and pressed cold cloths to soothe the bruises that formed, but all one could do was let it heal on its own.

You drop your hand to your lap. “Thank you for bringing me out here,” you rasp quietly. You turn your face up to the sky, to the great fire in the heavens that warms your cheeks, sinks under your skin into your bones. “It’s been a while since I’ve felt the sun.”

“That’s my fault,” he says. “I sleep during the day. The light…”

“Hm? What about it?”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, weighing his words. You frown at him. Finally, he mutters, “It hurts my eyes.”

You croak out a laugh. “Is that uncommon for fiends?”

“Perhaps not.”

“You can go inside if it bothers you too much.”

“And risk you falling down the cliff?” He nudges his foot against yours, hanging down over a vast emptiness.

You nudge his foot back. “I’m blind, I’m not stupid.” A comfortable silence blankets over you. You can’t recall the last time you were granted a peaceful quiet like this. In the city, it seemed that everyone wanted to hear your insight at all hours of the day. Their incessant questions, grating on your ears, asking about crop yield and relationships and success. You wonder if the man from days ago was someone you’d given a fortune. You can’t place his voice, not when all you hear is his screams alongside a phantom weight on your throat.

“You’re touching it again.”

You huff, clasping your hands together in your lap. He chuckles. You nod out into the world in front of you. "What does it look like out there?"

He hmphs. His shoulder rises and falls beside you. "The same as it always does."

"And how's that?"

"I'm... not the best person to describe the world to you."

"I'm not asking for you to be the best. And I don't need you to describe it like I'm seeing it for the first time. Just... tell me what you see."

He sighs. You think for a moment he’ll continue to refuse. "Mountains, all around. There are trees, climbing up the sides. A field way out in the distance. The city."

You hum thoughtfully. "Is the market going on today? Is it busy?"

"Yeah. Caravans coming in and out. Banners and flags flying all over. Did you ever go to the market?"

"Not in any official capacity. I was never really allowed to go anywhere." You shoot him a grin, full of mischief. "But I would sneak out, sometimes. I almost got carried away to an alpaca farm once."

He chuckles. "How did you manage that?"

"I was just stumbling through the crowd," you begin. There's a wistfulness to your voice. Longing for a simpler time, while lamenting the isolation of it. "Following the flow of traffic. And I was knocked out of the way, into one of the stalls. The woman that ran it asked if I was alright. When she figured out I was blind, she said I could sit with her in the shade of her booth for a while.

"I sat there for hours. It was... It was like reaching out and touching humanity. She didn't treat me like a delicate flower, or a tool to be used for her own gain. For once in my life, I was just another person.

"Well, turned out she raised alpacas for their wool. She'd shear them, spin it into yarn, and make things with them. All sorts of things - gloves, hats, sweaters, socks. I said I'd never been around an alpaca before. She laughed and said I was sitting right next to one. She took my hand," you hold it out, mimicking the motions, "and guided it over to an alpaca that was laying right beside me that whole time." Your hand falls back into your lap. You clear your throat.

"She said I could ride it, if I wanted. Better yet, I could ride on its back and she could take me back to her farm, introduce me to all of her animals and teach me how to spin yarn like her."

"It sounds like she was trying to kidnap you," he says.

You shake your head. "It wasn't like that. I've... I've never known kidnappers to care whether I trusted them or not. I'm blind - what can I do? It's easier to just take me away without the pretense."

He hums. "So you've been kidnapped before, aside from me?" There's a teasing edge to his voice.

There isn't in yours. "Almost. A few times. People get desperate. They hear that I can tell them their future, tell them what to do, how to be successful, and it goes to their head…

"Anyway, I was riding on the back of the alpaca, just being led in circles while the market was in a lull. One of my caretakers saw me and snatched me away. I had to spend the entire night reciting hymns as punishment."

"They were protecting you."

"They were protecting their assets," you correct him. You gesture behind you where the cave entrance should be. "Imagine someone breaks in and steals your greatest treasure. Even with all that wealth, you can't just let that one thing go. You'd do anything to get it back. And once you have it, you'd do anything to ensure it stays there."

He doesn't deny it. He can't deny it. Already he's killed hundreds of men to protect his hoard, those that come to kill him not included. Of course he'd do just the same thing. He did so recently, just a few days ago. One more body added to the pile to rot in the dark.

"Had you ever been outside the city? Before now, I mean."

You shake your head. "I had no reason to. Have you ever been to the city?”

“I have,” he answers. “I go in brief stints, gathering what I need. Most of your hoard comes from down there.”

You let out a startled laugh and wince. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I wanted to grab more, but something told me to come back.” His voice takes on a soft, wistful sound. The wind sweeps by. It feels refreshing as it comes down the side of the mountain, cooling your skin from the heat of the sun. You lean toward him slightly. “It was like… a tug, pulling my back here.”

“A tug?”

“Hm. I didn’t understand it, but I trusted my instincts. They’ve kept me alive so far; that must count for something. I flew back up. And I heard you.”

You tilt your head. “What did you hear?”

You feel the weight of his eyes on your face. “I heard you call for me.”

You frown, brows pinching together as you think back to that horrible day. You remember very little of the specifics, truth be told. It’s all a blur of fear and panic. Pain and the certainty that death would claim you. It’s like a feather tickles the back of your brain, urging you to recall more. Jewel pulls your hand from your throat again. He holds it down in your lap.

“It was faint. Barely anything. But I knew it was your voice. That’s how I found you.”

You remember choking. Struggling for air. Darkness… And waking up to Jewel rolling you onto your side so you didn’t continue to choke on blood.

No… There was something else. “I think I was unconscious for a moment…”

He hums. “You didn’t even seem to be alive when I got to you.”

You shudder at the thought and shake your head. “I mean, I think I had another vision of the future.”

“Really? What did you see?”

You strain your mind, stretching it to its furthest to try and draw out any faint detail of the dream. If Astra wanted you to see something, you’d hate to forget and anger him any more than you already have in your time as a Chosen. But all you can make out are glimpses of Jewel’s face. And all you get in turn for it is a migraine.

You wince sharply and wobble where you sit, teetering to the side as you hold your head in your free hand. Jewel grabs onto your arm to steady you, pulling you away from the cliff. You shake your head, but it only worsens the lightheadedness behind your eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t push it.” The dirt shifts under him as he shifts to get up. An arm wraps around your waist to keep you from sliding forward, and lifts you carefully to your feet. He turns you around and walks you back inside. Shadows slide over your body, blanketing over the lingering heat clinging to your skin. “I’ve had enough of the sun.”

---

Tag List:

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[daggerfall]

M's Updated New Player Guide for Elder Scrolls Online

I have to simplify a great deal of this information since the intended audience is people brand new to ESO looking to get into it for questing (not pve or pvp), so if anyone thinks bits of this are a little wrong or lacking nuance, please understand it is likely intended. Credentials: trust me.

Top 3 Important things to know before you get started

Character creation: You pick your class during character creation and this can never be changed. Trust me, people miss this. Your race, appearance, and name can all be changed but for a cost (crowns, the in-game micro transaction currency), and little bits of your appearance can be changed with cosmetics that may or may not be free. Any class can quest just fine, some will be better at solo content than others, but don't sweat this. Some classes are also DLC (warden, necromancer, and arcanist). All classes are capable of all roles for the purposes you, a new player wanting to quest, care about. Make the character you want and can stick with, as you will need a Main for purposes of crafting, and crafting knowledge can't transfer to other characters you may make. Also, plan for them to deal damage primarily. Supports are not needed in questing and you'll often be alone anyway - save yourself the pain of killing enemies at a snails pace and invest in damage with a smidge of survival.

Alliances and the Main Quest: The start of the game for new players should always be the base game main quest and your respective alliance's main quest. Unless you started with the expansion that unlocks any race any alliance, your alliance will be tied to your race. Bretons, Orsimer, and Redguards: Daggerfall Covenant. Dunmer, Argonians, Nords: Ebonheart Pact. Altmer, Bosmer, and Khajiit: Aldmeri Dominion. Imperials are DLC but any alliance. This can be changed later for crowns, but only affects what alliance you fight for/against in PvP zones, minor dialogue interactions, certain cosmetics, and which version of certain quests you get during the main quest. The starting city/zone for each alliance is as follows: DC: Daggerfall, Glenumbra. EP: Davon's Watch, Stonefalls. AD: Vulkhel Guard, Auridon. When you leave character creation, you'll be sent through the Coldharbour tutorial and spat out on your starter island (DC: Stros M'Kai. EP: Bleakrock Isle. AD: Khenarthi's Roost). Finish those storylines until you hit your starter city, and the main quest will progress again with meeting the Prophet at the Harborage.

DLC, Chapters, and ESO+: Depending on the version of game you got, you may be pushed or tempted to play the newest DLC (chapter or smaller zone DLC). This is a trap. ZOS advertises the game as play how you want and in any order you want, and any longtime player hates this marketing strat. Functionally, any DLC can be played at any time in ESO, but you will miss certain bits of dialogue and story by playing out of release order. Characters will remember previously meeting you if you play in order, but not out of order. They may drastically change their appearance to the point of the story making no sense if it happened in that wrong order, or even die and reappear with no acknowledgement of their death. If this is your first time playing ESO, I Highly recommend playing everything in the intended release order at least once, and then decide for yourself what stories you think work as independent stories for other characters you wish to play. Don't listen to the devil telling you to play some random dlc because you like dunmer or vampires. Listen to me, some guy on the internet instead.

The intended order is (without listing every single dlc) the Coldharbour main quest and your alliance's main quest at the same time ➡️ Cadwell's Silver and Gold (the other two alliances' main quests) ➡️ Imperial City (PvP zone with a solo storyline, but can be skipped/played at any point) ➡️ Craglorn ➡️ all dlc in release order (including dungeons, zone dlc, and chapters). Dungeons can be done in any order (base game I and II dungeons should be done in the numeric order) up to Wrathstone, which is when year-long story arcs began and included dungeons in the plot, and more returning NPCs appear in dungeons.

The Infamous "ESO DLC flowchart" can advise you the order of when you should play certain storylines (base game and dlc), but it's just the release order and natural flow of the storylines. It updates too often for me to post the image here, but you can easily find it by searching those terms. Another good ESO starter guide I like is this one, that explains which story points to hit and when.

The base game alone is good and contains hundreds of hours of content. Get through the base game's main quests and decide for yourself if you like the game enough to continue on. And if you do want to continue, then the best way to play DLC is to buy the subscription ESO+. Among many other things, the main use for the sub is access to every single DLC in the game* while the sub is active. If you play consistently, you can play through the dlcs faster than it would cost to buy them individually, and you can end your sub whenever you want/need. The sub also gives free crowns each month which can be used to purchase permanent access to specific DLC for if/when you end your sub. Or spend them on a cute outfit. Up to you. You might get addicted to the craft bag in the meantime and keep the sub forever.

*ESO+ does not give access to the newest chapter, until the next one comes out usually a year later.

ALRIGHT big stuff out of the way. More advanced stuff for once you're already in the game and playing now. And some M brand yapping.

Start researching item traits at crafting stations ASAP. The timers for research grow exponentially with each trait, so an early start is good. This is necessary for crafting later on, and everyone should have A crafter (ideally their main for resource reasons)

First I wanna address the final barrier a lot of people have with starting an MMO: the other people. To which I'm going to quote something I have found incredibly therapeutic: I think you guys might be thinking about yourselves too much. There are absolutely ways to avoid interactions with other players - playing in offline mode so people cannot whisper you, and hiding zone/say chat to avoid seeing other players talking - but generally speaking, other players do not care about you or others enough to bother you. The overland is not PvP enabled outside of both players choosing to duel, you're not going to get made fun of for being low level or whatever, and you're not going to get harassing messages just for existing. Others have their own lives and things to do in game. Just play the game and embrace the goofiness of someone's name or how wild their costume looks. Be brave and just Do It. Have fun! Okay? Okay back to the actual advice.

Avoid any quest that goes into your journal as a Prologue - delete it right away. Prologues are like introduction/teaser quests for zone DLC and chapters. Doing prologues out of order should also be avoided. Once you're onto playing DLC, there is a prologue for each starting with the Morrowind chapter.

Find the stable master early on and begin "training your horse" each day for 250 gold. Also buy a mount there. It takes 180 real life days to fully complete on each character, but you'll notice the difference with your mounts speed and stamina, and to clarify, inventory means YOUR inventory. That's 60 more inventory slots! And mount training affects all mounts on that character!

Speaking of mount speed - once you reach level 10 on a character, you should do the Cyrodiil tutorial quest (I promise there's no PvP required for this). Use the alliance war tab to queue into a campaign (any works but go for one that isn't all that busy. Under 50 ideally), and complete the tutorial IN FULL. Do not accept the option to skip parts of it because you know what you're doing. You'll reach rank 3 in the assault and support skill lines and gain a few skill points, all while never having to do any actual PvP. Take the first passive in the Assault skill line to gain access to Major Gallop for faster horse speed. You want this on all your characters. Finally, leave Cyrodiil using the wayshrine.

Find the bag merchant in town and spend your gold on maxing out your inventory space when you can afford it. Bankers can also be found in each town and you can store a lot of items in your bank with them FOR FREE. No other player has access to your bank. Your bank space is shared across all of Tamriel and all of your characters as well, to allow for easier item transfer to alts

Back on crafting, don't worry about materials or crafting your own gear for a long time. You pretty much need ESO+ to be a crafter due to the craft bag. Just put on random gear you loot off enemies or get as a reward, and replace it as you level up and outlevel your old gear.

As a quester, you can use any gear and any skills you want - with a few suggestions. Don't use heavy armor as your primary armor type (a few pieces are okay), ice staves, 1 hand and shield, or restoration staves. Those are primarily support armor types and weapons. Also, read your tooltips and skill descriptions, and don't use skills that state they will taunt the enemy. ESO's aggro system works differently than you may expect from other MMOs. Anything else is free game. Though I will advise this isn't Skyrim, and using skills will deal far more damage than spamming "basic attacks", or light and heavy attacks. Stealth archer isn't a thing here, sorry.

DON'T fall for the crown store trying to sell you respec scrolls, werewolf and vampire skill lines, etc. You can redo your skills and attributes at any point for gold in a capital city, other players can give you lycanthropy or vampirism for free upon request. Merchants and banker assistants from the crown store I don't consider a scam. Those are good uses of crowns once you're further into the game.

The build advisor for each class/role is painfully out of date as it hasn't been changed since launch, and entire skills/morphs have changed over the years to be entirely different. With no nuance to avoid it getting complicated, stick to either investing in magic or stamina as your primary resource, and most of your skills costing that same resource. Skills scale their damage with your highest offensive stat, so splitting evenly doesn't do anything besides make your pool bigger, but you can use both stam and mag skills and they will deal similar damage. You just might run out of your "off" resource faster. Light armor benefits magicka users better, medium benefits stamina users better, generally speaking.

And if you mess up your build or change your mind about wanting to play mag or stam, you can respec whenever. There are shrines to respec skill points/morphs and attributes in any base game capital city or chapter big city. It costs gold, scaling with how many skill points you have. Additionally, you can use the free armory station (from the crown store) to save builds and revert back to them for free. A good use for this is to save your generic PvE/questing setup and a second different setup for PvP or playing another role like healer. Currently it saves everything except scribing setups.

Join the Mages Guild and Fighters Guild ASAP in your starter town. Regardless of RP, they have storylines you'll want to complete, as well as skills and passive abilities you may want, and it's better to get a head start on this leveling process. Undaunted is related to dungeons and can be skipped early on, but if you start doing dungeons, make sure you join! It has no respective storyline.

Weapon and class skill lines progress by having those skills on your bar upon gaining experience while On that bar, not with each cast of the skill. Individual skills rank up and can morph into other skills by gaining experience with that skill on your bar. Guild skill lines have their own unique progression requirements - read your tooltips!

Main quest marker icons appear slightly fancier than generic quest markers, and I would advise to avoid taking them out of order. Most main quests will guide you to the next quest giver easily, so if you find yourself going far out of your way, you may be getting lost or starting a different storyline. Blue quest markers are for repeatable daily quests.

Delves are public instances and can be done solo. Public dungeons are public instances and may be able to be soloed depending on skill. Dungeons/group dungeons are for 4 people, not public instances, and you should not try to solo them. Trials are raids for 12 people, not public, and you very much should not attempt to solo them.

Depending on what DLC may have come with your version of the game, you may be pushed to try the various DLC features added with each chapter. This includes psijic order, antiquities, companions, tales of tribute, and scribing. All of these individually (except psijic) can be started/done early without spoiling yourself on future DLC. But there's no real need to rush through getting access/completion of them right away either.

There are daily login rewards that reset each month. Most of them are bad, but it's good to keep up on them for the monthly cosmetic or big reward. Sometimes they give AP which can level the PvP skill lines without PvP, sometimes gold, sometimes crafting materials, could be anything. There are also daily tasks to gain "seals of endeavour", currency that allow you to purchase things that otherwise can only be gambled for in crown crates. Keep up on them, and about twice a year, you can buy the most expensive mounts in the game. Golden Pursuits happen every few weeks/months, with multiple themed tasks to unlock a specific reward.

Add-ons (PC only) are allowed in ESO, mods and macros are not. The application Minion is how most of us download and update our add-ons for various UI and QOL features.

Once you reach level 50 on a character, you start gaining levels in Champion Points, which are shared across all of your characters. Once you hit CP 160, you will stop out-leveling your gear and can start making gear you plan to keep. CP goes up to 3600, but you'll hit the cap on effectiveness around 1500 (role dependent) I think.

The fashion system in ESO is either using the outfit station to apply motifs (purely cosmetic) you've learned to that character to your outfit, or costumes you can get with crowns or other means (questing, collectables, etc). Motifs learned on one character allow any character to use that motif in the outfit station, but only that character can Craft an item in that style.

There is no auction house system. There are guild traders instead - storefronts that guilds bid on weekly to gain ownership of and use for their guild to sell items to other players, for a small cut of the profits. Anyone can buy from them, only guild members can sell. Most of the junk you find in questing is worthless to other players, and most players use add-ons to know the marketplace average worth of any item in game.

Speaking of guilds, joining guilds is a good way to get access to free wayshrine porting for easier movement across Tamriel, and more. Porting to another player is free, even if you're not at a wayshrine. Many guilds also have a "guild hall" (player owned house open to all that has many resources depending on the owner). Plenty of social guilds don't even have serious requirements to join - a lot are aimed at newbies.

If you're looking to just make enough money to get by, you can sell all the random gear you loot to merchants. It will despawn from their inventory with enough time or items being sold. Once you get ESO+ and the craft bag, daily crafting writs is the best way to make easy money with little effort. Get certified in all 7 professions and do your daily crafting writs for about 5k gold per character per day. With enough skill point investment in hirelings that send materials in the mail daily, you never have to spend any gold to do writs.

Thieving is mildly good for making gold, but it has a cap on how much you can sell a day. Sell or launder at outlaws refuges in each city. Thieves guild and dark brotherhood are DLC content so don't look for them in the base game.

Before you start doing dungeons, at any level of difficulty, you should understand how ESO dungeon etiquette works. People here aren't as friendly as final fantasy, but hear me out before you say we're all mean. ESO does an extremely poor job of keeping the casual questers from the sweaty endgamers, and forces them to share the same dungeon queue when they're in that queue for entirely different reasons. Endgamers need transmute crystals quickly, questers just want to see the quest, and each person needs the other to achieve their goal, but you can't do both at the same time. Both are valid reasons to do dungeons. Quests can't be repeated on the same character, so they can't even do the quest with you if they already did it years ago. Quests also give a skill point for completing, which is another valuable endgamer resource. In general, if you plan to use the group finder to find a team for a dungeon, do not expect them to sit around and wait for you to sit through dialogue. At best they will wait for you to spam through it for the quest completion, if you warn them in advance. Randos aren't going to be overly social, even a "hi" at the start may be ignored. It's to be expected, but not intended rudely. If you want to see a dungeon's quest in full, this is the time to find a friend to group with you! It's an MMO! Be social! Many ESO dungeons are unable to be soloed unfortunately, for strange mechanical reasons.

Also, you need to know your role before queueing, and that includes knowing how to actually deal damage as a damage dealer. You don't need to be amazing, but please don't just spam light attacks. Don't queue as a tank unless you actually understand the basics of ESO tanking, same for healing. Look into resources online for beginner builds. If you don't want to learn your role or how to git gud, then I'm sorry but doing dungeons with strangers is not for you then. It's a team effort, and their time should be respected too.

Related, if you get to the point of wanting to try the trials (which do technically have a repeatable quest), normal difficulty is less scary than you may fear, but still requires coordination and a group. Ideally you come above 160cp in full sets of gear and a basic understanding of your role. Checking Craglorn zone chat or the in-game group finder for normal PUG (pick-up group, just sorta grabbing anyone that wants to come, versus an organized run) trials is the best way to find a group without using discord or joining a guild. But I do recommend finding a social guild that does casual normal runs! Just please read if they're doing normal runs or vet hardmodes runs, or if they want specific classes/roles. And of course respect the raid lead's requests and requirements

Be cautious looking for advice regarding builds. The top result when searching for a solo build is not necessarily the best build - it is the most Search Optimized build. And it's most likely intended for crazy strats like soloing vet dlc hardmodes dungeons for views. You do not need any of that!!! You at most need to learn how to block, roll dodge, interrupt, sneak, and walk out of damaging areas. When you hit cp 160, all you need is gear at your level, start looking to complete set bonuses, and some kind of self heal.

For your purposes of leveling, you should not need to grind out levels. You get various buffs as you level that scale your damage to the enemies around you within the base game. You shouldn't race to level 50 or CP 160 on your first go-around. Enjoy being a baby. You will hate the game if you spend your first hundred hours listening to sweatlords telling you that you need to pay them to level you to 50, and then pay them to make you gear.

I am willing to offer specific advice in dms or asks if people have build questions, but I prefer to not use Tumblr for this. Join my friends discord server in my About Me (pinned) if you want detailed answers!

This isn't meant to be the most strictly followed list of all time, but things that I end up inevitably telling people or wish I had learned sooner. It's meant more as something to refer back to and to gently guide you in the right direction, as well as get you in the right mindset for character creation when planning a character you'll play for Years of quests.

[see-arcane]

Guess who’s unemployed?

It was only a matter of time considering the job market for any sucker who has ‘writer’ or ‘artist’ or ‘Hey You Can Probably Hit a Button and Make a Bot Spit Up Something Instead of Paying Someone for This!’ in their title. So, you know. Saw it coming.

I have a little saved up to allow myself a brain-breather and take a sabbatical for this month before throwing myself into Job Hunt Hell. But in the meantime, I’ll go ahead and drop my Ko-Fi info here if you want to drop in a buck or a commission request.

Minor silver lining: No interruptions or waiting for the weekend to tackle the last of The Vampyres’ self-publishing pains. So it may be churned out sooner than expected. I’ll keep you updated.

[spacius]

social media au - there’s an escape in escaping - jude bellingham x famous! reader. [1] [2] [3]

chapter 3 - i know places.

where jude lives a romance with the greatest actress and singer of the generation without anyone knowing. the obstacle for this to become something more? she lives on the other side of the world

obs: english is not my first language

march, 2034

@.yn.jpg instagram story

caption: timmy, you and I are going to laugh a lot about this in the future I PROMISE 😭😭😭 but it was you who decided to go to the market with the kids

@.tchalamet replied to your story:

tchalamet: WHAY

tchalamet: WHAT*

tchalamet: we’ll talk about it when I arrive

tchalamet: why can’t I know? 😭😭😭😭😭

yn.jpg: I guess because you’re going to tell me not to give up on love and everything

yn.jpg: and then I listen to you and get screwed

tchalamet: come onnnnnn, it was only a few times

@.yn.jpg instagram story

picture 1 caption: don’t worry guys he said he will forgive me if I make cookies for him and emma for the rest of my life and if I write a song about our friendship (🙄)

picture 2 caption: the two are already on their way

judebellingham story update

caption: iykyk

@.yn.jpg replied to your story

yn.jpg: hmmm interesting… r u single sir?

judebellingham: 🙄🙄🙄

yn.jpg: only for personal surveys

judebellingham: we’re going out together today, right?

yn.jpg: yes sir

*2 days later*

twitter update

@.yn.jpg instagram story

caption: Idon’t think I ever told that but the first sentence he said was “oh my god mom you slayed so hard when you wrote “silver springs” in 2015”

@.tchalamet instagram story

caption: back to the day that inspired “the smallest man who ever lived”, a personal favorite 🤪

[yuurei20]

Updated Sebek Facts Part 17: Strength (pt2)

When the members of his group for a class project express concern that Sebek will not be able to use a specialty spell for their group assignment Sebek responds, “I spend my days practicing a vast breadth of spells!,” and his reasoning for not wanting to make friends with the other first-year students is that he already has more than enough training partners between Silver and their fellow Diasomnia students.

During Book 7, however, Sebek comments that his “lack of real-world experience is painfully apparent.”

Sebek says that a training exercise in his practical magic class is “intriguing,” as he would have struggled in a simply test of magical prowess but he has “AMPLE experience fighting people” and the target of the task was to attack a dummy that was designed to mimic a person.

Deuce says that Sebek was possible the only one to destroy it in one hit.

The Harveston event is a busy time for Sebek: he chops a month’s wood of firewood for the assembly hall and then volunteers to chop more for Epel’s family. A villager asks him to see to their woodpile as well and he concedes (“I see the humans in Harveston are woefully out of shape”).

After chopping wood at a fifth house Sebek says that he has chopped all the wood in the neighborhood but he still has energy to burn, and ends up taking a crate of apples to the local market (“It never ceases to amaze me how you find such basic tasks difficult…”)

Back at Diasomnia Sebek reflects, “I suppose l'd go back if Epel invited me again. SOMEONE has to chop wood and help out in the orchards.”

Sebek also mentions clearing snow at the school being great training.

During Port Fest he drags his food stall’s candy machine to Idia so that he can repair it.

According to Jade, Sebek has expressed interest in testing himself against the son of a god known for their superhuman strength.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Raven! Hope your surgery recovery is going smoothly! I’ve had a procedure done on me too so I get how sore and tired you must be, so feel better soon & get lots of rest. I had Lilia make you soup!🥫

Sooooo this has been a thing on my mind for a while now, but including the new chats (i’ve only seen screenshots of them, so idk much about them), I believe there’s one where Riddle and Sebek are saying how Silver nearly got got hurt in during a club meeting because he fell asleep, and that reminds me how dangerous Silver’s sleep spells are to him. I think his Master Chef vignette points out how he has the risk of falling asleep while dealing with fire.

But the big issue I have with it is when he graduates and fully joins to royal guard. There’s a very low chance of us seeing the boys’ lives post grad and any super serious conflict happening during the rest of their lives, but if they don’t find a cure for him during the story/their time at NRC (i wanna say we probably will), and if Silver ever has to fight FOR REAL for real, then if he ends up falling asleep mid battle, he’ll be at his most vulnerable and completely exposed.

I have hope that he could push through since he’s said as long as his body is moving he can stay awake, but I still have doubts for that because he fell asleep mid race during Deuce’s hometown event.

I’m just overthinking but yeah, it’s actually genuinely worrying 😭

Also may I be 🎠 anon please? thank you!

[Referencing health update in this post!]

Hihi! I think things are going smoothly nowC thank you for the well wishes. Getting lots of sleep and such, eating healthily, etc. Wishing you, 🎠 Anon, well on your own recovery too~ Th-Thank you for the soup, Lilia... I'm sure it is highly... nutritious...

That's correct; in one of Sebek's new chats, he and Riddle discuss a situation in which Silver fell asleep on some hay bales. If Sebek had not woken him up, Riddle worries that Silver would have been trampled by the horses. Riddle also mentions being concerned that Silver falling asleep while cooking could be a safety hazard. Silver reassures him that, in Briar Valley, most cooking is done with magic. If a mage were to fall asleep while using fire magic, the fire instantly goes out (since magic generally tends to require consciousness to maintain). However, Riddle’s concern is very real in Master Chef/Culinary Crucibles, as the course explicitly bans the use of magic in the kitchen--so Silver is cooking with REAL fire in the class, not with magic.

There's many other circumstances in which Silver's condition could be a hinderance to his performance (as is the case with the Rabbit Run in White Rabbit Fest), or outright put his safety and wellbeing at risk (in the case of an actual fight). I don't doubt that Silver is a capable person, but that narcolepsy could honestly be a huge setback depending on what he's expected or ordered to do. I wonder if Twst will seriously consider addressing these though...? Silver's sleepiness is not treated consistently in the narrative. It's considered a "moe" trait half of the time + marketed as part of his appeal, and the other half of the time it's treated like a daily nuisance that Silver feels he has to constantly apologize for. The two depictions are always at odds with each other. Will they keep him with the condition for the sake of fanservice, or will they commit to dispelling the narcolepsy/his curse with the power of love? I had someone pointing out a while ago that Silver's condition is akin to a disability, so if you read him in this way then there's additional implications to consider.

I at least hope that Silver can find workarounds for his narcolepsy. I don't want him to put himself in danger, but I also don't want him to be kept from doing the things he wants to do.

[yumiyue07]

Bumping into Christmas Magic ✨

｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★

Ship: Chris x fem!reader Genre: Romance, festive fluff, Christmas miracles Warnings: Brief moments of self-doubt, overwhelming Christmas cheer, and an unforgettable...discover it yourself ;) Word Count: 9.9k

This story is written for the Stayblr Writing Challenge, and finally I'm able to share it...just in time for the deadline! 😅

The original version was 19k words, but I had to trim it down to meet the competition requirements. As a result, some parts may feel a bit 'bumpy,' so please bear with me .

Inspired by Stray Kids’ “Christmas Love,” this magical tale is about fate, festive surprises, and the kind of love that feels like a Christmas miracle. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

@stayblrofficial Update: Since the contest is over, I'm going to post the original story. ｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★

Somehow, you'd lost track of the others. One moment, they were beside you; the next, they'd disappeared into the bustling crowd. You couldn't really blame them—you'd been completely captivated by a stall filled with hand-painted Christmas baubles.

The display was enchanting, with delicate ornaments in every color, their intricate patterns catching the glow of nearby fairy lights. Some were painted with snow-covered cottages, others with prancing reindeer or frosty pine trees. The artist, a kind-faced woman with paint-stained fingers, gave you a warm smile before turning her attention to another customer carefully selecting a set.

A soft pang of indecision tugged at you. There was a particular bauble with a swirling galaxy of blues and silvers that had caught your eye, but you decided you'd come back for it after exploring more of the market.

As you walked away, the festive chatter of the crowd faded slightly while you rummaged through your handbag.

You'd meant to check your phone—maybe send a quick text to find your colleagues—but in your search, you paid no attention to where you were going.

Suddenly, you collided with something solid. The impact jarred you, and you stumbled back a step as the sound of rustling bags and clattering objects broke through the market's cheerful hum.

A young man stood in front of you, blinking in mild surprise as he stared at the scattered shopping bags at his feet.

"Oh, no, I'm so sorry about that. I wasn't paying attention," you said sheepishly, stepping forward to help.

The young man looked up, his expression shifting from surprise to amusement as if he hadn't even noticed you standing there at first. He was strikingly handsome, his soft eyes catching yours with a mix of warmth and curiosity. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and a thick scarf was snugly wrapped around his neck—a clear defense against the biting cold.

"Don't worry," he said with a small laugh, brushing off the incident. "I was distracted, too."

You bent down to help him gather his bags, brushing the snow off one of them before handing it back to him.

"Quite a lot of bags you're carrying around," you said with a playful smile.

"Yeah, I've been on the hunt for gifts," he admitted with an embarrassed chuckle. "And I think I might've gotten a bit... overambitious. I'm new in town, so navigating all this is a little overwhelming."

"Ah, I see," you replied, eyeing the assortment of bags. "Well, if you're looking for something specific, I could help you. Consider it my way of making up for crashing into you. Or," you added with a grin, "I could just help you carry all of this. You're practically a walking Christmas tree at this point."

He laughed then—a bright, infectious laugh that made your chest feel unexpectedly warm. "If you really don't mind, I'd appreciate the help. At this rate, I'll be wandering around until midnight. And honestly, having a hand free wouldn't be the worst thing." He shifted the bags and held out his now-empty hand. "By the way, I'm Chris."

"Nice to meet you, Chris," you said, taking his hand for a brief shake. "I'm Y/N. And yes, I'd be happy to help."

He smiled again, the kind of smile that felt like it could melt through the snow. "Nice to meet you too, Y/N. Are you here alone?"

"Well, not exactly," you said, taking a few of the bags from him to lighten his load. "I came here with my colleagues, but I got a little distracted at one of the stalls. By the time I looked up, they were gone. I was just about to check my phone when—"

"When you ran into me," he finished, grinning.

"Exactly." You couldn't help but smile back.

You walked side by side, heading in the opposite direction from where you'd come. The faint crunch of snow underfoot blended with the festive buzz of the Christmas market around you.

"Are you sure you don't want to rejoin your colleagues?" he asked, glancing at you. "You really don't have to wander around here with me."

"Oh, don't worry about it. They'll be fine without me," you said with a wave of your hand. "They were heading home soon anyway. Christmas markets aren't really their thing." You paused, your face lighting up as you added, "I, on the other hand, absolutely love everything about Christmas."

He chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on you. "I can tell. You're practically glowing. It suits you."

A faint warmth rose in your cheeks—not just from the cold—and you smiled. "There's just something magical about this season, isn't there?"

"Definitely," he said, his voice soft. He quickly looked away, his ears tinged with a hint of pink. You just looked so happy—it was impossible not to find it contagious.

"How long have you been in the city?" you asked after a moment.

"About two weeks now," he replied. "I moved here for work. My team arrived last week, too."

"Your team? Are you a sportsman? Or maybe a coach?" you guessed, glancing at his athletic build.

He laughed, shaking his head. "No, nothing like that. We're an IT team—we handle data and building security. Our new assignment brought us here."

"Aha," you said with interest. "That sounds exciting. Does that mean you're always on the move?"

"Pretty much," he admitted with a small shrug. "Depending on the job, we relocate to be closer to the client's office."

Something about that answer gave you pause. "By 'we,' you mean your team, right?" You hesitated, almost asking if he meant family, but stopped yourself.

"Yes, exactly," he said with a nod. "My team is like my family. We spend a lot of time together."

"Let me guess—the presents are for your team?" you teased lightly.

He laughed again, the sound bright and warm. "Exactly. Christmas is coming soon, and I wanted to be early with gifts this year. Usually, I'm the guy scrambling at the last minute."

"Oh, I know how that feels," you said, grinning. "How many presents are you still missing?"

"Just one more, actually," he said, his voice tinged with pride.

"Hey, that's great!" you said. "Do you already have an idea for it? If you do, we can head there now."

"I was thinking of getting a scarf," he explained. "One of my teammates is always losing his stuff. Having a backup scarf might actually save him this winter."

"That's so thoughtful of you," you said, genuinely impressed. "I saw a stall selling scarves back that way." You pointed toward a row of twinkling booths in the distance. "Let's check it out."

"Sure thing, Miss Tour Guide," he said, chuckling.

You couldn't help but laugh at the nickname. "Hmm, how about I give you a proper tour of the city sometime? You know, if you want—and if you have time."

"Sounds like a plan," he replied, his grin widening. "I've looked up a few sightseeing spots online, but I haven't gotten around to them yet. With you as my guide, though, I'd say my chances of enjoying it just got a whole lot better."

His mischievous smile made your heart skip a beat, and you found yourself grinning back.

His smile made your heart race, a steady rhythm suddenly thrown off course. What's wrong with me? you thought, trying to focus on something else. It had been a while since anyone had made you feel this way—this sudden, fluttering warmth that seemed to curl up and settle in your chest.

You stole a glance at him as you walked side by side. He was taller than you, with broad shoulders and a confident, easy stride. His long coat, scarf, and gloves gave him an effortlessly elegant look, every piece carefully coordinated. Maybe he'd come straight from work to the market. Whatever the case, the polished air about him only added to the growing sense of attraction you felt.

"Here we are," you said, gesturing to the stall. "Take your time to look through the selection."

The two of you began browsing, the display lit softly by strings of twinkling lights. You spotted a pair of dark red gloves with small bows at the openings and couldn't resist buying them. They were too cute to leave behind. Meanwhile, Chris inspected the scarves with a focused look, his brow furrowing slightly in thought.

"Did you find something interesting?" he asked, glancing your way.

"Look at this scarf," you said, holding up one with a playful Christmas motif. "Isn't it adorable? It's perfect for the season!"

He chuckled, the sound light and warm. "It really is."

"How about you? Did you find something for your friend?" you asked, noticing the scarf in his hand.

"Yep," he said, holding it up for you to see. "This one's simple, nothing too fancy—he'll like it."

"That's great!" you said with a smile. "So, you've officially finished your gift shopping."

"I have," he said, his grin widening. "Let me pay for this quickly. Be right back."

You watched as he walked to the booth owner, chatting briefly as he handed over the scarf. A small pang settled in your chest. With his shopping done, this might be the moment you'd have to part ways. The thought felt strangely disappointing—is it weird that I don't want this to end yet?

He returned moments later, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "Ah, what a relief," he said with a laugh. "Now all I have to do is wrap these up and find clever hiding spots for them."

"Good plan," you said, smiling despite the lingering thought of goodbye. "Maybe I should start my own shopping marathon soon, too."

"If you need a helper, I volunteer," he offered with a playful grin. Then, more seriously, he added, "Thanks again for your help. I really appreciate it."

"Of course! It was no trouble at all," you replied, your voice softening. "I guess my mission's complete now, huh?"

"Yeah," he said, his tone dipping slightly. He hesitated before asking, "But... do you mind showing me around the market a bit more?"

Your heart lifted. "I'd love to! How about we grab something to eat first? It smells amazing here."

"Great idea. After all this shopping, I need to recharge. Hmm, it smells like chestnuts," he said, his nose lifting slightly toward the aroma wafting through the air.

"That's right. There's a booth over there selling them. Let's start with that," you suggested.

A few minutes later, you were both holding a small bag of warm chestnuts, the heat seeping into your hands through the paper. Sharing them as you walked, the conversation naturally turned to your jobs. You told him about your work as a journalist, covering everything from local stories to larger features.

"Maybe I could interview you and your team some time," you teased. "A story about the latest trends in IT security, perhaps?"

He chuckled, a playful glint in his eye. "Why not? It's a pretty important topic. Could even get us some new clients," he said, winking at you.

The truth was that Chris' team didn't need your help to attract attention. From what he'd told you, they were already renowned as one of the best security teams in the industry. Still, the idea made him smile—it was an excuse to talk to you again.

As the chestnuts dwindled, you decided on your next stop. "Hot chocolate?" you suggested, gesturing toward a nearby booth with a menu written in chalk and steam curling into the night air.

"Sounds perfect," he agreed.

The rich, warm drink was just what you needed to ward off the evening chill. Strolling through the bustling market with steaming cups in hand, the conversation between you flowed so effortlessly that it felt like second nature. You found yourselves wandering from one topic to the next, discovering little quirks about each other and laughing at shared jokes. It was as if you'd known each other for years rather than just a few hours.

Eventually, you circled back to the booth where you'd first collided. Your eyes lit up at the display of handmade ornaments and painted Christmas baubles, just as they had earlier.

"They're so beautiful," you murmured, leaning in to admire them. You reached for one, hesitating, then moved to another, clearly torn. "I don't know which one to choose. They're all so lovely!"

Chris watched you with a soft smile. The way your childlike joy illuminated your face, the way your eyes sparkled in the twinkling market lights—it left him captivated.

"They are beautiful," he said quietly, though his gaze never left you.

You turned to him, startled by the softness in his tone. His eyes met yours, warm and intent, and a blush crept up your cheeks. Feeling suddenly shy, you looked away, pretending to study the ornaments again.

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head. "You really do make this season feel magical, you know," he said, almost to himself.

Just as you were about to ask for Chris' opinion on the ornaments, you heard your name being called.

"Y/N, there you are!" one of your female colleagues exclaimed, hurrying toward you. "We lost you in the middle of everything, and you didn't respond to our messages or calls. We started to get worried!"

"Oh no, I'm so sorry," you said, flustered. "I got so caught up looking around the booths that I forgot to check my phone."

"That's so typical of you," she teased, shaking her head.

"Once you like something, you get totally lost in it."

Chris couldn't help but smile at this description, imagining youwandering through the market, mesmerized by its magic. It suited you perfectly.

"Y/N, are you coming with us now?" your colleague asked, glancing over her shoulder. "Our boss joined us all of a sudden."

"Oh!" you said, startled. "Uh, yeah, I'll be there in a second."

"Alright, but don't disappear on us again," she said with a grin. "We're at the booth selling sweets." With that, she turned and walked back toward the group.

You turned back to Chris, an apologetic expression on your face as you handed him the shopping bags you'd been carrying. "It seems like our tour ends here," you said regretfully. "I'm really sorry to leave so abruptly, but as you heard, my boss joined, and I can't exactly say no."

You didn't want to leave. Spending time with Chris had been more fun, more alive, than anything you'd done in ages. But you didn't have a choice.

"Don't worry about it," Chris said with an understanding smile. "I get it. Thank you for all your help. Have a nice evening ahead."

"It was a lot of fun," you said, your voice tinged with reluctance. "Have a nice evening, too. So... yeah."

"Thank you," he said, his gaze softening. "Maybe I'll see you again?"

"Yeah," you said shyly, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Maybe."

You waved at him and turned, hurrying to catch up with your colleague. Inside, your heart sank a little. "Why didn't I ask for his number?!" you scolded yourself. The chance of seeing him again in such a big city felt slim, but maybe... maybe he didn't want to see you again. He could have asked, too.

Behind you, Chris waved back, his hand lingering in the air even after you'd disappeared into the crowd. His eyes stayed on you, a wistful smile on his face. "She's so cute," he thought, the warmth of the evening still coursing through him. "Almost like a fairy."

As he turned back toward the ornament display, his gaze fell on one you had admired—a delicate bauble painted with a soft, shimmering winter scene. His smile widened.

~~

The next day, back in your office, you were doing some research for your next article. While browsing the internet, your mind drifted off to Chris. It had been such a lovely evening with him. When you rejoined your colleagues and your boss, it had felt, well, different. You liked your team and boss, but sometimes it felt a little stiff. The warmth and ease you'd felt with Chris were hard to replicate. You ended the evening early and went home, yet that night, you couldn't fall asleep. Your thoughts kept drifting back to the market—and, of course, to him.

Now, staring at your screen, you realized you'd spent the last ten minutes daydreaming instead of working. With a sigh, you refocused on your task, though not for long. Curiosity gnawed at you until you gave in and started searching for the company Chris worked for.

It didn't take long to find him. But what you discovered left you stunned. He didn't just work for the company—he owned it.

Vanguard Solutions, the name read, followed by their tagline: "Securing your tomorrow, today." The firm was small, with only around 30 employees, but its reputation was world-class. They specialized in cutting-edge IT and cybersecurity services, providing everything from state-of-the-art data protection to designing secure digital infrastructures for smart buildings. Their client list included governments, Fortune 500 companies, and international organizations. Vanguard was the kind of company you'd hear about in success stories or think pieces on innovation.

Scrolling further, you found a professional photo of Chris, looking sharp in a tailored suit. It was such a stark contrast to the relaxed, bubbly person you'd met at the market. In the photo, his expression was serious, but his eyes held the same warmth that had captivated you.

Beneath his photo was one of his core team, his "family," as he'd called them. Each member had an important role, from cybersecurity architects to technical directors. They looked more like a boy band than an IT team with their stylish appearances. You chuckled at the thought and imagined asking him if they could moonlight as performers.

But then, your thoughts darkened. Why hadn't you just asked for his number? It would have been so easy. Now, you were stuck wondering, "What if." Would you even see him again? The possibility seemed as distant as ever, but a small part of you clung to hope.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your colleague and friend, Mariko, called your name.

"Hey, Y/N, how's your research going? Found anything interesting?" she asked her tone light but her sharp eyes glinting with curiosity.

Mariko had a knack for reading you like a book, which made it both comforting and slightly terrifying to work alongside her. The two of you had joined the journal at the same time, and your shared interests had made you fast friends. She was the kind of person you could laugh with over coffee one minute and then marvel at as she meticulously dissected a story's tiniest details the next. She had a gentle, easygoing vibe—until work demanded her to become a relentless investigative beast.

"Hi, Mariko," you said, trying to sound casual. "Yeah, it's going well—a lot of stuff to read through, you know."

Her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, a sign she wasn't buying it. In one swift motion, she leaned over your desk and glanced at your screen.

"Aha! So that's the 'research' you're doing. Looking up boy groups? What's next, fangirling over autographs?" she teased with a wicked grin.

You let out a surprised laugh, though part of you was mortified. It wasn't just you, then—Chris and his team did have the boy band aura.

"Oh, uh, they're not a boy group," you stammered, cheeks warming. "This is an IT security company."

Mariko leaned back, her grin widening. "Since when have you been interested in IT security? Or is it because of these handsome men?" She wiggled her eyebrows, delighting in your discomfort.

You hesitated, looking back at the screen as a shy smile crept onto your face. Should you tell her?

"Don't tell me..." Mariko's eyes widened, and she practically bounced in her seat. "You've met one of them here? Who is it? Spill the tea!" she demanded, sliding into the chair across from you.

Her sudden intensity caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but laugh at her excitement.

Your office space, which you both had decorated to feel like a second home, suddenly felt a little too cozy for keeping secrets. The walls were a collage of memories: postcards from cities you'd visited, photos of you two and the rest of the team at various events, and articles you'd proudly clipped and framed. For Christmas, you had gone all out, as usual—fairy lights glowed softly around the room, a small Christmas tree sat in the corner adorned with delicate ornaments, and a snow globe sparkled on your desk.

Mariko wasn't as head-over-heels for Christmas as you were, but she humored you. She even helped hang the fairy lights, grumbling about tangled wires the whole time.

"Well?" she pressed, breaking your momentary daze. "Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?"

You sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. "Fine, I'll tell you," you relented.

Mariko's face lit up like your fairy lights, and she leaned forward eagerly. "Oh, this is going to be good. Start from the beginning!"

"Well," you began, shifting in your seat, "yesterday, at the Christmas market—where you left me alone, by the way, because you had something better to do—I literally bumped into the CEO of this company." You gestured at your screen. "His name is Chris."

Mariko's eyes widened with glee. "Ohoho, now that's a coincidence. Of all people, you bump into him. What a perfect little meet-cute for a love story."

You rolled your eyes in mock annoyance. "Oh, please."

"And for the record," Mariko added with a cheeky grin, "my boyfriend invited me to dinner. How could I say no to a cozy evening with him compared to freezing my butt off with the rest of you?"

"Lucky you," you shot back, feigning irritation.

Mariko leaned forward, her grin growing. "Soooo, did you talk to him? Or did you just knock him out cold with your thick skull?"

The two of you burst into laughter.

"Hey!" you protested, trying to sound offended. "Don't be so mean! This beautiful head of mine carries a lot of knowledge, you know."

Mariko raised a skeptical eyebrow, still smirking. "Okay, fine. So, did you talk to him?"

"Yes, we talked," you admitted, folding your arms. "And spent some time together at the market. I even helped him with his Christmas shopping."

Mariko's teasing expression turned sly. "Helped him shop, huh? Or should I say, you found an excuse to hang out with him longer?"

Your cheeks warmed, and you couldn't stop the small smile tugging at your lips. The truth was, part of you had wanted to spend more time with him. There was an undeniable pull, an attraction you hadn't felt in ages.

"Anyway," you said, trying to brush it off, "I helped him carry his bags as an apology for bumping into him."

Mariko wasn't letting you off the hook so easily. "Uh huh. Sure. Let's call it that," she teased, resting her chin in her hands. "So, what's he like? Are you going to see him again?"

Chris image popped into your mind. His warm smile, the way he carried himself with confidence but wasn't arrogant, how easy he was to talk to. You found yourself smiling without even realizing it. "He's really nice," you said softly. "A great conversation partner. He knows so much about everything. We just... clicked, you know? It felt like talking to an old friend—like we were catching up after years apart. And, well," you hesitated, feeling heat rush to your face, "he's tall, handsome, and really charming."

Mariko started giggling, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Does someone have a crush on a certain CEO?"

"What? No!" you exclaimed, your voice a little too high-pitched. "I don't have a crush on anybody! I'm just saying he's nice and easy to talk to, that's all." You stared intently at your screen, pretending to be deeply engrossed in your "research."

Mariko wasn't fooled for a second. "Uh huh, just a good conversation partner, huh? Sure, Y/N. Tell me when you're ready to stop being in denial, okay?"

You groaned, knowing she wasn't going to drop it.

"And," she added, leaning back with a knowing smirk, "let me guess—you didn't make any plans to meet him again, did you?"

You bit your lip, unwilling to admit the truth.

"That's what I thought." Mariko mimicked air quotes as she said, "'No plans for another meeting.' Don't worry, though. When you finally admit that you like this guy, I'll help you figure out how to see him again."

"Mariko!" you whined, burying your face in your hands.

She just laughed, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

You gave up and laid your head on your arms on the table, whining. "No, I'm so stupid. I didn't dare. Our parting was too quick. Madeleine called me and interrupted us. I think she didn't even realize I was there with Chris, which is better like that, or she would have made a fuss out of it in front of our boss."

Speaking of which, Jeff entered your office. You instantly sat up straight at the sound of his voice and looked at him.

"Good morning, ladies," Jeff said, surveying the two of you. "How's everything going? I need one of you to cover the story about data brokers as soon as possible. It's going to be a centerpiece article, so I want deep reporting. Who's going to work on it?" He looked between the two of you, ignoring your previous act.

Mariko, ever the diligent reporter, raised her hand. "Morning, Jeff. I'll take it." You didn't mind since you were working on another story.

"Good, thanks. We should have a rough story outline by Monday. Can you manage that?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Mariko answered in military salute style, which made you smile. Even Jeff couldn't keep a straight face. He smiled and said, "You two are going to drive me crazy one day." He gave a half-exasperated, half-amused shake of his head. "Anyway, carry on with your... work—or whatever you were doing," he added, gesturing vaguely in your direction as he tried to figure out what exactly you'd been up to.

You fought the urge to laugh and nodded solemnly. Mariko simply grinned as Jeff left the room, closing the door behind him.

Once Jeff was out of earshot, she leaned back and said, "Data brokers, huh? That's a hot topic. Looks like I'll be diving into the shady underworld of personal data for the next few days."

You raised an eyebrow. "What's your angle going to be?"

Mariko thought for a moment, tapping her pen against the table. "Probably the hidden world of these companies—how they collect, sell, and package our data like it's some kind of commodity. You know, explore the lack of regulation and the potential dangers to privacy and security. I might need to dig into some case studies and track down experts for interviews."

An idea sparked in your mind. You glanced at your screen, where Chris' professional photo still lingered.

"What if I interviewed Chris or his team? His company specializes in cybersecurity, and they probably know all about the consequences of data breaches or unethical data use."

Mariko smirked knowingly. "Oh, now that is a brilliant idea. And not at all an excuse to see Mr. Tall and Handsome again, right?"

You blushed, avoiding her gaze. "I'm serious, Mariko. This could add real depth to the article."

"Of course, of course," she teased. "I mean, why waste a perfectly good journalistic opportunity? Go for it, Y/N. You're technically helping me with this story, so Jeff might even approve. And hey, if it happens to give you a chance to 'bump into' him again, who am I to judge?"

You couldn't help but smile. "We'll see," you said, trying to sound casual but already imagining how the conversation might go.

On Saturday, you had planned to go to the open-air skating rink set up in the city's main square with Mariko. But at the last minute, she canceled due to an unexpected visit from her aunt. You were a bit disappointed but determined not to let it ruin your weekend vibe. You decided to go anyway, eager to enjoy the lively atmosphere. Not that you were a figure-skating prodigy, but gliding (or stumbling) around on the ice sounded like a good time.

When you arrived, the rink was buzzing with activity. Fairy lights were strung up all around, casting a warm glow on the sparkling ice. A mix of laughter, cheerful chatter, and festive music filled the air. Families, couples, and groups of friends were already out on the ice, some gracefully twirling while others wobbled and clutched the rink's sturdy barrier for support. There was even a small stand nearby selling hot chocolate, mulled wine, and other seasonal treats for the spectators.

You made your way to the skate rental kiosk, where a cheerful attendant handed you a pair of skates after you

gave your shoe size. With skates in hand, you headed to a nearby bench to lace them up. You carefully slipped on the first skate and began lacing the second when a familiar voice interrupted your focus.

"Are you following me?"

You looked up, startled, and saw Chris standing in front of you with a playful grin. He was dressed casually in a warm coat and scarf, with skates slung over one shoulder. For a moment, you were so surprised you couldn't find the words to respond. After all the second-guessing about whether to reach out to him since your encounter at the Christmas market, here he was, right in front of you.

"Who's following who?" you finally managed to say, your voice teasing.

Chris chuckled as he sat down on the bench beside you, placing his skates on the ground. "I have to say, I'm happy to see you so soon again," he said warmly.

You felt your heart skip a beat at how he smiled at you. His presence had an uncanny ability to melt through your usual composure.

"Same here," you replied a little sheepishly. You glanced around nervously before asking, "Are you here alone?" Part of you almost braced for the possibility of his girlfriend suddenly appearing by his side.

"Yes, I'm here alone," he said, his tone a bit shy as he rubbed the back of his neck. Then, his face lit up with a smile. "Well, I was here alone," he added, looking directly at you. "Unless you've got something against some company—or you're here with someone?" His gaze softened, curious yet hopeful.

"Oh! No!" you blurted out a little too eagerly, the words tumbling out before you could filter them. Chris' grin widened, and you quickly corrected yourself. "I mean, no, I got stood up, unfortunately. My friend Mariko canceled at the last minute. Something came up for her, and I figured I'd still come anyway. Looks like it was a good idea after all." You chanced a glance at him before looking away, your nerves threatening to overwhelm you.

"Yes, it was," he replied, his smile growing warmer. "Actually, I was supposed to have a client show me around, but they canceled at the last minute, too. So, I decided to go exploring on my own and somehow ended up here."

"If you say 'ended up here,' does that mean you actually got lost?" you teased, your confidence returning ever so slightly.

"Maybe..." he admitted with a grin. "I see you're all ready to go. Let me just get these skates on, and we can hit the ice together."

"Yes, I'd love to," you said, though inside, your nerves began to churn. Ice skating with Mariko would have been one thing—stumbling and laughing at your mutual clumsiness—but this was different. What if Chris turned out to be a fantastic skater? What if you embarrassed yourself in front of him? You debated whether to ask about his skill level but decided against it.

"I'm ready. Let's go," he said after lacing up his skates with practiced ease. He stood up with an effortless grace that left you momentarily breathless.

He marched confidently toward the rink entrance, his posture relaxed yet strikingly poised. You, on the other hand, wobbled a little on the thick mats as you followed behind him. Chris moved like a model gliding down a runway, and for a fleeting moment, your thoughts betrayed you. He doesn't look like a businessman right now. He looks more like... boyfriend material. You immediately shook your head, flustered by the direction of your thoughts.

Chris stepped onto the ice with casual elegance, his movements as smooth as if he belonged there. He made a quick lap around the rink as if testing the ice, then skated back to where you stood at the edge, gripping the railing for dear life.

"Everything all right?" he asked, his voice warm with amusement.

"Well, I, uh... how can I put this..." you stammered, trying to find the right words.

"Don't tell me you can't skate," he said, his lips curving into a teasing smile.

You swallowed hard and admitted, "Ehm, no. I'm... at the beginner stage."

Chris laughed—a rich, beautiful laugh that sent your heart soaring and your confidence tumbling.

"Come on, let me help you," he said, extending his hand toward you. His outstretched hand was steady and inviting, his smile reassuring.

Your heart began pounding as you hesitated. His hand... he's offering me his hand. You could barely process it. This was Chris—successful CEO, accomplished, charismatic. Surely, he was used to women who were polished, poised, and far more graceful than you. Your cheeks flushed crimson at the thought.

Still, you couldn't let this opportunity slip away. With a deep breath, you reached out and placed your hand in his. His grip was warm and firm, and the way he looked at you instantly eased some of your nerves. The moment he held on to you, a strange yet comforting sense of security washed over you. It was odd—how could someone you barely knew make you feel so safe?

"Don't worry," he said softly, his smile never wavering. "We'll go slow. I've got you. There you go."

"Yes, because you're holding me," you replied with a nervous chuckle.

He grinned mischievously. "Should I let go?"

"Oh, please don't! At least not in the middle of the rink," you said, your voice a mix of panic and playfulness.

"Don't worry," he said with a sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. "I won't let go of you."

His words were so earnest, and the way he looked at you so intensely, that your cheeks warmed as your pulse raced.

Suddenly, a group of kids zipped past, their laughter echoing as they skated dangerously close. Startled, you lost your balance for a moment. But before you could even process it, Chris' hand shot out to steady you, his other hand resting lightly against your back. A warm feeling spread through you.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.

You nodded, feeling sheepish. "Yes, thank you. I just... wasn't expecting them."

He chuckled softly. "It's okay. They're like that—unpredictable. I've got you."

But guilt began to creep in. He hadn't come here to babysit you, and you didn't want to hold him back.

"You know what," you said hesitantly, "maybe it's safer if I stick to the sidelines. That way, you can skate freely without worrying about me."

He tilted his head, considering your suggestion. "I don't mind skating with you," he said earnestly. "But if you feel safer there, then I'll take you."

Grateful for his understanding, you both made your way slowly to the edge of the rink. "Better?" he asked as you grabbed onto the rail.

"Yep, much better," you replied with a small smile. "At least here, I won't disturb the good skaters. How about this: you show me how it's done properly?"

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across his face. "You want a demonstration? Your wish is my command."

And with that, he pushed off, gliding effortlessly onto the ice.

Your heart raced as you watched him skate. He moved with such elegance, weaving through the crowd like he owned the rink. He wasn't just skating; he was commanding attention, and people couldn't help but notice.

You certainly weren't the only one mesmerized. A few girls, who were clearly much better skaters than you, began to take notice, too, their eyes lingering on him as he passed. They giggled and whispered to one another, and a pang of jealousy shot through you. Maybe he'd be better off skating with one of them—someone who wouldn't stumble or cling to the sidelines.

The thought left you feeling self-conscious, and for a moment, you considered leaving. But just then, Chris returned, skating directly toward you with a smooth, controlled stride. Before stopping, he did a playful little twist, pivoting on the ice with effortless grace.

You stared at him in awe. "Woah, you can do twists? Who am I even skating with? Are you secretly a professional skater or something?"

He laughed, his whole face lighting up. "No, I swear I'm not," he said, shaking his head. "I just like trying out different sports, and skating happens to be something I'm surprisingly good at." He shrugged as if it were no big deal, though his grin betrayed a hint of pride.

"Still, that was impressive," you said, your earlier insecurities melting away under his warm smile.

"Well, thank you," he replied with a little bow. Then, he straightened up and said, "How about I teach you?"

You glanced at him, but your gaze wandered to a group of girls near the center of the rink. They were looking in your direction, giggling and nudging each other. One of them took a step forward, clearly mustering the courage to approach.

Your chest tightened. A rush of insecurity swept over you. "Ah, thank you," you said, trying to muster a polite smile. "But maybe it's better if I leave. I think I'm a little too cold." You swallowed hard and gestured toward the exit.

"Please, stay and enjoy your time here. See you around."

Without giving him time to protest, you began wobbling toward the edge of the rink, determined to make a dignified exit despite the unsteady skates. Behind you, Chris stood frozen, confusion etched across his face. He had no idea what had gone wrong or whether he should follow you. Did you still want him by your side?

But before you could make it far, you heard his voice behind you, firm and unmistakable. "Y/N, wait!"

You hesitated for a split second, but his footsteps didn't follow. It stung, just a little. You took another shaky step forward, glancing back briefly—and that's when it happened.

Your skate caught an uneven patch of ice, and your foot slipped out from under you. Gravity took hold, and you braced for the inevitable, humiliating crash. Arms flailed, and your breath hitched as you felt the cold air rushing toward your face.

Except... the ice never came.

Instead, you found yourself enveloped in warmth. Strong arms wrapped around you, steadying you and pulling you close to his chest. Time seemed to stand still as your startled gaze met his. His face was mere inches from yours, his breath brushing softly against your cheeks. His eyes—those deep, mesmerizing eyes—held yours with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and soft. "Careful. You almost hit your head."

Your breath caught in your throat. The concern in his tone, the way he held you so protectively—it made the world around you blur, leaving only the two of you.

He helped you back to your feet with effortless grace, but his hands lingered, steadying you until he was sure you were secure.

"I can't let you leave like this," he said, his voice tinged with something more than concern. "Let me accompany you. I don't want you to get hurt."

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks as his words settled over you. There was no teasing in his tone, no trace of humor—just genuine care. You could only nod, too overwhelmed to say anything coherent.

As he led you slowly off the ice, his hand rested lightly against the small of your back, a reassuring presence that made your heart race. You stole a glance at him, and for a moment, you thought you caught a hint of a smile—soft, tender, and meant only for you.

He accompanied you to the bench where you'd put on your skates earlier, the silence between you filled with a comforting presence rather than awkwardness. As you reached the bench, Chris turned to you, concern still evident in his gaze.

"Are you absolutely sure you're not hurt?" he asked softly, crouching slightly as if to check your balance.

You nodded quickly, still looking down at your feet. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for catching me before I could make a complete fool of myself on the ice," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chris leaned closer, his grin teasing yet gentle. "No need to thank me for that. How could I let you take a tumble with me right there? My super skating skills finally came in handy," he said, his tone light as he puffed up his chest dramatically, trying to lift your spirits.

You couldn't help it—you laughed. It was impossible not to. The sound seemed to bring a glow to Chris' face, and he joined in with a chuckle, his laugh as warm and inviting as ever.

"It was still so embarrassing," you admitted, shaking your head, though the laughter had eased some of your discomfort. "In front of all those people..."

Chris shrugged casually, his eyes twinkling. "Ah, don't worry about them. You don't know them, and they don't know you. By the time they get off the ice, they'll be too busy with their own lives to remember. More importantly..."

His voice softened, and he turned to look at you more directly. "Why did you leave so suddenly?"

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, the vulnerability in his tone making your heart clench. "Did I... did I upset you in some way?" he asked, his words tinged with hesitation.

Your head snapped up, meeting his worried gaze. "No! No, of course not. You didn't do anything to upset me," you said quickly, your hands fluttering as you tried to explain. "I... I just..."

You paused, unsure how much to reveal. But something about his sincerity, the way he sat patiently waiting for you to find the words, made you feel safe. You took a deep breath.

"I just felt a little out of place," you confessed, your voice quiet. "You were skating so beautifully, catching everyone's attention. And then there was me... wobbling around like a baby deer."

You chuckled nervously, trying to make light of it, but Chris didn't smile. His expression only softened further, a mix of understanding and something deeper.

"I didn't want to hold you back or be a nuisance. And honestly, I felt like... like maybe you'd rather spend time with someone more on your level. I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble." You looked down again, not wanting to see his reaction, but his voice drew you back.

"Oh, Y/N," he said, his tone gentle yet firm. "You're not holding me back. And you're definitely not a nuisance. You're..." He paused, his words lingering as if choosing them carefully. "You're wonderful company. Being here with you tonight has been the most fun I've had in weeks."

You blinked, startled by his earnestness, and when you looked up, the sincerity in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. "Really?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He smiled, that heart-stopping, genuine smile of his, and nodded. "Really."

You felt warmth flood your cheeks, and you looked away, suddenly shy. "I... I'm happy to hear that," you said, your voice faltering as you tried to keep your composure.

Chris leaned back slightly, his grin playful again, lightening the mood. "How about we get a warm beverage?" he suggested. "I think we've earned it after all this skating—or in your case, graceful gliding," he teased, his tone filled with good-natured humor.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "You don't want to skate anymore?" you asked, already eyeing the inviting glow of the nearby stalls. "Because I'd love to have a nice warm tea now."

He tilted his head, pretending to consider it. "Skating is great, but right now, a warm beverage sounds even better. Let's return these skates and find that stall over there," he said, pointing toward a cozy stand with twinkling lights and the faint aroma of spices wafting through the air.

"Deal," you said, standing up—this time with much more care. He stood, too, offering his arm like a true gentleman. "Shall we?"

Your laughter mingled with his as you headed toward the rental stand, the cold air forgotten in the warmth of the moment. It wasn't just the tea you were looking forward to anymore—it was the promise of more time with him.

Once you'd both returned your skates, you wandered over to a stall glowing warmly with festive lights. The aroma of cinnamon, oranges, and mulled spices wafted through the crisp evening air, and you couldn't help but smile. "This is one of my favorite scents in winter," you said softly, inhaling deeply as you held your steaming cup of tea.

Chris smiled his own cup of hot chocolate in hand. "Mine too. It's like the smell of Christmas itself, isn't it?"

You nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! Cinnamon, oranges, gingerbread—it brings back so many memories. Every year, my parents used to bake cookies, and the house smelled amazing. My sister and I would sneak into the kitchen to 'taste-test' the dough, even though we weren't supposed to."

He chuckled, a warm sound that seemed to melt the winter chill. "That sounds familiar. My siblings and I used to have a similar tradition. Except we'd swipe the cookies once they were baked and try to rearrange the plate so no one would notice. My mom always did, though."

You both laughed, sipping your drinks as the world around you seemed to fade into the cozy glow of the moment. The fairy lights strung in the tree above sparkled, and the light snow dusting its branches gave the evening an almost magical quality.

"What about Santa? Did you leave out cookies and milk for him?" Chris asked, his eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"Oh, absolutely," you said with a grin. "My parents made a whole ritual of it. We'd write him a note and leave out cookies and milk by the fireplace. The next morning, they'd be gone, and we'd find a little thank-you note in return. At the time, I was so convinced it was from Santa."

"Same here," Chris said, shaking his head with a laugh. "Although, one year, I caught my dad finishing the milk and cookies, and I was crushed. He tried to convince me that Santa was just 'too busy' that year and had asked him to help out."

You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your tea. "That's hilarious! Parents are so creative when it comes to keeping the magic alive."

"They really are," he agreed, his expression softening. "Even now, I try to hold on to that magic. It's part of what makes this time of year so special. Like decorating the tree. It's one of my favorite traditions."

"Mine too," you said, your face lighting up. "I love unwrapping all the ornaments we've collected over the years. Each one has a story, you know? And putting the star on top—oh, that's always the big finale."

Chris' smile deepened. "We had the same tradition. Although, in our house, it was always a debate over whether to use a star or an angel. My mom loved the angel, but my dad insisted on the star. It became this annual tug-of-war."

"And who won?" you asked, laughing.

"It depended on who got to the top of the tree first," he said with a grin. "One year, my siblings and I decided to make our own 'compromise topper.' We glued a tiny angel holding a star and surprised them with it. They still use it to this day."

"That's adorable," you said, touched by the story. "It sounds like your family really made the holidays special."

"They did," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. "And I think that's what makes this season so meaningful—creating those memories, big or small. What about you? Any unique traditions in your family?"

You paused, smiling fondly. "Well, besides our obsession with cookies, we had this thing where we'd take a Christmas Eve walk. After dinner, we'd bundle up, go out into the snow, and look at all the neighborhood lights. It was our way of soaking in the holiday spirit. Then we'd come home, drink hot chocolate, and watch a nice movie together."

"That sounds perfect," he said, his gaze warm. "It's funny—when you think about it, it's never the expensive gifts or big gestures that stick with you. It's the little moments, the ones that make you feel... connected."

You nodded, his words resonating deeply. The conversation flowed effortlessly between you, each story bringing you closer, weaving a tapestry of shared memories and holiday magic. Sitting under the glowing fairy lights, the evening felt like something out of a storybook—simple, meaningful, and utterly unforgettable.

The warmth of the tea and your conversation wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. It was one of those rare moments where time seemed to stretch, letting you bask in the glow of connection. Chris leaned back slightly, looking as though he wanted to say something, but before he could, the sharp vibration of his phone interrupted the moment.

He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen, and sighed softly. "I'm so sorry. It's my office. I need to take this." His expression was apologetic, almost reluctant.

"Of course," you said quickly, trying not to let your disappointment show. "Go ahead."

He stepped away, pacing a little as he spoke. You couldn't help but admire the way he carried himself, even in the middle of a call, calm and composed. His deep voice was just low enough that you couldn't catch his words, but the way his brows furrowed told you it was something important.

A few minutes later, he returned, his expression regretful. "Y/N, I hate to cut this short, but something's come up, and I have to head out."

"That's okay," you said, forcing a bright smile despite the small pang in your chest. "I understand. Work calls."

"I've had such a great time tonight," he said earnestly, his gaze lingering on yours. "I wasn't expecting to, but you made my evening... memorable."

You felt your cheeks heat up. "Me too. It's been fun, even with my less-than-stellar skating skills."

He chuckled, his warm laughter making your heart flutter.

As if on cue, the rink's lights dimmed slightly, signaling that it was closing for the evening.

"Well," you said, standing and brushing the snow from your coat, "if I see you again tomorrow, then I'll start believing in Christmas miracles."

Chris' lips curved into a soft smile, the kind that reached his eyes and made them sparkle. "Christmas miracles, huh? I'll keep that in mind."

Neither of you made a move to exchange numbers. It wasn't that you didn't want to—your heart screamed at you to say something, anything, to keep this connection alive. But the unspoken understanding between you seemed to hold you back. Maybe it was the magic of the season, or maybe it was the hope of fate stepping in again.

"Take care, Y/N," he said, his voice low and warm.

"You too, Chris," you replied softly, watching as he walked away into the night. His silhouette disappeared into the crowd, leaving you with nothing but the faint scent of cinnamon and the memory of his smile.

As you headed home, a part of you couldn't help but wonder—would you see him again? The thought warmed you against the cold winter night, a tiny spark of hope flickering in your chest like the fairy lights on the tree.

~~

On Monday, you and Mariko had a meeting with Jeff to present the outline for the new article about data brokers.

Mariko did a fantastic job with the presentation, clearly and confidently explaining the structure and focus of the piece. You had contributed some crucial information, and now it was your turn to bring up an idea you'd been mulling over all weekend.

You were a little nervous about Jeff's reaction, but so far, he seemed pleased with the outline, offering only minor feedback.

"Jeff, there's one more thing I'd like to discuss," you said, trying to sound casual. "Have you heard of Vanguard Solutions?"

Yes, I've heard of them," Jeff replied. "One of the top IT and cybersecurity firms. What about them?"

"Well..." You hesitated for a fraction of a second before diving in. "I happen to know the CEO, and I thought about reaching out to him for an interview. His perspective could add a lot of value to our article. What do you think?"

"That would be incredible!" Jeff said, his interest piqued. "Do you really think he'll agree to an interview? Usually, companies like that are pretty reserved."

"I'll do my best to get it," you replied, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety.

"That's the spirit!" Jeff said, a grin forming on his face.Then, with a twinkle of curiosity in his eyes, he added, "I'm not going to ask how you came to know him..."

Before you could respond, Mariko chimed in, her voice dripping with mischief. "Yeah, no need to explain. We'll just assume it's...purely professional." She teased, nudging you lightly.

You couldn't help but blush, the teasing hitting a little too close to home. "It's nothing like that, I swear! I just met him by chance."

"Oh sure," Mariko said with an arched eyebrow, "by chance. At a Christmas market."

"Enough, you two!" you groaned, but a smile tugged at your lips.

Jeff chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm sure it'll all work out. Getting an interview with him could take this article to a whole new level. Privacy and data brokers are hot topics right now, and getting an industry leader's take on it would add a lot of weight."

You nodded, feeling more confident. "I'll email him today."

"Good," Jeff said, leaning back in his chair. "But remember, no pressure. If it doesn't happen, we'll find another angle. Still, I have faith you'll pull this off."

Back in the office with Mariko, the teasing began almost immediately.

"Sooo," she started, a mischievous grin spreading across her face, "you're going to meet your CEO again."

"He's not my CEO," you said, rolling your eyes, though you couldn't hide the triumphant smile on your lips. "But yes, I'm officially going to meet him again after skating with him over the weekend."

Mariko nearly dropped her cup of green tea. "You did what? Why didn't you text me immediately? Okay, spill—tell me everything!"

You took a deep breath, unable to suppress your smile. "I went to the skating rink on Saturday, and while I was lacing up my skates, guess who suddenly appeared next to me?"

"No way!" Mariko exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement.

"He said he had an appointment with a client who was supposed to show him around the city, but the client canceled last minute. So, he wandered around on his own and somehow ended up at the skating rink."

Mariko leaned back in her chair, smirking. "What a coincidence—or should I say, what a fated event? Unless he's a stalker." She snickered at her own joke.

"He's not a stalker!" you protested, laughing. "It was pure chance. Right place, right time."

"Okay, fine. But what happened next? Did you actually skate with him? Because let's face it—you're not exactly...graceful on ice."

You groaned. "We skated together if you can even call it that. He skated like a prince, and I was wobbling around like a baby deer."

Mariko burst into laughter, nearly spilling her tea. "I can so picture that."

"It gets worse," you admitted. "He was so elegant that everyone was watching him. And, of course, some girls started eyeing him—you know, the type who actually can skate. I felt so insecure. I didn't want to hold him back, so I told him I was leaving."

Mariko's grin faltered. "You didn't."

"Oh, I did," you said, nodding gravely. "And then I managed to turn it into a scene straight out of a movie."

Mariko leaned forward, eyes wide. "Oh no...don't tell me..."

"I lost my balance right before reaching the exit," you confessed, covering your face with your hands as the memory replayed in your mind.

"No way!" Mariko gasped.

"And just when I thought I was about to faceplant onto the ice..." You peeked through your fingers, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

"What? What happened?" Mariko practically shouted, her excitement palpable.

"Chris caught me. Right before I hit the ice, he just...caught me in his arms," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mariko squealed so loudly you thought the entire office might hear. "Oh my gosh, Y/N! That's so K-drama-worthy. How was it?"

"How was what?" you asked, confused.

"Being in his arms, obviously!" Mariko exclaimed, exasperated but grinning.

You sighed, your cheeks heating up. "It was...so nice. I felt so safe. He's so strong but, at the same time, so gentle. And he was seriously concerned about me."

Mariko clutched her chest dramatically. "Oh, Y/N, you've got it bad. It's all over your face. This is so romantic! Please tell me you exchanged numbers after that fairy-tale moment."

Your smile faltered. "No," you admitted, disappointment creeping into your voice. "He got an emergency call from his teammate and had to leave right away."

Mariko groaned, throwing her head back. "Ugh, the universe is playing games with you two. But you're meeting him again for the article, right?"

You nodded, a flicker of hope returning. "Yes. And this time, I won't let the chance slip away."

Mariko grinned mischievously. "Good. And if you do, I'm marching straight to Vanguard Solutions myself."

You started typing a professional email, carefully explaining why you were reaching out and asking if it might be possible to interview the CEO of Vanguard Solutions. Each word felt heavier than the last as you meticulously adjusted the tone and phrasing, rereading the text for what felt like the tenth time before finally hitting "Send."

With a sigh of relief, you leaned back in your chair, turning to Mariko. "Ugh, it was just an email, but it felt like I was writing an exposé to save my career," you whined, rubbing your temples.

Mariko laughed, leaning her chin on her hand. "Part one of the mission is done. Now we just wait for their response. I really hope they agree—it would be a huge boost for the article."

"Me too," you said, almost absentmindedly. In truth, your thoughts were divided. On one hand, you hoped for a positive reply because it would elevate your article to a whole new level. On the other hand, you couldn't deny the flicker of excitement at the thought of meeting Chris again.

Mariko's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she broke the silence. "If they agree, can I come with you? I'm dying to meet this CEO of yours. Of course, you'd handle the interview, but I could take some photos for the article. A professional headshot—or maybe a candid shot if he looks extra dreamy," she teased.

You chuckled and rolled your eyes at her antics. "Sure, I'd actually appreciate your company."

"Perfect!" she exclaimed, grinning. "I can't wait to see this story unfold. Just don't forget to let me know the moment you hear back from them. The suspense is killing me already!"

You couldn't help but smile at her excitement, though deep down, you felt a nervous flutter in your chest. You could only hope the response from Vanguard Solutions would be everything you were wishing for—professionally and personally.

Before leaving the office, you gave your emails one last check. "Just one more time," you thought, even though you'd been refreshing your inbox all day with no luck. Once again, the screen showed no new emails. "Maybe tomorrow," you sighed, moving your cursor to close the application.

Just as you were about to log off, a new email notification popped up. Your eyes widened when you saw the sender: Vanguard Solutions.

Your heart started pounding as you quickly clicked to open it, scanning the content with growing excitement.

Mariko, who was packing her things, glanced over at you. "What's up? You look like you've just seen a ghost—or won the lottery."

You stayed silent for a beat, trying to keep your composure, but the joy bubbling inside you was too much to contain. Finally, you broke into a wide grin. "They agreed! We're getting the interview!" you nearly shouted.

Mariko's jaw dropped before she erupted into a cheer. "No way! Oh my gosh, yes!" She dropped her bag and rushed over. The two of you started jumping around in excitement, holding hands like giddy schoolgirls.

"We have to tell Jeff!" Mariko exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.

"Tell me what?" Jeff's voice came from the doorway. He stood there, looking puzzled at the sight of you both bouncing around like maniacs.

Mariko nudged you forward, giving you the honor of delivering the news.

"We're going to interview Vanguard Solutions!" you exclaimed, your voice almost a squeal.

Jeff's eyes widened in shock before a grin broke across his face. "No way! You did it!" Without hesitation, he joined in on the celebration, jumping up and down with you and Mariko like a big kid.

After a few moments, Jeff composed himself, adjusting his tie and clearing his throat. "Great job, both of you. I knew you were the right people for this. When's the interview?"

"Tomorrow afternoon," you replied, still beaming. "It's just a 30-minute time slot, but it's better than nothing. Mariko and I will spend the morning preparing to make the most of it."

"Perfect," Jeff said, nodding approvingly. "I wish I could tag along, but I'm tied up in meetings all day. I know you'll knock it out of the park."

"Leave it to us, boss," Mariko chimed in confidently.

With that, you and Mariko left the office, still riding the high of your small but significant victory. Over dinner, the two of you toasted to your success, vowing to make the most of tomorrow's big opportunity.

~~

The next morning, you and Mariko spent hours meticulously preparing for the meeting. You went over every question, sorting them by priority, and ensured nothing important would be left out. Mariko had also planned a list of ideal shots to capture for the article, wanting to match the professionalism of the piece with stunning visuals.

Now, sitting in the passenger seat as Mariko drove through the bustling city streets, you felt like a bundle of nerves. Your heart was racing, and you were gripping your notes tightly.

Why did you feel this way? This wasn't your first professional meeting, and it wasn't even your first time meeting Chris. Sure, it was the first time in a business setting, but it was still him. The gentle, humorous Chris who had caught you before you could hit the ice just days ago. That thought alone brought a smile to your face.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Mariko teased, side-eyeing you as she maneuvered the car into a quieter street. "You're thinking about your CEO, aren't you?"

"I'm... not," you stammered, though your flushed cheeks betrayed you.

Mariko raised an arched eyebrow at you, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

"Okay, fine, I am," you admitted, throwing your hands up.

"I can't help it! I'm nervous, excited, happy, and a complete mess all at once."

Mariko chuckled as she pulled into the parking lot of the towering glass building ahead. "Relax," she said, her tone warm and encouraging. "You know Chris. Everything's going to be just fine."

You stepped out of the car and stood next to her, both of you looking up at the sleek skyscraper gleaming in the afternoon sun.

"Quite impressive, huh?" Mariko said, shading her eyes as she took in the architectural marvel.

"Yep," you replied, adjusting the strap of your bag. "Ours looks like a cozy cottage compared to this."

Mariko turned to you with a supportive smile. "You ready?"

You took a deep breath, standing tall and determined. "Yes, I am. Let's go."

Together, you strode toward the building, your heels clicking on the pavement with purpose. The glass doors opened with a soft whoosh, welcoming you into the grand, polished lobby.

A friendly receptionist greeted you warmly as you stepped into the sleek lobby. "I'll let them know you're here," she said, flashing a professional smile. "You can take the elevator to the 8th floor."

You thanked her and made your way to the elevators, the soft hum of activity around you only heightening your nerves. Inside the elevator, you couldn't ignore the fluttering in your chest. Just a few more moments, and you would see him again. Would he act differently this time? Perhaps he would keep things strictly professional, pretending as if you didn't know each other outside of this setting.

The elevator chimed softly, announcing your arrival. As the doors slid open, another polished, attractive woman greeted you at the landing. "Welcome," she said with a practiced smile, gesturing for you to follow her.

Walking through the corridor, you passed a series of sleek glass-walled offices. The employees inside were dressed impeccably, their tailored suits and sharp blouses radiating professionalism. You and Mariko, dressed in business casual, suddenly felt a bit underdressed.

You tried to shake off the feeling, but as you walked past, your eyes caught sight of a few women chatting animatedly. They were effortlessly elegant, their poise and beauty only adding to your unease. Chris works with people like this every day, the thought crept in. A small, unwelcome voice whispered in your mind: "You really thought you had a chance? Fool."

Suppressing the pang in your chest, you followed the woman into a medium-sized meeting room. The space was immaculate, with a polished wooden table at its center and a large screen for presentations dominating one wall. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of the city skyline, the sunlight glinting off the distant skyscrapers.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," the woman said, gesturing to the table. "If you'd like something to drink, there's water available over here." She pointed to a neatly arranged refreshment table.

"Thank you very much," you replied, offering her a polite smile before she stepped out of the room.

As you settled into your seat, the nerves returned in full force. You straightened your notes and glanced at Mariko, who gave you an encouraging nod. She had prepared her photo equipment, ready to spring into action. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

At precisely 2 p.m., the muffled sound of voices outside the door signaled that someone was about to enter. Mariko shot you an encouraging smile as you adjusted your posture, trying to calm your racing heart, your eyes fixed hopefully on the door as it slowly creaked open.

But instead of Chris, a different man stepped into the room. He was tall, composed, and dressed impeccably in a tailored navy suit. His confident stride exuded authority. The polite smile you had prepared faltered for a split second, and Mariko glanced between you and the unexpected visitor, her eyebrows raising slightly.

"Good afternoon, ladies," the man began with a warm but professional tone. "I'm Felix, the Deputy CEO of Vanguard Solutions. I'm here on behalf of Mr. Chris, who sends his sincerest apologies. Unfortunately, an urgent matter required his immediate attention."

He paused, his expression genuinely apologetic. "To make up for this unforeseen change, I've extended our meeting to a full hour, and I'll do my best to address all your questions thoroughly. Thank you for your understanding."

Though disappointment tugged at your chest, you managed a gracious smile and rose to greet him. "Good afternoon, Felix. I'm Y/N, and this is my colleague Mariko. Thank you very much for stepping in and accommodating us so generously."

Felix nodded, his smile softening. "It's a pleasure to meet you both, and I appreciate your flexibility. Please, feel free to take any photos you need for your article—I'll do my best to make this meeting worthwhile."

Mariko chimed in, "Thank you, Felix. That's very kind of you."

You took a deep breath and gestured toward your notes. "We'd like to start with a few personal questions to provide a brief profile for our readers, if that's all right, before moving on to the main discussion."

"Absolutely," Felix said, settling into a chair across from you. "Let's get started."

The interview turned out to be both engaging and insightful. Felix proved to be an exceptional speaker, effortlessly distilling complex processes and ideas into terms you could easily grasp. His confident, articulate manner made the time fly by, and Mariko had taken full advantage of the opportunity, snapping photos midway through the session. Her enthusiasm for photography was clear, and you noticed how she lingered on his well-defined features. Still, no matter how charismatic Felix was, your mind kept wandering to Chris. To you, he was in a league of his own.

Before you knew it, the hour was up. With Felix's generous extension, you'd managed to ask every question on your list, yet a small part of you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. Chris hadn't appeared, and you realized you'd been holding onto the faint hope that he might walk in at the last moment. But now, with your notes packed and the meeting concluded, that hope had faded.

As you gathered your things, Felix offered a courteous smile. "I'm glad we could make this work. If you need any additional information, feel free to reach out," he said, his tone as polished as ever.

"Thank you again for your time, Felix," you replied sincerely as he walked you and Mariko to the elevator.

"The pleasure was mine," he said warmly, pressing the button for the elevator. "It's always refreshing to speak with people who are genuinely interested in what we do. Have a safe journey back."

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and you stepped inside. Mariko offered him a cheerful goodbye, but you hesitated for a moment, glancing back one last time. A fleeting thought crossed your mind—perhaps Chris had wanted to come but couldn't. With a quiet sigh, you gave Felix a polite nod, and the doors closed, leaving you alone with your thoughts as the elevator began its descent.

Felix returned to the meeting room to gather his things before heading back to his office. As he zipped his portfolio shut, a voice from the doorway startled him.

"Did they already leave?"

Felix jumped slightly, looking up to see Chris leaning against the frame. "Don't sneak up on me like that," Felix muttered, shaking his head. "Yes, they left a few minutes ago."

Chris' shoulders slumped ever so slightly, the disappointment evident on his face. He stepped into the room, glancing at the now-empty chairs. "I tried to wrap up the meeting as quickly as I could," he admitted. "I even suggested extending their interview time, hoping to catch them before they left. Guess I didn't make it in time."

Felix smirked, sensing something unusual in his friend's demeanor. "How did the meeting go? Did they ask about me?" Chris asked, attempting to sound casual but failing miserably.

"It went really well," Felix replied, packing up his notes. "They were prepared, had great questions, and seemed genuinely interested in what we do. Time flew by." He paused, a teasing grin spreading across his face. "Oh, and that journalist—Y/N, was it? She's quite charming. I might just send her a little follow-up text, you know, to keep things professional... and maybe not-so-professional."

Chris froze, his eyes narrowing. "Don't," he said sharply, the word carrying a surprising intensity.

Felix raised an eyebrow, genuinely taken aback. "Whoa, what's with the tone? It's just a text, man."

"It's... unprofessional," Chris countered, his voice firm but his expression betraying something deeper. "We don't want to risk anything that could make them uncomfortable or give the wrong impression. So, please, don't contact her—at least not right now."

Felix studied him for a moment, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oookay," he replied slowly, his voice laced with suspicion. "I won't text her."

Chris exhaled, visibly relieved. "Good. Now, let's talk about the meeting," he said, quickly changing the subject as they walked toward their offices.

Felix followed, his grin widening as he pieced things together. "You know," he began, his tone light, "if I didn't know better, I'd think someone has a little crush on our journalist."

"Drop it, Felix," Chris shot back, though the faint color rising to his cheeks said more than his words ever could.

~~

Back at the office, you and Mariko dove into wrapping up the interview, so focused on sorting out the details that Chris didn't even cross your mind—at least, not until the work was done. You both stayed late, working overtime to compile the interview notes, contextualize the answers for the article, select the most striking photos, and debrief Jeff on the entire experience. He had stuck around to offer helpful insights for the piece, which you both appreciated.

By the time the clock struck almost 9 p.m., you were finally ready to call it a day.

"Let's pick it up from here tomorrow," Mariko said, stretching her arms over her head. "I think we've made a lot of progress."

"Agreed," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of exhaustion. "My brain's officially fried."

Mariko studied you for a moment, noticing the flicker of disappointment in your expression despite your words. She closed her laptop and leaned on the desk.

"Hey, he was busy, that's all," she said gently. "Don't overthink it. And honestly, Felix was great! And those photos of him? Ugh, he could be a model."

You managed a small, sincere smile. "True, he did a great job." After a short pause, you continued, "You know, maybe I just gave those two encounters more meaning than they deserved. I might've read too much into his actions. Did you see all those gorgeous women working there? He's surrounded by them every day."

Mariko rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Y/N, stop comparing yourself to them. You're beautiful, too, and you have an amazing personality. Sure, they might be stunning, but who's to say they're his type? Or that they have anything in common with him beyond working at the same place?"

Her words struck a chord, and you nodded thoughtfully. "I guess you're right," you said, trying to sound optimistic.

Mariko gave you a knowing grin. "And hey, he might reach out now that he has your email. He might follow up about the interview. Maybe it's just a matter of time. Don't let it get to you."

You exhaled deeply, the weight of her encouragement starting to ease your mind. "Thanks, Mariko, for cheering me up. I needed that."

"Always. That's what friends are for," she said, gathering her things. "Now, c'mon. I'll give you a ride. It's late, and I don't want you getting kidnapped by some creepy Santa on the way home."

"As if anyone would want to kidnap me," you said, laughing softly.

Mariko smirked. "True. They'd give you back after one hour of nonstop questioning."

"Hey!" you protested, laughing now. "That's my job, thank you very much."

Both of you chuckled as you headed out into the chilly night, the bond of friendship warming the otherwise cold air.

~~

The next day, you threw yourself into your work, splitting your time between the article you were writing with Mariko and your own solo project. The office buzzed with its usual energy, a comforting backdrop as you typed away and sifted through research.

Still, despite your focus, you couldn't help but steal glances at your email inbox from time to time, holding onto a small, stubborn hope. Each time, the blank notification panel stared back at you, its silence louder than you wanted to admit.

By the end of the day, you had finished your article and leaned back in your chair, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Tomorrow, you'd review everything with Jeff and fine-tune it before submission.

Mariko chatted with you occasionally throughout the day, her cheerful energy keeping the atmosphere light. But you hadn't brought up Chris once, even though he was never far from your thoughts.

His absence in your inbox gnawed at you, but you refused to let it show. If he hadn't reached out, maybe that was his choice. And while the idea stung, you reminded yourself that your worth didn't hinge on his attention.

You sat up straighter, determination hardening your resolve. Whatever the reason for his silence, you had enough self-esteem to not chase after someone who might not want to be caught.

For now, you decided, work was enough. And so, you powered off your computer and headed home, closing the day on your own terms.

On Thursday, you and Jeff worked through the final changes for your article. Thankfully, the edits were manageable, and you felt confident you'd be ready for submission soon. Afterward, you joined Mariko to continue refining the collaborative piece.

At lunchtime, Mariko broke the steady rhythm of work with a question. "Did you hear anything from Chris? Did he email you? Sorry, I've been so deep in my research I forgot to ask. You seemed pretty absorbed yesterday, too."

You let out a heavy sigh and pushed your food around on your plate. "Nope. Nothing. Nada. Zero."

Mariko winced. "Oh."

"Yeah," you said, trying to shrug it off. "I'm doing my best not to dwell on it. If we're meant to meet again, it'll happen. If not, well, that's life. So, let's just not talk about him anymore."

"As you wish." Mariko nodded but gave you a small smile. "Just one last thing—don't lose hope, okay?"

You chuckled despite yourself. "I won't." Even if you tried to let it go, there was still something magical about the thought of Chris. It felt too special to let despair take over.

Changing the subject, you asked, "By the way, why did your aunt drop by last weekend?"

Mariko rolled her eyes. "Ugh, don't remind me. My mom got worried because I hadn't called her as often as usual. So, naturally, she sent my aunt to check on me. And, of course, my aunt decided to stick around for the whole weekend, 'just to make sure everything was okay.'"

You laughed. "Classic. Just call her regularly, and you won't have to deal with any surprise visits. We should still go skating together, you know. With you, it'd be fun."

"You just sound like my mom," Mariko teased, grinning. "But yeah, let's make it happen."

The rest of the afternoon passed in productive focus. As the evening approached, Mariko packed her things to leave. "You sure you don't want to come with us?" she asked, referring to her plans with her boyfriend, Akira—who insisted on being called Andy.

"Thanks, but I want to dive into this new story I've been following. Rain check?"

"Okay, your loss." Mariko shrugged playfully. "See you tomorrow. Have a good evening, and I'll say hi to Andy for you."

"Thanks! Have fun," you said, waving as she left.

You stayed for another half hour, scrolling through news articles and making notes. But soon, the words on the screen began to blur. You leaned back in your chair, letting your gaze fall on the snow globe sitting on your desk. Your thoughts drifted to the skating rink and Chris.

The memory brought both warmth and longing. Still no email. You tried to brush it off, telling yourself that maybe it just wasn't meant to be. But the ache lingered.

Deciding you'd had enough for one day, you packed up your things and headed home. Your couch—and maybe a warm drink—were calling your name. At least there, you could unwind and let the day fade into quiet.

The crisp night air nipped at your cheeks as you stepped outside, but you welcomed it. It was refreshing after a long day, and the quiet beckoned you to unwind. Since it wasn't too late, you decided to take a detour through the park near the skating rink.

The park was dressed for the season, twinkling fairy lights strung along tree branches, casting a soft, magical glow over the paths. It felt like stepping into a scene from a Christmas movie, with the subtle crunch of snow underfoot and the occasional laughter of distant passersby adding to the ambiance.

You wandered aimlessly, soaking in the tranquility, until you spotted an empty bench under a particularly enchanting canopy of lights. You made your way over, sitting down and closing your eyes for a moment.

Breathe. Just be present, you told yourself, letting the tension of the day melt away.

"Good evening."

The soft voice startled you out of your pause. Your eyes shot open, and your heart stuttered in recognition. There he was—Chris. His handsome face was framed by the warm glow of the lights, his expression a mix of hesitance and something else you couldn't quite place.

"Good evening, Chris." You tried to keep your voice steady, though a flutter of nerves bubbled up inside.

"May I sit down?" he asked gently, gesturing to the bench.

You nodded quickly, scooting over to make space. "Sure, please."

He settled beside you, his presence palpable in the cool night air. For a moment, neither of you spoke. He seemed to be studying you, his eyes searching your face as if trying to piece together your thoughts.

"What are you doing here?" he asked finally, his voice low and soft.

You hesitated but answered honestly. "Just enjoying the scenery. My brain needed a break."

He nodded, his gaze briefly drifting to the lights. "It's beautiful here."

"It is. How about you? What brings you out tonight?"

"I needed to clear my thoughts," he admitted, pausing as if gathering his words. "About work."

The mention of work sent a ripple of tension through you. You glanced down at your hands, unsure of where this was going.

"I heard you and your colleague came for an interview," he began cautiously.

You nodded but kept your eyes lowered, prompting him to continue.

"I rearranged my schedule to make space for it. I really wanted to help you with your article."

Your head shot up, surprise written all over your face. He had rearranged his schedule?

"But," he continued, a hint of frustration in his tone, "an urgent matter came up—one that required my immediate attention. I had no choice but to ask Felix to fill in for me. I even told him to extend the interview time, hoping I could join if I wrapped things up quickly."

You blinked at him, the weight of his words sinking in.

"I... I thought if I hurried, I could still make it," he said, his voice quieter now. "But when I got to the room, you were already gone."

Your heart raced, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. He had tried to be there. He had wanted to see you. The thought warmed you, pushing away the insecurities that had clouded your mind since the interview.

He cared.

"Thank you," you said softly, your voice almost catching. You fought the urge to tear up but couldn't help the slight tremor in your words. "Thank you for arranging everything and putting so much effort into the interview. Don't worry about not making it. I understand—your work is important."

You hesitated, then added with a shy smile, "Felix did a great job. But I'll admit, I would have preferred talking to you."

His eyes lit up at your confession, the corners of his mouth lifting into that familiar, warm smile. "Me too, Y/N."

The way he said your name sent a thrill through you.

"If you need more information, please don't hesitate to reach out to me directly," he said. "I promise I'll make the time. No interruptions this time."

His words were sincere, his smile tinged with regret and hope.

You smiled back, the lingering sadness in your chest melting away. "I'll hold you to that promise."

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you under the canopy of twinkling lights. It was a small moment, but it felt significant.

He cleared his throat before continuing. "How is the article? Is it slowly taking shape?"

"Yes, Mariko and I wrapped up the interview immediately after returning to the office. Our boss was really pleased. This is going to be a great article, also thanks to your help."

"I'm glad to hear that. Can't wait to read the article."

"You're going to get a free exemplar signed by me," you joked.

"What an honor," he chuckled.

"How has your work been? You mentioned that you need to clear your mind," you said.

Chris stared at a nearby tree, his expression contemplative. "Well, let's say complicated. I need to make some important decisions. And I need to think it through before giving my answer."

"I see. I'm sure you'll do the right thing, Chris. Take your time."

He nodded silently, then he turned to you with a soft smile. "How about going for a walk here in the park and getting a hot chocolate? I need some sugar to recharge."

How could you say no to that sweet smile? "I'm in," you said.

Chris got you a hot chocolate from a nearby stall, the warm cup heating your hands against the chilly air. "Careful, it's hot," he warned as he handed you your drink. The two of you started strolling down the park's illuminated pathways, fairy lights twinkling above like stars.

You took a small sip, the rich, sweet flavor spreading warmth through you. "Mmm, this is good. Thanks for the treat."

"My pleasure," he replied, and the two of you started walking down the park path, the glow of fairy lights lighting the way.

For a while, you walked in companionable silence, the soft crunch of snow underfoot and the distant hum of the skating rink filling the air.

"So," he began, glancing sideways at you, "what made you want to become a journalist?"

You thought for a moment, swirling your drink. "I've always been curious about people and their stories. I guess I wanted to be someone who connects the dots, who gives voices to those who need to be heard."

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "That's admirable. And from what I've seen, you're really good at it. You have a way of putting people at ease."

"Thank you," you said, feeling a blush creep into your cheeks. "What about you? Did you always want to be a CEO?"

He chuckled softly. "Not exactly. When I was younger, I wanted to be an architect. I loved designing things, creating something out of nothing. But..." He paused, his gaze drifting upward toward the twinkling lights. "Life had other plans. The family business needed someone to step in, so I did."

"Do you regret it?" you asked, your voice soft.

"No, not really. It's challenging, but I've learned to find joy in what I do. I get to shape the company and make a difference for the people who work there."

"That's a great way to look at it," you said, impressed by his perspective.

As you continued walking, the skating rink came into view, its bright lights and cheerful energy drawing your attention. Children and adults alike glided over the ice, their laughter filling the night.

Chris followed your gaze. "So... how are your skating legs after the other night?"

You laughed, recalling your previous outing. "Still intact, but I think I left some of my dignity on the ice."

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling. "I thought you did pretty well, considering the wipeout count was only... what, three?"

"Excuse me, it was two, thank you very much," you corrected, playfully narrowing your eyes. "And don't forget—you slipped too."

"Once," he countered with a grin.

"Once is still enough!" you shot back, and the two of you shared a laugh, the air between you feeling lighter than ever.

As you continued walking, the skating rink faded into the distance, replaced by the quieter charm of the park's frozen pond. Chris slowed his pace, his expression turning thoughtful as he glanced at you.

"There's something special happening this week," he said, his tone casual yet hopeful. "The Christmas tree lighting ceremony in the city square. It's on Saturday night. I'll be there... Maybe you'll be there too?"

Your heart fluttered at his words. This wasn't just an invitation—it was a deliberate effort to see you again. You couldn't stop the smile that spread across your face, and you nodded softly. "I'd like that," your cheeks blushing.

His own smile widened, and for a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world disappeared, leaving just the two of you in the soft glow of the lights.

~~

Saturday arrived in the blink of an eye, and the anticipation of your first real date with Chris had you buzzing. You'd told Mariko all about it, and she couldn't have been happier for you. Ever the best friend, she'd helped you pick the perfect outfit: a dark green A-line dress paired with black stockings and chic stiletto boots. Gold and green jewelry added a touch of elegance, while a wine-red A-line coat with a black bow at the neckline and matching black gloves completed the ensemble. You'd prepared everything the night before, ensuring nothing was left to chance.

But fate had other plans.

Since you had enough time, you decide to do some grocery shopping. The queue at the tills was endless, each minute stretching longer than the last. You checked your watch nervously, trying to calm the rising anxiety. "It's fine," you told yourself, "I still have plenty of time." But as the line refused to budge, an announcement blared through the store speakers: "Dear customers, please be patient. A technical error has occurred. We are working to resolve it as quickly as possible."

"Great." You sighed, hoping it wouldn't take too long. Thirty frustrating minutes later, the tills were finally operational, and the line inched forward. What was supposed to be a quick errand had turned into a mini endurance test.

By the time you loaded your shopping bags into the car, you needed a moment to collect yourself. "We're off to a good start," you muttered sarcastically, taking a deep breath before starting the engine.

If the store chaos wasn't enough, the roads seemed equally unforgiving. Every light turned red as you approached, and traffic crawled at a snail's pace. The stress was mounting, but when you finally pulled into your driveway, relief washed over you.

You sank back into your seat for a moment before heading inside. "Note to self," you thought wryly, "on days with important events, don't tempt fate with unnecessary errands."

With that, you resolved to shake off the morning's chaos. After all, the day was far from over, and you still had your date to look forward to.

You headed into the kitchen to unpack your groceries and start preparing something to eat. As you opened the fridge to put things away, your hand brushed against a jar of pickles perched precariously near the edge. Time seemed to slow as the jar tipped forward, tumbling out of your grasp.

"Nononono!" you yelped, reaching for it too late. The jar hit the floor with a loud crash, shards of glass scattering everywhere, and a wave of pickle brine soaking your socks.

You stared down at the mess, stunned. "Seriously? What is going on today?"

With a deep sigh, you grabbed some paper towels and a broom, carefully picking up the glass pieces while trying not to step on anything sharp. The tangy vinegar smell filled the kitchen as you worked, your socks now a lost cause.

To make matters worse, as you carried the glass shards to the trash, you accidentally bumped into the edge of the counter, knocking over the salt shaker. Its contents spilled everywhere. "Of course," you muttered to yourself. "Why not? Let's just go for a full comedy of errors."

Despite the chaos, you forced yourself to stay calm. You

cleaned up the glass, the brine, and the salt, finally setting the kitchen back to rights. As you tossed your briny socks into the laundry, you couldn't help but laugh a little at the absurdity of it all.

"Okay, universe, I get it," you said with a small grin. "No more disasters today, please."

You shook off the lingering frustration. Tonight, you would see Chris again, and the thought of him warmed your heart, washing away the mishaps of the day.

It was finally time to get ready for the evening. No more mishaps, you promised yourself. You carefully applied your makeup, accentuating your eyes just the way you liked. You styled your hair with care, adding a touch of elegance that you hoped would pleasantly surprise Chris. The last time you met, your look had been casual, but tonight was different—you wanted to make an impression.

A final spritz of your favorite perfume added the perfect finishing touch. You gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror and smiled, satisfied. "Not bad, Y/N," you murmured, hoping Chris would agree.

To avoid the chaos of city traffic, you'd decided to take the subway into the city center. Leaving earlier gave you a comfortable buffer, or so you thought. As you exited your apartment building and headed toward the subway station, a nagging thought hit you. Your phone.

"Ugh, how could I forget my phone now of all times?" you muttered, spinning on your heel and rushing back toward your building.

Hurrying to your apartment door, your heart sank as you searched your bag. No keys. A wave of panic began to rise, but you forced yourself to take a deep breath. "Relax

and think, Y/N," you coached yourself. You patted your coat pocket and—thankfully—felt the reassuring weight of your keys.

Inside, you darted to the bedroom, scanning frantically before spotting your phone sitting innocently on the dresser. Relief washed over you for all of two seconds—until, in your rush to leave, you caught your leg on the doorframe. A sharp sound tore through the air. You looked down in horror to see a gaping run in your left stocking.

"No way. What the...!" you groaned, staring at the damage. A glance at your watch made your stomach flip—you'd miss the next subway, too. Your buffer was quickly vanishing.

You dashed to your drawer and grabbed a fresh pair of stockings, slipping them on as fast as you could. Before leaving the apartment, you did a mental checklist: phone, keys, wallet, everything. Satisfied, you stepped out the door again, silently pleading with the universe to give you a break.

As you finally made your way to the subway, you muttered to yourself with a wry grin, "Okay, Y/N, enough excitement for one day. Let's just make it on time—and in one piece."

The subway station was a whirlwind of activity. Crowds of people bustled around, many also headed to the ceremony. You glanced at your watch again, anxiety knotting your stomach. You were going to be at least fifteen minutes late, and it gnawed at you. Punctuality was important to you, and the thought of Chris waiting alone made you uneasy. Hopefully, you'd still make it in time to witness the magical moment when the Christmas tree lights were switched on with Chris.

When the subway finally arrived, relief swept over you—until you saw it. Your breath caught. The train was packed to bursting, with no space to squeeze in. A sinking feeling gripped you as the station announcement crackled overhead: "Due to an earlier breakdown, this train is at capacity. Boarding is not permitted. Please wait for the next available train."

Your shoulders slumped, and tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. Why was this happening today of all days? It was as if the universe was conspiring against you. If you were much later, Chris might think you weren't coming and leave. Worse, you hadn't asked for his number, a mistake you now regretted deeply.

"You're so stupid, Y/N. Serves you right," you muttered bitterly under your breath, scolding yourself. The excitement of being asked out by Chris had clouded your judgment, and now you were paying the price.

The next ten minutes dragged painfully, each second stretching into an eternity. When the next train arrived, it wasn't as crowded, and you scrambled aboard, relief mingling with lingering frustration. To your surprise, you even managed to find a seat, but as you sank into it, your eyes darted to your phone.

Half an hour late.

The guilt weighed heavily on you, threatening to smother the joy you'd felt earlier in the day. You just hoped Chris would still be waiting.

Chris had arrived earlier than planned, wanting to ensure he was there to greet you. His usual confidence wavered, replaced by a strange nervous energy. It was unfamiliar territory for him; meetings with high-profile clients, critical decisions, and tight deadlines never fazed him. But waiting for you was different. Ever since that first accidental encounter, when you'd quite literally stumbled into his life, he couldn't shake the thought that you were extraordinary.

You weren't like the women who typically gravitated toward him—drawn by his wealth, his title, or the opportunities he could offer. You saw him, not his résumé. That thought warmed him in a way he couldn't fully articulate.

Being around you felt easy, natural, and profoundly different from the polished performances he had to endure in his world.

With plenty of time on his hands, he wandered the square. The scent of mulled wine and roasted chestnuts filled the

chilly air. Small Christmas stalls dotted the area, selling everything from warm drinks and festive snacks to handcrafted toys and ornaments. It was quaint and picturesque, a perfect setting for a holiday evening.

He glanced at his watch. You could arrive at any moment now. The ceremony began with a speech by the mayor, who stood on a small stage flanked by twinkling lights and a children's choir. The crowd fell silent, all eyes on the festivities, but Chris' gaze remained fixed on the edge of the square. He scanned the faces in the growing crowd, searching for yours.

Fifteen minutes passed. The mayor concluded his speech, and the choir began to sing carols, their young voices ringing out like bells in the crisp night air. Still, there was no sign of you. A twinge of concern crept into his thoughts. What could have delayed you?

Chris repositioned himself closer to the towering Christmas tree, choosing a spot where you'd easily spot him as soon as you arrived. His eyes darted from the stage to the

crowd, scanning every approaching figure. But none of them were you.

Half an hour now. You still weren't there. A quiet unease settled over him. Why hadn't he thought to ask for your phone number? It seemed so obvious now, a mistake he couldn't fix. He'd wanted everything to be perfect, but this uncertainty gnawed at him.

Doubts began to creep in. Perhaps you'd changed your mind. Had he misread your excitement when he'd asked you out? Maybe you'd only agreed out of politeness, a way to avoid awkwardness. The thought sent a pang through him.

He turned his gaze to the giant Christmas tree, its golden lights shimmering like stars against the night sky. Funny how something so beautiful could suddenly feel so hollow. The crowd around him buzzed with laughter and anticipation, but all he felt was an unexpected sadness.

What if something had happened to you? The thought gnawed at Chris, a growing weight in his chest. He didn't even know which direction you'd be coming from or how to check if you were okay. He felt helpless, a feeling he detested.

Three-quarters of an hour had passed now. The ceremony was nearing its climax, but you were still nowhere in sight. His earlier excitement had fizzled into a mix of worry and disappointment.

The mayor took to the stage again after a brief performance by a local acting troupe. "Dear fellow citizens," the mayor's voice boomed over the speakers, "the time has come. Our Christmas tree will soon be shining in all its glory."

Chris tilted his head up at the tree, its unlit ornaments glistening like promises waiting to be fulfilled. "Y/N, where are you?" he thought, a pang of resignation tugging at his heart. Maybe he'd been wrong about you—about the connection he thought you shared. Perhaps your meeting wasn't the twist of fate he'd imagined it to be.

The idea stung more than he cared to admit. He shifted on his feet, glancing at the time on his watch. He didn't want to be here if you weren't. The joy of the evening had faded, and the sparkling festivities around him felt like a mockery.

Just as he turned to leave, he gave the crowd one last, reluctant glance.

And then he saw you.

You were threading through the throng of people, your cheeks flushed from the cold—or maybe from running. Your scarf was askew, a tangled mess around your neck, and your hair had caught in the wind's playful grip. You looked like you'd rushed here without a moment to spare.

To Chris, you looked perfect.

A wave of relief washed over him, warming him to his core. The knot of worry in his chest unraveled as his heart soared. He didn't even notice the mayor counting down to the tree lighting; the world had shrunk to just you.

You hadn't seen him yet, your eyes darting around the crowd in search of him. And then, a few meters away, your gaze locked.

The apologetic smile that spread across your lips melted something inside him. "So cute," he thought with a soft

chuckle, the corners of his own mouth lifting into a smile.

Chris stepped forward, closing the distance between you. The lights of the tree burst to life behind him, casting a warm, golden glow over the square. But he barely noticed. The real light—the one he cared about—had finally arrived.

"Chris! Good evening," you said, breathless from both your rush and the excitement of seeing him.

"Y/N," he said, his smile soft and warm, relief shining in his eyes. "I'm glad you came."

"I'm so sorry for being so late," you began, words tumbling out in a frantic apology. "Thank you for waiting. Today was just—such a strange day. I forgot my phone, then had to go back, losing all the time I'd planned. Then there were delays at the subway, and the train was too full. I finally got on the next one and hurried here. On the way, I—"

"Y/N," he interrupted gently, his tone as warm as the glow of the tree behind him. His smile deepened, and his gaze softened even further. "You're here. That's all that matters."

You froze, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. The tension from your journey melted away, replaced by a warm flutter in your chest.

And then, as if the universe had been holding its breath, the first snowflakes began to fall.

Big, glistening flakes drifted from the sky, catching the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. The world seemed to fall silent, the crowd's chatter fading as the snow painted everything in a soft, magical haze.

"Wow..." you breathed, tilting your head back to take it in. "It's beautiful."

Chris wasn't looking at the snow. He was looking at you. His gaze lingered, filled with something unspoken yet undeniably tender. His heart felt impossibly full as he took in the wonder in your eyes, the gentle curve of your lips, and the way the snow seemed to sparkle on your hair.

He hesitated for a moment, not sure if he should say what he'd noticed. But the moment felt too perfect to let it slip away.

"I think we've been waiting for this all week," he murmured.

You blinked and turned to him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, he tilted his head and pointed upward.

Following his gesture, your eyes landed on a small sprig of mistletoe hanging above you, swaying slightly in the gentle winter breeze. Your cheeks flushed as you looked back at him, a shy smile spreading across your face.

Chris stepped closer, his movements unhurried, his gaze locked on yours. He paused, searching your expression for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. If anything, the quiet anticipation in your eyes mirrored his own.

Slowly, his hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, melting into a warmth that radiated through you.

"May I?" he asked softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

You answered not with words but by closing the distance between you, your eyes fluttering shut in anticipation.

His lips brushed yours, feather-light at first, testing before pressing more firmly. The world seemed to fade away. The

snow fell quietly around you, the distant sound of Christmas music swelling as if scoring this perfect moment. His kiss was sweet, gentle, and unhurried, as though he wanted to savor every second of it—and so did you.

The crowd around you erupted into cheers, a spontaneous celebration of the lighting of the tree and, perhaps unknowingly, of your union. Christmas music filled the air, but you barely noticed.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, and both of you were smiling. His hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along your jaw.

"I think," he said, his voice low and intimate, "this is already the best Christmas I've ever had."

Your heart swelled, your gaze meeting his. "Mine too," you whispered.

And as the lights of the Christmas tree twinkled above, the snow fell softly, and the music played on, you knew this was a moment you'd never forget.

After the kiss, you shyly asked, "So... do we finally exchange numbers, or should I just hope to bump into you again?"

Chris laughed, warm and genuine, as he handed you his phone. "Let's make sure we don't leave this one to fate." You typed in your number, glancing up at him as you did. When you handed the phone back, he called your number right away, the faint chime of your ringtone confirming the connection.

"Saved," you said with a bright smile, feeling a flutter in your chest.

"Good," he said, tucking his phone away with a satisfied nod. "By the way, there's something else I have for you." Before you could respond, Chris handed you a small bag.

You looked at him, surprised. "Chris, you didn't have to," you murmured, accepting the bag and peeking inside.

Your breath caught. Nestled inside was a delicate bauble painted with a shimmering winter scene—a couple standing hand-in-hand, gazing at a majestic Christmas tree. It was the very bauble you had admired the night you first met.

"Chris," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gently cradled the ornament. "You remembered."

He smiled softly, his expression tender. "Of course I did. I saw how much you loved it. I couldn't let anyone else have it."

You blinked away the tears threatening to spill and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Thank you so much, Chris. I'll treasure this forever."

The tips of his ears turned pink, and he glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. For someone so composed in every other setting, his shy reaction made your heart melt.

"You're welcome, Y/N," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It makes me happy to see you so happy."

You held the bauble close to your chest, your smile soft and sincere. "I truly am—not just because of this beautiful gift, but because I have you by my side now."

His eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. "Y/N, me too. Meeting you... this feels like my personal Christmas miracle."

Before you could respond, he leaned down, capturing your lips in another kiss. It was tender but filled with a longing that made your heart race. You melted into him, your hands instinctively resting against his chest as he held you close.

When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours. "Let's keep making magical moments together," he murmured, his voice full of hope.

You nodded enthusiastically, your fingers reaching out to intertwine with his. The world around you faded as you walked hand-in-hand through the snow-dusted square, the lights of the Christmas tree glowing softly behind you.

The End.

｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★

Thank you for reading my story! 💝

Wishing you a magical New Year's Eve filled with joy and a happy, healthy start to the New Year. 🎆✨

♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

Love, YumiYue 🌙

Please like, reblog, and follow ♡

[humanpurposes]

It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity. 

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?” 

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move. 

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache. 

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again? 

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle. 

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now. 

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name. 

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,” 

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily. 

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth. 

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children. 

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her. 

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow. 

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence. 

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove. 

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?” 

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows. 

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times. 

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious. 

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings. 

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod. 

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room. 

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them? 

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget. 

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that? 

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is. 

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning. 

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye. 

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver. 

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process. 

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices. 

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach. 

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away. 

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind. 

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous. 

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close. 

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that. 

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @asumofwords @summerposie @thedamewithabook @ammo23 @valyrianflower @jiminie-08 @magnificentdelusionr @hiddencurator

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Symbols I would be making sure were present (or adding) if I were producing the Six of Crows TV show

(Btw I’ve been writing my own script for a bit of fun since the cancellation news so if anyone wants to see that I’ll tag you, and the save S&B petition is also on my page if anyone wants the link)

EDIT: Sorry I should’ve put this I forgot; SA reference warning for the second point, nothing explicit but in talking about Inej’s experiences and the experiences of women in Greek mythology 🖤

FLOWERS. I want geraniums on the Exchange balcony from chapter 2 and I want reference to the geraniums at 19 Burstradt, I want Matthias the big brooding yellow tulip contrasted with the red tulips laid on his chest and in the water after his death, I want crocuses at the Hoede manor, I want jurda blossoms in Jesper’s flashbacks and maybe Kaz’s too (and probably crocuses in his), I want geraniums hidden all over the caravan and circus tent in Inej’s flashbacks, I want wild flowers in Wylan’s hands on the way to St Hilde’s that get discarded in the lobby, I want wisteria growing outside St Hilde’s, I want blue tulips painted on the floor tiles at St Hilde’s, I want white roses all over Nina’s room in Ketterdam and I want to hear the comment about how all the flowers at the White Rose are perfumed by hand, I want a cascade of geraniums falling all over Kaz and Inej as they tumble of Goedmed Bridge, I want lavish flower arrangements at the Menagerie accented by peacock feathers, I COULD TALK ABOUT THE FLOWER SYMBOLISM IN THESE BOOKS FOR YEARS I WANT IT NOTICED LET’S GO

BIRDS. I want crows, I want pigeons, I want nightingales (that one’s my personal addition but oh boy do I have reasons; Nightingales are a symbol of immortality in literature and could be painted on the tiles at St Hilde behind the wisteria for all the same symbolic reasons the wisteria’s there; in Greek mythology Philomela prayed to the gods to escape her Tereus, who had raped her and intended to kill her, and they turned her into a nightingale, representing freedom and imprisonment at the same time because she’d lost who she was so this wasn’t true freedom DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW BADLY I NEED A NIGHTINGALE TO CROSS THE SCREEN WHILST INEJ CONTEMPLATES HAVING COMMITTED MURDER AND HER PERSONAL MORAL AND RELIGIOUS IMPLICATIONS OF THAT!!?? I’m going crazy), I want more emphasis on the bird cage in Heleen’s office because in its three seconds of screen time in season one I was SOLD on how genius it was, I want peacocks EVERYWHERE, I want to be so committed to the birds vibe that we can start throwing in a whole load of new birds for other symbolism!! Let’s have owl symbolism around Wylan and Jesper, let’s have heavy emphasis on Nina as the little red bird, let’s talk about the nightingale again because I’m obsessed

KOMEDIE BRUTE. I have talked before about how I think the costumes each character wears are symbolic and directly linked to their arc but it was a long time ago and I updated it a few times based on replies so if anyone wants a full updated version of my thoughts on that lemme know, I also wrote a thing about how I think Mr Crimson could possibly be an omen of death so again if anyone’s interested let me know - I’ll either tag you or write a post fully involving all my Komedie Brute thoughts. I want Nina as the lost bride, Wylan and Inej in matching grey imp costumes, Kaz in the madman’s mask, Jesper and Matthias as Mr Crimson, all of them as Mr Crimson with a black tear in their masks, silver coins thrown all over the staves, costume shops on Ketterdam streets. I want Jackal masks and Drüskelle “costumes” in plain view on market stalls and in shop windows, and as an add on to that I want references to Nina’s fake Kefta being Kerch-made and uncomfortable to wear.

PURPLE. I want purple stadwatch uniforms, I want purple kruge notes, I want purple decor in the Geldrenner, I want purple silks in Inej’s flashbacks.

TREES. I want so many reminders that trees are sacred to Fjerdans!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This has already been done really well in the show but I would want to maintain it; I want to see Matthias praying when Wylan fells the tree before the Ice Court heist, I want his indignation over the relevance of the sacred ash tree, I want to see the look on Nina’s face when she realises Brum has walked her all the way around the sacred ash instead of crossing underneath it (at the time she thinks it’s because she’s pretending to be a prostitute but later we understand it’s because she’s Grisha and I know we couldn’t have had Nina’s internal thoughts in this scene even though I wish we could have but we can still have hints!!!)

SEALS AND STAMPS. I want to see a blue wax seal with a peacock feather pattern, a black seal with a crow, a pale green stamp for the bank, a purple stamp for government correspondence, I want a stack of letters with unbroken red seals with a laurel wreath crest hidden under Wylan’s mattress.

RELIGIOUS SYMBOLS. Ok there’s loads we could say here but specifically I want “rich as saints in crowns of gold” contrasted with “if it was worth anything Heleen would have taken it. But this is just a simple token of faith that my mother stitched”, I want the imagery of Ghezen contrasting the imagery of the Saints contrasting the imagery of Djel, and I so so badly want “Djel is the god of life, not death”

[entishramblings]

Fuck the Forbidden Pt. 2

[Boromir/F!MermaidReader]

PART 1 | PART 3 — coming soon

Fuck the Forbidden: FTF LINK MASTERLIST

A.N: my apologies for taking so much time to update: graduate school is a tornado, plus getting sick and the craziness of holidays season didn’t help. Anyways, thank you for your patience and your continuous support! I literally read all your comment in order to inspire me to write again!

Request: none

Pairing: Boromir X Fem!MermaidReader

Summary: The Reader is a Mermaid and witnessed a shipwreck. She becomes interested in human life—particularly one human: Boromir.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the mermaids of middle earth is not canon. also I tried my best with arda water/river geography plz don’t come at me—it’s not one of my finer subjects :/

Word Count: 5.7k — listen, yes, I STILL have a problem

Warnings: depression, drowning, ptsd, alcoholism, angst, comfort, fluff, stalking (idk how to make that last one sound less creepy. you’re just gonna have to read it).

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The following day, (Y/N) waited in the depths of the Anduin River by the entrance of the Minas Tirith castle. Sure enough, the captain, decorated in silver, came out upon his steed. Though he did not have the cheer he normally held—despite his recent struggles—he seemed….different. (Y/N) had hoped that he didn't remember what he saw under the lake. Maybe he figured he was too drunk and his mind was playing tricks on him? Maybe he would forget it all together? However, that fearful look in his eyes when he glanced at the river told her otherwise. It appeared Faramir failed to convince his brother that the mer-folk were just a myth.

Boromir deviated from his routine as well. He did not go to the market for the breakfast that he seemed to love. No, no. Instead he went out towards the edge of the city–towards the docks. And (Y/N) went with him. He passed his horse off to another and walked upon the wood, passing ship and boat, until he came upon a small fishing vessel. (Y/N) swam around it and took to the surface upon its side, far enough to not be spotted, but close enough to see and hear.

“Iwar,” Boromir called out. “You there?”

“Oi!” the old man replied, emerging from the sails. “What can I do for yer?”

“You have a moment?”

“For ye? Of course I do, lad. What is this about?” Iwar stated, squinting in the sun.

Boromir huffed, and pulled something from his pocket. He lightly tossed it to the older fellow. “What do you make of this?”

Iwar frowned, holding the whale up before his face by the string Boromir had used to make it into a necklace. “Where’d ye get it?”

“In a pond. One that connects to the Anduin River.”

Iwar sent him a strange look. “Do ye know what this is made out of?”

Boromir shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s bone, Boromir,” he replied tentatively.

At this, the captain’s lips parted. “Bone?”

Iwar tossed the whale carving back to him. “Aye, couldn't tell ye what it came from. Whittled too much away for that. Ye said yer got it from a pond?”

He nodded, swallowing dryly.

“Could’ve washed up from the currents.” Iwar stated, nonchalantly, returning to the tasks of his sail. “Some trinket someone lost to the sea.”

Boromir dipped his head, his anxiety present as he fiddled with the whale.

Iwar glanced at him. “Something else, boy?”

Boromir inhaled slowly. “Iwar, do you–do you really believe those tales of the sea-folk?”

The old man sent a weary look at the captain as he tied off one of the ropes upon the fabric. “Aye. Saw one of em’ when I was just a lad. Nearly lost my life.”

Boromir focused his gaze upon Iwar. “I think–I think I saw one last night.”

At this, the older man froze. Slowly, he turned his full attention to the captain, dread slipping from his face.

Still, Boromir continued, trying to justify his sighting. ‘Though, I don't know. I was very drunk. Had a couple ales too many. My mind could’ve—”

“You were out on the sea last night?” Iwar interrupted, confused.

Boromir shook his head.

“The shore then? Never heard of em’ venturing so close.”

Boromir released a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, I was in the pond by the Minas Tirith castle.”

Iwar’s form stiffened as he walked toward the captain. He nodded at the bone carving in Boromir’s hand as he spoke in a tone that held so much anxiety that it radiated through the air around him. “The same pond where ye found that?”

“Yes.”

Iwar’s eyes widened wildly. “I’d tell ye what, lad. Ye have been marked by em.’ And that—” he dipped his head at the whale once more. “—I reckon that's human bone.”

Blood drained from Boromir’s face, replaced with sheer panic. His fingers clumsily grappled with the carving, uncertain of how to handle it. Reluctant to make direct contact, he hesitated before settling on gripping the string, allowing the whale to dangle. Disgust etched across his brow.

“I’d get out while ye can. Stay away from the sea waters, boy.” Iwar warned.

….

That night, Boromir didn't go to the pool of water by the white walls—nor the following night. He, quite frankly, didn't go near the water at all. He stayed far from the beaches and from the Anduin River. He took longer paths to where he needed to go in order to avoid such circumstances that put him near what Iwar had described to live in the sea.

And this—all this broke (Y/N)’s heart. It stirred up a tumult of emotions—sadness, anger, fear, and frustration. Therefore, on the third day, she sought solace in a secluded nook along the Bay of Belfas. Hoisting herself onto a warm rock, she sat, enveloped in her misery. Her once-vivid fantasies of the land-people and Boromir now dissolved into sorrow and regret. What lingered was the haunting image of Boromir's disdainful expression when Iwar speculated that her gift was crafted from human bone. Any mer-folk would be delighted to receive such a heartfelt gesture! But Boromir wasn't of the sea, now was he.

(Y/N) stayed upon the rock for hours, hoping the sun would soak up her melancholy mood. However, that is not what the golden beams absorbed. Her skin dried, her hair lightened and billowed freely, and the scales on her tail lacked the moisture they once held. It was at that moment discomfort struck. Excruciating, searing pain surged through her tail, a relentless agony that prompted a deep cry from her lips. Every nerve seemed to flare with an intense, burning sensation, rendering her nearly paralyzed by the sheer intensity of the pain. She couldn't move, only shake and claw at the rock she perched upon. It felt like hours as she laid there, praying to the gods to make it end. And when it did, she instinctively reached for her scales. However, to her surprise, her hand met no such thing; instead, flesh had replaced the once-familiar tail.

(Y/N) gasped.

Her father had said…

He had tested them all…

None had the gift….

He lied.

Emotions swirled around her naked form as she stared at the strange extension that replaced her glimmering scales—legs. Anger, irritation, sadness, regret, frustration, excitement all ran through her blood.

Slowly, she stood. As she took a wobbly step upon the rock, a loud, breathy giggle escaped her lips.

Was this a dream?

(Y/N) took another uncertain step, and another, and another—until she stumbled, her hand reaching out to break her fall. However, a splash came from that, for her palm struck where water had gathered in a dip upon the rock.

Immediately, she felt it.

Her skin tingled, then burned and stung, stretching and pulling in a painful dance. (Y/N) cried out as the pain intensified. With scales attempting to form on her dry legs, the tugging became excruciating once more—tears streamed from her eyes as she desperately scrambled towards the water.

Her form slipped and rolled, right off the rock and into the ocean.

Immediate relief enveloped her. Scales continued to knit together without a hint of pain. The water soothed her. It coated the soreness into nonexistence.

(Y/N) allowed her form to sink, adjusting.

There she floated, letting her body and mind adjust to what had just happened.

It was then when one of the turmoiling emotions overtook the rest of them. It coursed through her gills and surged through her veins.

How dare he…

With a decisive flick of her tail, she propelled herself toward her father's palace.

The anger granted her remarkable speed, causing other merfolk to whip their heads around in confusion as she barreled past them.

She swam directly to the grand chamber, where she anticipated her father perched upon his throne, and busted the door open with her tail.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” she screamed at him.

Heads turned instantly—her father’s, her sisters’, the guards’.

“HOW DARE YOU LIE TO ME, FATHER. HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME I HAD THE GIFT?!”

Her father rose, signaling the guards to leave. They swam away quickly, avoiding the impending wrath of the sea's king and his children.

“You lied straight to my face,” (Y/N) stated.

“(Y/N), what are you talking about?” Anahita interjected, appalled by her sister’s tone.

Mareena added to her statement. “That is no way to speak to our father!”

(Y/N)'s tail flicked with irritation as she focused her gaze on the man before her. “I have the gift to walk among the land-folk.”

Una gasped. Seria’s mouth dropped open. Rana’s eyes widened. Nerida’s brows shot upwards.

Their father swam towards (Y/N). “You went to the land?!” he growled. “It is forbidden.”

“I DID NOT GO ONTO THE LAND!” She snapped back. Taking a deep breath, she spoke again. “I was letting the sun warm me upon a rock when it happened—the tingling, the splitting, the pain.”

“You went to the surface—”

“How dare you not tell me, Father!”

“I DID NOT TELL YOU BECAUSE OF THIS!” He yelled. “Because I knew the minute you would figure it out, you would want to test out your new form. You would put us all in danger.”

“YOU HAVE PUT ME IN DANGER. YOU HAVE MASKED YOUR PROTECTION IN LIES THAT HAVE ONLY CAUSED ME PAIN. HOW DARE YOU!” (Y/N) retorted.

With that, (Y/N) swam away. She twisted through the reefs and the grass. She slipped through the schools of fish and their bubbles. She slithered through the rocks and caves. She did so until she was back in the Anduin River, where the lively markets and the hustle of people's households awaited. Breaking through the water's surface, she emerged with a cautious awareness, ensuring she remained unseen.

She swam along the edge until she came upon a line of clothing strung between two buildings. On it hung sheets as bright as a lemonpeel angelfish, a skirt holding the vibrance of an orange clownfish, a flowing wrap the hue of a blue tang fish, a pair of trousers the color of a brown leafy sea dragon, a top shaded like that of a pink fairy wrasse, and a flowing dress the cream color of a stingray’s belly.

(Y/N) looked at her surroundings.

The people were on the other side of the clothing line—all mucking about in the market. None even bothered to shed a glance behind the fabric. All were too busy going about their day.

Therefore, with little regard for the forbidden nature of her actions—because, really, fuck the forbidden—(Y/N) decided to defy the rules that had once controlled her life.

Originally, she hadn't intended to act in such defiance, but the anger coursing through her veins urged her forward into impulsive urges.

Hauling her form out of the water, (Y/N) manipulated the water clinging to her, using her fingers in twisting and rippling motions. She gathered the liquid into a cohesive ball and, with a flick of her wrist, sent the sphere dancing through the air before it plopped back into the river.

The tingling sensation began, followed by the excruciating pain, and soon enough, the transformation into legs commenced.

Anxiously, (Y/N) stood. Her shaky legs wobbled as she adjusted to their unfamiliar form. Her trembling fingers swiftly seized the cream colored dress—she didn't want to stand out, she needed to blend in—and she clumsily slipped it on. Her gaze then fixated on a brilliant blue wrap. The color resonated with the deep seas she hailed from, and she couldn't resist. The mermaid grasped the silk and yanked, winding it around her hair in a manner she had observed from land women when peeking from the river. Letting some of her locks cascade out of the twisted band, the blue fabric draped over her shoulders. She smiled.

Her hand instinctively rose to her neck, where her necklace adorned with shells, sea glass, and bones encircled her skin. A frown crossed her face. She couldn't part with it—this cherished gift from her since passed mother. Therefore, she let it remain, finding that it didn't look too out of place.

(Y/N) ventured into the market, nervously navigating the bustling city of Minas Tirith with her new, wobbly legs. The vibrant atmosphere teemed with life and excitement as diverse groups came together to weave the people into the human race. So many men, women, and children—all different sizes, all different shapes, all different skin tones—bustled through the streets.

Young children ran through the tents playing games and tricks on one another. Often enough, a woman was pursuing the chase while yelling for their halt of mischief. Men were not involved in this matter. Instead, they loudly called out the names of what they sold, along with prices, at the busy passerbyers in hopes of getting a customer. Never had (Y/N) seen something so brilliantly enthralling and engaging—not in her time under the sea with the mer-folk.

As she moved through the people, she discreetly snagged what she needed. A pair of sandals disappeared from a rack, and she swiftly turned away before anyone noticed. Vibrantly colored bracelets caught her eye at a vendor's stall, and she couldn't resist snagging a few. Additionally, she plucked food from bins and baskets. She didn't know what it was—but oh how delicious it tasted when it was not dunked in the salt of the sea.

Here, (Y/N) stayed, exploring the thrill of humanity and letting their culture enrapture her senses. So much so, that she failed to notice a soldier adorned in silver until she collided with his metal-plated chest.

Her form tumbled backwards, taking an extra moment to steady.

“Are you alright, miss?” a concerned voice inquired.

(Y/N) slowly raised her head to meet a familiar face: Faramir.

Unable to find her voice, she could only nod in reply. Shyness and anxiety filled her as she backed away from the unexpected encounter.

He acknowledged her reply with a dip of his own head before turning to another soldier a little ways away. He made way towards him and gently touched his arm. “Boromir, we should get going. Father is expecting us.”

(Y/N) went still. Her inquisitive gaze shifted towards him, and indeed, there stood Boromir. His dark, sandy hair brushed upon his forehead, tousled slightly from the refreshing breeze. Vibrant blue eyes held a sternness, concealing the sadness she knew resided in his heart. His pink lips pressed into a firm line, refraining from the warmth of a smile. Boromir was clad in the silver armor and the metal weapons that she had seen him in nearly every day. He looked fit for his position as captain, his authority nearly radiating from him. Now that she was upon the land, he seemed so much bigger—so much stronger. So much more important.

(Y/N)’s cheeks began to heat, prompting her to quickly ducked behind the fabric of a tent. After giving herself a moment, she peaked out.

Though she knew she shouldn't, she found herself following them. At a safe distance, she mimicked every turn, accentuated every step, and utilized every path they took. And when the Steward's sons crossed the threshold of Minas Tirith Castle, so did she.

Instantly, she was met with just as much business as the market. Servants flooded the halls, carrying trays of fruit and platters of meat. Maids held onto neatly folded laundry and finely pressed sheets. Guards bustled about, their steel clanking as they moved through the halls, to get to their next shift, meal, or rest.

(Y/N) was so overwhelmed that she failed to notice a group of soldiers rounding the corner. As they pushed past her, a heavy shoulder slammed into her, the edge of the metal plate catching her forehead. The impact sliced the skin open, causing her to tumble backward against the wall.

Surprising her, she felt a gentle hand upon her arm, holding her steady. A soft voice that she knew all too well, that spoke words all too similar to his brother’s, filled her ears. “Are you alright, miss?”

In a daze, (Y/N) looked up at the dark sandy hair, vibrant blue eyes, and perfect pink lips of Boromir. Too stunned to speak, she merely stared at him, every thought that had occupied her mind vanishing in the moment.

Boromir turned towards the group of soldiers who had caused the commotion and knocked her down. With a tone infused with authority and anger, he snapped at them, “Watch where you are going!”

They turned, initially confused and uncertain of Boromir's reprimand until they spotted the frightened and injured girl beside him.

“What kind of soldiers are you that you let your steel hit a woman!” Boromir added, his irritation even more obvious. “Keep better track of your things—and your forms!”

The soldiers nodded, though their indifference was evident, and they shuffled away without much concern.

Boromir turned back to (Y/N), repeating his prior question, his tone gentle once more. “I apologize for the actions of my men. I will reprimand them later, but right now you are more important, yes? Miss?”

She looked up at him, blinking. He didn’t recognize her, did he?

“You’re bleeding,” he stated softly, his finger pressed gently upon her forehead.

A quiet gasp of pain escaped (Y/N)’s lips and her expressions distorted slightly.

“My apologies. I did not mean to make your pain worse. May I take you to the infirmary? We can get that treated.”

Unsure what to say—and what an infirmary was—she nervously dipped her head.

“Alright,” he began. “Let’s get you moving.”

Gently, he helped her move away from the wall, one arm wrapped around her waist. However, with a couple steps, her vision swirled and she stumbled.

Boromir caught her quickly. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Just a step at a time.” His brows pulled together as he looked down at her. “Are you dizzy? Is the room spinning?”

“I—I,” she stuttered. “Y-yes, uh, sir.”

He released a heated breath from his nose, the anger at the men who had harmed her simmering within him. However, he pushed it away, ensuring his attention remained on her. "How about you sit back down? Lean against the wall to keep you upright, yes?"

(Y/N) nodded, allowing him to help lower her to the stone floor. As the coldness rushed through her bones and the stillness began to steady, she looked up at him. “T-thank you,” she whispered. “Uh, sir.”

The captain smiled softly. “You may call me Boromir.”

She nodded slightly.

Boromir looked up and stopped a passing servant. “Could you please fetch me a medical kit from the infirmary? Just basic supplies.”

The man nodded, accepting the order, and rushed off. Moments later, he returned with various materials in a small box.

Boromir expressed his gratitude as he opened the kit. Without hesitation, he took hold of a soft cloth and gently swiped it upwards, collecting the blood that was now trickling down (Y/N)’s forehead. He then pressed it against the cut that was bleeding rather heavily. "Hold this there," he commanded gently.

The woman reached up to follow his instructions, and Boromir proceeded to lay out an array of little bottles and scraps of cloth. "What is your name?" he inquired as he doused a cloth in the liquids of one of the containers.

Her eyes followed his motions nervously. “(Y/N),” she replied timidly.

The Captain smiled, attempting to provide some comfort. “Are you from around here, (Y/N)?”

She shook her head.

“No? What are you doing in these parts then?” He asked.

“I—I don’t know.”

Boromir frowned, looking up at her from the medical supplies. She appeared more disoriented than he had initially expected. Perhaps the blow to the head was more substantial than he had thought?

“You don’t know?” He questioned, no alarm in his tone. Meanwhile, he began threading a needle, preparing it for the task of stitching her forehead. “Have you come with anyone? A husband? A father?”

She frowned, a blush creeping into her face at the implications of his words. “N-no. Alone.”

Boromir pressed his lips together, a sudden loneliness hitting him—one that he knew all too well—as he placed the threaded needle upon a clean cloth.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

She shook her head.

“Hmm. Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up, then we can worry about that.”

Boromir took the cloth from her forehead, his hand brushing upon hers as he did so. He then began bringing a damp cloth towards her face.

Instantly, her eyes went wide and she ducked away from the material. “It’s alright. It’s alright. It’s just alcohol.” He replied, lowering the cloth.

“N-not water?” She whispered, almost fearful.

He shook his head. “Nay. Water would not clean it properly. This will prevent any infection, though I’m afraid it will sting a bit. Is that alright?”

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

Boromir pressed the cloth to the cut and, instantly, she hissed.

“I know, I am sorry,” he murmured.

Gently, he cleaned the wound, being careful to not make any sudden movements that may startle her. When he was certain it was clean, he moved to pick up the needle.

“I will have to stitch it back together so it heals properly.” He looked into her worried gaze and he instantly felt guilt tugging at his heart. It appeared she had never experienced such an injury, or perhaps she had but never received proper treatment for one.

Cautiously, he used his other hand to pick up her own. Her soft palms brushed upon his hardened calloused, gentleness upon her touch. Placing her hand upon his knee, he spoke softly, “If it hurts too much just squeeze really really hard, and I will pause, alright? It is important that you keep your head still, yes?”

She nodded, adjusting her grip upon his knee, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety in her eyes.

Slowly, Boromir began the delicate task of stitching her skin back together. Her grip tightened upon him, only slightly, as she adjusted to the strange sensation of tugging on her skin.

"You are doing beautifully, (Y/N). We are almost done. I promise," the Captain reassured her. As he finished the last stitch and skillfully moved the thread to knot itself, he breathed out, "There we go," placing the needle back upon the cloth. He smiled gently, a reassuring warmth in his eyes, as he carefully cleaned the area around the stitches. "All finished," Boromir stated before leaning back, (Y/N)’s hand slipping from his knee.

“It will be sore for a bit,” he said. “But it should heal in a week. The stitching will fall out on its own, so if it starts to come out, do not worry. Though, I would advise you not to get it wet.”

At that last sentence, (Y/N) smiled softly. She wasn’t planning on getting wet—not anytime soon.

“Can you stand? Has the dizziness subsided?”

The woman nodded and slowly rose to her feet, taking Boromir’s hand when he offered it.

“Let’s find you a place to rest while you heal. And I would like to apologize for my soldiers’ actions once more. You are welcome to stay in Minas Tirith as long as you would like. I will make sure you get everything you need.”

(Y/N) looked up at his kind expression and spoke with that same nervous hesitancy. “Thank you.…Boromir.”

The captain guided her through the castle, arriving at a room. He opened the door and gestured inside with a soft smile. "It is yours to stay in. I will ensure the maids are alerted to provide you with adequate care. If you need anything else, my chambers are just down the hallway to the right, the second door."

She nodded in reply.

He bowed his head. “I will leave you then, miss.”

With that, he was gone.

(Y/N) moved to the center of the room and slowly spun around taking it all in. It was massive and airy. The windows were wind open, the sea breeze rushing in and caring hints of the city. The white curtains blew with that gentle wind, dancing in its whispers. The walls of the chamber were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting only what she could assume to be the legendary tales of the city. They were woven with beautiful silver and turquoise thread, catching the light so delicately. A bed sat in the middle of the room, soft white blankets and comforters piled on it. (Y/N) walked towards it and gently sat upon the fabric. It was….strange. Very different from the large shells she was used to curling up in.

Feeling a sudden tiredness take over her form, she laid down with ease. Resting her head upon the pillow, she allowed sleep to consume her.

…….

When she finally woke, the sun had set, and the stars took their place among the blanket of the sky. Cautiously, she pulled her legs from the cage of blankets and let them dangle off the side of the bed. They looked so….strange upon her form. She was used to her glimmering tail that collected light to share among the waters. Not—not this. She lowered her feet upon the stone floor, almost startled by the coldness that greeted them.

Hunger settled into her stomach as she moved towards the door. However, she found herself at a loss, unsure where to find a meal at this time. The markets were long since closed and she knew not where the kitchen in the Minas Tirith castle was. Of course, she could wander down to the tavern that Boromir frequented regularly—she knew the way well enough, but she didn't have any means to pay.

(Y/N) shifted on her feet. Boromir did say she could come to him if she needed anything….

Almost as if it were an excuse to see him again, she slipped through the door and began following his directions to his chambers. With every step, her heart pounded harder. She would get to see him again—and it wouldn't be through layers of water.

Upon arrival, the door stood ajar, allowing a whisper of cold air to drift from his open windows. Cautiously, she peered into the room. It was shrouded in darkness, with only the soft glow of the moon reflecting upon the vast room—oh, and what a beautiful room it was. The room eluded a captivating chaos, in the most exciting way. Tablets and shelves were filled with various items—maps, books, stones, germs, inventions, and trinkets. The room held a multitude of objects, each beckoning to be looked at, studied, and pondered—igniting a sense of wonder and an urge to guess the intention. Oh, it was a captivating sight.

“Boromir?” she called out.

Silence.

Slowly, (Y/N) stepped in. She let her feet carry her throughout the room, her hand brushing upon every object that her eyes could consume. She picked things up, examined them, then put them down for another. She did so continuously, urgently, the thirst for knowledge of the humans’ customs eager in her blood. She did so, until she came across something familiar—something she was surprised to see.

(Y/N) picked up the bone carved whale from the shelf that it rested on.

He had kept it.

A little grin formed on her face, for after his conversation with Iwar she didn’t think he would.

“Does that one interest you?” A soft tone asked.

(Y/N) jumped, startled.

Boromir chuckled lightly, stepping into the room. “I am sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

She glanced down at the whale carving before looking back to him.

“I am not quite sure how that one came into my possession,” he continued as he moved to stand beside her.

She frowned, looking up. Her eyes were now direct at him, focused and stern—for the first time since he had met her. He would be lying if he said it didn't startle him a bit.

“You don't remember?” she asked, her tone strong.

“Well, no it’s not that. Of course, I remember how I got it. It just was a bit peculiar.”

(Y/N) tilted her head, not understanding.

Boromir sighed, his tone was distant as he spoke, his blue gaze not wavering from her curious eyes that suddenly seemed so bold. “A friend of mine says it's a dark omen, ment to mark me for death.” His vision trailed across her face. “He says it is made of the bone of my fallen brothers, urging me to follow them to their deaths.”

“Do you believe that?”

He blinked, his gaze lingering upon the whale. “I do not know what to believe.” Boromir looked at her expression. “What are your thoughts on such a statement?”

(Y/N) shrugged, placing the whale in its spot upon the shelf. “I believe people don’t understand other cultures and customs. I believe they make their own assumptions out of ignorance and fear.”

The captain raised a brow at her intelligence. “You are feeling better then?”

“Hmm?” (Y/N) hummed in question as she moved to another object.

“Well, that is the most I have heard you speak since I met you. You are wiser than you appear to be.”

She only shrugged in response, picking up a telescope and looking through its glass—by the wrong end.

“Though,” Boromir continued in a teasing manner as he plucked the object from her grasp, turned it the correct way, and placed it back in her palms. “That wisdom seems not to extend to everything.”

She frowned, looking through the glass once before placing it down. She then went for a music box, her confused expression deepening. “We do not have all these….these things where I am from.”

Boromir reached across her and twisted the little lever, releasing the gentle music from its hold. “And where is that, may I ask?”

At the twinkling sound, her smile, born of pure delight, extended from her expression. Her response to his question, however, was only that of a simple word, “Far.”

The captain raised a brow. “How far?”

(Y/N) shot him a strange look, placing the music box down and picking up a crystal sphere instead. “You ask a lot of questions,” she mumbled.

He grinned playfully. “You do not seem to give many answers, Miss (Y/N).”

She glared at him.

With that playful smile, he spoke again. “Would it help if you got to ask a question?”

(Y/N)‘s eyes crinkled with thought as she placed the object down and turned towards him. She saw how his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, how the circles under his eyes appeared so dark, how his expression was so hollow. Softly, she spoke again. “Why are you so sad, Boromir?”

Taken aback by this, his lips parted. “I—I do not know what you mean.”

She took a step closer to him, a step that nearly eliminated the space between them, and her piercing gaze burned up at him for the truth.

Hesitantly, he whispered that truth, as if she compelled it right out of him. “I—I recently was in a shipwreck. I thought, well, I thought I was dead—left for the watery graves below.” He paused, just for a moment. “But yet I am here and I do not know why. And, I am beginning to question things that I know, well, thought I knew, for the world appears different now.”

Silence.

Boromir's soft voice then picked up again, his breath warm upon the woman’s face. “Why are you so sad, (Y/N)?”

At this, her shy nature returned. (Y/N) turned her head away, not wanting to look at the source of her sadness.

Gently, Boromir tugged on her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You implored me to tell you such a truth,” he whispered. “May I not ask the same of you?”

(Y/N)’s tone was soft. “My truth is complicated.”

“Are not all truths complicated?” he responded.

With that, she withdrew from his grasp—a hold she desperately craved—and created enough distance between them, leaving him to wonder if such closeness had occurred at all.

A loud grumble then echoed through the dark room—splitting the darkness with something else, something much for lighthearted.

“When have you last eaten?” Boromir asked.

Her brows pulled together as she looked at her stomach.

He chuckled, offering her his hand. “Come. Let’s get you some food. I can take you to my favorite place.”

“But I—I have no coin,” she whispered shyly.

“You are a guest of Gondor, Gondor will see you fed.”

(Y/N) smiled, that innocent gaze returning. She hesitantly took his hand and he led her through the castle and towards the tavern.

The two arrived at the tavern rather quickly. Urine, stale ale, and sweat flooded (Y/N)’s nostrils—familiar aromas reminiscent of her vigilant watch over Boromir along the Anduin River. The lively atmosphere enveloped the pair. In the corner, a bard sang to the patrons, his melodic voice resonating throughout, enticing some to join in. Drunk men, tapping their feet along to the beat of the tune, howled in laughter and glee as they clinked their ales together and shoveled food into their mouths. Requests for additional drinks prompted maidens, adorned in long skirts and aprons, to gracefully deliver brimming glasses, the foaming liquid sloshing about.

(Y/N) smiled, taking in the environment.

Boromir cast a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “It’s just a tavern.”

She turned to him, her grin unwavering. “We don’t have taverns where I am from.”

He raised a brow. “And where is that? You never said.”

She shrugged. “Far.”

(Y/N) moved deeper into the tavern, with Boromir following suit. He motioned towards an available table, and they both took a seat. Before long, a serving maiden approached. Boromir signaled for two meals and two ales, and they promptly arrived.

The woman wasted no time and eagerly indulged in her food, swiftly emptying the plate.

Boromir tried to suppress a smile as he saw this, for he was glad she was getting proper nutrition after her likely long and hard journey. He, of course, wished to know more of her origins; though, he could see she wasn't quite ready to discuss such things. Instead, he opted to answer any and all questions she had which began with her curious tone.

“Boromir, would you be willing to tell me of your city? How you live in these parts? I wish to know.”

His soft gaze made contact with hers and he nodded, chewing his food and swallowing before he spoke. “What would you wish to know?”

“Everything—its structures, its people, its culture, its history.”

Therefore, Boromir spoke of such things. He described the White City's towering architecture, the valor of its people, and the complexities of the various beliefs held. He relayed its history and tales, showcasing the values of the Gondorian people.

His narratives ignited a spark in her eyes, drew laughter from her lips, and filled her heart with joy.

Fuck the forbidden indeed.

As the hours stretched on, Boromir’s friends joined them. (Y/N) could see the gleam in their eyes and catch the less-than-subtle teasing tones as they whispered about Boromir bringing a lady to their tavern. Faramir, arriving shortly after, seemed prepared for a night of dealing with his drunken brother, only to find himself pleasantly surprised by his brother's apparent sobriety and the joy the unknown woman seemed to bring to his melancholy soul.

Yet, amid the cheerful atmosphere, a pair of shifting gray eyes belonging to an old man that (Y/N) recognized as Iwar, kept her uneasy heart alert.

…..

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Boromir Tag: @scyllas-revenge @lord-westley @callistobalisto

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[thisnameisnotspokenfor]

Kingdom of the Stars Masterlist

((Note: This is more of an AU/original works than a rewrite! So MANY and I mean MANY creative liberties were taken here! And it is still updating! I am not sure how many chapters it will have...))

ETA: as of 2025 KOTS is set to become an original work in it's own universe!

((Synopsis: After her father's untimely death, 17-year-old astronomer/apprentice Asha has never wanted anything to do with magic or wishes again. So while trying to get time off for her grandfather's hundredth birthday, Asha unfortunately finds herself in the last place she wanted to be; at the heart of a magical conspiracy that could spell ruin for Rosas. Desperate to take action, Asha unknowingly calls upon a powerful force, which leads to far more trouble and adventure than she could have ever dreamed of.))

((Huge thanks to @wings-of-sapphire for giving me this idea))

The Prologue

Chapter 1: The Regrets

Chapter 2: The Market

Chapter 3: The Meeting

Chapter 4: The Proposition

Chapter 5: The Blackbird

Chapter 6: The Well

Chapter 7: The Star

Chapter 8: The Key

Chapter 9: The Prince

Chapter 10: The Starling

Chapter 11: The Dream

Chapter 12: The Return

Chapter 13: The Worry

Chapter 14: The Plan

Chapter 15: The Antecedent

Chapter 16: The Problem

Chapter 17: The Disaster

Chapter 18: The Solution

Chapter 19: The Reunion

Chapter 20: The Accommodation

Chapter 21: The King

Chapter 22: The Reception

Chapter 23: The Library

Chapter 24: The Clock

Chapter 25: The Spark

Chapter 26: The Scroll Part 1

Chapter 27: The Scroll Part 2

Chapter 28: The Scroll Part 3

Chapter 29: The Tree

Chapter 30: The Date

Chapter 31: The Date pt 2

Chapter 32: The Gathering

Chapter 33: The Favor

Chapter 34: The Game

Chapter 35: The Bakery

Chapter 36: The Breaking Point

Chapter 37: The Asterius pt 1

A03:

Character Design/Visuals: ((Bear with me because these updates will be SLOW))

Asha

I'll release character notes and stuff after

CELESTIAL COURTS/Star Mythos:

Alpha Stars:

The Celestial Courts:

PSA:

Since I’m pretty much making it an original work in its own universe now I am going to introduce the concept of

HARVESTERS

Special humans who have the ability to harness the energy (aether) of the world around them in order to achieve incredible feats! They have different levels of ‘potential’ that allow them to tap into various levels of energy.

Most people are born with some level of potentials! (It’s very rare to see someone who has zero level of it) and the higher levels are often denoted by strange eye colors (yellow, silver, pink, etc) and was also the way the king found his apprentices.

Being a harvester is also genetic too.

TLDR: KOTS is more alchemy/supernatural based and doesn’t really operate on the level/concept of magic.