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gardigansandkarma · 6 months

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Travis Kelce Opens Up About Taylor Swift and What Comes Next

Wall Street Journal - Travis Kelce full article under the cut

A few months ago, he was merely football famous. Now Travis Kelce is ready to tell his story. ‘I’ve never dated anyone with that kind of aura about them.’

By J.R. Moehringer

WHEN TRAVIS KELCE was a young man, his college football coach pulled him aside one day and told him the secret of life: Everybody you meet in this world is either a fountain or a drain.

“I need fountains,” the coach growled at Kelce. “I don’t need f—ing drains. Travis, you’re f—ing draaaining me!”

The advice left a deep impression. (“Changed his life,” says one of Kelce’s closest friends.) Yes, Kelce thought—you’re either a giver of the basic wellsprings of life or a thirsty taker. He vowed to be the former. In a world of gutters, be a geyser.

You think about that story as Kelce drives you around his beloved Kansas City, home of his world-champion Chiefs, for whom he’s the star tight end and arguably the second-most popular player, after his best friend, quarterback Patrick Mahomes. You think about that story on a gorgeous autumn afternoon as Kelce gives you a personal tour of his decadelong history in this city, his singular journey from clueless rook to legend. (“I used to take this scenic route [to the stadium]—there’s just something about seeing the city you’re about to go represent….”)

A different sort of celebrity might be more guarded, might even chirp those big Rolls tires and speed away before someone throws their body across the luminous silver bonnet, but Kelce’s default emotion is this—exuberant extroversion. He likes people. Loves people. Never mind deciding not to be a drain. If people gush at him, he can’t help it, he gushes back.

Noting all this, you think how fame itself might be a kind of fountain. Some people moan about getting wet, others frolic like kids around a hydrant. You even wonder if this fountain-drain paradigm might be the skeleton key to Kelce, the Rosetta Stone for which half of America seems to be hunting right now.

Kelce was famous for several years, thanks to his Hall of Fame résumé, his symbiotic relationship with Mahomes, but that was just football famous. This year, after winning the Super Bowl, after hosting Saturday Night Live, after starring in all the commercials, Kelce became inescapable. And that was before—you know.

People have begun to ask in all earnestness why they can’t turn on their TV anymore without seeing Kelce’s sculpted mug. They wonder, not with snark, but in all sincerity: Who the frick is this guy? And where did he come from?

You have a TV. You wonder too. So you decide to join the search for answers. One weekend, in the thick of football season, you get on a plane to Kansas City.

BUT FIRST. Back up. Like that knucklehead who threw it into reverse, go back. Before you can take the Travis Michael Kelce Guided Tour, you need to watch him cry.

Kelce tries to play it off. He launches a sentence, stops. He launches another, again aborts. He paws his eyes with his giant hands and looks to be on the verge of losing it, because if Kelce loves people, what he really loves is his people.

This whole display takes place on a Monday afternoon at a Kansas City steakhouse, where you and Kelce are having an early dinner. Like, retirement-community early. He’s in recovery mode, healing from dozens of violent collisions sustained during the previous day’s win over division rival Los Angeles, and food is medicine. He can intuit when he’s hit the caloric sweet spot necessary to mend or maintain his 6-foot-5, 260-pound frame (roughly 4,000), and he’s not there yet. So he orders the dry-aged filet rubbed with coffee, Caesar salad (hold the anchovies), a side of “triple-cooked” fries and a glass of water.

After a long pause, and several Lamaze breaths, Kelce collects himself, apologizes. Can’t help it, he says; those folks who always have his back, who call him by the ancient secret nicknames (Big Yeti, El Travedor, Killatrav, Michael, etc.)—they’re everything. He doesn’t think of them as his entourage; he thinks of them as family, an extension of “Mama Kelce” and “Poppa Kelce” and older brother Jason, the starting center for the Philadelphia Eagles.

Patrick Bacon, a friend since first grade, says Kelce’s go-to method of winding down after a hard game or long day is to sit with this “core group” around his kitchen island and chop it up. Talk, that’s what nourishes Kelce, not videogames, not bottle service at some club.

“He loves to talk about the old days,” Bacon says. But it has to be with people from the old days. People who know that Kelce will sometimes dismiss a bad or subpar thing as “buns.” People who know that one of Kelce’s favorite desserts is French toast dripping with whipped cream and syrup. People who know that, growing up, he played every sport in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, and also know the difference between Cleveland Heights and Cleveland proper. You want to break into the Kelce core group? You better have a phone number that starts with 216.

And yet, you wonder how well his friends really know him, how well he lets anyone know him, because to a person they all say Trav lives in the moment, Trav never thinks about tomorrow, Trav never worries about retirement, despite recently turning 34, making him a Gollum in the NFL, whereas Kelce confesses that he thinks about it nonstop, “more than anyone could ever imagine.” In the same spirit, perhaps, he keeps his own counsel about his round-the-clock physical anguish. “That’s the only thing I’ve never really been open about,” he says, “the discomfort. The pain. The lingering injuries—the 10 surgeries I’ve had that I still feel every single surgery to this day.”

Kansas City’s longtime tight ends coach, Tom Melvin, says Kelce undersells the pain because the alternative is not playing, and the man will not miss games. “He has phenomenal pain tolerance. He’s played through things that other athletes I’ve coached through the years have not been able to push through. Mentally tough—way off the charts.”

Kelce’s trainer and physical therapist, Alex Skacel, says there’s not a single day, in season, when Kelce stretches out on the training table and doesn’t have some gruesome bruise. What few realize, however, is the insane number of scratches. Guys claw each other out there, Skacel says; it can leave Kelce’s epidermis striated with crimson. To bounce back after such abuse requires more than basic therapy. Kelce and Skacel use a battery of esoteric treatments, from cupping to dry needling to occlusion therapy: essentially tying off a limb with a tourniquet while Kelce works out. Kelce also adheres to a pregame regimen of anti-inflammatories, which he doesn’t like to discuss because they “have a history of affecting people’s insides.”

“There were definitely people she knew that knew who I was, in her corner [who said], ‘Yo! Did you know he was coming?'” Kelce says about how he initially found his way into Taylor Swift’s orbit. “I had someone playing Cupid.” Loewe coat, $4,990, Loewe.com.

IF KELCE BROODS on life without football, one reason is that he had an excruciating sneak preview. A redshirt sophomore at Cincinnati, he got booted off the team for smoking pot. In a blink, he lost everything—his purpose, his meaning. “It was like my life was over.”

He also lost his scholarship. He had to get a job. The best one he could find was at a telemarketing firm, doing healthcare surveys. “Eye-opening,” he says, bowing his head.

Cold-calling people in southern Ohio, northern Kentucky, eastern Indiana, asking what they thought of Obamacare, taught him a lot. (“Uh, sir, I ran out of the comment box, I can’t write anymore, we gotta kind of keep this moving.”) Above all it taught him that he didn’t want to ever do that again.

He probably won’t have to. He’s got options. Sometimes he sees himself in a broadcasting booth. Sometimes his manager talks about action flicks. (Maybe a Marvel movie? Kelce’s already built like Wolverine.) You also get the sense that Kelce toys with notions of doing some form of comedy. He haunts clubs, lives for open-mic nights, and he’s gotten to be friendly with several rising stand-ups.

At the moment, of course, the only thing millions of people want to know about Kelce’s future is whether or not it will include Taylor Swift. And the second thing they’re dying to know is how he and she got together in the first place.

Did he sit in a dark room and say Jumanji three times? He laughs. “I don’t know if I want to get into all of it,” he says, and then he gets into it, because fountain.

It all started when he tried to meet Swift at her Arrowhead concert in July and got blocked, presumably by security. He then recounted the experience in a charming way on the podcast he does with Jason. Soon after, he says, he received an unbidden assist from inside Team Swift.

“There were definitely people she knew that knew who I was, in her corner [who said]: Yo! Did you know he was coming? I had somebody playing Cupid.” He wasn’t aware at the time, however; the revelation only came later, after he looked down at his phone and got the shock of a lifetime. “She told me exactly what was going on and how I got lucky enough to get her to reach out.”

He lets slip that some of his early helpers were part of the Swift family tree. “She’ll probably hate me for saying this, but…when she came to Arrowhead, they gave her the big locker room as a dressing room, and her little cousins were taking pictures…in front of my locker.”

Understandably, he’s not handing out details about the first date, though he will say that he managed to not be nervous. “When I met her in New York, we had already kind of been talking, so I knew we could have a nice dinner and, like, a conversation, and what goes from there will go from there.”

If anyone was nervous, he adds, it was his core group. “Everybody around me telling me: Don’t f— this up! And me sitting here saying: Yeah—got it.”

Likewise, his mother. Donna Kelce still berates herself for how she handled a question about Taylor on the Today show. Trying not to sound too enthusiastic, she came off underwhelmed. Kelce, not wanting his mom to feel bad, immediately phoned her and assured her that she did a super job—adding that her green eyeglasses looked great.

These days, however, with the relationship progressing, Donna feels more at liberty. “I can tell you this,” she says, beaming. “He’s happier than I’ve seen him in a long time…. God bless him, he shot for the stars!”

Kelce seems freer, too. He doesn’t need to be asked about Taylor; he mentions her unreservedly, lavishes praise on her, calls her “hilarious,” “a genius,” notes that they share compatible worldviews, especially when it comes to family and work. “Everybody knows I’m a family guy,” he says. “Her team is her family. Her family does a lot of stuff in terms of the tour, the marketing, being around, so I think she has a lot of those values as well, which is right up my alley.”

One of Kelce’s friends describes a sweet, magical moment, a late-night gathering around Kelce’s firepit. Kelce and Swift looked like two “peas in a pod,” the friend says, and at one point they even burst into a memorable duet of—“Teenage Dirtbag”?

This must be fake

My lips start to shake

How does she know who I am?

Kelce squints into the distance: He’s not sure they were singing…Wheatus. But he allows that his memory might be compromised.

LONG BEFORE MEETING SWIFT, Kelce was just another Swiftie. In some ways he still is. He explains the concept of her concert—“She does it in eras”—as if you live in a yurt in Outer Mongolia. Then he eagerly informs you that the night he attended, he was counting the minutes until she got to 1989. (Both he and Swift were born in 1989.) “ ‘Blank Space’ was one I wanted to hear live for sure. I could make a bad guy good for the weekend. That’s a helluva line!”

More often than not, he says, it was a Swiftian beat, a melody that captivated him. (“She writes catchy jingles.”) But lately he’s all about those lyrics; he’s scrutinized the breakup stuff. What a miracle, he says, the way Swift can turn life into poetry. “I’ve never been a man of words. Being around her, seeing how smart Taylor is, has been f—ing mind-blowing. I’m learning every day.”

Something he might need to learn from Swift: how to handle the attention. Kelce lives in a quiet neighborhood north of downtown—leafy trees, trim lawns, no gates. There’s now a clutch of desperate-looking dudes with cameras stationed on his sidewalk 24/7. He’s followed everywhere, drones buzzing overhead—it’s stressful, more than he lets on, according to one confidante.

“Obviously I’ve never dated anyone with that kind of aura about them…. I’ve never dealt with it,” Kelce says. “But at the same time, I’m not running away from any of it…. The scrutiny she gets, how much she has a magnifying glass on her, every single day, paparazzi outside her house, outside every restaurant she goes to, after every flight she gets off, and she’s just living, enjoying life. When she acts like that I better not be the one acting all strange.”

Asked if he has anything to teach Swift, he looks shy. He can’t think of anything offhand.

Football?

Sure, he says, sounding unsure.

Of course, the thing she probably wants to learn about most is him. While talking to Kelce you realize all at once that the most avid participant in the national scavenger hunt for clues about his character is likely Swift herself. To that end, Donna says that anyone wishing to understand her younger son would do well to start with her older. Travis “could never quite catch up” to Jason, she says. “He was always just second, just searching to be the best, and never quite getting there.” (The only way in which the two brothers were full equals was appetite. As boys, Donna says, “they would sit down and eat whole chickens.”)

Others say the key to Travis is simpler than that. He’s basically still the kid who filled his Dad’s shampoo bottle with hand cream. “He just lives his life with so much joy,” Jason says. “He’s always kind of surrounding himself with people who are funny, who have a zest for life; it’s one of the things that defines him.”

Jason recalls many nights in the Kelce family room, the two brothers and mom eating in front of some comedy. “We had one of those coffee tables that the top would lift up and meet you at your face if you were eating,” he says, guffawing.

Indeed, Kelce has warned Swift that she’s going to have to reckon with this part of his personality. Adam Sandler, Chris Farley, Will Ferrell—they will all be a part of the relationship. “I told Taylor that I have that world, I’ve got to introduce it to her. I let her know: This is my jam right here.” (Kelce does an uncanny imitation of Farley’s dorky baritone, and the ringtone on his phone is Farley primal screaming: For the love of GOD!)

If the past is any prelude, this will register like an 8.0 earthquake among Swifties. Their queen—screening Tommy Boy? Every new factoid, every new piece of the puzzle, gets eagerly cataloged, investigated, celebrated, especially on “SwiftTok,” a fervent virtual community, according to Brian Donovan, a professor at the University of Kansas who teaches a seminar called The Sociology of Taylor Swift.

Donovan says several of his class discussions this semester have been given over to No. 87. Swifties make no apology for delving into her relationships, just as Shakespeare scholars like to contemplate the subject of the sonnets. But the deep “vetting” of Kelce, Donovan adds, goes well beyond fans. “I think there’s a public fascination, because it seems like a pure unalloyed moment of joy in the wider context of global wars, deepening political polarization, dysfunction in Congress, an ongoing health crisis. There’s a lot of bad news out there, and this is a common story that everybody knows about and can talk about. I don’t think we’ve had that in American culture for a long time.”

NOW GET IN THE CAR. Now you’re ready for the Rolls. Or are you? Gawking at the ceiling, you ask, Are those stars?

Yes, Kelce says.

You stare in disbelief. Embedded in a leather firmament are scores, no, hundreds—many hundreds—of twinkling lights, a fiber-optic galaxy meant to resemble the larger galaxy in which we’re all floating. For the sake of verisimilitude, the Rolls even produces a shooting star now and then. There was one, just a second ago, Kelce says. “Make a wish. Dreams come true.”

He guns the engine and steers toward downtown. The Rolls doesn’t drive so much as waft you around Kansas City. The ride is so cush, it almost makes sense, for a moment or two, that the car is worth more than many of the buildings you pass. (A Rolls Ghost, before customizing, goes for nearly half a million dollars.) All of which makes it that much more startling, as you come to the heart of downtown, when Kelce points out his first-ever apartment and shows you the alley door where he’d sneak in and out when he was late on the rent.

What?

He’s not ducking landlords these days. Still, he’s grossly underpaid. His $14 million salary, though near the top among tight ends, is half what the league’s star receivers make, and Kelce often functions as a receiver.

Nothing to be done, he says flatly. The Chiefs know, he says, that he would play for free. They know he loves his city, his quarterback. “Unfortunately, in this business, things gotta get ugly, they gotta get unpleasant [if you want more money], and I’m a pleasant son of a buck.”

Thank goodness for endorsements. At this point, says his co-manager Aaron Eanes, “the NFL is just his side hustle.”

Eanes and his brother, Andre, handle much of Kelce’s business life, from investments to marketing, and it was they who widened his investment portfolio, putting him into a tequila company, an energy drink and a chain of car washes. They also steered him into lucrative endorsements, like Bud Light and the Covid vaccine, for which he caught much grief from Aaron Rodgers. The Jets quarterback, out since game one of the season with a torn Achilles, belittled Kelce as a Pfizer shill during one of his Tuesday appearances on The Pat McAfee Show.

Kelce took the high road then. He’s staying on it now. “Aaron’s always been cool to me,” he says. “I knew he was trying to have some fun. He’s in a situation where Tuesdays are his game days…. So I get it, man, I’ve been injured too…. Who knows what the guy is going through?”

Mary Esselman, Operation Breakthrough’s CEO, says that whenever Kelce visits, he doesn’t bring media and he doesn’t leave until the last kid has felt seen and appreciated. Not long ago, she adds, Kelce sponsored a football camp. Afterward, Esselman asked the children to name the highlight of the experience.

One told her: “He remembered my name.”

Kelce drives you past a jazz club he likes, a coffee place he used to frequent. Just recently, he concedes, he could go to a Starbucks in Manhattan without anyone looking twice. Those days seem over. Minutes later, he’s steering past a small airport, where Swift’s plane is often prominently parked these days.

Is it there now, gleaming in the moonlight? The Kelce eras tour is coming to a close. Left unsaid, but palpable: She’s at the house, waiting.

The Rolls pulls off the highway, up the hill to your hotel. You thank him for taking so much time, for answering all your questions. As you step out of the Rolls, you turn, ask him one more.

You ask him if you’re going crazy, or did he really say that thing when you first got in the car? Did he really point to a shooting star in the ceiling of his Rolls-Royce and say, “Make a wish. Dreams come true”?

He cracks up.

He did. He said it.

He’s not running from it.

What’s more, it might just be true.

“How do you think I manifest it all?”

#travis kelce #taylor swift #wall street journal #interview

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sbrown82 · 8 months

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#mick jagger #the rolling stones #frontman #hackney diamonds #new album #music #rock & roll #rock band #rockstar #legend #icon #interview #wall street journal #article

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richardarmitagefanpage · 2 years

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Seven years ago today, Hugh Dancy talked about Richard as Francis Dolarhyde in an interview for The Wall Street Journal.

#richard armitage #francis dolarhyde #the great red dragon #red dragon #the tooth fairy #hannibal #hannibal series #nbc #hugh dancy #will graham #bryan fuller #the wall street journal #interview #seven years ago today #june 10 2022

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fyesnatashalyonne · 2 years

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#wsj #wall street journal #natasha lyonne #russian doll #interview

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wilwheaton · 1 year

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#hey bob dylan: the times they are achangin'

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republicansaredomesticterrorists · 10 months

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shuxiii · 11 months

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Love at first web— Hanni Pham x reader

synopsis: Hanni desperate for a hit news was ready to do anything to have a brief interview with the one and only friendly neighborhood spider-man. Yet it didn't seem like an easy task when you're swinging out of reach of her, so she does the ordeal.

Note: is my obsession getting obvious for the Australian-Vietnamese girl now because i think its getting chronic each day

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

''Hanni, you can't just do whatever you want without facing the repercussions,'' Minji, my long-time best friend and my boss.

''I can make it up to, i can—''

''Hanni, you've caused too much problem and it's causing harm to our resources; why don't you focus on less challenging news?'' Minji says ''well like um,, oh! like that protest against—''

I was too driven by my thoughts to even care to listen to her rantings, I couldn't bear to be held back I've dedicated my life to journalism, just a few rough patches won't stop me.

I need to think, i need something big. something that will give me back Minji's trust in my work, I look at the little spider on the wall hanging on its web quietly weaving its spider web, and it hits me.

''so like i was saying han—''

''I can talk to Spider-girl'' I say.

Minji takes a pause and stares at me perplexed.

''What?''

''i can get an interview with spider-girl themselves,'' I suggest hesitantly. and that didn't go unnoticed by Minji.

''really? how exactly?'' she asked.

crap. think of something.

''well, i have contacts that will get me through spider-girl myself,'' I lie ''so if you just let me do this, just once I'll make it up for those mistakes.''

''Hanni—'' I gaze at Minji's conflicted thoughts, she knows me well. she knows i don't just give up. and eventually, she sighs.

''fine, but if i don't get any progress by the end of the week, you're halted with any bigger works.''

I jumped in triumph, hugging Minji tightly.

''okay don't get ahead of yourself, you still owe me an interview with a superhero'' she giggles.

i rejoiced too soon, now i was in a cornered wall.

lying was easy, but making it real was difficult

Let's be real how exactly will I get a hold of a human swinging from buildings to buildings like it's a normal Monday morning.

It was deemed so impossible but what do I have to lose? Yeah, my job. Exactly.

If I don't get this interview, then I’ll question myself if I was ever suited for journalism, I don't care if it takes a train to stop me, I'm getting that spider.

I knew exactly how to get their attention. It's simple put myself in to trouble.

🕸️ 🕸️ 🕸️ 🕸️ 🕸️

And as smart yet stupid as i was, i decided to get mugged in an alleyway.

It was easy, carry an expensive-looking bag while appearing naive and vulnerable. You’ll have all the eyes of every burglar you get in Manhattan.

I go down a dark alleyway, hearing faint and slow footsteps behind me, and as I reach the end of the street, I glance back to see two buff males wearing balaclava masks approaching me.

And, like every comedian's punch line, they speak their six legendary lines.

“Give us all you have, miss”

And of course I try to stall.

“I don't have anything with me,” I say.

I heard a scoff at the other guy much more shorter than the other one.

“Then what's in your bag?” He says “Nothing?” He laughs.

I take a step back and with every step they inch closer. Yet no signs of that famous red suit spider.

The consequences of my impulsive choices has started to bite back at me, and the fear has started to set in.

“C’mon miss, you don't want to make this harder than it already is” the taller one says.

He grips on my wrist, tight enough to make me wince.

“Let go of me!” I try to push away his hand but he was twice as big as me, and it didn't budge at all.

raspy laughs echoed through the dark alleyway, and he grips me tighter.

“This one's a fighter eh?” He smiles, putting his face closer to mine, smelling the horrible stench of cigarettes and alcohol.

“My, I couldn't take a good look at you but aren't you a little too pretty to be here? He says “We definitely hit the jackpot.”

I look back at him in disgust. And even though I tried to hide my dread, I felt confined and terrified more than I ever had before.

“Why don't you entertain us huh?” He grins with a gleam of darkness in his eyes.

I felt tears drop against my cheeks as i imagine the worst to come.

I close my eyes in fear.

“Hey jerry help me here” he says.

Yet the silence was only heard.

“Jerry!” He yells louder “ are you fucking deaf?”

“What the fuck!”

I open my eyes to see the shorter guy webbed against the wall, muffling.

"Hey now, that's not very chivalrous of you," the one and only says as the guy collides with the wall in the blink of an eye.

A loud thud was heard, as the burglar falls inside the steel wheelie bin.

And just like that the two burglars were webbed and knocked out.

I stood there in both fear and relief.

Suddenly she went up to me placing both her hands against my cheeks,

“Hanni? Are you okay?!” She says with quaver in her voice, like she was scared.

“Are you hurt, did he hurt you?” She gently brushes the part of my wrist the guy gripped.

“Yeah—I’m okay,” I say yet the shake in my voice said otherwise.

She looks at me and suddenly her lenses became bigger, like she just registered what she said.

And I gaze back at her, my benevolent savior, perhaps momentarily questioning the disparities between her identities.

“Wait…Hanni?” i say.

We stare at each other in awkward silence.

“Wait—how do you know my name?” I ask.

“What—I mean no—uh” she stutters “I’ve seen you in new reports! You’re quite a renowned reporter…hahaha”

“Anyway,” she coughs “What are you doing here? Don't you know it's not safe being out so late?”

Yeah what was I doing here? Right. Getting myself in trouble to get an interview from you.

“I was going home but these guys followed me and led me to an alleyway” I lie.

“Uh huh,” she pauses, slightly unconvinced “Well um I better get going”

As she was about to swing out my sight, i grab hold of her wrist.

“Wait!” I shriek.

She looks back at me before looking at my hands holding her wrist.

I quickly let go.

“Um—I was wondering if I could get an interview from you?” I ask, hopeful.

“Uh,” she says “Look, I’m a little busy with my fans at the moment aka my enemies you know? I don't think—“

“It won't take a minute” I pleaded.

“I'm not sure…” she scratches her nape.

“If you don't, well I’ll have to keep putting myself in trouble” i blurt out.

“Keep putting yourself in trouble?” She ask “did you—did you put yourself in trouble, to talk to me?” Did

I seriously don't know when to keep my mouth shut, do I?

“Don't you know how utterly dangerous that is?” She inches closer to me “You could hurt yourself or—or even worst!”

i felt like a kid again scolded by their parents except it was a superhero giving me an earing lecture.

“There are so many ways but you decide the most reckless one?” She continues “what if I’m not here when you get hurt?

She was meters away from me and one push was all it needed, maybe if the mask was removed it would have been.

She awkwardly blinks and freezes, noticing the gap between us.

She stiffly backs away from me. Shes one awkward hero.

“Sorry totally forgot personal space existed” she stutters.

“You’re just like someone I know” I say, giggling.

“What?” She asks, taken aback.

“You’re just like someone I know, her names Yn.” I tell her “She’s always nagging about these kinds of stuff.”

I smile at the thought.

“Really, are they cute? She ask “I m-mean like are they hot, or pretty maybe cute, maybe all of the above?”

I look at her, laughing.

“What—did I say something wrong?”

“No”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Its just a little odd for a superhero to ask such question,” I say.

“Oh, Im sorry—“

“Yeah, they’re cute.”

“What.”

“I said they’re cute.”

“Oh wow—uh so um,” she says “so do you like them?”

I hesitate and smiled at her.

“Yeah, I like her.”

"Like—like them?" She glances back at me, and even with the mask covering her eyes, I can tell she was looking at me intently.

Something about her gaze that hid behind that mask felt so recognizable, almost as if it was a recurring gaze I would see, but I couldn't place my finger on it.

"Why does it seem like you're the one interviewing here?" I ask, smiling back. "How about if you let me interview you, I'll answer all your questions."

She pauses for a moment, considering the deal. And I give her the best beseeching eyes, something I would never do but if it takes a cute girl to allure a man, then I’ll do everything it takes to get a sweet yes.

But this is a hero, a person who has gone through many things I don’t think being seductive would work but it won't hurt to tease, won't it?

“Do you want me to kiss you?” I say, teasingly “Does a kiss seal the deal?”

“W-What?!” She stammers “did the guy hit your head ?”

“Haha very funny one, no he didn’t,” I say, “ it’s just taking you so long to answer, and you aren't denying the kiss, I won't mind either, you have my consent.”

She stays quiet, and i took a few step closer to her.

Her lenses widen as she puts her hands in defense.

“Okay, I-I agree you don't need to do that!” She sputters.

I squeal in excitement, hugging her. I'm not sure whether I'm hallucinating, but the way her body fits in my hold, it had this familiarity to it. it felt like I've hugged her before like I was grown to it, it felt like I was in the arms of someone I love.

“That kiss was just a joke if you didn't get the memo” I chuckle as I let go of the embrace, but the feeling stayed against my skin.

“Y-Yeah i knew it was a joke” she crosses her arms between her chest.

“Well then, how about we meet on the rooftop of the Daily Bugle? Tomorrow, sounds great?”

“Um yeah sure sure, grool” she says.

Grool? Who says that these days.

“Alright” i laugh.

She timidly shoots me a quick wave as she backs away from me still looking back at me.

“Y-Yeah,” she says “see you later”

''Wait! Look ou—'' I winced as she stumbled backward after hitting her head against the steel pole.

“Are you okay?”

“I did that intentionally,” she says “ and it didn't hurt at all”

''right.''

Before she decides to leave completely, she says something that makes my heart feel soft to this day.

“And Han, please don’t do this again,” she says “I don’t want you to be hurt.”

A nickname only I knew who would always call me and suddenly the same familiarity started to dwell on me again, and the questions that lingered in my head started to be answered.

It all became clear.

#newjeans imagines #hanni #newjeans fanfic #hanni pham x reader #hanni pham #kpop idol x reader #idol reader

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sgiandubh · 8 months

Text

Labor of love

I was very interested to see what S told Mark Gillespie on the last episode of the latter's WhiskyCast podcast, @bat-cat-reader immediately shared with us.

It was a most instructive 35 minutes. I listened to all of it, because I wanted to also hear Gillespie's tasting notes forThe Sassenach. And I regret nothing: once you get past the traditional (and a bit obnoxious) 'why The Sassenach?' question, you're in for some interesting news.

You can listen to it here, by the way:

Before anything, who is Mark Gillespie?

One of the most respected professionals in the very small world of alcohol specialized podcasters, with a 37 years work experience in media and broadcasting, spanning household names such as CNN, Bloomberg, Wall Street Journal, Gallup and MSNBC. But also, and this I found very interesting, given the current context, the owner of CaskMedia, a firm specialized not only in media production, but also marketing and PR.

The podcast was recorded at The Metropolitan Club's library, moments before the Keepers of the Quaich dinner, where S was a keynote speaker. So not 'just there for the Haggis Ceremony ' - a 'guest of honor' is never invited just for the show, people should have known better, eh?

S's 7 minutes interview starts at the 09:32 mark. Comments in brackets are mine.

Gillespie surely doesn't like to beat around the bush and after the customary niceties, asks a million-dollar question:

MG: 'I have to ask: did you have the troubles (problems?) in Germany straightened up?'

SH: ' Ha, ha, ha [not an organic giggle, but hey - gotta do what you gotta do, eh?]. Well, I am not entirely sure I should talk about it [speaks very quickly and through his teeth - visibly annoyed/nervous; not entirely sure I got it all correctly, so feel free to amend in comments], ah... ummm... not as yet... not as yet...ummm...we did fall into an issue with the name Sassenach, which was similar to a big brand in the US... ah!... in Germany, sorry... of a beer brand... I...I personally don't see the similarity [neither do I, S...neither do I], but I am sure once people taste our whisky, they'll know what it is, whatever the name is on it.'

Yes, this interview was probably rehearsed. Yes, Gillespie might have sent the questions to S/his people in advance for reviewing. No, he could not speak about a legally complicated situation before the final settlement with that Schoppingen beer brewer (penalties are probably still to be fixed and paid, but I will check that, so don't take my word for Gospel truth, yet). I will write separately about this whole thing, because I still think that was a very questionable decision of the EUIPO. Not because it royally pisses me off (so fucking unfair!), but because I really fail to see the proper legal reasoning and basis for it. His answer was perfect, under the circumstances. Absolutely perfect.

Anyways, FWIW, it would seem some sort of solution has already been found ('whatever the name is on it') and that most probably would be to rebrand it. And sell it on the German/EU market under a new name.

Lallybroch (https://trademarks.justia.com/981/67/lallybroch-98167525.html), perhaps? Time will tell, but that could explain this recent trademark application I didn't have time to properly look into, yet:

Further ahead (and fast forward through the cask version release, these things bore me to death), we land on another (as yet) unexploded ordnance:

MG: 'I have to mention your show MIK that you do with Graham McTavish, you visited a bunch of distilleries during that one... any visit in particular stands out?'

Now I am not very sure if that question was the best possible one, since that SAG-AFTRA strike is still an ongoing situation. And his answer was quite clever, changing the focus on their visit to Laphroaig's distillery on Islay and waxing lyrical about the casks, the peat, the landscape, etc. But other than a perfunctory and logical 'we', I heard absolutely nothing about McTavish, and it could have been so damn easy to further change the subject and mention his bourbon, with a few kind words. Therefore, I think things are pretty obviously not exactly on the sunny side, between the two. And I guess we all know why.

To end this long post on a cheerful note, I almost forgot to mention something very important. Answering a listener's question about Sassenach not being available in Rhode Island/part of New Jersey, S said something very interesting: 'obviously you can get it online, (...) we've just signed a deal with Southern Glazer's, so we're rolling it out. It is a limited batch, so you know, every year we do do a release and it is very limited, so it does tend to sell out pretty quick. But yes, it is available (...), but obviously you're not gonna see it in every bar, restaurant or retailer, because we just don't have enough of it. But online you can get it and great delivery service, it's very quick.'

I am taking two things home from this last answer: demand exceeds supply, which is both a blessing (solid yield, room for expansion) and a curse (lackadaisical market presence). On short to mid term, distribution will concentrate on the online market, with the help of Southern Glazer's superb infrastructure.

Remember the older guy he had lunch with in MIA, in May? You should, if you didn't focus on Mordor's inept babble about shirts, ballerinas and the like. That guy was instrumental into arranging the deal with Southern Glazer's. Just the biggest wine and spirits distributor on the US market, mind you.

Don't believe me? Check this out:

That company was founded in Florida. Its HQ is still in MIA. He didn't go there because he was looking for ballerinas at his birthday dinner. He went there because when these people are available to meet you, well: you leave everything aside and you damn GO.

Now who the hell is writing fanfiction, eh? You really should be ashamed, madam.

I rest my case.

#BoozeWars

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jonathantaylorthomas · 6 months

Text

discussing the Wall Street Journal interview ❤️

#taylor swift #travis kelce #jason kelce

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katiapostsss · 3 months

Text

. . 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 p. I

// 🎬

ˢʸⁿᵒᵖˢⁱˢ:

"ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ˢᵗᵃᵍᵉ ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒᵐᵒʳʳᵒʷ

ᵃᵗ ¹², ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ,

ⁱ'ˡˡ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ."

ᶜ ʰ ᵃ ʳ ᵃ ᶜ ᵗ ᵉ ʳ ˢ :

ʰᵃʸᵈᵉⁿ ᶜʰʳⁱˢᵗᵉⁿˢᵉⁿ x

ᶠᵉᵐ! ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

warnings! : mention of sex

(very vague and brief),

swearing,

rude remarks.

angst!!!

heavily inspired by: "la la land"

june.

〰️

you fell in love with his smile first.

hayden had the prettiest of smiles. so genuine, so pure, like his lips were siphons to filter what he felt in his mind. so unlike your own, timid grins, searching for reprieve, for sincerity. his smile made your own wilder and more unabashed than it had ever been before.

it was your first article you were writing for the wall street journal and more than anything, you wanted something big. something that the media would buy newspapers for, not the cheap propaganda and scandals on the pages no one really cared to look for. it also happened to be only months after the hit film "life as a house" starring none other than the hayden christensen, first came out.

it took a month or two, but finally, you had gotten a reply to one of the several emails you had sent him, a brief regard to your asking and an approval to meet and conduct an interview.

meeting with him was one of many surprises. first of all, it was a surprise to even be within the thresholds of his million-dollar home, and second of all, it was an even bigger surprise to be meeting him. he had—very embarrassingly—been your celebrity crush since his appearance in star wars came out, and while you were briefly upset he had gotten rid of the black-blue hair and multiple piercings, the charming guy beneath was just as beautiful as portrayed on camera.

the whole interview—you, jotting down notes, and him, offering reassuring smiles that sent your mind into a whirlwind—you were shaking horribly. you even had to pause the recording a couple times to excuse yourself to the restroom—which was bigger than your entire room—to compose yourself. once done and submitted to the wall street journal, it blew up more than expected. everyone was talking about it, boosting hayden's already rife and thriving fame into the stars, especially with more movies coming out.

he reached out to thank you again. one thing led to another, and he had asked you out to dinner—which got ruined by paparazzi and ended up being a star-gazing activity. you were already in love with him. had been since forever ago, and maybe it wasn't true love, but you had assumed at the time that it was close enough. the actual affection hit you when he first laughed with you, a hearty and low thrum in his chest that blossomed something in your own. then, you knew you loved him.

so in a way, you had fallen in love with his smile first. a smile you had not seen in quite some time.

it had been two years since then. everything he did was supported by your own approval, every breath you took was to love him even more. you had your ups and downs. from the very beginning, you knew how important and demanding his job was. anyone could understand. it did not mean you wouldn't get jealous when you watched him kiss other women in his films, but it was absolutely nothing you couldn't work through.

being an actor meant being devoted completely to it. it was something hayden had warned you himself time and time again. it was something you knew now, by heart. but no matter how distant his work made him, nothing stopped him from taking you out to dinner, finding ways to spend time with you, to love you through anything and everything. long hours spent away from each other were repaid for with his apologies and his refusal to leave your side. you knew he loved you.

but then, staring at anything but the food you had prepared on the table, now growing cold, you doubted it. dinner together was an effort to ease out of this distant period with him. it was an effort to know him again. the past few months, you surmised the most he had kissed you was 10 times. not because he didn't want to, but because he so rarely saw you. you slipped into sleep before he could even get home, and he was already gone by the time you were awake. you knew he was busy, but never like this before. even though he wasn't avoiding you or anything, still showing you love and care and affection where it was due even when it was not at a point it used to be, his behavior had led you to believe you had somehow upset him. the last thing you wanted.

so you allowed yourself a moment longer of waiting, watching the waning moon hanging limp in the sky like it would bring him home faster, before you finally got up from your seat and moved to pick up the empty plates first. the lock in the front door clicked and shoved open before you could.

he was so beautiful you nearly wept upon seeing him. the damp nightly mist had made his skin glow with a veil of effervescence, and his eyes—brought out by the true blue of his shirt—lit up when they met your own. immediately, hayden dropped his jacket and briefcase to the floor, keys clinking along with them, and swept you into his arms. his gaze did not even stray from yours, as you were spun around and around.

"hi, baby!" he exclaimed, littering your face with soft kisses and setting you back on your feet. his happiness was tangible in the way his lips were pulled into a grin, and you struggled to regain your footing before reaching up and kissing him right on those same lips.

"hey, hay," you responded buoyantly, the phrase something you used so often that he profusely rolled his eyes and pulled you closer, into a hug that folded you against him.

"what's this?" he hummed into your hair, his gaze no doubt flitting across the elaborately strewn dining table you had placed pots and pans of food atop. a low hum vibrated in his chest against your ear as he sniffed the scent lingering in the air.

you pulled away, keeping your hand in his as you led him to his seat and practically pushed him onto the cushions. his laugh lilted into the ceiling. "it's dinner!" you chirped happily, pulling the glasses his current character wore off his face and setting them by his fork. you pressed a kiss to his temple before taking your own seat at the other end, not even a few feet from him.

hayden's eyes glowed under the incandescent light over your heads as they took in every little detail, his shoulders involuntarily pushing back. it was something he unconsciously did that always left you smiling. "it smells amazing, love," he complimented, eyes meeting yours and asking for him if he could begin eating.

"thank you," you drawled as you stood up, your chair pushing back and hands pulling open the pot covering the vodka-and-sauce pasta beneath it. you grabbed the spoon and loaded it onto his plate, which he started digging into before you could even finish. you sent him a withering look, softened by a smile, that he grinned at. "sorry if it's a bit cold," you hummed and took your spot again. he didn't seem to mind.

"where did you find the time to do this? i thought you were real busy with that article?" he asked over a mouthful of your famous pasta, nearly groaning in adoration. he always emphasized how much he loved your cooking by trying to do it for you, too. it always ended up horrible. one time, he managed to burn through a spatula. that was... how many months ago?

you cleared your throat. "writing doesn't take a full day of sitting at home, hay." he laughed, and you banished your thoughts from your mind, laughing right along with him. it was true. lately, you confided in work to cancel out your own insecurities that followed with hayden's absence, flying through article after article after article. you were in the process of writing one about the dangers of jaywalking when you ultimately decided to cook the dinner he was shoveling quite promptly into his mouth at that moment.

"and how is it treating you, anyways?" hayden put down his fork only briefly to wipe his mouth with a napkin. he motioned for you to dig in, too, and you almost forgot you also needed to eat. "that new boss of yours any good?"

his gaze never let yours as you stood and shoveled a portion onto your own plate, leaning over the table in a way that made your legs strain. "he's fine," you responded, breathing in the scent of the pasta as you set it down in front of you and took your seat once again. "not as good as amanda, but still ok. he let me have an early lunch break today."

hayden nodded, humming lightly. another thing that unsettled you; his lack of jealousy. months before, your boyfriend would get angry whenever a different man's gaze even looked at you a moment too long. you loved seeing his possessive side. it never showed through anymore. "that's good, baby. i'm glad." he sent you a smile over the table, and you sent one back, eyes dead and so painfully fake with the coming of more doubts. he didn't look at you long enough to catch it though. "and the book?"

you went on to briefly explain the details of your current writings, even obliging when he begged you to read to him your progress so far. he nodded along the whole time and smiled and laughed at times necessary. soon, jazz was humming in the background from a speaker propped atop your piano and he was filling both your glasses with dark red wine.

"why did you come home so early, anyways?" you asked as he set the wine by the pot of pasta and settled back into his seat. you found it strange, how soon he got home. on friday's he always came back a bit earlier than usual, and you had cooked way before just in case the universe graced you with his presence sooner, but you expected to have to reheat it a couple times.

"didn't have to take any reshootings," he hummed, bringing the rim of his glass to his lips and slightly tilting his head back to sip. you gulped down absolutely nothing. maybe... maybe tonight... you and hayden barely ever got intimate anymore. if was so rare, nowadays. he claimed he never wanted to wake you up with his needs, even when you insisted it was fine. tonight could be different. "oh, and boss said it was a valentine's day gift, for the upcoming party we're gonna have on set later this week."

your eyebrows creased, and your mind didn't even let itself wonder whether or not you'd even get anything. "that's nice!" you smiled shakily, nodding your head. he hummed in response, helping himself to seconds of the scallion pancakes. silence, other than the faint hum of the refrigerator not too far away and the jazz music, settled over you two. in a moment of pure bravery, you cleared your throat and just asked.

"so— how long are you gonna be shooting this movie for?" he paused.

asking about his shootings or movies always led to fights that almost led to breakups. you never truly laid down all the things in your heart to him, all the feelings and terror within you, so that's why he always won. the most you said was that he had been so distant, lately, which he countered with his own set of excuses. the arguments ended with apologies on both ends and cuddling. it only took one morning afterwards, spent alone, for the cycle to continue.

hayden sent you a look. a warning look. one that withered below his brow as he glanced back down at his plate, leaving the scallion untouched. "i don't know, probably a while."

you bit the inside of your cheek, and the record player stopped as if on cue, setting the mood with sorrow. now, the only sounds were your shifting. "and— do you have any projects afterward?"

much to your surprise, he laughed. it was humorless, one of brisk bitterness and disgruntlement. you met his eyes. "of course, y/n. millions. i'll never stop having projects..." hayden's voice was nothing short of sharp. meant to be a dismissal. you didn't know why you pushed, but you did. perhaps because you could not handle it anymore.

"what do you mean, you won't ever stop?" you countered, voice growing stiff. "when do you plan to retire, when you are lying on your deathbed?" hayden bristled, tensing everywhere. what you said blew low, you knew it, and you said it more to yourself than him. but you still said it.

"don't start with this." he leaned back, shaking his head and looking at a stray piece of lint on the table.

"i have every right to."

"no, you don't!" his sudden brusqueness made you flinch back. he met your eyes again and was suddenly reclining over the table, forearms braced by his plate. "it is my job, and it is my life. you have absolutely no say in what i do!"

"i am your girlfriend!" if he wanted to play mean, you would too, your posture straightened until your neck ached and your eyes narrowed. "the last time i checked, your future is also mine, if you wish it to stay that way. of course i have a fucking say!"

"maybe, but only to an extent," he growled, rubbing salt in the wound. he spoke as if you were just another one of his bitches. "i did acting years before you ever came into my life, and i'm not going to stop now. not just because you tell me to."

tears stung, and your lips pulled into a twisted frown. "i'm not just telling you to!" you felt as though you were screaming at a painting frozen in time.

"oh, so torturing me for months about quitting isn't 'telling me to'." his nose scrunched in anger. something snapped in your chest. how could he be so blindsided?

"i never told you to quit, hayden! i told you that you've become distant lately, but—"

"and i warned you about that! i told you so many times—"

"i know you did, but at least a couple months ago—"

"god, how many times am i going to have to hear this talk?!"

everything was a mess. you were talking over him, and he was in turn, talking over you.

"if you would just listen—"

"i have fucking listened, and all that im hearing is whining, non-fucking-stop whining. maybe it's not me that's distant, but you that's too fucking clingy! maybe, you want to bash me for my own success because you're so sour that you're on your ass, earning 60k a year and leeching off of me!"

silence. silence so acute, that your own mind had to fill in for it, sending a wave of shocked ringing into your ears. he had... no. there was no way. hayden would never. hayden would never. the hayden christensen you loved so deeply, so irrevocably, would never say such a thing, after you had cried to him so long about how bad you felt, having to borrow money so often because being a journalist meant earning horrible salary. he would never, ever say that. tears marred your vision, but you barely even felt them streak your face. they obscured you from seeing his own expressions, but you didn't even want to. you didn't even want to look him in the eye right now, after he had just confessed that you were too clingy, too suffocating, too annoying, too incessant, too stubborn. all in a couple of sentences.

the only thing that you felt was your own body heat, the only thing you heard was the ringing in your ears, as you stumbled to a stand and basically tripped your way to the door, throwing yourself out. you knew that he was not following. you knew he was not following, because you two were so similar. petty, stubborn. but you also knew he regretted it.

none of those thoughts came to mind as you aimlessly stumbled down the street until you had somehow managed to call your friend and ask for her presence.

---

it had been 2 weeks since that night. since you had left hayden to contemplate everything he said, and he was a fucking mess.

he knew that if you were ever to bash him so thoroughly—which you would never even think to do—he'd want privacy. he'd want time to himself. so, he called, and texted, and begged, and begged some more, but not more than a couple times a day. even valentine's day passed, and the flowers he had left on you friend's doorstep, knowing you were there, were wilting. he drove past her house each time on his way to work, hoping to see you in the window, but no. all he ever saw were those stupid carnations—your favorite flower—withering away.

he refused to go to work the first 2 days, but when he had gotten a call from his boss, explaining how his job was compromised, he didn't have a choice. still, hayden was getting home around 4 in the morning because of how frequently they had to reshoot scenes. he was a mess. everyone could see it. his coworkers, his family, even his home felt so damn empty with you gone, your absence keeping the bed constantly cold.

you were no better.

hayden was not your first love, but at times, he made you feel like he truly was. to lose him was to lose yourself, and no amount of binging gilmore girls and eating ice cream with aleah would fix that. you did not block him, even when she told you that he deserved to be alone for the rest of his life, because that felt too official. you were still dating, and a part of you would always be pulled back to him even in times of distance. often, in the spare bedroom, all alone, you'd stare at his texts and apologies and listen to his voicemails in the dark, the only anchor keeping you sane being the reason behind why he was even apologizing in the first place.

as if your already-horrible insecurities and doubts weren't enough, they only got worse after what he admitted. working at the wall street journal was an honor some people could never get, but it didn't mean the money was good. in fact, being a journalist was awful. hayden always told you he didn't mind because he loved you more than you could ever love him, and that always worked to ease your thoughts, but after what he said, they started right back up again.

"he'll come, love," aleah strung an arm over your shoulders, meeting your eyes in the mirror before you. it was the night of your publishing celebration, your book finally having been accepted to be officially laminated and sold. your whole life, you wanted to be an author. it was the reason you wrote, the reason you did journaling, to kickstart your already thriving career until your historical-fiction novel came out, and hayden knew it. "he's been so desperate to talk to you. he'll come."

one could only hope. aleah ran a hand up and down your upper-arm, kissing your cheek. smiling, you lifted your own hand to squeeze hers. "thank you." it was all you could say, all that came out of your throat. but you truly couldnt thank her enough for all that she did for you. you stared at each other in the mirror before she finally got up, pulling you with her, and into the party.

---

hayden was fucked.

"hey, man, what time is it?"

the new photoshoot for the cover of vogue was taking longer than anticipated, though he didn't really notice. without you, time seemed to blend into itself. he was behind stage afterwards, getting dressed back into casual attire and grabbing his things, when his coworker pulled him out of a trance. quickly, hayden pulled out his phone from his pant pocket and checked the time, eyes lazily sweeping across the screen.

"eight thirty f...." he trailed off, horror enveloping his soft features and heart dropping simultaneously. below the big font of the digital clock, was a reminder. hayden almost always kept his phone on loud, but it happened to be behind stage while they were photographing. on the little inbox were the words, "y/n/n's publishing party!!!" in bold letters. it had come in more than 1 fucking hour ago.

"shit," he choked out, eyes blowing wide with guilt and a breath stuttering in his chest. "shit shit shit shit shit." nearly bolting out the door, he barely heard the sound of his coworker calling after him or recognized that he'd have to come back later for the rest of his stuff. the only thing on his mind now, was you, and the fact that he was missing the party he had helped plan and had first-hand witnessed how excited you were for.

hayden ran every red light, broke every speed limit, as he flew down the streets to the nice place he had rented out weeks ago for the celebration to take place at. the moon taunted him in the sky above, laughing as he near-cried when he arrived finally, jumping out of the car and bolting to the front door. locked. it was a nice restaurant that he had temporarily bought so it could only be you, him, and your friends for the occasion, and he nearly fell to his knees when he read the "closed" sign. he was screwed. you'd break up with him and never look back.

still, he tried the window, which was covered in elaborately welded bars, knocking incessantly at the glass. nothing. pure terror. pure horror. then, a key jangling and a door opening, high heels against pavement, and you.

you were so damn pretty. so fucking stunning. you were wearing the same dress he had bought for you, a royal blue, sheer gown that flowed past your knees and was tightly fitted everywhere. most likely to surprise him. your hair was even done up in the way you knew he loved it so much, a messy bun adorned with pearl accessories. the last time he saw you was 2 weeks ago, and he was relieved to see that you looked healthy and okay. relieved to just be standing in front of you at that moment. but then your face contorted at the sight of his disheveled state, into something he had so rarely seen before.

"fuck, y/n. i am so fucking sorry, you don't understand how fucking sorry i am," he rasped out, his voice a near sob as he stepped closer and extended his arms to pull you into a hug. you walked right past him, leaving him cold and empty, your face turned to the ground. "please, baby, please. i am so so so sorry."

hayden followed you down the street, his blue eyes brimming with tears as you full-on ignored him. did not even meet his gaze again. you stopped at your car, opening the door and shoving your things into the back seat. it was only when he reached out to tug at your elbow that you responded, still not facing him. "im going home," you uttered, voice laced with malice. even though you sounded like you couldn't hate anyone more than you hated him in that moment, his shoulders slumped with relief.

"okay, of course. i'll see you ther—"

"no. im going home." you cut him off, circling around the car and opening the driver's seat. hayden's heart paused for a good three seconds, and he wondered how much longer it would take for it to stop working all together.

"what? no, please, y/n, please don't do this to me! you have to understand, baby, i love you, i love yo—"

"dont fucking say that."

"you can't leave me! please, y/n, please! i'll be better, i know i don't deserve it, but i'll try! please, y/n!" hayden did his absolute best at not grabbing at you then and pulling you into a hug. the thought hurt you beyond how hurt you already were. and because of it, you turned around and finally looked him in the eye, back pressing against your car.

"i wish you'd realized that sooner, hayden," you started, voice quivering more than your bottom lip did. "i wish so badly you did, because then, i needed it most. do you know how much shit i went through? how many horrible thoughts i was thinking? or were you too busy with your acting to notice, even when i laid it right in front of you? i would've done anything to hear those exact words come out of your mouth a week ago, but now? now, i don't give a fuck. you ran me to fucking shambles, hayden, but in your eyes, i was perfectly fine, because anything worse than fine would mean you'd actually have to care."

you did not give him the pleasure of uttering one more word before you shut the door, turned on the ignition, and drove off, leaving him all alone once again. your words were his breaking point, partially, because seeing you in such a state was so worrying, and partially, because they were so fucking true. he did not care that people were watching. he did not care that cameras were clicking, as he sobbed and sobbed, trying to stop you, and failing, watching your car disappear around the bend.

---

summer was slowly easing into autumn, leaves already turning outside of your parent's house and the air chilling as the world turned its back on the sun. it had been a full month since you had last seen hayden, and what had happened seemed more like a fever dream, than real life. like at any moment, you'd walk into your childhood bedroom and see his perfectly-proportioned face resting peacefully against your pink pillows. but you had blocked him. on everything.

to say you missed him was an understatement. you knew your parting was your own doing, but it wasn't like you wanted to leave him. you never expected you even would.

being home was just as strange. you didn't really visit your parents often, despite the intact and very happy relationship you had with them. they lived a good hour from where you used to, which wasn't a lot, but still pretty far. that, and the fact that anytime you did, it was always with hayden. your mom and dad loved him like their own, treating him as if a little kid, their little kid. they did not ask even one question when you stumbled into their house a month ago with your bags packed and tears staining your cheeks.

it was also a pain. you had given up. quit your job, did not even think about the book you had written that was probably out there now, left untouched, unread. even if it was, you couldn't bring yourself to care for that past you, for that dream you had once harbored. you were officially done being an author, because it hurt too much. seeing the stupid little storybooks you had written when 12 hurt too much, reading them over and over hurt too damn much. so you left it all behind.

to blame that on hayden would not only be cruel, but incorrect. what had been said at that dinner table oh so long ago hurt just as much as his absence at your party, but that wasn't the reason you quit. you quit because you knew damn fucking well that if you even checked up on the status of your book's copies sold, you'd break down. you quit because it was a reminder of the love you still had, a little girl that was no longer. it was no use, that stupid dream. even if your writings went world-wide and managed to sell millions of millions of copies, you couldn't imagine that you'd care anymore. it was a piece of you that had been left back at home, where you could only assume hayden still lived.

hayden. even thinking his name made you want to believe everything had all been in your head. made you want to start packing your bags and drive back into his waiting arms at that very moment. you surmised if he apologized again to you, you'd immediately forgive him. you were over it, now that you had left your dreams behind. but still, you stayed.

that party, that day, that feeling, sitting surrounded by your friends with a big cake in front of you and happy smiles everywhere, was so distant now. then, it seemed like the end of the world, watching the door so hopefully, willing him to walk through and sweep you into his arms and just kiss and kiss and kiss you. he never came. you knew it was most definitely a mistake, but it didn't make it hurt any less. not a month before that, you knew he would've remembered. he would've come. sometimes, you even wondered if leaving him was a mistake. aleah reminding you of your worth over the phone reassured you every time that it wasn't, that anyone would've done it.

so, you stayed. in the span of that month, your parents had asked maybe twice, and you explained briefly what had happened. lots of ogling and tsks and disapproved shaking of heads came out of that conversation, and it made it all seem so... real. so official. you guessed it was because your mind couldn't really comprehend the fact that you two weren't together anymore, because you never suspected you wouldn't. it was... eye opening. you cried harder that night than you did on the actual day it happened, listened to his earlier voice mails and texts like they were the only things keeping you sane... because they were.

---

hayden's phone rang on his bedside table.

again that hope. that stupid, infantile hope that you were the one calling. his mind found any scenario to think about you, latched onto you like a drug he'd never be cured of. he was falling apart at the seams, and quickly. shooting was finished, and he rejected all projects after that. if you ever came back to him, he vowed he would quit acting. before, after his first movie ever, he didn't even consider leaving the program. let alone for a partner. but for you, he'd give it all up. in a heartbeat. in less.

to say he fell into a depressive state while you were gone was an understatement. his friends often had to drag him out of the house, force him into clothes and get him outside just so he wouldn't rot in his bed all day, which was what he'd been doing for the past month. after you left him, he tried calling, texting, anything, and found his number blocked. he couldn't even be mad, either, because he understood why. a bitch was what he was, but he needed you. he needed you to live. his mind was spiraling as much as his mental health was, and it had gotten so bad that his mother, alie, had quite literally forced him into therapy.

he was getting no better.

with you by his side, hayden's mind was in a constant state of tranquility. just knowing you were home and waiting for him was enough to calm his nerves before, but now, he had nothing to put him at ease. in fact, the thought of you was becoming the exact opposite.

what he said was spoken in a moment of adrenaline, of anger. hayden could never get annoyed by your worrying or concern for him, finding it cute, but sitting there, at the dining table, he spoke words he knew would strike you deep. regretted it immediately afterwards. but regretting would never help, not even apologizing would, after what he said. if he could, he'd take it all back. if he could, he'd spend even one more moment with you, even if you hated him for every second of it.

he was easing into a routine. but it was still bad. every minute was spent wondering about you, about whether you'd tell him to fuck himself or kiss his cheek if you ever saw him again. probably not the latter.

hayden immediately shot up on his bed, hair disheveled from sleep and only wearing a white shirt and a black pair of sweatpants. he leaned over and quickly swiped his phone off the table, inspecting the contact name with his heart in his throat. it immediately fell back down to his chest upon seeing it was in fact, not you. just a random string of numbers. he laid back down on his back again and accepted the call.

"hello?" he cleared his throat.

"hi, is this y/n l/n?"

now, his heart was in his stomach at the mention of your name. even hearing it made his ears ring with sorrow, his skin prickle and tingle. the person on the other end had a high, female voice, and what was most likely a french accent.

"no, sorry." he didn't know who it was, but he imagined you had given them his house number for a job interview while you were still together or something, which made him choke on air wondering what you were doing now that you had parted ways with him. "uhm— what— what is this about?"

"bummer. we were calling to ask if she'd be open for a stage reading. her hit novel has been blowing up and fans are asking worldwide for a meet-and-greet. do you think you could give me her number? tell her that nia kratt from the lincoln publishing company is reaching out?

hayden gaped, a smile spreading on his lips despite himself. this... this was good. this was so, so good. god, you'd be so happy, you'd be ecstatic! he could already imagine the look of pure excitement on your face, could already see you bouncing on the tips for your feet in that cute way he loved so much.

"actually, i don't think i have her number anymore." blocking him somehow got rid of your contact from his phone altogether, and he imagined you'd changed it anyways. "i— i can pass this onto her directly, if you'd like?"

the woman tutted happily. "sure! thanks for your help, sir."

he was grabbing his keys not even a second later.

---

dinner was especially quiet today.

you pushed your mac and cheese around your plate, lips twisted into a frown. across from you, your parents chatted with each other, sometimes flirting so horribly you punctuated your uncomfortableness with an eye roll and a small smile that they laughed at.

"how's that book of yours coming along?" your father asked, which immediately ruined your mood. you hadn't yet told them that it was already published, and certainly didn't tell them you were quitting, either. the most you spoke of it was that you had left the wall street journal. they understood.

"it's fine," you muttered, your fork scraping against your plate. you did not meet their eyes, but could feel them give each other looks ahead of you. you bit the inside of your cheek.

"well that's good honey," your mother responded quickly after, filling in the silence that fell afterwards once again. then, noise. she startled and the cup of wine she was bringing to her lips fell to the floor, and you jumped out your chair. it was a car honking, loud and incessant.

"what is that!" your dad rasped, looking around. quickly, you shuffled to the window by your front door, pulling the curtain to an open and inspecting the area outside. it was already dark, the street lamps being the only thing that allowed you to see.... him.

you choked on air, your hands suddenly shaking as you took him in. he was leaned over the front door of his car, which had no roof atop it, holding down the honking button on his steering wheel. he was too far away to make out his face, but you knew it was him, not just because of his vehicle, but for an inexplicable reason you didn't let your mind wonder about. without another word to your parents, you bolted to the door, throwing it open and jogging outside.

the air was cold. you found yourself regretting not shrugging on a coat immediately upon stepping out of the house. a dog was barking at the noise somewhere and someone even threw a newspaper roll at him from his own house. but he barely even noticed. his eyes caught on yours, and there, they stayed.

"what are you doing!" you tugged at the off-the-shoulder, blue top you had on, folding your arms at your stomach to ration body warmth. upon closer proximity, hayden finally retracted his hand from the car, looking you over and over again in a way that made you feel naked.

he looked... good. if you weren't so pissed that he was waking up your whole neighborhood on a random tuesday night at 7 pm with his honking, you'd be practically floored at the sight. he was wearing black sweatpants and a white t-shirt, hugging the taut muscles of his chest, and his hair was ruffled in a way that you loved. his eyes. god. you hadn't realized how much you missed his eyes until they were all over yours, inspecting you for any minor cut or imprint. you hadn't realized how much you missed him until he was standing in front of you with that perfect stance and perfectly-cut features.

and you? hayden nearly fell to his knees at the sight of your own presence. his yearning for you was so much worse than it had been even at home, with your tiny hands gripping your shirt and your legs pressed together. he did not want anything more in life than to fold you into his arms and weep, but the adrenaline that had been flowing through his body the whole ride there was still coursing through him, so he grounded himself quickly.

"why— why did you come here?!" you whisper-yelled, twisting your lips into a scowl. hayden bit the inside of his cheek, laying a hand on the closed door and staring at you incredulously.

"because i have good news," was all he responded with. your face hardened even further.

"what."

"nia kratt, y'know, from that publishing company you worked with?"

"yea?"

"well, she says your book has gone worldwide. she says everyone loved it. and they loved it so much—" his eyebrows were raised in almost a comical way, one hand on his hip. "—that she wants you to conduct a stage reading. in front of all your fans." hayden looked down at the car, slamming the metal with his hand to punctuate just how amazing the deal was. as if he was expecting you to jump up in joy.

you searched for that joy, inside you. and found nothing but a void of emptiness. silence fell, and you looked to the ground briefly, eyes shifting everywhere and your hands falling at your sides. why did you feel nothing? you hadn't expected your book to go worldwide, and it was surprising. you were surprised. but you weren't happy.

"i'm not doing it," you whispered, looking out at the neighborhood beside hayden's shoulder. "i'm not— no. i'm not going to that," you spoke louder. "that's gonna be—"

"what?" he spoke at the same time you did.

"yea, no. that's gonna..."

"i'm sorry?" hayden jutted his head down, as if to try and hear you better. you could not read the expression on his face as you finally met his eyes.

"that will— kill me." silence. then...

"WHAT?!" he yelled suddenly, so loud you feared he'd wake everyone up all over again. hayden's eyes burned with anger, invisible claws ripping at his chest. you jumped, eyes widening.

"what?!" you squeaked back, surprised at how loud his voice had abruptly came back. your eyes strayed to the houses behind him, the ground, hands flexing. "what?!" you repeated. "shhh! stop! stop!"

"NO!" he yelled again, with the same fervor and anger in his voice.

"shh! shhh!" you pressed your hands in front of you in a prayer, posture so straight your neck ached. "you have to be quiet—"

"and you have to start making some damned sense—" he pointed at you.

"—people are sleeping! you're gonna get everyone mad and—"

"if you want me to be quiet, you gotta start making some goddamned sense—"

"—my neighbors are gonna call the police—"

it was a mess of voices talking over each other. you could see the absolute rage in hayden's eyes, and he could see the absolute plea in yours.

"you're gonna tell me why you're not going—"

"because! because." you finally managed to quiet him, eyes wide with fear and hands still pressed in front of you. they dropped a little, remaining flexed and practically shaking. "i'm— i'm done with it—"

"why. why." with his finger pointed directly at you, you felt so diminished, so small beneath his gaze.

"because... i gave so much— so damn much to my career and my life, thinking i'd get somewhere," you spoke rapidly, your tone on edge. "and i gave and gave until i had nothing left in me. i don't care anymore. i don't care about— about... writing— or— or talking— because it hurt me so damn much." your gaze strayed everywhere. to the ground, his shoes, his eyes.... "and even thinking about it... hurts. i'm not who i was. i can't be who i was. i don't care anymore. i have nothing left in me to care about."

he stared. and stared. and stared. you were terrified he'd start screaming again, until the neighbors truly called the police and hauled him away. his gaze never left yours, searching your eyes and only finding sorrow and hurt there. for a brief moment after the terror, you thought that maybe he'd pull you into his arms and kiss your head. you thought that if he did, you'd weep. but he did the exact opposite of that.

"so what— you're just gonna— gonna rot at your parents house even though you have a perfect opportunity right in front of you?!"

"an opportunity i don't want!"

"oh, bullshit, y/n! bullshit!" hayden threw his arms out at his sides, shaking his head, smoke nearly billowing out of his nose.

"no— no! not bullshit, because— because— maybe i'm not good enough. maybe this is a sign from god that it's time to move on, or that i'll never get what i once wanted so badly. maybe it's a sign to do something else with my life. something more meaningful. the world doesn't need another damned author. i'm just— not good enough—"

"you are—"

"maybe i'm not."

"you are."

"maybe i'm not."

"you are."

"maybe i'm not." tears marred your vision. your body shook. it was all too much in that moment, standing in front of the man who you still loved, who you knew you always would. "maybe... maybe i'm one of those people— who... who's always wanted to do it, but it's this... this unrealistic dream. for me. y'know?" you shook your head, looking away from him and shifting incessantly on your feet. "like— i've wanted it. i've always wanted it, for as long as i can remember. it was what i planned for. so i have nothing else to do with my life now that i don't want it anymore."

your ring clinked against the metal as you set your hand on the car, gaze falling to the cement below you.

"why."

"why what? i just explained wh—"

"that was a sorry excuse. tell me why."

you shut your mouth, meeting his eyes again. they burned with surprise, with confusion, with anger. how many days did you spend looking at those beautiful eyes as you talked about the same dreams you had discarded now? "because maybe it hurts too much."

you sniffled, but all he did was shake his head, a hard expression marring his face. "you're a baby."

you bit out a humorless laugh, eyebrows raising and mouth falling agape. "i'm not a baby—"

"you are. you're a baby. you're acting like a baby."

"oh my god," you scoffed, messing with your nose.

"and you're crying like one too." hayden opened the car door. "you have a stage reading tomorrow at 12. i'll be waiting for you out back at 9, and if you don't come, i'll leave." he sat down on the seat and started the car, roughly shutting the door behind him. you shook your head, shock still enveloping your features.

the only sound for a moment was the engine as he settled in. "how did you find me here?"

hayden did not meet your eyes as he pointed a thumb to the building beside you. "the house by the library." and drove off.

your only thoughts as you stumbled back to the house was the emptiness within you and how he had remembered where your parents lived even 2 years after you had told him.

| part 2 >

this is only part 1! sorry if part 2

is a little delayed or lateee

anyways, thank you sooo much

for reading! reblogging is fine!

#hayden christensen #hayden #christensen #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #star wars #acting #fanfic #sam monroe #hayden christensen x reader

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