#he's so aware of his drama queen tendencies and can even laugh about them LOOK HOW FAR WE'VE COME😭 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anasticklefics · 4 years

Text

Tickle Cheating

Fandom: Star Trek

Characters: Jim Kirk, Leonard McCoy

Summary: Jim tickles Bones. It’s what he DOES. So how does one react when you see someone else tickle your usual victim? Like a mess if you’re Jim Kirk apparently!

A/N: I blame @fickle-tiction (are you HAPPY?). Also I don’t know how hospitals work don’t yell at me. Might rewrite this idea with lee!Jim because he has my heart.

Also does this whole fic and my author’s note have a general chaotic air about it or am I going crazy haha?

Words: 3 124

The first time Jim noticed it was when he dropped by the hospital to deliver Bones’ lunch that he’d left at the kitchen counter of their shared dorm room. Entering a space that was oddly both chaotic and completely still at the same time, the general air so suffocating that it was no wonder Bones was exhausted each time he returned from a shift. Jim grinned at the receptionist, unsure of where the med students where and if he was even allowed past a certain point and if so, “would you or someone give this to Leonard McCoy?”

But the woman, hair framing her heart shaped, incredibly kind face, met his grin with a smile and told him he could go right in.

“If someone stops you or you can’t find him, simply ask if someone can leave the box in the kitchen.”

Her words sounded scripted in a way that told him this probably happened more often than not, and he thanked her and left. Up three stories with the elevator to the floor she’d directed him toward, footsteps echoing around the empty corridors, until he eventually found a more chaotic environment in the form of the emergency room.

How many times had he been here just that semester?

“Kirk!” someone Jim recognized from the Academy called out, glancing up from a clipboard. “What have you done now?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “It’s been months since… whatever. Do you know where Bones is? McCoy. Whatever you call him.”

“I tend to call him Leo.”

“That’s weird. Do you know where he is? He left his lunch.”

The guy, unnamed for now and the rest of eternity, pointed his thumb in the direction of yet another corridor. “Third door to the right.”

“Should I just go in?”

“They don’t have any patients in there right now.”

So Jim went, wondering if he was breaking any rules but feeling extremely ready to get out of there.

He saw it then. The small room - do they perform surgeries in there? - with a bed and a table and four windows and five people, all on top of each other with Bones in the middle. All talking, simultaneously grave and cracking jokes. Familiar, whether they wanted to or not. A job where you couldn’t be timid of bodily contact; eating and sleeping almost in each other’s laps. Jim looked at Bones, saw how easily he moved with elbows in his guts and people breathing down his neck.

He also saw his face light up when he caught sight of Jim.

“I brought your lunch,” he said meekly, holding it up, and if Bones was the type to profess his undying love for his friends, Jim was sure he would be going down on one knee right now.

“I’m only gonna say this once,” he said later, having entered their dorm as Jim had been nearly falling asleep over his homework. “You bringing me food literally saved my day and I will grant you one wish as a reward.”

And Jim, exhausted, lonely and closer to the verge of tears than he would’ve liked, demanded cuddles.

In their years of living together Jim had never asked for cuddles. He always wanted to, but whatever physical affection he had a tendency to hand out to his friends like a way too common gift, he always stopped before they could get mad, and therefore always stopped before he felt satisfied.

“I just want a good fucking cuddle,” he was saying now, his tone too desperate for it to sound like a joke. Bones, bless him, didn’t comment on it.

“Let me take a shower and change,” he only said. “Trust me, you don’t want whatever my clothes have.”

Jim nodded, suddenly feeling too vulnerable, too exposed, so he ducked his head back down, eyes on his books. Listening to every sound Bones was making, thinking he was being both too quick and too slow, and when he finally returned Jim was fully aware of it, but pretending to be too engrossed in his work to notice.

“You wanna cuddle now or later?” Bones asked, so casual about it that Jim knew he’d never manage to get a single thing done for the rest of the night.

“Now,” he said, standing abruptly enough to nearly knock his chair down.

Bones grabbed it, his face a mix of amusement and concern. “Right then. The couch? Movie night?”

“Sure.”

“Want to pick the movie?”

“You go ahead.”

“Okay.”

Jim tried to shake the sudden awkwardness out of his limbs as he followed his friend into the living room area of their tiny dorm, realizing this was probably a bad idea. They hadn’t even touched yet and he was acting like a total fool.

“We don’t have to do this,” he blurted out, causing Bones to stop in his tracks. “I don’t know why I asked for it. I’m over it. I was just tired. We really don’t have to.”

“Jim.” Reaching out to grab Jim’s arms, Bones gave his flesh a squeeze. “Breathe. It’s fine that you asked for it and we don’t have to do it if you’ve changed your mind, but if I really didn’t want to myself I would’ve said so.”

Jim deflated. “Promise?”

“Jesus, you must be exhausted. Yes, promise.”

“It’s just that-” Jim wasn’t sure why he was trying to explain when Bones hadn’t asked for an explanation in the first place. “-I saw you at the hospital and you seemed so okay with being physically close to people and I feel like I might die if nobody holds me for, like, half an hour-”

“Jim.”

“-and I know it’s part of your job so I don’t want to overstep-”

“Please shut up for a sec.”

Jim did, but only because Bones had said please.

“I don’t necessarily enjoy having my personal space so violated,” he continued. “But of course I don’t mind you doing it. You’re my-”

“I know,” Jim said when Bones trailed off. They had no words to describe what they were. “So I shouldn’t be jealous?”

“Absolutely not, but mostly because you act like an idiot when you want something you think you can’t have.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You act like a petulant child.”

“Oho, is that so?”

Bones ruffled his hair. “Go back to being timid. It was cuter.”

So maybe Jim didn’t pay attention to anything that happened in the movie and fell asleep in Bones’ arms ten minutes later, Bones’ fingers squeezing at various places on his body to get him to “relax for fuck’s sake”. Maybe he couldn’t picture himself falling asleep in an empty bed again for weeks. Maybe Bones was really fucking good at cuddling.

Waking up sweaty with Bones’ knee pressed to the small of his back later was a whole other thing. “Hhng. Get off.”

“You’re nearly on top of me.”

“Feels like I was hit by a truck.”

“You snore like a goddamn-”

Jim somehow managed to roll over and press his face into Bones’ neck. “Shh. Too loud.”

A spasm went through Bones’ body, convincing Jim he was trying to throw him off the couch and making him resort to clinging onto his torso for dear life. “N-no.”

“What was that?”

Bones was, miraculously, laughing.

Jim tried to crane his neck to get a glimpse of his face, but he only succeeded in pressing the top of his head beneath Bones’ chin. “Okay, what is happening right now?”

Bones said something incoherent, his words slurred with sleep and higher in pitch with laughter. His hands were clawing at Jim’s back, unable to get a good grip of his shirt and therefore only managing to lightly tickle him, which was kinda nice actually.

Wait.

“Oh, this is tickling you,” Jim said, laughing into Bones’ skin as if this was a group activity. “Hey, I didn’t even know you were ticklish.”

“I’m not,” came the strangled denial.

“Hmm, I think you are. Otherwise this wouldn’t bother you.” He spidered his fingers up Bones’ side, noticing the squirming getting a notch more desperate the closer he came to his friend’s ribs. He paused just beneath them. “I’ll make you a deal. If you don’t react to this I’ll believe you’re not ticklish. Okay?”

“Jim, you fucking-”

Jim jabbed him in the ribs and nearly lost his hearing from the shriek that left Bones’ mouth.

“Ah, so you’re ridiculously ticklish, then?”

Bones cursed and managed to slip his arm out from beneath him, placing it against Jim’s chest, but not pushing him off.

“And you don’t mind this? I see.”

“I’m gonna kill you, James Tiberius-”

“Don’t you middle name me, Leo.”

Years passed. They graduated. Jim somehow became a captain and got a ship. Bones for some reason decided to work on said ship, bestowing Jim with his constantly shifting moods for the next five years. Not that he complained. Was literally doing the exact opposite. And, all the while their lives changed and kept changing, Jim kept tickling him nearly daily.

“Don’t fucking tickle me in front of others,” had been Bones’ one demand disguised as a request.

So Jim didn’t, but kept it behind closed doors as they always had. The image of Bones being physically close to others always prompting him to demand cuddles, now that he wasn’t ashamed of this dire need anymore. And, more often than not, he would slip his hands beneath Bones’ shirt and make him laugh uncontrollably for a few minutes. He wasn’t sure how it had become a part of their routine, but he felt that if he didn’t get these intimate yet playful moments as often as he could he would shrivel up and die.

“You’re a drama queen,” Bones had said more than once when Jim had complained about them not having gotten any alone time.

“You literally beg me to stop when I’m barely even touching you,” Jim countered each time. “Don’t call me a drama queen when you’re just as bad.”

Bones would only wave a hand at him, having gotten out of the habit of blushing over his sensitivity years ago.

Something else that had become more common than they probably realized was how often Jim brought him food into medbay. Sometimes it was breakfast, snacks, his forgotten lunch or dinner. Other times it was just a drink, just as an excuse to stop by. Sometimes he came empty handed.

That day Bones truly had forgotten to eat, his empty seat painfully loud in the cafeteria. Jim knew his habits more than anyone and knew he wouldn’t eat unless food was visibly presented before him, and so he filled a tupperware with everything he knew Bones liked and skipped through the corridors, suddenly feeling like he was back at the Academy again.

Bones wasn’t alone, but he rarely was. The crowded hospital rooms had been replaced with him and Chapel dancing around each other, sometimes with more than one crew member present; arms and legs and chests and heads laid out for Bones’ magical fingers to heal, or so they hoped. Jim had lied there more times than he could count, so he was highly familiar with the nooks of this part of the ship.

Bones was standing on a stool, which made Jim stop in his tracks before he announced his presence, greeting dying on his lips and being replaced with a grin. Whatever Bones was trying to reach, it seemed to be just out of reach and he was grumbling as he kept stretching.

“Do you need a hand there?” Chapel asked, her tone playful while Bones let out an unprofessional curse.

“Can I borrow some heels?” he muttered, and she laughed, all familiarity due to working together in such close proximity for years. It wasn’t elbows in guts or naps in laps, but Jim recognized it from his crew on the Bridge. It was impossible to not grow close.

“It might help if I make you jump,” she continued.

“How the hell will you do that?”

Jim was almost proud of the fact that he didn’t let out any sound as he watched her reach out and poke at Bones’ ribs, just at the spot that could make him scream with laughter. It was a coincidence, it had to be a coincidence, how the hell could she know.

Bones didn’t squeal, but he didn’t pretend as if nothing was happening as he had learnt to do back in school, partly because back then people never meant to tickle you if they tried to get past you quickly and had to grab your waist. Chapel did indeed mean to make him squirm.

Jim watched his arms shoot down, swatting at her with a laugh so relaxed this really truly couldn’t have been the first time she tickled him. It really truly couldn’t.

Other people tickled Bones. Bones let other people tickle him.

He started backing away, lunch box forgotten when he literally bumped into Uhura who was coming from the opposite direction. The tupperware flew out of his hands as he let out a gasp in surprise, the food littering the floor only a second later. Things were a bit chaotic after that, but maybe because everything was overpowered by his frantically beating heart, that really had no business freaking out but there they were.

“I’m so sorry!” he heard Uhura say over his own incoherent babbling, the two of them crouching down to clean up the mess while Chapel and Bones kept repeating that “it’s fine, we have a broom, please get off the floor” that Uhura eventually listened to while Jim had to be pulled upright by Bones who was laughing, only to start frowning when he realized just how truly stressed out Jim was by the whole situation.

It wasn’t even about the food, but.

“I’ll go get you some more before they close the cafeteria,” he said, heart in his throat, threatening to spill out among the food on the ground, and who knew what that treacherous heart would reveal. “Really, it’s fine,” he said, leaving them be and rushing to the first restroom he could find, finally allowing himself to calm the fuck down and breathe.

What a stupid thing to get upset by, but.

He heard someone enter the room, causing him to press his body against the stall like a coward, but Bones’ voice rang clear anyway. “Jim?”

He didn’t reply.

“Come on, I know you’re in here.”

“I’m peeing.”

“Right, well, I’ll wait until you’ve finished.”

“Okay, I’m not peeing.”

“I know.” A beat, and, “Come out. Please.”

It was always the please that got him.

“Before you ask,” Jim said, exiting the stall. “I was gonna go get your food just after this stop.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “I don’t care about the food. I mean I do, and it was really nice that you brought me some, but it’s a slow day and I’ll be fine.”

“Oh.”

“I wanted to see what was up with you.”

“With me?”

“You seem… I don’t know. Freaked out? Like something is wrong?”

“I see.”

“Jim.”

He shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, looked anywhere but on Bones. “I don’t know. The whole situation sort of shook me and now I feel weird.”

“You spilling the food?”

“No. Jesus, no. Just-” He waved his hand in Bones’ general direction. “You being tickled by someone else. It was weird being an onlooker.”

“You’re acting like a disaster because of that?”

“Look, you know I’ve acted worse about tamer things.”

“You’re so stupid.”

Jim snorted, finally meeting his friend’s eye. “I’d love to have this conversation-”

“Stop lying.”

“-but I have to head back. Got a ship to run and all.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I’m bringing this up tonight.”

Jim patted his shoulder as he passed. “I’m counting on it.”

It didn’t mean that he was looking forward to it, however.

“Ugh, just get it over with,” he groaned when Bones entered his quarters, looking rather alert, pointing to a calm rest of the day.

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Bones deadpanned. “We’re gonna talk about my sensitive spots, after all.”

“I love your sensitive spots.”

“Focus.”

“I just thought it was something only I did to you, that’s all.”

“You got jealous?”

“Maybe a little?”

Bones relented. “You’re being-”

“Ridiculous, I know.”

“And kind of endearing, but I’ll only say that once.”

“You say many things once. Doesn’t mean I’ll forget them.”

“Oho, you’re kind of asking for it yourself, you know.”

Jim threw up his hands. “Tickle me, then. This whole day’s weird and backwards anyway.”

“You know I would never take your job.”

“Chapel did.”

“Oh, come on. As if you’ve never tickled anyone else before.”

Jim huffed, crossing his arms. “I never said my reaction was logical.”

“You gonna tickle me or not?”

“Are you asking me to?”

Bones did flush then, so rare nowadays. So wonderful. “Shut up. Just shut up.”

Jim barked out a laugh, already approaching him. “Stay still.”

“You know damn well I won’t.”

“I do, but it’s fun watching you struggle.”

“You sadist- wahait!”

Jim cornered him and pushed him down onto the couch, fingers already working over his hips, a spot he was certain no one else knew of. A spot that could make Bones scream so loud Jim had to stop out of fear of accidentally killing him.

Usually he was gentle, starting slow to make him giggle, but Bones had technically tickle cheated on him and that just wouldn’t do. Pinning him beneath his thighs, Jim dug into the sensitive spots, Bones’ clothes doing nothing to help him whatsoever.

Oh, how he laughed. Not a quick little inconvenienced laugh as he squirmed away, but a proper, desperate belly laugh. This was theirs and only theirs. Jim the only one Bones trusted to know this intimately. He was grabbing at Jim’s wrists now, but despite his strength he wasn’t pushing Jim away. Merely steadying himself.

Whatever they were and whatever they had, it always had and always would include this.

“I should tie you up and torture you,” Jim teased, even though he’d never immobilized him during this and only tickled him for a couple of minutes at a time, but Bones had once become a stuttering mess when Jim had threatened this and he did love a flustered Bones, after all.

He was laughing too hard to stutter, but the way he was shaking his head told Jim all he needed to know. His words had left a mark and whatever he did now, wherever he touched, would be more ticklish than usual.

He got to work.

#tickling #ticklish!bones #ticklish!mccoy #mckirk fic #mckirk #star trek fic #star trek #mine #tickle cheating #ana's fics #tickle fic

73 notes · View notes

worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: The Real Housewives of Storybrooke (13/?)

A fic based on this premise here, following the lives of Storybrooke’s elite wives, with all the scandal, bitching and backstabbing that goes on behind the scenes of high society…

This verse is open for prompts!

====

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Eleven] [Twelve] [AO3]

====

REGINA

“Ok, people, this party isn’t going to plan itself. Let’s get cracking.”

The weekend had finally arrived, and after five days of refraining from banging her head against a brick wall for all the progress she was making in the town hall, Regina was more than ready for a distraction, and if that distraction happened to involve planning a massive party, then so be it.

Robin had already told her that he thought she was mad if this was what constituted downtime for her, but organising things like this was what Regina lived for. There was a reason why she’d always been the one that anyone in the town council went to whenever they needed any advice for planning local social events. She was also the one that they went to when they needed advice for planning personal social events.

The kitchen table had been cleared of all Tilly and Robyn’s protesting paraphernalia, and the two girls, deciding that party planning really wasn’t their forte, were over at the Gold house, spending some time with Tilly’s beloved godfather before she had to return home. Robyn was disappointed that Tilly could not stay for the party, but she accepted that Tilly did have a family of her own that she wanted to get back to. Maybe something could be arranged for her to pay another flying visit for the big bash. Robyn certainly deserved to be able to step out with her girlfriend on her arm.

Mary Margaret and Ariel had come over to assist with the planning; Mary Margaret was just as grateful for a day away from work-related troubles as Regina was. Whilst she’d not intended going back to work full time just yet and had only raised her head above the parapet to intervene whilst she could, she didn’t trust Sidney to handle the whole Storybrooke endeavour in her absence so she’d ended up working a lot more than she’d bargained for.

“Do you think we’ve bitten off more than we can chew, here?” she asked presently, looking at all Regina’s binders and all her own paperwork. “Ok, scratch that, this is definitely not more than Regina can chew. Have I bitten off more than I can chew?”

“Of course not.” Ariel reached across the table and patted Mary Margaret’s hand. “You’ve got this. It’s going to be awesome.”

The charitable trust that Mary Margaret had organised to be set up to support and protect Storybrooke’s green spaces was now up and running, and Regina had decided that the best way to spread awareness and begin fundraising for the venture was to throw a big party at the Blanchard Group’s expense. Everyone loved a gala and everyone loved to be seen to be doing good, especially in the local community. It was the perfect ruse. Mary Margaret had been all too happy to agree and fund the thing, but now that it had actually come to organising it, she appeared to be having second thoughts.

“Are you sure that you need me here?” she asked. “I’m perfectly happy to let you make all the decisions and I’ll just sign the checks. I’ve never been good at planning things. Regina, you should know this. You’ve planned every single occasion I’ve ever hosted since we became friends.”

“Well, yes, but this is different. You’re the figurehead of this operation, we need your input.”

“Oh God. Do I have to be?” Mary Margaret looked down at herself. “I’m the worst figurehead ever. Look at me. I’ve still got baby brain. I put odd socks on this morning, and I drove here in my slippers by accident.”

Regina looked down at Mary Margaret’s fluff-encased feet and shrugged. “You’ll be fine. It’s a night out for you and David, without needing to worry about the kids. I know that motherhood is a huge part of your identity, but you need to take some time for yourself, and I think that this is a great opportunity for you to do so.”

“Taking time for myself normally equates to eight hours uninterrupted sleep in our household,” Mary Margaret muttered. “Still, I guess I see where you’re coming from. So, what do we need to organise?”

The short answer, of course, was everything, but Regina didn’t say that for fear of scaring Mary Margaret away for good.

It was a long time since the three of them had all got together to plan something like this. It would have been great if they could have got Belle in on the act as well, but she had declined, still feeling like the odd fish in their circle of friends. Although she was getting used to the circles that she now moved in having married Gold, and although Ariel was trying her best to make sure that she felt comfortable in them, she still preferred her comfort zone. Maybe she was coming down with something; she’d sounded pretty rough on the phone when Regina had called earlier to announce the planning meeting.

Robin came into the room bearing a box of fresh breakfast pastries from the bakery, and he promptly made himself scarce again having seen Regina’s huge stack of papers. One day she’d talk him round, but today was not that day.

“OK, first thing first is obviously the guest list. It’ll be a ticketed event and open to everyone who’s willing to make the involuntary voluntary donation to the Storybrooke Green Trust to get a ticket, but we ought to make a point of inviting a few bigwigs so that they can spread the word. It’s not entirely true that all publicity is good publicity, but no publicity is bad publicity. Mary Margaret, you can invite Sidney and the rest of the board. I think it might be cathartic to watch them squirm when people gush about how wonderful the initiative is.”

Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow. “You do realise that the board is made up of mostly middle-aged, mostly white men? They won’t squirm, they’ll just take all the credit for my idea.”

“Good point. Well made. You may not want to be in the spotlight, but we can’t have someone else claiming it on your behalf when they have no right to.” Regina sighed. “Ariel, can you make a shortlist of possible candidates from your contact list?”

“Absolutely. The maritime trading industry will certainly keep our end up.”

“I know the right government people to schmooze.” Regina checked off her list. “The big ballroom at the Palace Hotel, I think, as a venue. If we’re going to do it, we might as well go all out. No sense in trying to get out there and being half-hearted about it. Burst onto the scene with a bang, not a whimper, I say. Make an entrance.”

Ariel raised an eyebrow. “That’s something that your family has always been good at.”

Regina thought of her mother and her stepsister and their tendency towards the drama queen end of the spectrum. She shrugged. “What can I say? Theatricality’s in the blood. Even if Zelena’s not actually blood. She absorbed it by osmosis.”

“Let’s not talk about Zelena.” Ariel made a face. “I know I can’t hope that she won’t turn up, but can we try and sequester her in a corner somewhere? Actually, that’s not fair on you. You can hardly enjoy these things if you’re shepherding your relatives all the time.”

“Everyone knows that you’re not really meant to enjoy your own parties,” Regina said. For the most part she did enjoy her own parties; she wouldn’t be so fond of planning them and giving them if she didn’t. “It’s all right, I’m used to it by now. Besides, if we can get Carrie and Ursula to come then they’ll be more than happy to spend the entire night trolling my sister.”

“Give Carrie enough gin and she’ll troll anyone. She and Cameron are lethal when they get together under the influence.” Ariel gave a fond sigh, no doubt remembering parties past.

The next couple of hours were taken up mainly with eating pastries and making very long lists of things that needed to be done and people who needed to be called. Robin kept coming in at intervals and refilling coffee and tea, and by the time Ariel and Mary Margaret left, Regina was satisfied in a job well done.

Robin poked his head around the kitchen door. “Is it safe to come in and make a sandwich?”

Regina laughed. “Yes, of course. You could have come in and made a sandwich before, you know.”

“Well, I didn’t want to disturb you too much when you were all so intent in your pursuits. How’s it going?”

“We’re getting there. I’m sure it’s going to be an amazing evening. Don’t worry, all you need to do is turn up and say hello to three people, then you can go and stand in a corner next to the buffet table keeping Belle company whilst the rest of us schmooze.”

“That makes it sound like Belle will be monopolising the buffet table,” Robin said. “But since you always pull out all the stops when it comes to catering, I can’t say I’d be sorry to join her.” He paused. “Is Belle all right? Marian said she’s seemed pretty stressed for a while now.”

Regina shrugged. “I know that she and Cameron are trying for a baby, and I know Belle really wants to be a mommy.” She fell to thinking about motherhood; she had never had any desire to have a baby of her own, but she adored her stepson and couldn’t imagine a life without Roland in it, nor a life without her niece. She knew that Belle loved Bae and Tilly, but at the same time, Regina could understand her wanting a baby of her own.

She thought of Belle sounding rough over the phone this morning. It would be ironic if, after all she’d said, Belle was pregnant after all.

#Regina Mills #Robin Hood #OUAT Fanfiction #Fic: The Real Housewives of Storybrooke

3 notes · View notes

rktingyan-blog · 5 years

Photo

𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐚𝐧 & 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐬 !

the hard part was over with, thank god. all that was left were the interviews, and to tingyan, that was the most fun part. while she intended on showing her personality, she was fairly certain the interview would have some sort of impact on her success throughout the show, so she was careful with her words. so after a few minutes rather impatiently waiting on the interviewer, she's asked if she's ready to begin. smiling at the woman, she nodded, encouraging her to begin asking the series of questions. "sure! let's get to it."

"alright, welcome to the interview! could you introduce yourself, please?"

tingyan was immensely grateful for a much friendlier interviewer than she'd been provided with last time, smiling in agreement as she began. "of course. my name is chong tingyan and i'm a university student and model from shanghai, china! i'm not a princess - but i'm this season's queen!" putting her hands in the form of a crown over her head, she can't help but laugh. the statement is a little silly and boastful at best, but it's her way of getting her name stuck in the judges' head.

"how did you feel when you received the news of the callback?"

"ah..." she doesn't want to mention the fact that she laughed, although being true it didn't sound good from an outside perspective. "i was in shock! there were...so many people at the first auditions? ah, it was crazy..." her eyes become faraway, returning to the hectic day she'd first came in to show her talents. it seemed like it was just a few hours ago - and now here she was, at the second round. even though there were still many contestants, more had been cut already, and it hadn't even passed the first interview. tingyan couldn't help but wonder what that meant for her, and how many of the people she'd grown to like would be leaving soon. if she would be leaving soon. but there was no time for such negativity. so she concludes with a "i'm so ecstatic to be here! i can't wait to show even more of myself to you all."

"how was it seeing the set for the first time?"

"it was so beautiful! really, i got excited before anything had even started," she confesses, covering her mouth as she lets out a laugh. did they expect anyone to say anything but good things? "really, i used to watch the show all the time when i lived in shanghai. i always was fangirling over the contestants - i was quite a big fan of season 2!" she figures bringing it back to her childhood sounds a little humbling, not so focused on her confidence now and more on the teen she once was. "when i walked on set, i felt like i was really a teenager again, living out my dream! i was so nervous, i could barely speak!"

"what did you think when the judges were revealed?"

i expected it? she almost says, the mga fanatic aware of the judge's appearance. however, her casual bluntness she's used to displaying won't work this time, so she decides to focus on the excitement she got from it. "i thought i was nervous before they walked in?" exhaling, she looks to the sky, hands pressed to her cheeks. "oh my gosh, it got so much more intense! i know everyone else felt it too. that's when it got really quiet, like we were all fighting for our lives." in a way they were, but instead of their lives, each was battling for the most screentime and a chance to win a contract. "i noticed hyun bin-ssi looked really handsome," she notes, immediately regretting the statement as her cheeks turn red and she covered her face. didn't everyone, though? the statement was a result of both her flirty tendencies and hope to get nova's attention, but it wasn't exactly supposed to say it out loud. falling over into a fit of giggles, the girl waves her hands, as if to ask the other to forget she said anything. "unnie...could we cut that part out, please?"

"how do you think you did?"

truthfully? she doesn't know. the audience seemed fairly please, but, as always the judges had kept their poker face up for the majority of the time there. it was hard to read them, especially when she was so reluctant to look them in their eyes, but one thing was for certain . "i had a lot of fun," she says truthfully, thinking back on the fun song shift. "i think i did very well! i tried my best to show my confidence, enthusiasm, and skill!" she lists each, counting them off with her hand. "it was different, and my goal was to gain their attention by switching things up. it worked well to me!" her subconscious tells her to die down the boasting, so she flips the script by lessening her praise on herself. "but of course, there were a lot of great competitors. i'm looking forward to seeing what the judges thought and how they can help me in the future!" she's sure to put the thought of her remaining in the competition at the front of her mind, knowing better than to seem pessimistic on camera. if she wanted something, she had to speak it into existence.

"did anyone stand out to you?"

"mm, of course! there was moonbok ( @moonbokrk ) ," she says, the name sticking with her. many others did as well, as she'd tried her very best to retain them in case an interview such as this was initiated. she wanted to be a queen, but not careless, after all. she's sure other mentioned him as well, if not for anything for his desirable hair. "i remember seeing him at the first auditions! i mean, of course his hair is beautiful - i want it so bad!" she laughed, twirling her own curled strands. "but aside from that, i didn't expect him to rap! it was really nice." she sits silent for a moment, thinking over other performers that she felt were nice. "to be so young, hohyeon ( @rkhyeon ) seemed very confident in himself and his skills. i think he'll have no trouble getting used to the competitive atmosphere."

"were there any performances you liked?"

"oh, a lot!" really, she hadn't been paying attention the first half due to crazy nerves, but she won't let that slip out. of course, being a very opinionated person, sharing her thoughts is in her veins, and it shows in the way she sits up with excitement. after all, they're asking a girl who used to have a mga opinions blog - what did they expect? "well....yoorim's ( @rkaisha ) performance was really good! or was her name aisha...? i think she goes by both. anyways, she was such a bada-" she stops herself before the curse can properly exit her mouth, her claim of a graceful queen ringing at the back of her mind. "she was very cool, i genuinely enjoyed watching her perfomance." tapping her fake nails on each other, she tries her best t think of the others she watched. a certain face popped in her head, the younger so eager to support everyone during performances she can't help but support him. "there was also youngjae ( @ericxrk )! he had a lot of enthusiasm, and i have to say, i was really surprised his performance was that good." it's not intentionally a diss, but for such a childish personality it was hard for her to take him seriously as a performer. he'd obviously proved her wrong.

"were there any performances you didn’t like?"

"ah....that's a little rude to answer, right?" scratching her ear, she feigns remorse, but on the inside she's living for this. there'd been a few performances which had been a little underwhelming and she was never afraid to say so....unless it may affect her results. so she spoke carefully, saying her opinion but gentler than she may have otherwise. "i think yewon ( @rkumji ) could have performed a little more confidently. of course, everyone makes mistakes but...what matters is recovering from them. i don't think she did that as well as she could have." to be fair, tingyan's skills weren't top tier, but the way the interviewer looks expectantly proves they were looking for more than a few words to spice up this seasons drama. alright, alright. whatever gets more screentime. "i'd also say vernon ( @rkchwev )?" she says hesitantly. "he was good, don't get me wrong, but the performance was lacking something...maybe fun?" it sounds bad, but it was really the only way she could put it. "i like fun, excitement, all that. it seemed to lack those, which sometimes can be more important than talent."

"what did you think of kyulkyung's performance?"

"jieqiong ( @rkkyul )?" she asks, the second name being the one she remembered in her mind. "it was...good?" she asks, confusion etching her features as she wonders why they'd center the attention on her. she wonders if it's because of their shared hometown, both hailing from shanghai. "she was good! that performance was totally something i'd do," she says, wondering if they were trying to start some sort of rivalry. if anything, foreign muses needed to stick together, so she decided against slandering her. "when she took of the pointe shoes? ah, i was really shocked! i'd be excited to see what she has prepared in the future."

"is there anyone you are certain will move onto the next phase of the mgas?"

"for sure! there's chan ( @rkchris ) - even if i saw some who were better skill wise, he's very creative and shows a lot of promise! i'd imagine they'd want to keep him around. and maybe....haruto ( @rkharuto )?" more than anything, he crosses her mind because he'd looked a little pitiful to her, like a lost puppy as he wandered around the auditions. he was still so little, but more than anything tingyan hoped he'd win the judges favor. “and yuzu ( @yuzurk )? who could forget about her! she has enough confidence to last a lifetime, she may even be able to compete with me! idol material for sure.” when the interviewer coughs to say tingyan’s said more than enough, she blushes and nods in understanding. “alright, that’s all for me! don’t forget about your mga queen - miss chong tingyan!”

#rkmga5 #rkmg5callback #*inhales* y'all ready #moonbokrk #rkhyeon #rkaisha #ericxrk #rkumji #rkchwev #rkkyul #rkchris #yuzurk #❝ solos. ❞#pHew look y'all i tried so hard to include everyone who asked #i read all your solos but lmk if something's incorrect!!#ok wOw we done!!!#i just fixed some formatting & added a title!

10 notes · View notes

sleemo · 6 years

Text

Edge of Darkness

From the Marines to the Emmys to the most powerful cultural force in the galaxy, for ADAM DRIVER, finding his path has been a long, hard battle. Now, for STAR WARS: THE LAST JEDI, in a role he never imagined could be so complex, the brooding face of millennial angst faces his toughest fight yet. Spoiler alert!

—British GQ, December 2017

His face shrouded beneath a hood, Adam Driver strides toward me. Shoulders hunched, fists jammed into jean pockets, he lets out a low whisper, “Hi. I’m Adam.”

The mixed messages – simultaneously worrying he’ll be recognised and that he won’t – hang in the air awkwardly as Driver surveys our spot, a near-empty New York City café. Neither fear is well-founded; there is no flock of fans to notice him and yet there is no mistaking the actor, his grey hoodie notwithstanding.

“I try to disguise things, but it just doesn’t really work for me,” Driver says, shedding the sweatshirt. “I honestly just look the way I look and it’s difficult to blend in because I’m tall and I look strange. I shouldn’t put a judgment on it.”

Others have judged his appearance more favourably. Driver has been dubbed a “cure for the cookie-cutter leading man” and “a millennial sex symbol”. Which may or may not be a compliment. Although few phrases are as loaded as “unconventionally attractive”, it’s as if those two words were combined expressly to describe Driver. Exaggerated ears; hooded, slanted eyes; long nose with a boxer’s bridge; broad mouth and lips – his disparate features coalesce into a surprisingly appealing whole.

“I guess I never think about it like ‘I am a leading man’ or ‘I am a sex symbol.’ It’s strange to hear that stuff. I don’t think I could have imagined it,” says Driver. Yet, there was his visage on Gap billboard ads; in American Vogue with a black-horned ram slung across his shoulders; in a close-up at the Emmy Awards, where he was nominated for Best Supporting Actor three years in a row for his part in HBO’s Girls; and cast eternally in plastic as a Kylo Ren action figure for Star Wars: The Force Awakens – masked and unmasked versions available. (“Not bad,” he says of the likeness, “but my head and face are a lot bigger.”) Passers-by who once stopped him to ask, “How could you do that to Hannah?” in reference to the bad-boy behaviour of Driver’s character in Lena Dunham’s runaway-success television series, now ask, “How could you do that to Han Solo?”

“It’s a lot,” Driver says, “every part of my life. If we rewound to ten years ago, I would not have said that this is what my life would be.

“And now this music,” he waves his hands at the piano composition streaming through the café like pretentious Musack, “is making that sound so emotional. It isn’t helping, you know?”

Far from angry, the brooding face of millennial angst is smirking. At 33, Adam Driver’s signature intensity hasn’t wavered, but interest in being a tortured artist has. He’s aware of his tendencies – toward anxiety, analysis and absolutism – and is taking steps to temper them. Still, it’s a struggle, seeing good fortune as anything but a cause for self-flagellation.

If we did rewind ten years, we’d see why. Driver was a Gordian knot of clenched intensity. Enrolled at New York’s Juilliard performing arts school, he was so aggressive that his comments made fellow students cry. Every morning he would have six eggs for breakfast, then run five miles to the school from his home in Queens. He would eat a whole chicken for lunch and, during his day at the prestigious drama school, perform random feats, such as 1,000 push-ups.

“That must’ve been an obnoxious thing to be around,” he says, shaking his head. “I was trying to make it as extreme for myself as possible. Now it just makes me so tired and annoyed.”

I’ve met Driver in a peaceful, leafy corner of the Brooklyn Heights neighbourhood that he and his wife, Joanne Tucker, call home. It’s a square precinct full of baby strollers that belies the borough’s hipster cred. “I like sleepy, quiet places,” Driver explains, “because my job is very loud.” Right now he’s savouring a respite from work, the first in a five-year sprint to stardom and even letting himself idle a little. Driver, who has made a career of ill-at-ease eccentricity, is starting to feel comfortable in his own skin.

He genuinely enjoyed himself on the set of Star Wars: The Last Jedi, which will be released in cinemas this December. “The first one was all ‘You can’t fuck it up,’ you know? There was a lot more hanging out this time,” Driver says. “Then there are just practical things, like I have a lightsaber. That’s fun.”

Whatever the outcome of the larger battle between good and evil, the Resistance and the First Order, never underestimate the power of Driver’s light side. ”I had heard about Adam’s intensity before I worked with him, but he’s also really fun and funny,” says Rian Johnson, The Last Jedi’s director.

There was one emotionally charged scene that they shot over and over. “Every time the guy holding the clapper marked each take, Adam just starts trying to steal his shoe,” Johnson recalls. “It was hilarious. And then Adam goes straight into it with all the intensity of Kylo Ren. He just added a sense of play that made the process really click.”

Neither Johnson nor Driver can say what the scene was about or who else was in it. They are acutely aware of the cone of silence that surrounds the Star Wars films, suitably enough, like a force field. “There’s probably something in my contract, I don’t know – but it’s kind of unbelievable that no one has told me, ‘Don’t say anything,’” Driver explains. “It’s just implicitly understood.”

With plot points guarded like state secrets, even the tiniest perceived leak sets off an online feeding frenzy. Internet scribes grab at every quote, often misreading them. “You have to clarify truthful things you’ve said that people read these false things into,” Driver says. “It can be frustrating.”

After several years of sidestepping spoilers, Driver is practised at the art of obfuscation. His evasive manoeuvres are near perfect.

On whether he enjoyed acting opposite Daisy Ridley, who plays Rey: “That’s hard to answer. I mean, people assume that we’d spend time with each other. Maybe our characters see each other in the movie?”

On whether he had scenes with Carrie Fisher: “It’s hard to answer without being vague.”

On whether the lightsaber scar on his face, which came courtesy of Rey in The Force Awakens, was moved for the new film: “I noticed a lot of things.”

On whether Kylo Ren’s story has a happy ending: “Not saying yes or no. But continue.”

On whether Han Solo might have known Kylo Ren would kill him: “That’s interesting.”

On whether he appears with his mask off: “Yes, I can answer that. You’ll see it off in the new trailer, so I’m not giving anything away!”

Other times, Driver playfully embraces the absurdity of it all. “I can’t say anything, but what if I signal you,” he jokes. “If I just start sneezing uncontrollably…” He fakes a loud achoo and exclaims, “Bingo! Harrison Ford’s ghost returns!”

When I ask him about Kylo Ren’s mysterious order of Dark Side disciples, the Knights of Ren, he waxes whimsical. “We can talk about them. Peter, Paul, John… No, I was thinking of The Beatles. Except wait – there’s Peter. He was too ambitious on the tambourine. Now you know: the last Knight of Ren is Ringo Starr!”

On this particular mid-September day, the internet is abuzz with new speculation that Ridley’s character, Rey, is the daughter of Princess Leia (also Kylo Ren’s mother). This theory would take any romantic tension between her and Driver’s Kylo Ren into the realm of incest – territory that the first Star Wars trilogy explored with a kiss between Mark Hamill’s Luke Skywalker and Carrie Fisher’s Leia.

“Yeah, my uncle and my mum made out,” Driver says, with a laugh. “Which Mark still talks about. He’s like, ‘Luke kissed his sister. How could he do that?’ I guess he hasn’t seen Game Of Thrones, you know?”

The Last Jedi marks the final film in Fisher’s storied career. Like the rest of the cast, Driver was shaken by the actress’ death last December at age 60. “It’s hard to talk about it without saying generic things,” he says. “Like, ‘It’s shocking,’ but it was. Or ‘It’s incredibly sad,’ which it is. I mean, it is all of those things.”

Driver brightens as he recalls Fisher’s wit on display at Comic-Con before the release of The Force Awakens. “The whole cast was downstairs in a conference room, talking through what’s supposed to happen at this big event. She was like, ‘Just pretend you’re down to earth. People love that shit.’” Driver pauses for a moment then laughs. “So now I pretend I’m down to earth and you know what? People really do love that shit. They eat it up.”

The image of Driver that people have consumed is not so much down to earth as intense and uncompromising, the all-or-nothing avatar of millennial manhood named Adam Sackler, Driver’s character in Girls. Ever since Driver landed the part, originally a cameo called simply “Handsome Carpenter”, the notion he really was that id-driven artist has, like the life of another charismatic carpenter, been taken as gospel.

In the public consciousness, Driver’s backstory is as extreme as his alter ego’s: a Midwestern misfit enlists in the Marines after 9/11, then studies acting at Juilliard – and finds he’s an outlier in both worlds. The truth is both less and more dramatic.

Born in San Diego, California, Driver is the son of a preacher. When his parents divorced, Driver moved with his mother back to her native Mishawaka, Indiana, where she was soon remarried to a Baptist minister. As a teenager, Driver was a poor student who dabbled in pyromania, trainspotting and climbing radio towers. A fan of the film Fight Club, Driver started one with some friends. “Just seeing the angst, I thought it would be a good idea to emulate it.“

Acting offered Driver a way out of the tiny town he called a shithole. “I applied to Juilliard when I was graduating high school and didn’t get in, so I was like ‘Well, fuck it. I won’t go to college, then.’” Instead, he set off for Hollywood and what he thought would be overnight stardom. “I’d always heard the stories of people striking out and finding success,” he says. “Why not me?” The dream lasted as long as his hand-me-down 1990 Lincoln Town Car did. After it broke down outside Amarillo, Texas, the repairs cost Driver nearly all the money he’d saved. When he finally limped into Los Angeles, Driver spent two nights in youth hostels. The only agent he signed with was a real estate agency, which took him for the rest of his savings. Having landed neither an apartment nor an acting gig, Driver arrived back in Indiana a week after leaving.

Following the 11 September attacks, Driver did not, as some retellings suggest, march down to the recruiting station. Instead, he enlisted in the Marines several months later. “My stepfather pushed me into it a little bit, which was good – I was grateful for it,” Driver says. “It followed an argument where he was like, ‘You’re not doing anything!’ I’d gotten this brochure in the mail. He was like, ‘Why don’t you just join?’ I was like, ‘No, I’m not going to join the Marines.’ Then I thought about it more. I had this sense of patriotism and wanted to get involved. I also had no prospects. I was living in the back of my parents’ house, working as a telemarketer.”

From the start, Driver’s time in uniform had a profound effect on him and his worldview. “The patriotism, the idea of country, doesn’t go away necessarily, it just turns into something else,” he says, reverently. “Not a big, sweeping idea, but this group of people you’re serving with, and that becomes your world, and it becomes sacred.”

Going into the Marines, Driver had a seemingly straightforward goal: “I’m going to be a man.” But rather than reinforce clichéd concepts of masculinity, military service put the lie to them. “You have to put implicit trust in the people to your left and right, and when they demonstrate that they’re looking out for you, that their own safety is secondary to yours, then all that kind of guy shit goes away and there is no ego,” Driver says. “There is no posturing, no need to say how much of a man you are, whatever that even means. You prove it with your actions.”

When Driver was not allowed to deploy to the Middle East with his unit, after suffering a broken sternum in a mountain biking accident, he was despondent. Although he fought to stay on active duty, Driver ultimately received a medical discharge.

He decided to apply to Juilliard again and this time got in. The transition from the Marine Corps to a New York City drama programme was jarring. During Driver’s second year, in an effort to bridge his past and present vocations, he launched a non-profit called Arts In The Armed Forces with his then-girlfriend, now wife, Tucker. Driver was able to carry a discipline and teamwork into his studies, but it didn’t stop him from feeling he’d gone soft. “I was like, ‘What am I doing? I’m wearing pyjamas doing acting exercises where I’m giving birth to myself or being a plant or moving around in jelly,’” he says. “Then again, even now, I’m like, ‘What am I doing?’”

After a brief fallow period after graduating from Juilliard, Driver says he learned to hate everyone in the audition room. He didn’t like TV and almost skipped his audition for Girls entirely. Instead, he dazzled the show’s creator, Lena Dunham, and the one-episode part Driver had read for was expanded into a central one. In audition after audition, Driver made a similar impression on a series of noted directors. Even before Girls aired, Steven Spielberg cast him in Lincoln, in which he played a telegraph operator opposite Daniel Day-Lewis. “He was very nice to me,” Driver says of the legendary method actor. “He would still talk in character, but very nice.”

In particular, Driver’s unusual, instinctive style made him a favourite of indie filmmakers. He landed meaty roles in the Coen brothers’ Inside Llewyn Davis and a series of films by writer-director Noah Baumbach: Frances Ha, While We’re Young and The Meyerowitz Stories (New And Selected). He played the lead in Jim Jarmusch’s Paterson and shared top billing in Steven Soderbergh’s heist comedy Logan Lucky. When Martin Scorsese was finally able to make his passion project, Silence, after two decades, he sought out Driver. Similarly, Driver recently wrapped shooting on The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, which Terry Gilliam had been trying to make for 17 years.

And yet nothing Driver had done remotely prepared him for Star Wars. He had grown up a fan of the original trilogy, but had little faith in outsized film franchises. “I’m leery of big movies – a lot of them sacrifice character for spectacle,” he says. “When they’re bad, it pisses me off – you can just tell it’s made by a bunch of executives somewhere.”

Despite his initial trepidation, the complicated nature of Kylo Ren put Driver’s concerns to rest. “It was all about story and character and playing someone who doesn’t have it all together. Making him as human as possible seemed dangerous and exciting to me.”

Driver was drawn to an idea that JJ Abrams, who wrote and directed The Force Awakens, had. The man behind the mask was not a man at all, but rather a young person struggling to come of age. “I remember the initial conversations about having things ‘skinned’,” Driver recalls, “peeling away layers to evolve into other people, and the person Kylo’s pretending to be on the outside is not who he is. He’s a vulnerable kid who doesn’t know where to put his energy, but when he puts his mask on, suddenly, he’s playing a role. JJ had that idea initially and I think Rian took it to the next level.”

Driver is on a roll now, discussing what excites him: character and narrative and cinematic influences. The original Star Wars was an homage to Akira Kurosawa’s 1958 film The Hidden Fortress, he says, and the link lives on in the new trilogy, in which concealed identities drive the narrative. Then he lets it slip. “You have, also, the hidden identity of this princess who’s hiding who she really is so she can survive and Kylo Ren and her hiding behind these artifices,” Driver says, apparently dropping a massive revelation about Rey’s royal origins.

Perhaps he’s unconcerned and Rey’s parentage is less dramatic than imagined by fans, who posited that her father is Luke then trumpeted that her mother is Leia. Or it could be that, in passionately holding forth, Driver is simply unaware he’s revealed anything, much less a major spoiler. In any case, he doesn’t skip a beat. “The things that made it personal to me,” Driver continues, “I’ll keep to myself, but I think everybody can relate to the idea of almost being betrayed.

“Wow, this music is killing me.”

As the café’s latest piano piece reaches its crescendo, I ask Driver if he tapped into his own experiences with his dad and stepfather and he reverts to evasive manoeuvres.

“I may leave that one. I have strong convictions about not talking about family, for many reasons,” Driver says. “It’s not as if the answers for Kylo are found in my relationships with my parents.”

In The Last Jedi, director Rian Johnson saw Driver go light years beyond his own experience. “Adam was always pushing the context of the character,” Johnson says. “He’s put in this unhealthy environment and goes through the worst of youth, the selfishness and volatility, he’s representing that side of adolescence.”

Of course, these days immaturity and insecurity are no strangers to power. “It makes complete sense how juvenile he can be,” Driver says of Ren, who prefers lightsabers over Twitter for his tantrums. “You can see that with our leadership and politics. You have world leaders who you imagine – or hope or pray – are living by kind of a higher code of ethics. But it really all comes down to them feeling wronged or unloved or wanting validation.”

Even more topical and even more touchy was the decision to play Kylo Ren like a radicalised extremist. “We talked about terrorism a lot,” Driver says of his early conversations with Abrams and Johnson about his character. “You have young and deeply committed people with one-sided education who think in absolutes. That is more dangerous than being evil. Kylo thinks what he is doing is entirely right, and that, in my mind, is the scariest part.”

The demagoguery drives him to the most famous film patricide in galactic history, as Kylo Ren kills Han Solo in the shocking denouement of The Force Awakens. “When I watched the premiere, I felt sick to my stomach,” Driver recalls. “The people behind me, when the scroll started, were like ‘Oh my god. Oh my god. It’s happening.’ Immediately, I thought I was going to puke. I was holding my wife’s hand, and she’s like, ‘You’re really cold. Are you OK?’ Because I just knew what was coming – I kill Harrison – and I didn’t know how this audience of 2,000 people was going to respond to it, you know?”

One person in the crowd who appreciated that scene was Han Solo himself. “We were sitting on this catwalk in between takes,” Driver recalls, “and Harrison was like, ‘Look what we get to do. Just look what we get to do.’ Meaning, look at how lucky we are that this is our job, you know? To see someone at that point in his career still get excited like that hit me. It’s like, ‘Oh, right. I need to take this in more.’”

As if on cue, a couple stop and introduce themselves. “I love everything you’ve ever done,” the wife says. “Everything.”

“Thanks a million. Yeah. Hi, I’m Adam.”

As fan encounters go, it is respectful and pleasant, but not even a whimper of what will soon follow come the release of The Last Jedi.

For all the ways in which he’s made peace with his success, Driver, who is almost pathologically private by nature, remains uncomfortable with notoriety. “I’m not in the world the same way I was before,” Driver says. “It’s completely changed my life. My anonymity is gone. But who I am as a person is the exact same. I think. Or, I hope.”

Soon after, we exit the café, as Driver is heading home for some quiet time. He stops in front of a bicycle locked to a fence. “It only looks bourgeois-hipster because of the saddle,” Driver says, adding that he’s only just added the leather Brooks seat. “I bought the bike for $200 back when I was at Juilliard,” Driver says. “Besides the seat, it’s the same crappy bike I’ve had for forever.”

Driver pulls his hoodie up over his head and as he starts pedalling off turns back to me. “Remember,” he says. “Pretend you’re down to earth. People love that shit. Right?”

The Last Jedi is out on 15 December.

#this is the ENTIRE THING #gah its so long #this took forever #adam driver #interview #gq #kylo ren #ben solo #star wars #the last jedi #the force awakens #long post

412 notes · View notes

just-jordie-things · 7 years

Text

Little Hale - Isaac Lahey

wow first isaac imagine i’m a little excited and a lil nervous but ok here we go

warnings: swearing word count: 1269 requested!

“y/n!” I heard Derek call my name and groaned. My brother was great, and I know he needed me around the loft to help out as much as I could, but he’s been driving me insane.

“What Derek?” I said, closing my textbook and looked at him from my spot on the sofa. He was standing at is big table, papers everywhere as he basically brooded over it. He was such a drama queen sometimes.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“I always do, don’t I?”

“So Cora and I need-”

“Protein drinks or something?” I asked, already getting up from the couch and walking to the door.

“Actually yeah I think we’re out. But we need batteries, like a lot of batteries” I nod, pulling on my jacket and slipping on converse. I slipped my phone into my pocket and opened up the door. “Be safe!” I turned and revealed a flash of my golden eyes, giving a wink.

“No one’s gonna mess with me” I smirked, and was on my merry way. No, I didn’t like waiting on Derek hand and foot, but I absolutely loved when he let me do the shopping by myself. Because I was never just by myself.

Once I was safely around the corner of our building, and out of earshot of my psycho older brother, I pulled out my phone and clicked on my most recent contact. He picked up right away.

“y/n!” He said cheerfully.

“Hey Isaac” I said, a slight blush on my cheeks. “I’ll be at the convenience store in about ten minutes, wanna-”

“I’ll meet you there in a few” He stated before I could finish. I laughed and told him I’d see him in a bit, then hung up the phone.

Yep, I was dating my brother’s beta. I had been for the past three months, and our system really worked. At school we could be together as much as we wanted, it didn’t matter there. It mattered when he was at the loft. Because if Derek knew I was dating him, he’d flip his shit and get way more overprotective than necessary. I didn’t need him getting like that towards the both of us. I loved Isaac, not that he knew it yet, and I trusted him. W ehad history together.

I’d been friends with Isaac for a while, since middle school really. I was the first to know about his father’s abusive tendencies, and I was the one to tell him about the supernatural town we lived in. Especially how my family was tied into it. He came to me, begging for the bite, but I didn’t want him to have it. He begged me to ask Derek, and I’d refused. I wasn’t aware that my brother had gone behind my back to give it to him until it was too late. For a while I held a grudge against the both of them, but I couldn’t stay mad forever. Derek was pretty much my only family (Cora tended to be on her own) and Isaac I had had a crush on since we became friends.

When we’d become closer to McCall’s pack, to the point of practically having merged packs really, I’d grown close to Lydia. Who... sort of found out about my crush on Isaac... and sorta blabbed about it randomly one day at lunch. For a whole two seconds I was furious, eyes glowing claws extended and canines begging to rip her throat open. Until Isaac grinned at me and told me he liked me too. Then went back to his lunch and said he’d take me out friday night.

Since then we’ve been even more inseparable. Unless we’re around Derek of course. Sour wolf of a brother just ruins everything.

When I’d arrived at the store, Isaac was sitting there on the curb right outside it.

“Hiya!” I grinned, walking up to him with a slight skip as he stood up.

“Hey little Hale” He said with a shit eating grin as he wrapped his arms around me.

“You know some day I’ll attack you for calling me that” I said, but he shrugged and pecked my lips.

“I’ll win” He said. I rolled my eyes and he wrapped an arm around me as we entered the store. “So um, speaking of Hales-”

“No”

“But you haven’t even heard what I was gonna say yet” Isaac pouted. I gave him a look as I picked up a basket.

“I already know what you were going to say. You were going to say that it’s time to tell my brother we’re dating” I saw him frown and knew I was right.

“Okay so yeah...” Isaac rubbed the back of his head and I gave him a sad smile. “That’s a no... isn’t it?”

“Isaac...” He sighed slightly, arm dropping from my shoulders. But I grabbed his hand, intertwining our fingers.

“I know-”

“You know he’d lose it... he’d hate me, he’d hate you-”

“Hates a strong word y/n” Isaac huffed a little as I grabbed a small bottle of orange juice from the freezer aisle.

“Alright well... what if he kicked you out of his pack? What if you became an omega?” I squeezed his hand. “See? Derek’s a great brother but... he’s too over protective” You looked up at him, and he finally met your eyes. “He wouldn’t let us be together anymore” I said softly, squeezing his hand again.

“You’re right...” Isaac sighed and I frowned.

“I’m sorry, Isaac” I said quietly, my brows furrowing as I looked at him. Though his eyes were downcast. “Maybe someday... long from now” He held my my hand in both of his, placing a kiss on the back of it, then my knuckles.

We continued on my mini shopping trip, mostly in silence. For a while I thought he was mad, but when I’d look at him he just seemed peaceful. As was I, it wasn’t often these days that we were able to see each other. When I paid for the items, with money I took from Derek (seeing that he was the one who needed me to go grocery shopping so badly).

“So why does Derek need ten packs of batteries?” I shrugged and chuckled.

“I usually don’t ask what he’s doing, less I know, less I have to explain to Sheriff Stilinski” Isaac chuckled, and released my hand to wrap an arm around me again as we walked out of the store. I turned, holding the plastic bag in my hand and hugging him tightly. This is the part where we split up and go separate ways. Isaac rubbed my back, kissing my head a few times.

“Maybe tomorrow night you can go on a walk in the Preserve...” I chuckled slightly.

“Yeah, a nice relaxing walk sounds nice” I hummed. I pulled back slightly and smiled up at him sweetly. Then leaned up on the very tips of my toes to plant my lips on his. It was a long, sweet kiss, how we normally ended our nights. And when I pulled back again, I was breathless. But I managed a big smile and one more quick peck.

“See you tomorrow then?” I nodded.

“See you tomorrow” I confirmed.

“Alright then” He softly pressed his lips to my forehead. “Get home safe”

“You too” I replied quietly before he walked off the opposite direction I was going. I watched for a few minutes, not wanting to go home just yet.

Maybe he was right, maybe I was the wrong one.

I guess we’ll see.

part 2? lemme know

also I feel like isaac would totally flaunt off his girl every chance he had, and get super jealous towards anyone who even glanced her way...

xoxo ~ jordie

#teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf scenario #isaac lahey #isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey scenario #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey fanfiction #Daniel Sharman #daniel sharman x reader #daniel sharman scenario #daniel sharman imagines #daniel sharman fanfiction

307 notes · View notes

justtwentyonewriters · 7 years

Text

Goner (3)//Josh Dun Fanfiction

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

(Makes slight reference to self harm. Which you should be aware of for the rest of the chapters. From this point on that’s a standing warning).

That next morning, you decided to stay home from school. You hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before. Your dreams plagued by nightmares. Josh was just trying to shine the truth in on what he felt happened that led him to try something as serious as suicide.

It made you fearful to the bone at what you might have done to him—you pleaded to any eternal force that you hadn’t caused the boy to try to kill himself—but truth was, if you were included on those audio files—chances are you were.

You took a deep breath, before pulling up your laptop, placing it on your lap and double clicking on the “2”.

A pain ripped through your chest, tears brimming in your eyes as you saw that familiar face. A near sadistic smile playing on his lips. You saw the tear tracks down his cheeks—he was too far gone, mentally to care it seemed. Like this was a self-written obituary.

So, I apparently ruined football superstar’s life. So word gets out when something big like that happens—the kid who was supposed to get a full ride through college on football scholarships kissed that goodbye. And who else is better to take the blame than the scape-goat new kid? That’s right, word got out about me apparently ruining his life. People stared, rumors started. Thanks Brendon. Your mouth is as big as your forehead apparently. That’s right, this one’s for you buddy.

“You guys won’t believe this!” Brendon sat at the table, a giddy expression adorning his features. “I have dirt on the sparkling new kid.” You rolled your eyes, if anyone could be classified as a gossipy bitch—it was Brendon. Scratch that actually—he was the gossip queen.

“What now? You always have dirt on anyone when really it’s just your imagination.” Your friend Eli rolled his eyes. Though, despite this Brendon patiently waited for everyone to lean in and listen to what he had to say.

“He is so gay.” This sentence caused the entire lunch table to burst out in laughter. “Okay, stop laughing. I’m a flaming homo—but at least I can admit it. Rumor is, the reason why Cos got kicked off the football team is because our precious new kid kept making moves on him. Even tried to suck him off in the parking lot. So when Cos turned him down—he got mad. Wanted revenge. Ruined his life.” You arched an eyebrow, not fully believing Brendon’s story. He had a tendency to make up “truths” about people, and Josh didn’t seem gay to you. Then again there is no way to tell unless you see them with a significant other or blatantly ask. Both of which you decided against, so you just kept quiet. Keep out of the drama.

“I could see it, no normal guy has pink hair and piercings.” Jenna, one of the more popular girls stopped by your table, obviously hearing the news. “But really guys, don’t start shit over this. Leave him be.” You smiled at the blonde—you rather liked her. She was always so polite and quick to defend someone who was down.

“I won’t do anything, who do you think I am?” Brendon gave her a sly smile, obviously lying. You knew that in under a day’s time word would be out and everyone would be buzzing. Which part of you felt guilty. Why though? Not like you knew this kid.

Bitchboy, faggot. Two new nicknames. Sweet deal right? Yeah not so much. The boy on your screen let out a cruel laugh. Unlike you Urie, I don’t really have a preference for males—which made things incredibly awkward when that’s all I got surrounded by.

As he walked through the hallways—Josh couldn’t help but notice the amount of eyes cast upon him. He was going to the school for a couple of weeks now, so the “new kid” thing should have worn off; not to mention the fight with Witland was old news now. Shrugging it off he continued to his locker; twisting the dial with speed and accuracy, jumping slightly when he opened the door. A piece of paper fell onto the floor—initially he wondered if it was someone sneaking a note in; possibly about some after-school activity (which the school didn’t seem to have a shortage of). Reaching down to pick it up he heard someone whistle from behind him.

“Uh, are you whistling at me?” Josh turned and asked, face burning with embarrassment when he saw 2 males behind him. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed with smirks across their faces.

“Just enjoying the view. No worry.” The taller one winked, before the two pushed themselves off the wall and left down the hallway. Their figures soon cloaked by the sea of people. Taking in a deep breath, Josh told himself he would just shrug off the encounter and busied himself with inspecting the paper that fell from his locker. To his surprise, and dismay it was a cutout from a Calvin Klein advertisement. Featuring a man in a rather tight pair of underwear—with a sloppy message written in sharpie above his head.

Enjoy the view, faggot.

“What the fuck.” Josh laughed, crumpling the paper into a ball, and throwing it toward the garbage can. Missing by about a meter. Rolling his eyes at the horrible accuracy he had, Josh made his way over to the paper on the floor; crouching down to pick it up. Once he returned to his feet and threw it away. He felt something hit his ass. Tensing up and turning swiftly—he didn’t see anyone behind him. Though he could have sworn it was a hand that made contact with his jeans—he merely shrugged it off and told himself that it was just someone’s backpack or textbook accidentally swinging.

After a few days, it became harder and harder for Josh to shrug these instances off. More pictures and notes would end up in his lockers—on his textbooks when he left class to go to the washroom. Even in his mailbox; which sparked quite the discussion from his family.

“Josh.” His mother called one day after school, he had just entered the Dun household when he was summoned to the kitchen. “Mind explaining why this was put into our mailbox this morning?” She was holding up 3 pictures—each of half-naked men from various sources. Eyes widening and eyebrow arching, Josh was sure that it was just put into the wrong mailbox. The intended receiver must have been the neighbor’s daughter.

“I can’t say I’ve seen those in my life. Are you sure they weren’t just put into the wrong mailbox?” At that point, Josh prayed that his hope was right, but when his mother picked up the envelope that had his name scrawled across it he felt sick to his stomach. “I don’t know why mom. It must just be a joke from my friends—they never seem to know when to quit. You know, teenagers and all.” He let out an awkward laugh; not convincing his mother at all. Who gave him a softened look, gesturing for him to sit across from her at the table.

“If there’s anything you want to talk about—I’m here. I know we taught you that homosexuality is frowned upon, but you’re still my son. Still a son of god. Your father, siblings and I will always love you, and god will too. Don’t hide yourself Josh—please.” She grasped her son’s hands, obviously getting the wrong message from this whole ordeal.

“I’m not gay mom.” Was all Josh could sputter out; he was in complete shock over this whole situation—it was one thing for the kids at school to have their false beliefs on him, but now his family?

“Okay, but if you do ever need to talk about anything. I’m here.” Josh internally groaned, pulling his hands from his mothers and making his way up to his room. Calling back an “okay, thank you mom” as he left. Great.

It’s one thing to get the school involved Brendon. But my family? That’s low don’t you think. My mom never fully believed that I wasn’t gay—you know that? Maybe it was the pictures we kept receiving, plus the fact that I never officially introduced a girlfriend to them. It was always “This is my friend guys”. I could deal with this though Brendon, let people think what they will. I don’t care. I’ve never really cared about what people think—but the eyes that were cast on me every day at school got to be a bit much.

Josh slammed open the door to the bathroom, taking large steps to get to the furthest stall as quick as he could. Once there he slammed open the door and shut it behind him. His breath was in shallow gasps—his head was spinning, his eyes were burning. He felt his fingers and toes go numb. The eyes, everyone staring at him. He could never get a moment of peace for the past week. Everyone would talk and whisper and it just became too much for the boy—it pushed his anxiety to whole new levels.

Mind you, Josh was aware of the anxiety—he felt it whenever he was in a large group of people—or when he had to present something to a class. But this; this became too much. For the reason that he knew the whispers were about him. That the laughs and giggles were about something someone said about him. He knew he was the center of attention and he hated every second of it.

You know, that was just the first poke Brendon. The shit you pulled will be brought up again, and disproved again. I know you have a reputation of a gossipy-bitch, but nobody dared calling you out on being a liar? Or ever try to disprove your theories on people. Funny how that works. You watched as Josh lowered his head, running his fingers through his hair as he steadied his breathing. When his arm was raised you noticed the skin wasn’t perfect. Your heart hurt at the sight of it. Oh and for the record, to make sure everyone hears it. I’m straight. I like girls, not guys. You wiped at the tears that fell from your eyes as you bit your lip, slowly clicking out of the box and moving your mouse to the third audio file.

#josh dun #josh dun fanfiction #goner series #tyler joseph #twenty one pilots #twenty one pilots fanfiction

10 notes · View notes

madeofpurestarlight · 7 years

Text

If This Was A Movie, V

// While Effie Trinket is Hollywood’s darling and all her dreams seem to be finally coming true, Haymitch Abernathy is drinking himself into an early grave and shuts the world out completely. However, Plutarch Heavensbee decides it’s time for his comeback. The two main stars can’t stand each other and tension builds up soon, but as they dive in deep into this project, somewhere between shooting love scenes, fighting on-set, fighting off-set, opening up hesitantly and helping their younger colleagues deal with everything this world brings, they grow closer and closer, until one day they realize they’re not pretending anymore. | Hayffie Actors AU //

“A HELPING HAND”

NOW

The camera flashes were blinding. The rush was overwhelming. The reflectors were too bright and the place was too crowded. It was all extremes and there was no time to take a break from them when she stopped before the entrance to the red carpet area and took a deep breath as if she was the nineteen-year-old girl attending her first premiere again.

She was in the movie for exactly three minutes and forty-seven seconds back then and everybody looked at it like it was the greatest achievement Effie could get in her life, but it wasn’t enough for her. It wasn’t what she knew she could reach, and it definitely wasn’t all she would get. She was too determined than to settle with supporting roles and living her life out on Broadway. She wanted the world to lie at her feet. She wanted men to lust after her and she wanted women to strive to be her. She wanted the cameras, she wanted the leading roles, she wanted this shiny red Dior gown and those skyscraper Dior heels and her name on the list of nominees.

She had it, all of it, and she still didn’t feel any pride or happiness or even satisfaction, because the only person she wanted to share this with wasn’t here.

“Are you even coming to the party later?” Johanna asked and sleeked her electric blue long-sleeved velvet dress that was tight in all the right places and made the usually street-style oriented young woman look like a goddess with its long veil and diamond-decorated choker made of the same material. She measured Effie with her wide, cynical chocolate eyes and sighed, finally cracking some mercy upon her. “Have you been like this the entire time?”

“It’s just harder for me now,” Effie old her quietly. She was very well-aware of what she looked like. She looked defeated, and there was no point in hiding it in front of Johanna. The disappointment was too big to hide. “I just hoped…”

“Hope,” Johanna spat and took Effie by her arm, not exactly gently, and walked her a few steps away to make space for the other celebrities to enter the carpet. “Trinket, you’re one hell of a drama queen. He’s not here – so what?” She frowned, put her hands on her hips and jerked her head towards Katniss and Peeta who were waiting a few yards away, laughing at something on Peeta’s phone, and towards Finnick, Annie and Mags who were in a lively conversation with Plutarch. “We are here,” she hissed, “so light the fuck up. Don’t spoil it for us – besides, you deserve to enjoy this. You did your job well even without him, so you can carry on with that now.”

Effie stared at Johanna in genuine and rightful shock. “Johanna-“

“If he came, I’d gladly stick something up his coward ass, anyway, so it’s maybe better that he’s not here.” Johanna took Effie by her wrist and squeezed it tightly with a mischievous smirk. “C’mon. Let’s show him what he’s missing.”

“Johanna,” Effie cracked a genuine laughter, “thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, just stop keeping me,” the younger woman tugged at her wrist, “they’re waiting for us.”

ii.

BEFORE

April, Venice

Effie let the hot water drips trail down her soaked hair, naked spine, pearly-white arms, long lean legs and pool by her pink-painted toenails. She saw her reflection in the shower’s glass door, her mascara was running and so was her nose, because despite her best attempts, she still didn’t get rid of the rigor that had taken over her when she got out of the freezing, filthy water.

God, she was so angry. It was just genuine, hot anger, directed at no one else but Haymitch Abernathy who, if she had the opportunity, she’d gladly repeatedly hit with something into his head. There was no one she had ever felt so much whole-hearted disgust for.

He had tried. After she had ran away from the trailer, following her fit of rage, he went after her. He had tracked her down to the costume trailer where she had chosen to hide, and tried to talk to her. However, in her eyes, he was the originator of everything that could possibly go wrong, and it had only ended up in a heated fight that went on for whole long minutes and had apparently amused the hell out of everyone in earshot. He told her she was an arrogant bitch, she told him that he was just a drunken good-for-nothing and they have mutually sent each other to go screw themselves. He was the one who walked out on her this time, and she didn’t even attempt to stop him.

Why should she? He missed up big time. She had spent thirty minutes under the shower and she still felt dirty and chilled to the bone. He had ruined the entire shooting day – one day that was going to cost everyone time and money, not that there was already exactly an excess of either. It wouldn’t be nearly as bad if she knew that he was sober. But no – he had to come there with that arrogant expression on his face and a cup of some Virginia-style Irish coffee and blasted about having it all together. Sure thing.

The filming was a disaster so far.

She violently turned off the water, already sick of the tangerine-scented shower gel she had been covering her whole body in for the last half an hour, reached for her puffy white towel with her monogram that she had brought from home, wrapped herself in it and walked out of the bathroom.

While she curtained the window and started drying herself, she noticed, in the corner of her eye her phone that was lying on the chest of drawers by the window.

Of course, Effie thought of Seneca daily. Not all the time, but often enough to make her feel regretful. By the pool, where she liked it the most and where he could have been sitting next to her or where she could watch him while he was swimming; before she fell asleep, because she knew that if he could be here, he’d be falling asleep next to her, under the same blanket, breathing the same air, their bare skins brushing against each other; when she was walking around the set and thinking of how everything could have been so very different, had he still been here.

She liked Venice but she couldn’t wait for the filming to finally move to Florence, where she’d get much more shooting time. She needed to distract herself and there was no better way to do than to fully immerse herself into her job. Now, that she had nothing much to do, she was more likely to get consumed by her ever-present melancholia – and to give into her tendency to be obsessively watching what was going on back home.

The surprising answer was simple – nothing.

Olivia Royston, her publicist and long-time friend, managed to handle the past few rocky weeks gracefully and with a clear mind, something Effie was incapable of lately, too heartbroken and too worried about her career. Now, everything seemed to be settling down and though she knew that real acceptance still wasn’t in her ability at the moment, the worst was finally behind her. Getting to go away for some time was helpful and the one thing she kept in her mind was that the public’s short-term memory is very bad. They might dig out some dirt from time to time or bring it up again when enough months have passed and they were lacking their banner headlines, but nobody really cared.

Except Seneca’s fiancée, of course.

Fiona Winchester has reached out to Effie many times – after Seneca’s death, after his funeral, and after she had learned that they have already casted Haymitch into Seneca’s role and that Effie was the one to help them organize this. She has called Effie many things, starting with whore, and definitely not stopping at a hyena who was just using Seneca for his fame and was still trying to profit from his death. Effie’s publicist, her lawyers and her management were supposed to handle this, but Effie knew what it felt like to be in Fiona’s shoes – she had been with Aiden for five years, after all.

So, truth be told, she was more worried about what Fiona’s rightful anger could do to her career than the public’s fleeting opinions.

True to the credo that no news are also good news, she decided to put all her worries to rest for now and had strictly forbidden herself to try to contact Olivia. After all, if things got bad, she’d know.

She put on a baby blue sundress and a brownish cardigan and started blow-drying her hair, but stopped half-way through, put the dryer back into the holder, sprayed on some perfume, put on some mascara and blush and left her room in determination.

That determination hadn’t left her even after she realized that she had no idea where Haymitch’s room was. Running around the complex looking for him wasn’t what she was willing to do just to get to yell at him, but then she imagined slapping him and it had not only slightly improved her mood, but also reinforced her resolve. Besides, there weren’t that many places where he could be. It was either the cafeteria, the lobby, the pool, the internet café or the pool bar. Or maybe he had stayed on the set, but under no circumstances was she going back there today. It was too humiliating.

There was no trace of him in the café or the lobby, so she headed out. When she walked into the pool area, Peeta and Finnick were already there, sitting on a bench. Finnick was sitting with his back straight as a ruler, with his head up in the air and a dead serious expression on his face while Peeta was drawing something into his sketchbook and had a small mischievous smile on his cracked lips. His freckled face lit up when he looked up and saw her.

“Effie,” he said and Finnick looked over as well, “do you wanna join?”

“Thank you, Peeta, but I am actually looking for someone,“ she said, but out of courtesy walked closer nevertheless. She looked over to Peeta’s lap where he had his pencil case and a paper with the drawing. “Now that is a piece of art.”

“What?” Finnick reached for the paper and whisked it from Peeta’s hands who was trying to take it away from him with a chuckle. “I said a portrait! That’s a caricature, boy. I’m offended, you know? I’m leaving now.”

“See you,” Peeta was still laughing when Finnick got up and dramatically ran his fingers through his reddish locks.

“I’m now going to find a better company.” He turned to Effie and did something like a curtsy. “Not that there’s better company than you, but here my personal portraitist is incapable of doing his job, so I have to act aggrieved now. See you at lunch.”

He left them there alone, disappearing into the cafeteria where he headed straight to the dessert section where he winked at a ginger girl in the hotel’s white uniform.

“Sissy,” Peeta laughed and raised the sketchbook. “I might sometimes come draw here. It’s quiet. It seems like we’re the only guests in this whole place.”

“I am actually fine with that,” Effie admitted and watched him open the sketchbook and a glimpse of a few drawing and doodles have caught her attention. “Would you mind if I had a look?”

Peeta’s ears and cheeks turned crimson. “I don’t know, I mean- I don’t mind, but… it’s nothing much, really.”

“I’m sure you are very talented,” she said when he gave the notebook to her.

The very first drawing was a sketch of a sculpture by a rosebush. It wasn’t colored, but the shading was brilliant, and it had an atmosphere and came across pretty realistic. In the right corner beneath it was Peeta’s humble signature. The next few pages were similar scenes, and then there was an unfinished picture of the St. Mark’s Basilica and the St. Mark’s Square. Peeta had a significant sense of detail – the people in the streets, the ornamentation of the church, the atmosphere. He bothered to draw each face and each ice cream con and every old cobble.

“What are you saying, they are great,” Effie argued genuinely and handed it back. “I am being serious, this must have taken you so much time and effort.”

“Thanks, but not really,” he replied, still blushing badly, “it kind of just finishes itself. It’s a relax.” He paused and then he seemed like he wanted to add something, but Effie’s attention was distracted by a sight that deeply concerned her. Peeta’s eyes followed her gaze through one of the many huge French windows that were the partition between the pool’s sitting area and the inside bar. “Is that-“

“Yes,” she gritted through her teeth.

“He doesn’t look well.”

“That’s nothing against what’s going to happen to him once I get him.” Effie was up within milliseconds and already on her way to the bar with Peeta in tow.

The bar was empty, with no one but Haymitch sitting at one of the stools, not exactly stably, with three empty whiskey glasses surrounding the fourth, full one, and judging by his state, she could tell that it wasn’t only three whiskeys that were running through his veins now. One look at the abashed bartender, a short dark-haired woman with tattoos covering her neck and arms, and she knew.

“It’s okay,” she told the bartender quietly and approached Haymitch from behind, who was saying something that was hardly eligible and to be honest, Effie felt like she didn’t necessarily need to know. She hit his back and didn’t even bother to make it gentle. “Seriously?”

He turned around violently, spilling the whiskey in the process. His face gave away the fact that he was hardly keeping it together, and when he saw Effie and Peeta, his expression shifted towards annoyed. “Hey, Trinkeeeet… came for a drink?” He turned to the bartender. “Two more!”

“Ignore him,” Effie said sharply and gripped Haymitch by his biceps while looking over her shoulder. “Peeta, have you got any money here? He’ll give it back to you later…”

“I wrote it on his room,” the bartender informed them in a strong Italian accent, shaking her head. “It’s eleven in the morning. Is he okay?”

“He won’t be soon,” Effie promised her. “Thank you.”

Together, her and Peeta threw Haymitch’s arms over their shoulders and went on their journey to the elevators, hoping no one was going to see this mess.

“Trinket,” Haymitch put his face way too close to her own, his lips nearly touching her ear which prompted a shiver down her spine, his breath smelling like liquor and held-back vomit, “let’s have a drink… Plut- Plutarch wants us to be friends… are we friends Trinket?”

“I’m going to kill you,” she answered his question simply.

“Haymitch, are you alright?” Peeta asked when the older man let out an ugly drunken hiccup. “Are you getting sick?”

“Yeah, this whole time,” Haymitch’s legs entangled and he temporarily lost his balance, nearly taking both Effie and Peeta with him, hadn’t it been for Peeta’s strong arms holding him up. “I’m sick of everything… I’m sick of this all… and of you, Trinket…“

“Yes, and you are an absolute darling, aren’t you,” she fired back absent-mindedly, looking over the lobby. No one, but the receptionist was there – she gave them a curious look, but didn’t say anything. The elevator took insanely long to come – way too long, because Haymitch obviously was getting pretty sick.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna-“

“No!” both of them let out, and the elevator came just in time – they got in, smashed the button with the third floor, the door closed and Haymitch’s stomach did some akin to a backflip. The next second, its content was all over Effie’s yellow dress.

“YOU IDIOT-“

“Effie-“ Peeta’s fingers touched her arm as he reached out to her over Haymitch’s shoulders in a calming gesture.

“I can’t believe this,” she lashed out, pushing Haymitch away just when the door opened. To their great relief, this hall was empty as well. Peeta was definitely right about the place being very calm. “I’m going to murder him. Which room is it?”

“I don’t know,” Peeta turned to Haymitch. “Which room?”

“I don’t know…” he hiccupped again, gripping their shoulders tightly. “I think… I don’t know… I’ve gotta-“

“It should be on the card,” Effie said and reached into the pocket of Haymitch’s jeans.

“You didn’t even let me buy you a drink and you’re sticking your hand in my pants?”

Effie was about to spat something in return, but she just got the card and pulled it out. “Twenty-four.”

They stumbled with their drunken co-star a few doors back and clumsily put the card into the code reader. Together, all three got into the room and Effie let Peeta lead Haymitch directly into the en-suited bathroom form which she could hear the typical sounds following a heavy drinking and shut the door behind her.

She took a defeated look at her dress. She smelled like liquor, vomit and the expensive clothes were ruined for good – she certainly wasn’t keeping them after this. His room was messy, she had expected that, but it was also dirty and she was disgusted by it, almost as much as by what he had just done to her dress. There was a pool of whiskey and shards of a broken bottle by his bed, which was probably what had lead him into the bar. After silently cursing him, she entered the bathroom to see Peeta helping Haymitch out of his dirty clothes covered in whiskey and vomit stains.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Peeta threw Haymitch’s shirt into the sink and turned on the water in the shower. “You can go put yourself together, I can manage it here.”

Effie pouted at the prospect. “Are you sure? I shouldn’t leave you here like this…”

“If there’s a problem, I’ll let you know,” Peeta promised. “I’ll stay with him for a while. He shouldn’t be alone. I’ll order him some coffee and something light to eat. It’s going to be alright.”

“Fine,” she agreed finally, fully aware that it didn’t take that much to persuade her and she wasn’t even feeling too bad about it. She walked over to Peeta to caress his arm gratefully and bowed down to Haymitch who was mumbling something she couldn’t properly make out. Just as she was about to tell him that he was going to regret this tomorrow day, he threw up again. “Okay,” she stood up straight and adjusted her clothes, quite uselessly, considering their state. “Thank you so much, Peeta. I’ll come check on you two once I… get rid of this,” she waved at the horribly smelling stains on her dress and left the bathroom.

Once she closed the door behind her, she faced Plutarch.

“Effie-“ he eyed her up and down questioningly, taking in the stains on her dress and the angry flush on her cheeks. “What happened? Isn’t that Haymitch’s room?”

“Yes, he…” she hesitated for a second, “he got sick. Peeta is there with him.”

She could see the suspicion of the worst dancing across his features, so she had chosen to elaborate. “He ate something bad. He’s going to be okay, just minor food poisoning, I’d say.”

“Oh God…” Plutarch sighed heavily and rubbed his temple. “Is he going to be okay? I need him to be fine, we’ve got two more scenes to do here…”

“He’ll be perfectly fine by tomorrow,” Effie reassured him promptly, “trust me, it’s nothing serious. He just needs to get it all out and rest. Peeta said he’ll tell me how he’s doing.”

“Where did you two even disappear?” He asked angrily. “I was just looking for you. I thought you would both come back once you put yourselves together, and then Cressida comes and says that you have both decided to just-“

“I’m so sorry, Plutarch,” she interrupted him sternly, “but I can’t work with him. It’s just beyond me right now-“

“Effie, you are an actress,” he hissed. “For the love of God. You don’t have to like each other, though I’d prefer it if you did. But just do your job. Get over your egos. I’m sorry about what happened this morning, but listen to this – I don’t care what is going on between you two, I don’t care if you show up drunk or sober, I don’t care if your mothers died, I don’t care if-“ he inhaled sharply when he realized he was raising his voice a little too much. “Whatever happens, you two are going to be on the set tomorrow morning, exactly at eight, ready to do what you have promised me to do. Are we clear?”

Effie felt the blush appearing on her chest and neck, but decided to keep decorum. “Very well,” she said quietly, “I will make sure of that.”

“Okay. I’ll come take a look at him later.” He measured Effie with one more doubtful look. “I just hope it wasn’t the lobsters.” With that, he turned around to disappear in the elevator.

iii.

Haymitch hadn’t appeared during dinner, which wasn’t surprising, and when Effie asked Peeta, he said that he was still asleep. Peeta took Haymitch’s card with the words that he didn’t need it right now anyway and went to check on him every two hours. Effie went with him after dinner, in a clean salmon dress, with a glass of water, a bowl of chicken soup she had ordered to her room, and a bottle of Advil.

He was lying on his stomach, in a stained white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, and these clothes were drained with sweat. His facial muscles were jerking and he was shaking in his sleep. When she carefully placed the back of her hand on his forehead, she grew worried. “I think he has a fever. Maybe we should call someone.”

“Wait,” Peeta said and ran out, leaving the door cracked open. From the hall, Effie could hear a knocking and quiet voices.

While she waited, she watched the man in the bed. He was repelling and the mere look at him made her so angry. This was exactly what she was so afraid would happen. This was what they could have expected to happen. She’d gladly slap him all over his face and she just wanted him to get better so she could accomplish that.

“We’re back,” Peeta announced when he rushed back into the room with Katniss at his feet. She had her hair in a loose side braid and her grumpy face and a phone in her hand were clear indicators that taking care of Haymitch Abernathy wasn’t what she had planned to do this evening. “Katniss’ mum is a nurse. She knows what to do.”

“Actually, I don’t. I’m not a nurse,” the girl replied moodily, setting her grey eyes on the sleeping Haymitch. “What happened?”

Effie sighed. “He got drunk. We don’t know how much he had, but I don’t think it’s normal to sleep for so long, and he looks like he has a fever, so…”

With a resigned grunt, Katniss walked over to him, pressed her hand against his forehead like Effie previously did, put her palm on his back to feel his fitful breathing and looked over to them. “How much does he drink?”

Neither of them knew the answer. “He has problems with this, we all know that,” Peeta said, “he was supposed to get somewhat sober before coming here.”

“But he drank today,” Effie added, rage taking over her once more when she remembered that day.

“It could be withdrawals, but I’m not sure.” Katniss got up and started typing something on her phone. “Maybe he knew he was falling into it so he went to get something to drink and had too much. He should be fine, but I’ll ask mum.”

“I’ll tell Chaff,” Effie decided. “Thank you, Katniss. Maybe we should leave him be for now. We’ll see in the morning.”

Katniss nodded without much concern and put the phone into the pocket of her corduroy brown pants, already on the leave. “Someone should check on him before going to bed.”

"Thanks,” Peeta said, but Katniss was on her way out of the door and didn’t pay any attention to his gratitude. “And sorry for bothering.”

Effie folded her arms over her chest and pouted. “Is everyone from the South like this?”

“I’m not,” Peeta chuckled lightly. “I’ll check on him before I’ll go to sleep and if he’s not better tomorrow morning, we’ll tell Plutarch what happened and will take him to the hospital or something.”

“I’ll come take a look at him, too,” Effie said defeatistly, uncomfortable with the thought of letting the boy look after this absolutely unpredictable man on his own. “Just knock on my door when you’re going.”

The whole filming was, indeed, already a disaster.

iv.

The night was ink dark, soaked with the smell of drying rain on the concrete and filled with wet fog, leaving petite drops of water on the windshield, rearview mirror and the battered bodywork. The wipers were still on, running frantically from one side to the other and his eyes followed them. He couldn’t remember how to turn them off.

He saw the front lights in his peripheral vision, but his reactions were too slow. The rough leather of the steering wheel felt slippery beneath his palms, even though they were sweaty, and the highway in front of him was, he could swear, winding, but, and he was almost sure of that, there weren’t supposed to be any corners or curves.

But there was someone else, someone who was touching his face, his neck, who was whispering something to him, and they somehow didn’t fit into that narrative, but they weren’t changing it, either. This narrative always led to the same ending.

The second car was way too close but his body wasn’t collaborating with his brain’s confused orders. He originally wanted to press the brake but it was too late; so he just pulled the steering wheel, but there was a crash nevertheless.

The last thing he heard was the crunch of tires, someone’s screams and a deafening blast; the last thing he felt was the gravity-defeating force that launched him through the windshield.

His whole body jerked and his eyes shot open. His vision was blurry, but he located a ceramic bowl and a glass of water on his nightstand. The windows were cracked open and there was a clean shirt for him on the chair beside the bed. The room smelled like disinfection and flowers. It took him a few seconds to realize that he wasn’t in Richmond and that he wasn’t in a hospital, either, and that there were no fresh flowers. The smell was vaguely familiar, though.

#if this was a movie #hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #my writing #thg fanfiction

5 notes · View notes