#Marie and Adam Sackler
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Reading List
to be updated constantly
Articles:
"Why Women Online Can’t Stop Reading Fairy Porn" by C.T. Jones for Rolling Stone
"They Called 911 for Help. Police and Prosecutors Used a New Junk Science to Decide They Were Liars." by Brett Murphy for ProPublica
"‘I Think My Husband Is Trashing My Novel on Goodreads!’" by Emily Gould for The Cut
"Woman in Retrograde" by Isabel Cristo for The Cut
"The unwanted Spanish soccer kiss is textbook male chauvinism. Don’t excuse it" by Moira Donegan for the Guardian
"I Started the Media Men List" by Moira Donegan for The Cut
"What Moira Donegan Did for Young Women Writers" by Jordana Rosenfeld for The Nation
"The Key Detail Missing From the Narrative About O.J. and Race" by Joel Anderson for Slate
"The Coiled Ferocity of Zendaya" by Matt Zoller Seitz for Vulture
"OJ Simpson died the comfortable death in old age that Nicole Brown should have had" by Moira Donegan for The Guardian
"Norm Macdonald Was the Hater O.J. Simpson Could Never Outrun" by Miles Klee for Rolling Stone
"Trans Stylists and Makeup Artists Are Reshaping Red Carpet Looks. Will They Get the Credit They’re Due?" by James Factora
"The ‘perfect Aryan’ child used in Nazi propaganda was actually Jewish" by Terrence McCoy for The Washington Post
"There Are Too Many Books; Or, Publishing Shouldn’t Be All About Quantity" by Maris Kreizman for Literary Hub
"An O.J. Juror on What The People v. O.J. Simpson Got Right and Wrong" by Ashley Reese for Vulture
"Super Cute Please Like" by Nicole Lipman for N + 1 Magazine
Essays:
Not That Bad: Dispatches from Rape Culture edited by Roxanne Gay
Creep: Accusations and Confessions by Myriam Gurba
"On Chappell Roan and Gen Z Pop" by Miranda Reinert
"In Memory of Nicole Brown Simpson" by Andrea Dworkin
"My Gender Is Dyke" by Alexandria Juarez for Autostraddle
"Columnists and Their Lives of Quiet Desperation" by Hamilton Nolan
Nonfiction:
Belabored: A Vindication of the Rights of Pregnant Women by Lyz Lenz
The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan
This American Ex-Wife: How I Ended My Marriage and Started My Life by Lyz Lenz
The Gentrification of the Mind: Witness to a Lost Imagination by Sarah Schulman
Savage Appetites: Four True Stories of Women, Crime, and Obsession by Rachel Monroe
The Sexual Politics of Meat: A Feminist-Vegetarian Critical Theory by Carol J. Adams
Eros the Bittersweet by Anne Carson
Who Owns This Sentence? A History of Copyrights and Wrongs by David Bellos & Alexandre Montagu
The Once and Future Sex: Going Medieval on Women's Roles in Society by Eleanor Janega
Moby Dyke: An Obsessive Quest to Track Down the Last Remaining Lesbian Bars in America by Krista Burton
University of Nike: How Corporate Cash Bought American Higher Education by Joshua Hunt
What it Feels Like for a Girl by Paris Lees
Female Masculinity by J. Jack Halberstam
The Theory of Everything Else: A Voyage Into the World of the Weird by Dan Schreiber
Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach
Better Living Through Birding: Notes from a Black Man in the Natural World by Christian Cooper
Rivermouth: A Chronicle of Language, Faith, and Migration by Alejandra Oliva
Unlikeable Female Characters: The Women Pop Culture Wants You to Hate by Anna Bogutskaya
Born a Crime: Stories From a South African Childhood by Trevor Noah
Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents by Isabel Wilkerson
The Lady from the Black Lagoon: Hollywood Monsters and the Lost Legacy of Milicent Patrick by Mallory O'Meara
Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End by Atul Gawande
Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg
Eyeliner: A Cultural History by Zahra Hankir
Against Technoableism: Rethinking Who Needs Improvement by Ashley Shew
The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny and Murder by David Grann
Know My Name by Chanel Miller
Empire of Pain: The Secret History of the Sackler Dynasty by Patrick Radden Keefe
Novelist as a Vocation by Haruki Murakami
Rape-Revenge Films: A Critical Study by Alexandra Heller-Nicholas
Fiction:
To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
Middlemarch by George Eliot
Just as You Are by Camille Kellogg
Just Happy to Be Here by Naomi Kanakia
The Misadventures of an Amateur Naturalist by Ceinwen Langley
Family Meal by Bryan Washington
Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton
The Mountain in the Sea by Ray Nayler
Ring Shout by P. Djèlí Clark
My Heart Is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones
An Island Princess Starts a Scandal by Adriana Herrera
Blackouts by Justin Torres
We Do What We Do in the Dark by Michelle Hart
Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
Less Is Lost by Andrew Sean Greer
The Faithless by C.L. Clark
Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir
The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang
The Disenchantments by Nina LaCour
Everything Leads to You by Nina LaCour
Bliss Montage by Ling Ma
Pachinko by Min Jin Lee
The Institute by Stephen King
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke
Frankenstein: Junji Ito Story Collection by Junji Ito
Her Body and Other Parties: Stories by Carmen Maria Machado
Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart
The Dark Forest by Liu Cixin
Snuff by Terry Pratchett
Travelers Along the Way: A Robin Hood Remix by Aminah Mae Safi
Only a Monster by Vanessa Len
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Tell me what you and Sackler like to do for fun, Marie. Please ☺️❤️
Well, we enjoy snuggling on the couch watching old films. He likes whispering the dialogue in my ear as we munch on our Chinese take out.
Sometimes, we hold hands as we walk around the city. We both appreciate bookstores and he is happy to follow me around the record store, as I pull out records, singing to him my favorite parts.
Dining out, reading in the park, bubble baths on Sundays, making stirfrys and I’ve been told to make sure to add in all the ‘fucking’ we do, everywhere...
Thanks for stopping by, Tesa! Sending my love to you.
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If you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?
Hi Marie! Thank you for the ask!
1. Read less. Write more.
2. Writer’s block isn’t permanent.
3. Most of the negative feedback you’ll receive online is just people being arseholes. Don’t let it get to you.
4. Don’t compare yourself to other writers. Maybe you can’t write like them. But they can’t write like you, either.
#ask#ask list#get to know your author#marie sackler#contrary to the gif#i don't look very beautiful right now#it's after midnight#and i am in my pyjamas#but thank you adam#and thank you marie
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“Which part of me wasn’t enough?” “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” YOU pick the character. (It told me my ask didn't go through? I am testing this again. If you got the previous one disregard this!) xoxo! Marie
“Adam, please, let me pay for your cab home, it’s the least I can do,” you beg, summoning all the strength in you to keep your voice from shaking.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Sackler spits, eyes somewhere between wild and broken. He lifts his hands to rest atop his head, not so much looking into the distance as looking away from you. You, who has just told him you don’t want to see him anymore, 5 months after your first kiss just a block away from where you stand now.
You whirl around and step to the curb as a yellow cab pulls up in front of you. Above the sounds of passing traffic, empty laughter, and conversations that don’t matter, you hear it.
“Which part of me wasn’t enough?” he asks, calling through a few feet of sidewalk that feel like a million miles.
You don’t answer, only flicking away the tears stinging your eyes, reaching for the door handle, and praying you won’t glimpse his face as you ride away from this moment, away from this night, away from him.
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Daisy Ridley being best friends with Adam Driver is literally one of best things that happened this year.
#daisy ridley#adam driver#rey#mary debenham#ophelia#viola eade#adam sackler#kylo ren#ben solo#paterson#clyde logan#star wars#interview#THEY'RE BESTIES
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Okay, I am sitting here imagining all the brushing of hands, secret glances, lingering motions, angsty kisses in the rain out in the garden. I want REGENCY/SLOW BURN. I need it. You need it. We all need it. I would like it with....I want to say Sackler but I think it may be too chaotic. So I will let you choose Sackler of Kylo. I am going to sit here like a small child before their birthday for this...
We do need this, and I never knew that I needed it until you filled my head with it. It’s all I’ve thought about for days, Marie. DAYS. I got a little carried away and, uh, this one’s coming in just a little over 3k.
“Have you heard the news?”
The gentle clink of a porcelain tea cup can be heard as it is settled back down onto its designated saucer. To Marnie’s left, Shoshanna hides her smile behind the rim of her own cup as she tips it back to deposit a dainty sip of the still hot tea into her mouth. Your gaze shifts back and forth between the woman and you shift rather uncomfortably in your seat, brows furrowing in both confusion and mild amusement at whatever it is the two of them are keeping from you.
“No,” you reply, albeit a little more forceful than you’d initially intended. “What news?”
Both Marnie and Shoshanna exchange knowing glances and growing smiles, the looks earning a huff of exasperation from you.
“Out with it…”
“There has been talk,” says Marnie in her typical haughty tone, always so pleased with herself to be the first to know the county’s business, “of a certain someone returning from London.”
There’s that knowing look again, and almost immediately, you find yourself sitting a little straighter, your demeanor a little more lady-like as if preening yourself for the aforementioned someone who hasn’t even shown face. “A certain someone,” you ask, though try as you might, you simply cannot hide the hint of eagerness that shines through the question posed.
“Oh, please.” This time it is Shoshanna who speaks up, once again reaching for her cup of tea. “Do not dare to think either of us to be so foolish as to not know that you are well aware that it is your precious Adam who will be returning.”
A long stretch of silence follows her statement, and for a moment you find yourself at a loss for words, merely left to stare at her in disbelief whilst she sips her tea, quite unbothered by the revelation. Of course it was Adam. Who else could it have possibly been?
The moment that your mind reels and catches up with a very specific descriptor used to describe him your mouth opens to protest, but in true Marnie fashion, she is one step ahead of you.
“Alas, he is no longer hers, is he, Shosh?”
Immediately, your eyes shoot over to where Marnie sits still casually sipping her tea as if she hasn’t just dropped a very large and important nugget of information. Your face heats and your chest tightens at the thought, and yet…
He was never yours to begin with, this you know.
The two of you had merely grown up together; you were nothing more than childhood friends tethered together by an affable bond between two families. When he had come of age, Adam left both his family and you behind in search of work opportunities in London where he had, or so you heard, become even wealthier than he had been prior to his departure. And now…
“He most certainly is not,” Shoshanna replies, now setting her cup down one final time, its contents now completely consumed. Her hands begin to smooth the fabric of her dress, the motion languid whilst she speaks. “I heard that he has become betrothed to a Baroness who is undoubtedly much more well-to-do than anyone at this table…”
An undignified snort escapes Marnie, the sound quickly dispersed by another sip of her now rapidly cooling tea. “Well-to-do financially,” she says once her sip has been consumed. “I heard that Mr. Sackler is rather unhappy.”
“Unhappy?” The word falls from your tongue embarrassingly quickly.
The two women sat across from you both smirk in that abhorrently annoying way they do. “Aye,” says Marnie. “She is a pretty young thing with a wealth one could only dream to have, but alas, I have been told she simply cannot keep a grasp on his heart.”
“She never stood a chance, did she,” interjects Shoshanna. “Not when it has already belonged to another.”
You swallow thickly, eyeing both of the women before you. “There is another?”
Unexpectedly, both Marnie and Shoshanna burst into a brief bout of laughter. “Oh, do not be daft, my dear,” Marnie says once the laughter has faded away. “Do you not recall the summer in which he left for London?”
Once again, Shoshanna interjects. “How he watched you so wistfully from his carriage…”
“No,” you reply almost immediately. “You must be mistaken.” And yet… You find yourself hopeful that these words will ring true.
“Why don’t you find out for yourself this evening.” Marnie’s smirk remains in place whilst she speaks, and like Shoshanna, her cup also now stands emptied. “You are attending the ball for his return, are you not?”
You nod slowly in silent reply, your own cup of tea long forgotten and ice cold.
The second hand of the longcase clock that is displayed in the foyer of the manor in which the ball is taking place now strikes half past seven upon your arrival. A number of guests have already begun to convene in the manor’s ballroom and when you, too, join them you are immediately flanked by both Marnie and Soshanna.
“He’s already arrived,” murmurs Marnie.
“I should hope so,” you reply instantly, “this is his home after all.”
“You look quite the treat,” Shoshanna shoots back, ignoring your quip. “I imagine Adam will undoubtedly agree.” There is a pause, and then a soft gasp as her hand reaches out to grasp your upper arm. “Speaking of which…”
She nods to your right, and when you turn your head, you’re greeted by a sight that steals the breath straight from your lungs. Standing a head taller than most of the others in this room is none other than Adam who, certainly judging by the way he is weaving through the crowd, has noticed your presence as well.
“Is he…” Your question trails off into silence, the words barely a whisper whilst you maintain eye contact, unable to look away from the man who is on a mission to reach you.
“On his way over,” asks Marnie. “Indeed it would seem so.”
Marnie and Shoshanna exchange glances and offer their good lucks and goodbyes, quickly leaving your side to disappear into the crowd before you so much as have the chance to object to their all too sudden abandonment. With a quick pivot, you turn around only to collide with an audible ‘oomph’ into a solid wall of muscle. Two large hands lift in immediate response to grasp your upper arms, steadying you on your feet. Your heart leaps in your chest at the contact and though your eyes begin to lift to look at the man who’s stopped you in your tracks, you are already fully aware of whom those hands belong to.
Slowly, your eyes trail upwards past the black wool vest and the gold buttons that keep it held snugly in place across a body that is much broader than the last time the two of you had crossed paths, past the golden colored ascot that is wrapped around a muscular neck, and further up to a face that looks so similar and yet so very different. His face is framed by dark sideburns that barely manage to peek out from the hair that has grown so long since you had last spoken, the strands appearing so soft in the warm glow of the room that your fingers twitch at the thought, at your longing to reach out and feel for yourself. His eyes, however, are the very same as what you had remembered them to be; still a lovely shade of hazel—honeyed you’d told him once.
Your lips part just as you feel the slip of his fingers from the skin of your arms, and just as it did when he’d left for London, your heart aches yet again.
Softly, your name falls from his own lips in greeting, a pleased smile taking root. “You look lovely tonight, though I will admit I did not think I would have the pleasure of your company this evening.”
A soft smile now touches your features in automatic response to his statement, one which holds so much surprise in the tone. “Yes, well, you were my friend once. I would be remiss if I did not join in celebrating your homecoming.”
The pleased expression on Adam’s face falters only a fraction, but just enough for you to take note. “Are we not still friends?”
There is a lingering moment of silence between the two of you, hesitation preventing you from responding quickly enough, and then: “Friends do not leave one another without so much as a goodbye. Friends do not fail to allow their communications to cease abruptly. So no, I do not suppose that we are.”
He can sense it, the hurt that your tone carries. It is as obvious to him as the melody of the piano that plays in this very room. Adam’s mouth parts, no doubt to provide some sort of explanation, but no sooner has his mouth opened than his name is called from nearby. He turns and you peer around his stocky frame only to find a young, pretty blonde who has now managed to grasp his attention, flagging him down to join her and the three gentlemen she’s convened with.
I heard that he has become betrothed to a Baroness…
...a pretty young thing with a wealth one could only dream to have…
You watch, helpless, whilst Adam leaves you once more, this time to weave his way through the crowd to approach the woman who is undoubtedly this Baroness Marnie and Shoshanna had spoken of so eagerly earlier in the day. He leans in, pressing one kiss to her left cheek followed by a mirrored kiss to her right. It feels now—while you are doomed to watch this unfold before your very eyes—as if your heart has physically cracked, splintering into tiny shards that you are certain may never mend.
Pivoting on the balls of your feet, you turn with the intention of making your exit, but just as your earlier move had been thwarted by Adam, so too are you stopped this time, now courtesy of Marnie.
“Surely you are not leaving so soon.”
The expression that you wear sours which only encourages her to roll her eyes and loop her arm around your own, leading you away from the room’s entrance.
“A valiant effort I will admit, however, you owe everyone a dance.”
You scoff indignantly. “I most certainly do not. Not you nor anyone else. I never agreed to a dance.”
“No,” she counters, only releasing her hold on your arm once she has positioned you to her liking whilst others in the room line up beside you to take their respective places for the dance.
The music in the room shifts and the sounds of a flute now join in with the piano. Across from where you stand is none other than Adam and beside him, the blonde, but like you, he seems to be equally focused on what’s standing across from him.
He swallows harshly and your fingers flex within the elbow-length gloves that you wear, and only once the tempo of the music picks up do you—along with everyone else partaking in the dance—take the hands of those that flank you and begin to step in tandem with the melody in one large, conjoined circle.
When the beat of the music shifts once more, the hands that you grasp now release themselves from your hold, and you turn to your nearby partner to reach for them, clasping one of their hands behind their back and the other behind your own. The two of you twirl and twirl. Your head swivels with each turn, eyes seeking out the familiar hazel. When you finally spot them, you find that not only is he much closer than you had anticipated, but that he, too, has sought out your gaze.
The two of you carry on like this, switching from partner to partner, never once breaking eye contact with one another until…
“I never thought you the dancing type,” Adam says good-naturedly, the corners of his mouth curling in a smirk when the two of you finally manage to pair up.
For a fleeting moment, your lips press together in display of your displeasure—a stark contrast to the sudden and rapid beating of your heart which now pounds against the interior of your ribcage. Gently, Adam glides the pad of his thumb against the back of your knuckles, pulling you from the thoughts that you have begun to lose yourself in.
“I most certainly am not,” you protest. “I can assure you that I did not come here for a dance.”
“Then why did you come here?” There is an edge to his voice, one that—dare you say—sounds hopeful.
His hands grip yours a little tighter and...has he gotten a little closer? You inhale a breath that sounds much like a soft gasp whilst the two of you continue to move in perfect unison.
“I… I came here because I—”
But there is no time to finish your sentence. Just as the song has continued so, too, do you and Adam move onto others, once again doomed to watch one another from afar.
It is two days later when your paths cross again. The sun is shining overhead, the sky is blue, and the flowers have all bloomed to fragrance the garden with their magnificent scents. The only dark cloud that has come to ruin a perfectly good day is that which comes in the form of one Adam Sackler.
He strides so confidently out of the home’s back entrance and into the garden where you stand, a hand delicately caressing the velvety texture of a rose’s petal. He looks, much to your chagrin, every bit as enticing as he had two nights ago, though his golden ascot has since been replaced with one that is blood red. It suits him, you think to yourself before dispelling the thought from your mind.
“What are you doing here,” you ask, the words leaving you in a rush as the rose slips from your grasp when you turn to face him.
“I have come to speak with you,” he replies, stopping short of where you stand in order to keep a respectable distance between you.
“You must be mistaken.” Your head shakes firmly, jaw set and resolve steady. “I did not send for you.”
“No. No you did not, and yet I am here.”
“Why?”
It is obvious in the way that he reels that the bitter tone in your voice has taken him aback. He is silent for a brief moment, lifting a hand to pull the wool felt top hat from his head, exposing more of his flowing mane in the process. “You left in such a hurry the other night. I did not have a chance to bid you a good night.”
The noise that you make is one of indifference. “How mirthful coming from the likes of you.”
“Enough,” he bites back.
Your hands work along the silken fabric of your dress, making vain attempts to smooth the fabric in an effort to keep yourself occupied as you gather your thoughts and debate whether or not to allow them to tumble from your lips.
And yet…
Tumble they do.
“Word spread rather quickly upon your return...of your engagement.”
Adam has the audacity to look shocked at your words.
“You asked me the other night why I came. I had hoped that they were wrong. But then I saw her…”
His brows furrow as if trying to comprehend precisely what it is that you are telling him. His mouth opens and closes only to open again, but before he is able to formulate a cohesive sentence, you continue to let the words flow so freely.
“And yet you had the nerve to look at me so fondly...so...so wistfully, I—” Your words trail off as your head shakes fervently, eyes averting his piercing gaze.
It is now that Adam seizes his chance, taking a step towards you, followed by another. “You are mistaken.”
Your gaze snaps back to his, eyes narrowing as if to decipher whether or not he is telling you the truth. Another step is taken towards you, and grasping his hat firmly in one hand, he reaches for you with the other. This move, however, is one made far too soon. You take a step back, dodging his grasp and halting his movement entirely.
“Don’t,” you whisper. “Do not presume to come here and make a play for my heart when you are with another.”
“You are mistaken,” he says again, much more urgently this time.
“Do you love another?” The question leaves you in a rush, and for a moment, there is only silence that follows.
But then…
Adam takes another step forward followed by another and another until finally he is mere centimeters from where you stand. The hat has long since been discarded onto the grass, his hands reaching out to frame your face.
“No,” he says firmly and with conviction. “I love only you.”
He leaves you with no time for a rebuttal; his lips meet yours softly at first, but when you reach to grab the lapels of his coat, fingers curling into the fabric, the kiss quickly becomes much more urgent.
When you are finally able to part from one another, your faces remaining close, your gaze lifts to look at him once more. “But what about—”
“My love, do you always make it a habit to listen to such gossip? There is no one else. There never has been.”
A smile stretches across your features, a mirror of the one that is now displayed so prominently on Adam’s face, the dimples you remember as a child coming to light once more. He leans in yet again to press his lips tenderly to your own.
Finally, at long last, the love you had feared to be unrequited all these years is finally yours.
#Ask#mariesackler#Adam Sackler#Sackler#Regency!Sackler#Adam Sackler x Reader#Sackler x Reader#Regency!Sackler x Reader#Regency Romance
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It's 5AM, I'm nihilist, I know there's nothing after this.
—Not everyone can say they’ve been to the Big Apple, but Leo Davis, a thirty-three year-old cis-male has lived in Chelsea, Manhattan for ten years. This is the city of dreams and he knows it, because they came to NYC to be an acting coach. Well, that and as The Regular. Living in the city means they meet all kinds of people, but everyone always seems to think they look like Penn Badgley. They even got away with free cab fare once because of it!
HEY, HEY THERE THANK YOU CLICKING READ MORE. Before you continue there are heavy topics that will be spoken without much care as they should be approached. Leo’s very direct as is this intro. The following triggers are alcohol abuse, substance abuse, abandonment, cheating, narcism, depression, anxiety, death, suicide, religion, and open aggression.
—
BASIC INFORMATION
name: Leonardo Anthony Davis
nicknames: Leo, the regular
pro-nouns: he / him
gender: cis-male
age: 33, thirty-three
d.o.b: July 31, 1988
p.o.b: Brooklyn, New York
current address: Chelsea, Manhattan, NY
astrological sign: Leo Sun, Aries Moon, Libra Ascendant
sexual orientation: heterosexual
relationship status: married, but he’s unfaithful
occupation: acting coach
education: grad of tisch school of arts
APPEARANCE
height: 6’0 ft
weight: 176 lbs
build: slim, muscular
hair colour: dark brown
hair length: curly, shaggy, to the nape of his neck
eye colour: dark brown
wardrobe style: causal to classic well-tailored designer pieces
tattoos: none
piercings: none
jewelry: ( left hand ) white gold wedding band & watch, ( right hand ) white gold pinky ring
defining features: voice, bone structure, nose, full beard
HEALTH
physical ailments: none
mental ailments: undiagnosed anxiety, undiagnosed ptsd, undiagnosed bi-polar disorder, anger management issues, alcoholism
do they drink: oh, yes
do they smoke: cigarettes? occasionally
recreational drugs: mary jane? definitely
addictions: alcohol and sex
PERSONALITY
positive traits: creative, attentive, charming, energetic, passionate
negative traits: blunt, impulsive, volatile, self-centered
likes: coffee, cake, cocktails, music, old films, theatre, yelling, running
dislikes: driving, cooking, small talk, lack of attention, lack of control
character parallels: Joe Goldberg ( you ), Nick Miller ( new girl ), Adam Sackler ( girls )
ACTIVITIES & SKILLS
skills: teaching, creativity ( vision ), acting
weaknesses: his own emotions and actions
hidden talents: can sing surprisingly well, and lie really well
languages spoken: English, and a little Spanish to get by
brief history
the davis family is to put it quite plainly, a fucking mess. it started out fairly typical. boy meets girl, boy falls for girl, boy and girl get married and have a baby. and then that baby ends up in foster care as a toddler. oh wait, that’s not typical. just the short end that leo was given by life, and man did life continue to give him a number of short ends. let’s back track at little.
leo’s mom passed away when he was three years old. growing up everyone had told him she passed because she was sick. when he was old enough to find out what really happened, he regretted it. her autopsy had stated she had died from accidental poisoning, but he knew how to read between the lines. a young couple with a newborn in Brooklyn in that economy? leo’s poor father only made it three more months before he had succumb to his own vices, and figured his child was better off at some home ran by nuns.
now you’d think, okay, a toddler would have a fine time getting adopted, but it became clear that his terrible toddler years weren’t a phase. he had bounced around from family to family till he was deemed too old to be desirable. leo was generally a quiet kid until this burst of energy would charged right through him. then he was loud, uncontrollable, and almost unattainable. the nuns had claimed he was possessed, but without looking through the narrow eye of religion, it was clear he needed help. but even as an adult he had never found the help he needed. he still deals with inability to communicate his emotions in a healthy way. he chooses vices to keep them subdued. hell, his own livelihood is one to mimic emotion and make others believe it.
work
through everything, leo found solace in watching the black and white tv in the game room, and reading every bit of dr. suess and shakespeare he could get his hands on. he admired the way things always seemed to work out so well on the screen. how things were always so perfect when planned, written, and especially how they were portrayed. he was in love with that aspect and knew that he could act just as well.
he had success in beginning of his so called acting career. he was a vessel of pure potential. but even with a degree of performance arts from nyu, leo couldn’t be what they were all looking for. notes of being too aggressive, too intense, and too much had him fall back to teaching or live on the streets. he wouldn’t have guessed it but teaching all the ingenues and having their careers begin to bloom before his eyes was his own personal hell. he would watch as they took his advice and become far more than he’d ever be. the only thing that kept him going were three things. one, the money for he made was decent, and kept him comfortable in his townhome in manhattan. two, he could at least live vicariously. three, he could afford to forget it all at dive bar on the 9th.
love
somehow leo met his wife in a cinematic meet cute. it was perfect. too perfect. too perfectly easy. their love affair moved in a way where an outsider could look at them and fill in the passion that wasn’t there. at least it wasn’t there for him. he loved her but didn’t know if that love held any depth. but somehow he made her happy. he didn’t understand himself but he continued through the motions long enough for him to believe that there was something between them rather than connivence. he gave her what she needed to keep her happy. a ring and a home, just anything other than himself.
no, he reserved his true self for words on a screen. his affair was new and he didn’t deem it as an affair. he was seemingly just getting along with someone who understood him better. someone like himself. someone who wasn’t perfect and didn’t expect him to be.
wanted connections
- platonic : friends, neighbors, college friends, acting clients, best friend ( the bartender skeleton ), therapist ( the therapist skeleton )
-romantic : exes, wife ( the married patient skeleton ), cat fish mistress ( the pretender skeleton ), baby mama
-familial : close friend from foster care
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FAQ
Who am I?
My name is Marie. My pronouns are she/her.
What are you going to be publishing for fan-fiction on this blog?
There wasn't ever a real plan on what fandoms would be explored here, just that I wanted a place to step outside the fandoms I've been writing in for the past almost three years. I will update as I go.
This is an 18+ readers zone.
Multifandoms: Scarlet Witch (Wanda Maximoff), The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) as of 1/17/2022
What will I NOT be writing/Squicks:
Non-con
Dub-con
Anything related to urination, fecal matter, etc
High school AU
Heavy degradation
dd/lg
Age play
My main blog is @mariesackler I write for Oscar Isaac and Adam Driver characters. This is the account I follow from. Feel free to check out my other work!
Check out my Ao3! (It is under Marie Sackler. I did not want to fuss with more than one account)
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Happy Sleepover Shannon! Which Adam character do you feel should get more attention than they do? And which character do feel is a bit overdone? (If any..) oxox
Marie! I hope you’re having a wonderful Saturday!
This is probably an unpopular opinion lol, but I personally think that the favorites are favorites for a reason. The characters, to me, that are the most fleshed out and interesting are Kylo, Flip, Charlie, Pale, and Clyde. And Sackler is his own brand of everything! Those characters all have something lasting and deep about them that the others are lacking, in my opinion. Theres just more to them.
I should mention that I haven’t watched Tracks yet.
If I was personally going to pick an underdog character, it would be Toby. AD gave a spectacular performance with him! The salsa dancing! The horse riding! Going from weasel to hero to crazy! And the Hello Dolly or wtf ever routine! Omfg.
If we’re talking ‘official’ attention in the form of awards and recognition, I think his acting was top tier in TLJ and TROS, especially given what he had to work with. Regardless of your take on Reylo, have you watched his face during that final scene?!? I can’t think of another character who made such an impact and carried so much weight in a film, who’s last actual line of dialogue was “Ow.”
In terms of overdone, I don’t personally understand the Oscar attention that Marriage Story received. It was alright and all the performances were great, but nothing was Oscar worthy, in my opinion. I thought Kylo and Toby were both superior performances and Season 4 Sackler had some strong acting too.
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Sackler Hours!
In honor of my soul mate my blog will go 100% Sackler for the next 24 hours.
It's the least I could do to show the character that started me off into the world of fanfiction.
I will be reblogging some of my favorite Sackler fics!
If you have Sackler thoughts you want to share or questions you want me to try to answer about my love jump into my inbox!
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Last Updated: 12/30/21
Requests/HC’s/Etc: closed
This blog is 18+ only. If you are a minor, you will be blocked. YOU MUST HAVE YOUR AGE IN BIO TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST.
Hiya everyone! Thanks for your interest in my work. Under the cut I’ve provided all my adcu fics/one-shots/what-have-you’s. This list is a constant work-in-progress & will be updated regularly.
Happy Reading!
join my taglist! I AO3 I support ADCU writers of color!
* indicates smut
Clyde Logan
Fics:
Honey, You're Familiar (Like My Mirror Years Ago)
Clyde x Female!OC
AO3 I 3.6k + 4k + 4k + 4k + 4k
Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 * I Part 4 * I Part 5*
One-Shots:
Cinnamon & Chocolate*
A/B/O Dynamics & MMF Relationship; Beta!Clyde x Alpha!Paterson x Omega!fem!AFAB!Reader
AO3 I 7.6k
Charlie Barber
Fics:
Deep End Distractions
Charlie x Fem!AFAB Reader
AO3 I 4.2k + 4.6k + 4.9k
Part 1 I Part 2* I Part 3*
Ficlets:
Wildest Dreams
Charlie x Fem!Reader (can be read as Gender-Neutral!Reader)
AO3 I 1.6k
Henry McHenry
Series:
A Study in Henry
The Night, The Flame*
~~~~~ Henry x Fem!AFAB Reader
~~~~~ AO3 I 2.1k
Fine Line*
~~~~~ Henry x Fem!AFAB Reader
~~~~~ AO3 I 2.3k
Maurizio Gucci
Fics:
Gold Rush
Maurizio x Fem!AFAB Reader
AO3 I 5.5k + ?
Part 1* I Part 2
Kylo Ren / Ben Solo
Fics:
Shadow of the Sea
Merman!Kylo x fem!AFAB Reader
AO3 I 4.3k + ? + ? + ?
Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I ?
Ficlets:
A Shrike to Your Sharp & Glorious Thorn *
Kylo x Gender-Neutral!Reader
AO3 I 1k
Paterson
One-Shots:
Cinnamon & Chocolate*
A/B/O Dynamics & MMF Relationship; Alpha!Paterson x Beta!Clyde x Omega!fem!AFAB!Reader
AO3 I 7.6k
Adam Sackler
One-Shots:
Fever Pitch*
A/B/O Dyanmics; Alpha!Sackler x Omega!Gender-Neutral!Reader
AO3 I 5.9k
Impulse Control* - ADCU Summer Fic Exchange
Adam Sackler x fem!AFAB!reader
AO3 I 8.4k
Nervous Energy* - Marie Sackler Giveaway
Adam Sackler x fem!AFAB!reader
AO3 I 3.7k
Flip Zimmerman
Ficlets:
Likes, Loves
Flip x Gender-Neutral!Reader
AO3 I < 1k
Paul Sevier
One-Shots:
Dreamscape*
Paul Sevier x Gender-Neutral!Reader
AO3 I 3.1k
Rick Smolan
Ficlets:
A Night at Home*
Rick Smolan x SoftDomme!Reader
1.1k
Father Francisco Garupe (Francis)
One-Shots:
Moment's Silence*
Francis Garupe x afab!plus size!Reader
AO3 I 2.6k
#acdu#acdu community#paterson-blue#masterlist#clyde logan x reader#charlie barber x reader#kylo ren x reader#ben solo x reader#adam sackler x reader#paterson x reader#flip zimmerman x reader#daniel jones x reader#ronnie peterson x reader#jude x reader#paul sevier x reader#rick smolan x reader#toby grummett x reader#toby grisoni x reader#tori writes#henry mchenry x reader#francisco garupe x reader#father garupe x reader#jacques le gris x reader#maurizio gucci x reader
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When will you pay for your heinous crimes.
For anyone reading this, I would like to apologize in advance.
This is not part of your regularly-scheduled programming.
This is in reference to the Father Garupe Coffee Shop/Fluff/Kid-Fic/Cattle-Farming AU that some shitty anon (read: me, it was me) provoked G into writing.
Here you go, @ohiobluetip. Consider this my Hail Mary.
You pound at the door of the humble thatch-and-stone cottage, sweat dripping from your sun-beaten brow.
The harrowing climb up the slopes of Mt. Yasumandake had made every muscle in your body scream with pain—or that could just be from the scurvy you developed on the boat journey to Hirado Island—and humidity clings to the overpriced lingerie you wear under your 17th-century nun’s habit, but you don’t give a flying fuck. You squeeze the INTERPOL badge at your hip. This is your God-given duty.
You’re met with the black eyes of Father Francisco Garupe as the weathered wooden door creaks open, but his face is changed since you last saw him; while his slim frame and angular features remain the same, his cheeks are much plumpened from Japanese cow’s milk.
“You know what I’ve come for,” you say, your voice cold as iron.
Garupe nods somberly. “I do, sister.”
Good. You’d worried that he would protest, that he would refuse, that he’d rather drown in the ocean than—oh, err, sorry. Too soon to joke?
“Give me but a moment, sister,” he says, peering over his shoulder into the cottage. You hear shuffling about inside. “Adoración Agustina Encarnación de Francisca! Come here.”
Confused, you watch as a young, black-eyed girl emerges from behind Garupe, offering up a small, swaddled bundle. Garupe plucks it from her tiny arms and transfers it to you.
“The fuck?!” you ask as he places a newborn baby in your arms.
“Please hold my youngest, sister. His name is… Charlie. I will return shortly.” He turns on his heel and disappears into the interior.
Stunned, you stare down at baby!Charlie. He coos up at you softly, then promptly and violently shits his thin cloth diaper.
Before you can find a flowerbox to leave the baby in, Father Garupe returns with a perfectly-frothed whole-milk matcha latte.
“I hope this is to your liking, sister,” he says, plucking baby!Charlie from your grip and handing you the warm, artisanal ceramic mug. “It is drinking-temperature. Jyn milked the cows this morning.”
You notice the latte art is an intricate and extremely adorable panda flipping you off.
“But pandas don’t even fucking LIVE in Japan,” you snarl.
He exhales deeply. “Jyn told me you’d say that during our morning fingerblasting session today. But pandas also don’t have fingers, yet you did not comment on that.”
“JYN NEEDS TO BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE!”
He hands baby!Charlie to Adoración Agustina Encarnación de Francisca and gently shoos her off, probably to go fall down a hillside or get eaten by pandas or something.
“Jyn is a child of God, now. All sins are forgiven,” he says.
“That’s bullshit and you know it, Frisco,” you sneer.
“TAKE ME INSTEAD! TAKE ME INSTEAD! YOU HAVE A WHOLE CREEPY BAD PRIEST AU TO FINISH! TAKE ME INSTEAD!” He’s screaming like a madman, and it’s hurting your ears. Hmm, or maybe that’s the scurvy, too.
“SHUT! THE FUCK! UP!” you yell, sounding an awful lot like Adam Sackler from some season of HBO Girls I can’t remember the number of. “I have to get out of this shitpost right now.”
Oh no, Jyn thinks, have I fucked this up by breaking the fourth wall and using two different ‘I’s in the same paragraph?
“Shut up, Jyn,” you say.
You can hear me?! Jyn thinks.
“Yeah, I can. And I’m outta here. Why don’t you fill some ACTUAL prompts while I respond to your 47 other shitty asks?”
I’m sick of this callout culture, Jyn thinks, but I think Garupe has some more shit to say to you.
“Fine,” you say.
“Kneel, sweet sister.” Garupe’s words are like poisoned wine dripping down your throat—intoxicating, irresistible, deadly. “I wish to bless you before you go.”
In spite of yourself, you sink down before him, the cold, rough limestone of the cottage’s threshold biting into your shins.
Parting his long, black robes, he exposes his matchstick thighs clad in acid-wash denim short-shorts. In one swift motion, he shucks the jorts down to his ankles, revealing his veiny, purple, one-and-a-half-foot long Jesuit cock. “I heard you like watersports, Sister G. Let me offer you some of my... Holy Water.”
#YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!#this is not tonic tuesday#this is not anything#AYYYY PAPIIIIII#father garupe wears JORTS#ohiobluetip is daddy but garupe is PAPI#pure 100% crack#pure 100% cowshit#don't read this#bye#ohiobluetip
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Making a movie is a powerful thing,” says Adam Driver, dressed in a baggy hoodie and eating a breakfast of bacon and eggs at Brooklyn’s Dumbo House. “And to fuck it up or get tired while you’re making it?” He frowns. “Why not make sure you leave nothing on the table instead?” The 34-year-old actor is here on a cool fall morning talking about his own career, both onscreen — most recently in BlacKkKlansman; most famously as Adam Sackler in HBO’s landmark Girls and Kylo Ren in two Star Wars films — and onstage. It’s the latter, via his Arts in the Armed Forces nonprofit, which brings theater to military personnel, that he’s most eager to talk about. (On November 12, AITAF will celebrate its tenth anniversary with a special Broadway performance of Sam Shepard’s True West.) But he knows it’s the glow from the big and small screens that often draws people in. Like, presumably, the eager young podcaster who sidles up to us and asks if Driver will participate in a live podcast something or other. Or the barista who wants his autograph in her book of poetry. “I thought,” Driver says, despite having handled the interruptions gracefully, “that here I could avoid that kind of thing.”
Stories written about you always make a big deal out of the fact that you’re an actor who served in the military.[1]
Like it’s a kitschy thing?
Not so much kitschy, but as if those two jobs are fundamentally at odds. Are they?
I see more commonalities than differences, but yeah, in one job you’re pretending the stakes are life and death and in the other they actually are. And people expect that being in the military is going to be difficult. They’re not like, “Oh, the catering’s bad. Oh, we’re shooting more than 14 hours?” Fucking who cares? The stakes are so high [in the military] that there’s no “Well, I feel this way.” Everyone is on the same plane.
What are the commonalities?
The team effort. You have a group of people working toward a bigger picture, working together intimately for however long it takes to get the job done, and there’s somebody who’s in charge who, if they know what they’re doing, makes everything seem necessary and urgent. And if they don’t know, everything feels like a demoralizing waste of time.
But the collective effort you just described could also be said about a business or a sports team.
Sure.
So what I’m trying to ask about are the specific mental and emotional similarities and differences that might exist between actors and soldiers. It seems to me that one profession is at least partly about individual expression and one is more about conformity. Do you know what I mean?
Yeah, I do. This is where things differ: In the military there’s a structure in place for how things work, and you can’t supersede it. If a PFC is really good at his job, then he’ll get put in charge. But in making movies, when people get to a certain level they can push their needs ahead of others’. Acting is not set up to be a collective effort. It can be, but it never is.
What do you mean?
There’s more bureaucracy to navigate.
There’s more bureaucracy in acting than in the military?
I’d never realized that most of your job in acting is managing personalities and talking about your job. Only, like, 10 percent is the actual doing of it. Sometimes that 10 percent is all you need to keep motivated but often there’s so much bullshit — never mind. I don’t want to complain about having a great job. I don’t want to be that guy. What am I trying to say? Obviously in the arts people have more liberty to be individual, but I still think of the work as a group effort. I’m not saying my view is better than anyone else’s but it can be at odds with someone who thinks, No, you guys are here to support me with my effort.
How much do money and fame distort your thinking and feeling about work?
Does money? Yeah, it does. In terms of this nonprofit, we [AITAF][2] could probably be doing even better financially if I wasn’t one of the people at the head because I’m so unwilling to do so many things — or talk to people in general.
Because those things make you uncomfortable?
I don’t want to start getting into favors. It’s not about me and Star Wars. It’s about the people that we’re trying to serve and if you don’t get that then I’d rather not be associated with your money. I guess that applies to acting also. But then you have someone like [John] Cassavetes, who did all this TV work and had no loyalty to the things he was doing just for money. He would take all that money and dump it into Faces or Opening Night. I’m sorry. I feel like I don’t have the right answers for you.
There’s nothing wrong with your answers. What made you think acting could fulfill you in the same ways that being in the military did?
I don’t know. As you change, your relationship to your job changes. At school [Juilliard] I learned the value of time. Well, I learned that in the military, but I transferred it into making movies. I don’t take doing a play or making a movie for granted: We’re here, right now, and we’re never going to get a chance to do this again. It always seems like a miracle when someone is willing to pay for us to do that. And the fact that films are so democratic — for me, it was discovering [Martin] Scorsese and [Jim] Jarmusch movies in Indiana.[3]
The Blockbuster in your town had Jim Jarmusch movies?
It was a Hollywood Video. We also had a Blockbuster and PJ’s Video. You just learn how films have a way of finding their audience. Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore was completely different from my life growing up, but finding it was so powerful. Making something that can affect someone like that is an amazing opportunity. And we’re not going to live forever, so we have to make the most of the time we have. I’m getting very saccharine, but you can’t take anything for granted. I don’t know, these big themes of life and death — feel free to jump in any time.
Okay, I know that acting in Silence, which was all about sacrifice and purpose, made you wonder about the larger point of being an actor.
Right.
So how does thinking about your job in a holistic way like that affect how you go about it?
I don’t know if I have a good answer to that.
I bet you do.
That thinking you just described affects everything. Without sounding pretentious, which is impossible, I’m trying to mean it as much as I can. So I want to work with people who are taking things seriously. There’s a quote I stole from an interview with Thelma Schoonmaker. It’s something like, “Making a movie is like having to take a piss.” It’s so urgent. That’s how I feel.
Does acting need to be difficult in order for you to feel like it’s worthwhile?
No. Some roles are more challenging than others. Silence, for example, was physically exhausting[4] but that’s what was required. I do like to work hard, though. I don’t know if that’s because I’m from the Midwest and was raised with “you work from nine-to-five and you come home exhausted.” But I don’t need work to be any more difficult than it needs to be. I’m always trying to find a way to work more economically. Can I ask you something?
Yep.
Do you feel with writing that you overdo things or put a lot of work in you didn’t need? I always want to feel like I’ve exhausted every opportunity so that no question comes up while I’m working that I can’t answer.
I think what I do is a million times easier than what you do, but yeah, I try to make sure I’m as prepared and have as many cards to play as possible.
Right, right, right. Also, this is another frustrating thing: You’re at a table read and you’re reading the script for the first time and in a way it’ll never be that good again. You weren’t thinking about it. You weren’t overanalyzing. You were just doing what was instinctual. I’ve been lucky to work on jobs that required me to trust my instincts and move on. [Steven] Soderbergh[5] is one of those people who will only give you one or two takes no matter how much you’ve prepared. Spike Lee[6] is another. Then you have Noah Baumbach[7], who’ll do 50 takes and that’s 50 opportunities to do the same scene in a completely different way.
You did an interview with Noah Baumbach where you talked about having to “rebel” when you get too comfortable with your work. What does that mean?
It doesn’t mean not showing up to set or anything like that. But if Noah wants me to move over there [in a scene], I don’t want him or me to get too comfortable trusting that I will go over there. So if we’re doing a scene 40 or 50 times, I’ll need to do something to remind myself that it’s all supposed to be happening for the first time. Maybe I won’t go over there and I’ll completely fuck it up. I’ll have a little battle with him [Baumbach] to keep the scene on its toes.
Are you someone who thinks a lot about your own thoughts?
You can probably tell from this conversation that I overthink the shit out of everything. I do try to be introspective but not to a point that it’s vain and I’m thinking me, me, me.
Let me tell you why my belly button is so interesting.
[Laughs.] Yeah, what makes me tick? In life I have such a problem of wanting control, and between “action” and “take” is the only time when I have to think about just one thing. In that moment there’s nothing else, and so much of my life I spend thinking about myself or other people, life, death, what our point is in the world. So to not have to think — this discussion is getting too abstract. I’m also moved by straightforward things like the writing in Ordinary People[8]. You know that movie?
For sure.
There’s this scene in the hallway when he [Timothy Hutton’s character] is like, “You took trig?” And she [Mary Tyler Moore’s character] goes, “Did I take trig?” It’s very beautiful. There’s also a scene where those two are outside and he’s trying to talk about Bucky, the brother who died, and she’s talking about something else and he starts barking like a dog. So there’s the formal structure of the script — the lines that are spoken — and then there’s something abstract, too. I want to make sure that I don’t shut myself off from that abstract thing.
You’ve been helping run a nonprofit for ten years. What are you doing better now with it than you used to?
I didn’t used to feel comfortable fundraising. Like, “Yeah we’re interested in your mission but could you take a picture with my daughter? She’s a big Star Wars fan and if you do that I’ll give you $100,000.” No, I’m not going to take it. Is there nobody that is just philanthropic for the sake of it? Is there always some picture with your kid? I don’t want AITAF things to turn into Star Wars events. But then you say, “No,” and you’ve pissed somebody off. I don’t know that I ever handled that badly; I just took it too personally.
So now you say yes?
I still say no. It has to be the right thing or it can feel disgusting. Some people are good with being like, “It feels uncomfortable but imagine what you can do with that money.” So I’m starting to get more comfortable with that idea because we’re raising money not only for a military nonprofit, but a performing arts nonprofit. It’s difficult. We’re not saying, “Give us $100 and it’ll go towards $100 of art.” We’re giving something that you can’t quantify.
You find that you can’t emotionally disassociate when you have to glad-hand? Even if you know it’s for a greater goal?
I can see the advantage of going “What do I care?” but I’m not wired that way. This is an ongoing thing I’m trying to figure out. Sometimes I feel like I’m doing us [AITAF] a disservice, but I don’t want people to give us money for me. I want to cultivate donors that we’ll have a lasting relationship with. So it’s not just, “Give me a check and we’ll keep this as impersonal as possible.” I’m trying to make things meaningful. Do you know what I’m saying? I’m not quite explaining myself.
I get what you’re saying.
Okay, good. I’m trying to say things to you here that I don’t normally say.
I know fame, and the subject of fame, is not your favorite thing. So how did that distaste factor into your decision to be in Star Wars? You had to know that’d kick things into a higher gear.
No.
No?
I was aware that more people would see it than see most things I do, but I don’t think I could have anticipated how often I’d get recognized because it’s so different for every person. I’m very tall and I look a certain way. I can’t blend into a crowd.
You’re fairly nondescript this morning.
I look suspicious.
What’s interesting to you about playing Kylo Ren?
That’s hard to say because we’re working toward something in particular with that character. I don’t want to give anything away.
It seems like it’d be fun to play around in that world.
Yeah, the scale and size is interesting. Usually you work with people who are like, “Everybody save their cigarettes because we’ll need them for the rest of the movie.” But Star Wars has 4,000 people working on it. It’s an entirely different process.
Is there anything about your public persona that’s given you insight about yourself? Or made you think about yourself differently?
What do you mean?
There are very few people in the world who can see the ways in which a large number of other people view them. But celebrities can. So does seeing what people pick up on — whether it’s being considered attractive or intense — incur any particular self-reflection?
Being an “intense” actor[9], I don’t understand what that means. That I show up on set and glare at people? That before every scene I’m like, “I need to fire off a rocket really quick and then I’ll come back and act.” That I carry around cold cuts that I smash before every scene?
Do you?
[Laughs.] Only on Paterson[10]. I don’t think of myself as an intense person. If what I’m doing is so abnormal that it’s intense — yeah, I have no idea. I’m not a method actor. I like to stay focused on set but it’s not because I have a process that I’m imposing on everybody else. Sometimes you have to be more focused in between scenes because what’s happening is that, on something like Star Wars, it’s pure comedy in between takes. It’s stormtroopers running into walls because they can’t see through their helmets. So I don’t know where the intense thing came from.
This has been a mostly serious conversation. So just to counterbalance a bit: What do you do for fun?
What do I do for fun?
Assuming you have any.
I’m so fun that I can’t think of anything. Clubbing. I go clubbing[11] .
Did I read somewhere that you play music?
No, I don’t play music.
You don’t play an instrument?
I play the piano, but it’s not …
It’s not for fun?
[Laughs.] Yeah, not for fun. Work is sometimes fun. I mean, I have fun. What do I do for fun though?
It’s okay if you don’t have an answer.
I have no fun.
One more question related to fame, and I mean this as nicely as possible: I could imagine that in high school you were maybe kind of gawky looking, and then to learn as an adult that you’ve become an internet sex symbol — did that have any bearing on your self-conception?
I’m not aware of much of this. Social media, I don’t participate. I don’t have an opinion that it’s bad — or worse. You’re right that the existence of a public persona is an interesting thing, but I have no control over it so I don’t try to control it.
Some people try to control it.
That’s not how I want to spend my time.
When did you know that you wanted to be an actor? And when did being an actor feel like something that could actually happen?
In retrospect, I always wanted to be an actor. I did a play in my freshman year of high school and then tried to do theater throughout. The rule in our house was that I could do it if I got good grades. But being an actor didn’t seem like a realistic job to someone living in Mishawaka, Indiana. Juilliard was one of the only colleges I wanted to go to, and before I joined the military I auditioned. I liked that that school didn’t check grades and admission was based on your abilities. That doesn’t mean I thought good, I’m in.
It meant you thought you had a shot.
Yeah. And then I didn’t get in and I put acting out of my mind. But it wasn’t until I was in the military that I was like, “I know what I want to do when I get out.”
Was there something that happened?
I had a come-to-Jesus moment. There was a training accident with white phosphorous[12] where we very easily could have died. After that happened I thought, The two things I really want to do are smoke cigarettes and be an actor. And then it just so happened that I did wind up getting accepted [into Juilliard] and I was incredibly lucky to go from having not even a novice’s understanding of the acting world to suddenly having the best access.
Is a soldier who has been affected by the arts different than one who hasn’t?
I think so. The Armed Forces has acronyms for acronyms but no language for expressing anything abstract. When you actually have that tool at your disposal, there’s such — I’m hesitating to say “cathartic” because that sounds pretentious, but there’s such power in being able to describe a feeling.
How does having that ability manifest itself in a soldier’s behavior?
Speaking for myself, coming from the military and not talking about what we did and then suddenly encountering a play that described my experience was incredibly important — even though the play wasn’t about the military. And the military is a stressful environment. Having an emotional outlet is — I hate to say therapeutic because I don’t want to label what we do as therapy — but I just think it’s good. And it’s not as if everyone in the military only thinks about the military. It’s like, you’re a writer and on top of writing you have to deal with your kids and whatever else is going on in your life. It’s the same situation with the military, only people are also handling weapons. People are stressed out. Expressing that feeling somehow makes it less stressful.
Do you remember the first play that was cathartic for you in that way?
True West was one of the plays that started it all for me: the idea of brotherhood, and how the characters are so different but bound by their brotherhood. I totally got that play. These answers I’ve been giving you are the worst. I’m listening to myself and thinking, What the fuck am I talking about?
Why do you keep saying that?! Your answers have all been fine. Anyway, this is probably overly broad, but I think that underneath a lot of what you’ve been talking about is the idea of integrity. Is the business you work in — show business, Hollywood, whatever you want to call it — a high-integrity one?
How do I give you an answer without giving you a headline?
I don’t know.
That was a joke.
I know. But I’m not bailing you out.
No, you aren’t. I would say no, it isn’t high integrity. There are people in this business that have integrity and I’ve been lucky enough to work with a lot of them. But overall no, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of integrity. I’m not saying anything controversial with that. At the higher levels there’s interest in money, and wherever that appears, it affects people’s choices. But I try to work with people whose main interest is in making the thing we’re working on as good as possible.
How interested are you in the subject of masculinity? Was exploring that part of what made the military appealing?
I don’t know if I was seeking that out — I guess so. When I was in high school I wasn’t an organized sports guy. A bunch of guys getting together doesn’t sound appealing to me. I never had the “hey bro, let’s all hang out” thing. I haven’t been asked about this subject a lot recently. When Girls came up I used to get these questions more.
Questions about masculinity?
About modern masculinity and what it means.
Why do you think people were asking you that?
Because I was playing a type of guy on that show. Maybe also because a lot of people thought that since Girls somehow represented a generation of women then that guy [Adam Sackler] also represented a generation. That’s not really an answer to your question. I have no insights on modern masculinity. I don’t think much about it. I see value in being emotionally available sometimes. I see value in getting angry sometimes. A sense of responsibility is a good thing to have. I don’t have a better answer than that.
Do the best directors[13] you’ve worked with have common ways of going about their job?
They all know there’s no one right way to do anything. They’re constantly exploring or doing things wrong. The great thing about this work is that you you never truly figure anything out. It can always be better. It can always be more economical.
You’ve mentioned “economical” a couple times. Why is that quality important to you?
I’ve had the experience at the end of a play’s run of wishing I could go back and start with what I’d learned from doing it for four months — instead of having wasted energy on things that didn’t work. If I can start from an economical, efficient place then the performance is going to be better.
Is there a role that you can look back at and think, I did that as well as I could?
No. I try not to watch things that I do.
But you must have feelings about what worked and what didn’t.
There are ones that felt good, but I wouldn’t necessarily say that made them better. And it’s not my job to feel good about what I’m doing. It’s the audience’s job to get an effect from what I do. I can feel anything I want. But I do remember one of the first theater jobs that I ever had, right out of school, was a play we did at the Rattlestick Theater called Slipping. I didn’t know anything and that was good.
Because not knowing anything meant you didn’t have any expectations?
Yeah, exactly. I had no pressure. I was just doing what I’d gone to school for four years to do.
It’s a special feeling when you first get paid to do what you’ve always wanted to do.
Yeah. It was a miracle to be making a living as an actor. Nothing else mattered. What I get to do, it still feels like a fucking miracle.
This interview has been edited and condensed from two conversations.
[1]Motivated by a sense of patriotism post-9/11 — and a desire to get out of his Indiana hometown — Driver enlisted in the Marine Corps. He served for just shy of three years before being medically discharged after breaking his sternum in a bicycle accident.
[2]Driver and his wife, actress Joanne Tucker (the two met at Juilliard), have been working hard at AITAF since they were students, bringing what Driver described to me as “the greatest hits of modern American theater” to soldiers all over the world. That means material by the likes of Sam Shepard, Stephen Adly Guirgis, August Wilson, etc.
[3]Driver was born to Nancy Wright and Joe Douglas Driver in San Diego, but raised in Mishawaka, Indiana (home to an AM General Hummer plant!). His stepfather was a Baptist minister. Despite that, by his own admission, Driver was a misfit growing up.
[4] For Martin Scorsese’s harrowing 2016 adaptation of the great Shūsaku Endō novel, Driver lost 50 pounds to play a Jesuit priest trying to clandestinely spread Christianity in 17th-century Japan.
[5]Driver gave a sly performance as a one-handed bar owner and Iraq War veteran (he stays on just the right side of caricature) in Soderbergh’s delightfully breezy 2017 heist movie Logan Lucky.
[6] Driver played police officer Flip Zimmerman in Spike Lee’s much-talked-about BlacKkKlansman. Just recently he earned a best actor nomination from the Gotham Independent Film Awards for his work in the film.
[7] Driver teamed with Baumbach for the director’s 2012 Greta Gerwig–showcase Frances Ha, as well as 2014’s modern comedy of manners While We’re Young. He’s especially funny in the latter, playing Jamie, an outwardly chill, inwardly opportunistic Brooklyn hipster.
[8]Robert Redford’s 1980 directorial debut starred Donald Sutherland, Mary Tyler Moore, and Timothy Hutton as a family coping with the aftermath of the accidental death of a son (Buck). Judd Hirsch played the therapist helping Hutton’s character through the trauma. I don’t get the sense that this movie is held up all that often these days as a classic, but it is, with uniformly strong performances.
[9] There’s a reason, after all, that SNL had Driver play Abraham H. Parnassus.
[10] Jim Jarmusch’s exquisitely subtle 2016 character study is a truly lovely film. In it, Driver plays the title character, a Paterson, New Jersey, bus driver who writes poetry in his spare time. Nothing much happens. In the best possible way.
[11] In case there’s any doubt, this is sarcasm.
[12] Here’s Driver describing the near-miss to NPR’s Terry Gross in 2015: “White phosphorus is … a highly acidic chemical … And the FO, the forward observer, the guy who’s alone, called in the wrong coordinates. And so artillery fired on us as opposed to what they were supposed to be firing, you know, miles away from us.”
[13] Given that Driver’s film career is still relatively young, the list of directors with whom he’s already worked is especially impressive: the Coen Brothers (Inside Llewyn Davis), Steven Spielberg (Lincoln), Jeff Nichols (Midnight Special), Terry Gilliam (The Man Who Killed Don Quixote), J.J. Abrams (Star Wars: The Force Awakens), and Rian Johnson (Star Wars: The Last Jedi). That’s in addition to Baumbach, Jarmusch, Lee, Scorsese, and Soderbergh.
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Empty Seat
Words: 997
Plot: Adam misses the opening night of his best friend’s play because he’s too busy screwing around with his ex. His priorities are wrong, and you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.
A/N: This morning I watched Spider-Man 2: the one with our boi Tobey in it. Long story short, I love the scene where he runs into Mary Jane and she says “But my best friend who cares so much about me, can't make 8 o'clock curtain. After all these years, he's nothing to me but an empty seat”. And I thought “hey you know what this sounds like? An opportunity for wildly angsty fanfiction!”
He’s not sure what he expected.
His agent got him the ticket, and sure, he’s here for the ‘career building’, or whatever the fuck that means. He ducks through the crowd of glittering faces: the smell of expensive aftershave permeating the air as blonde women with the same waterfall of hair and puckered lips sip at golden champagne.
He’s tall: too tall to hide among the crowd as his director zones in. Shit, fuck. He just doesn’t want to talk about the play right now - which was just his luck. Just his luck he’d come to a glamorous party for playwrights and actors and all their fancy fake friends.
Feeling hot in his cuff-links, he downs his glass of water, moving to the balcony with some speed. And as the cool night air puckers at his cheeks: he sees a familiar face and freezes.
“Hey”, he breathes. It’s nonchalant, but he’s feeling dizzy; this pain in his gut that won’t dissipate as he takes her in.
Broadway hasn’t changed her nearly as much as he’d expected. She’s always been beautiful; soft lips and starry eyes. Red dress hitching in the right places, leading his eyes downward. She’s so fucking beautiful - so beautiful it makes him ache. Every time he sees her face on a billboard, on a flyer: well, he feels a pull. It’s magnetism.
She purses her lips, and he notices they shine in the starlight. Her manicured nails set down the champagne flute on the railing. Precarious. Her eyes drift to his, and he notices how she changes - how she looks distant. Tired.
“You’re here. You showed up”.
Adam flinches a little under the weight of it; blowing out air from one of his cheeks as he looks back over his shoulder. He wonders if he should just...go. He’s cowardly enough to do that, he thinks. He’s been running from his problems a whole lot nowadays.
“Yeah...my fucking manager got me tickets. Insisted I come. A career move”, he mutters. His eyes dart back to hers suddenly, and he wishes he had something to bridge this gap between them. A gap he created. A gap he made real.
She doesn’t respond, and the silence drops like a lead weight.
“Listen-” he rasps.
“Don’t. Don’t start”.
Her brows crease as she takes a deep breath, and Adam’s over 6ft frame feels like it’s shrinking away. Illuminated by starlight and the warm light from the doorway, she’s angelic. Wrathful.
“I saved you a ticket. Five times, actually. I left three voicemails. You didn’t call back”.
Adam Sackler drops his gaze; zoning in on the metal latticework of the balcony. He can’t even bring himself to blink; his plush lips pressing together into a thin line as he tries to know where to start. There’s this pain in his throat, balling up, forcing him to choke on his words.
“I...” he huffs, running a calloused hand through his thick hair. “Fuck. Stuff came up. A lot of stuff”.
She rolls her eyes, her hand on the balcony now. His eyes are drawn to the way her knuckles coil about the frame as though in desperation. He’s familiar with that: anger is never just anger, is it? It’s always more than one thing.
“Right”. She bites her bottom lip “you mean you were too busy sleeping with your ex to come to my show? To answer any calls? For what, a week?”
Shit.
He doesn’t know how she knows - how the hell does she know? Regret is damning, and he feels his whole face flush this unseemly shade of dark red. He’d broken up with Jessa for good reason, but he’s lonely. Stressed. She’s an easy fuck, if he’s there to open the door. The whole thing was pathetic, and sad, and made his stomach twist.
“Look, I’m...fuck. I’m so sorry”.
“You know” she sniffs, wrinkling her nose “I saved you a seat in the front row during opening night. Like I said I would, remember? Everyone showed. My family flew in just to see it. My mum applauded so loudly I thought the whole theater could hear” she chokes “my friends lined the stands. Even my ex came. But my best friend, who cares so much about me? He can’t even make an 8′oclock curtain”.
Adam does meet her eyes then, and he wishes he hadn’t. He sees the emotion immediately - they’re actors, right? Trained to recognize and understand emotions on people. That’s what got them this far. And it’s all over her face.
He’s broken her heart.
“After all this time”, she swallows “he’s nothing to me but an empty seat”.
Her voice hitches and wavers on the inflections, but it’s clear and strong enough that he just knows.
He knows because he loves her.
He always has. And that fucking scares him more than anything.
“Let me make it up to you” he begs “I’ll come this week. I’ll take you out for dinner at that place you love downtown. Anything. Please. Fuck.”
He’s losing her; losing his nerve. She’s his best friend in the whole world - but he thinks deep down, he’s been in love with her since he first saw her rush out onto stage. That first twinkle in her eye. And its never been the right time. And now, he wonders if it ever will be again.
Maybe he’s blown it. Maybe for good.
She plucks up her glass, taking several steps towards him.
“If you cared that much, Adam” she breathes “you would’ve been there”.
He reaches for her arm as she passes him, but she’s too quick; and he finds his legs wobbling as he calls her name from the balcony, his voice carrying into the crowd. But before, long; she’s gone. And all Adam can do is press his palms to his face and bite back the stupid fucking tears pooling at his eyes.
Turns out loving her isn’t scarier than anything.
Losing her is much more fucking scary.
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