#I am aware that these are probably not all Oliver

[fromtheboundlesssea]

Messy love. The kind that spilled over and was infectious. Not quiet whispers of gratitude or separate hobbies in separate rooms. She wanted things to be overlapped and bundled together tightly. She wanted to be surrounded by love.

– Monster Dressed In Yellow by @misunderstoodwords

[oneeyedlove]

King of the ashes.

summary | Moons had passed since your last quarrel with your estranged husband, the events of Rook’s Rest bringing you together one more time.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x oc!reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x oc!reader (platonic).

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! Unprotected sex, PinV, arguing, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of death, Targ!cest, ANGST/little comfort, ooc Aemond (probably). SPOILERS

wordcount | 8.5K - i am so sorry

note | All the valyrian i use comes from a very shady translator so there probably are a lot of mistakes, if you have any input or helpful information pls tell me. I got really excited writing this but I feel the last part is a bit rushed, sorry about that! Any comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated! <3

Find part 1 here

[ gif by @gameofthronesdaily ]

124 AC

The afternoon sun spilled its light upon the tearful eyes of prince Aemond Targaryen, almost if mocking his heartache through its refulgent heat. The young boy sheltered himself in a seemingly abandoned corridor of the Red Keep, seeking solace from the cruel hoax imposed on him during his lessons. He could still hear them, their words — “The Pink Dread”. Such title roared in his ears, humiliation engulfing the silver prince as he forced his cries back into his throat. His mother had failed in her feeble attempts to comfort him, her attention focused solely on punishing his nephews for their so called savagery — even if it was clear this had Aegon’s name written all over it.

The worst part was that she had witnessed it. She hadn’t laughed or joined them in their persecution, but he could not bear the thought of his weakness being exposed before her. Hers was the judgment he feared most after all, she was the only one he could truly call friend.

Aemond hadn’t taken notice of a blue covered figure that watched him until she sat at his side, her weight shifting the cushions of the settee beneath them. His eyes refused to meet hers, hoping to conceal his shame as he hugged his knees against his chest. The girl stared at him in silence, her back resting on the wall whilst her feet dangled over the edge of her seat.

“Aem…” Aelora finally spoke, the softness in her tone melodic as a ballad.

“What do you want?” He asked, his voice lacking its usual warmth.

She had been made aware of Aemond’s displeasure concerning the dearth of a dragon to call his own through countless protests, his state being one of constant anger towards what he deemed his fault. It was also known by her that he would grow to be the most estimable dragonrider of them all, for none were devoted to learning and practicing as he was — it was only a matter of patience. Thus, when Aelora’s eyes caught sight of the swine inside the dragonpit, her brothers knew their mother’s chastening would be nothing compared to hers.

“My brothers are fools, I wish to apologize on their behalf.” She brought her hand to hold his, a gesture of innocent assurance.

“You did not deserve it.”

The boy slowly drifted his eyes from the window to lay his gaze upon her, his heartbeat quavering at her touch. Nevertheless, her kind words couldn’t erase his shortcomings — he couldn’t accept charity for his ridicule, he wouldn’t.

“I… I have no need for your pity.” As much as he tried, he failed to stop woe from consuming his voice, as well as his demeanor.

“I don’t pity you.” Grasping his hand tighter, she looked at him through furrowed brows.

“You shall have a dragon. One even bigger than Sunfyre, I know it! In the meantime you can help me with Lyrrax, even fly with me once she’s big enough!”

It was evident her enthusiasm was a childish one, an effort to install hope over the sorrow that buried his thoughts — but she had no care for it. She noticed as a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, even as he tried to suppress it. She wasn’t the one who owed him an apology, and yet there she was, offering her own dragon for an olive branch. His gaze flickered down at their hands, her smaller one over his, and he intertwined their fingers. The tension in his shoulders visibly eased, for Aelora’s presence was reassuring and tender.

“You truly believe I'll claim one?” He asked, unable to hide the fleeting shadow of optimism that burned in his eyes.

“I am certain of it. We are Targaryens, the blood of the dragon. You just haven’t found the right one for you.” A smile crept its way onto her face, her cheeks rosy and plump with eagerness.

Aemond scanned the girl before him, his expression almost vulnerable. The feeling of indignity was one familiar to the young boy and he had enough of it. He contemplated her words for a moment, and for once allowed himself to consider she might be right.

“Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I lack patience.” He let out a deep breath, as if letting go of the bitterness that had taken hold of him.

“You would do well to remember I’m always right.” The smug grin on her face earned herself only a rolling of eyes in response.

“Come on. I know something that will lift your spirits.”

Her words had barely escaped her lips before she burst through the corridor, tugging the prince’s hand as they ran. Hurried footsteps clashed against cold stone as Aelora strided through the maze of indistinguishable aisles, her gaze occasionally flickering towards the boy behind her. The smile that stubbornly weld itself onto Aemond’s face had transformed into a beaming grin, the sound of her angelic giggles clipping away the sullenness from his features.

A deafening thump alerted the prince of their whereabouts, the wide entry of her bedchamber welcoming him inside. He stepped in and curiously observed as she struggled to close the wooden doors, trapping the pair of them in concealment. The calling gesture of the princess hand woke him from his trance as he marched towards the illustrated wall beside her bed.

“Wait, what are you doing?” His head tilted in confusion whilst he fixated his lilac eyes on her hands. Her palm grazed the intricate designs on the stone, finally encountering the familiar crease on the surface — she pushed it, a dimly lit passageway staring back at him.

“Its Maegor’s secret tunnels!”

Aemond's bewilderment had quickly given way to wonder and awe. The maesters had taught him legends of Maegor's construction schemes, rumored to be an intricate labyrinth hidden beneath the Red Keep, but he never dreamed he would get to see them for himself.

“What?! How in the Seven Hells did you find them?”He asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“A fortunate accident.” She shrugged.

“I was hoping to find the way to your apartments and surprise you but I reckon it cannot be done anymore.”

“You’re mad!” His gaze quickly flickered back to Aelora.

His eyes, violet in the soft daylight that cascaded through the nearby window, studied her almost warily, as if to gauge a reaction from her. He received no such thing. The princess brought her hand to his once again, carefully establishing themselves inside the narrow corridor as the heavy stone shut behind the two. Aemond allowed himself to be pulled along, not even protesting in favour of the tunnel. He observed the strange architecture through their route, the dim light that filtered through small gaps, and the strange cobwebs that had taken form. The limb that remained in hers seemed to squeeze it almost possessively — out of fear, or out of eagerness, Aelora could likely tell.

The hairs atop the young royals’ heads twirled at the light breeze that embraced them, the scent of saltwater filling their nostrils. A moss covered archway revealed a small, damp cavern. As they entered, rugged walls formed by weathered rock surrounded them and an opening that lead directly onto the beach offered a panoramic view of the shoreline and the rolling waves beyond. Beams of sunlight streamed in through gaps, illuminating the cave's interior with a soft, ambient glow. Their feet grazed the sandy floor underneath them, scattered with small shells and pebbles, remnants of the sea's presence. Inside the serene and veiled space, a true connection between land and ocean can be felt — a fitting discovery for a princess of House Velaryon.

Aelora’s brown orbs searched for the boy’s lilac ones, a wide grin spread on her face as she squeezed his hand tenderly.

“So… What do you make of it?”

Aemond was quietly impressed, his head tilting back to look up at the ceiling of the cave, eyes roaming across the stalactites that hanged over them, a small gasp escaping his pink lips. He slowly peeled his hand from the princess, walking over to the opening to look out at the sea.

“How — how did you find this place?” The young prince questioned softly, his head turning back to look at her with an almost admiring gaze.

“It is unimportant. We can confine ourselves here whenever we like! The others do not know about it — I’m halfway certain no one does.”

A small, pleased smile tugged on his features just at the thought of using the cave as a hideaway; a private place, just for himself and Aelora. He hums quietly under his breath, in slight agreement.

“Our secret?” He extend his pinky towards her, indicating for her to do the same.

“Ours.” She smiled as she locked their fingers together in a silent promise.

A silent minute exchanged itself between the pair, the linger of a childish oath tickling their skin. The future memory would cling to their hearts for years to come, a longing fondness drowning them each and every time — except they had no knowledge of it as of the moment, being too focused on the possible amusement that would certainly come from the cavern’s discovery.

“I can best you to the shore!” Aemond wasted no time as he sprinted to approach the broken waves at the end of the beach.

“Wait!” She shouted, avidly picking up her pace to match the boy’s, his long limbs giving him a considerable advantage over the girl behind him.

It had been an entire afternoon of nothing but running, chasing, and exploring together. The young prince had forgotten his troubles and worries completely, instead focusing on the thrill of catching a slippery, wiggling sand crab. The cold feeling of the seawater against his skin didn’t bother him either, nor did the wind whipping at his silver hair as they sat building sandcastles. By the time dusk began to settle, the two children had become completely filthy with sand, mud, and water. Their garments were most likely ruined from the seaweed’s smell, fact that would assuredly earn them serious reprimands from their mothers. Yet, he could not remember a time when he felt so alive.

As they returned to the cave, the sunset’s glow reflected in the wet stones inside, a sense of comfort enveloping the rock-strewn cavity. Aelora’s gaze fell upon the young prince before her, his valyrian grace never yielding to his disheveled appearance. She observed as he bent down, a sharp ore emerging in his hand.

“What are you doing?” She questioned through a mess of rumpled braids.

Aemond glanced up to look at her, smiling softly. With careful movements, the boy carved into the rock, his free hand resting against the stone wall for balance. After a moment, the four letters of their initials were carved into the stone. The scribbles “A.T.” and “A.V.” were jagged and a bit uneven, but still clearly visible.

”Leaving a marking… to remember.”

---

129 AC

Bleeding. Bruised. Brokenhearted. Those were the exact words to describe the state in which princess Aelora Velaryon arrived at Dragonstone. The crimson liquid that gushed out of her right side was courtesy of a Kingsguard during his desperate attempts to put a stop to her fleeing — the remnants of his white cloak hanging from Lyrrax’s teeth were evidence of the retribution he earned. The loyal she-dragon landed crudely, sharp claws sinking in the placid sand as her screeches blended with her rider’s whimpers. The princess could sense the pain inside the beast’s mind, their unbreakable connection making their emotions into one.

Pellets of rain grazed her face as she crawled up the endless stairs towards the peak of the islet, the translucent droplets mixing with tears of her own. The young woman’s sobs were filled with tales of disloyalty. She had betrayed her family, her duty, and worst of all, she had been betrayed by him. The one who stood before the gods of Old Vayria and pledged his unyielding love for her. The one who she had deemed worthy of the deserting of her kin. The one who promised her a future beyond the carnage of war. And yet he was the first to commence bloodshed. Her devotion had not been enough to subdue Aemond’s thirst for revenge — but how she wished that it had.

The mud on the soles of her shoes stuck to the stone floor, leaving behind a trail of shame as she entered the intimidating fortress. Her name and titles thundered inside her ears as the voice of a guard announced her arrival, though she hadn’t actually heard him. Her tormented psyche fevered with dread, fearful of the reactions she would receive due the forsaking of her own blood. All the eyes of her mother’s Small Counsel widened at the sight of the princess, distress and grief scattered across their faces. Her gaze flickered to the silvery locks on Raenyra’s head, the woman’s back turned to the room.

Aelora’s steps were slow and somber, as if her soul had faded and the lifeless carcass of who she was moved against her wishes. She skipped past Daemon at her mother’s side, lacking the nerve to meet his stare. Finally, she reached the bereaved woman before her, brown meeting lilac in a lachrymose gaze. Their pale hands intertwined in haste, and the once composed tears transformed into loud sobs as the young princess collapsed to her knees, begging for Rhaenyra’s forgiveness. Blood and teardrops met in the Black Queen’s dress, staining it as she knelt in front of her daughter. She brought up her palm to caress the side of the young woman’s face, the maternal touch conveying a juvenile yearning in Aelora’s heart.

“Oh my sweet girl.” Her mother whispered as anguish imbued her words.

---

The moons that followed Luke’s death were arduous for the princess, constantly having to prove herself before the family that once accepted her. Rhaena and Rhaenyra had silently recognized Aelora’s circumstances, acknowledging she grieved for a husband as well as a brother. Baela had hesitated in the endorsing of her cousin but surrendered to her pleads nonetheless. Daemon barely addressed his wife’s daughter, his hatred for his nephew fused inside the resentful stares he gave her. Despite her best efforts to cope with her standing, it was Jacaerys’ unyielding disregard for his sister that slayed the woman’s hope of mending their bond. The storm behind the prince’s eyes was well hidden inside his stoic expressions, seemingly unaffected by Aelora’s prayers for his recognition. It was only in the afternoon before their grandmother’s departure for Rook’s Rest that the siblings found each other.

The soft rustle of parchment echoed through the otherwise silent library, a salty breeze infiltrating itself through the window. The princess sat by the unlit fireplace as her gaze swept across the leather-bound books scattered inside the numerous shelves, each and all replete with the history of House Targaryen. The smell of dusty, old tomes was a bitter comfort in the midst of her morose silence. She had accustomed herself to this moments of solitude, seeking solace inside her soul. At heart, her deepest fantasies scampered free, picturing a simpler life as a commoner — untethered by the Targaryen name and relieved from the torment of the constant shadow of war.

Aelora was chased back into reality as Jacaerys’ presence made itself known. The young man invaded the room like a blizzard, his cold glare locking upon her figure as she rested over the armrest of the settee. Her eyes glistened with heartache once she felt how profoundly hostile her brother had become, turning on his heel to abandon her presence. The woman’s voice trembled as she spoke, her words pleading and vulnerable.

"Jacaerys, wait...please."

He halted, his shoulders tense as he looked back at her. The expression on his face was hard to read, a mixture of ire and pain etched into his features.

"What do you want, Aelora?" His voice was cold, the distance between them palpable.

"Have I stooped so low in your graces that my presence offends you? We are family, Jacaerys. Can we not even speak?" Her voice was laced with a hint of desperation as she asked.

"You ask for words as if they could undo what has already been done." His expression hardened, his jaw tightening at her words.

Aelora got to her feet, her legs trembling under her weight. He spoke as if it had been her to murder Luke, not Aemond. Her eyes met his as she stood, her voice wavering with a mix of sorrow and anger.

“Do you truly believe I have not been made aware of that?!”

“Every day of my miserable existence is plagued by guilt. I close my eyes at night yet sleep eludes me, for the ghost of Luke haunts my every thought!” She grew restless at every word, tears forming in her brown orbs as she gestured frantically through phrases.

“I know I failed him, as I failed you and our family… But don't forget I too lost a brother that day.”

Jacaerys stood frozen in place, his grief still bubbling within him and yet his heart ached at the sight of his sister's tears. Her words cut through him like a dagger, his own teardrops threatening to fall.

"Luke is gone, Aelora, and your presence here only serves as a reminder of that fact." He took a step backwards, his jaw clenching as he struggled to control his emotions.

“You cannot blame me for what was not my doing. I was Aemond’s wife, not his conscience — albeit my best efforts.”

"But you married our enemies, sister! Do you truly believe your actions have no consequences?"

"You stood by while they plotted against us and our family. How can I not blame you, when you chose to bind your fate to theirs?" A hint of anger flashed in Jacaerys' mournful eyes as he continued.

“i admit i have made my bed and I must lie in it, but you speak of matters you do not understand.” She crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could shield herself from his hatred.

“He swore to me…“ Her voice cracked, heartbreak swallowing her words.

“He swore to avoid this — to stop this insane feud. He is an oathbreaker as well as a kinslayer and he made me a fool!”

The room was still tense but as Aelora's sobbing grew heavier, something shifted within Jacaerys. He stepped closer to his sister, and without a word, pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. His body was warm against her chilly frame as he held her close, almost protectively. Their grievances seemed to dissolve in that moment, replaced only by a shared sorrow as her tears dampened his shoulder.

“Do you hold love for him, still?” He whispered.

“Only for the memory of who he used to be.”

The prince held Aelora a little tighter at her admission, his chin resting on the top of her head as they remained locked in their embrace. He could feel the weight of her broken heart and the ache it left her with. His wrath had dimmed, replaced by a sense of care and familial loyalty.

"Memories are not enough… Promise to break him should you get the chance"

“I will.”

Neither of them knew, but she lied.

Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never Was, met her fate by the hands of the newly appointed Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen.

Meleys, The Red Queen, had her head paraded through the streets of King’s Landing.

And Aelora, Aemond’s beloved nightmare, sent him a raven.

“We must speak. Find me at ghost’s hour where salt meets memory.

A.V.”

---

The stars twinkled outside the formidable walls of Dragonstone, nightfall enveloping the island in its deep shadows. The approach of ghost’s hour disrupted the princess’ heartbeat inside her chest, her previous conviction giving way to fright as she slithered into the network of caves where the dragons nested. Aelora called out to Lyrrax, her voice wavering with a mixture of stress and uncertainty. As the great beast appeared before her, its wings unfurling, she couldn't help but wonder why she had sent the meeting request at all.

The dragon’s own tension could be felt through her scales as the princess climbed onto its back, the weight of her decision settling on them like a heavy cloak. As they soared through the night sky, Aelora's thoughts were consumed by memories of Aemond and his treachery. The image of him flying over her grandmother’s corpse haunted her mind — the cold, merciless expression he conveyed twisting her guts. She questioned her own judgement in seeking him out, even as her heart yearned for the man who once pledged his undying love and protection. She looked back at Dragonstone, its familiar walls and towers illuminated by the silvery moonlight; she was abandoning her blood for him once again. The princess could only surmise she was either possessed by madness or a true lovelorn fool.

The frigid roar of wind traveled across her face as Lyrrax’s wings scraped over the tide’s surface, saltwater droplets cutting into her skin as well as her pride. She knew her grandmother would never forgive her for this, it was likely none would; she was an idiotic excuse for a Targaryen if she thought seeking the slayer of so many of her kin was justifiable. The burden of loss hung heavily on Aelora's soul as she took in the landscape before her. The faces of Rhaenys and Luke, forever etched in her mind, fueled a mix of anger and trepidation inside the young woman. Her thoughts swirled with a maelstrom of emotions as she soared towards him, recollections of the past playing out like a tragic play as her brown orbs focused upon the once affectionate site of King’s landing.

With practiced grace, Aelora guided the dragon into a smooth descent, its blue wings beating against the air as its claws set down on the shore of Blackwater Bay. The sound of their landing was muffled by the night, its velvety darkness swallowing the pair by the quiet that enveloped the world like a thick, black blanket. The crash of the waves greeted the princess’ ears as she dismounted, struggling to catch her breath and steady her emotions. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the young woman caught sight of the familiar cave that laid ahead, its entrance like a dark maw in the cliffside. The jagged edges were illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon, sending shadows dancing across the rocky surface.

Bittersweetness engulfed Aelora’s frame as the memories memories of her secret rendezvouses with Aemond brimmed in her mind. Every step she took towards the cave was like a blow to her legs, feeling shaky and unsteady. Doubt gnawed at her spirit as if a persistent rat, her stomach flipping with every crunch of the sand beneath her feet. Yet, she pushed forward, determination fueling the princess even as her disheveled heartbeat hammered against her ribcage.

The sight of Aemond standing amongst the shadows caught Aelora off guard, the dim light emanating through the cave's entrance barely illuminating his form — she had thought to be the first to arrive. Before she could stop it, a slight gasp escaped her lips and her eyes widened in disbelief. He looked different, somehow. He seemed further villainous and wearied, the once familiar spark in his eye now replaced by a bold robustness. His sharp and handsome features were now harder, almost rugged, as if her absence had left its mark on him. Swallowing hard, she acknowledged the stark contrast between the nostalgic sentiment that nearly overcame her a moment ago and the tense silence that now enveloped them. They stood opposite each other mutely, both frozen and locked in each other’s gaze.

“Wife.” He greeted, his voice grazing her earlobes like the finest of silks.

“That title does not fit me any longer.” She replied coldly.

His lilac eye examined Aelora’s frame from head to toe, her cloak hiding black leather garments — most likely dragonriding attire. She looked skinnier than he recalled, the shadows only enhancing the redness of her eyes. Aemond could not help but wonder whether she had been weeping during her journey there, grief tackling her psyche as well as her build. The princess demeanor turned stiff, arms crossing as she stood clearly on edge.

“You remain mine, before gods and men.” His gaze flickered with something akin to resentment.

“Kinslaying is a rather suitable ground for an annulment, i should think.” She said, removing the cloak from her head, allowing her braid to cascade over her shoulder.

He froze, the muscles on his neck and jaw tensed. His first reaction is one of anger, clenching his fist as he prepared hateful words inside his throat. But as he looked her in the eye, his wrath melted away into something much more dangerous and devastating — something fragile. All he could see was the girl he grew up with, the girl who stood by him at his boyhood. The woman who whispered sweet nothings amongst the vows of their wedding. The woman who played silly songs on the harp and sang with the loveliest voice he'd ever heard. The wife who's hands he dreamed of at night.

“So eager to rid yourself of the shame affixed to my reputation… And yet, you request my presence with equal vigor.” He stood with his hands behind his back, swallowing any desires that threatened to get the better of him.

“It is my understanding you have become Prince Regent.” She tried to ignore his jabs, the truthfulness they held hitting a sore point inside Aelora.

“The betrayal of your brother becomes you. Yet another broken oath in your conquest for the throne.” She returned his insults, the knowledge of his ambition stirring something within the prince.

“You speak of broken oaths. And what ought I call the oaths you have broken? The promises we made when we married in front of Heleana and the Gods?” His one eye darkened, taking a step forward as he kept his tone controlled.

“Your hypocrisy is staggering.” He shook his head, jaw clenched as he spoke.

“My hypocrisy?!” She could feel the anger boiling her blood, as if fire consuming wood.

“Your sanctimonious preaches fail to erase your true nature, Aemond. Naming yourself Targaryen whilst the sigil of our house is paraded through the streets as if some vainglorious prize of war!” Her voice turned to screeches as it echoed through the stone walls of the cave.

“You may call me a bastard if you wish to, but my blood honors Old Valyria far more than yours.”

Aemond’s hand shot to her wrist, gripping it tight enough to leave marks on the skin underneath. His single eye was wild and livid, the scar around it turning his gaze even more menacing. He moved a step closer, the scent of him overwhelming her — mint and leather mixed with a hint of smoke, the familiar essence blurred her senses in a wave of longing. The princess hid her weakening behind a wrath curtain, the disdain she held for the twisted version of him that now stood before her casting their love aside.

“Watch your tongue, Aelora.”

“Or else? Will your murder me as you did my brother? My grandmother? I can see the conqueror’s dagger in it’s seath, evidence of yet another attempt at fratricide!” She accused him further.

“Have you not done enough? Must you ravage our family and yourself in your thirst for power?”

The hand that gripped her wrist traveled up to the back of her head, grabbing the braided hair. Yanking it softly, he pulled Aelora even closer, his lilac orb flickering over her expression.

“I am Prince Regent as the Gods intended.” He hissed into her ear, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“My reign, unlike that of Aegon, will be glorious — my rule absolute. And you, wife, will be by my side when I sit on the Iron Throne.”

Aelora’s eyes betrayed her as water began to brim in their edges, a horrified gleam passing through her forming tears. A hand cupped his left cheek as she scanned him, a desperate search for the man he once was. The man she longed for each night. The man who was the source of greater heartache than she had ever felt in her life. The man who was also the root of her most joyous moments.

“Your ambition shall be your demise, husband. I was yours before all of this, before your perverseness overcame your affection for me.”

“The crown may sit upon your brow, but i have sufficiently torn my heart to shreads in my attempts to remove you — even if you are my weakness, I will never belong by your side once more.”

”No wrath or cruelty is capable of subduing my craving of you, issa vēzos (my sun).” He leaned into her touch, letting his eye flutter at the feeling of the soft skin of her palm against his cold cheek.

In that moment of contact, he seemed so vulnerable, and much younger than his years. He was weak. A pathetic, love-sick man, and he could not bring himself to care. Aemond leaned his head against hers, their foreheads connecting as his gaze softened.

“I am plagued by thoughts of you and I, each reminiscence a torment to my soul.”

“Come back to me, be my Queen and rule by my side. Our love will be known forever through the Seven Kingdoms, your belly swollen with our child ensuring our line shall never be forgotten.”

There was a moment of silence as Aelora absorbed his words. He was offering her a chance at a life she had dreamed of, one full of passion and legacy as their offspring lived on after them. But it would be an existence consumed by greed, she knew it. There could be no going back after what he had done; Lucerys would never be uncle to her progeny and Rhaenys wouldn’t be there to counsel her through hardships. Their family was torn from the beginning, the tapestry of their lives further lacerated by his actions. And she couldn’t betray her blood again.

“I would do anything for you.” He begged.

“Would your bend the knee to my mother?” Her voice was shaky as the lachrymose gaze she held shattered, its translucent shards falling through her cheeks.

"I will give you anything. Anything within my power to give." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"But not my crown."

“Then there shall be naught left to ask, issa hūra (my moon).” She sent him a smile, albeit a woeful one.

Aemond opened his mouth to protest, but knew it would be in vain. He was so close to her that he could feel her breath on his lips, the feeling slowly driving him mad. He had imagined Aelora’s face, her curves and her voice each night he had been forced to spend alone — and here she was, right before him, but he couldn’t have her. The thought of how this could be the last time he held her without being shoved away made him pull her to him, his arms wrapping around her like vines.

The princess found herself unable to resist as she pressed her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting presence in the silent cavern. She clung to him tightly, her fingers gripping his clothing like a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea. For a moment, they stood there, holding each other without a word. The moons of distance melted away, replaced by a shared sense of desperate longing to be close again. Despite the comfort and familiarity of his embrace, she knew deep down that he would never surrender — his path set on the course of war and the bloodshed it entailed. The pain and loss they had faced would forever stand between them, but it did not matter tonight. Concealed by shadows inside the stone walls surrounding them, their grievances and broken oaths would dim at the radiance of their burning passion. For a brief moment, the pair would be one once more.

Aelora’s head parted from the warmth of his frame as her gaze followed the line of Aemond's jaw, her brown orbs traveling upward until they reached his mouth. A sharp breath hitched within her throat as she remembered the soft touch of his lips against hers, butterflies rattling in her stomach. In that moment, she was transported back to the blissful months of their marriage, when their intimacies were full of love and promise. The need to feel the familiar touch of his skin against hers consuming every inch of her being.

The prince’s mind and body were on fire. He could feel her gaze raking over him, like a caress to his spirit. The mere sight of his estranged wife in his arms making his heart pound wildly in his chest. His good eye watched her mouth as she swallowed, his one trackmindedness fixated on everything about her. He could see the memories, the same ones he saw every night, flashing through her gaze. His fingers reached up to brush a strand of her brown hair aside, her once perfect braid now half done as the long locks threaten to escape. His hand trembled with how badly he wanted to feel her body, to trace his hands over her curves and kiss her neck, as he had done countless times before.

Aelora's restraint snapped with a sharp tug as she pulled him down towards her, their lips finally meeting in a desperate, ardent kiss. A muffled gasp left her lips at the familiar touch, her body responding instinctively as she pressed herself against him, hungrily devouring his taste. The prince’s sense of control collapsed like a house of cards, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he held her close. He was a man starved, his palms roaming over her frame, as if trying to commit every curve to memory.

Aemond's hands began to roam under her cloak, his fingers tracing over the round hips hidden underneath. He could feel the heat of her desire through the thick fabric, his own body aching to devour her whole. The fingers on his left hand fiddled over the clasp of her mantle, yearning overcoming his senses as he tossed the fabric onto the delicate sand.

Before he was able to protest, Aelora broke their kiss. Her eyes glistened with arousal as she watched his lips, reddened and bruised from the hastiness of their embrace. Her nimble hands found the buckle of her leather doublet, shivering as the absence of the rougher material revealed her chemise underneath. The sheer linen did little to protect the princess’ frame from the cold breeze that made its way through the cave’s entrance, her nipples stiffening at the feeling. The young woman felt no grief for her modesty as Aemond’s eye watched her carefully, a glimpse of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. She continued to undress, slender fingers slowly untying the laces on her breeches. Her boots met the rest of her dragonriding garments on the jagged rocks by the cavern’s wall, leaving the princess in only her smallclothes.

The silver prince was left breathless by her actions, completely entranced by the sight of her exposed chest, every contour of her body on display through the translucent fabric. His eye drank in the sight and he could feel his blood rushing to a southernmost point. He wanted to worship her, to kiss and nibble her skin — to make her cry out his name until the only thing she could remember was the feel of him against herself. At this moment, he was no longer Aemond Targaryen, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm; he was a dog at her heel, eager for her calling. His gaze never left hers, staring at her vulnerable state as he mirrored her actions. First he removed his baldric, steel clinking as his dagger and sword fell to the ground. Then, he slowly undid the various buckles on his black jerkin, his breeches following suit. He did not waver as her brown eyes found his stiffened manhood; for he hadn’t cared to remain in concealment as she did.

Aelora’s gaze followed her husband as he approached her again, his hands reaching out and his fingers gently sliding up her bare thigh. She felt him press further into her, his cock pushing itself snugly against her core. He leaned in until his mouth was just beside her ear, his breath warm against her neck as he bit the skin softly. There was no denying she was his, her soul forever branded by his sinful devotion; the princess would never trust a kinslayer twice over, but she couldn’t help but love him.

“Vestragon ao’re ñuhon. (Say you’re mine.)” His voice was barely a whisper but it was as much a command as a plead.

“Vestragon ao’re nykeēdrosa ñuhon, gīda sepār syt kiza bantis. (Say you’re still mine, even just for tonight)”.

“Nyke aōhon. Ēva tubis ōños. (I am yours. Until daylight)”. She answered, lips trembling as the words escaped her.

A primal possessiveness engulfed the one eyed prince, the part that had always longed for her roaring in victory. At that very moment, he felt that there was nothing in this world that he would not do for her. He took her mouth in another kiss, their tongues clashing in a more feral and desperate manner. Aemond lifted her, his calloused hands digging into her plump arse as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her fingers gripped at his silver locks, his sudden responde sending waves of languor across her limbs. He moved her onto the cloak that was on the ground, the velvety sand welcoming her weight over the fabric as he covered her body with his.

Aemond continued his path of kisses down her body, his hands wandering over her breasts and waist and his mouth leaving more marks in its path. He could feel Aelora shudder in anticipation, her hips arching against his as he moved closer to her core, the air heavy with the scent of her nectar. He halted, taking in the sight of her before him. It had been so long — too long — since he had laid eyes upon her like this, and he relished in the way she already looked completely wrecked by his touch alone. The prince finally reached his ultimate goal, his lips finding her mound as he licked a stripe across the sensitive flesh. He let out a low moan at the taste of her sweet ambrosia on his tongue, a loud whimper emanating from her lungs in response.

The young woman’s hair laid carelessly on the ground, grains of sand intertwining into the brown mess as she arched her back in pleasure. She cried out as he grabbed her thighs, spreading her further apart and burying his face between her legs, his tongue exploring her in ways she had missed for many moons. He could not get enough of her, his lips and tongue trailing silent prayers over her most sensitive spot as his name left her lips. She felt her walls clench as he barged inside her cunt with a long finger, adjusting to the once familiar feeling. Shivers ran down her spine in satisfaction as Aemond synchronized his movements, the overwhelming pleasure bringing stars to her eyes.

A lilac eye never left her face, watching every expression that played across her features. Her mouth parted in pleasure, each gasp and moan fueling the fire of the prince’s own arousal. He had longed to see her like this, writhing underneath him, his name on her lips and his touch on her skin. The memories of her had haunted him in his nights alone, but now, in this moment, he was finally able to worship her like the god given treasure that she was.

Aelora's cries grew more intense, her hips bucking against Aemond's skilled mouth as pleasure mounted within her. Her thighs trembled slightly, its muscles tensing in anticipation of the release that was quickly approaching. Each touch and movement only served to bring her closer to the precipice of pleasure.

A loud cry echoed through the cavern as she climaxed, her body shuddering and her fingers digging into the ground in a desperate attempt to anchor herself. As the waves of ecstasy washed over her, she felt as though she had been transported to another realm. The connection between them was somehow stronger than it had ever been before, their souls dancing to a passionate melody.

When Aelora finally gasped for air, the prince slowly moved up from her core, his body hovering over hers. He watched as she recovered from the rapture he had given her with a dark and vainglorious smirk. With his elbow holding himself over her, he pulled her leg to rest on his hip as his eye scanned her features. Her hand moved to cup his cheek, the tip of her finger caressing his reddened scar as she furrowed her brows.

“Nyke gaomagon regret ziry. Skoros nyke vestretan se mōrī jēda. (I do regret it. What I said the last time.)” She apologized, regret brimming in her brown orbs.

Aemond leaned into her touch, his good eye closing at the gentle touch of her hand against his skin, it felt nearly as soothing as a balm to his weary heart. The mention of the title she had bestowed upon him sent a chill through his spine, his monstrous behavior had earned the words even if they had maimed him. His face turned to press a soft kiss into her palm, before opening his eye to look at her again.

“It is of no importance.” His voice was rough and low as he spoke.

Aelora softly tugged at the straps of his eyepatch, earning a trembling exhale from him in response. The touch of her delicate fingers on his malady sent a wave of fear through his spirit. She removed piece of leather, revealing the puckered, scarred skin where his eye had once been. He found himself unable to look at her for a moment, the feeling of vulnerability consuming him in the dim light of the cave. The princess looked deeply into the sapphire gem in his socket, tenderness engulfing the kiss she placed upon it.

Aemond's touch was gentle as he took her lips in his, not waiting for her response as he gripped her hip and turned her on her stomach. His eye roamed over the expanse of her back, tracing his fingers over the smooth surface of her skin, leaving a trail of gentle caresses in its path. It was a stark contrast to the frenzied way he had touched her previously, this touch was far more tender, almost reverent in nature. His body pressed against hers as the length of his manhood rested on the small of her back, buring into her skin. He leaned down, his mouth finding her ear as he moved closer.

“Azantys ñuha sindigho, issa vēzos. (I have missed you desperately, my sun)”. His breath was warm against her skin as he whispered.

Aelora arched her back as she felt the tip of his cock breeching her dampened slit, her knees propping her hip upwards in search of contact. His arm reached under her, squeezing one of her peaks as he fully entered her. The pair let out breathless moans as Aemond moved against her, leaving no time for her adjustment. The sting of pain she felt had been nothing compared to the ecstasy of his length inside her, finding herself unable to focus on anything but the feeling of being around him.

The prince’s thrusts grew harder, his body moving against hers in a rhythm that was both frenzied and yet somehow controlled. Her moans and sighs filled the air, his own breaths coming quick and sharply as he took her with a wild abandon. He buried his face in her neck, biting down on the soft flesh as his hands buried into her hips.

“Avy jorrāelan. (I love you)” Aelora murmured between ragged moans, her hand reaching to grasp his hair.

His eye widened slightly at her words, a thrill rushing through him at having heard them coming from her lips once again. His lips found the base of her jawline, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin. His cock kept reaching further into her cunt as their flesh moved together with a rhythmic thrust, like the rise and fall of waves on the shore.

“Avy jorrāelan. Avy jorrāelan. Avy jorrāelan.” Aemond mumbled repeatedly in between thrusts, his words a fierce declaration of their love. He continued moving inside her, his heart racing in his ribcage as his pleasure overcame physical bounds.

Every thing about this moment was singled out from any other they had shared. The grief, pain and betrayal that coursed through their marriage dissipated amongst the dragon fire that burned within the pair. It all faded away, and all that was left was this, the feel of her skin against his, the sound of his muffled whimpers in her ear, the desperate way he repeated her name over and over. This moment felt like the calm in the middle of a storm, a rustle of the ashes of their love.

Aemond could feel his peak building, his movements becoming more urgent and frantic as he chased the pleasure he sought. His breaths came out in ragged pants, mingling with the sounds of her gasps in the air as his length clashed inside her. Aelora sensed the twitching of his manhood, threatening to spill his release inside her walls. The mere thought tightened the knot that had formed in her belly, reaching the edge of her desire.

Aemond sent a few more thrusts into the brown haired woman underneath him before both found their release simultaneously, their movements slowing as they both rode out of the ecstatic trance that washed over them. The prince’s face was buried in Aelora’s neck, a guttural moan escaping him at the force of his own pleasure. Her body shivered at the feeling of his seed drowning her cunt, pearly tears streaming down her leg as she whimpered.

The lovers stayed silent in an adoring embrace after he disconnected their bodies, a wave of comfort washing over them. For a while they simply laid there, basking in the afterglow of their passion, their frames entwined in a tangle of limbs. It was a strange sort of peace, one that they both knew wouldn't last once the sun rose — but for the moment, they were content. The night stretched on, each hour passing in a blur of whispered words and slow hands. Aemond and Aelora clang to one another, as if they could melt into one if they only held tightly enough. The threat of daylight and the inevitable parting loomed over them like a dark cloud on the horizon, anguish settling inside their hearts.

As the hour of the nightingale approached over their secret sanctuary, the prince and princess began to break away from the blissful haven that enveloped them. There were no words to be spoken as they both dressed silently, the sound of rustling fabric and soft breaths filling the air between them. The weight of war and the knowledge that this moment was fleeting hung heavily in the air. Aemond felt a pang in his chest as he looked towards her, a mute wish in his heart that they could stay like this. To be locked in this moment forever, away from the world that demanded so much from them. But he knew that was not possible. Soon, they would have to return to their duties and obligations — this feeling would become nothing more than a memory.

As they stood before each other fully clothed, their eyes met in a bereaved gaze — sorrow for the love they shared engulfing them. Aelora stepped closer to him, holding his hand softly, almost in a cowardly manner. She had no words for the man who was her everything, the man who had her in every way possible, and she was ashamed of it. His free hand moved hesitantly to hold her cheek, his eye flickering over her face, taking in every feature. He wanted to burn the image of her into his mind, to remember every detail about her, down to the smallest freckle on her nose. His thumb traced her soft skin as he leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, as if to say “I will be with you forever”. Tears began to form at the corners of her brown orbs as she abandoned his touch. The sound of the rustling sand underneath her feet echoed through the cave as she reached its entrance, her form never escaping his stare.

She halted at the stone archway, her silhouette framed by the soft silver light of the moon. The night air was cool on her skin as she turned to look back at Aemond, the feel of their passion still lingering in the air. For a moment, they simply stood there, eyes meeting in the darkness. She ached to say something, to find the words to convey the maelstrom of emotions that raged within her. In the end, she simply smiled, bittersweet and knowing.

“Should we meet on the battlefield, I can’t hesitate.” Her voice came out a whisper.

“I won’t hesitate to kill you.” She repeated, to herself or to him — Aemond didn’t know.

The prince’s breath had grown a little shallow at her words, a frown forming on his face. The idea of their next encounter being on the battlefield, facing off against each other like enemies was a thought that pained him, even though he knew it was a possibility. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t hesitate either, that he would fight her with everything he had if they ever met in battle, but the words stuck in his throat. He simply nodded in acknowledgement.

Once again, she left him. Aemond would be a King without a Queen, half of his soul forsaken in his search for power. It had to be worth it.

Bur they wouldn’t meet again, not in the context of war or any other.

She would meet her demise alongside her brother in the Battle of The Gullet. Fighting hard like a Strong, dying besides her dragon like a Targaryen and laying to rest at sea like a Velaryon.

He would grow mad at her perishing, ire overcoming his every sense. And he would eventually be slayed by her stepfather at The Battle Above God’s Eye.

Their love was epic, a fierce tale of forbidden passion that would never be written about inside history books. The only legacy they would leave behind had been scribbled onto a stone wall years before.

A.T. & A.V.

---

Taglist: @onlyrealjoy @siriusblackssun @adombtch

[inawickedlittletown]

No Queerbaiting Here

A long time ago…I’m talking May of 2021, I wrote a meta post about queerbaiting. Essentially an essay. I wrote it right before the S4 finale of 9-1-1 aired because I was frustrated by Buddie fans calling Queerbait entirely like the boy that cried wolf. I still stand by it. Sort of. 

Now, even back then I was pretty clear about how 50/50 I was on Buddie ever going canon. (Maybe not in that post but certainly elsewhere) But, I shipped Buddie then and wrote a lot of fic and meta and participated in fandom. I never said it couldn’t happen…I just would never be bothered if it didn’t.

Where we stand now: It’s not going to happen. 

And where I stand now: fully immersed in Bucktommy. And what’s more, I am more than perfectly happy about Buck and Tommy staying together and going the long-run. Although I can still look at Buddie and think it’s a cute ship, I just don’t want it in canon. I would not be satisfied if the show went that way. But what’s more if Buck and Tommy don’t work out, that would be disappointing, but I’d be okay as long as they got to be happy. There is, after all, always fanfiction. 

So, I wanted to revisit this concept a bit now that Buck has been confirmed as Bisexual and now that he is in a relationship with a man. Not Eddie. Tommy. And somehow, some Buddie fans are still crying queerbait because their ship is not canon. That’s not how it works. Also…shipping works outside of canon, that’s the whole point of shipping. 

To reiterate from my original post on queerbaiting, here’s the definition from wikipedia:

“Queerbaiting is a marketing technique for fiction and entertainment in which creators hint at, but then do not actually depict, same-sex romance or other LGBTQ representation. They do so to attract a queer or straight ally audience with the suggestion of relationships or characters that appeal to them, while at the same time attempting to avoid alienating other consumers.” 

Here’s where I stand: Buddie was abandoned a long time ago. If it was ever a real possibility, we won’t ever know. What we do know is that Oliver was aware that at one point he had given them the go-ahead to make Buck Bi. Whether this was by putting Buck and Eddie together or having Buck realize this another way, we just don’t know that. We don’t have that information and nor will it probably ever be provided to us. Narratively, I know that a lot of fans figured the timing of it fit with S4 and that particular finale but we really just don’t know despite what happened in the finale.

I found that interesting looking back at my own post from back then and the discussion that followed where some fans felt that the way the finale went would determine if Buddie would be another queerbait ship. (I think most people agreed after the will scene that it wasn’t queerbait because it did leave a kernel of hope that Buddie might still happen). 

And yeah, I guess you could argue that the network deciding not to go the route of a queer storyline points to missed opportunity. That doesn’t then mean that any queerbaiting occurred or that any fans are owed anything just because something that was set up or that the writers were writing towards was then scrapped by the network. Is it a shame that it didn’t happen in whatever way they wanted to play it out, sure, but only because Buck would have been confirmed queer earlier. In the same vein isn’t it nice that we have a confirmed Bisexual Buck now? That the show managed to bring it back to that.

A Buck that is happy and free and that has realized something so monumental about himself? Isn’t it nice that all the queer coding that Buck as a character has received since the start of the show is actually finally not just queer coding but full on character development? That we can look back at the show and see all the things Buck did around other men for exactly what they were. 

When Tommy first returned to 9-1-1 in S7, I think a lot of us were excited by the spoilers about Buck and Tommy because of Bi Buck, but also because this was the thing that could lead to Buddie. 

And then…then Tommy was actually on my screen and I doubted it. I actually thought maybe the spoilers were wrong and this was about Eddie and Tommy? That episode flipped things in such an expertly way that by the time Tommy and Buck were sharing a kiss for the first time I was right there with Buck. On a second watch, it is all there. Buck was never jealous because his friend was ignoring him. He was jealous because his best friend had the attention of the guy whose attention he wanted for himself. The writing on that was perfect and no amount of twisting it can change what happened on screen. 

Buck was not jealous because of Eddie. Tommy was never interested in more than friendship with Eddie. And Buck and Tommy have nothing to do with Buddie. Tommy is not a stepping stone, a way for Buck to be ready to then embark on a relationship with Eddie. That’s both disrespectful to Tommy and Buck, but just not what the story being told on the show is doing. 

The storyline is monumental. Having a big strong guy, a firefighter, figure out his sexuality in his thirties is such good storytelling and add to that Tommy. Someone that we already know, who already works as a first responder, and who can show up and wow Buck in such a way that he realizes something about himself? This is what I’ve always wanted. Because guess what, Buck never questioned his sexuality before this. Not when he met Eddie and not when he met anyone else, not until Tommy. 

Going into the new season we know a few things and one of those is that Buck and Tommy are thriving. The media coverage talks about them as a solid couple, it talks about Buck having someone to turn to and complain to. It talks about how they are still in the getting to know each other phase and I love that for them. I love how they are being treated and described and I can’t wait to see what plays out for them and how much of the build up of their relationship we may get to actually see. 

Do you know what the media and the show never talked about outwardly like this? Buddie. Whenever it came up it was always brushed aside in a way that was respectful to fans and what they saw, but without ever confirming or hinting that the show would ever go there. They never queerbaited anyone with Buddie, what they have done is say “yeah…we know what you see” and then turned around and given us a Buck and Eddie friendship and Buck kissing Tommy, going on a date with Tommy, and thriving with Tommy. 

So, no queerbaiting here on the show where half of the major canon pairings are queer. It’s actually more like some fans baiting other fans with theories and headcanons that just don’t fit.

[directdogman]

Hello Hound!! Since it's Dialtown's 2nd anniversary, I've been planning up a few "general" related questions about your series that I've been meaning to ask, but I decided to save them up for the big day because why not? Anyways, here's what I've got, these were meant to be fun to answer so don't sweat it :]

1: How do you feel about Dialtown's success? Are you proud of how far you've come? 

2: Which character was the MOST fun for you to write, and which was the most PAINFUL?

3: What is something you wish more people would talk about or just know about related to Dialtown in general?

4: If you had the opportunity to write a FULL complete, detailed life story of any of your characters, who would that be?

5: What's a character you wish you could have given more screen-time or just in general content? (Considering iirc you were trying to make sure Dialtown wasn't TOO long, so I was wondering if this ever came to mind)

6: From what I know, you've been doing the job of cosplaying several characters in the game and acting out their sprites, which one was the most fun to act out?

7: Speaking of sprites, do you have a sprite you could consider your favorite, out of ALL your characters?

8: Do you have a specific line of dialogue you could consider your favorite throughout the entire game?

9: Could you ever see Dialtown expanding into perhaps sequels or maybe even prequels? More DLCs mayhaps? Heck, maybe even a Dialtown 2 or a Chapter 4??

10: If you could make any fan-made interpretation (such as headcanons, designs, or ships) canon if given the opportunity, what do you think would be your pick?

11: What was the MOST fun part about developing Dialtown? Coming up with new characters? Writing them? Adding all the bizarre dialogue options?

12: And last but not least — on a scale of 1-10, how fun was developing Dialtown just in general?

That's all I have for now, and I'm really excited to see your answers!!

I normally don't answer this many questions, but... alright, sure, tis the season!

1: How do you feel about Dialtown's success? Are you proud of how far you've come? 

Yeah, of course! I'm a lil proud, admittedly, but I'm aware of how comically little I really have to do with it all, even if I did make the game. Luck does play a LOT into it, of course. Granted, I made my share of predictions that wound up being useful, but it always comes down to lady luck at the end of the day. I've seen good projects fail and bad ones go viral. It's really all just a hodgepodge of probability and whimsy. That being said, I am very pleased with DT's success, and the community that's formed around the game! It caught me by surprise!

2: Which character was the MOST fun for you to write, and which was the most PAINFUL?

Gingi's always fun to write. And Mingus. Most painful is tough to say. Maybe Crown. I got a little weird when I wrote his full backstory, kinda caught up in the emotion Norm talks about. Never been a fan of stories getting cut short. You gotta wonder what would've happened if he'd made different choices, y'know?

3: What is something you wish more people would talk about or just know about related to Dialtown in general?

Honestly? Karen, probably. She's super underrated for sure. The fandom still loves her, but she doesn't get the same kind of attention as Oliver, Gingi, Randy, Norm. She's worth it.

4: If you had the opportunity to write a FULL complete, detailed life story of any of your characters, who would that be?

Oh, I already have. I have this monstruous 30-40 page document detailing Crown's life and entire career. It's quite a read. and quite a mind-fuck if you don't know Dialtown's universe too well.

5: What's a character you wish you could have given more screen-time or just in general content? (Considering iirc you were trying to make sure Dialtown wasn't TOO long, so I was wondering if this ever came to mind)

Oh yeah, a few characters had scenes that were cut. Stabby, Shooty, Mingus, Bunny, even Bigfoot! There's also the game's cut 6th datable, who was an interesting character with ties to other characters in the cast who I wanted to do more with. Ah, maybe one day.

6: From what I know, you've been doing the job of cosplaying several characters in the game and acting out their sprites, which one was the most fun to act out?

Bigfoot. I made the ape noises in the suit. Had to. It felt right.

7: Speaking of sprites, do you have a sprite you could consider your favorite, out of ALL your characters?

I quite like Norm's set, Mingus' too. Karen's poses too are quite good.

8: Do you have a specific line of dialogue you could consider your favorite throughout the entire game?

That answer probably changes every day. I like pretty much any scene where Mingus loses her temper.

9: Could you ever see Dialtown expanding into perhaps sequels or maybe even prequels? More DLCs mayhaps? Heck, maybe even a Dialtown 2 or a Chapter 4??

I'd love to make sequels one day! I've got a lot of ideas for where the characters/story would end up. By the time DT1 wrapped up, I'd conceptualized way too much stuff to put in one game (without it taking another few years to finish), so if I ever wanted to make sequels, I'd 100% know where to start! But, that's a later down the road conversation.

For now, I'm gonna keep working on the Roger DLC and if there's demand for more, I can go from there :)

10: If you could make any fan-made interpretation (such as headcanons, designs, or ships) canon if given the opportunity, what do you think would be your pick?

I guess I COULD do that with, like, anything. Nothing immediately springs to mind, since, y'know, I'm in control of the canon anyway. I will say, I've seen headcanons and theories that ARE scarily accurate to canon, to the point where I've feared people would just think I'm lifting stuff from the fanbase! It's a good thing I talk about these things with collaborators, huh? I've got a PAPER-TRAIL!!!

11: What was the MOST fun part about developing Dialtown? Coming up with new characters? Writing them? Adding all the bizarre dialogue options?

Finishing a new scene and realizing how stupidly long it was (without me realizing it) was always a treat. But yeah, writing the characters had to be it. Specifically any scene where a character the audience knows meets someone the audience doesn't know well (or at all), with the dynamic changing. Those are fun to write.

12: And last but not least — on a scale of 1-10, how fun was developing Dialtown just in general?

Hard question to answer. I do really wanna give a high number, but truthfully, a lot of game dev actually isn't super 'fun'. Some tasks are, granted, but many parts are a slog. Sitting and formatting dialogue, and then adding text pauses and pose changes isn't exactly a super thrilling activity. The engine itself also has some issues which I have to work around that adds to the workplace. Play-testing a scene for the 4th time isn't super fun either, or trying to figure out why the game crashes on some PCs and ONLY very rarely... Those tasks are Sisyphean to some degree.

...But, while most of those parts aren't fun, it's all still rewarding. There's a sense of accomplishment when you finish a scene. You get to look back at your hard work, remember the hours you spent typing dialogue into a text box and formatting mass amounts of pngs, painstakingly + manually getting the game's awful pre-loader to deal with the sprites right, etc... and suddenly, at the end, you've got this lil experience that people can play and enjoy. Somehow, the sum of all of those not so fun activities has created something that's going to make people laugh, feel happy. That's special. and even if some parts of development weren't super fun on their own, that's always what I remember. That in the end, all of those not so fun days mattered.

The route I agonized the most over was Oliver's. I went through a few weeks of writer's block, and now, it's one of the most popular routes in the game! Crazy how that happens. I was SURE for about a week that people would rank the route at the bottom! That's what I mean, all of the stress I went through trying to figure it out amounted to something people connected with! To think I almost CUT the route entirely!!!

And y'know, God knows Dialtown gave me something to throw myself at during a time where I REALLY needed the outlet. I'm very grateful to the project for that. So, I'll give DT an honorary 8 out of 10, even if it wasn't a consistently 8/10 experience making it heh heh! Sure glad I did, though and I'm very glad if any of you reading this had a really good time playing it! :)

Thanks for the questions!

[t3a-tan]

Romantic and Hopeless (8/?)

First / Previous / Next

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The borrower’s gaze only sharpened, his grip on the quill tightening in a way that made Oscar worry he was about to strike. He threw his free hand up in surrender, eyes wide.

“Wait wait— please don't prick me, mate— I'll…I'll move my hand, okay?” He glanced nervously towards the big bird that was still perched on his chest, though it seemed to have no interest in the borrowers. It was hardly even looking at Oscar, only acting as a weight to keep him down.

Really it wasn't very heavy— the reason Oscar hadn't sat up was because he didn't want the bird to freak out and he didn't want to knock the borrower threatening him onto the floor by doing so either.

He hesitated again, before slowly moving his hand away from where it had been protectively curled over Sammy's form. He had made sure not to outright grab her, or even touch her, simply having made a shelter for her under his cupped hand which he was now removing.

Oliver's grip on his weapon of choice relaxed slightly as he saw the hand move away, noting that Sammy didn't seem hurt by the grab. Not that he could say that for sure without going up close…

“Gale, keep an eye on him.” He commanded simply with a short whistle accompanying his words. The buzzard immediately snapped to attention again, its eyes zeroing in on the human with intensity.

Oscar watched as the tiny man turned and dropped to the ground off of his chest as if he wasn't even there. He could feel his blood still rushing in his ears as he stared, and eventually his eyes met the bird's again. He flinched slightly.

“Uh… nice bird?” All he got was a screech in response, so he laid his head back on the grass and swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts again.

Sammy was still having trouble with the suddenness of the situation. She had no time to think about whether she wanted Oliver to know about her escape or not— it was just something she now had to deal with. And she…really didn't want to.

She hadn't seen Oliver in years, and he hadn't seen her. Sammy was painfully aware of how different she probably looked now; what with all her scars and her long hair she had been so fond of when she was younger was now nowhere to be seen. Some part of her felt ashamed over her appearance… afraid of his reaction.

She was still recovering from the shock of Oscar's hand coming to shield her, and now she was dealing with another much more stressful event… it had barely been any time since she escaped.

I don't want to do this right now. What am I supposed to tell him? He's going to ask me about where everyone else is, but…

As she saw her cousin slide down the side of Oscar's puffy jacket and head in her direction she bristled, instinctively looking around for some sort of escape. Taking a step back, she felt her mind spiralling as the thought crossed her mind that she missed the safety of Oscar's hand.

Safety?? What is wrong with me? It might not be a threat now, but it's definitely not safe…

Oliver took notice of the unease, and as much as he wanted to run over and scoop Sammy up into his arms and hold onto her tight— I'm never letting her go again— he could see that his sudden approach was causing her discomfort. He stopped, trying not to let that hurt.

He glanced back towards the red haired human again, seeing that he was still laying there, docile. His hand had been covering Sammy, not harming her, and it seemed that this human was around the same age as her. It's unlikely that he is a threat. But how he and Sammy met is a mystery…

He kept his guard up just in case. Especially as he noticed that Sammy's ankle was freshly bandaged.

“You're hurt.” It wasn't a question. Oliver had spent so long searching everywhere in the hopes that his aunt and cousins were alive, but he found nothing. Part of him had begun to accept that they were dead, but most of him just wanted to find them safe.

She was not safe. She was covered in scars, dressed in rags, and Oliver's aunt and Tanner were nowhere to be seen. His fists clenched at his sides, anger at whoever hurt his cousin, whoever killed his uncle, and possibly more.

Oliver took a deep breath, putting a reassuring smile on his face and relaxing his posture. He took slow steps forward, undoing his fur cloak and taking it off. Sammy would get sick standing out in the winter air so unprotected.

“I can see you're shivering… come on. You don't have to tell me anything right now, alright? Let's just get you somewhere safe and warm.”

Once he had finally bridged the distance between them he wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and fastened it before stepping back again. Now that he was closer he could see more clearly the extent of her injuries… but she was in one piece.

“You…you have a bird..?” Sammy asked, shooting a cautious glance in Gale's direction whilst also snuggling into the warm cloak. She stood with one foot on the other, shifting constantly, clearly cold. Oliver's smile faltered at the sight.

I need to get her inside.

Oliver whistled and Gale immediately landed beside him in response, causing Sammy to stumble back in surprise, yelping. Oliver took notice of how the human's hand twitched and moved closer, not needing to turn around to know he was sitting up. The shadow over them was enough of a warning.

“This is Gale. She's well-trained…she is supposed to tell me when borrowers are in the area so I can go check on them. She spotted you, and so I decided to take a look and…well.” Oliver turned and looked up at the red-haired human, brows furrowing. “I thought you might be in danger.”

Oscar was looking down at the borrower, and yet he couldn't help but feel intimidated by his gaze. Unlike Sammy, this man seemed to have no fear towards him. If anything he was suspicious.

He swallowed again, sensing that he was not supposed to speak, but still remaining wary of the giant bird that was only inches away from his soulmate.

Sammy shook her head, shooting an anxious glance in Oscar's direction now before meeting Oliver's gaze once more.

“Well… I guess I kind of was in danger—”

Oliver took hold of his quill again at her words, brandishing it again, keeping Sammy behind him. He knew he was acting hastily, but when facing down the possible murderer of several family members it was hard to remain completely calm. He glared up at the human.

He is young. It shouldn't be difficult to scare him off… And hopefully dissuade him from capturing borrowers in the future. I'll have to start monitoring him.

“Woah woah..!” Oscar leaned back in surprise, his heart dropping. Sammy still thinks that—?

“Wait!” Oliver stopped as he felt a cold hand on his shoulder, not taking his eyes off of the human but also taking on a less aggressive stance. Sammy continued. “I-it's not him— he's… he saved me. We…came here to avoid the danger.”

As much as she was still wary of Oscar, she knew he was helping her and she didn't want her cousin to fight him. Not just because she didn't want Oscar to get stabbed…but because she wasn't sure if he would hurt Oliver in return.

Oliver hummed, relaxing immediately, attaching the quill to his back again.

“I see.” He cleared his throat and offered a hand in the human's direction. “Thank you for saving my cousin. I apologise for my brash reaction. My name is Oliver.”

Still reeling from the sudden switch, Oscar looked nervously at the quill that had been sheathed once more before meeting the borrower's gaze. He smiled but it looked more like a grimace. Holy shit that could have gone downhill fast.

Hesitantly, he reached down and pinched his tiny hand between two fingers, marvelling at how it disappeared in his grip. He swallowed down his nerves, trying to put the hostility that had been thrown his way behind him as he gently shook the tiny man's hand.

“Y-yeah, mate…it's fine. I'm Oscar…”

Releasing that tiny hand again, his lips pursed as he realised he was kind of looming over the two. To correct that, Oscar lay down again, this time on his stomach, as much as his head was spinning over the idea that his eyes were now within perfect pecking range.

Sammy met his gaze and tilted her head as if to ask if he was okay. Oscar bristled, before giving a small silent nod, his cheeks heating up slightly.

Oliver looked between the two again, raising an eyebrow at the silent display.

“You said you're avoiding danger, yes? Where are you planning to go? In my experience, the humans of this city rarely take shelter in the woods, only doing so for recreational reasons. And although you have some supplies with you…” He looked Oscar up and down. “I see no tent.”

Oscar glanced at his bag of supplies when he called attention to it, nodding.

“Uhh— that abandoned cabin, just east of here? We were just gonna hide out there. I haven't really thought past that to be completely honest.” He explained, gesturing vaguely towards what he thought was probably east— but he was still pretty disoriented from the sudden tumble earlier so it could very easily be any other direction.

Oliver perked up, before snapping his fingers.

“Ah. I remember you. You come here with that blonde boy— Freddie, I believe?” Oliver always kept an eye out for newcomers in the forest, and he had noticed two boys that came pretty regularly. Although he usually didn't keep an eye on humans past making sure they weren't straying too close to his crops, he'd had a close encounter with the boys once before.

“Huh? You uh… you've watched us?” Oscar suddenly felt a bit embarrassed. The whole reason he and Freddie chose to come to this forest was because of the privacy— he had had many serious chats and cries with his friend, and the thought that it wasn't actually private felt…uncomfortable.

Oliver shook his head quickly, waving a hand as if to physically dispel his discomfort.

“No no. I never stuck around, I only spotted you on a few occasions and then returned to my burrow. Although you did end up almost catching me once, when I was harvesting the berries from my garden… About 5 or 6 years ago?” He smiled almost fondly.

It had been quite startling at the time, when he was tangled up in the branches of a blackberry bush after two humans started picking from it whilst he was still among the leaves. Luckily he was unharmed, and he never ended up being seen or caught because he was obscured by leaves; not to mention blending in with his green clothes and dark complexion.

He had also been a little frustrated when all of the ripe blackberries were taken, leaving him with none left over… but his mild annoyance faded quickly seeing the human boys’ joy as they consumed the sweet berries; laughing with each other and just being kids.

Oscar blinked. He could vaguely remember eating blackberries whilst in this forest many years ago…

“Oh shit. Those were from your garden? Sorry about that…” He responded sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pretty sure we did it a few more times too…”

Oliver chuckled, quickly warming up to the human despite his initial suspicion and hostility.

“You did. But I had plenty left over from when you two didn't pick them, so it didn't affect me much.” He assured.

Sammy looked between her cousin and her soulmate, brows furrowing with confusion and growing frustration. The more confused she felt the more bothered she was by the interaction. She was glad that they weren't at each other's throats, yes, but why was Oliver acting so casual with Oscar?

She knew that her experiences had given her a much more visceral reaction to humans, but Oliver was being unusually friendly. The borrower rules clearly stated that borrowers should not speak to humans— and yes she was breaking that rule but at least she had reason to.

The more she watched the interaction, the more overwhelmed she felt by it. She didn't understand it at all.

Shaking her anxieties away, she shivered as she looked up at Oscar again. As hesitant as she was to ask, the cold was starting to sting, biting at her feet that were planted on the frosty soil.

“I-I'm cold…can I go back in your pocket..?” She asked shakily. Asking a human for something was a very vulnerable position; because it told them what she wanted and allowed them to refuse it or even worsen her situation… but she hoped Oscar would prove himself to be different, even if she was uncertain.

Both sets of green eyes focused on her again and Sammy couldn't help but shrink in on herself. Why am I the only one who's scared? I'm not crazy…

“Right, of course. Sorry, Sammy… I meant to offer you just that earlier but getting hit by a bird is preeetty distracting.” Oscar apologised, his expression filling with concern seeing how she was shivering and retreating into herself. Something else is bothering her…

He sat up slowly then lowered his hand, setting it palm up on the ground and keeping it steady. Sammy took a breath to mentally prepare herself before limping on. Oscar winced when he felt her cold feet make contact with his bare skin— they felt like ice and his fingers instinctively twitched despite his efforts.

Raising his hand up to his coat pocket, he watched and made sure she was settled into the pocket just fine before actually moving around again, feeling guilty for leaving her in the cold for so long.

He stood up slowly and stretched, before looking down at Oliver, tilting his head.

“Wanna come with? I mean…you are cousins, so I figured you must want to talk and stuff…” He offered, using his thumb to point in the direction the cabin would be. Now that he had his bearings back, he realised he had indeed gestured in the wrong direction earlier.

Sammy bit back a groan as she overheard this. As terrible as it felt to think, she didn't want to talk to Oliver right now. So much had happened and was happening— the last thing she needed was to sit down and explain to someone she admired that everyone he loved was dead and now there was a crazy doctor hunting her.

Still, saying this out loud wasn't something she could do either, and she knew Oliver would accept Oscar's offer.

“That would be appreciated, yes. I'll meet you both there then, I just need to fetch something from my burrow.” Oliver responded, craning his neck up to look at the red-haired human, a polite smile on his face. Oscar nodded, taking a step back as he waved.

“Sick. Alright, see you there.” He turned and started walking in the direction of the cabin, hearing the sound of a whistle and watching as the buzzard, Gale, took flight again; presumably with Oliver riding on its back. Oscar couldn't help but watch in awe, his stride stopping momentarily just to watch the bird fly away.

As he resumed his pace he glanced down at his pocket, seeing that Sammy was only shivering a little now as she was warming up. Her expression was determined and contemplative, buried in the warm fur cloak she had been lent. He smiled slightly before turning his gaze forward, focusing on the destination.

Being a badass must be genetic.

[lemotmo]

They're in complete meltdown 🤣🤣🤣. She posted multiple questions at once, I sent everything. They're so bad at this 🤣. Enjoy!

Q. I have a college degree I am more than capable of comprehending the media I consume, certainly more than you are. I know what I'm watching when it comes to Tommy. Tim only came at us so you all would stop running to him crying.

Q. Love how wanting more of and for Tommy makes us the bad guys. You all are so pathetic. Tim's no better, he should have told you all to grow up.

Q. You all are so afraid of Tommy taking Eddie's place on the show and your desperation is showing. We all know Ryan's only there because Tim thinks he's hot.

Q. Tim should be embarrassed by that interview. How immature to call out your audience because we rightly told you that you weren't giving us what we wanted. He brought Tommy in he doesn't get to be upset when we tell him he isn't using him correctly.

A. I posted all of these together because this is what mine and many other ask boxes look like tonight. I will answer these questions jointly instead of one at a time. I want to first point out to all of you that you once again tattled on yourselves. You all seem to have a bad habit of doing that. First tattle was that you all clearly understood that you were who Tim was talking about. The second tattle was the one where we all said Buck didn't matter to you, and these questions prove us right. Buck isn't mentioned in any of these asks. The other thing these asks did though, and I'm positive you all weren't aware you were doing it, is confirm that you are indeed aware of the story the show is actually telling. Pretty sure you all didn't mean to let that little mask slip. Whoops. I do want to address the first ask for a minute though because, anon surely you aren't implying that a college degree is required to be on Tumblr.com discussing fictional television characters? The only qualification required is show/character knowledge (you know that thing many of you don't actually have). But if this is a personal dick measuring contest with me I have a double major in journalism and public relations and my minor was in political science. Does that qualify me to talk about Buck and Eddie being fond of one another? Or Tommy not being the right guy for Buck? What degree is required to be qualified to participate in fandom?

With that out of the way, let's jump straight into the interview since it's what set you all off. We need to acknowledge right away that Tim has spent his entire career dealing with fandoms. Buffy, 911, Lonestar. The man has seen some fandoms. The fact that he said he has never seen anything this ugly should embarrass and alarm you. I know it doesn't do either of those things, but it should. It's also probably very confusing for him because Tommy is very obviously being written as temporary so I'm sure this entire thing has taken him by surprise. But let's start at the beginning. Tommy came into the show at a clear disadvantage, and as a result many things needed to break perfectly in his and his fans favor for him to have any hope of moving the needle on the original storyline. One, everyone important involved in creating the show is firmly in the other ships camp. He needed to convert some pretty important people, that doesn't appear to have happened. Two, his scene partner on the show, Oliver, is also firmly in the camp of the other ship (he is in fact co-president of their fanclub), he needed him to at least be open to the idea of this relationship semi long-term. That very clearly didn't happen. Oliver checked out immediately following episode 6. He has been crickets ever since. Third, he needed a significant portion of the audience, a significant portion, to vocally become Tommy fans. That also didn't happen. He made a fandom dent of his own, and some of you all certainly tried very hard to appear to be many different viewers, but, again, you ratted yourselves out, so that plan didn't work. Lou needed all three of those dominoes to fall in his favor and he went 0 for 3. On top of that the fans that he did amass were described by Tim today in a very unflattering way. And that's putting it politely.

I will even give you the benefit of the doubt and say that the joint interview they sent him and Oliver on was testing the waters (it wasn't but I'm giving you the benefit for argument sake). If that had actually been a test, it was a massive failure. The only thing that interview accomplished was confirming their mutual disinterest in one another. They both tried for a brief minute but neither one was committed enough to the bit to really make an effort. Oliver's season long lack of even being interested in pretending was a death nail even if anyone behind the scenes was willing to think about it. What will be interesting to see is how long he actually sticks around for this season. Because I now believe it will be shorter than they probably ended season 7 thinking it would be. He was never going to be anything major, but I do think once they slowed the original storyline down they had plans to keep him for at least 8a, maybe a bit longer. Now I think he'll be lucky to make 3 episodes. There's a growing part of me that wouldn't be surprised if they did in fact decide to go the off screen breakup route. I raise that theory by suggesting they only released that deleted clip because they needed the audience aware that conversation took place, because it's going to be referenced in a scene in either episode one or two. I still believe the show needs him for at least a couple of scenes. Technically they could have Buck narrate why they broke up, but Buck is a notoriously unreliable narrator. Especially when it comes to himself. He'll paint himself as the bad guy, and this break-up doesn't need a bad guy. It's being written as a bad FIT. There's a difference. But if Tim, or especially ABC, believes Lou ended up causing more trouble than he was worth (he did) they'll cut their loss and explain the break-up and reasoning behind it (that's the part they need Tommy for) another way. It can be done though, it just won't be as cohesive as actually using Tommy to show it. In short, anons, the only thing Tim's interview today confirmed was that Lou's cameo nonsense did in fact create a mess that Tim, and company, are not at all happy about. Congratulations you played yourselves.

On a side note I didn't address the Eddie ask because you all have spent the entire off-season trying to hijack his entire character history to turn into Tommy's backstory. I think that proves who's actually afraid of who. And Ryan is hot. Tim is so valid for thinking that, but it's not the reason he has the job. But you knew that already.

I must admit that the OP has more patience than me. I got so angry seeing those questions she got in her askbox. I would have probably ended up deleting a bunch of them.

That being said, I love this answer so much. I agree 100% with everything here.

I think this deserves another one of these:

Thank you Nonny for dropping this in my inbox!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting these anon OP updates instead of reblogging. Don't get mad at me. There is a reason for it and it's all done with consent from the OP. You can find out more about that here.

Remember, no hate in comments or reblogs. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of the anonymous OP’s posts, you can find all of their posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[aquickstart]

ok sure i'll talk about farleigh start. i'll talk about his tragedy of never being enough as it were and then having to deal with fucking oliver. sure. disclaimer: it's about class (and race) and the horrible reality of the rich. the horrible reality of living as farleigh.

another disclaimer: i'm white! and poc definitely pick up on everything i'm talking about here as it is, and better. i was and am specifically interested in farleigh vs. oliver but it's impossible to examine without considering race. definitely let me know if anything abt this sucks!

farleigh and oliver are similar. it's annoying because every intruder that is not himself is annoying, partly because felix's attention swaying from farleigh is dangerous; there is always a threat of being discarded, even if no precedent existed. the potential is terrifying.

but you'd think he's seen this before, every summer (if venetia is telling the truth) or at least often enough to learn to recognize it fast, so he should know this will pass. part of it is i think still the deep anxiety, and i think he hated every boy that was there before, and it is sort of routine.

but definitely a huge factor in farleigh's annoyance is the fact that he's a biracial (black for cattons, that's all they see) man in a white rich household. he's alert and exhausted all the time. of course he's angry at oliver, regardless of whether he's the first to crash at saltburn for the summer or the fifty-first.

but the important thing is this.

farleigh is very jealous of and angry and pissed at oliver because farleigh sees all the similarities between them. outsider, in financial trouble, whatever it is, in need of cattons; and yet oliver is preferred. and farleigh seems to be the only one to really consider it. felix does not pick up on the hint when farleigh brings up the birthday party vs. his mother. felix's clumsy "different or... anything like that" is as much about race as it is about class, of course. the "we've done all that we can" bit is felix absolving himself of guilt because surely they had, surely the mysterious collective cattons that he's not really part of had tried all they could do. to him, farleigh is different from oliver, because farleigh has been helped. felix is rich and white and twofold uncomfortable with farleigh, even if he's nice about it, even if he genuinely enjoys his company; he doesn't look too close at farleigh because he feels too guilty to come too close. and farleigh can't do anything about it. he can't nice himself into it. the fucking tragedy of him is that he's never enough in the world of the ultra-rich white, even if (especially because!) he's born into it.

farleigh is very pissed at oliver because farleigh also sees all the differences between them. you know who can be nice poor white enough to fit in? fucking oliver. felix says "just be yourself, they'll love you" when oliver first moves in. farleigh was also probably told the same thing, and felix also probably believed that farleigh could just be himself, but even if the cattons were magically not racist at all (impossible), it wouldn't make a difference to farleigh. he would still self-censor, keep in check, be in dangerous waters (because racism is not just about the individual, but about the system). we see that he'd won himself leeway by years of trial and error by the way he speaks to the family, but it's still within the boundaries of acceptable, built by the cattons. he's part of them because they allow it, and farleigh is very, very aware.

the annoying thing is oliver can be himself. like, truly, genuinely, he can just be. and farleigh can't help but envy that.

as a side note, oliver is obviously jealous of farleigh in the beginning as well, because regardless of the reality of farleigh's situation, he was born into it, and hence, at least in oliver's mind, has his position solidified. oliver's whole thing is unquenchable thirst and hunger for whatever and everything the cattons have (including themselves!). he wishes to have been a catton from birth. to oliver, at first, there's nothing farleigh can really do to lose it. and until he figures out the cattons completely, he can't help but envy that.

but i think farleigh senses something different about oliver early on. at least on the level of the text, we have "you're almost passing [for] a real, human boy", which is so important because farleigh is the first to point out oliver's weirdness. the next to do so is venetia in the bath scene calling him a freak, but it's too late. farleigh is too early.

and i like to think he clocks oliver too early because he sees the jagged edges that he recognizes in himself. i think that one other thing that farleigh envies is oliver's freedom to let go. freedom to let go is very similar to freedom to be, but not quite the same.

to be is about perception: farleigh knows he cannot fall out of line, but would like to, and oliver does not have to worry about it at all (i mean, he does, because oliver also performs for felix, but farleigh doesn't know that).

to let go is about the self: farleigh is too scared to even want what oliver eventually does, to even consider the possibility. oliver can let himself want. oliver can let himself act. oliver just can do things and want things. i'm not sure farleigh can.

and so in this scene, when oliver's wants and actions have landed him nowhere with farleigh, felix, venetia, the cattons, of course farleigh gloats. he can let himself do that, because if the cattons are slowly discarding him, farleigh can allow himself this one small victory. he's relieved because despite the dangerous similarities, oliver is, thankfully, not really the same as farleigh, right?

but like. this movie is a love letter to all things gothic. oliver is a white man. he prevails. the brief performance that oliver put on did eventually end up more effective than farleigh's lifetime of constraint. my heart fucking breaks for him to be honest.

the issue that remains is the fact of farleigh's survival. i like to think that oliver came to respect him. oliver is smart, but farleigh is clever. he picks up on everything oliver does (to refer back to the karaoke scene, farleigh immediately retaliates in the cleverest way, in the moment), and he's the only one to do so consistently (venetia, again, for example, comes close, but too late; oliver doesn't like that, there's nothing to work with). hence, stay with me for a little longer, the paradox: farleigh survives because he was never enough for the cattons, but he is very worthy of oliver's attention. in his own freaky way, oliver wants him. look at that.

so. farleigh. farleigh might come back. he always comes back. and i think oliver wants to try harder next time.

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with Interview Magazine (2024)

Before he was known as the dashing Lord Anthony Bridgerton or Tim Laughlin, the character in Fellow Travelers for which he won a Critics Choice Award earlier this month, Jonathan Bailey caught the attention of Phoebe Waller-Bridge with his confident, self-possessed audition for her show Crashing nearly a decade ago. “You came in like a fireball,” said the Fleabag star on Zoom with Bailey, recounting how, while reading for the role of the sex-obsessed Sam, Bailey asked permission to lay his script out on the floor in front of him like a rainbow. “You had no embarrassment. You didn’t actually refer to it again, but you took those few seconds to just completely set up what you exactly needed for that audition, and then you were so free.” In the years since, with roles in Bridgerton, the Showtime drama Fellow Travelers, and the upcoming Wicked movie adaptation, Bailey has become one of the most sought-after actors in the business, capable of generating sparks with whoever’s on screen with him. Waller-Bridge attributes this to the 35-year-old’s distinct understanding of tension. “You’re like a chemistry machine,” she gushed. “There’s this incredible erotic energy that people are so excited about.” Last week, from a hotel room at Claridge’s in London, Bailey talked to Waller-Bridge about longing, orgasms, frosted tips, nostalgia, Shakespeare, and his very first role: playing a raindrop in a stage production of Noah’s Ark.

PHOEBE WALLER-BRIDGE: Hi.

JONATHAN BAILEY: Hi.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I’m taking my glasses off. Now I can be real.

BAILEY: I’ve just had a gin and tonic, actually. I had a meeting and he really wanted a glass of Whispering Angel, so I was like, “Well, I’ve got to dive in.”

WALLER-BRIDGE: What’s the time there?

BAILEY: Oh, I’m literally around the corner from you. Literally, I’ve come into Claridge’s Hotel and checked in for an hour just to have a Zoom.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Oh, god. That’s so chic. Jonny, I want all of your secrets.

BAILEY: I feel like you’ve got quite a few of them already.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I do, actually. And we’re not going to talk about any of those. But I did also get to do a little bit of research on you.

BAILEY: Oh, god. What have you got?

WALLER-BRIDGE: Jonathan Stewart Bailey, I’d like to jump straight in with the fact that the first professional job you had was playing a teardrop, or a raindrop?

BAILEY: There were teardrops, but yeah, I was playing a raindrop.

WALLER-BRIDGE: You were a crying raindrop.

BAILEY: A crying raindrop in Noah’s Ark.

WALLER-BRIDGE: And how old were you then?

BAILEY: I think I was about 5 going on 29. I was really upset because it didn’t rain. The bitch that played Noah, she forgot the cue for the rain to come. So my dance didn’t make it, but at the end of the show they allowed me to do it once everyone had applauded.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I asked you that specifically because you’ve also said that your grandmother took you to see a production of Oliver in London and that’s what changed everything.

BAILEY: Yes.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So was the raindrop before or after that? I am getting to something, I promise.

BAILEY: I think it was probably afterwards. I was really young when I went to see Oliver.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I’m interested because I read that seeing it made you decide you wanted to perform. Can you tell me the specific thing that made it click?

BAILEY: I’ll tell you, the most bizarre thing is that I had three seasons at the RSC under my belt by the age of nine. There was a moment where I played Prince Arthur, the kid in Shakespeare who gets his eyes gouged out and has to escape a turret. I remember doing that production and thinking I was aware of the power of words, if that makes sense. You’re so porous at that age, I think. It is such a gift, isn’t it, to be shown what iambic pentameter is.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you still feel passionate about Shakespeare now?

BAILEY: I do, actually. It’s my dirty, filthy habit.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Your dirty little habit. I know what you mean, though, how if you come to it quite raw, and it’s not something that you’ve had shoved down your throat at school, there is nothing more epic and spectacular.

BAILEY: And being around people who are just so committed to their vocation, whether they’re writing or creating. The smell backstage at the RSC at the Barbican was like cigarettes, stage makeup, Joe Fiennes, and hope.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s a lot of beautiful smells you’ve got going on there.

BAILEY: I know. Talk about top notes and bottom notes. I was like, “These men, these titans of theater!”

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s extraordinary that you were exposed to that kind of level of professionalism. Because you are consummately professional, and I remember that. You have this incredible ability to be completely live and spontaneous and wild at the same time as being so incredibly professional, and that’s why working with you felt totally safe. I know that I’ve got a professional actor coming today, but I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen because you still managed to keep that spontaneity and danger.

BAILEY: I suppose it’s sometimes dangerous. Today I had to do an interview. Crashing came up and I described working with you as being on the constant edge of an orgasm and also hysteria.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It did have a kind of wild, beautiful energy.

BAILEY: There’s a chemical alchemy when you get the right group of people led by the right people.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I haven’t had that in quite the same way since, where everyone has equal importance in the story. That’s the thing that feels quite rare, actually, there’s like six of you and they’re all as fucked up as each other. I remember your audition. You came in like a fireball and you already felt like you had a Sam energy. You sat in your chair, took out your script from your bag, and then you were like, “Give me a second,” and you laid out your script around you on the floor. You had no embarrassment about what you needed or in front of you. You didn’t actually refer to it again, but you took those few seconds to just completely set up what you exactly needed for that audition, and then you were so free. And I just wonder if you’ve felt that particular type of confidence your whole life?

BAILEY: That’s a really good question. I’ve got three older sisters and I wonder if they are a structure. I’ve definitely been in environments where I don’t feel free, and then you give the worst performance of your life. What I’ve found in the last few years is that, of course, you have to adapt so quickly to work out what you need in order to be able to be free. I think if I don’t have the equivalent of that on the floor, I panic or get really scared.

WALLER-BRIDGE: There’s something about that, which is being able to play dangerously in a safe environment. I feel like that’s got so much to do with an understanding of tension, which I think you have. You’re like a chemistry machine. Obviously, with Bridgerton and then in Fellow Travelers, there’s this incredible erotic energy that people are so excited about.

BAILEY: I really think it comes from Crashing.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It doesn’t come from Crashing, it comes from you. I think you’re the king of tension. I think you understand what that is.

BAILEY: I think you can give yourself butterflies, can’t you?

WALLER-BRIDGE: Is that what you’re looking for, the butterfly all the time?

BAILEY: Yeah, I’m always looking for my butterfly farm. The misty, slightly smelly greenhouse full of butterflies.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s your tummy?

BAILEY: Yeah, that’s my tummy.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Did you always dream of playing leading man roles growing up?

BAILEY: Not at all, no. I never thought I would be able to.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Why?

BAILEY: I’ve realized that I’m completely in awe of other people and performances and creative endeavors. I go to the theater and I love a performance and I’m like, “How do they do that? I can’t see the seams.” So therefore, I feel like I must be driven by that. And when something comes my way, there’s a fear that it won’t work.

WALLER-BRIDGE: What’s really exciting to me is when I see palpable dynamics between characters, which you have done multiple times, like the relationship between Tim and Hawk. There’s so much opportunity for intimacy and that kind of danger. And when you get to play those sorts of roles, when you know that you can stand in front of each other and you don’t really need to do anything because it’s giving you something, it must’ve just been a joy walking into this world because it’s like a banquet of stuff to play with, right?

BAILEY: Totally, and it feels sort of vital and sexy. I do remember this one memory, which I guess I’ll share with you now. I did play and there was a tiled wall,at eye level with a mirrored border around. And there was a guy, we were into each other, and I remember just looking up in the middle of a conversation and he was looking at me in a reflection. And I was like, “This is what life is about.” Anyway, I think that it must have something to do with feeling the most alive in that.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you know Esther Perel?

BAILEY: Yeah, I love Esther Perel.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So she’s written about how she believes that your next orgasm begins at the very end of your last one, which is basically our whole life just building up to our next orgasm.

BAILEY: That’s just fantastic. It’s just so positive and hopeful—

WALLER-BRIDGE: And so beautiful, isn’t it?

BAILEY: It is.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Everything that you encounter in your life, every conversation that you have, is in some way building up to the next euphoric physical experience. Every single character has to have that inside them one way or another, because every human does. And I think with Fellow Travelers, because you long for them so much as an audience and you want them to have everything that they want from each other, but they’re also brutal to themselves and to each other, there is something so extraordinary seeing characters in that time portrayed in the way that you guys have portrayed them.

BAILEY: One thing that we’re all born with is the sense of longing. Longing comes before anything else, doesn’t it? Whoever you put on the wall, laminate the poster or whatever, it’s there. And actually, if you long for someone, more often than not you don’t think you are worthy of it. And that, to me, is a way into characters.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you remember your laminated poster longing person?

BAILEY: I think I had the Simpsons, which was obviously me trying to disguise myself as much as possible. Lucy Liu was a big one for me, too.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Well, I can see that.

BAILEY: I suppose there’s the laminated wall in my literal bedroom and then there’s the laminated wall in my gay—

WALLER-BRIDGE: Mind.

BAILEY: Who was yours?

WALLER-BRIDGE: You know what? It’s really interesting, because I was the eagle in the Rescuers Down Under. That wasn’t necessarily a sexual longing, but it was a romantic idea, that overwhelming sense of watching the Rescuers Down Under and being able to run out of the back of my house on my own, age 10, and jump onto the back of a giant eagle and he’ll fly me around. But in terms of just a hottie that I really fancied, I think it was probably Leo [DiCaprio].

BAILEY: Oh, yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Are you a nostalgic person?

BAILEY: Yes, I think so. I think a lot about my younger self. I’m always like, “Guys, remember this?” It’s slightly annoying, but I’m always drawing a line between the past and now for sure.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s how you measure your life, by remembering the time that’s gone by or what 11-year-old you would think of what you were doing?

BAILEY: I think I’m probably more romantic than nostalgic, if that makes sense.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Go on.

BAILEY: Well, I just think I’ve fully committed to the idea of everything being brilliant and then I work backwards from there.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Well, having starred in two hit period dramas and also being a huge part of the fact that they are a hit, that’s why I wondered about what your relationship is with the past and history, and how much you actually knew about McCarthy America?

BAILEY: Oh, no. Have you got a quiz?

WALLER-BRIDGE: I actually don’t. Do you want one?

BAILEY: No, that would be the worst.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you enjoy historical novels? Do you live in the past in any way in your mind? Or you are kind of like, “We’re here and we’re moving forward?”

BAILEY: I do think I’m here and moving forward. I really struggled with history at school, I could not take in information about the past. When it came to exams, I would remember the page where things were written but I couldn’t stitch together epochs and eras and kings.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It crashes my brain, too. I have a friend, and you can say to her, “June 24th, 1999,” and she can tell you pretty much what she was up to.

BAILEY: That’s amazing.

WALLER-BRIDGE: You can see her go into the diary in her mind. She has a very different wiring of her brain. But speaking of longing, are there any fictional or real life couples, gay or straight, that captured your heart over the years?

BAILEY: Oh my god, what a question. What about Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling in Blue Valentine?

WALLER-BRIDGE: I think Morticia and Gomez Addams were the most romantic couple.

BAILEY: Yeah, I see that.

WALLER-BRIDGE: They understood it. They got it all.

BAILEY: Also maybe Ryan and Marissa in The OC.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Any gay male couples that you ever looked up to or were romanced by?

BAILEY: Well unfortunately, there just weren’t that many were there growing up.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So wild.

BAILEY: But I met Matthew Rhys recently, who I just love. And I was thinking about that relationship in Brothers and Sisters. And then there was Queer as Folk. Russell, T. Davies changed the game. So many people owe so much to him just purely for visibility. There is no Tim and Hawk to a 2023 audience without Queer as Folk.

WALLER-BRIDGE: But did you feel frustrated?

BAILEY: Well, speaking of history, I was doing media studies with an amazing teacher and I decided that I was going to do my dissertation about the representations of Hutus and Tutsis and the Rwanda genocide, looking at Hotel Rwanda and Shooting Dogs. And then Brokeback Mountain came out and I was like, “Hang on, how can I possibly create a world where I can go and have a free pass to go to the cinema to watch it 10 times?” I’m really proud of my 17-year-old self, I wasn’t necessarily out, but I changed the topic to representation of homosexuality in Brokeback Mountain and I watched that film 10 times. And this amazing teacher, Dr. Brunton, who probably had an idea of what was going on, was just like, “This is brilliant, keep going, keep going.” And I think it was the best mark I ever got.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you still have it?

BAILEY: It must be on a hard drive upstairs in the attic. And obviously, that completely changed me, something chemical happened there. But it’s funny, I’m not clear on memories. And I do think it’s a common thing for a lot of people, growing up and having to survive and be basically in fight or flight, there’s a murkiness to how I recall.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Of course, because you couldn’t be truly present because you weren’t being completely yourself.

BAILEY: Totally, yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: When you look back and start unpacking it, do you feel overwhelmed with sympathy for how hard you were having to work as a 16-year-old, coming up with excuses to see the movie that you wanted to see?

BAILEY: Yeah. But I spent more time trying to be sympathetic towards the people that were around me who didn’t support or couldn’t help. I look back and I go, “Hell.”

WALLER-BRIDGE: Yes. But you are representing that and living that for so many people now. Your speech at the Critics Choice Awards the other day was so sublime and beautiful and straight from the heart. You are so electric as a human being and that is the most important thing. There aren’t many people in the world that can do that, that can stand there in front of people and speak from their heart about what it means to them to be given this opportunity. And I know that your career is just going to be the most extraordinary journey. When I first met you, I remember sitting with Josh [Cole], who was the producer on Crashing, and we were like, “If we get this guy, it’s going to be the game changer for the show.” And I know that every single person now wanting you on their project is feeling the same thing.

BAILEY: I definitely feel overwhelmed by that, but it’s lovely to hear.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Can I just ask you one question which I couldn’t remember about Crashing?

BAILEY: Yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: The frosted tips were your idea, wasn’t it?

BAILEY: I had this conversation today. I think it’s in the script. But my reference picture was Justin Timberlake in double denim.

WALLER-BRIDGE: No, I don’t think it was [in the script], because Sam’s a character that I hold closest to my heart because, in so many ways, he represents how I feel about maybe my inner life. I just love him so much, and your ability to play every single little corner of him that I dreamed of.

BAILEY: Maybe that’s the answer I was looking for when you asked if I was drawn to any romantic couples? No, it was just about wanting bleach blonde hair.

Source

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

02/12/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Parrot Analytics; Cast & Crew; Kristian Nairn; Nathan Foad; Erroll Shand; Trends and Stats; V-Day Video for Prime; In person events and Watch Party reminders; People of Earth; WooAsACrew; Kudoboard for Cast & Crew Update; Love Notes; Daily Darby; Tonight's Taika; Well folks, it was another busy busy day. I apologize, I'm a bit exhausted today so I'll be making this quicker than normal.

== Parrot Analytics ==

Some Q4 data was released by Parrot Analytics for HBO and Max and as you can probably imagine, this made most of the internet explode. Referencing @adoptourcrew here since they did a great bit of research.

SRC: HBO's Most Popular Shows - hidden behind Paywall

== UK How You Can Help==

Below are actions to do every day to capitalise on #OurFlagBBC! More info below on how to use YouGov. Tumblr

=Cast & Crew Sightings=

= Wee John Wondays ==

I think everyone's favorite part of the day was when Nathan Foad appeared on Wee John Wonday's. He is by far one of the best guests ever.

Please go watch the whole damn live, but if you don't have time right now. Here's a clip from our fabulous friend @edscuntyeyeshadow who recorded it for us, I have just left it on repeat so I can continue to laugh.

A few quotes/highlights in case you can't watch anything right now:

Highlights:

Kristian's Garage Fire

Nathan's Writing

Nathan was VERY sick at the beginning of filming S2, Sick AF and had to learn how to roll and smoke cigarettes.

Nathan was not aware he was on camera when the sandwich hit him in the face.

Gypsy made him a jacket to wear IRL that matched his gorgeous one in the show (Gypsy is the best)

Nathan's favorite scene was the one with Matt Maher with the Art on the Wall.

Kristian's favorite scene was the one with Con O'Neill and asking to put on make up

Quotes:

"NOT TO BE A BIG THING RIGHT NOW BUT I AM" - Nathan

"Sniffed the air like a fox in heat" - Kristian

"You little gay bitch" - Nathan

"Mid town special" - Nathan, as Kristian

"Im a horrible un wanted nipple twister" - Kristian

"Needy puffs" - Nathan

== Erroll Shand ==

As usual our dear friend Erroll is out here really pushing the SaveOFMD material/data.

== Trends and Stats ==

== Valentine's Day Video For Prime ==

It’s Monday, which means it’s time to send Prime Video all our love ! Let’s #WooAsACrew 🐙💜 Vocals: ferventrabbit on Twitter Video: Giulianaazr on Twitter

== Event and Watch Party Reminders! ==

= OFMD Matelotage Processional =

Tues Feb 13: 8-11 am at: Kismet Salon 4111 W Olive Ave. Burbank CA 91505

If you show up-- you get free stickers!

= People of Earth Watch Party =

People of Earth Season 1: Episodes 3 and 4 tomorrow! If you don't have access reachout to @iamadequate1!

10 PM GMT / 5 PM EST / 4 PM CST / 2 PM PST

#PiratesOfEarth

#SaveOFMD

#AdoptOurCrew

= WooAsACrew =

Tue 13: Send @netflix some love!

== Cast & Crew Kudoboard ==

Hey all, I already made a short post about it but the Kudoboard was overrun by some absolute twats today so I had to lock it down with a password. If you'd like to still submit something to the cast and crew that's still doable, you'll just need the pw. Please just DM me here or twitter, or Instagram, or wherever you can find me or the @saveofmdcrewmates folks also have it. We will be sending it off / locking it on Valentine's day early morning so please reach out prior!

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies, I am really low on spoons tonight so I'm gonna let some other folks send you love on my behalf. See you tomorrow, all the love. <3

== Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika ==

Tonight's gifs are courtesy of:

Taika: @chrysalis-writes and Rhys: @thunderwingdoomslayer

Happy Murray Monday and Enjoy tomorrow's Taika Tuesday!

[lenaboskow]

Dear Diary,

Today I learned from Bummy shippers that the writers made Tommy blend into the surroundings of Bucks loft in order to show he will be around for a long time.

Personally, I’d have viewed it as they made him extremely bland and boring to the point of being able to disappear as the background character he is.

I also learned that they want the show to parallel supernatural and have Tommy say I love you to Buck in the episode after the election. The parallel being that was when Castiel said it to dean.

Are they aware I wonder that it ended with Castiel being sent to super hell immediately and permanently, and unrequited by Dean? It’s unclear.

Would I personally mind that fate of Tommy being sent away with an unrequited love? No. But they would probably cry.

We had a sighting of the overlord Oliver today. Someone mentioned Buck and Tommy and he made a….less then pleased face. I was amused.

Someone also mentioned Buck and Eddie, very reminiscent of the other overlord Ryan’s recent “Buck and Eddie thing” his face was one of happiness and joy.

Have the bummy fans figured out the difference between his reactions yet? Unclear as well, but leaning towards no.

I am amazed some of them mange the simplest of tasks like walking through a door, or successfully taking a shower without drowning. My expectations for them to accurately depict a humans facial expressions remains low for this reason.

Well that’s all for now. I’m sure they will come out with some new lessons to teach in due time.

Xoxo- a Buddie fan in hiding.

please let them parallel supernatural and send tommy to superhell please i beg

[misshoneyimhome]

So here’s my post for @callsign-denmark's Birthday Bingo 🤗 Naturally, I had to choose my beloved Frederik Andersen ❤️

I know this is also part of my 500 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL, but I thought, why not combine the two celebrations ✨🥂 I really hope you like it, love! And, of course, HAPPY BIRTHDAY for the 13th 🥳🥳

[In short, this is basically 'just' a series of events that I imagine it could be like dating Freddie - but I still hope it's an enjoyable read]

➼｡ﾟ

Summary: The journey of Frederik and Olive wasn’t as straightforward as Olive had hoped—however, on her wedding day, reflecting on it all, she can’t help but smile as she tells their story 🤍

Bingo; Wedding, “Please stay”, comfort, learning to skate, Free space: heartache

Tropes & warnings; strangers to lovers, soulmates, heartache, fluff, angsty romance, happy ending; some smut 18+ (mildly described), penetrative sex (p in v)

Word count; 8K

➼｡ﾟ

“I am done. I'm done waiting for you." I Freddie Andersen

Present 2025 - The Wedding

Olive rose from her seat, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird in her chest. The soft, elegant fabric of her wedding dress whispered around her ankles as she glanced nervously at the sea of expectant faces before her. This was her moment, her wedding day, yet the spotlight felt uncomfortably bright.

In her hand, the delicate crystal glass held a few sips of champagne, a lifeline amidst her nerves; and beside her, a neatly handwritten speech, its words a testament to the journey she and her new husband had travelled together.

Just as she was about to speak, a reassuring warmth enveloped her; Frederik's hand, familiar and steady, rested gently on her lower back. His touch sent a wave of calm through her, grounding her in the present moment.

"You've got this, min skat," his voice, a soft murmur meant only for her ears, whispered encouragement.

Drawing strength from his presence, Olive closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself a moment to collect her thoughts. Then, with a deep breath, she opened her eyes again, her gaze steady and determined.

“Most of you here have probably already heard the story - or versions of the story - of how Freddie and I met," she began, her voice clear and steady, carrying across the room. "But what many of you don’t know is that, though it was definitely love at first sight, the journey of our love wasn’t exactly a straight path.”

_

Flashback to September 2021

Frederik Andersen had just settled into Raleigh, North Carolina, having joined the Carolina Hurricanes for the upcoming season. The city, with its Southern charm and vibrant hockey culture, presented a new adventure waiting to unfold. And while adjusting to a new place and team was both exciting and daunting, he relished the challenge ahead on the ice. The welcoming nature of the Hurricanes' fans and the supportive atmosphere of the organisation made the transition smoother, yet there was still an underlying pressure to prove himself.

Frederik was a formidable goaltender, and he knew it. With several years in the NHL on his CV, he had earned a reputation for his sharp reflexes, keen game sense, and unwavering composure under pressure. He occasionally allowed himself a pat on the back, reminding himself of his achievements, which included crucial saves in high-stakes games, accolades from his peers, and the respect of coaches and teammates across the league.

However, Frederik was also aware of his veteran status in the sport. At 32 years old, he was no longer among the young talents but counted among the experienced players. The whispers of time's relentless march were growing louder, and he often reflected on his journey: the countless hours of training, the injuries overcome, the sacrifices made. Each scar and accolade told the story of his perseverance and passion for the game.

The physical demands of hockey were always present. Frederik maintained a rigorous training regime, balancing on-ice drills with off-ice conditioning to keep his body in peak form. He worked closely with the team's trainers to ensure he could withstand the gruelling schedule of an NHL season. Despite the toll on his body, his love for the game remained undiminished.

And mentally, Frederik embraced his role as a leader and mentor to younger players. He took pride in guiding rookies, sharing insights from his years of experience, and helping them navigate the challenges of professional hockey. His wisdom and steady presence in the locker room were invaluable, fostering a sense of camaraderie and mutual respect among the team.

Yet, Frederik also found himself contemplating life beyond hockey, recognising the importance of a balanced life.

_

One evening, during a team dinner at one of Raleigh's top restaurants, Frederik found himself momentarily drawn to the bar. The atmosphere buzzed with the chatter of teammates and the clinking of glasses. The restaurant boasted an upscale ambiance and exquisite cuisine, with subdued lighting and elegant decor creating an intimate setting for conversations and laughter.

Approaching the bar, Frederik caught sight of a young woman who immediately captivated him. She moved gracefully, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders as she expertly mixed drinks. There was something mesmerising about her—a quiet confidence that caught his attention.

So, leaning casually against the bar counter, the goaltender offered a soft smile and requested, "A Whiskey Sour, please," speaking gently while subtly admiring the bartender's skilled movements. She responded with a professional smile and nodded, focusing on preparing his drink with practised ease.

And as she worked, Frederik couldn’t help but watch her every move. What started as simply observing a skilled bartender at work felt like watching an entertaining ballet performance, captivated by her beauty.

"Here you go, sir," she said in her gentle, sweet voice, interrupting Freddie’s train of thought as she slid the drink across the bar with a warm smile. "Please, enjoy."

"Thank you," Frederik replied simply, returning her smile before taking a sip of his drink. It was perfect, the balance of flavours just right. He savoured the taste, appreciating the craftsmanship, and allowed himself another moment to enjoy the woman’s captivating grace before returning to his table.

And throughout the evening, the usually composed hockey veteran couldn’t help himself, occasionally stealing glances at the bartender. He was so intrigued by her poise and how effortlessly she handled the bustling crowd. She exuded a calm demeanour, much like himself, as she attended to customers with a friendly manner.

Later that night, as Frederik made his way through the bustling restaurant towards the men's room, he overheard fragments of conversations—a blend of laughter, casual banter, and occasional complaints about the noise. And near the end of the bar, he noticed a waitress and the beautiful bartender fully engaged in a quiet discussion, their voices carrying over the background clamour.

"Ugh, I can't wait until this shift is over. These hockey jerks are so loud," sighed the waitress, deftly balancing a stack of empty glasses, her frustration evident.

The bartender chuckled softly, her voice tinged with amusement despite sharing the waitress's sentiment. "Yeah, seriously. They act like they own the place."

Frederik couldn't help but smile to himself at their candid remarks. It was refreshing to hear such honest commentary amidst the usual polite chatter and flattery he encountered; their authenticity was a stark contrast to the sometimes superficial interactions that came with his status as a professional athlete.

After inadvertently eavesdropping, Frederik continued on his way, the conversation between the waitress and bartender lingering in his mind. Then rejoining his teammates, he engaged in their lively discussions and good-natured teasing throughout the evening.

Yet, as the night progressed and the players prepared to leave, Frederik found himself unable to shake the thoughts of the bartender. Her directness, grace, and quiet confidence had made a profound impact on him. Despite not even knowing her name, he felt an inexplicable urge to discover more about her.

As he was about to leave the restaurant, though, he realised with disappointment that she had already left her post. And as he made his way home, he felt a twinge of regret for not taking action sooner.

_

Flashback continued

About a week later, Frederik found himself at an ice skating rink with some of his new teammates and their family members for an open event before the hockey season started. The rink resounded with laughter, the sharp cuts of skates on ice, and the occasional thud of someone falling. Children wobbled around with their parents' careful guidance, while teenagers zipped across, showing off their skating prowess. The atmosphere was vibrant with infectious joy.

And gliding gracefully across the ice, enjoying the freedom and the cool breeze against his face, Frederik then spotted the bartender again. This time, though, she seemed a bit unsure on the ice, cautiously navigating with a few friends. They held onto each other for support, their faces lit up with both delight and mild apprehension as they tried to maintain balance.

Frederik couldn’t help but feel his heart skip a beat as he recognised her. He watched her for a moment, admiring the sparkle in her eyes and the clarity of her laughter amidst the rink's commotion. He could see her determination as she concentrated on staying upright, a mix of focus and joy that only enhanced her charm.

However, interrupted by Jarvy, Frederik shook his head and refocused on his teammates and friends. But a little while later, after signing several autographs, his mind was elsewhere as he made a few more rounds. Suddenly, he gently collided with someone, his larger frame absorbing most of the impact. Quickly reaching out to steady the person, Frederik's hands were firm yet gentle on their arms.

"I'm so sorry," he apologised reflexively, genuine concern evident in his eyes as he looked down, only to notice it was none other than the bartender he’d been so keen on watching earlier that day.

The bartender smiled sheepishly, her cheeks flushed from the unexpected encounter. "No, it's my fault. I'm just not that great at skating," she admitted, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

Gracefully helping her steady herself, Frederik reminded himself not to let the moment pass. "I'm Freddie, by the way," he quickly introduced himself with a warm smile—perhaps a little too rushed, but he hoped to ease any awkwardness.

The bartender let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, I know," she replied with a hint of playfulness in her voice. "You’re the goaltender for the Carolina Hurricanes."

"Right," Frederik sighed softly, slightly disappointed that this was the only reason she recognised him. Yet, just as he was about to say something else, she spoke again with a smile.

"And you were at the restaurant last week. I remember serving you a drink."

That made Frederik let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah, with the rest of the hockey jerks," he said, recalling her remark, teasing gently and causing her to blush slightly.

"Oh right - gosh, I’m so sorry about that… It's not that we don't like you guys... it’s just… We were just really tired during that shift," she explained, feeling a bit embarrassed as she looked up at him, her eyes sincere.

But Frederik just shook his head. "No need to apologise. I get it," he reassured her, his smile comforting as he admired her honesty and the way she didn't shy away from the truth.

"Anyway, I won’t take up more of your time, Freddie. You’re busy with your hockey stuff—but I am sorry about the collision—and the comment last week," she offered him a smile.

But as she then began to carefully skate away, Frederik couldn't resist calling out, "Wait, what's your name?"

Turning her head, she replied with a smile, "Olive, but my friends call me Liv.”

He watched her rejoin her friends, her laughter and presence still standing out in the crowd. And from that moment on, Frederik found himself thinking about Olive's smile, her easy laughter, and the genuine warmth he felt in her presence.

Similarly, Olive couldn't shake off the impression Frederik had left on her. She had expected him to be like the rest—cocky and self-assured—but instead, she found him surprisingly humble and kind. His gentle demeanour and the way he had treated her with respect and kindness had caught her off guard in the best possible way.

And surprisingly, the universe seemed to conspire to bring them together, causing their paths to casually cross over the next few weeks.

Olive attended her first Hurricanes home game with her hockey enthusiast friends, who had also managed to arrange a meet-and-greet with some of the players for an autograph session before the match. The excitement of the crowd was palpable, and Olive quickly found herself swept up in the fans’ energy.

And naturally, among the players, Frederik was there, who immediately spotted Olive in the crowd. His heart raced as he instinctively made his way over to her, nerves bubbling up unexpectedly as he focused solely on her, ignoring everyone else around him.

"Hey, Olive," he greeted, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

"Oh hi, Freddie," she replied, her eyes sparkling with recognition.

The noise of the crowd softly faded into the background as they connected in a gaze. And completely captivated by Olive's charm, Frederik momentarily forgot his surroundings. She had a way of making him feel at ease, her laughter contagious and her insights thoughtful.

But then her friends approached, their jaws almost dropping as they realised Olive was actually on a first-name - well, nickname - basis with Frederik Andersen.

And Frederik couldn’t help but chuckle at their reaction. Yet, ever the professional, he quickly offered them autographs, followed by Olive taking photos of them. 

“Hey, what about you, Liv?” one of her friends suggested.

“Oh no, that’s okay,” she timidly replied.

Frederik offered her a soft smile, trying his best to hide any hints of disappointment. However, her other friend pressed on and encouraged Olive to stand close to Frederik, prompting him to gently wrap his arm around her. “Come on, Liv! You know you want to.”

Olive felt slightly awkward standing next to the towering goaltender, yet she couldn’t deny how comfortable his presence felt. His body was warm against hers, his hand gently resting on her waist as they both smiled at the camera.

But their moment was fleeting as Frederik was then quickly called away to continue his obligations. Yet, just before parting ways, he gathered his courage and asked Olive out for coffee.

And naturally, she quickly accepted with a smile that lit up the room. They exchanged numbers, and as Frederik then walked away, he felt a sense of excitement he hadn't felt in a long time. The anticipation of their upcoming coffee date filled him with a warmth that stayed with him long after he had left the arena.

_

Flashback to October 2021

Frederik and Olive's first coffee date was nothing short of blissful. They sat across from each other in a cosy café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the warmth of their conversation. The café itself was charming, with exposed brick walls adorned with local artwork and soft jazz music playing in the background. And from the moment they started talking, time seemed to slip away unnoticed.

Frederik was genuinely fascinated by Olive's travels and her passion for writing. He listened intently as she animatedly described her favourite destinations and the stories she hoped to tell through her works. Olive's eyes lit up as she recounted her adventures in Paris, her quiet retreat in a small village in Tuscany, and the bustling markets of Marrakech. She shared stories of the characters she had met along the way, the inspiration they provided for her writing, and her dream of publishing a novel one day.

In return, Olive found herself captivated by Frederik's hockey experiences, his dedication to his craft, and the unwavering support of his family in his success. He shared tales from his childhood in Denmark, where his father first introduced him to the sport, and the journey that led him from local rinks to the NHL. Frederik spoke passionately about the thrill of his first professional game, the camaraderie among his teammates, and the sacrifices he had made to pursue his passion.

And as the evening drew to a close, neither of them wanted the night to end. They lingered outside the café, reluctant to part ways, with the city lights casting a soft glow around them, creating a magical atmosphere. Then with a shy smile, Frederik asked Olive if she would like to meet again.

"Definitely," she replied quickly, her heart fluttering with excitement.

And about a week later, they met for dinner at a quaint restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of Raleigh. The atmosphere was intimate, with flickering candlelight casting a soft glow over their faces as they continued to talk and laugh effortlessly.

The restaurant's rustic charm, featuring wooden beams and vintage décor, added to the sense of intimacy as they discovered common interests and a shared sense of humour that strengthened their connection. They laughed over their mutual love for different cuisines, shared their favourite books and music, and debated quirky action films.

“No way,” Olive insisted. “Die Hard is NOT a Christmas movie.”

Frederik chuckled. “Well, it does take place during a Christmas party, and it’s listed under the category of Christmas classics on Disney+, so… that settles it.”

Olive shook her head. “Well, they seriously need to do some proper research then.”

From the moment they met, Frederik was charmed by Olive's wit and intelligence, while Olive admired Frederik's humility and genuine kindness. Their connection was undeniable, and neither felt any awkwardness or doubt as they spent hour after hour together.

However, as weeks turned into months, the demands of Frederik's hockey season took precedence. His schedule was filled with training sessions, games, and team commitments, leaving little time for leisurely dates and quiet moments with Olive. Days became a whirlwind of practices, strategy meetings, and travel for away games, and Frederik found himself constantly on the move, with little opportunity to catch his breath.

Despite his best intentions, maintaining regular contact with Olive became a challenge. Text messages went unanswered for hours, and plans for meet-ups were often postponed. Frederik knew he was letting her slip through his fingers, but the relentless pace of the season left him torn between his passion for hockey and his growing feelings for her.

Meanwhile, Olive began to feel uncertainty creeping in. While she cherished the moments they had shared and the connection they had formed, she couldn't shake the feeling of being sidelined as the hockey season intensified. She tried to understand Frederik's commitments, but deep down, she couldn't help feeling neglected and unimportant.

Many evenings were spent alone, reminiscing about their time together, and Olive found herself drafting texts to him, only to delete them out of fear of appearing needy and clingy. The growing silence between them became deafening, amplifying her doubts and insecurities.

So, as weeks turned into months, Olive reluctantly started to distance herself emotionally. She convinced herself that their relationship was merely a fleeting romance—a beautiful chapter in her life, but not meant to last. She buried her feelings, telling herself that perhaps Frederik had never felt as strongly for her as she had hoped. Then turning to her writing, Olive used her emotions as fuel for her stories, seeking solace in her creative expression.

Their once vibrant connection began to fade, replaced by a bittersweet ache of what could have been. Despite sensing the shift in Olive's demeanour, Frederik felt powerless to bridge the growing gap between them amidst the demands of his career and the pressures of the season. He missed her laughter, her stories, and the way she grounded him, but changing the situation seemed beyond his control.

And as the hockey season reached its peak, Frederik and Olive found themselves drifting further apart, their love story seemingly slipping away into memories and what-ifs. The initial spark that had brought them together dimmed under the weight of unspoken words and missed opportunities, leaving both with a lingering sense of loss.

_

Flashback to December 2021

As Frederik had finally settled into his role within the team and achieved a better balance between his career and personal life, thoughts of Olive quickly returned to occupy his mind. It had been two months since their paths had diverged, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had let something special slip away. Determined to make amends, he gathered his courage and reached out to her, hoping for an opportunity to reconnect.

To his surprise and relief, Olive agreed to meet him again. She approached this reunion cautiously, wary of opening herself up to potential hurt once more. Despite her reservations, she found herself unable to resist Frederik's gentle persistence and the lingering memories of their time together.

So, for their next outing, Frederik suggested ice skating, eager to make up for their awkward first encounter on the ice. Arriving at the rink with a mix of excitement and nerves, Olive felt a flutter of anticipation as she laced up her skates beside Frederik. He flashed her a reassuring smile, his warm honey-brown eyes filled with determination to make this experience memorable for both of them.

And sensing her slight struggles, Frederik then knelt before her, gently taking over to tie her skates properly. It felt almost like a Cinderella moment for Olive as she gazed down at Frederik, who effortlessly secured the laces. And she couldn't help but feel a rush of affectionate emotions within her.

"There you go," he interrupted her thoughts, looking up with a smile. "All sorted?"

Olive nodded eagerly, "Absolutely."

Then stepping onto the ice, Frederik took Olive's hand in his, his touch tender and supportive as he guided her patiently, explaining the basics of balance and movement. His voice became a comforting backdrop to the sounds of blades slicing through the ice.

Olive chuckled at her initial wobbles, finding reassurance in his encouraging words and steady grip. And as they glided across the rink together, Frederik led with the grace born of years spent on the ice, and Olive followed his lead, gaining confidence with each lap they completed. Their laughter mingled as they shared in the delight of their newfound rhythm, the awkwardness of their first attempt melting away in the warmth of their shared smiles.

After a few laps around the ice, they paused to catch their breath, leaning against the rink's railings. Frederik's eyes sparkled with admiration as he looked at Olive, proud of her progress and the passion she displayed for something he cherished deeply. They exchanged stories and laughter, savouring the simple pleasure of being together again in this moment of shared joy.

And by the end of their date, Olive felt a sense of achievement she hadn't anticipated. Not only had she improved her skating skills under Frederik's patient guidance, but she also felt closer to him than ever before. The spark of their connection had reignited amidst the playful banter and shared triumphs on the ice, leaving them both with a renewed sense of closeness and affection.

As they left the rink, hand in hand, she just couldn’t help but marvel at how Frederik had transformed what could have been a daunting experience into a cherished memory. Once again, she found herself drawn to his easy charm and genuine kindness. Yet, she guarded her heart, reminding herself that they were embarking on a fresh start—a new beginning without expectations of where it might lead.

Frederik felt a deep sense of contentment. The day had surpassed his expectations, not just in reigniting their connection but in reaffirming the bond they shared. So, as they strolled away from the rink, the night air crisp and filled with promise, he suddenly halted and spoke with confidence.

"Hey Liv."

"Yes, Freddie?"

But Frederik didn’t really need to say anything. Instead, with gallantry and genuine care, he simply stole a tender kiss from her—a gesture he had contemplated all day but hadn’t dared to attempt until he was sure she desired him as much as he desired her.

Needless to say, Olive eagerly returned the kiss with equal longing.

Fortunately, their next meeting came less than a week later, and this time it was at a Hurricanes home game in the PNC Arena. The atmosphere was tense as the team faced off against the New York Islanders, but despite their best efforts, the Canes suffered a disappointing loss. The crowd, which had been electric with anticipation all night, now buzzed with the sting of defeat as everyone gradually dispersed from their seats.

Frederik's emotions were raw after the game. He didn’t want Olive to witness his vulnerability so soon after reconnecting, to see him like that. But as she approached him in the corridor with a comforting smile, he couldn't resist the pull of her empathy and genuine care. So, instinctively, he pulled her into a tight hug, seeking comfort in her presence.

"Hey, you did amazing, Freddie," Olive said, looking up at him as he released his arms from around her smaller frame.

"I know," he sighed deeply. "But a loss is still a loss."

Olive tried her best to muster a smile in the face of disappointment. "Well, the good thing about hitting rock bottom is that at least it can't get any worse."

Frederik couldn’t help but let a smile appear on his lips, her words both comforting and amusing. And as they made their way out of the arena, Frederik insisted on driving Olive home, to which she happily accepted. However, neither of them wanted the night to end on a sombre note, so Olive invited him inside her apartment.

The small space was cosy and filled with personal touches—framed photos, shelves lined with books, and soft, ambient lighting that created an inviting atmosphere. And in the quiet intimacy of Olive's living room, they swiftly engaged in heartfelt conversations that ranged from hockey to their deepest aspirations and fears. 

Olive shared her recent writing submission to the local paper, expressing her dreams of building a career beyond bartending and the fears that sometimes held her back. Frederik, in turn, opened up about the pressures of his career, the constant demand to perform, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead after his time in the NHL. 

It was a tender evening marked by sensitive topics, and as their emotions lay bare, their connection only deepened, culminating in a tender kiss.

Surprising even herself, Olive let go of her reservations, allowing their kiss to deepen into something more passionate and consuming. In that moment, their physical desire mirrored the emotional intensity they had both been denying themselves for so long. Each touch and caress spoke volumes of their longing and the bond they shared.

Then with unspoken understanding and mutual consent, they moved to Olive's bedroom, where their bodies eagerly intertwined in an expression that transcended mere physical attraction. Frederik took his time undressing her, studying every curve of her body as his fingers gently explored her smooth skin, gradually exposing more of her.

Meanwhile, Olive found herself unable to suppress her desire for him. Each touch and caress ignited a deeper longing, and as she helped him discard his clothing as well, she savoured the feel of his muscles beneath her palms. 

No words were necessary as their eyes locked in a tender gaze, a profound connection as Frederik positioned himself above her on the mattress. Then without hesitation, he lined himself up with her entrance and eased himself into her, causing moans to escape them both as their bodies joined together. With every movement, every thrust and kiss, the heat between them intensified. Their lovemaking was tender yet passionate, a culmination of deep, raw lust and heartfelt emotions for one another.

As they moved together in sync, quickening the pace and getting closer to the brim of ecstacy, their moans grew deeper and louder, names slipping off their tongues. Then with a few more final pounds, they managed to reach an intense climax together, a rush filling their minds as they breathed heavily and allowed euphoria to take over. 

And in the serene aftermath, nestled in each other's embrace, Frederik and Olive found solace in the warmth of their connection, the steady rhythm of their breathing echoing softly in the room. As they drifted into sleep, intertwined and content, they realised they were no longer merely skirting around their emotions—they were diving headfirst into the depths of a love that had patiently been waiting.

_

Flashback to February 2022

Olive experienced every moment with Frederik Andersen as a whirlwind of emotions and passion. Their dates were filled with laughter, deep conversations, and an increasing sense of closeness that left her breathless. Day by day, she found herself falling deeper in love with him, his presence becoming both comforting and exhilarating in her life.

Their physical connection was undeniable, each touch igniting a fire within her unlike anything she had felt before, as Frederik's tender caresses and passionate embraces brought her to heights of pleasure she had only dreamed of. It was in those intimate moments, she felt a connection that went beyond the physical—a deep bond that whispered promises of forever.

Olive simply found herself completely in love and believed she had found her soulmate in Frederik. She cherished their time together, treasuring every stolen kiss and shared glance as precious moments. In his arms, she felt safe, cherished, and truly alive.

However, Frederik was struggling with his own internal battle. While he cared deeply for Olive, and possibly even loved her, he couldn't ignore the demands of his hockey career. And as their relationship grew, he felt torn between being a devoted boyfriend to her and giving his all to his training and team responsibilities.

So, after navigating this delicate balance for several months, which included sharing meaningful moments during the Christmas season, Frederik came to a painful realisation. He knew that continuing their relationship would mean sacrificing valuable time and focus on his career—a sacrifice he wasn't prepared to make.

And caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, Frederik wrestled with how to best handle the situation. Part of him considered reducing their time together, hoping Olive would understand his need to prioritise hockey. Yet, after agonising over the decision, he ultimately concluded that ending their relationship was the kindest option, sparing Olive from further heartache and disappointment.

With a heavy heart, Frederik then explained to her that he needed to focus on his career and couldn't give her the time and commitment she deserved. 

Olive was completely blindsided by his decision. She had believed their love was deep and meaningful, capable of overcoming ayn challenges including his demanding career. So, naturally, the sudden breakup left her reeling with a mix of anger, betrayal, and heartbreak.

She struggled to understand how their seemingly profound connection could be discarded so easily. In her anguish, she felt deceived and used, convinced that Frederik had viewed her as a temporary distraction—a fleeting amusement with no lasting significance.

Beneath her hurt, anger simmered not only towards Frederik but also towards herself for believing so blindly in a love that seemed one-sided. Rejection wounded her deeply, shaking her self-worth and trust in her own judgement.

Despite the ache in her heart, Olive sought solace in the memories they had created—the laughter, passion, and genuine moments of connection. So, as she navigated the aftermath of their breakup, she made a solemn vow to protect herself from further heartache. She resolved to focus on healing, rebuilding her confidence, and learning to trust again—knowing that with time, the pain would ease and she would emerge stronger.

For now, however, the wound remained raw, and the weight of lost love hung heavily on her soul.

_

Flashback to April 2022

Months passed, and Olive gradually began to mend her broken heart. She tried to distract herself with casual flings and meaningless encounters in an effort to fill the void left by Frederik's abrupt departure. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to move forward, reminders of him persisted in her life.

As the goaltender for the city's beloved hockey team, Frederik Andersen was omnipresent in the media and among her friends, many of whom were avid fans. Olive couldn't escape reminders of him—the sight of his face on billboards, mentions of his name in conversations, and the ache in her heart whenever she watched him play.

Her mornings started with glimpses of him on TV highlights, a reminder of their shared passion for life. During lunches with friends, his name inevitably came up, forcing her to mask her discomfort with forced smiles and polite nods. Evenings brought photos of him on social media, where friends shared moments of his public life that she felt painfully excluded from.

Olive had never fully confided in her friends about the depth of her heartbreak, brushing off their gentle inquiries with a simple explanation that their relationship had ended due to his demanding schedule—partially true. However, her friends could see through her façade, sensing the pain that flickered in her eyes whenever Frederik's name arose. And their supportive embraces and silent understanding provided some solace amid the tumultuous emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

One evening, her friends managed to convince her to join them for another Hurricanes home game. By then, Olive had grown somewhat numb to the sharp sting of seeing Frederik on the ice, resigned to the ache in her heart that seemed to have taken up permanent residence.

And as the game progressed, Frederik focused on his performance and the team's objectives. Yet, during a break, as he came to scan the crowd, his gaze suddenly locked onto Olive's familiar face in one of the  front rows. In that instant, the weight of remorse and regret crashed over him like a tidal wave.

When the final buzzer sounded, Frederik's resolve solidified. He knew he needed to speak to Olive, to apologise for the pain he had caused her. So, approaching her cautiously, his heart racing with nerves and determination, he messaged her asking if she could meet him in the locker room after the game.

But Olive couldn't face him so soon. The wounds were still fresh, the emotions raw. So, with a gentle yet firm refusal, she declined his invitation, unsure if she could maintain her composure in his presence.

Despite her reluctance, fate intervened yet again a few days later when Frederik found himself dining at the restaurant where Olive worked. And this time, their paths couldn't avoid crossing. Accompanied by friends, managers, and his agent, Frederik's presence made it impossible for Olive to avoid the unexpected - and perhaps awkward, encounter.

Hours passed as she watched him from the bar, her heart still aching. So ,seeking solace, Olive slipped out behind the restaurant for fresh air, but only to find Frederik following her.

"You shouldn’t be out here," she said firmly, crossing her arms as he approached gently.

"I needed to see you," he said softly, taking a small step forward. 

"Freddie, please, I can’t do this..."

Despite her protest, Frederik moved closer to her. His expression was earnest, his eyes filled with regret and longing. And before she could object further, he pulled her into his arms with force, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that reignited a fire she thought had died.

Passionate and fueled by desire, the kiss brought forth unresolved emotions. Olive struggled against conflicting feelings, torn between past hurt and their undeniable chemistry. Yet, instinctively, her arms found Frederik’s neck, deepening the kiss.

And as the night unfolded, they found themselves back at Olive's apartment, their bodies entwined in a frenzy of longing and need. Their lovemaking was intense, a physical manifestation of the longing and desire that had simmered beneath the surface for months. 

Just like many times before, it felt so effortlessly easy to allow their bodies to melt together. With Olive straddling Frederik, she moved with determination and deep breaths, their moans harmonising while approaching their climaxes. 

Yet, in need for more closeness, Frederik swiftly turned them over into missionary, where he held his face close to hers, thrusting with force and vigorous motions till they both reached the peak in a symphony. 

And in the aftermath of their passionate reunion, Olive found herself whispering those two words that held both vulnerability and hope: "Please, stay."

Frederik knew he shouldn't have stayed. He owed her honesty about where they stood. But in that moment, holding her close, feeling the warmth of her against him, he couldn't leave. She was the love he craved, the one person he couldn’t let go of.

So, they fell asleep together, wrapped in each other's arms, finding solace in shared intimacy.

However, when Olive woke the next morning, she found herself alone in bed. Frederik had left quietly, only leaving behind a simple message: "I'm sorry."

The words echoed in Olive's mind as she lay there, her heart aching with a familiar pain. She had allowed herself to hope for a second chance at love. Yet, Frederik's departure left her grappling once more with uncertainty and heartbreak, questioning if their love story was destined to be fleeting rather than enduring.

_

Flashback to May 2021

For seven turbulent months, Olive experienced the unpredictable highs and lows of love and heartbreak, all because of Frederik Andersen. She had tasted the bliss of their intense connection and endured the pain of his repeated departures. Despite the hurt he caused, she couldn't ignore the enduring love she still felt.

So, to heal her broken heart and move forward, Olive found solace in Colin—a dependable man who offered her security and the attention she craved. Their relationship blossomed, giving her the comfort and stability she had lacked during her tumultuous time with Frederik.

And immersed in this new relationship, Olive gradually regained her confidence and found moments of happiness. Colin was attentive, always ready to listen to her thoughts and dreams, in stark contrast to Frederik's unpredictable presence.

However, despite her growing affection for Colin, she couldn't completely erase Frederik from her heart. Memories of their passionate connection and emotional bond lingered, casting a shadow over her newfound stability. She wrestled with guilt, questioning the fairness of her lingering feelings for Frederik towards Colin.

So, navigating this emotional maze, Olive struggled with conflicting desires, torn between her past and present, unsure of where her true feelings lay.

But as always fate intervened one evening as Frederik unexpectedly saw Olive at a bar during a rare free night in Raleigh. Her laughter and smiles quickly caught his attention, stirring jealousy as he watched her with Colin, making him torn between bantering with his teammates and the painful realisation of what he had lost.

Every laugh, every touch between Olive and Colin felt like a dagger twisting in Frederik's chest, a reminder of the love he had let slip away. His heart ached with longing and regret, unable to bear seeing Olive move on without him.

And so, driven by desperation and needing to confront his feelings, Frederik sought a private moment with her. He found her in a quiet corner of the pub, softly lit by a nearby lamp, and reached out to gently grasp her wrist.

“Liv!” 

"Freddie, please don’t!" Olive exclaimed firmly, trying to pull away, but he held on.

"I’m sorry, but I just can't bear to see you with someone else, please talk to me,” his voice cracked with emotion.

Olive's heart wrenched at the sight of Frederik, vulnerable and exposed. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled against the surge of desire threatening to engulf her once more. But she knew she had to be strong, to protect herself from the pain he had unintentionally caused.

"No, Freddie," she protested, her voice trembling as she withdrew her hand. "I can't do this anymore."

Her words echoed through the corridor, a painful declaration of finality amidst the noise of the crowded bar. With tears streaming down her face, Olive turned away from Frederik, but he grabbed her arm again, preventing her from leaving.

"Just listen to me..." he pleaded softly, filled with anguish.

Frederik's heart shattered at her rejection. He tried to explain, to beg for another chance, to convey the depth of his feelings and the turmoil within him. But Olive had reached her limit. She could no longer wait for Frederik to prioritise their relationship over his career and uncertainties.

"I'm done, Freddie. I'm done waiting for you," she declared, her voice a mix of grief and determination.

And as she walked away, leaving Frederik alone in the corridor, he was consumed by profound loss and regret. For the first time, he truly felt the weight of his actions—the pain he had caused her, the love he had lost.

In that moment of clarity, Frederik understood the enormity of Olive's love and the depth of his mistakes. He had sacrificed the one relationship that had made him feel alive, and haunted by her words and his own regrets, he vowed to learn from his mistakes. 

But for now, all he could do was stand there, grappling with the ache in his heart, knowing he had shattered the heart of the woman he loved the most.

_

Flashback Continued

The hockey season was reaching its peak, with the Carolina Hurricanes deeply entrenched in a pivotal playoff battle. Frederik Andersen, their dependable goalie, felt the pressure and nerves building as he prepared for the game that could define their postseason fate, as tonight wasn't just about a simple win or loss; it was about advancing to the next round or facing an early end to their season.

Frederik's mind buzzed with strategy and anticipation as he stepped onto the ice, the thunderous cheers of the home crowd echoing through the arena. Each save he made brought a rush of adrenaline, a mix of relief and determination to keep the Hurricanes competitive. Yet beneath his focused exterior, thoughts of Olive lingered—a poignant distraction that fuelled his drive to succeed while stirring up unresolved emotions.

Meanwhile, in the stands, Olive sat at the edge of her seat beside Colin, her gaze fixed on Frederik as he moved swiftly and decisively in goal. Her initial casual interest in hockey had evolved into genuine passion over the past many months, ignited by Frederik's skill and the intensity of playoff hockey. Despite her efforts to conceal it, Colin couldn't ignore the subtle changes in Olive's demeanour whenever the goalie made a crucial save or endured the disappointment of a goal against.

And as the game intensified and emotions ran high, Olive found herself torn between the thrill of the Hurricanes' offensive surges and the ache in her heart whenever Frederik faced relentless shots. She stole brief glances at Colin, aware of the unspoken tension between them—a delicate balance disrupted by Frederik's undeniable hold on her.

The Hurricanes fought fiercely, but midway through the third period, disaster struck as Frederik was substituted—a crushing blow for any goalie. His frustration was palpable as he slammed his stick on the rink railing on his way to the locker room, burdened by the weight of the team's playoff hopes.

And watching Frederik's despondent demeanour from the stands stirred a familiar ache in Olive's chest—a mix of empathy for his disappointment and a desire to comfort him. She felt torn, caught between her loyalty to Colin and the lingering emotions she still harboured for Frederik.

But then when the opposing team scored yet another goal, dashing any hope of a comeback, Olive's resolve wavered. Deciding on excusing herself from her seat, she made her way towards the locker room, driven by an irresistible urge to find Frederik amidst the playoff game chaos.

And navigating the familiar maze-like corridors of the arena, she finally reached the locker room area, where Frederik would be reflecting on his performance. The sound of subdued voices and equipment filled the air as she cautiously approached the doorway to the team's inner sanctum.

There he sat, alone in his stall, still clad in his gear, head bowed in contemplation. Yet, as he glanced up and saw Olive standing in the doorway, tears welling in her eyes, Frederik's heart skipped a beat.

"Liv," he murmured softly, his voice tinged with fragile hope.

Solid tears streamed down Olive's cheeks as she struggled to compose herself. She had come intending to offer comfort, but now as she was so close to him once more, she was overwhelmed by a rush of emotions—the months of shared memories, the lingering warmth of their connection, and the ache of their tumultuous past.

Frederik then swiftly rose from the seat and cautiously approached her. And with no words spoken, Olive instinctively rushed to close the distance between them, drawn to the familiarity and solace Frederik offered in his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up in a close, desperate union that spoke of longing, regret, and unspoken love.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, her hands finding their way into Frederik's hair as she held him tightly, unwilling to let go.

Then breaking away from the heated kiss, they stood breathless. Olive knew she couldn't stay, couldn't betray Colin's trust, yet a part of her yearned to linger in Frederik's embrace forever.

"Please, stay..." Frederik pleaded, his voice filled with desperation and vulnerability. "Liv, I want you. I need you… I can’t be without you…"

Tears continued to stream down Olive's cheeks as she struggled with the torment of her conflicted emotions. "Freddie... I can't," she whispered hoarsely. "You'll just hurt me again..."

But Frederik held her tightly, his eyes pleading for her understanding. "No, not this time, Olive. I love you..."

"I love you too, Freddie," she simply confessed, her voice barely audible amidst the storm of emotions within her.

They sealed their renewed bond with another heartfelt kiss, but Olive knew she couldn't continue deceiving Colin. Despite the pain it would cause, she had to be honest with him about her feelings for Frederik. It wasn't fair to him, nor to herself, to deny the depth of her love for the man who had captured her heart months ago.

And as the Hurricanes faced an early playoff exit, Frederik and Olive sought solace in each other's arms that night, rekindling their passion amidst the echoes of disappointment.

Together, they embraced the uncertainty of their future, knowing that their love story was far from over—it was just beginning.

_

Present 2025 - The Wedding

Three years had passed swiftly, filled with love, challenges, and unwavering commitment.

As Olive concluded her heartfelt speech, basking in the applause from their friends and family, she couldn't suppress the radiant smile that spread across her face. While Frederik, her anchor and soulmate, sat beside her, his eyes filled with admiration and love.

The venue, adorned in soft hues of ivory and gold, resonated with the tender emotions of the occasion. And Olive's voice carried with a blend of sincerity and gratitude as she thanked their loved ones for their steadfast support and recounted cherished memories of their journey together. Her words were interspersed with laughter and tears, each moment affirming the depth of their bond.

Frederik knew he couldn't match Olive's speech with words alone. Despite help from loved ones in composing his own speech, he grappled with expressing the simplicity and sincerity that defined his feelings. So, rising from his seat, he briefly glanced at his notes, the inked words reflecting his devotion and the path they had walked together.

"I've never been one for lengthy speeches…" Frederik began, his voice steady with emotion. "And I'm sure many of you here know that. But that's okay, because..." He paused, taking a deep breath. "The only thing that truly matters, the only thing I need to say, is that... I love you, Liv. I have loved you from the moment I first saw you, even when I didn't trust myself to love." His gaze locked onto Olive's, their eyes meeting in a shared moment.

A reassuring smile spread across her face as she listened intently, her heart swelling with the weight of his words. Frederik’s voice grew stronger with each heartfelt sentence, resonating with the depth of their shared experiences. "I've never quite understood why you chose me," he continued, his tone filled with humility and adoration. "But I've stopped questioning it. What matters is that we chose each other. And I promise, with all my heart, to be the best husband I can be for you, for the rest of our lives."

Their love story wasn't a simple fairy tale romance devoid of challenges or imperfections. It was real, raw, and deeply meaningful—a journey marked by growth, forgiveness, and unwavering commitment. It was a testament to their resilience, having weathered every storm together, emerging stronger and more deeply in love each time.

The End

[cha-melodius]

Hi friend! Congrats again on 100 works! Thank you for offering to write more for us! ❤️I'd like to request 1. firstprince and 2. Kensington as an AU, but only because you dared us to! Alternatively, if someone already requested that and you don't want to duplicate, I'd be interested in a hockey AU set inside the rink! Thank you again, I am so excited to see what you come up with and to read more of your words!

(Thank you so much for taking my bait lol, I've wanted to write this canon-divergence AU where they hook up in Kensington during the damage control trip for a while now. I hope you enjoy!)

Falling Down the Stairs of Your Smile

(firstprince, 4.1k, M; read it below or on AO3) read all the fandom fest fics

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. They were supposed to finish up at the hospital, and then Henry would go back to whatever the fuck he does while Alex went to the airstrip. He’d fly back to DC, so that maybe he’d be able to get some schoolwork done before Monday, and try to forget that this ridiculous weekend ever happened—barring the fact that he and Henry were still obligated to keep up the fake friendship for a few more months, that is.

Instead, Cash comes up to him as they stand outside of Kensington with a slightly grim look on his face and says, “Change of plans.”

“Huh?”

“They discovered an issue with the plane during the flight prep. It needs some part that they’re not going to be able to get until tomorrow morning. We’ll leave then.”

“What do you mean, they can’t get it? Why not?” Alex demands. Surely in a country with fucking royalty, nothing is out of grasp for said royals and their guests.

Cash shrugs. “Didn’t ask. The palace confirmed you can stay another night.”

Alex groans probably a little too dramatically. “What about my classes?”

“I am, in fact, very aware of your class schedule,” Cash says dryly. “You’ll be back in time.”

“I don’t have another change of clothes.”

“Pretty sure Kensington has laundry.”

“I’m really not getting out of this, am I?”

“Nope.”

Alex sighs and looks over to where Henry is standing with Shaan by the front gates. There’s a look of trepidation on his face, no doubt because he’s just been told that he’ll have to deal with Alex for another night. Of course, that’s not a given. Henry will probably disappear into his apartments and ignore him, which suits Alex fine. They may have reached a kind of détente today, but they’re not friends.

“Sorry to hear about your plane,” Henry says as they get back into the car that will drive them further into the palace.

Alex shrugs. “It’s fine. I guess I’ll have to survive the hardship of ten thousand thread count sheets another night.”

Henry huffs a little laugh and grins. It’s kind of amazing how different he looks when he smiles for real. “I know you’ve probably had your fill of me today, so feel free to say no, but…” He hesitates a moment, as if waiting for Alex to shut him down before he even makes his proposal. “I was thinking of ordering in curry for dinner tonight. There’s a place not far away that’s quite good. Maybe watch a film?”

It’s pretty much the last thing Alex expected him to say. He wonders if this is another olive branch, an acknowledgement that it’ll be easier to pretend they’re friends if they’re actually… kinda friends. Surprisingly, Alex doesn’t hate the idea.

“What movie?” he counters.

“Well, I would suggest one of the Star Wars films, but I’m not sure we could agree on one.”

“If we’re not going to watch the best one, aka Empire—”

“You mean Return of the Jedi,” Henry interjects.

“—I guess that leaves the next best.”

“So, Rogue One?”

Alex grins. “Ok, maybe we can be friends, after all.”

He’s absolutely not letting himself think about the warmth that grows in his chest when Henry laughs.

~~~~~

Alex discovers that there’s a room in Kensington that’s pretty much as tricked out as you can get without being in a movie theater—“There’s an actual theater in Buckingham,” Henry tells him, “but Dad had this put in for family film nights”—with a massive screen and a killer sound system. They eat their curry out of take-out containers on a surprisingly comfortable, normal couch as the movie plays, keeping up a running commentary between them that ranges from Star Wars lore to the cast (“Come on, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t follow Diego Luna anywhere. Look at him!” Alex insists, which garners him a strange look from Henry) to random things entirely unconnected to the movie.

Turns out Henry is actually really funny, which is a fucking shock and kind of annoying except for how he leaves Alex in stitches several times. It’s absurdly easy between them in a way that it shouldn’t be, and Alex can’t remember the last time he had this much fun just hanging out with someone. And it’s Henry. What is his life, even.

“I can’t believe you like this one,” Alex says as they watch Jyn and Cassian embrace desperately on the beach. “It’s pretty much the opposite of a happy ending. For the main characters, at least.”

Henry hums, tipping his head slightly. “They give up everything in the service of a cause bigger than themselves, and they succeed. There’s something beautiful about that.”

“God, you are a sap,” Alex teases, bumping his shoulder up against Henry’s. Somehow they’ve managed to migrate closer on the couch over the course of the movie, until they’re practically touching.

“And why do you like it, then?” Henry counters. “The action and spies and intrigue?”

“Not only that,” Alex says. “But there’s a reason I’m a big Bond fan.”

A smile flickers across Henry’s face that’s a little melancholy but mostly contented. “I suppose that makes sense given what I know of your movie tastes now.”

“Also, your dad was a total babe.”

Henry’s eyes go wide as he chokes on a laugh. “I beg you to not.”

They lapse into silence as the final scenes as the credits start to roll. The movie is over and it’s getting late, but all Alex can think of is that he really doesn’t want the night to end yet. Which is crazy. Twenty-four hours ago Alex was actively cursing this man’s name, and now he seemingly can’t get enough of spending time with him. It doesn’t make any sense, but somehow it does; it’s the same feeling that he was chasing all those years ago in Rio, the one that pushed him to go up an introduce himself at exactly the wrong time, the one that made the hurt of that encounter linger for so long in his psyche.

“Hey, uh,” he says eventually, turning slightly to look at Henry, “thanks for suggesting this. It was fun.”

“I hope it made up for being stuck in London longer than you wanted,” Henry replies, his voice low and soft.

“Definitely.”

Henry smiles, a warm and pleased one that stretches his lips and crinkles the corners of his eyes, and Alex feels like he’s being pulled in by the magnetism of it. He wants to get closer, despite how close they’re already sitting. His fingers twitch with the urge to touch—the soft blond hair falling over Henry’s forehead, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the fullness of his lips. He’s always known Henry was objectively good-looking, but Jesus, where does he get off being so pretty? It’s annoying, really.

Alex isn’t trying to make things weird, but he also can’t quite help the way his eyes are drawn inexorably down to those plush lips, still curved in a gentle smile. Who even has lips like that, does he get fillers or something, because they can’t be real, except they look very, very real, Alex hasn’t even ever kissed any girls with lips that nice, that look that soft—

Something short circuits in Alex’s brain and he just— has to know. How soft they really are. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to Henry’s, which are, as it turns out, extremely soft. It only lasts for a second before his brain comes back online and he realizes Henry’s frozen stiff, which is fair, because Alex has no fucking clue what he’s doing. He hasn’t kissed a boy since Liam and this was not the fucking boy to just kiss out of nowhere. He’s gonna get, like, locked in the Tower of London or something.

He wrenches away as quickly as he leaned in, meeting Henry’s wide, stunned eyes (—still so so blue, how can they be that blue—), his lips slightly parted and just a little damp from Alex’s.

“Shit,” Alex breathes in a rush. “Fucking shit— I don’t know why I did that, I’m so sorry, Henry, I didn’t mean anything by it—”

“Alex,” Henry murmurs, but Alex is too far gone in his spiral at this point.

“—I promise, it was just— I mean, I’m not even—”

“Alex.”

Alex stops in the middle of a word, his mouth hanging open. Henry’s got some kind of strange look on his face that he can’t parse at all.

“Did it really not mean anything?” he asks slowly.

The thing is, Alex has no idea what it means. Absolutely none. Something inside him—something he doesn’t really understand—wanted to do it, but like, just as an objective experiment. Except that part of him wants to do it again, even though he already got his answer. Really wants Henry to kiss him back. Which is making him feel a little insane.

Alex closes his mouth, licks his lips, and swallows hard.

“That depends,” he says cautiously, “on what you want it to mean.”

For some reason, that makes Henry growl in frustration and cast his eyes to the ceiling. Then he groans, “Christ, Alex, you’re so—”, grabs Alex’s face between both hands, and kisses him soundly.

Alex’s insides go positively molten. Henry’s hands are gripping his jaw, and in his hair, and Alex can’t help but press closer. His own hands find Henry’s narrow waist, reveling in the dip of it, the heat of his body scorching through the thin fabric of his shirt, and the only thing currently occupying Alex’s mind is a desperate urge to feel bare skin under his palms. That is, until Henry slides his tongue along Alex’s lower lip, sucks it into his mouth and tugs on it with his teeth, and Alex stops thinking altogether.

Their positions are a little awkward, twisted toward each other on the couch as they are, and Alex isn’t sure if he pulls or Henry pushes—or maybe both—but a moment later Henry is unfolding his long legs and shifting to straddle Alex’s lap, which is both incredible and incredibly overwhelming. Especially when Henry’s hips rock forward and Alex can feel his growing arousal pressing into the rapidly tightening region of Alex’s pants.

Jesus, this is— it’s— it’s a lot, but the very last thing Alex wants to happen is for it to stop.

He absolutely does not whimper when Henry pulls back, sending Alex unconsciously chasing after his lips. Fortunately, Henry doesn’t go far. He presses their foreheads together, breathing raggedly into the space between them as his thumb swipes across Alex’s cheek.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Henry breathes, and yeah, Alex had no fucking clue.

His mind is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and he has no idea what to say to that besides: “Fuck.”

Henry chuckles softly, nudging their noses together. “Indeed.” He presses a soft kiss to Alex’s lips, then another to the corner of his mouth and one to the edge of his jaw. “Do you want to… go somewhere we won’t be interrupted?” he murmurs into Alex’s ear, and his warm breath combined with the words makes Alex tremble under him.

Alex swallows hard as his hands tighten on Henry’s hips, but he hesitates a moment too long because then Henry is actually pulling back, a concerned expression creasing his brow.

“Which is not to say— we don’t have to do anything more if you don’t want— I just thought—”

“I want to,” Alex blurts, surprising even himself. He’s not entirely sure what more means to Henry, but he knows he wants it. Jesus, does he want. “Yes. Fuck. Let’s do that.”

Henry grins, wide and nearly blinding in its brilliance, and Alex thinks he would do just about anything to see that smile on his face always.

They clamber off the couch, adjusting themselves with shared, knowing giggles, then Henry grabs his hand and tugs Alex through formal, stuffy corridors lined with portraits and antiques, which just adds a certain something to the absurdity of the whole situation. Somehow it’s not a surprise that Henry’s apartments are just as impersonal and opulent as the rest of the palace, full of hideous floral wallpaper and baroque furniture. Before, he’d have put that on Henry himself, but now it feels wrong despite the fact that Alex still barely knows him. It feels like he knows enough. Henry eats curry on the couch and cracks crude jokes and sniffles at the tragic endings of Star Wars movies (yes, Alex noticed). Henry is warm and soft and feels like he belongs in cozy, simple rooms full of old books and tea and cardigans.

Alex’s musings are cut off when Henry pulls him close again at the foot of the hideous gilt monstrosity that is his bed, wrapping his arms around Alex’s waist and tugging him into a lingering kiss. It’s softer than before, delicate and sweet, exactly like Alex would imagine Prince Charming would kiss. From this angle Alex has to tip his head up to kiss him, which is definitely not something he ever thought would do it for him, and yet. Henry’s evening stubble scratches against his chin, and broad hands grip onto his hips and pull him against the hard, flat planes of Henry’s chest, all of it constantly reminding him of the unmistakable masculinity of the person he’s currently making out with.

Alex thinks, distantly, that he should probably be freaking out about this a bit more, but it’s too easy to give himself over it in the moment. He can freak out about what whatever the fuck it means later.

Henry’s hands move to the front of Alex’s shirt, and his nimble fingers make short work of the buttons before pushing it backwards off Alex’s shoulders. His fingers leave trails of fire where they linger against Alex’s bare skin, and even just this has Alex moaning into the kiss, desperate for more. He tugs at Henry’s shirt, yanking the tails out of his pants and nearly tearing the buttons open in his haste, which makes Henry laugh at him, the bastard.

“Eager, are we?” Henry teases, and Alex bites the grin right off his face.

“Shut all the way up,” he huffs before sinking his teeth into the absolutely irresistible collarbone he’s just uncovered.

Henry sucks in a gratifying breath at that, his hands tightening on Alex’s waist, and then he’s manhandling Alex back onto the mattress, which has no business being as hot as it is. Alex kicks off his shoes before scrabbling backwards so that he’s lying against the pillows, his heart racing as Henry crawls up over him with a nearly predatory grin on his face. The way his body fully blankets Alex’s is overwhelming in the best way, making every part of Alex ache with the need to somehow be closer, even as Henry presses the their bodies together from knee to chest and captures Alex’s lips in another deep, probing kiss.

They kiss and kiss until Alex’s lips are almost numb from it, their hands roving over heated skin and through thoroughly mussed hair. Henry’s hips roll slowly against him, almost a question, and Alex groans when he feels the hardness of Henry’s cock pushing against his hip. His own is straining against the front of his trousers, and his breath shudders in his chest when he imagines what it would feel like to have Henry’s hands wrapped around him.

But—

“Hey, uh,” he breathes as Henry’s mouth moves to his neck, and he’s nearly driven to distraction by the feeling of Henry’s teeth scraping lightly over his pulse point, but he wants to get this out, “I’ve never actually—” His voice fails, and Henry pulls back just enough to look him in the eye. Alex swallows. “Done this. With a guy. I mean, kinda, but not really—” He lets out a frustrated huff. “It’s a long story.”

Henry stares at him so intensely and earnestly that Alex feels flayed open by it, like Henry can see all the parts of him that Alex himself didn’t know were there. “We can just do this,” he says as he pushes a curl back from Alex’s forehead. “The last thing I want is to push you into something you’re not comfortable with.”

It’s completely reasonable not to rush things, but Alex thinks if he leaves London without seeing Henry naked he might fucking expire.

“Did I not already fucking say I wanted it?” he retorts, a little testily. Better that than admitting how desperate he really is.

“Well, to be fair, we didn’t exactly specify—”

“I want you naked,” Alex breathes in a rush. “I want your hands on me. Your mouth, if— if that’s something you want.”

Henry’s gaze goes dark and hot, and he actually licks his lips. Alex’s dick twitches in his pants. Jesus Christ.

Henry dips back down to kiss his neck, but a moment later he answers. “That,” he says, pressing it into Alex’s skin as he kisses a path down his chest, “is something I very much want.”

Then Henry’s hands are at his waistband, making short work of his belt and peeling off his underwear and pants in one go, and everything goes very, very hazy after that in the absolute best possible way.

~~~~~

The room is quiet after they subside, after every ounce of pleasure has been wrung from their bodies, after shouted names ease into murmured endearments.

“I should go,” Alex eventually whispers into the stillness, because he should. It would be better if he spent the night in his own rooms. Safer.

He doesn’t want to, though. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts right now, doesn’t want to give his brain the space to run wild with this. That’s what will happen if he goes. He’ll fall into a research spiral on google, and text Nora even though it’s too late, and quietly freak out about everything that’s happened tonight. Here, though, Henry’s got an arm thrown over his waist, and it’s not much, but the weight of it soothes something within him. Keeps him grounded.

Maybe it’s just Henry that settles him. He doesn’t want to think too hard about that.

“You could stay,” Henry murmurs back. He leans in, presses a kiss to the outside of Alex’s shoulder. “No one will notice. Tomorrow’s Sunday. The staff come in late.”

This is a terrible idea. This can’t be… anything, really, given who they are. Alex doesn’t even know what he wants it to be, but he knows that.

“You sure?” Alex asks anyway.

“Stay,” Henry repeats.

So Alex stays.

~~~~~

The bed Alex wakes up in is unfamiliar, which is hardly surprising given his travel schedule lately. What is unexpected is that he’s naked, and there’s a warm, naked body pressed against his back, and abruptly all of what he got up to the previous night comes slamming back into vivid clarity.

He slept with the fucking prince. Henry. His nemesis, except not actually, apparently, and oh yes, definitely also a dude. Alex sucked his dick and most definitely enjoyed the experience, so that’s a whole new thing. The freakout about his sexuality that he shoved to the back of his mind last night rockets to the forefront now, and he can feel his breath stutter in his chest.

Except then Henry’s arm tightens around him and he presses a sleepy kiss to the back of Alex’s shoulder, and the tightness in his chest unclenches somewhat. Not all the way, but enough.

He fumbles for his watch, then jolts up to sitting with a new fear once he sees the time. Jesus Christ, Cash or Amy is going to show up at his bedroom any minute now to pick him up so they can leave, and Alex isn’t fucking there. This is a disaster.

Henry grumbles at being disrupted, sleepily rubbing at his eyes in a way that’s definitely not adorable at all. “Time is it?” he mumbles through a yawn.

“Late,” Alex huffs, briefly getting tangled in the sheets and nearly falling out of the bed in his haste to find his clothing.

He’s halfway into his pants when there’s a knock at Henry’s bedroom door, and he almost falls on his face again. That seems to wake Henry up a bit more, and he finally sits up, his hair standing up in all directions and his eyes gone wide.

“Yes?” Henry calls out.

“The Secret Service seem to have misplaced their charge,” comes Shaan’s voice through the door, and Alex would very much like to die right now. Henry stumbles out of bed, throwing on a robe, then opens the door just enough so that Alex isn’t visible. “I told them I would inquire with you to see if you had any idea of Mr. Claremont-Diaz’s whereabouts.”

There’s something very knowing in Shaan’s tone, like he’s perfectly aware of where Alex spent the night and furthermore none of this is exactly a surprise to him, and Alex only barely manages to hold back the extensive collection of curses crowding at the tip of his tongue. What the actual fuck.

“Ah,” Henry says. His cheeks are bright pink. “Just a moment, I’m sure I can help you locate him.”

“I’m not sure I’ve properly conveyed how agitated they are, sir.”

“Tell them I’m ok,” Alex sighs begrudgingly, stepping into view now that his shirt and pants are on. It’s not like he’s kidding anyone; he’s still barefoot in Henry’s bedroom and the bed that two people clearly slept in is fully visible from where Shaan is standing. “I just—”

Shaan holds up a hand. “Believe me when I say that you do not need to finish that sentence. I will deliver the message, but”—he pauses, glancing between them—“you probably shouldn’t linger.”

He pulls the door closed behind him as he goes and, despite the warning, Alex stands there for a minute, rooted in place and staring at the floor. Maybe Shaan doesn’t want an explanation, but the Secret Service certainly will. Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” Henry says quietly, suddenly close beside him. Alex hadn’t heard him approach. He still looks so soft and sleep-rumpled, and something tugs at Alex’s chest that absolutely should not be tugging. “I shouldn’t have talked you into staying here.”

Alex huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I didn’t take much convincing,” he says. “I shoulda just set a fucking alarm.”

“Probably,” Henry agrees, his lips tipping into a wry smile that fades into a look of concern. “Are you… ok?”

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” he answers, probably a little too quickly. Henry just stares at him in that way that makes Alex feel entirely too seen. “Probably gonna get chewed out for disappearing, but it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That’s not exactly what I was talking about.”

Alex swallows. “I’m fine.” He offers Henry a little smile. “This was fun.”

“It certainly was,” Henry agrees carefully.

“Where’s your phone? I’ll give you my number, it’ll be easier to plan joint appearances or whatever,” Alex says in a blatant attempt to divert from a discussion about what happened or what this makes them. He’s got to figure his own shit out first. He doesn’t need Henry to know that he’s already wondering when he can arrange his schedule to see him again.

Henry gives him a look, but he fetches his phone and hands it over to Alex with a blank contact page open. Alex types in his number and hands it back.

“I’ll be disappointed if you only use that for booty calls,” he jokes.

Henry sputters out a laugh. “Noted.”

He’s endearingly pink-cheeked and smiling, and Alex doesn’t think before he takes the last step that puts him in Henry’s personal space, grabs the fronts of Henry’s robe, and pulls him into a kiss.

If he’d had any lingering doubts about the previous night, about whether what he’d felt was real or not, this thoroughly dispels them. The press of Henry’s lips to his, the way their mouths slot together as easily as if they’ve been doing this for years, the zip of electricity that fizzles under his skin and spreads out to tingle in the tips of his fingers and toes… Alex has never been kissed like this, has never felt like this being kissed, and it’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Like he’s falling.

Oh. Fuck.

[sevensoulmates]

I must say I'm kinda baffled by the way some people are reacting towards Tommy and Buck's scene. Like we may have bi Buck on the horizon so I think we all should be happy about it, I know we are all protective of our ship but this is a good thing because there has to be a catalyst, something that will make a change in Eddie and Buck relationship and this is it. Buck's bi realization is a must if buddie it's going to happen because if buddie does end being together it can't be sudden, it has to be built on. So I'm having a blast with Tommy's character 🤷 he's a funny guy.

Also I may know nothing about cinematography but that little scene there with Tommy, Buck and Eddie seemed important for a reason.

Btw I was wondering about this interview https://youtu.be/vlCRTTAfeYs?si=oiVXhkBu7WQ9hV_1

Because sometimes I still struggle with the real meaning behind some sentences or words in English, when Oliver said:

"You can’t have the audience interpretation in mind too much when you make the show. You have to make it and put it out in the world and people can take what they want."

Can this be interpreted as they wouldn't care if some viewers may have an homophobic reaction towards Eddie and Buck getting together or I'm reading things differently?

I understand people being sensitive to "another barrier" towards buddie but like...yeah, it's getting a little out of hand. It's fine to feel your feelings, but keep them in your group chat's or to your like-minded friends. Please don't make them other people's problems.

I am also having a blast with Tommy! I wasn't sure how they were going to take his character with the reintroduction given how he wasn't the most well-liked character in the Begins episodes. Again, if POC fans never want to forgive him or like him, that's totally fine. I won't ever get on people's cases for disliking him for his past actions. But I do think he'll prove to be interesting if he plays a role for Buck (and Buddie by extension).

I'll give you my personal interpretation (which could be up for debate) of what Oliver said in that interview. To me, he's saying, that he can't always be policing himself when he's acting by wondering "is the audience going to think I'm making this scene too gay?", "will they get mad at me and accuse me of queerbaiting if I act in certain ways with Ryan/Eddie in this scene?", etc. I think that Oliver is very aware of how he and his actions are perceived by the fandom. He's always been the one who has dealt with the brunt of people screaming "BUDDIE!" and "QUEERBAITER!" in his face. If the long-running theory that FOX was purposely not letting Buddie happen is true, then Oliver was probably very aware that anything he did or said would give fans false hope and would lead to disappointment and people disliking him. He seems like a really good guy who doesn't want to really hurt people's feelings that way. But at the end of the day, it hinders an actor's ability to give a character or a scene their all if they're constantly overthinking how it will be perceived by the audience.

So, I think Oliver is saying that he's no longer overthinking his actions when it comes to the way he acts as Buck. If people want to perceive a scene/action as gay, then okay. If they don't, okay. If they hate it, okay. If they love it, fantastic. And the same for any solo Buck scenes or non-buddie scenes too. I'm glad he's trying not to let how other people perceive his acting choices get to him anymore.

I hope I explained myself clearly! And again, that's just MY interpretation of what he said. I'm sure there are plenty of other valid interpretations too.

[copperbadge]

There are times when I’m having a less than fully functional day and I wonder if my ADHD medication truly does anything or if it’s all placebo effect, and then there are days like today where I go grocery shopping without it.

Standing in the baking aisle, staring vacantly at the flours, I went "Why am I even here?" Both 1, why am I in the Target baking aisle, and also 2, what is my purpose in existing. 

I was there for cake flour, but I couldn’t find it, and because I couldn’t find a visual trigger for “this is the thing I want” I got stuck in a "what am I doing" loop for probably a good five minutes, just standing there in the aisle of the Target, contemplating life. Eventually I managed to check the app and discover that all cake flour is out of stock, so I escaped the loop and bought bread flour, which I also needed and was more vital than buying cake flour in any case. 

Although I did not remember to buy olive oil. I have plenty of cooking oil, it’s fine, but it did feel very “Well, I guess until the dopamine happens we’re just gonna go for the basics.” 

I managed to get through a solid twenty-five years of adult life without Adderall, without even being aware I had ADHD, but there are two distinct ways of managing my brain now, “medicated” and “unmedicated”. Because I was trying to train myself to deal with grocery shopping while medicated, I haven’t done it unmedicated in quite a while and I couldn’t downshift coping mechanisms fast enough. 

I’m sure they’re a bunch of creeps and eugenicists because it seems like they all were in the field of neurodivergence in the 20th century but at some point I’m going to figure out who came up with ADHD and who invented Adderall and if they aren’t absolute monsters someone’s getting a shrine next Halloween. 

[pixelated-mechanisms-chaos]

Below is a very important yet heavy update on me and how it affects the game's (Downtime) progress.

You have no obligation to read this, but it's appreciated if you do.

Im not sure how to explain in nicely, so i won't.

I might lose my place to live due to the people i live with, family, just not being able to manage how they should, something i realized due to therapy and outside opinions from multiple people.

Im so tired to keep giving what i have just so we can survive and ive been doing it for 4 years maybe? I am the youngest of us 3, i just turned 18 last year - god damn it! I shouldn't have to worry about what they mess up- its not my fault, and i just have to DEAL with their mistakes.

Ive been told the power might get cut too due to their lack of ability to manage, so i most probably will move out with my therapist's help if i can, which i believe will be extremely difficult and draining but a bit easier with said therapist's help and ultimately better in the long run, even if i gaslight myself into thinking the situation isn't as bad.

Due to everything said above, i decided to put this project on hold until im secure again. until i can focus on other things than only survival.

I hate to even put this in a post but i do feel like its necessary. I have a KO-FI. No one is obligated to donate, i just wanted to mention it in case someone wants to support me in one way or another and I want to mention that the people i live with are not aware of me having KO-FI, redbubble or paypal, so the money is just mine alone.

That's all for now, i might post updates if im able to, but for today? I just want to sleep and rest and worry about more of this tomorrow. Thank you for reading and i hope you have a good day or nights rest despite this♡

-Oliver

[ruindgod]

be sure to check out my wanted plots! & below i'll list some muses that i'd love to write something with! i'll be away for most of the weekend in regards to replies but around for plots / chatting! feel free to send me a meme for a starter or send me an im for plots!

NOTE — * i will say that i'm totally open for romance plots!! but be aware that i'm only interested in writing queer romances atm. cishet romances just do not interest me & romance is not the only thing i'm interested in writing with these characters but i am putting it out there.

JUDE HOLLOWAY ─── [ charles melton. ] a bastard! living too fast and hoping to die young, jude burns through his father's money and exists from one moment to the next. i'd love to do smth where he can be a bastard ... great for crime plots or slice of life ... he's gay but extremely closeted, drives too fast, and is probably stealing from u ! for no reason other than he can! and ur an easy mark(: ...

SAM WINCHESTER ─── [ jack mulhern ] simple guy, i am ... i just wanna write sam winchester ... throw me ur ocs, ur canons, i'll take em all! all he does is hunt things and save people. it's the family business

WICHITA LOCKWOOD ─── [ oliver jackson-cohen. ] i would love to do something in regards to cults with wichita! nothing too solid here but i do have some ideas ... set in the 90s / modern day / or post apoc! count all ur trigger warnings, it would involve cults / cult activities / heavy religious themes and others things that would be involved with that.

AURELIUS ─── [ sleeping beauty ] pleeeeease let me write him! a fairy prince who lives in your dreams and can mimic any sound he hears, he's looking for his body / the tower he fell asleep in or his other verse where he's a trickster minstrel ... high fantasy adventures! modern versions! i don't care! he's silly!

honestly let me write all of my princes — mainly a high fantasy verse but they all have their modern counterparts!

RABBIT & WOLF ─── [ sen mitsuji. ] my crime twins ... rabbit is a bastard who can get you anything you need and wolf isn't much better but he's more of the bodyguard / fighter type ! they also have powers / abilities if you would like to do that! rabbit can teleport and wolf has super strength .. idk i think it would be fun to fuck around and find out !

CHECK OUT THE REST OF MY MUSES!!! i wanna write them all): okily