Twilight RPF: oh yeah. that movie.
note: WHY must all of you enable me. i mean, really. this is for sophieisgod because she asked. and dazzled me.
oh yeah. that movie.
for the record, this is a stupid idea. it’s going to be a long time before she admits she’s a hot mess. rpf. kstewart/rpatzz. 677 words, pg. unbeta’d. because yes, yes, i don’t want to read it again.
-
For the record, this is a stupid idea.
Somebody’s manager has been grinning at her for the last ten minutes - you know, the kind of smile that says ‘hey fuck you, you’re my paycheck so I’m going to make this an absolute living hell for you too’ and widens every time you flash a look back. Yeah, that’s the one.
But Kristen knows business and business hates Kristen, so she’s been glued to her stupid plastic chair for the last twenty minutes, watching some dude named Frederica smear more powder over her face. Bad enough, she’s already hung over. Now, she looks like a baby’s ass. That glows in the dark.
So today’s interview is late. Because Rob is late - Rob is always late, not her problem, but there’s only so many times that the dickwad can use traffic as an excuse. She’s here too. She’s hung over even. So really, she’s beginning to believe that he’s just a big, giant pussy.
“Oh, ew,” she mutters, rubbing her eyes. She so didn’t need that mental image. Just a mental kick in the ass.
“Really Kristen,” Frederica shakes his head, “I’m mean all this hard work I had to do and poof.”
She glares at him though and there’s powdered shit over her palms, peeking back at her like she’s gone and suddenly joined clown school.
“She does that a lot.”
Robert steps into the small corner, around the cameras, and does this weird sort of bow, to be cool, in front of Frederica who swoons. She rolls her eyes and mutters something about androgyny and the wrong cast - Robert’s out of an episode of fucking Gossip Girl, she swears, and would be the kid that would suck Michelle Tratwhatever’s face off. And then vomit. She would.
“Too many cosmos, love,” he nudges her.
“Fuck off,” she mutters and rolls her elbow away from her corner of the chair as he settles next to her.
He hands her a list, open with all sorts of questions about the book and the movie - she only got through a third of it, the book, because a script’s easier to read and this isn’t theories of Existentialism. It’s about sparkly vampires. And a girl who has clearly lost any traces of her sanity. In Kristen’s opinion.
“Number six.”
She raises an eyebrow and Robert chuckles next to her, pulling off his sunglasses and handing them to her. She takes them, sliding them over her eyes and ignores the fact that she feels almost tingly when he gives them to her. Tingly. Christ. Tingly. She’s been in the fucking middle of nowhere for way too long, you know.
But she keeps reading, “Do you think that Bella will eventually turn into a vampire?”
She snorts.
Not unless there’s sex, she thinks. Some bizarre mating ritual that involves a ton of nakedness. A lot of nakedness. She could do that. Vertical. Horizontal. She’s a small girl and it would be -
Fake sex with Robert. Whatever.
But Stephanie Meyer’s a cockblocker. No doubt. Even Anne Rice, who found God, talks about penises all the time. Penis. Penis. Penis. Kristen smirks - maybe, she should bring that up.
“This is a stupid question.”
Robert snorts, shaking his head. “You’re acting like I made it up,” he shrugs. “You’re such a damn brat.”
“Me?”
He smirks, leaning over and ruffling her hair. Just to piss her off probably. Not probably - just to piss her off. He’s only good for shoving his tongue down her mouth. Then she can’t complain.
“I’m buying tonight,” he adds when she can’t even remember last night. Vaguely, she’s aware of a report in the room. They smell, you know, because everybody has morbid curiosities about vampire movies. Sparkly ones even.
“Tonight?”
She jump when his fingers slide through her hair, over the arch of her shoulder and then along her throat. She can’t think and swears he says something like “fixing her necklace!” as Frederica swoons. Again. Jesus.
He smirks. “Tonight.”
You see. Hello rumors.
oh yeah. that movie.
for the record, this is a stupid idea. it’s going to be a long time before she admits she’s a hot mess. rpf. kstewart/rpatzz. 677 words, pg. unbeta’d. because yes, yes, i don’t want to read it again.
-
For the record, this is a stupid idea.
Somebody’s manager has been grinning at her for the last ten minutes - you know, the kind of smile that says ‘hey fuck you, you’re my paycheck so I’m going to make this an absolute living hell for you too’ and widens every time you flash a look back. Yeah, that’s the one.
But Kristen knows business and business hates Kristen, so she’s been glued to her stupid plastic chair for the last twenty minutes, watching some dude named Frederica smear more powder over her face. Bad enough, she’s already hung over. Now, she looks like a baby’s ass. That glows in the dark.
So today’s interview is late. Because Rob is late - Rob is always late, not her problem, but there’s only so many times that the dickwad can use traffic as an excuse. She’s here too. She’s hung over even. So really, she’s beginning to believe that he’s just a big, giant pussy.
“Oh, ew,” she mutters, rubbing her eyes. She so didn’t need that mental image. Just a mental kick in the ass.
“Really Kristen,” Frederica shakes his head, “I’m mean all this hard work I had to do and poof.”
She glares at him though and there’s powdered shit over her palms, peeking back at her like she’s gone and suddenly joined clown school.
“She does that a lot.”
Robert steps into the small corner, around the cameras, and does this weird sort of bow, to be cool, in front of Frederica who swoons. She rolls her eyes and mutters something about androgyny and the wrong cast - Robert’s out of an episode of fucking Gossip Girl, she swears, and would be the kid that would suck Michelle Tratwhatever’s face off. And then vomit. She would.
“Too many cosmos, love,” he nudges her.
“Fuck off,” she mutters and rolls her elbow away from her corner of the chair as he settles next to her.
He hands her a list, open with all sorts of questions about the book and the movie - she only got through a third of it, the book, because a script’s easier to read and this isn’t theories of Existentialism. It’s about sparkly vampires. And a girl who has clearly lost any traces of her sanity. In Kristen’s opinion.
“Number six.”
She raises an eyebrow and Robert chuckles next to her, pulling off his sunglasses and handing them to her. She takes them, sliding them over her eyes and ignores the fact that she feels almost tingly when he gives them to her. Tingly. Christ. Tingly. She’s been in the fucking middle of nowhere for way too long, you know.
But she keeps reading, “Do you think that Bella will eventually turn into a vampire?”
She snorts.
Not unless there’s sex, she thinks. Some bizarre mating ritual that involves a ton of nakedness. A lot of nakedness. She could do that. Vertical. Horizontal. She’s a small girl and it would be -
Fake sex with Robert. Whatever.
But Stephanie Meyer’s a cockblocker. No doubt. Even Anne Rice, who found God, talks about penises all the time. Penis. Penis. Penis. Kristen smirks - maybe, she should bring that up.
“This is a stupid question.”
Robert snorts, shaking his head. “You’re acting like I made it up,” he shrugs. “You’re such a damn brat.”
“Me?”
He smirks, leaning over and ruffling her hair. Just to piss her off probably. Not probably - just to piss her off. He’s only good for shoving his tongue down her mouth. Then she can’t complain.
“I’m buying tonight,” he adds when she can’t even remember last night. Vaguely, she’s aware of a report in the room. They smell, you know, because everybody has morbid curiosities about vampire movies. Sparkly ones even.
“Tonight?”
She jump when his fingers slide through her hair, over the arch of her shoulder and then along her throat. She can’t think and swears he says something like “fixing her necklace!” as Frederica swoons. Again. Jesus.
He smirks. “Tonight.”
You see. Hello rumors.