#it now and it was filmed a while ago or something

[nalyra-dreaming]

hi nalyra, a couple of days ago i saw you answering something about the possibility of tr*mp being elected and that not being great for iwtv and shows in general i think. i'm not sure i understood what's going to happen now that the nightmare came true. would you mind explaining to me?

Well….

I mean, you heard about Project 2025, maybe?

If you haven't... well, I posted about it months ago, and ... it might be too late now, but the Trump administration and his enablers set up this nice little playbook. It's worth looking into, because that's what they want.

We'll see if they manage, but... remember how fast the environmental websites disappeared last time? The LGBT ones? Yep. I remember. First day. And it's easy to check the shit show that happened because of Trump's first term, and still...

Anyways, what does that mean for IWTV?

Let me be cynical for a moment - what do you think it means?

A show, addressing racial issues, with a color-conscious recast. A show, featuring more or less all queer characters. A show, about to feature non-binary and genderqueer characters. A show, not afraid of putting its fingers into wounds.

It is a good thing they're about to start filming s3 already.

I hope we will get s4.

For more I do not dare to hope for.

I ... don't think it's going to be cancelled immediately. And maybe we'll get lucky and AMC will continue to thrive through the people loving the show. Luckily AMC is situated in New York, too.

But if they implement legislation, like they plan to?

Then that will impact. You probably cannot quite fathom how much - yet.

If the Trump administration manages to implement half of what they're planning it will throw back the US for decades.

And with it the culture, and ... well. TV shows, too. Remember all the porn bans, and - even more benevolently - the cookie popups?? LEGISLATION. The wet dream of these people. And they just scored a major victory.

IWTV is the very antithesis for a lot of their beliefs. Queer, racially sensitive and highly critical.

It will be a thorn in their side, and they will seek to remove it.

It will be up to us to make it lucrative enough for AMC to put up with the backlash btw or even fight back against legislation/censorship. Like, seriously. Should IWTV get 10 seasons? YEP. Does AMC plan to do so? Yes. At this point at least they do.

Will they be able to fight against legislation? Debatable.

So maybe this fandom can fucking stop infighting about fucking fictional characters and maybe actually work to keep this friggin' show.

Hope dies last. -.-

Oh, and while we're at it: It's a good thing Ao3 is in CA, but please don't think that they are absolutely safe there. Four years is a long time, and I don't think Trump is going to hold any election after those four years.... -.-

[python333]

after hours — python³

― ― ― ―

synopsis you've been stalking ghost for a while now. the issue? you didn't even know you were stalking him.

relationships platonic!ghost & gn!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 4.02k

warnings usage of [name] as a placeholder for your name, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], ghost's pov, stalking, nonconsensual photography of ghost [nothing crazy, just taking pictures of him while hes out and about]

note i have a tummyache :(

You’re very troubled.

Bright red lights dull to a darker, velvety color as they reach a stark black flooring. They illuminate beige twine that’s strung over clean counters and square plates of clear water, twine that carries several photographs held up by clothespins. It’s very monochromatic, the color schemes in the room. The more vibrant, more lively colors are contained in developed polaroid film, labeled with dates, names, and locations. Your most recent one, labeled as 10/30, Riley, Heaton Park, was taken on the very date, in the very place, and of the very person you’ve labeled it with. Organization has always been very important to you.

It’s a weird contrast, your organization against your troubledness. On one hand, you like to keep everything in check, finding joy in having all of your belongings put together through some sort of connection they have―color, size, name―but on the other hand, something about that cleanliness throws you off sometimes. An unsettling ripple will center itself in your chest and create a circular wave that leaves the tips of your fingers tingling and your head a mess, your brain barely in control of your actions anymore, your hands somehow moving on their own and ruining everything you’ve organized. There’s been moments where your pictures have been ripped from the pins and thrown across the room, landing in water or on the floor or in the large vent in the corner of the room.

You’ve been able to keep it under control for a while, though. You haven’t had an episode in a while now. You scan the photos hung across the length of the twine, searching for a date, then finding one that sounds right. 08/17. So it’s been two months and fourteen days since your last outburst. A pretty good accomplishment, if you do say so yourself. 

“‘s been a while,” you mumble under your breath, your index finger and thumb pinching the bottom of the polaroid, observing it. This one is labeled with Riley as well, taken in a tattoo shop somewhere in Sheffield. It’s a long ways away from where Riley lives, funnily enough. The tattoo artist must be good for him to drive so far. You’ve only seen a few of his tattoos, and wonder if he has any that he’s hiding from you. From you, you mentally scoff, as if he’s thinking about you at all. 

He’s only seen you once. Riley’s a particularly mysterious character, at least to you. He only comes into the shop every other week, buying some variation of beef or pork. Two weeks ago he came in for pork belly, about two kilograms of it, and through some painful small talk, you learned he was making a pork dish for a gathering. He didn’t specify family gathering―he never does, which makes you think that either every gathering is a family gathering or no gathering is a family gathering―so you assume he’s talking about some kind of friend get-together.

Considering the dish he was making, all belly porchetta, you think he’s using around half a kilogram of pork belly per person, since that’s what you saw in a majority of the recipes you looked up. Assuming he did, you can guess that he had about three other people over, four if he didn’t make any for himself. You’re pretty confident that you know who the other three are. You’ve seen Riley around a few other people before, and it’s always the same three, and they have these weird nicknames for eachother. 

Or, at least, you used to think they were just nicknames. The more you heard them talk, though, the more you realized that they weren’t just nicknames. They were titles. Ranks, even. Riley is Lieutenant, or L.t., his friend Price is Captain, one of his other friends is either Gaz or Sarge, and his other friend Mactavish is Johnny. That, you think, is an actual nickname, but still. So they’re military. You’ve never dwelled too much on that fact, knowing that it doesn’t change much of what you already know about their friend group. 

You’re drawn to this friend group like a magnet to steel. You’ve taken a particular liking to Riley, though, who you’ve heard been called Lieutenant, L.t., and Ghost. Riley, who wears a black balaclava and has a blonde buzzcut that screams military so loudly you’re shocked you didn’t pick up on it earlier. Riley, whose dog tags hang on the coat rack near the front door of his flat, the black silencer around them rough to the touch. Riley, who chose the worst building to live in, considering the state of their locks. 

You release the polaroid and it sways a little where it’s suspended in the air, before stilling. You feel an itch. An itch that follows the lines of your fingerprints, swirling, a corn maze-like pattern being used as a guide for it. Your I-2 stays hung around your neck by a thick strap, and your hands go to it almost immediately, fitting in the worn grooves that your fingers have created over the years. 

Suddenly, causing you to lose your grip on the camera, the bell rings. Shit. Despite thinking about Riley, you forgot that this is his usual time. You take the camera off immediately and haphazardly set it down on the counter, dusting your hands off on your apron and rushing out of the room. The light outside is almost blinding, an ugly reminder of the outside world, and you squint for a moment to get past the too-white artificial lights and soon your eyes adjust to it. You walk up a few steps and open the door, walking a little further to get to the cash register, before seeing Riley patiently waiting near it. His card’s already in his hand. 

“Sorry about that,” you apologize for the wait, grabbing a pair of latex gloves from under the counter and putting them on, “what’re you looking for today?”

Riley hums and watches you put on the gloves, “‘bout two half-kilos of ribeye, if you’ve got any.” 

“We have exactly that much left, I believe,” you look up from your hands and give Riley a smile, “guess you’re taking the last few.” 

“Guess so.” He’s a man of few words, but you still savor every one he speaks. It’s satisfying, the sharpness of his tone; it almost reminds you of cutting the fat off of a slab of meat. A thin blade against fatty tissue, cleanly hacking away at the white flesh, though leaving rough marks at some points. 

You walk to the back, painfully aware of the window that allows Riley to see your every move, and see a partially butchered prime rib. There’s just enough for a ribeye and a rack of ribs, so you grab a clean meat cleaver from off the wall and chop off a good half kilogram of ribeye, laying the cut on a paper-covered scale and seeing that it’s just about half a kilogram. You trade off the cleaver to your non-dominant hand and reach for a sheet of paper, your gloved hand transferring the ribeye over to the brown paper and setting it off to the side. 

You repeat the process again until you have two half kilo ribeyes, both wrapped in butcher paper, and you take off your gloves before putting on a new pair, not wanting to get meat juice all over the paper. You stack one on top of the other and carry the papered ribeyes out of the room, the door opening and closing behind you as you walk over to the register and set the two down. Riley watches you intently. You revel in the feeling of his eyes on you.

“Date night?” you ask, curious. You wonder if there’s someone new you’ll be able to observe. Maybe someone who can help you learn more about Riley.

He huffs out a laugh, something that makes you hold back a smile, and shakes his head, “No, not a date. Just a night.” “Just a night…” you hum, not prodding further even if you want to, reminding yourself that you can’t poke too much or else he might never come back, “whatever you say.”

“I’m sure he wishes it were a date night,” Riley mutters, to which you let a smile crack through. 

“Good luck with your not-date night, then,” you bid him farewell and Riley nods, leaving you with a “have a good night”, the bell above the door ringing as he exits the room. You let out a breath. Jesus. 

— 

Ghost doesn’t think you know how obvious you are. Given your youth, he supposes he shouldn’t be shocked at this level of ignorance, but still. 

He’ll catch you in the corner of his eye. He thinks you think you’re being discreet, but that little camera you keep around your neck always seems to be swaying, and every time he looks a certain way, he can hear the small click and shutter of the camera. He can put two and two together. He’s not stupid, despite what you must think of him. 

Ghost keeps the packaged meat in his hands, not bothering to conceal them as he makes his way back to his flat. It’s a pretty basic building, with picked-to-bits locks and door hinges in desperate need of some WD-40, something he didn’t really think about too much until you started coming around uninvited. He’s not sure if you’ve noticed the various cameras set up around his flat. If you have, he isn’t sure why you wouldn’t take them out―he’s sure that you can. That you have the ability to. Or, he might just be overestimating you. It’s hard to tell at this point.

Ghost wants to confront you, desperately so. He wants to walk up to you in your own shop, wants to hear you greet him and ask him what he’s looking for that particular day, and wants to see the look on your face as he asks you to bring some lithium grease the next time you come around to rid those doors of their squeakiness. He hopes that you’re frozen when he says it, like a deer in headlights, unable to think until he asks you if you really thought he wouldn’t figure it out. It sounds a little cruel, but he thinks, given everything he’s experienced, he’s entitled to a little cruelty, especially if it’s towards his own stalker. 

You can handle it. He’s sure of it. He hasn’t been stalking you for as long as you have to him, but he’s essentially trained for this type of thing, so it comes much easier to him than he’s sure it does to you. As far as he knows, you haven’t gone through the same training as him. You don’t know what to look for. Given the inexperience you show in your actions, Ghost wants to assume that you’re self-taught, and picked this up recently. He doesn’t know if he should be flattered or not by the possibility of you getting into stalking because of him. Since, for some strange reason, he chose to go to your butcher shop instead of the one he would usually go to before the stalking. 

You’re young. Younger than him, at least, by a lot. You’ve never told him your age or anything, but it’s not too hard to tell by looking at you and seeing the way you talk to other customers. You always seem to be a little more polite around him, less joking, aside from today. You’re more laidback with other customers. He wonders if your stalking habits prevent you from acting normal around him, so you compensate for that by trying to act too normal. Except, it doesn’t work, because he can see how you act around other customers. He’s seen your normal. He knows it’s not what you act like around him. Sure, it could be that you’re only normal around him and no other customers, but he’s seen you outside of work too. The only other possibility would be that you only act normal around him specifically, but that just wouldn’t make sense.

Ghost wonders if you get something out of this stalking. He doesn’t look into statistics too much, so he doesn’t really know if stalking is just more popular among the younger generation, or if you’re just special in that way. It could be a hobby, but he’d think that you’d be a little more careful if it was. A little more experienced, even. It might be that it’s an addiction; maybe you feel ashamed of your stalking, but you just can’t help it. However, if you did, Ghost doesn’t think you’d be so obvious about it. No, he thinks that you’d hide it more, that you’d be more nervous around him. While you’re anything but normal in his presence, you can still make conversation with him, and try your best not to bring up things that you know about him that you really shouldn’t. If you felt any kind of shame about it, he thinks you’d slip up more, because even though you’re sloppy, you still managed to go unnoticed under his radar for however long until he caught you for the first time.

The only reason that he knows it wasn’t your first time when he caught you was because of something that you could’ve easily avoided. You tend to mutter to yourself, whether on purpose or on autopilot, and when you’re taking photos of him, you like cursing out the camera when it somehow malfunctions or whispering directions under your breath. Left, get that thing he’s holding, he’s heard you mumble, oddly loud for someone who's trying so hard to be discreet, right… down… good. 

It was disturbing at first. Ghost doesn’t find many things scary these days, but this came a little close to being scary; the thought of someone always watching him, documenting his every move, studying him like a researcher to a labrat. He’s never liked that caged feeling. Being unaware of your observation, not consenting to any of it, unable to consent to it because he’s not supposed to know that you’re stalking him at all. 

The worst part, he thinks, is that he feels a weird sort of sympathy for you. Again, you’re young, you sell meat for way too cheap despite its quality, you probably barely understand the severity of your actions. He doesn’t want to underestimate you. God knows he’s done enough of that. But, for some strange reason, he feels so strongly that you don’t grasp exactly what you’re doing. It makes him feel a little bad for essentially fantasizing about confronting you, knowing how conflicted you must feel, being so obsessive over someone as mundane as him. Truly, he hasn’t told you anything to pique your interest, so it has to just be something about him that’s got you so eager to witness every little thing he does.

He doesn’t know what it is. He hopes that he’ll find out soon. Maybe that confrontation shouldn’t stay a fantasy. 

Two weeks pass by like a short gust of wind. Quick, but still leaving Ghost a little disgruntled. He’s on his usual walk towards your shop, a small tingle on the tips of his fingers, an itch that won’t leave his palms, lingering on his hands like pins stuck in the cushion. The feeling is inexplicable, only noticeable by the time he had spotted the sign hanging over the red awning outside of your shop. He feels like he needs to grab something. Maybe he’s just that excited to get his hands on the pork tenderloin he intends to buy. Maybe he’s thrilled by the idea of asking you why he hears a camera shutter open every time he goes out in a relatively populated area.

The door bells ring as he walks in. You’re leaning against the counter, fidgeting with your gloves, your head whipping up when you hear the bells. You try to conceal it, but Ghost can see the ghost―haha, get it, ghost? Like his callsign? Oh, whatever―of a smile appear on your face. It should make him feel sick, but for whatever reason, it only makes the itch grow. Ghost looks around the shop, seeing the empty place, and walks up to the counter.

“Busy day?” he asks, making you breathe out a laugh.

“Very,” you reply, your words short but always having that sense of incompletion, “what’re you looking for today?”

“Half a kilo of pork tenderloin,” Ghost answers, leaning against the counter as you nod and head to the back. He watches you through the glass, biting his tongue.

There’s so much he wants to ask. 

You come back quickly, just a few minutes later, and Ghost finds himself face to face with a packaged pork tenderloin. You’re quiet as you type up his receipt, but he doesn’t bother to pull out his card. The itch is bothering him. The itch starts to crawl up his wrist, curling around it like a handcuff, running along his veins and making the hair on his arms stand up. It reaches his shoulder and hits an old scar from a fight a long time ago, then reaches his neck, manages to wrap itself around it like a rope, and suddenly―

“Why’d you take that picture of me?” Ghost’s voice interrupts the calm silence, replacing it with a sort of tension. He sees the way you freeze up, your head slowly lifting up, your eyes locking onto his, all confusion and nerves. 

He doesn’t repeat himself. He just waits.

— 

You blink. What? 

“Sorry?” you laugh nervously, but Riley doesn’t budge. He only stares at you. You’re tempted to utilize your right to refuse service, but he isn’t technically servicing you, only talking to you. 

“You know what I’m talking about,” Riley responds, not getting threatening, but still leaning forward a bit and narrowing his eyes at you, “‘bout two or three weeks ago, Heaton Park?”

You stay silent, because despite your excessive planning, you never accounted for a possibility where Riley actually caught you. You guess you were so caught up in observing him that you never thought about what you would do if he ended up confronting you about it. You just didn’t think you were obvious. Maybe you aren’t obvious. Maybe Riley has developed a habit of being more aware of his surroundings or something after being in the military for so long, so much so that he was aware enough to detect your presence despite you keeping your distance.

Whatever it is, it has you choked up. You never imagined that you’d be in this position. It always felt like it’d be him who was confused, maybe even paranoid―but, surprisingly, it’s you.

When you don’t respond for a few more seconds, Riley doesn’t let up. He doesn’t go easy on you. He leans back but the state of his eyes don’t change, they don’t get any less skeptical or stormy, the gray-blue irises staring at you like two camera lenses. You swear you can hear a faint click every time he blinks, like he’s taking pictures of your every move, just as you had done to him. Like he’s observing you just as much as you observed him. You wonder, briefly, if this is how he feels when he senses your burning stare on him.

“Are you scared?” Riley asks, like an English Billy Loomis, “Did you ever think I was scared?”

You can feel a little sweat cultivating on your forehead. You’re sure Riley can see it too. His eyes flicker all over your face, and it feels like you’ve switched roles, with him being the researcher and you the subject. 

You can’t respond. How are you supposed to? You’re not scared, you’re dreadfully curious, wanting so badly to grab the camcorder you haven’t used in a good few years and just record. You want a stenotype and a chair, with a body double to act as yourself, to watch yourself have this conversation and take notes. You need order. You need a judge, jury, and executioner, to be allowed to be the reporter, to copy every word that exits Riley’s mouth. 

This is so out of his element. You knew he was confrontational, but―

“Do you never turn it off?” What? “The stalking?”

Stalking? “I think you should leave,” you force yourself to say, even if it leaves a suffocating feeling in your chest, forcing Riley away like this. 

“I’m not mad,” Riley tries to reassure you, “I’m a little disappointed, though.” 

“Disappointed?” you can’t help but repeat, despite your shock.

“Just a little,” Riley hums, so uncharacteristic of him, so unlike what you’ve seen from him. It’s so fascinating, yet horrifying. 

You’re quiet again. He’s disappointed? You should be more scared of the fact that he knows what you’ve been doing, the hobby that you meant to keep under wraps until you managed to get to a place where you no longer needed to participate in it, but you somehow find yourself more saddened by the fact that your subject is disappointed in you. It makes no sense. You can’t put it into one of the little boxes you’ve folded up in your head.

“Does it make you mad?” What? “Knowing that I know what you’ve been doing?’

You can’t find the words to respond.

“Do you understand what you’re doing?” Riley asks with a level of understanding you could never foresee hearing from him, especially directed at you, “Did you know that you were stalking me?”

That word makes you actually freeze. You stop breathing for a moment, switching from automatic to manual, all because of that word. Stalking? It feels foreign even in your mind, feeling so taboo just to think, the word barely a part of your vocabulary. You can’t recall ever using it to describe what you’d been doing. 

You don’t know if Riley senses this, or if it’s just the look on your face, but whatever it is, something seems to tell him that no, you weren’t aware of that. You don’t know how you didn’t know. Yeah, no shit, of course you were stalking him, how didn’t you know until now?

You genuinely don’t know what to do. Riley’s looking at you like you’re some kind of lost street dog, your palms are heating up, there’s a loud buzzing in your ears, and you think your voice box has somehow been turned off. You want to say something so bad. You want to apologize, even if you don’t entirely understand what you’re apologizing for. You want to defend yourself, because you weren’t aware of what you were doing. You want to do something. Anything.

“I’m gonna leave,” Riley sets a few tenners down on the counter, “but I need you to know that I’m not mad, okay?”

Oh, right. You’re not mad, just disappointed. Which is somehow worse than you being mad. “... Okay.”

Riley looks at you, scanning your face, searching you, “Okay?”

You nod and Riley exhales, picking up his pork tenderloin. “Have a good day.” 

When he’s gone, you feel a wetness on your cheek, and bring your fingers up to your face with furrowed eyebrows. You’re crying.

— 

Ghost doesn’t leave. He stays and watches you close up the shop, watching to see if anyone else stops by. He’s been doing it every few weeks after finding out about your hobby, always justifying it by telling himself he’s just looking out for you. It’s dangerous around here. It’s why he doesn’t live around these parts. You clearly don’t know that. Shit, if you were so unaware of your own stalking, how could you possibly be aware of the dangers around you?

You leave the shop and Ghost watches. You don’t even spare a glance in his direction, and that very fact tells him everything he needs to know. You’re vulnerable out here. You need his protection. You need it. 

Ghost gets up from his kneeling position and dusts his hands off on his knees. He can protect you.

[aayakashii]

I remember you did something kind of similar already, but I was thinking what if Vagastorm had an S/O that can or likes to carry them around sometimes? :3c

Omg I am obsessed with your art btw 😭😭 I love it so so much, it always makes me laugh!!!!

And yesss I did it here!! Which is wow a LONG time ago so I'd love to give it a go again, with a fresher opinion on them all hehehe

Vagastrom with a S/O that loves to carry them around (with pictures ?!)

Alan

He's absolutely horrified with this situation

Please put him down

Doesn't matter if you're EXTREMELY strong, he still thinks and acts as if he could hurt you even if he's not doing anything

Literally the type of guy that needs to go through exposure therapy in order to get used to the most minuscule touches

So you'll have to work hard until he allows you to carry him around sometimes

You can begin slow, after he's used to you hugging him

You can go for a hug, squeeze him tight and then finally lift him for a few seconds

He'll still be alarmed, but slowly he'll get used to your random bursts of affection that lead to you carrying him around

Once he's used to it, however, he thinks it's actually kind of relaxing

Feeling weightless for a little while in your arms is an unexpected bonus of his relationship with you

And he won't lie that it brings him great comfort that you're strong

Don't get him wrong, he still acts as if you're easily breakable

But maybe not as much... Just a little bit 🤏

Alan before he got used to being carried vs Alan after he got used to being carried

Leo

Oh he LOOOOVES it

But only when he wants it, of course

As soon as he realizes you are strong enough to carry him around, he WILL be using this opportunity to be as lazy as possible

What do you expect from the guy who is plenty capable of doing anything with his ghoul strength but still asks Alan to open cans for him 😭

You will become his little lackey whenever he wants to be carried and you will 100% like it

Some of those weird cats are going around cleaning the dorm? Get up and carry him somewhere else xox

He found a new trend on tiktok abt partners carrying each other? Come here real quick and let him film a new video for his feed thx

Now YOU want to carry him out of nowhere when he didn't ask for it??

Now that's some audacity

Be ready to either be pushed away or to have some bubblegum stuck on your face for a long time 🫶

He's like a poisonous animal, except instead of shooting out venom when he's distressed, he shoots out hazardous, life-threatening bubblegum

But hey, you should know better...

Don't pet the cat if the cat doesn't wanna be pet, duh

Leo when he doesn't want to be carried vs when he wants to be carried

Sho

He finds it extremely embarrassing

No, you don't understand. He LIKES it. And THAT'S why it's embarrassing.

When you come running towards him while he's working, hug him tight and then lift and spin him around...

And he knows he's blushing like a fucking school girl in front of all of his customers..........

Please stop 🤚

Actually, no. Don't stop. But please do that in private so he won't lose face in front of his customers.

Especially in front of that kid from Frostheim who he almost beat up. How is he going to defend his pride when he's tucked all comfortable and cute in your arms, being held high???????

Toxic masculinity aside, he loves to be carried by you

Loves to feel like you like him so much that you can't help but hold him so tight like that

He does the same to you and soon it becomes a competition of who's gonna carry who first when you two meet afterhours at his room

His favorite thing, however, is when he manages to kiss you while he's being carried

If you're going to make him all flustered like a little lovesick dumbass, then you bet he's gonna do the same to you 🫵‼️

Sho when he's screaming inside and blushing bc you're carrying him in public vs Sho when you two are alone

[ohithankyou]

me watching anirudh’s new tiktok and not being able to process a single word that he said bc he looks so pretty

[kitnapz]

so recently

ive been into youtube vloggers but ive realized that they need to be a very specific type of vlogger for me to gaf about them.... so they need to be asian women (or at the very least like. a woman of color) BUT they can't be korean. because that shit hits TOO CLOSE TO HOME... i was just watching this korean girl vlogger and i swear to god she just went into the exact daiso that i live near and went to LAST WEEK. and shes staying at a hotel that ive literally been at and they were in the streets that i walk nearly every day.... like that is too close to home i cant watch it

[seventh-district]

so uh. that 2.2 Special Program, huh

[icewindandboringhorror]

Various images of things

[i-have-questions-but-no-answers]

I’m having thoughts about Lady Macbeth and god help me if i cannot find the version of the film I am thinking of because I will start biting

[leatherbookmark]

somewhat pleased to announce that in case someone wanted to know, and i really don't see why they wouldn't, the cameras that atz use in the cawaii men photoshoots are

fujifilm simple ace p&s camera (for taking photos), and

most probably? pentax spotmatic (the one hj, sh and jh pose with)

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[yoohyeon]

Some random user liked a post of me complaining about my neighbours earlier and f that user cause why are my neighbours playing music and screaming at pass 3am out of a sudden it’s like they predicted it

[batboyblog]

Copy Right and Public Domain in 2024

Happy 2024 all! its also Public Domain Day! a magical holiday here in America where things enter the public domain. Works published in the year 1928 (or 95 years ago!) have entered the public domain, which means they belong to us, all of us, the public!

Mickey's Back!

Yes! I'm sure you've heard, but Mickey Mouse (and Minnie Mouse too) is entering the Public Domain today. This has been news for a few years and indeed Disney's lobbying in the late 1990s is why our copy right term is SO long. So what exactly is now public domain?

Most people know about Mickey's first appearance Steamboat Willie, but a second short film, Plane Crazy was also released in 1928 so will also be public domain. So what's public? well these two films first of all, you're allowed to play them, upload them to YouTube or whatever without paying Disney. In theory you'll be allowed to cut and sample them, have them playing in the background of your movie etc. Likewise in theory the image of Mickey and Minnie as they appear (thats important) in these films will be free to use as well as Mickey's character as he appears in these works will be free to use. Now Mickey's later and more famous appearance

will still be protected. Famously the Conan Doyle Estate claimed that Sherlock Holmes couldn't be nice, smile, or not hate women in works because they still held the copyright on the short stories where he first did those things even though 90% of Sherlock Holmes stories were public domain. It's very likely Disney will assert similar claims over Mickey, claiming much of his personality first appeared in works still copyrighted.

Finally there's copyright vs trademark. Copyright is total ownership of a piece of media and all the ideas that appear in it, copyright has a limited set term and expires. Trademark is more limited and only applies to things used to market and sell a product. You can have a Coke branded vending machine in your movie if you want, but it couldn't appear anywhere in the trailer for your movie as thats you marketing your movie.

Where trademark ends and copyright begins and how trademarked something in the public domain is allowed to be are all unsettled areas of law and clearly Disney in the last few years as been aggressively pushing its trademark not just to Mickey in general but Steamboat Willie Mickey in particular

Ultimately the legal rights and wrongs of this might not matter so much since few people have the money and legal resources of the Walt Disney corporation so they might manage to maintain a de facto copyright on Mickey through legal intimidation, but maybe not?

And Tigger Too!

All the talk about Mickey Mouse and Steamboat Willie has sadly overshadowed other MAJOR things entering the public domain today. Most people are aware Winnie the Pooh entered the public domain in 2022, but they might not realize his beloved friend Tigger didn't. Thats because Tigger didn't appear till A. A. Milne's second (and last) book of Pooh short stories, The House at Pooh Corner in 1928.

Much like Mickey Mouse only what appears in The House at Pooh Corner is public domain so the orange bouncy boy from the 1960s Disney cartoon is still on lock down. But the A. A. Milne original as illustrated by E. H. Shepard is free for you to use in fiction or art. His friend Winnie the Pooh has made a number of appearances since being freed, most notably in a horror movie, but also a Mint Mobile commercial so maybe Tigger too will have a lot of luck in the public domain.

Other works:

Peter Pan; or the Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up

Peter Pan is a strange case, even though the play was first mounted in 1904, and the novelization (Peter and Wendy) was published in 1911, The script for the play was not published till 1928 (confusing!) meaning while the novel as been public domain for years the play (which came first) hasn't been, but now it is and people are welcome to mount productions of it.

Millions of Cats

The oldest picture book still in print, did you own a copy growing up? (I did)

Lady Chatterley's Lover

The iconic porn novel that was at the center of a number of groundbreaking obscenity cases in the 1960s and helped establish your right to free speech.

All Quiet on the Western Front and The Threepenny Opera in their original German (but you can translate them if you want), The Mystery of the Blue Train by Agatha Christie, and Orlando by Virginia Woolf will also be joining us in the public domain along with any and all plays, novels, and books published in 1928

for Films we have The Man Who Laughs who's iconic image inspired the Joker

Charlie Chaplin's The Circus, Buster Keaton's The Cameraman, Should Married Men Go Home? the first Laurel and Hardy movie, Lights of New York the first "all talking" movie, The Passion of Joan of Arc, The Wind, as well as The Last Command and Street Angel the first films to win Oscars for Best Actor and Best Actress respectively will all be entering public domain

For Musical Compositions (more on that in a moment) we've got

Mack the Knife by Bertolt Brecht, Let’s Do It (Let’s Fall in Love) by Cole Porter, Sonny Boy by George Gard DeSylva, Lew Brown & Ray Henderson, Empty Bed Blues by J. C. Johnson, and Makin’ Whoopee! by Gus Khan are some of the notables but any piece of music published in 1928 is covered

Any art work published in 1928, which might include works by Frida Kahlo, Georgia O'Keeffe, Alexej von Jawlensky, Edward Hopper, and André Kertész will enter the public domain, we are sure those that M. C. Escher's Tower of Babel will be in the public domain

Swan Song, Public Domain and recorded music

While most things are covered by the Copyright Act of 1976 as amended by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, none of the copyright acts covered recordings you see when American copyright law was first written recordings did not exist and so through its many amendings no one fixed this problem, movies were treated like plays and artwork, but recorded sound wasn't covered by any federal law. So all sound recordings from before 1972 were governed by a confusing mess of state level laws making it basically impossible to say what was public and what was under copyright. In 2017 Congress managed to do something right and passed the Music Modernization Act. Under the act all recordings from 1922 and before would enter the public domain in 2022. After taking a break for 2023, all sound recordings made in 1923 have entered the public domain today on January 1st 2024, these include.

Charleston by James P. Johnson

Yes! We Have No Bananas (recorded by a lot artists that year)

Who’s Sorry Now by Lewis James

Down Hearted Blues by Bessie Smith

Lawdy, Lawdy Blues by Ida Cox

Southern Blues and Moonshine Blues by Ma Rainey

That American Boy of Mine and Parade of the Wooden Soldiers by Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra

Dipper Mouth Blues and Froggie More by King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band, featuring Louis Armstrong

Bambalina by Ray Miller Orchestra

Swingin’ Down the Lane by Isham Jones Orchestra

Enjoy your public domain works!

[simplyholl]

Filthy

Summary: After a long mission, Bucky needs you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY.

See my Masterlist Here

"Would it be too crazy if we slept together?" Your sweet voice replayed over and over in his mind. He hadn't flat out refused your offer, but he hadn't said yes either. Now as he laid under the rubble of the bomb Hydra had detonated, it was all he could think of.

You were friends, one of the only people besides Steve to make him feel welcome on the Avengers. The others were wary of him, and he didn’t blame them. He had done unforgivable things as The Winter Soldier. Now he was fighting for the right cause. He couldn't help the reoccurring nightmares of the horrors he encountered in his past. He didn't want to get too comfortable in his new life, the one Steve helped him obtain because he was scared The Winter Soldier was still lurking around in his brain somewhere.

That's why he never dated. Sam would tease him, telling him he could have anybody he wanted, but he settled for his hand every night. Bucky couldn't afford to get too close to anyone. Especially someone who was weaker than him like the opposite sex. He was scared he would lose control while being intimate and hurt or even kill his partners. So he never let anyone get too close, until you.

You came bouncing into his life unexpectedly. You were brought on the team shortly after him. He would never forget your first day. Steve introduced you to everyone at the morning meeting. You were all smiles, your bubbly personality instantly drawing him in. The others were making comparisons between the two of you immediately. You were so happy, so upbeat all the time and Steve was the only one who could get Bucky to crack his cold exterior and actually smile.

Despite your differences, you got along great. Which was a bonus since Tony liked to pair you together for missions. You worked well together, complimenting each other in ways you had never thought of. Who knew almost dying together every week can cause you to form close bonds? You were spending all your free time together. You introduced him to your favorite films, some of them were awful, but he would never tell you that. You would stay up late together watching old reruns of 90's sitcoms for comfort after long missions. Bucky would go shopping with you, holding every bag you had and never complaining.

The team thought something was going on between you. Why else would the cold super soldier follow you around like a lost puppy? They put Steve up to asking about it, but Bucky denied anything but friendship. There had never been anything happen in the whole year you knew each other. You never sat too close or crossed any boundaries, never thought about it until a month ago.

One of the longest, most dangerous missions you had ever been on finally came to a close. There had been too many casualties and you were upset. Even the comfort of your warm pajamas and favorite movie didn't ease your mind. Bucky thought you needed to be alone, so he told you goodnight and headed for his room. You called after him pleading him to stay with you. You couldn't be alone, not after that.

He hesitated, he never stayed the night with anyone because of his nightmares. Tony even gave him a pass when a mission required room sharing. He was the only one who didn't have to pair up. He was afraid he might hurt you or scare you during his sleep. He tried to tell you, but you couldn't be swayed. He found himself under your fluffy pink comforter on heart shaped pillows, surrounded by a mountain of stuffed animals but he felt oddly at home.

You tried to cuddle up to him, but he scooted away. He didn't want you too close to him while he was asleep just in case he had a nightmare. But you didn't care. You told him if he attacked you in his sleep, you would blast his dick off. That made him a little less worried. "How do Tony and Clint do it?" You asked as you wrapped your arms around him, trying to snuggle the grumpy super soldier. "Do what?" He relaxed a little under your touch. "The whole normal family thing. They have a wife, kids, the works, and they are the only ones. The rest of us can't keep a relationship for more than a month, and some only do one night stands. It's hard being a hero when you have to give up stuff like that."

Bucky considers your words carefully. "Is that something you want?" You throw your leg over him, trying to get comfortable. "Eventually, I want to settle down. I'm thinking at least ten years from now, not any time soon. It's just hard to tell who is asking you out for the right reasons or because you're famous. I can't tell you how many phones I've destroyed after dates because they were trying to live stream the whole thing. Is that why you don't date?"

Bucky tenses, explaining how his past as The Winter Soldier scared him away from anything like that. "So you haven't been having sex because you're scared you will hurt someone?" He nods and you giggle. Bucky looks at you like you've grown a second head. "I'm sorry Bucky, that's ridiculous. Your arm must be so tired! Oh my God! Do you use the metal one?" His silence makes you laugh harder. "Bucky there are super powered women you could have been sleeping with this whole time. People who could at least put up a fair fight if something like that happened, but you're okay now right? I thought the code words didn't work anymore." You rub his back soothingly.

You gasp as an idea hits you. "Would it be too crazy if we slept together?" It was like word vomit. You didn't mean to say it out loud, but you couldn't take it back now. Bucky is so still that you think he's fallen asleep. Thankful he didn't hear your unhinged suggestion, you lay your head down to go to sleep.

"You mean that?" Bucky asks after a few minutes of silence pass. "If it wouldn't hurt our friendship then, why not? I trust you. And I could hold my own if things went sideways. Plus, I'm a lot hotter than your hand, you have to admit that." The quip earned a chuckle from him. "Can I think about it?" He asks, his seriousness taking over. "Of course." You snuggle back into him, sleep finding you more quickly than you would've liked. That was a little over a month ago, neither of you brought it up afterward. You figured he didn't want to hurt your feelings, so you let it go.

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand helping him to his feet. "I thought we lost you back there." He says leading him to the quinjet. On the ride home, Bucky thought about his life, how unhappy he had been lately. He thought of you and how he kept you at arm's length to protect you from himself. You were always so open to him, always letting him know what was on your mind. When you suggested the two of you sleep together, he was shocked. Of course, he wanted to but he couldn't. You were too sweet, he was jaded. He would end up hurting you somehow, he was sure of it. But you weren't scared of him, you trusted him.

Bucky thought of all the times he laid alone at night, masterbating when he could have went home with someone instead. He always turned them down, he couldn't risk it. He lived too dangerously. He could lose his life any moment saving the planet from the next alien attack. Wasn't it time he started living for himself? He had his mind made up when the quinjet landed. Steve told him to go get the cuts on his face and arm examined but he ignored him.

He almost ran to the elevator, not bothering to wait for Steve to get on before pressing the button to shut the doors. When it finally stopped on his floor, he walked by his room, stopping three doors down right outside of yours. He should have cared that it was three in the morning, that he would be waking you up, but he didn't. He tapped on the door loud enough to wake you.

He regretted coming straight here as he waited for you, he should have went to his room to shower first. His leather jacket was dirty and torn. There was a small gash on his arm that had finally stopped bleeding. His face was filthy and according to Steve, he had a cut there too. He probably looked terrifying. He thought about leaving to clean up, but then he heard the pitter patter of your feet as you approached the door.

You pull it open slightly at first, to see who is outside, opening it wider when you see him. He steps inside as you shut it back, locking it behind him. Bucky looks around the dark room noticing the glow from your tv. Your hair is messy, you must have been sleeping fitfully. His gaze drops to your body, you're wearing a black t-shirt that stops at your hips and black lace panties.

"Are you okay?" You ask taking in his disheveled appearance. You turn to get something to clean his wounds, his vibranium hand catches your wrist. "Bucky? What hap-" He picks you up with one arm, holding you close to his body as his lips crash into yours. He walks you to the edge of your bed, tumbling on top of you as your back hits your fluffy pink comforter.

"Do you still want this?" He asks, his voice rougher than he intended. You can't think clearly, not with him on top of you, caging you in like this. His blue eyes search your face as he waits for an answer. Your panties grow wetter with each second that passes. Your nipples are peaked under your shirt, desperate to be touched as you press your chest to his dirty leather jacket. "Yes" You somehow manage to whisper your confirmation.

His mouth is on yours again, rough and demanding, almost desperate. You cup his face with your hands, "Slow down, I'm not going anywhere." You assure him, breaking the kiss. He groans, hating the loss of contact. "Can't" He rasps, his face nuzzling against your neck. He nips and kisses the sensitive skin there, his tongue licking from your shoulder to your jaw.

His flesh hand travels to your chest, rubbing his thumb over your clothed nipple. He keeps kissing his way back down your throat until he reaches the collar of your shirt. His metal arm grabs the top, slipping underneath to get a good grip on it. He rips it down the center with little effort.

You gasp as the cold air hits your now exposed chest. But you're not cold for long, Bucky's lips capture a nipple between his lips tugging and sucking like his life depends on it while his flesh hand toys with the other one. You're not sure what has gotten into him, you never expected it to be like this, like he needs you.

He kisses a trail down your stomach to your panties. They aren't exactly see through, but they don't hide anything either. His vibranium fingers dig into your hip as he lowers his face, his pink tongue licking up the center of your soaked panties. You whimper underneath him, your fingers sliding in his hair, pulling at the short strands.

He grunts as he licks you through the lacy material. You try to close your legs around his head, hoping to bring yourself more relief. Bucky's steel grip on your hip tightens as he brings his flesh hand to your thigh, pulling it off him. He opens you wide, continuing his desperate assault on you. "I need more, please." You whine, needing to actually feel him against you.

He thankfully takes mercy on you, removing his hands to grab both sides of your panties. "Lift your hips for me." You do as your told, and he slides the unwanted garment off of you. He drags you to the edge of the bed, lowering himself on his knees in front of you. He parts your thighs, metal hand returning to its rightful place on your hip. You place your leg over his shoulder, taking a deep breath as the anticipation makes your skin prickle.

His hot breath on your soaked core makes you tremble. You feel him smirk against you. "I havent even touched you yet and you're shakin' like a leaf." A dark chuckle escapes him and he dives in. His tongue flat against you as he gathers your slick, bringing it to your clit and swirling it around. He moans, loving the way you taste. He wraps his lips around your most sensitve part, drawing you in, causing your hips to buck upward.

His grip on your hip tightens, a bruise beginning to form under his thumb. "Be a good girl for me. Stay still." His voice is soft, gentle, a complete contrast to his actions. He alternates between sucking you roughly and licking you slowly. You squirm underneath him, you're so close. He suddenly stops, removing his face from you.

His flesh hand rubbing your stomach, before laying his arm on you forcefully to keep you from moving. "I said stay still." He growls, his tongue swiping your clit before he sucks it between his lips once more. It takes every ounce of concentration you have to not writhe against him. You've never seen him like this so needy, almost feral. He's like a wild animal slurping you down like you're the first thing he's eaten in weeks. You don't dare to disturb him. So you lie as still as you can, letting him have you.

He needs this. He needs you. He flicks his tongue expertly over your clit, sendng you spiralling. He holds you down as he takes all he wants from you. He's not satisfied until you come three times. Your legs are wobbly, you couldn't get up if you had to. Tears stream down your face from how intense it was. He finally stands, unbuttoning his pants, sliding them down just enough to free himself.

He adjusts himself between your legs, filling you up. You gasp, grabbing onto his grimy leather jacket for support. You wonder why he didn't bother with getting undressed, but you don't mind. You love how dirty he is. How the filth on his jacket rubbing against your bare chest is the sexiest thing in the world right now. How you can see the cut on his arm, dried blood on his sleeve. You don't know if it's his or some Hydra asshole's, and you don't know which is hotter.

His hair is disheveled. His face is scraped, dirt from the mission caked on him, remnants of your arousal still on his mouth. He fills you completely over and over, holding you as close as he can. His pants rub the back of your thighs as he pounds into you. You caress his face, "Can I be on top?" You ask quietly, afraid you'll offend him some way in his feral state. He flips you so his back is on your mattress. Normally you would be upset that your sheets were getting dirty, but you didn't mind at all. You place your legs on either side of him, sliding down his length. Your ass hits the fabric of his jeans as you take all of him.

You look behind you noticing how big he looks on your bed. His leather boots covered in mud, hanging off the edge. A gush of arousal floods his lap, his hands hold your thighs, pulling you closer. You begin to lift yourself up and down on him, your legs still shaky from your earlier orgasms. Bucky notices you won't be able to keep it up for long, so he clutches your hips, taking over. He thrusts underneath you, your hands land on his shoulders needing to steady yourself. You love that it's giving the illusion that you're in control, your body on top of his, but he's calling all the shots, moving your body like he owns it.

You've never felt so full. It's as if Bucky can read your mind, his flesh hand pressing on the bulge he's making in your stomach. He works you harder now, his vibranium thumb coming between you to swirl your clit. Your vision goes blurry, stars bursting behind your eyelids. You come with a loud cry of his name. He follows shortly after, spilling inside you. He holds you close, as you listen to his breathing slow down as he drifts off to sleep while still inside you.

Tags in the comments! ❤️

[simpingland]

Req: Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co-star (pronounced feminine) where they are on the set of season 2 and how he is surprised by every performances that fem gives (Fem's character is bad and perverse), since since the recordings of season one he was already staring at her surprised by her actings and now with Season 2 he wants to spend more time with her, plus he likes her.

The Rehearsal// Ewan Mitchell x Fem!actress

Summary: Ewan is a method actor and it has been working fine for him. But he regrets this decision when season 2 of HOTD starts with a love scene, being partner with a lovely talented actress who propaply hates him and his mathods. But nothing is better than asking for help when one needs it, right?

|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|

Ewan watched from the monitor, patch removed but wig still on, your close-up was impressive. One look at you and you could see all the ambitions that were going through your character's mind, and he himself regretted not having told you yet. The good news was that filming for season two had just begun, and in this new season, Ewan had the opportunity to do scenes only with you.

They shouted cut, and you immediately broke into a smile, laughing after such an intense scene. You received compliments as you were photographed to keep the raccord straight.

"Congratulations, that's a good start," the director said to you. "Remember you have a special sequence tomorrow, get a good rest."

Yes, you remembered. And Tom (who played your brother Aegon) smiled mischievously at you. It was a kissing scene with Ewan, with whom you had barely exchanged a word since the moment you were confirmed as part of the cast, a year and a half ago. You only spoke a little at the audition, which was a chemistry test, and he was a sweet, unassuming guy. When he was announced as the official actor of Aemond... it was something different. You didn't interact in the scenes in the first season, his scenes were shared more with Fabien and Tom, while you had shared scenes with Olivia and Phia (Alicent and Helaena). The chemistry your characters were supposed to have was only hinted by the placement of you both in the scene or montages of shots that you only saw once the series was released. And in the meantime, Ewan had stayed away from all those with whom he didn't share any dialogue, with the excuse of staying focused on his character. Tom had already told you numerous times that Ewan thought you were a fantastic actress, but you always responded the same way.

"If he does, let him tell me so. Then I'll be flattered.”

When the script for the second season came, both of you, in your respective homes, had your hearts skipped a beat. Your character would approach Aemond in the throne room in the middle of the night. And there they not only talk, but share a kiss that promises to go further in the following seasons. Aemond confessed his love for your character, and being that it was a story taken from the world of Game of Thrones, it was sure to end in much more intimate scenes. Normal for actors and comfortable for a cast that was so friendly and close. But with Ewan being so distant and serious? It was difficult. You didn't even dare to call him. Nor did he call you. What you did do was call Tom.

"She hasn't spoken to me once since we started filming. I've seen her look at me sometimes, like she's trying to talk to me but then, before I could say a word, she's gone quiet again. Tom...I don't think I should take being a method actor so seriously," he said to the other actor.

"It amuses me immensely to be the connecting point for both of you. Don't worry, Ewan, she's a sweetheart, and very understanding. She knows that everyone has their own procedure. So if she has respected your method, you should respect hers."

"And what is her procedure?"

"According to Phia, she loves to walk back and forth repeating her lines in a thousand ways."

Right, Ewan saw the video Phia sent around the group so everyone could see how lunatic you looked. And even there, after discovering you were being filmed, you smiled tenderly at Phia asking her to stop. What else would he have missed since you weren't talking?

You had already taken off your wig, your hair was loose and your dress had been off for quite a while. You were waiting to take off your make-up when your trailer was called. You were expecting anyone, happy to have any interaction with the wonderful team around you, but when you saw Ewan, the smile must have dropped a little.

"Sorry if I'm intruding. Is it late?" Ewan asked you as he saw your friendly greeting getting lost in the air.

It wasn't dark yet, and the next day's filming was starting early, so you genuinely didn't know what to say to him.

"Well... I have to finish off some of the lines for tomorrow.’

The lines you had to say with him, and he knew that. But since that wasn't an invitation, Ewan understood instantly and nodded.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you...it's been an awesome first day of shooting for you. It's no wonder you're a fan favorite."

That made you blush.

"Well, that means a lot coming from you."

He smiled sheepishly at you, you were taller than he was, standing on the trailer and he was on the grass a few stairs down. And yet he seemed way too big.

"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to rehearse," he said, trying to get out of the strange conversation he had started.

You nodded and watched as he walked away, the patch in his hand and taking off his seatbelts. Did he come with the intention of chatting? My God, you'd had a chance to talk at length with your fellow cast member and you'd wasted it? You needed to go over the scene as much as possible!

"Ewan!" You called out to him, hanging almost on your doorstep, he turned with that agility that is so engaging on screen (and in person). "Are you done for the day?"

"I've got to get out of my costume. But...yes, I'm done."

"Would you mind..." you mumbled in an exaggeratedly loud voice for him to hear. How embarrassing. "Would you mind dropping by again to rehearse?"

Ewan stood still for a second. He watched you from afar, so affectionate and shy, totally contrary to your character, and felt a deep tenderness.

"I'll be back in half an hour," he promised you.

You looked forward to it, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you'd put your make-up back on a bit. Ewan, on the other hand, was hurrying more than usual to remove his own clothes, forgetting to remove his fake scars in the rush that followed him. He was punctual, and in thirty and a half minutes, he was knocking on your door again.

"I really appreciate you doing this, Ewan," you said as he climbed into your trailer.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fun."

You looked at each other for a second, smiling, kind of gawking, which was nothing like the scene you had to recreate.

"How do you prepare for a scene?" You ask.

"I listen to some music. But I want to try what you do. "

He looked at you expectantly, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. Like the girls at the school function.

"So... I close my eyes, and I create a map where everything looks a little bit like the set."

"And what do we choose to be the throne?" Ewan smiled, which made you blush even more.

"Well... "There was a fully finished teacup, with the inelegantly squeezed bag next to it, dripping. You'd forgotten to clean it up completely. "That cup itself."

Ewan frowned slightly, teasingly, and nodded. The next step for you was harder to explain.

"Now, Ewan, I need some space."

He sat down on your couch, script to one side, the bastard having already memorized it all. And from there he watched live what he'd been craving for months, watching you pace back and forth. You read the annotations and your lines.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did," Ewan replied, intoning in the silky voice he gave Aemond.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." though you paced, your hands and gestures maintained theatricality, and you repeated the phrase three more times, all with trapped deliberation. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me."

"What pantomime do you mean?" replied Aemond.

Then your character stopped looking at Aemond to stare at the Throne. In this case you stopped to stare at the ugly teacup. You had to hold back a smile. Ewan looked at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been." Ewan got up from the sofa and approached you, as Aemond does with your character. "It is a crude, chaotic and ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

Then the laughter you'd been holding back escaped, unable to think of the mug as anything else. And Ewan laughed with you, all the tension disappearing instantly. Now he could understand the affection with which everyone spoke of you.

"I'm sorry, really," you said, getting serious again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, this is fun. I'm going to try your method. Shall we close our eyes?"

"That's right."

You closed them at the same time, thinking about the huge room, illuminated by a silver light that simulated the moon. And after a few seconds, Ewan opened his eyes to look at you. Although you didn't have your white hair, or the elegant dress, your eyes were the same, as beautiful and bright as they were behind the cameras. And he had the privilege of being the focus of your attention and having them in the foreground.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered close to your lips.

"That you tried at least" you whispered back.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as sharp as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

Then came the kiss. You looked into Ewan's eyes, up his nose and down to his lips. What was there left to throw yourself? Not much, but with him being so reclusive, with that being one of the few times you spoke to each other, it felt strange to pounce on him without consent. So you walked away, leaving the scene there.

"We can work this out with the director and the intimacy coordinator, if you like," Ewan suggested, a little flushed and extremely sweet.

You poured him a cup of tea while you discussed the romance that your characters might have developed over the years that the series skips. You imagined romantic scenes that might have led up to that kiss and concluded that they were a toxic couple, but possibly better than Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"You know, I love the way you act and I love that I discovered your process," he confessed. "I think the admiration part is not going to be too hard to act out."

"Oh...my process is really ridiculous, everyone laughs at me. I'm glad it at least works. But it gives me a hard time at auditions," you laughed nervously.

"Well, it's true that it's fun to watch. But it's certainly worth it. I don't think you have anything to envy the others, you're...magnetic." He said it with a seriousness that moved you, adding to his intense gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to tell you sooner, because I've been thinking about it since the day they put me in the same room you were in, back at the audition.”

You froze a little, so you just said what you felt in the simplest way and with the most honest smile.

"Thank you."

Ewan took the last sip of his tea and before he left you remembered one of the thousand questions you had for him.

"Is there a reason you haven't removed the scar? Something to do with method acting?"

"Scar?"

You touched his cheek, where the scar began, and Ewan understood instantly.

"Ah, gee, I completely forgot to go through makeup. I'll get a telling off tomorrow."

"Not if you sleep on it until tomorrow" you joked. "Let me help you, I love fake wounds."

You stood next to him, towering over him a little, and lifted the thin layer of silicone with the delicacy you had seen in make-up artists. You were envious of the woman who was in charge of characterising a person as curiously attractive as Ewan. He also smelled exaggeratedly good.

When you took it off, you threw it into the creepy teacup from earlier.

"I've almost run out from, the costume department before," he justified himself. You took the opportunity to wipe that part of her face with a makeup remover wipe. "I usually do this part myself..."

"I know, but I like it..."

And while you were stroking his face with the excuse of cleaning it, Ewan was watching your lips, and didn't notice that you had noticed. You pushed the wipe away, stroking his chin, and at the same time, you both pressed your lips together. A strange kiss, something special, sweet and soft. You stretched it out, standing almost still, afraid of what would happen if you broke apart. When you finally did, you looked at each other with a look of confusion, though neither you nor Ewan pulled away.

It was a dangerous idea, he was your partner, and you had been unprofessional. You broke away.

"I think you should rest. I've distracted you too much." Your tone came out agitated and Ewan rose slowly.

"No, it's all right. I liked it. I liked everything. Didn't you?" He had emphasised the word 'everything' and was looking at you with lambent eyes.

"Yes...I loved being with you."

He said goodbye with a smile of his, and you bowed at your door like a little girl. Most of the team had already gone to rest and you barely noticed.

You had to put on more concealer than usual the next day because of the lack of sleep you'd had from that strange kiss. Ewan had kept his promise and had arrived a good while earlier to re-rehearse the scene. You did it without the kiss or the lights, just with the director's instructions and with your cheeks flushed as you exchanged glances.

"Did you practice with the kiss?" the intimacy coordinator asked you.

You were completely silent. Ewan answered for you.

"Not really, maybe it's better to give a first kiss at the moment of the shot. More realism."

"Well, then I guess you've worked out the sexual tension and dynamics of your characters."

Ewan nodded and smiled, which made you smile. Had he put hours of sleep into your little meeting yesterday? Yes, he had, and he told the woman who was putting on his scar who asked him who had removed it the day before. When you returned to the set, lights on, costumes on, cameras rolling, Ewan looked at you in the distance, asking you with his eyes if you were ready. You nodded with a shy smile, and began to act when they shouted action.

Aemond, still dressed and coming from the castle library, walked into the empty throne room to watch you. You walked behind him, in a smart dressing gown, your hair loose and trying uselessly not to make a sound. Aemond then spoke aloud.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did."

You approached Ewan, who still wouldn't look at you.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." You leaned into him a little, as the director had recommended. He was so tall and so tense that you felt as safe as if you were leaning against a stone pillar. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me." Then Aemond would look down to see you out of the corner of his eye, which made your character - and you - nervous.

"What pantomime do you mean?"

Then you looked at the throne, now there was no laughter to disturb you, only the terrible seat of swords before you. And Aemond was looking at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been. It is a brutish, chaotic, ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

After a pause, he turned fully around to look at you, his height becoming primordial in that short distance. In that low light, Ewan's visible eye looked into your eyes, dropping to your lips subtly.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered in his velvety tone.

"That you tried at least" you replied trying to keep your composure. If they knew how hard you were struggling not to fall to your knees at that moment they would have nominated you for an Emmy by now.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as clever as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

He stroked your face gently, something that coming from Ewan was tender and expected, immensely pleasing, but then you remembered that Aemond could never be so gentle in the face of his urges, and you let your own out. You pressed yourself against him, pressing your lips together with all the assurance you had longed for the night before. You could feel Ewan intensify your kiss even more, placing his hand on your neck. All the possible kisses that had been going on in your head during the night were now dwarfed by the kiss that was happening right there. As fierce as your characters, with the longing you had just discovered that you and Ewan had shared for a year and a half.

It was only when they shouted 'cut' that you broke apart, catching your breath and barely breaking away. Some applause, chatter and comments from the team, you could hear little of what they were saying. You pulled away flushed, laughing at the sudden intensity. You looked at the director as Ewan smoothed his jacket.

"Let's look at the shot, I think it was simply perfect, congratulations."

Another round of applause, and you felt Ewan brush your unruly hair out of your face, stroking it as he ruffled your hair.

"What a pity not to have to repeat this scene..." He confessed.

"That's the thing about being so talented," you joked.

"Obviously..." he removed his patch and turned back to you to ask in a quieter voice, "although I'd love to have more private acting classes with you..."

You smiled at the hint.

"I'll give them to you if in exchange you let me remove your fake scars again."

"Deal."

[sturniqlo]

I Can't Do It Alone- C.S

summary: while mom!y/n stays home with their littles all day, chris doesn't see how tired she is and he puts more pressure on her. BLURB

cw: cursing, ANGST; arguing, crying, exhaustion, FLUFF; kissing, comforting, resolved angst

an: not apart of my positive series | lowkey hate this | lowercase intended

masterlist | join my taglist

-----------------------------------------------

"daddy!" the littlest child, leslie, runs to the front door when she hears the door opening. "hey, les! how's my little girl?" chris smiles and locks the door behind him before kneeling down to pick up his daughter. "so so happy that you are home!" she squeals, wrapping his arms around his neck tightly. "yeah, i'm happy to be home too." he kisses her cheek.

"where are your siblings?" he refers to his five year old set of twins and his ten month old baby. "uhm- landon is watching a movie, lia is playing in our playroom and layla is sleeping." she says as chris walks them, and steps over some toys, towards the kitchen where he hears y/n shuffling around. "why don't you go get lia while i say hi to mommy." he puts her back on the floor.

"okay!" she nods, her pigtails swaying in the process. "lia! daddy is home!" the three year old goes up the stairs. chris enters the kitchen and sees his y/n preparing the twins' lunch for tomorrow. "hey, baby." he wraps his arms around her waist from behind. "oh, hey you're home." she turns her head and smiles softly at him. a tiredness in her eyes that chris doesn't seem to notice. "how was your day today?" she asks, going back to making the lunches.

"tiring," y/n almost a scoffs. "i had three meetings for future drops and filmed a video with nick and matt." he kisses her neck. "oh, well, i'm glad you're home now." she closes up the small containers. "hey, is it okay if-" she gets cut off by she yelling of leslie. "mom! lia won't give me the princess pjs!" she stomps into the kitchen. "these are mine!" lia comes in behind her, wearing the pink princess pajamas.

"leslie, you have the same exact ones in your closet." y/n says, opening the fridges and putting the lunches away. "no i don't! mine are dirty!" her lip quivers. "you didn't do the laundry today?" chris says, leaning against the island counter. "no, i had to go grocery shopping, clean the kitchen, our bathrooms, and i just washed everyone's bed sheets." she says, the girls still arguing.

"i'm sure you still had some extra time to do a load or two." he adds on. "no, chris. i had to take care of layla, she's still sick." she sighs, cleaning up a spill of juice from earlier. "hey, mom. can i stay up late and watch toy story 2?" landon comes in. "no landon, you have preschool tomorrow." y/n says for the third time today, he had asked her that earlier. "dad?" landon looks to chris. "of course you can, bud." he ruffles the boys' hair. "you're the best! see mom, dad lets me."

"chris, he has to wake up early tomorrow, he can't stay up late. it's almost time for bed." she looks at chris. "c'mon, just for today." y/n shakes her head. "no. kids, go brush your teeth." chris rolls his eyes at her stubbornness. "why are you being so strict?" he asks. "im not." she practically laughs. "just let landon stay up, tomorrow is friday anyway."

"exactly, he can stay up late tomorrow." she leaves the kitchen and chris follows. she walks into laylas bedroom and checks in on her. she had gotten sick two days ago. "oh my gosh!" chris whispers. "what?" she says. "i forgot to get the medicine for her yesterday." y/n shakes her head. "it's okay, i bought it today." y/n grabs a tissue from the changing table and cleans the snot from layla. "i'm sorry." he says. "it's okay, it happened already." she throws the tissue away and exits the room.

"did i do something? why are you mad." chris continues to follow her back downstairs. "stop it, chris!" she abruptly stops and turns to face him. chris stands there in shock at her sudden outburst. "just stop! i've had the most tiring days- weeks of my life! and you're here saying that you've had a tiring day all because of three meetings and filming video?"

before chris could say anything back, one of the kids upstairs called for y/n. "mom! she spit on me!" y/n sighed and turned back around going back up the stairs to resolve whatever was going on. chris decided to go back into the kitchen and look for the dinner y/n had mentioned earlier.

chris ate dinner alone while y/n was upstairs putting the kids to sleep. he cleaned his used dishes before going upstairs to his bedroom. "wanna tell me what that was all about?" he said when he saw y/n putting on the bedsheets she had washed. "lia had spat on landon." she said. chris shook his head. "not that, i'm talking about what you had said earlier." he walked closer and picked up a pillow along with a clean pillow cover.

"i don't want to talk about it." she mumbled, going back to putting on the bedsheet. "why not, there's clearly something bothering you." he pushes on. "you want to know what's bothering me chris?" she pauses. "i feel like i'm raising these kids all by myself. you're never home! you leave before the twins wake up for school, and you don't return until they're going to bed! on the weekends it's the same!"

"i'm working, you know that." chris says sternly. "i understand that, chris. but does it hurt to take at least one day off? just one day to spend time with them? just one weekend?" she runs a hand though her hair, frustrated. "do you not understand that i'm working my ass off for us! for our kids! for their futures!"

"i know that chris, but you have the privilege to choose to work from home- to stay home and you don't use it!" chris rolls his eyes. "you have the most easiest job in the world, you just watch the kids play, feed them and change laylas diapers!" he raises his voice.

"you're kidding right?!" she scoffs. "you think taking care of four kids alone is easy? i make them breakfast, i take the twins to school, i have to buckle all four of them in the car even with two of them are crying, i have to give a toddler and a baby my attention at the same time, i teach les basic things, i have to clean the whole house, i do the laundry, i cook, i take the trash out, i change diapers, i pick the twins up from school, i help the twins with their homework, i shower all four, i get them ready for bed, i break up arguments, i deal with their tantrums. im tired chris. i have no time for myself."

"i love those kids with all of my heart, but you promised me, chris. you promised me that we would raise them together! it seems like i'm raising them all by myself. and i understand that you're providing financially for us- for them, but i need your help in a non-financial way." she feels tears racing down her face. she didn't even know she was crying.

"y/n.." chris had never realized she was feeling like this. he felt bad, he hated that he never saw this. she was right, he was always there, but never there. he doesn't remember the last time he actually sat down with his children and played with them. "i- i don't know if you actually care about what i just said, but ive kept it in for so long i thought i'd let you know how i feel." with that, she turns around and walks to their bathroom and shuts the door.

chris sighs and runs a hand through his hair, taking it all in. "mom!" he hears one of his kids yell for their mom. without hesitation, he sits up and goes to who was yelling. "layla? you okay?" he sees that her door was the only one cracked open. "daddy?" she whispers. "it's me, why're you crying, sweetheart?" he takes a seat on her small bed when he sees her cheeks are damp with tears. "i- why are you and mommy yelling at each other?"

chris' heart breaks when he hears that his daughter heard them arguing. "we just- we had a little argument- just like you and your siblings have sometimes. but, everything is okay. i promise." the little girl smiles at the reassurance. "oh, okay."

"would you like me to take you and your brother to school tomorrow?" he says after he had been laying with her for sometime. "really?" she gasps. "of course!" he says. "will we pass for donuts? mommy always takes us every friday to get donuts for breakfast." she plays with the hem of his shirt. "we can, does mommy get a donut for herself?" she nods. "mhm, she likes the strawberry sprinkles, she told us you bought one for her on her birthday a long time ago." chris laughs at the exaggeration. "wasn't that long ago, just seven years ago."

chris recalls the time when they had just started dating, it was her birthday and he bought her a strawberry frosted donut with sprinkles and stuck a candle on it. "that's so far ago." she giggles.

he had stayed with her until she fell back asleep again. quietly, he exited the room and gently shut the door behind him. chris headed back to his bedroom where the soft glow of the lamp lit up the room. "babe, are you sleeping?" he says, closing the door and walks over to the bed where y/n is currently laying down. "no." she says and sits up on her shoulder. her hair a bit damp, chris knew she never liked to fully dry her hair with the blow dryer. "can we talk? i don't want to argue, i hate arguing." he tosses his shoes off and situates himself next to her.

"okay." she grabs her glasses off of the side table since she doesn't have her contacts in. they sit in silence for a bit until chris decides to talk first. "'m sorry you've been feeling this way. and- and i cant believe i didn't take notice. i mean everything was right in front of me. i'm never home, you're always alone with the kids, you're constantly tired. i- i'm so sorry, babe. i never meant to make you feel like this- to put you through this."

"it's- it's okay chris. i know you've been so busy with the new drop and everything. but, i just want to let you now that i'm not asking you to drop everything and stay home with us forever, just asking you to take a few days off during the week. i miss you, the kids miss you." chris wraps his arm around y/n and pulls her into his chest.

"'m sorry, 'm so sorry. i'll stay home until wednesday, when i have to film, how's that sound, hm?" he presses a kiss to her forehead. "really?" she looks up at him. "of course, anything for you." he says and lays them both down. "chris!" she squeals.

"let me love on my wife!" he kisses her neck up to her lips. "how about i take you out on saturday night? we take the kids to matt and nicks house. and we go to a nice restaurant and come back here for the night?" he pecks her lips. "i would love that." she hums, kissing him back. they lie together on the bed for a while until y/n speaks up.

"as much as i love being like this, you know i hate outside clothes on the bed." she tugs on his shirt. "i knew i couldn't get away with it." he sighs and kisses her lips before getting up. "i'll be in the shower, choose a movie for when i get out."

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (4)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Ewan wants to clear things up about the night out and his mystery companion, and the reader gets another surprise in LA. Will the two finally have their first date or will something get in the way once more?

Ewan's publicist Donna has never had any issue with her client before. Always present and accounted for, on time for whatever interview, photoshoot or audition he has booked for the day.

But she hasn't been able to get a hold of him in the past two days, which is worrying her to no end, because he is set to meet with a major casting director in New York some time in the coming week.

Donna may have a clue as to why. It's only been two days as well since the pub incident, when The Sun ran a story speculating on Ewan's lovelife - the exact kind of thing he's always been trying to avoid.

It had taken a life of its own, with fans taking it upon themselves to track down every clue of the girl on the internet. Her instagram. Her relation to the cast - apparently she is a cousin of Luke and Elliott. Even the marketing agency where she works. Louise, a 26-year old graphic designer, admittedly harbours a crush on Ewan, and when she heard that her cousins were hanging out with him at a pub nearby, she almost immediately invited herself and her friends over.

But that's all, according to Ewan. After talking to Luke, memories of the night came rushing back to him.

Stumbling out in the alley to send you that voice message. Rejoining the boys to see that they've got new company. Being introduced to Louise, with Tom joking that he should be careful with the missus. Wouldn't want her - you - to think that he's flirting with anyone else.

Even though that's exactly what happened. Not the flirting, per se. Not from Ewan's side, at least. Louise had been brazen with admiration, barely leaving his side the rest of the night. Asking him a bunch of probing questions he had neither the interest nor the patience to answer.

They had all thought the pub was safe from prying eyes. No one approached them for anything, not even a single look of recognition followed by the question, “Are you that guy from House of the Dragon?” Unfortunately, it only takes one rat for a headline to surface. Ewan Mitchell��s mystery girl has been the talk of the fandom and Donna has been trying hard to quell the rumours. 

Such is the nasty nature of the business, as she knows Ewan has quickly learned.

She dials him again, and to her surprise, the call actually patches through.

Her client's throaty voice is heard on the other line, "Hey, Donna, sorry if I've missed your calls."

"It's alright, it's alright, Ewan," Donna stammers. "Just glad to hear from you. Where are you? I've managed to do some damage control about those rumours and - "

"Oh, I'm in LA. I just landed about an hour ago," Ewan responds casually, not mirroring the stress in Donna's tone. Has he gotten over the fuss so easily?

"LA? You know your meeting is not till next week, right? And it's in New York. It's very, very important that you don't miss it, Ewan."

"And I won't," Ewan affirms, laughing dryly to console his worried publicist. "I just need to see about something over here."

Someone, he thinks. He's got his priorities straight.

"Work-related?" Donna asks, curious.

"Uhhhm," Ewan dithers, but decides against telling her about you. Not just yet. "Just visiting a friend. I'll stay here for a while then fly out to New York, don't worry."

"Okay, just keep in touch, alright? I'll send more details about the meeting soon."

"Sure thing. Thank you, Donna."

"Talk soon, Ewan. Take care of yourself."

Donna feels a huge sense of relief wash over her when the call ends, knowing the whereabouts of one of her biggest clients. But why LA? Perhaps Ewan just needed some time off after the flurry of annoying headlines put out in the UK.

Or maybe he's visiting with a friend? Who is stateside right now? Fabien's filming in Philly. The rest of the boys are still in England. But then...

Her thoughts land on the one thing - the one person - that would make him fly out on such short notice. Without giving thought to anything else, especially after the speculation on his romantic life.

Ewan's never been one to share about personal affairs, not even to his close-knit team, but no matter how reclusive he is, no one can deny the way he looks at you. The way he lights up when you're brought up in conversation. The number of times he had excused himself from their meetings to make a call, standing in the corner with a permanent smile etched on his face.

Oh, Donna knows now just who he is in LA for.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Like inevitable spectres haunting someone of his profession, Ewan noticed the papparazzi snapping away as he arrived in LA.

He told no one he would be coming, so it must be an automatic thing in the city. The photogs are always scurrying in the periphery, ready to catch anyone of note, no matter the degree of fame or notoriety.

If you were keeping up with such news, you would know he is in the city.

But according to your assistant Clara, who was kind enough to inform him of your schedule, you are still finishing up on another day of rehearsals for your upcoming rom-com. Ewan checked in the same hotel as you, planning to seek you out as soon as you arrive back from work.

He hasn't spoken to you since the voicemail, and since those false news broke out. Not that he can blame you - wouldn't anyone be suspicious of a drunken confession made by a guy who was allegedly in the company of another girl?

He hates it, being subject to all of this. This nonsense that is keeping you from him, not even worth any consequence.

But he will deal with the blows. As long as he sets things right with you. As long he gets you in the end.

He settles in his suite, getting ready to meet with you once more. He showers, shaves, tousles his hair. He even checks whether he smells decent after all of that - once, twice, and another time. Being nervous to stand in front of a crowd is one thing; it's a whole other conundrum for him finally see you again.

Maybe the crowds are more manageable, and it baffles him to realise so. He can put on a persona, be the actor, and disappear inside himself as the cameras flash bright enough for him to disassociate.

But not with you. He wants to show you everything that he is, who he truly is, and it scares him. There is no team to help him get ready now. It's all him, just Ewan.

Clad in his trusty black jeans and a comfortable hoodie of the same dark colour, he looks in the mirror one last time after receiving a text from Clara that you've arrived at the hotel about half an hour ago.

He contemplates opening the bottle of bourbon from the minibar and taking a shot of liquid courage - something to help him get his explanation ready. Just so he wouldn't stammer in front of you.

Just so you he can make you see, without any error or trace of doubt, that he meant every word in that voicemail, no matter how embarrassing it might have sounded.

He decides against it, imagining the wrinkling of your nose as you catch a whiff of the alcohol. It's cute when you do it, and he adores it so dearly, but he knows that it isn't the right moment.

He rights himself, rolls his shoulders, and he's out the door.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Jacob trails you inside your hotel suite, laughing at some shared remark about the scenes you rehearsed for the day.

They were emotionally demanding and even after tossing around ideas for hours, the two of you were unable to achieve a satisfying approach to the scenes.

Which is why he had proposed practicing well into the evening, and you found yourselves heading back to your suite together. He has his own house in LA, but your hotel just happened to be closer to the rehearsal studio.

"Care for a drink?" you asked him.

"Why the hell not?" he immediately assents in that easy, Aussie drawl. "We might need it for this shite."

You laugh in agreement, "Indeed. I've got some canned gin and tonics if that's alright.. or beer... or whiskey... " you trail off as you study the contents of your fridge.

"G and t, please, mate," he settles down on the couch, legs stretching in front of him. "We were so unproductive today. I just could not get that line right."

"Tell me about it." You hand him his drink, and he clinks it with yours with a mumbled cheers. "It was me who can't land the right tone," you say. "I mean, is my character supposed to be confused in that moment? Or angry? Or sad?"

"Or all of 'em." he shrugs. "Tricky, isn't it?"

You hurriedly fetch your script from a table, getting right down to it. "So for the first scene in the third act..."

Moments later, with cans of gin and tonic discarded on the coffee table, you and Jacob sit with legs crossed on the couch facing each other. Scripts in hand, you go through the lines over and over, with only seemingly minor tweaks each time. To an actor though, even just the slightest change of pitch or expression makes all the difference.

"Is that better? I think we almost got it," you say after a read-through.

"Yeah, so much better," he grins, holding his hand up for a high-five. Just as your hands smack in the air, another sound echoes faintly from the door.

"Someone's knocking?" Jacob asks. "You expecting anybody? Room service or anything?"

"No," you shake your head, trying to think of whether your assistant or publicist said anything about dropping by. "Maybe it's just housekeeping?"

"I'll get it," Jacob states, already padding his way to the door.

A beat later, you hear Jacob loudly exclaim, "Ewan, mate! It's good to see you!"

Ewan? A shiver runs up your spine. Craning your neck to get a view of a doorway, you catch sight of him, half-obscured by Jacob's tall frame.

Confused, surprised, and feeling some other emotion you can't pinpoint, you head over to greet him.

"How are you doing?" Jacob greets, shaking Ewan's hand, oblivious to the poorly hidden distaste in his eyes.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Ewan finds himself asking Jacob, a bit rudely, just as you ask him the same.

"What are you doing here?" you mirror his question at the exact same time.

"Oh!" Jacob breathes out a laugh, "Well, I'll go first. We were just practicing lines."

"In her room? Isn't it a bit late for rehearsal? I thought you're supposed to be off work." Ewan asks, and it sounds like an accusation. He starts to feel all kinds of uneasy - were the twins right about life imitating art?

You narrow your eyes at him. "We decided to continue running lines after rehearsal. There's a scene we can't get right. It's quite tricky - "

"Just the two of you? Alone, here?" Ewan tilts his head, gesturing towards the room like it's some forbidden place.

Jacob shakes his head, smile steady on his lips. If he's caught on to how Ewan must be feeling, he doesn't let it affect him. He gives you a look, as if to check your reaction, and you give him a reassuring shrug.

Ewan does not overlook this exchange. He clenches his jaw, irate from the assumptions popping up in his mind. Before he forgets his manners, he says, "Excuse me, I just... wasn't expecting... I just wanted to speak to you."

"I didn't even know you were in LA," you say, before moving aside to usher him in. "But I'm glad you are, of course. Come join us - "

He nods, making his way to the seating area, where he spies the discarded cans of alcohol and dog-eared scripts. Maybe he should have taken that bloody shot after all.

He laughs joylessly to himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, you guys. I just flew in today, and I must have been exhausted from the flight."

"Hey, no worries, mate," Jacob says. "You know what, I'll be on my way. Give you time to catch up and all." He picks up his own tattered script then gives you a kiss on the cheek, bidding you with a, "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night, sweetheart."

If looks could kill, and if his dear mother hadn't raised him right, he would have incinerated Jacob in that moment.

He is snapped out of his thoughts when Jacob claps him on the shoulder, "Great to see you again, mate. Have a good night, eh?"

Ewan knows he's being ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with two friends and co-stars spending some time alone to rehearse. Besides, last he heard, you were adamant that you and Jacob are just friends.

So why is he being so irrational? Why does the idea of you spending more time than necessary with Jacob, possibly falling for him, bother him so much?

Ewan realises that this is what jealousy must feel like.

He's had career envy before. Another actor landing a role he vied for. Someone else getting the praise he deserves.

But nothing like this. It's petty and possessive.

He wants you to just be his.

You stand in front of him once more after you walk Jacob out of the suite.

"Hey," you say, smiling weakly.

"Hi, darling."

Both of you want to do more. Say more. Usually you would greet each other with a hug and a kiss on a cheek, his hands lingering on your forearms even after you pull away, but the air is thick with tension.

You look at him with those bright, expecting eyes of yours, and Ewan just wants to cave in and make a sloppy confession. But not after that voicemail, no. He's determined to do this right. Words not slurred, head clear.

"So I got your voicemail," you finally say, smiling coyly. "That was... something."

"Hmm," he can't help but mirror your smile, as always. "It was, wasn't it?"

"I understand," you continue, taking a step closer, "if you were drunk. We all say things when we're off it that we maybe don't mean - "

"But darling, I meant every word," he says, way too quickly.

You laugh, the sound of it erasing whatever apprehension remained in him. "Do you even remember what you said?"

"I do," he counters, moving even closer to you. Another step and he'd be able to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to him. "At least, some of - no - most of it."

"Oh yeah?" you ask cheekily, aided by the effect of gin. He still has your heart racing, but a part of you now knows that the feeling is mutual. "What did you say again?"

He sees that glint in your eye, and it causes him to smirk. "Why don't I make it simple for you, darling?" He closes the distance, one hand brushing the hair from your face.

"Okay," you swallow, getting lost in his blues.

"I missed you." He kisses your cheek. "I like you. A lot." He kisses the other. "And I, uh, I would like to take you on a date."

His eyes meet yours. His voice is steady, but you notice some nervousness in his gaze. How the tables have turned. You make Ewan Mitchell's heart go awry.

"Please, darling?" he timidly adds, the sentiment so sweet you want to blurt out yes immediately. Before you can, he's already leaned back, an explanation rushing out of his lips, "And... I'm not sure but you must have seen those headlines? They're not true, I swear. We were out drinking and - "

"I know, Ewan." You cut him off with a hand pressed gently on his chest but he keeps going.

" - some other people joined us. One of them being - "

"Luke and Elliott's cousin. I know. Elliott called and told me everything."

"Oh. He called you?" A huge sense of relief washes over him, better than any comfort he might have found in a shot or three of bourbon.

"Mhmm, he called me yesterday. So, you know, you didn't really have to fly out. I was about to call you eventually."

He smiles bashfully, eyes cast down as a blush spreads across his cheeks. Damn it, Elliott, you brilliant lad. He reminds himself to treat Elliott to a pint the next time he sees him.

"I still wanted to see you," Ewan maintains, pressing a kiss to your forehead and you're immediately enveloped by the familiar comfort of his scent. Surprisingly without the staple hint of cigarette smoke, due to his frantic scrubbing after the flight.

"I'm happy you're here," you say, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his chest. "And no offence to Louise or anything, but she needs to learn some boundaries with my - "

Ewan looks down at you fondly, squeezing your arms to prompt your next words, "Yeah, darling? Your what?"

"My - " you attempt to bury your face in his hoodie, but he keeps your gaze with a hand cupping your jaw. So you end up saving yourself with " - my Aemond."

"Hmm," he hums, lips curling, and it's so very Aemond of him it makes you feel warm all over. "Your Aemond.Your Ewan. I'm all yours, love."

The whole thing couldn't have gone any better, all things considered, and Ewan feels content to have gotten over his first brush with the rumour mill. What matters is right in front of him, and you know the truth.

"Are you staying in this hotel? How did you even know I was here?" You take his hand, guiding him over to the couch.

"Clara," is all Ewan says by way of explanation.

"Well, thank you, Clara," you declare. Ewan shuffles closer to you and rests his arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on your forehead again. The gesture is already becoming instinctive, providing the both of you with a sense of ease.

"Darling?"

"Yeah?" you respond absentmindedly, fingers toying with the soft fabric of his hoodie.

"Is that a yes?"

You exhale deeply. As if it wasn't clear enough already. "What do you think, handsome?"

"I don't know, angel. You tell me," he counters cheekily, his fingers playing with your hair as you playfully glare at him.

"What if I say no, baby?"

"Then I'll have to work hard to change your mind, princess."

"And how would you do that, honey?"

His gaze darkens, and something flashes across his blue eyes as he whispers intensely, "Use your imagination, bunny."

"Ri-right," you bite your lip, then shake your head to snap out of it. "We'll have to draw the line at bunny."

He laughs at your flustered state, pleased by the effect he has on you. "What's wrong with bunny?"

That elicits a groan out of you, but you smile anyway. "I already said yes, Ewan. Quit it with the bunny."

"Alright, beautiful," he relents, making you lean even closer against him.

The haze of gin after a long work day starts to subside and the rush of emotion is coming back to you. You find yourself gazing at Ewan in mild disbelief, in awe that he just confessed that he wants you.

Feeling antsy, you stand and pace around the room. You start tidying things, putting your scattered knick-knacks back in your handbag. If you sit with him any longer, you just might end up hurrying things through and jump his bones already, kiss him the next time he does that hmm.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask.

"No," he says smoothly. "I just need you." The words make you stop in your tracks. He still sits in the same position, looking at you with that undeniable desire in his eyes.

"Uhhhm," your mouth feels dry all of the sudden. Nothing his tongue past your lips can't fix, your intrusive thoughts barge right in. "So... the... the media rollout's still going on isn't it? Should we check and see?" You take your laptop and plop back down next to him. He doesn't miss a beat and cuddles against you once more, wrapping his arm around your tense frame.

"I think so, darling." The media rollout is how the interviews and promotional material filmed by the cast is being released gradually, on a weekly basis, after each new episode comes out.

A simple search on Youtube confirms it, and the first thing that popped up is the Where is The Lie? video you did for Elle.

It was slated for just Tom, Phia, and Ewan but your Blackwood character became such a fan-favourite that they asked you to join in. Not to mention the frenzy you and Ewan caused online with the initial interviews you did together.

"Shall we watch this?" Ewan offers, solely for the intent of seeing you in the video.

You click on it, and for the next 8 minutes or so, all you can take note of are the signs that had clearly already been there. The fans were on to something when they claimed that you and Ewan are a really good ship.

The video starts with a clip of Phia hitting her head on the overhead lamp when she stands, prompting her to uncontrollably giggle along with you and Tom. Ewan, being the exception, is beside himself with worry, and he appears to instinctively reach for your hand as you sit beside him.

"Huh," Ewan smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Tom is the first to be put on the hot seat, and he slowly recites the three statements he prepared. "Ewan, pay attention," Tom blurts out when he notices that Ewan kept sneaking glances at you. "Sure, I'm locked in," Ewan says right back, as you and Phia share a look.

"What were you looking at?" you ask playfully, poking him in the side. "You seem plenty distracted there."

He snorts at himself in the video, when he ends up smiling as he caught your eye. "It was your fault. You were distracting me."

"I was not!" you exclaim. "I thought you were just being competitive then."

Phia is next to have a go. She tells you of a Wifi repellent necklace, a wrestling career, and saving a squirrel from a drainpipe. "The Wifi thing sounds like something Ewan would have," Tom jokes. "Oh sure," you concur, "except that he'd actually keep it so he can watch films." Ewan smiles at your acute observation.

"I'd also keep it to stalk your Instagram," Ewan mumbles from beside you. "And you know, just stalk you in general."

"I'm sure you do, Mitchell," you respond casually, but your face warms up anyhow.

It's Ewan's turn, and as he sits on the hot seat, you see Tom and Phia casting a look at each other then at the two of you, a secret message shared between them. "I bet she will know the answer right away," Phia says. "Yeah, how do we know the two of you didn't conspire together?" Tom asks. "Are you kidding me, you guys?" you laugh at them, thinking how silly they were being, not knowing then that they were definitely on to something.

"Darling, you have to know this," Ewan tells you specifically as you all try to guess the answer. "Oh, darling!" Tom mouths to Phia, dramatically flipping nonexistent long hair over his shoulder. Phia laughs at his antics, before nudging you and saying, "Which one is it? Which is the lie? I trust you." You respond, "Why me? You two should know this too!"

"Because I wasn't trying to date them, my love," Ewan says, smiling at the screen.

"Oh, come on now." You crane your neck up to press a soft kiss against his cheek before turning your attention back to the video. So you don't notice the switch in Ewan's breathing. The jumps in his heartbeart. The way he subtly clears his throat to deal with his flustered state.

The video comes to a close after your turn and even at the very end, Ewan can be seen admiring you as you give the closing remarks with Phia.

Admiring you, as he does in the moment.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he says, when you turn to look at him.

"Thank you," you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

Some time passes with the two of you catching up, talking about your upcoming projects, his big meeting in New York - all the while his fingers trace patterns on your exposed skin, his arm wrapped around you snugly.

"Have you been keeping up with the show?" he asks.

"The last episode I saw fully was... the second one? I got pretty busy after that. How about you?"

"Oh," he looks down in thought, piquing your curiosity, "so you didn't get to see the third episode yet then?"

"No, not yet," you shake your head, "but I've seen some stuff here and there."

He hums again and he wants to ask, have you seen his stuff? There are around a dozen or so potential jokes at play here. He has an inkling to tell you to watch the episode so you can see just what you're in for. So you can see him and all he has to offer. He'd also fumble through a justification, as he had done in some interview, about the new studio they had filmed in being cold as a fridge freezer.

What to say? What to say? He picks at some lint on his jeans, smirking to himself.

"Yeah," you eventually giggle at his obvious hesitation. "I've only seen some of the episode. But what I've seen... is enough to make me jealous of Madame Sylvie."

He stiffens, throat suddenly dry, but one look at your smile does away with his concerns.

He soon finds himself laughing, a muffled, "Oh, darling," whispered lovingly against your hair.

"That was very brave of you, Ewan," you express sincerely.

"Thank you, love."

"So... just how cold was it in there?"

Your shared, unrestrained laughter echo throughout the room.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Your first date was meant to happen the following night, but such is the nature of the job that Ewan's schedule gets moved up all of a sudden.

Once the bigshot casting director in New York found out that Ewan is already stateside, he requested that the meeting be held at the earliest possible opportunity.

He calls you while you are in rehearsals, profusely apologizing and promising to fly back to LA in the next two days, right after his meeting is all sorted.

"It's okay, Ewan," you reassure him, genuinely understanding. "I will see you when you come back. Good luck, I know you're going to smash it, whatever opportunity this is!"

"Thank you, darling," he says, already wanting to have you back in his arms already, mentally kicking himself for not kissing you when he had about a hundred chances to do so. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," you respond, blushing silly with the phone pressed to your ear. "But it'll only be two days."

"Hmm, doesn't matter. I need to take you on our bloody date, darling. I've already taken so damn long."

"Don't worry," you say, "I've already seen you way more than I should before the first date."

"Wha - " a protest forms on his lips, but he gets your point right away. "Oh. Clever, darling."

"I know."

"But I'm planning to give you something that's just for you. That the whole world won't ever be privy to."

You swallow hard, your very being heating up at his insinuation. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Mitchell."

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

Bonus chapter!

Nocturnal file 🤫

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The cast's Where is The Lie? video is an actual thing! I hope yous got the reference!

Notice how the two nerve-wrecked shites didn't have their first proper kiss yet??? Will they ever?? 😩😩😩

Taglist is officially closed for this one. Please bookmark this series or the masterlist (or follow my page) to keep up with updates <3

I can't even overstate how mad all the love for this series has been! I'm always looking forward to hearing from you guys - suggestions, comments, complaints are always welcome!

See you in part five! (preview: something will happen in NY that might cause Ewan to question things!)