#I'm not the writer. I'm just the reporter

[shiny-jr]

POOKIE HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?!?!?!?!!

She has the guts to actually post another chapter. This was her end note.

The way she's denying all of this on broad daylight is actually horrible. She's so caught up in her own delusions that she can't discern what's right or wrong.

I'm so sorry you're going through all of this. Rest assured that you have all of our support!

It's shameful of the plagiarizer to continue doing this. To continue acting as if nothing has happened and they did no wrong when we know for a fact that they copied from four writers in total. As mentioned before, four writers which include me, and we believe there is a fifth yet there is no evidence to support that fifth claim.

I find it strange how they immediately jump to defending themself in the public eye, instead of speaking to me directly. Again, if you recall from previous posts, this could have been resolved over two weeks ago should they have just replied to my comment and explained themself. But no, they chose to ignore me, delete evidence of my comment, block me, etc and create more trouble for themself. Their actions of trying to avoid any consequences has resulted in a story deleted from Quotev, two banned Quotev accounts, and three stories deleted from Wattpad.

It's telling that the plagiarizer never once addressed the other stories that were copied and taken down, because they know what they did. They know they were caught. If they copied so many stories, it would be safe to assume that any others and future ones may also be made of stolen work. Especially when I have the evidence to back up my claims. By the way, for those wondering, my quiz was published January 20, 2023, not nine months ago. Check if you don't believe me.

As for the threat of being reported for for "bullying", I truly believe that it isn't possible. Never once did myself or mutuals send degrading and harmful comments, and I always instructed my followers to act in a respectful manner if they did choose to comment. I always specified to never attack the plagiarizer's person or identity, but criticize their actions and decisions, did I not? Besides, I do not need to throw petty remarks or rude insults when the plagiarizer's choices and words say everything that needs to be said.

Just as the plagiarizer refuses to give up, I won't give up too. I will continue to spread the word to other writers, let them know to be wary of this user, Kristynaka1, because they may just steal their work too. I will continue to work against them, because unlike them, I know I did nothing wrong.

So to my readers and followers that have supported me thus far, I must continue asking for your help. Please, do anything that you can to help take this user down. Except insult them, of course. Report anything you find, continue commenting discouragements, report again anything that works against them, reblog this post so others can see it. And of course, feel free to direct message me if you have any questions or any ideas on how to help. My direct messages are open, and I'm here to listen.

[yurozo]

time in a bottle (secret santa)

┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐ leon kennedy x reader ( roommates / christmas morning / musician!reader/leon || gift for @its-wolfgangster ) @leonsecretsanta summary: after leon's unfortunate mission to spain, you've taken it upon yourself to get him into the christmas spirit with a long string of presents. leon tries to make it up to you. (2.5k words) tags: fluff, romance, no use of y/n, post-re4!leon, mentions of alcohol. a/n: merry christmas babies! this work was done for a @leonsecretsanta event, and i am so honoured to be included in the list of super talented artists and writers for this!! please check out everyone else's pieces and especially check out @its-wolfgangster they're a super talented writer AND artist!! their stuff is just so chefs kiss. wolfie, i'm pleased to be ur secret santa, and i hope you like this!!! └─── °∘❉∘° ───┘

Leon finds the first on a rather unremarkable Tuesday, well before the first snowfall. Over two months since he had returned from Spain— barely conscious and half-delirious, mind you— before promptly falling asleep for two straight days. Over two weeks since he had finished the necessary reports and administrative work post-mission, only for Hunnigan to push him into a temporary leave of absence for ‘health reasons’. Over five days since he had poured his last bottle of whiskey down the drain and told himself that he had to be better this time. 

Over six years, two months, and three days since you had moved in, threaded yourself into every aspect of his life, and slowly stitched him back together. 

Whatever Leon had expected next in this long string of near-misses and almost-dying, it wasn’t this. A perfectly wrapped box, tied together with a bright blue bow, nestled into his closet. 

It’s noticeably out of place with the rest of the room. Beautiful and picturesque— all tight corners and pressed paper, where the rest of his belongings is usually scattered haphazardly into its approximate area. In a cramped space of wrinkled post-ironic t-shirts and combat boots, it sticks out like a sore thumb. He has to run his fingers along the wrapping just to ensure it’s not a trick of the light, or maybe the remnants of some undiagnosed disease playing tricks on his already vulnerable mind.

It’s real, at the very least. And saves him from a very awkward doctor’s appointment and government appointed psych eval. 

It doesn’t take him long to find the culprit. Leon just follows the faint sound of strumming into the living room, holding the box in one hand like a piece of delicate evidence. You’re sitting there, casual as ever, tuning your guitar like Leon isn’t giving his signature cop-stare from across the room. 

“This your doing?” He’s holding it up for inspection with one hand, the other placed perfectly on his hips. Ever the stance of the interrogator, practiced with years of getting answers from belligerent detainees. 

Which apparently does not work on you. You just shrug nonchalantly, staunchly avoiding eye contact with him. 

“I’m just trying to figure out if we need to update the security system.” He tries again, shaking the box in his grasp. It doesn’t rattle— clue number one. Another hint at whatever gift you thought was so necessary that you’ve given it to him weeks before actual Christmas. “Lots of robberies in this neighbourhood, you know.”

The slightest raise of your eyebrows and twitch of your fingers over the strings. Guilty. 

“Maybe the person just really wants you to open it.” You half-concede, still maintaining at least some air of dignity. “And robberies kind of require the person taking something from the house, not leaving things there.”

He doesn’t take the bait. Giving Leon anything that isn’t directly asked for requires some degree of inconspicuousness, like replacing his boots after they’re nearly falling off his feet when he’s not looking. It doesn’t really help, most of the time. He’s nothing is not observant, and more than a little justifiably paranoid, given the circumstances. 

So he does exactly what you expect him to do. “What if it’s a bomb?”

“It’s not a bomb.” Your fingers pluck one of the strings in annoyance, and the high-pitched squeal of the chord only succeeds in making him laugh.

“How would you know?” Leon asks innocently, even if he’s already pulling the tape off the box. If it’s from you, he’ll go through the increasingly annoying task of not ruining the paper, especially since you insisted on one-upping him on the presentation factor. “Comes with the job, you know. Maybe I pissed some asshole off, they break into the apartment, leave an inconspicuous gift to-”

“Can you focus on opening the damn present?” You finally snap, even if the anger is half hearted. The admission of guilt makes him smile, even if it’s quickly schooled by his usual intense look of focus. “Like pulling teeth with you.”

He just scoffs, finally pulling the last of the paper off and letting it flutter to the ground. 

It’s a songbook. One he had been eyeing at the music shop, only to convince himself out of it. The home recordings of Kurt Cobain, most definitely inspired by his longing gazes and Spotify playlists. The gift is personal, authentic, caring. Everything you are, and everything he is decidedly not. 

“I-” he stammers, clutching the book like it will dematerialize from his sight if he were to let go. “You-”

“Articulate.”

A hint of faux-annoyance flicker over his features, almost too quickly for you to clock had you not been searching for any sign that Leon suspects the true nature of your supposed generosity. 

“You wanted to learn,” you answer simply, like you didn’t just rip out his heart and hold it still beating in your hands. “It’s easier when it’s music you actually like, rather than just playing a single chord progression over and over.”

Moments pass in a stiff silence. There’s an expression you recognize— gratitude with the slightest twinge of guilt. Either about the gift, or for the annoyance of listening to his half-tuned strumming at all hours of the night. Before you can say more, his face falls back into something unrecognizable, before he’s giving you a stiff nod and walking briskly back to his room with his metaphorical tail between his legs. 

You feel unaccountably pleased with yourself. Getting him to quip back with a sarcastic remark is easy. Given, almost, given his penchant for brushing off any form of emotional confrontation. Reducing him speechless required a great deal of effort and was, therefore, exceptionally rare. 

The gift is placed on his bookshelf, finding its resting place on wood that’s been collecting dust for quite some time. He swore to himself he would fill it eventually, only to realize just how much of his life had been rendered empty. There’s no souvenirs to document his life, no gifts from family or friends to remind him of home. 

A bookshelf, dust, and you. 

He hasn’t even bought your present yet. There’s a notes app on his phone, ironically also collecting dust, of potential gift ideas that he’s scrapped over the past few weeks. Nothing ever seemed right— nothing encapsulated the lengths of his gratitude towards the one frustrating constant in his life. The one person who had invited him into your life like he had always been a part of it. 

That’s the part he felt the most guilty about. What could he possibly give you that you could keep without him?

The portrait of Cobain looks disapprovingly at Leon from across the room, like he too understands just how terribly inconvenient it is to have the one person he shouldn’t have wriggle between his ribs and nestle next to his heart.  •,¸,.·' '·.,¸,•

The second time, Leon becomes understandably frustrated at just how thoughtful the gift is, and how sneaky you’ve become at leaving it somewhere you know he’ll find it before he can stop you. Bioweapons and double agents, sure, Leon can handle that. His roommate sneaking around at all hours just to give him presents is apparently where Leon’s agent skills are tested. 

Then the third happens, and the fourth; each more creative than the last. Hidden at the bottom of the laundry basket, under his pillow, and then on his work desk. Apparently you’re charming enough to rope Hunnigan into this little scheme too. 

Not that he’s all that surprised about it. He too has been a victim of your whims— roped into whatever you desire by batting eyelashes and pouting lips. 

A new pair of guitar strings, a model of his old Heckler, and a bottle of cologne join the book on his shelf. Things he’s been secretly eyeing for weeks, and another thing he’s been meaning to replace. It softens his heart more than he should let himself, more than he’s ever let himself. 

And he still hasn’t bought your gift yet. Not for a lack of trying, mind you, he’s been stalking the nearby mall for days in hopes something would just scream out at him. Christmas is still creeping ever-closer, the clouds above swelling with unfallen snow. 

Leon scowls. It’s been an unusually warm winter, which makes his sixth trip to the mall slightly more bearable, but the clerks are starting to recognize him at this point. Somewhere in your shared home there will be another present, this he can be certain of. It will be a decoy, a pretense: small enough to get under his guard before the big present comes and simultaneously sweeps Leon off his feet. 

It only achieves in making him more irritable— at the consistent blaring Christmas music, the swarms of people around him, at your persistent cheeriness around the apartment. Like you don’t know how many nights he’s spent sleepless, guilt gnawing at every piece of him. 

The coin is already in his pocket when he thinks to look for it. HIs thumb absentmindedly rubs the worn face of it, at the memory of his fingers repeating the same motion every time he feels his heartbeat start to double in his own chest. 

Something he can give to you, that you can keep when he’s long gone. Either stuck on a helicopter halfway across the world, or buried six feet under the ground. Something that will prove he existed, at least for a time, and had the privilege of circling in your orbit. •,¸,.·' '·.,¸,• The persistent cloudy weather eventually gives way to snow by the time Christmas actually rolls around. Thick snowflakes stick to every surface they touch: his hair, his thin jacket, his month-old boots. They endure on the box in his hands too, which unfortunately lacks your flair for presentation. 

He had to pack it at work, with Hunnigan snickering behind him the whole time, hurling accusations of Leon being a secret romantic. His grumbles deterred her little, and he was forced to eventually cave to the idea that he had become much softer than initially intended. 

By the time he opens the front door to your shared apartment, you’re already sitting by the tree, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. 

The near-sodden box nearly crumples in his tight grip at your easy smile. 

“Merry Christmas,” you call out, pulling out the final gift from under the tree. Another painfully thoughtful gift, he guesses, if the others were any indication. “Merry Christmas.” Leon tries, not quite successfully, to hide his smile. His present is unceremoniously handed off to you, and his fingers just ever-so-slightly graze your wrist when he does. Your skin is warm, as it always is, and he can just barely feel your shivering pulse ringing through his skin. 

Leon really doesn’t know how to untangle any of that, so he picks the easiest reply he can think of. “It’s no Ferrari.”

His quip only dims his nerves a little, and is barely heard over the rustle of your hands ripping apart the wrapping. While you may lack the careful precision he usually enacts, your excitement makes up for it tenfold. 

“Good. We’d only ruin it.”

Leon’s watching you from the edges of his vision, like staring at you too directly would forever burn your image into his retinas. A small box is sitting in your hands, and the small click of its opening feels more like a gunshot in a painfully silent room. The shared silence sings with uncertainty, and Leon is almost sure he’s going to throw up if it endures any longer. 

A coin sits on the cushion inside, rusted and worn from years of use. Imprinted with the constant movement of his thumb, rubbing over the metal before and after every mission. A reminder that someone’s at home waiting for him, that he actually matters enough to at least try to return unscathed.

A coin that you had given him in the wreckage of Racoon City as a meagre attempt to bring him protection. It was simple instinct, a soft I’ll take care of you that Leon has been trying to make up for in each passing day. You just happened to have it in your pocket, he’s smart enough to know that, and yet he carried it with him every day for exactly six years, two months, and fifteen days since. 

A coin that is currently being held up by a chain in your hand, glittering in the dimming light. 

The silence lingers. A long, impenetrable pause. 

“Leon,” you mutter eventually, “I-”

“Very articulate.” 

“Asshole.” Ever observant as always, Leon catches the slight hitch of your breath that will soon give way to tears. He also knows that you won’t let them fall until you’ve successfully sequestered yourself away, while he feels unimaginably useless puttering outside your door like a lost puppy. 

“A good luck charm.” His voice softens as he kneels in front of you, thumbing the budding tear from the corner of your eye. “To keep you safe. At least while I’m gone.”

Leon spent six years lingering in the edges of your life, trying to keep himself as close to your orbit when his routine was so often upended by an emergency halfway across the world. Chaos had become his trademark, and he didn’t often get to feel the privilege of becoming familiar with things. 

Sometimes, he just wants time to stand still for a while. 

His hand lowers to the cusp of your jaw, holding the weight of it in his palm. Ever so gently, your fingers curl around his wrist, and his heart fucking soars.

“Can I?” He finally asks, nearly begs, because his heart is and always has been inextricably entwined with yours ever since the burning ruins and the end of the world. 

There’s a pause, before a meek nod. 

It’s shy, at first. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more, just holds his lips against yours. Like if he sits in this moment, completely unmoving, maybe it will stretch on and on until the end of time. 

Twenty minutes later, when he’s been thoroughly kissed and properly sated, the two of you are sitting on your shared couch as he strums on his new guitar. The movements are stiff and clumsy, requiring your helpful intervention to get the right chords.

Your hands are pressed against his, and every so often, your lips pepper small kisses along his neck. His fingers hurt from the strings, but it’s a comfortable and controllable sort of pain. One that can be managed and packed into neat little boxes, rather than scattered through his life and inflicted on random and excruciating intervals. 

“I can teach you a song from the book, if you have the time.”

Leon smiles and presses one final kiss against your cheek. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

[respectthepetty]

Dear Petty! If you’ve been keeping up with the tea: what is your latest assessment of the Joong/Est drama? Twitter is saying that Joong is hyping the beef because both he and Est have shows airing at the same time. It seems that Est stans (… 🤨) are also claiming talent superiority. And Joong has this pinned to his Twitter timeline:

Do you have the latest dish download?

Turtles!!!! Fun fact! TMZ is known for delivering celebrity gossip; however, on the bias scale, they fall nicely in the middle because the company doesn't have a clear bias, and the news source is actually pretty reliable. The reason the source doesn't score higher in reliability is because the writers try to analyze what they see instead of solely reporting what has been seen. I offer this tidbit because in the weeks since those "JoongDunk Divorce Era" posts on Twitter and Reddit, these basic facts have emerged:

Joong DID block Est. They both unfollowed each other on Instagram and Twitter, but Joong blocked Est. I will not TMZ this up and try to analyze why he did that, but the fact is he did and the youths have verified it.

The "divorce era" JoongDunk posts came in November, but people noticed the Est and Joong drama way back in SEPTEMBER because even at the beginning of October, everyone and their mama went to the ATEEZ concert and Joong and Est did not interact even though they were both there in the same vicinity with various GMMTV people like Mint, Neo, and Arm.

Daou went on the defense about the "Est is wrecking the DaouOffroad home" and posted several times about him and Offroad being fine when people tried telling him he needed to spend more time with Offroad.

A person actually questioned Dunk (if my memory is correct) about the incident where he hung out with Pond and Est while Joong was out of town during a fan meet. I know the post exists of the actual piece of paper with the question, but I cannot find it now! (Chismosa 101, Lesson #1 - Always get the screenshots!)

Joong went on his little trip with First and Khaotung sans Dunk

Joong and Dunk have stated they had a disagreement not just once

BUT TWICE!

And Joong said only they could fix it.

JASP.ER was announced where Joong will be working with Dunk's bestie, Pond, who also was at the infamous dinner with Dunk and Est and who the people ship with Dunk

Then Est went on record and stated he has a very small circle of friends and he is currently single because it's really hard for him to talk to people

Finally, Joong made a cameo on Est's currently airing show, ThamePo, which as far as I'm aware, Joong strangely did not promote. However, I don't have a Twitter account, so I could have missed it.

So now I will put on my TMZ cap:

As much as I want the fictional and real gays to lie, I think that this is the tea — Joong and Est got beef hence why Est was blocked and they aren't interacting. Sides were picked, problems arose from the way people operated (*cough* Dunk *cough*), and instead of GMMTV learning anything from the Tay and Gun kiss, the ongoing Joss bullshit, or ANY incident prior to this, GMMTV somehow didn't go full Adele's management team and pull these boys' social media or give them social media training, so here I am as a Jaidee fan first, and a human second enjoying the hell out of The Heart Killers and praying for Dare You to Death to get filmed just in case the separation sticks and my troublesome tykes divorce before the first gay marriage actually even happens in Thailand.

So yeah . . .

That's that on that!

[smartylina]

Dear Readers!

I found such a shocking story!

You know Kuzco gets quite a few interesting fanfictions right?

Well

the one I saw was about him

Romancing a Spanish girl...

And to think he got super mad around Ramon 🤨

The audacity!!

[redo-rewind-if]

Time for my end of week check-in! Hope y'all had a good one! 😊🥰

Next Update (Chapter 3 & 4? Maybe?):

Intro Scene (if not on music fest route): 100%

Music Fest Routes (Solo, V, and Amara): 100%

Club Pyre Path: 90%

August Part 2 Electric Boogaloo: 0% (not started)

Avoid Death (Eventually?): 0% (not started)

Work Time! (End of Chapter): 0% (short outline, not started)

Ahhh, the club path is so close to being done. I feel like I say that every week, but this time it really is!! Just need to finish one path and add a few variant scenes and it'll be done! Then it's editing time.

Let's just hope I don't get carried away editing and adding new stuff lol.

[fromtheseventhhell]

The worst part of the GOT and HOTD adaptations is that they remove any sense of narrative or themes being explored from George's writing. The showrunners rewrite characters and change plotlines on a whim and remove any sense of cohesive storytelling. There's just...literally no point to the story and the writers struggle to come up with sensible explanations for the changes they've decided to make.

[outofmymindbebacklater]

I have a great percabeth apocalypse AU written out but I'm not a story writer so it's point form and I just have to imagine it when I go to sleep at night i guess

[lyssentome]

I'm coming to terms with the fact that the only thing I have going for my writing are: a) dialogue and b) emotional scenes with way too many flowery phrases. Idk how to do anything else. I have no spatial ability. Why the Fuck am I even a writer if I can't visualize shit.

[cantstayawaycani]

*personal

[badcircuit]

Look man I don't need or expect anything to become canon. That's what FANfiction and FANdom is for...for the fans.

[kelin-is-writing]

need jobless and immature peoples on tumblrdotcom to grow up seriously 💜

[rustedleopard]

Privatized all my fics yesterday. If you wanna see 'em, you'll need an AO3 account.

[cherrifire]

I just got a wild and long ask about Character AI and my only comment is that I still hate generative AI with a burning passion. It's bad for the environment (Generative AI uses a LOT of power and water to run), trained on stolen data from artists/writers without their consent to make cheap knockoffs, and isn't as fun as bothering my best friend to roleplay some stupid characters in our DMs.

While on the subject of Character AI, I've seen people make AI bots based on me. I do NOT consent to have ANY bots made to imitate me or any of my characters. There are no exceptions to this rule, I will report these bots and get them taken down. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable that people are making bots based on me and my personality. I'm a real person. Please treat me like one.

[loser-brain]

Now everyone, what do we do when we see this?

We... report their ass as spam/bot and carry on. No violence... just report -> as spam/bot -> block in the process.

And we move on... and daydream under a big tree, on top of the hill, under a sunny sky, with gentle breeze brushin' against our face, with the sound of bird humming around as we plan on how we gonna murder them and torture the person for committing a crime on mistreating artists on this site because god damn y'all this site needs to treat creatives betters. We're not about to become the next Instagram and post art that 1. does not belong to us and 2. put this in the caption. HELL NO.

If the artist is not on Tumblr but you have their permission to post their art with credit and a source to find them. You're fine.

If the artist is on Tumblr but you have their permission to post their art onto here (with credit and @/ing them in the process). You're fine.

If an artist is on here or not BUT you didn't bother to look for them and just decided to take their work and not say anything on who is the artist to get "street creds..."

You're a dead man walking and I'm chargin' at ya.

Quick note. In case this was to blow up and explode.

Reposting ≠ Reblogging

Reposting ≠ Retweeting

Reposting ≠ Sharing

Reblogging = Retweeting

Reblogging = Sharing

Reblogging is not the same as reposting. Reposting is literally taking someone's work and posting it onto your blog makin' you the author. Reblogging/Retweeting is just putting the post from the author onto your page and still linking the author in the process. Stop overthinking it. When someone says please don't repost my work THIS IS WHAT THEY MEAN!!

*kisses on the forehead, head pats, and hands you a tiny dagger* Now go slaughter those asshats that take artists' work for their own gain.

[emberwhite]

I spent the last 11 months working with my illustrator, Marta, to make the children's book of my dreams. We were able to get every detail just the way I wanted, and I'm very happy with the final result. She is the best person I have ever worked with, and I mean, just look at those colors!

I wanted to tell that story of anyone's who ever felt that they didn't belong anywhere. Whether you are a nerd, autistic, queer, trans, a furry, or some combination of the above, it makes for a sad and difficult life. This isn't just my story. This is our story.

I also want to say the month following the book's launch has been very stressful. I have never done this kind of book before, and I didn't know how to get the word out about it. I do have a small publishing business and a full-time job, so I figured let's put my some money into advertising this time. Indie writers will tell you great success stories they've had using Facebook ads, so I started a page and boosting my posts.

Within a first few days, I got a lot of likes and shares and even a few people who requested the book and left great reviews for me. There were also people memeing on how the boy turns into a delicious venison steak at the end of the book. It was all in good fun, though. It honestly made made laugh. Things were great, so I made more posts and increased spending.

But somehow, someway these new posts ended up on the wrong side of the platform. Soon, we saw claims of how the book was perpetuating mental illness, of how this book goes against all of basic biology and logic, and how the lgbtq agenda was corrupting our kids.

This brought out even more people to support the book, so I just let them at it and enjoyed my time reading comments after work. A few days later, then conversation moved from politics to encouraging bullying, accusing others of abusing children, and a competition to who could post the most cruel image. They were just comments, however, and after all, people were still supporting the book.

But then the trolls started organizing. Over night, I got hit with 3 one-star reviews on Amazon. My heart stopped. If your book ever falls below a certain rating, it can be removed, and blocked, and you can receive a strike on your publishing account. All that hard work was about to be deleted, and it was all my fault for posting it in the wrong place.

I panicked, pulled all my posts, and went into hiding, hoping things would die down. I reported the reviews and so did many others, but here's the thing you might have noticed across platforms like Google and Amazon. There are community guidelines that I referenced in my email, but unless people are doing something highly illegal, things are rarely ever taken down on these massive platforms. So those reviews are still there to this day. Once again, it's my fault, and I should have seen it coming.

Luckily, the harassment stopped, and the book is doing better now, at least in the US. The overall rating is still rickety in Europe, Canada, and Australia, so any reviews there help me out quite a lot. I'm currently looking for a new home to post about the book and talk about everything that went into it. I also love to talk about all things books if you ever want to chat. Maybe I'll post a selfie one day, too. Otherwise, the book is still on Amazon, and the full story and illustrations are on YouTube as well if you want to read it for free.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: i caved and did an actual Ewan fic! Given that the lad is more of a public persona nowadays, I reckon it's fine (?) This is pure self-indulgence for all my Ewan loves. May have a continuation but idk for now, enjoy!!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The reader and Ewan are paired for press interviews. Despite barely having any scenes together and only knowing each other in passing on set, the chemistry they share cannot be denied...

Your first round of press takes place in a primped up hotel suite in Paris, thanks to the team at HBO.

You are an up and coming actress, much like some of your costars in the show, but the pressure is heavier on you because you were entering in season two, whereas everyone was already well-acquainted with one another.

Your few scenes were mostly with Jace and Baela, so you grew close to Harry and Bethany.

However, the media team decided to pair you up with Ewan for the day. A little fun initiative was set by the team that a character from the Blacks would be do press with a counterpart from the Greens - hence, yourself and Ewan.

You're nervous as you walk down the hallway, unable to fully pay attention to the instructions your lovely assistant gives you.

She tells you about the different interviewers for the day, bloggers and magazine writers from all over the world. She reminds you that each one will only be for a maximum of 5 minutes, so it shouldn't be too complicated. She smiles and eagerly says, "Take a deep breath, you got this!", as you reach the suite doors.

But in your mind, all you can recall is your first interaction with Ewan, almost a year ago right after the table read. You had nervously blurted out to him that Aemond is your favourite character, after he just asked, "How are you?". He laughed, said thank you, before he was pulled away in conversation by Tom.

You pray to the fictional Westerosi gods that things will fare better today. That you won't get all tongue-tied when those steel blue eyes land on you.

Upon entering the room, the team is quick to fuss over you. Sometimes you forget that you're actually an actress now. A celebrity, some might say. It all feels surreal and you have a inkling it won't ever stop being this way.

Ewan is already seated in front of the camera, and he stands to give you a hug as you finally walk over.

"Hey there, how are you?" he smiles widely, smelling like cigarettes and something muskier as he wraps his arms around you.

Unroll your tongue. Rework your brain. Calm down.

"Hey, Ewan!" you respond. "I'm doing great, happy to see you again."

"Well, I only wish we could have had more time together on set." Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to take your seat before he does the same. "But next season perhaps? Who knows?"

"Oh, sure." You settle in, pleased by the fact that your chairs are only about a foot apart. "We can both look forward to my character giving Aemond the arse kicking he deserves."

He laughs, eyes glinting with mischief. "Come on now, I was thinking our characters are actually quite compatible, no?"

"Well, I sure wouldn't want to step on Alys' shoes. She'd probably curse my character all the way to Yi Ti."

"Hmm," he hums, biting his lip. You can't help but hear Aemond when he does that. "I say you can always count on Aemond and Vhagar to come to the rescue of a beautiful maiden such as yourself."

Well, you'll be damned. Ewan, while still an introvert of his own sort, is as charming as can be. If he's turning it on to get himself hyped for the press, it's working.

It's definitely working on you, to say the least.

The media manager gives the signal for the first interview to begin, and a reporter walks in, all ready with prepared script in hand.

"Here we go," you mutter, facing forward.

"Good luck," Ewan replies.

You both shake the reporter's hand, and he introduces himself as Jared.

"So guys," Jared begins. "Why don't we start with you telling me a little bit about what we can expect from your characters this season?"

The question is easy, and it doesn't take long for you and Ewan to think it through. Jared asks a few more basic questions, before drawing the attention more to you.

"When you watched season one, did you have a favourite character?" he asks you.

You smile, "Oh, I mean, I have to say - and Ewan already knows this, by the way - that Aemond was my favourite character."

"Was?" Ewan says, feigning shock. "Unacceptable."

"Was... Is... " you shrug, rolling your eyes playfully, earning a laugh from Jared. "I think I might be more a Daemon girl now."

"Oh!" Jared exclaims happily. "Does Matt know about this?"

"I'll be sure to tell him - "

Ewan interjects, shaking his head at you, "There's no need to tell him, because I'll convert her back to Team Aemond in no time, trust me."

"Daemon is awesome, though," you say to him, smiling.

"Sure." Ewan makes a face like that fact doesn't matter. Wasn't he the one who said that Daemon would be the character he would most like to play if not Aemond?

"And Caraxes is my favourite dragon." You share a look with Jared, hoping he would agree.

"Yes!" Jared says. "Caraxes is the best dragon in the show, in my opinion."

"Ah, you're both wrong," Ewan says. "My Vhagar is the oldest and baddest dragon in all of the land."

"My Vhagar, he says," you joke. "Seems like someone still hasn't shed Aemond for this press tour."

"And I never will, darling." His gaze is intense when he turns to you, and you clear your throat to fight the warmth rushing to your cheeks.

"Alright, they're giving me the wrap-up," Jared thankfully breaks the tension. "It was a pleasure talking to you guys, congratulations on the new season!"

One interview down, and your nerves have already considerably subsided. Ewan tapping your arm to start up a conversation once more surely helps in distracting you.

In the best damn way possible.

"How do you think we did? That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"I think we did quite well," you casually offer a high five, but your heart skips a beat when Ewan interlaces your suspended hands for just a moment.

"I'm glad they paired me with you," Ewan says, after releasing your hand. You hold on to the armrests to keep your fingers from twitching.

"I am, too," you admit. "I am a fan of you, after all, but I think you already know that."

He blushes, "Well, that's not a bad thing. I think you're a fantastic actress. I must have seen your first film a good ten times."

"You mean my first and only film," you add humbly. "But thank you."

"Only film for now," he affirms. "No doubt this is only the beginning for you, darling. With your talent and your charisma, I'm sure you have potential scripts piled up already."

"I could say the same for you! Have you seen what your fans say about you online? You're the internet's new boyfriend, Ewan Mitchell."

The media manager announces the next interview, but Ewan follows up with a response for you under his breath, "I have seen some things. But when I have a girlfriend, I'll make sure she won't have to share me at all."

Oh, so apparently he is single. But wait - why is he telling you this?

You don't get to mull over that thought. For the time being, the next interview starts and you make sure you do a good job at what you're paid to do - promoting the series.

Not daydreaming about getting with a costar, for heaven's sake. Stay professional.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You feel lightheaded after finishing the seventh - or had it been the eighth? - interview.

Your assistant delivers a coffee to you during the twenty-minute break. Ewan had stepped out to the balcony to have a smoke, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

He certainly is everything you expected him to be, and so much more. Insightful, cheeky, dedicated. An artist, through and through. He was in the business for all the right reasons, passion and respect for the craft.

If he had any flaws, you weren't privy to them yet. If there are any reasons for you not to be attracted to him, you didn't know what those were yet.

And with every flirtatious remark and pointed smile, you can't deny the hope blooming in you.

"Hey," he reappears, pulling you out of your musings. "I hope you don't mind that I smell of smoke."

No, you didn't, not when it's him.

"Don't worry about it," you reassure him. You tilt your head forward to take a sip of your coffee, but a lock of your hair falls in front of your face. Annoyed, you think to reach for it, but Ewan beats you to it, tucking it back in place.

"There you go, darling," he croons, gesturing for you to proceed in drinking.

"Th-thanks." His eyes don't leave yours as you take a slow sip.

"So," you say, desperate to break the silence, "which interview did you enjoy the most so far?"

"How can I possibly choose? I mean, I really liked the one with ComicSociety, the guy that said our characters have a lot of chemistry and should get together next season. He's right, I already told you!"

"Ohhh, sure, that will go down really well with the Blacks and Greens."

He smirks, "I don't see why not?"

"For one, Aemond is ensnared by Alys, and my character will never give up fighting for Rhaenyra. I just don't see it happening, Ewan."

"Right," he mutters thoughtfully, "there is still Alys in the picture."

"Still in the picture? With the amount of steamy scenes you two have lined up for season three, I'd say she will be Aemond's entire picture in and of herself."

"Hmm," he glances at you once, then looks down. Dare you think it, does he look disappointed?

"But hey," you add lightly, "maybe we can talk to Ryan and he can flip the entire script just for our characters."

"Yeah," his cheeky smile resurfaces, "maybe you can take Alys' place."

Take the place of Alys? Of Alys. Is he insinuating...

"Next round of interviews, guys!" The media manager announces to the room.

"Here we go again, darling," Ewan squeezes your hand once, before putting on his professional face once more.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

By the end of it all, not even caffeine can perk you up. You were exhausted, you and Ewan having finished four full hours of press.

Your assistant comes to your aid, ready to direct you back to your own hotel room.

"This has been such a pleasure, Ewan, really." You stand, this time initiating the hug.

He squeezes you gently, humming in your ear. When you pull apart, he says, "I honestly wouldn't mind trudging through hours and hours of press with you."

That's sweet of him. You're too tired to mask the warmth that rises to your cheeks. "And I feel the same. Today couldn't have gone any better."

"Truly, and listen, maybe we could - "

"Ewan!" The manager approaches. "I'm so sorry to rush with this, but we need to film just a quick soundbite with you for Aemond. Just two to three questions for the Max Tiktok account?"

"Oh, okay - " Ewan is reluctant to turn away from you.

"Perfect! If you could just stand there by the windows please..." The manager already has him by the arm, directing where he has to go.

"We have to go," your assistant says. "Still have to prep for tomorrow."

"I'll see you soon, Ewan!" you call out to him. "Thanks again."

He gives a half-hearted wave, dejected as he watches you walk out of the room.

"That wasn't too bad," you share with your assistant as you enter the elevators. "Not bad at all, actually."

"Oh, you did so well," she compliments. "It definitely helps with the press that you and Mr. Mitchell have such insane natural chemistry."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

In the calm of your hotel room, you get ready for bed.

Just when you're about to finish with your nightly routine, your phone rings from your bedside table. You're quick to rush over, thinking it could be your assistant or your manager, with an urgent update about work.

But no - it's an unknown number. A UK number, as it appears.

Confused, you click answer anyway, putting it to your ear with a tentative, "Hello, who is this?"

"Hi, darling."

"Ewan?"

"Yeah, uhm, I hope I didn't disturb you - "

"Not at all," your answer comes out in a rushed breath.

"I also hope you don't mind that I got my assistant to ask your assistant to give me your number? It's what I wanted to ask you before you left today."

"Oh." You feel fully awake now, by some miracle, butterflies finding home in your stomach. "I don't mind. I... I should have given you my number, anyway. I have most of the cast's, in case I need to get a hold of you guys."

"Hmm, right," he says from the other end. You hear him calmly breathing, the sound strangely comforting, and wonder if he can hear the same from you.

He says, "I just wanted to keep hearing your voice. Didn't get enough of it today," and your heart just about stops.

"Oh. Okay," is all you are able to respond with.

"What are you doing?"

"Just... just getting ready for bed." Phone pressed to your ear, you shuffle around the room, putting some things back in place.

He says nothing for a few seconds, but you still hear his breathing, and some shuffling in the background. It occurs to you that he might just be as nervous as you are now.

Maybe.

"Listen," he finally says, "do you want to hear my pitch to Ryan about why our characters should get together next season?"

A genuine laugh escapes you. He sure is persistent. Playful, sure, but you're definitely willing to play along.

"Let's hear it."

"First," he says, "you have to renounce Daemon as your favourite character - "

"Not a chance."

" - and swear your love for Aemond."

"Keep dreaming."

He laughs, and you can only picture the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Aww darling," he teases, "don't you love me?"

💌 part two - part three

The OGs will know that the final line is a nod to my first ever Aemond fic! 🖤

Did this slightly delay my series works? Yes, yes it did. Do I regret it? For Ewan frickin Mitchell, I would never ~