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bumblebugwrites · 8 months

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chapter 4: i bet on losing dogs

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: The time has come for the 11th Annual Hunger Games, though it seems to you that no amount of time can truly prepare you for the weight of what comes next.

Warnings: Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Mention of Injuries, Character Death, Weapons, Violence.

Word Count: 6.2k

Taglist: @nekee-lilac02, @mr-panda357

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

You do not see Colt again before the Games begin, and though you manage a few moments alone with Bee, it is only because you begged Calpurnia for the right to braid her hair the night before.

The young girl is back in the clothes she was reaped in when you appear in the doorway of her room, gracing the wooden frame with a light knock that has her head twisting in your direction. She is afraid, that much is clear, fear leaking out of every open feature on her small face, and you take a moment to steady yourself in the way you often found yourself doing for Fawn when the weight of the world seemed too much.

You do not say anything as you enter, only bringing your hands out from behind your back to reveal a brush and several small rubber bands meant to keep her hair in place, and she nods, giving you permission to advance further into the room. As you approach, Bee moves to stand, clearly eyeing the seat before the vanity in the corner of her room, but you only shake your head, climbing atop her mattress and positioning yourself behind her as she clings to the edge of the bed. Reaching a careful hand out, you smooth the mess of strands on her head before running the brush through the sea of chesnut locks.

There is something soothing to the pattern of your motions, and you feel your own shoulders begin to lose some of their taut energy. Bee begins to relax as well, no longer visibly shaking as she leans her head back into your touch.

Setting the brush down, you begin to section off the pieces, pulling them into a careful pattern on the back of her head, and suddenly, she feels so small. So much like Fawn, wolfing down the last of her toast before coming to sit before you, fidgeting with the sticky hands of a child. You want to cry, but you fight the urge, swallowing the pain in your chest in favor of focusing on the work at hand. Each fold in her hair feels like some sort of sacred spell, and you find yourself in a state near prayer, repeating the sentiments you had braided into Fawn only days ago. This child is loved. This child is loved by me. Why can’t that be enough?

As you reach the last careful pleat, twisting a final band into Bee’s hair, the fear returns, flooding your system once more. The trance of the moment is gone in an instant, and bile rises slow and angry in the back of your throat. You are opening your mouth to say something, to croak out some useless sentiment, when she whips around to face you, burying herself in your chest, small arms coming up to grip you tightly. And it is all you can do to hold her in return, pressing her closer, closer, and placing a soft kiss on the crown of her head. She doesn’t deserve this. No one deserves this.

“Thank you,” Bee whispers, and it is muffled by the fabric of your shirt, but that does not stop you from catching the wetness in her voice. You do not reply, afraid your own voice might crack if the words on your lips bubble out. Instead, you nod, pulling her tighter against you until it is time to go. Until the Peacekeepers arrive at the door to her room, ushering the two of you apart, and even then, it is a moment before you relinquish the girl to their grasp, slipping a single already loose strand behind her ear and drying some of the tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. And you don’t know what else to say so you repeat her words from only moments before.

“Thank you.” For you allowing me to know you. Even in small part. Even in the worst days of your life. Thank you.

When the Peacekeepers come for Bee, several more follow to collect you, bringing you down to the lobby where you are met with the other mentors. Most look as though they have been up for hours, and several, including Treech, look like they haven’t slept at all. Your brow creases in concern as you cross to stand by his side.

“You look exhausted,” you state, restraining yourself from reaching out to tidy his curls.

“Thanks. You look like shit, too,” he grumbles in reply before his head shoots up, a slow look of regret spreading over his features. “I mean, like you haven’t slept– Like there are bags under– But you look gr– fine.”

“Thanks,” you respond, though it sounds more like a question as you say it. “Did you get any food this morning? Coffee?”

“Yeah, I had coffee. I had a cup of– like four cups of coffee,” Treech speaks, nodding at the end of each new phrase as though reassuring himself he’s finished speaking. His hands are shaking.

“Nothing to eat?” You ask, looking around to ensure no one is looking before taking one of his hands into yours and pressing it flat between your palms. You try not to think too hard about the movement. About the implications that follow. About the feeling of his fingers grazing your wrist ever so slightly.

“I– I–” He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and you feel his hand move, snaking around to give yours a squeeze. “No.” You nod, understanding. You’d barely been able to manage the piece of toast you’d forced down your throat this morning. Still, you dip your hand into your pocket, producing a napkin from the hotel room with a small croissant wrapped neatly inside.

“I saved it in case I got hungry later, but honestly, I don’t think I could stomach it if I wanted to,” you say, extending it in his direction. And for a moment, Treech only looks at you, eyes wide and unsure, but you nod, and the spell on him seems to break as he reaches for the food and begins to eat, slowly at first, then nearly inhaling it.

Not even five minutes later, the group of Peacekeepers begins to usher you outside, this time filing the group of you into a single van, and you find yourself wedged in between Teff and Treech, the latter looking a bit better after having eaten something. To your other side, Teff appears nervous, pulling repeatedly at his collar and drumming his fingers in a smooth pattern against his knee. You fix your eyes ahead, meeting the gaze of Lux, and even her typically unshakeable composure seems to be caving slightly as she digs ardently at her nailbeds, nearly tearing at the skin. Casting your gaze down once more, you try to breathe, but each inhale feels ragged, as though there is no amount of oxygen you can take in that might be enough. The van jolts to a stop.

When the double doors to the back swing open, you fight the urge to wince at the sunlight that pours in, nearly blinding you with its intensity. Instead, you attempt to get a good look at your surroundings, feeling your gut begin to sink at the sea of red just visible from your place so deep in the van. You recognize it easily, though, from last year’s Games. Academy Red. It is not difficult to recall the hours of footage taped within the Academy, putting all those selected for mentorship positions on display, and you wonder if this year will be the same. If they will make you a part of the show or keep the cameras confined to Flickerman out of fear of detracting too much from the action with your presence.

It is two Peacekeepers to a person as they guide you inside, and frankly, you’re surprised they don’t chain your wrists and ankles. You remember the man with the white hair and all his talk about appearances and making victory an honor. This must be your reward. But how free is a dog without a leash if there is still a gun pointed at its back, keeping it in place?

You ignore the sick feeling in your stomach, thrusting your shoulders back and keeping your head held high; you have to be calm. For Bee. For Colt. You have to be calm for them.

When you enter the room, which appears to be more of a lecture hall, it is set up in an odd fashion. The screens at the front mirror their positions from last year, with one for each tribute and a larger screen at the center, which would likely stream the Games, but with eight desks, the surrounding area looks sparse and pathetic. Especially given that the desks for 1 and 2 are pushed together to facilitate better communication between mentors with partners. You breathe another unsteady exhale as you are led forward, brought to stand beside a chair painted with a large 10 in between those for 7 and 11. This is really happening.

No one speaks, with the exception of the large audience of Academy students being led into the surrounding stands. From the back of the room, you recognize the particularly grating voice of Lucky Flickerman, and a single glance over your shoulders reveals that he is seated at a table, a half-drunk martini in his hand and his microphone just in front of him. The man with the white hair is there. Snow. He stands before the central screen, and after a few moments of waiting for the crowd to settle, he begins to speak.

“Dr. Gaul will be here momentarily to join us for the beginning of the Games, but for now, I would like to get a few things straight. As mentors, this is where you will remain until the end of the Games. Food and drinks will be provided three times a day and aside from use of the bathrooms, you will not leave this room until we have crowned a victor. This applies even if your tributes are dead. Now, the Games will begin following the countdown, as I am sure you are all aware, and they will also be televised in their entirety. That means if Lucky Flickerman is on screen, you are too, so look alive.” Snow continues to ramble, but you find your attention elsewhere, lingering on the two screens marked with Bee and Colt’s faces. Beside each is a number, and it doesn’t take you more than a second to register that they mark the donations received by your tributes. Your gut sinks at Bee’s measly sum of 82, and your eyes flit down to your screen, scanning your options. Not even enough for a bottle of water.

There is a sudden noise at the back of the room as the double doors are flung open. Your head jerks in the direction of the disturbance only to be met with an odd-looking woman, each eye a different color and her hands tucked away in a set of latex gloves. It is unnerving the way she surveys you. All of you, victors, as though you are prey, and for the first time since the arena, the hair on the back of your neck raises with the distinct feeling that you are being hunted.

You swallow hard and look away, training your eyes ahead on the screen, trying not to flinch at the sounds of her footsteps echoing throughout the cavernous space. Two desks down from yours, Trawl shivers visibly. She reaches the center of the room.

“Welcome, victors; we are so pleased each of you was able to join us for this momentous occasion.” Dr. Gaul’s voice drips with something poisonous. Something like a threat, and you begin to feel as though you are missing some key piece of information. “Mr. Flickerman, whenever you are ready, I believe all of the tributes are in place.”

From the back of the room, Lucky Flickerman grumbles something about having to run on other people’s schedules before standing from his seat and making his way to the front.

“Alright, people, try not to look so vaguely threatening and downtrodden; you’re going to be on television, for God’s sake.” He clears his throat, doing what appears to be a vocal warm-up of some sort before nodding to the man behind the camera. Somewhere behind you, a man’s voice counts down from three.

“Hello and welcome to the eleventh annual Hunger Games. I’m your host, Lucretius ‘Lucky’ Flickerman, and joining me today are the eight mentors for this year’s tributes. Speaking of tributes, it looks like we are just about ready to begin, so without further ado, let’s switch over to those arena cameras.”

Behind him, the emblem of Panem vanishes, fading into black, before a brand new image populates the screen.

“What the fuck?” You don’t mean to let it slip; you are on national television, after all, but when the darkness lifts, you really aren’t sure what else to do. The cornucopia is there. That much you recognize. And the tributes, they still stand in a wide-spread circle around it. But it is not the stadium you recall from your Games. Instead, the tributes find themselves on an island of sorts, lush with grass and surrounded by a stream that departs into smaller floods behind them, shooting off into a large wooded area. Although, upon second glance, the stream seems too deep to really qualify as anything less than a river, cutting all twenty-four children off from the safety of the treeline.

“This isn’t the arena!” Antonia whips around to face Dr. Gaul, rage evident in her features. The woman only smiles. Still, that does not stop Teff from making his own demand.

“Where are they?”

“Well, if you must ask, since the rebel forces in the Districts thought it appropriate to bomb the old arena, we decided to go a different direction this year.”

“That’s not fair,” Beau barks, and his words almost seem like a snarl. “You should have told us– We would have trained them differently!” At the front of the room, Lucky Flickerman’s faux smile begins to dissipate.

“Could we try not to disrupt the broadcast–” he hisses through gritted teeth.

“If you would like to leave, I’m sure your tributes would be very understanding if we notified them you’ve given up.” Dr. Gaul’s voice drips with a sickening sweetness.

“We can’t leave. You made that clear when we got here,” Treech growls, and the woman before you feigns a look of surprise.

“Oh? Did we? Well then, I suppose you will just have to adapt.”

There is a tall sign attached to the cornucopia, with a facade of LED lights, much like an old scoreboard; you recognize it from your own Games. As Lucky Flickerman clears his throat once more, it begins to count down. 10. Your eyes do a frantic search of the screen, scanning for Bee’s chestnut braid and Colt’s broad build. You only manage to find the latter. 9. You watch as he steadies himself, crouching as though preparing for a race. And really, it is a race, but you want to shake your head and scream, recalling the advice you had drilled into each of their heads in the prior days. Do not engage with the cornucopia. 8. She catches your eye finally. Bee. Her hands are curled into two neat fists by her side. You swallow hard. 7. You watch her spot Colt, several platforms away. Stay together. Please, God, stay together. 6. For a moment, you are back in the arena. The boy from 5 twitches in his place, and you want to reach out and steady him. But it is not real, and he is dead. 5. 4. Your hands are shaking. Your breath is unsteady. Treech is looking at you.

3. Something moves in the water. Something large.

2. The boy from 8 steps off his platform a split second too early. It blows. To his left, Bee brings both hands up to shield her face, sinking away in panic. Her heel nearly slips, and you feel like throwing up.

1. The room is silent. Dead silent. On the screen, the tributes begin to run.

Bee skids backward off the platform, landing awkwardly in the grass. She plants her hands at her sides, lifting herself slightly, and you watch as her gaze veers toward the remains of the boy from 8, who was dead before he hit the ground.

“Don’t look. Don’t look,” you mutter to yourself, hand gripping the back of your seat. Any of the mentors have yet to sit down.

Five platforms away, Colt is mere feet from the cornucopia, and you narrow your eyes, attempting to spot exactly what he’s going for. On one of the rocks close to the mouth, there is a machete propped atop a bundle of rope. Smart boy, you think. If he can reach it in time, the other half of your mind taunts distantly.

Back at her platform, Bee is still struggling to stand, knees visibly shaking even through the distant footage. Several yards away, the first of the tributes have managed to make it to the river. Almost simultaneously the boy from 2 reaches the cornucopia, turning, knife in hand, out towards the approaching competition. In a flash of silver, the weapon has lodged itself in the chest of the girl from 5. A loud signal sounds throughout the room, marking her death.

The girl from 11 takes a careful step into the water, and you wade through thick memories in an attempt to pull forward her name. Olive, your brain supplies. You wait, breathing seemingly suspended as she plunges deeper into the expanse, and feel beside you as Teff tenses. She is older, you note. Probably about eighteen. Her last year in the reaping. She nods to the boy on the bank, her District partner, and he takes a hesitant step forward. Then, so fast you think you may have imagined it, she disappears, yanked below the surface. Teff steps forward, hand reaching subtly from his side as though he intends to save her. There is thrashing at the surface, and over by the cornucopia, another tribute falls, the boy from 3. Olive’s head reappears, and she is screaming, a swirling mass of scales encircling her throat. Arms dart out, grasping and pulling at whatever is urging her downward. She disappears again, and this time, she does not resurface. The alarm rings out, and Teff stumbles back, sinking into his chair. You want to go to him. You cannot. Colt has reached the cornucopia.

He is off as soon as the rope and machete are in his grasp, and you note that the girl from 1 has armed herself with a crossbow. Not good. She loads it with ease, and a single bolt whistles through the air, piercing the stomach of the boy from 12. His District partner, who had been making her way to his platform, likely in an attempt to coax the poor frozen boy to flee with her, lets out a vicious scream, and you shudder at the pain, raw and palpable in her voice. She eyes something on the ground before picking it up and beginning to advance on the responsible party. A sword, you quickly note. Her eyes are alight with rage. With the promise of vengeance and, she looks almost like an angel of death, setting out to reap the soul of her fellow tribute. The girl from 1 stumbles back. In shock or fear, you are uncertain, but you can see the pace of her breathing increase as she fumbles to load another bolt. It clicks into place and she raises the crossbow, sending it whizzing straight past her target. Celica, you note from the screen plastered with the District 12 girl’s face. She continues her advance, slowing now as she grows closer. The girl from 1 loads another bolt, and this one hits, piercing through Celica’s shoulder. She growls, and it is tinged with a muffled sound of pain, but does not stop. Another shot sounds off, this one entering her stomach, and her advance, though slow, continues until she is only inches away from the girl from 1, her head dipped to load the weapon a final time. She never does. The sword enters her stomach and she looks up, something mirroring surprise painting her features. Both girls sink to their knees together, and it is odd the way they collapse forward, almost appearing as though they are intertwined in an embrace. The alarm sounds twice, a piercing buzz amid the chaos, and Lux lets out a sob.

Bee is on her feet now, head whipping around in wide arcs. She is looking for Colt. He moves in her direction with a sort of urgency in his step, ducking his head and just missing the blade of another knife sent spiraling across the arena by the boy from 2. Instead, it plants itself in the neck of the boy from 4, who collapses to the ground, blood leaking from his open mouth. Trawl lets out a string of words you don’t quite understand before turning away for just a moment, eyes brimming with grief. You are so distracted you almost forget to note the girl from 2, slowly approaching Bee from her right side. The small girl does not seem to see, still slowly approaching the river, eyeing the boy from 11 as though assessing the threat. Where the fuck is Colt? You note Mags, Trawl’s girl from 4 nearby, eyes lingering on the still coughing form of her District partner from the water’s edge. She notes the option to escape but forgoes it, turning back towards the boy to kneel down beside him.

“What is she doing?” Trawl questions, face white with fear.

“She’s making sure he doesn’t die alone,” Treech responds, voice flat with detachment, but his eyes tell a different story.

The girl from two is almost on Bee now, grasp firm around the bar mace in her hand, and like a shining light in the dark, there he is. Colt. Leaping in front of Bee and swinging his machete around in a wide, arcing motion. The message is clear. Get back. Her eyes narrow, but she seems to think better of attacking the pair, turning her gaze back toward her District partner. The alarm sounds. The boy from 4 is dead, and Mags reaches forward to brush his eyes closed before turning to survey her surroundings. You watch her eyes land on the boy from 11, and you feel a thick bile begin to creep up your throat, unsure if you can watch her kill him. At only 12, he is the youngest tribute in this year’s Games.

Across the arena, you watch as both the tributes from 7 and 6 assess the river, clearly considering the safest means of crossing. Beside you, Treech is completely still. You watch as the boy from 6 begins to back away, preparing to take the leap, before sprinting forward and pushing off the ground. He clears it, though not by much, and you fight the urge to gasp at his actions. The girl from 7 approaches next, soaring across, followed by the girl from 6.

A field away, Colt seems to realize that Bee will never make the jump alone. He dips, whispering something to her before staying bent over to allow her to climb onto his back. No. They’ll be too heavy. There’s no way they’ll make it.

He backs up. Mags is a foot away from the boy from 11, and he whips around to face her, eyes wide with fear. She lifts up a hand. To push him– No. He flinches away, but she does not continue her approach, only offering her open palm. He eyes it suspiciously, then looks over her shoulder, seeming to note the four approaching tributes from 1, 2, and 3. He takes her hand.

Mags pulls the pair back and, almost in unison with Bee and Colt, they start toward the river. Bee’s eyes are screwed shut, hands digging into the fabric of Colt’s shirt. Similarly, the boy from 11 looks petrified. All four reach the edge of the grass and jump, and when they collapse on the other side, it is nearly in a pile, but they all make it over. You breathe a sigh of relief, attention shifting back to the boy from 7 who takes the leap and seems to clear the bound until his heel slips, footing on the bank failing, and he tumbles into the water. His District partner darts forward, instinct probably, but it is no use; the river seems to swallow him whole, and unlike Olive, he sinks like a stone.

Treech’s face remains cold and unfeeling, but his fist clenches and unclenches by his side, and in a single, barely noticeable movement, he flexes his jaw, huffing out a long breath.

You are not sure when, but the male tributes from 5 and 9 have died, their screens overlayed with the Capitol’s domineering emblem. The girl from 8 is gone too, putting the death toll at twelve, only seven minutes in. Half the tributes gone in one day. You sigh, sinking into the chair beside you, watching as Colt and Bee make for the woods. Still alive. Not safe, but still alive.

After several hours of seeming inactivity, the Academy students begin to lose interest. Several stand to leave following the bloodbath, and most follow in the remaining hours of the day. This year’s pack quickly set up camp in the cornucopia, likely gleaning security from the surrounding waters while the remaining tributes spread themselves in the woods, most using the remaining daylight to search for food and a safe water source.

You give Teff a quick squeeze on his shoulder as you pass behind him to pour your third cup of coffee, and he pauses his conversation with Trawl momentarily to give you a solemn nod. The District 4 mentor does the same, face lacking its typical mischievous smirk. They both look exhausted already, grief topping most shoulders like a wet blanket, heavy and inescapable.

You snag a mug for Treech as well before reconsidering, having remembered his shaking hands from the morning and reaching for a water bottle instead.

On your way back to your seat, you nearly collide head-on with Lux, who scoffs, sending a pointed glare in your direction, and you almost ignore it. Almost.

“I’m sorry. About your tribute.” She has only just whisked past you when you speak, and for a moment, she freezes in place before spinning slowly to face you, eyes still cold.

“I don’t need your apology.”

“I’m not trying to–” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t.” And this time, her eyes soften as though she is trying to say something else. You aren’t sure you understand, and suddenly, Lux steps forward, painting her face with the meanest look she can muster before whispering in your ear.

“If you apologize for every lost tribute, you are going to spend the rest of your life swimming in guilt. Don’t start now. Not when we both know this isn’t your fault.”

When she steps back, she gives you a shove. Not hard, but enough to jostle the coffee in your cup and it spills over slightly, dripping onto your sleeve. When she walks away, several sets of eyes are trained on you, but you fix your gaze ahead, feigning frustration and moving to approach Treech.

“What happened there?” He asks, lifting a single brow in question.

“Nothing. Just Lux being Lux,” you say, taking your seat beside him. And really, it’s not untrue, but no one needs to know the rest.

“If you say so,” he mumbles, just as the camera view switches to his remaining tribute, Hazel, who has secured herself a spot tucked away in the trees for the night.

“Brought you a water,” you say, extending the bottle in his direction. He reaches to take it from you absently, accidentally brushing his fingers against your own. His eyes flit in your direction at the contact, but he doesn’t say a word, only uncapping it to take a sip.

You watch him closely, the bags beneath his eyes far worse than two nights ago. Far worse than when you had– Not the time. You shake the thought from your head, and for a while, it does not plague you. But it is still there, lurking beneath the surface. Had he had another nightmare? Trouble sleeping in his room all alone? Had he slept at all? It was a miracle you had made it through the night without anyone beside you. You recall the couch in your tributes’ suite. The silence of the room. No muffled snores from Treech or movement from Fawn. No distant babble from Lennox’s bed, who could hold a whole conversation in his sleep if pressed. Just the ticking of the clock hung on the sterile hotel wall. Overpowering. Constant. A reminder that time will pass and you will remain here in this cycle.

From his place beside the screen, Lucky Flickerman interrupts your thoughts.

“So, how about that river?”

The next day passes without much activity, and you find yourself beginning to doze off on the third day when the screen suddenly switches to Colt and Bee, monitoring an avid discussion between the pair.

“I don’t like it,” Colt states, crossing his arms and pinning her with a hard look.

“Just for a little while. Come on, we’ll cover more ground that way,” Bee pleads. “We have to find water.” Colt only continues to stare her down, uncertainty plastered all over his face, and you find yourself sitting up, mentally pleading with him to say no.

“Come on, you idiot, it’s not worth it,” you mutter, causing Teff to look over in your direction.

“Fine. But we meet back here in one hour. And if anything happens, you start screaming.” No.

“That seems inadvisable,” Bee snarks and you almost forget your frustration, so caught off guard by her wit.

“I don’t care. So help me, God, if you die out there, I will bring you back so I can kill you again myself.” Colt threatens, but it is all empty, affection seeping into the edges of his tone. Your heart feels as though it is folding in on itself, and you recall Bee’s words from the night of her interview. We both know he has a better chance and when I’m gone, you can’t just leave him to die. Please, promise me. When. The word rings out in your head, pounding against the inside of your skull. When.

The two part from one another with nothing more than a shared nod, and you find yourself standing from your seat, wringing your hands.

Twenty minutes pass, and your heart rate is through the roof. The camera sticks with Bee until it doesn’t. Until it is just behind the girl from 9, peeking out over the shrubs. Watching your tribute. Something in her hand glints. A knife.

“Fuck–” You feel the gazes of the other mentors hot on your neck, but you do not care. All you care about is the girl on the screen, eyes fixed on the bush beside her, inspecting its berries. The girl from 9 begins to stand, having inched close enough to safely lunge for Bee. And then she does. And all you want to do is look away, but you can’t, eyes glued to the screen and wide with fear. The young girl begins to scream, thrashing in her attacker’s grip. Your eyes brim with tears, hot and angry. You do not move, completely powerless.

Suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, a trident thrusts itself through the girl from 9’s torso. She lets out a yelp before sinking down on top of Bee, unmoving. Distantly, you hear the alarm sound, but it is not over yet. Colt carries a machete, and as far as you know, none of the tributes had left the cornucopia with a trident, which means– The girl from 2 steps into frame, fixing Bee with the same look she had only two days ago, and you want to cringe away from the scene. With a single move, she kicks the body from on top of the young girl, leaving her to scoot away, hands pressing into the dirt. Behind her, you note the presence of her District partner, several throwing knives tucked away in his belt. Still, he stands cool and unmoving, simply observing the scene before him. The girl points her trident at Bee, who kicks out at her feet, attempting to sabotage her balance. It does not work, and she continues her slow advance until Bee is pinned back to a tree. She raises the weapon, and there is a sharp intake of breath from behind her. The alarm sounds. Her District partner hits the ground with a thud, revealing a visibly displeased Colt.

“What did I tell you about dying?” Relief floods your lungs in one swift motion, and you want to sink to your knees and give thanks to whatever higher power has just allowed Colt to find Bee, but the moment is shortlived as the girl from 2 darts forward, thrusting her trident in Colt’s direction. He catches it before the blow can land, his machete lodging itself between two of the prongs, but she pulls back, swinging again with a speed he can’t match, this time piercing through the muscle in his shoulder.

“No!” And you aren’t sure if it’s you screaming or Bee, but suddenly, she’s on her feet, launching herself onto the other girl’s back and wrapping both arms around her neck. The girl from 2 stumbles before steeling her gaze and slamming herself back into a tree, causing Bee to cry out in pain and release her hold. She hits the ground with a thud only to shrink as the larger girl pivots, fixing her with a glare.

“Bee!” Colt calls out, moving in her direction, and it is almost as though she is the only other person in the world. You think of Colt’s sister, only a year older than Bee, and you recognize that look. It is the same one you give Fawn. It is deadly.

Bee sees it coming first, the way the girl from 2 whips around, drawing the trident back. Her hands surge forward as though it can be prevented. As though her weak grip might be enough. It is not. And she is looking at Colt, and he is looking at her, saying something indecipherable before his shaking hand reaches down to graze the three prongs impaled in his stomach.

The girl from two moves to pull it out. To leave him bleeding and twitching on the forest floor, but he grips the handle, keeping it steady, before with one final ragged breath, bringing his machete in a wide, arcing slash across her face.

She screams, gripping the wound that cuts straight through her eye, and you note that it must be surface level, though you would not be shocked if the attack left her blinded. Still, no amount of screaming can drown out what happens next.

Colt hits his knees, and the whole forest seems to shake with the impact. You want nothing more than to reach out and touch him. To wipe the sweat from his brow and promise him it will be alright. You think of the sister he will never see again. Of the children, she will have someday who will hear his name spoken in tales, a whispered fable at the dinner table. You remember his father, who had worked so closely alongside yours; Colt’s face the echo and legacy of all his achievements. Of days spent in the slaughterhouse when he was too small to pull his own weight, and you would slip some extra meat into his scale so that he might meet

the required amount. Of the story, he never finished telling you on your final day. Something about Old Man Higgins from down the street being so blind he wore his shoes to work on the wrong feet. You long to hear it again. To hear the sound of his laugh, lighter then, fill the space between you. You would listen to the ending a thousand times if it meant you could hear it just once.

No one holds his hand as the life ebbs from his body, but he does not look afraid. He keeps his eyes on Bee, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he shudders one final breath. The alarm sounds. The girl from 2 has pulled the machete from Colt’s limp hand, though with her vision gone, she stumbles forward almost aimlessly, swiping in all directions. Bee lets out a muffled sob, and the girl’s head whips in her direction. You are going to lose them both at once. All that to lose both of them on the same day. Bee doesn’t move, choking on her own tears, her eyes fixed on Colt’s unmoving form, and it is like watching your worst nightmare play out in slow motion. Bee lets out a cry; the girl stumbles forward. Bee takes a ragged breath; the girl lifts the machete. Bee shifts, eyes glancing upwards, fixed on her demise– A hand reaches out from the shrubs to her left, pulling her in, and in an instant, she is gone.

#treech #treech fanfiction #treech thg #treech x reader #treech tbosas #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas #thg #the hunger games #hunger games #district 7 #x reader #no evil angel but love #neabl

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cyanide-sodapop · 1 year

Text

let’s start a ✨chain✨

very similar to the one where you spell out your name/url in songs but instead you spell it with ✨song artists✨ (bands, singers, etc)

ILL START (obvs)

P - Panic! At The Disco

A - Adele

T - The Weeknd

H - Halsey

E - Evanescence

T - TWICE

I - Imagine Dragons

C - Calpurnia

A - Amy Winehouse

T - Taylor Swift

T - The Band Perry

H - Harry Styles

E - Ed Sheeran

D - Dua Lipa

I - Ice Cube

S - Shawn Mendes

C - Coldplay

O - Olivia Rodrigo

@waitingforthesunrise @malteevars-kee-devi @pheonix-thefirebird @dream-of-potter @sleep-can-wait @a-portal-to-nowhere @myeyesandheartadjust @lalallorona and anyone else who wants to join in :)

#this took a very long time

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stilesgrace159 · 2 months

Text

Reddie Roleplay Ideas

These are my RP ideas for Reddie. Please feel free to ask for more info. These are just general ideas. If you’re really interested in a concept, I’ll go into more detail. If you want to add onto a concept or tweak it a bit, feel free to let me know. I prefer to play them in their 20s or at least 18 for teenage stuff. And obviously in their early 40s for any chapter 2 related stuff. Mostly because of smut reasons. I also frequently like to do crossover with other fandoms, so feel free to ask about that as well. My Discord is Olliegee21.

Medieval Royalty AU

This can just be normal, or incorporate Vampires and Werewolves

Maybe a Knight and a Prince

Rival Kingdom/Romeo and Juliet AU

Arranged Marriage/Enemies to Lovers AU

Pirate!Richie x Siren!Eddie - Richie is a pirate on a ship and Eddie is just a little siren who tries to crash ships and eat pirates. A sweet little enemies to lovers AU.

Prince!Eddie x Pirate!Richie - Richie kidnaps a prince for ransom, but Eddie starts falling in love with the freedom of the open seas… as well as his captain.

Vampire & Werewolf AUs

Werewolf!Richie AU - The werewolf turns Richie

1800s British Vampire Period Drama (ft Vampire Eddie or Richie)

80’s Teen Wolf Movie AU - More Werewolf Richie

Vampire!Eddie x Werewolf!Richie - Monster AU/Enemies to Lovers? (Or vice versa) Could be in the 80s, could be modern, could be in any other time period.

A vampire slayer AU - could be modern, could be 80s, could be mixed with the period drama au. Who knows?

The Medieval AUs mentioned before

Other AUs

Reddie/Byler AU - Mike and Richie are cousins (or twins) and Will and Mike go on a trip to Derry to visit. Just 4 boys getting jealous and talking about their feelings.

Ghosts TV Series AU - Richie has had so many brushes with death, he can see ghosts, so he is able to see ghost Eddie.

Neibolt AU - very violent and gory au. Basically, they're just evil and in love. Kind of rough with each other, but it's what they like. They care about each other deep down. They’d murder for each other. They probably have. Maggots and goo.

Beetlejuice AU - In which Eddie is Lydia and Richie is Beetlejuice

Eddie Lives AU - Eddie makes it out. Either we can do this where it’s angsty and fluffy. Or, it can always be a slow turning zombie kind of thing too.

Band AU - Richie in a band. Like Finn in Calpurnia or The Aubreys.

Just a cute 80s high school au.

Norman Bates AU - Eddie is like Norman. I mean, it works. He has mommy issues.

Christine AU - Richie buys a fancy new car to work on but the car has a dark secret. Eddie is worried about how attached his best friend is getting to the car.

Clown AU - Crazy little psycho clown boys. Idk. I saw fanart and loved it.

Losers 7 Deadly Sins - In which the losers are the 7 deadly sins.

Superhero AU - Richie is an evil supervillain and Eddie is an adorable but mouthy superhero. Lots of unresolved sexy tension.

Lisa Frankenstein AU - Eddie has mommy issues and wants to get away but accidentally brings the cute boy from the cemetery back from the dead and there's lots of killing.

Angel Eddie x Demon Richie - cute antics, very good omens

Addams Family AU - It's like the Addams Family Values movie. Eddie is like Wednesday and Richie is like Joel and they meet at summer camp.

Greaser Richie x Prep Eddie - it's the 50s. Ignore time period homophobia for the most part. Think or Grease or The Outsiders. Also… maybe even a touch of Christine?

Another Villain au - basically, my brain likes evil people. Evil scientist Richie, evil sidekick with powers Eddie. Lots of fighting lots of sex.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1KKxPAQkg4Uv0qSY8RLX3sABHWND4dp_Nll1hzEcs1Nw/edit?usp=drivesdk

#roleplay #it #rp #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #byler #discord #aus

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alexs-pookie-1 · 4 months

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All About Me!

Name: Aurora

Favorite Musicals: Hamilton, Wicked, Heathers, The Great Gatsby<3

Favorite Movie: Mean Girls (2004)

Favorite Show: Stranger Things (2016-2025)

Favorite Characters: Eliza Schuyler, John Laurens, Marquis De Lafayette, Veronica Sawyer, Karen Smith<3

Favorite Singers: Taylor Swift, Melanie Martinez, Sabrina Carpenter, Gracie Abrams<3

Favorite Bands: My Chemical Romance, TV Girl<, Calpurnia<3

Favorite Song: Yorktown<3

#all about me

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robynrocksforbrains · 1 year

Note

What genre’s of music do you think Mike likes? And what does he hate?

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR THIS QUESTION

I have put a lot of thought into Mike Wheeler's music taste (more so what his modern music taste would be but I do also have thoughts on his time accurate music taste)

I know that his official playlist tells us he really likes synth-pop (so real of him) but I think that Mike would actually have a pretty eclectic music taste. He definitely has genres that he likes more than others but he's not a music snob. If he likes a song he likes a song and it doesn't have to be from a specific genre for him to like it.

That being said, here are what I personally believe to be Mike's top five genres ranked:

Synth-pop

Indie Rock

Grunge

Folk

Quiet Storm

I actually had never heard of quiet storm until I was doing research on popular 80s genres. I listened to it and immediately knew that Mike Wheeler would EAT THIS UP.

I think he would dislike most country but he would see the appeal of some country subgenres. And he would fucking despise EDM. He would hate it so much. He would find it so overwhelming.

I think his opinion on music would rely heavily on lyrical content. Since we know he's a writer I think that is something that is very important to him. He can like a songs music, but if he feels like the lyrical content is lacking he likely wouldn't revisit it often. He's definitely not a music snob, but maybe he's a bit of a lyric snob.

I also wanna take this opportunity to mention that he would LOOOOOOOOVE Tapestry (album) by Carole King. And I have a headcanon that he listened to it religiously after the Byers left. He would cry to So Far Away and Home Again while thinking about Will. It's actually not even a headcanon, it actually happened he literally told me.

Some modern artists I think he would like:

Dayglow

girlhouse

Haley Blais

Leith Ross

Fall Out Boy

Sarah and the Sundays

Greta Van Fleet

Arlie

Hozier

Keaton Henson (Dear is peak Mike Wheeler rotting in his basement)

Adam Melchor

I have to stop or else I'm gonna get carried away

Last thing I have to say: I'm not just saying this because Finn is involved, Mike would love Calpurnia and The Aubreys. I'm being 100% serious and I would be saying this even if Finn had no involvement in either band.

Now, I shall get to work on my time accurate playlist of music Mike would listen to.

#mike wheeler #mike wheeler music #byler #stranger things

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aliypop · 8 months

Text

The Queen and I

Word Count: 1,463

Writers Note: A request made by @your-nanas-house

Warning: None

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Summary: It's 1957 and Elvis has been invited to Valmos Mansion to meet Cecelia's mother personally for dinner, but what he doesn't know is he's about to meet the Queen of the castle, Calpurnia Cecelia's grandmother.

Taglist

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@sissylittlefeather

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

Valmos Mansion Nashville Tennessee 1957

"So, you and this Elvis friend of yours..." Denise said as she was chopping up vegetables for dinner. Cecelia was seasoning the steaks, "Hmm? Oh yes, he's a great guy." Cecelia smiled. Her mind was wandering to the moment that he would arrive at the front door of this prominent mansion that she called home, "I see. Clearly, he's not ashamed to be around you." Denise commented as Cecelia playfully rolled her eyes. Cecelia had shaken her head, sure her mother meant well, but then again. Her mother was having a rumored fling with her childhood crush, Frank Sinatra, "Of course not. He's always hanging around Beale Street," Cecelia giggled. She was too, but her mother couldn't know that "I promise you, you're gonna love him. He gets shy sometimes and stutters, but he means well." Cecelia blushed hard as she then heard the steps creak. Coming downstairs was her grandmother Calpurnia, born in 1892, a cabaret star and still an entertainment knockout,

"Talkin about that pelvis boy again?" Calpurnia asked as Cecelia nodded,

"When isn't she. It's Elvis did this and Elvis that and-"

DING DONG

"ELVIS IS AT THE DOOR. I'M NOT READY!" Cecelia shouted, running upstairs, as her grandmother laughed, "If I didn't know any, better. I'd think they were dating." She mumbled as she walked towards the door. Elvis had a nice suit jacket and black slacks. His loafers and a bouquet of red roses in his hand. After all, he wanted to make a strong impression on her mother. It wasn't because she was a big name in the industry. She was the mother of his girlfriend, who was slowly secretly moving into Graceland. When the door opened, he was expecting Denise. Instead, it was,

"Well, aren'tcha you cuter in person. Come on in." Her northern accent was strong.

"Thank you, Ma'am." Elvis smiled as Calpurnia looked at him. She could see why her granddaughter was obsessed with him. Those pretty long eyelashes, his eyes, and his dimples, she was smitten,

"Please call me Mrs. Valmos," Calpurnia winked,

"Wait, this is..."

"My mansion." She winked, "Long ago, I was Betty Va Va." Walking by a portrait of herself from the 1920s, Elvis admired it as he saw the similarities between her and Cecelia, "Of course, when your mothers a devoted preacher wife, you get rid of the vava and keep Betty," on the wall were platinum records and gold ones, he'd have thought that Cecelia's grandmother was the queen of the big bands Betty Valmos, but he nodded and reveled in her greatness,

"Going on about your glory days, Mother," Denise asked as she then saw Elvis. He was still holding tight to the roses, and he nearly froze. He was standing in front of his mother's favorite jazz artist, Denise Valmos,

"Hello, young man..."

"S-S-Sorry, I'm uh Elvis Presley, Ma'am." God, where was Cecelia. He was trembling in his loafers right now,

"Ma'am makes me feel old, call me Ms. Valmos." Denise glanced at him. He was cute, tall, dark, and handsome. And he reminded her of Sinatra when she and him were both young. She could see why Cecelia was a fanatic,

"I-I got these for you. Cecelia said red was your favorite color."

"They're lovely, I'll put them in a vase and send for Cecelia." Her Philadelphian accent was strong, but it was classy,

"Of course, Ms. Valmos," He nodded, sitting in the living room, looking at the chandelier. There were pictures on the fireplace mantel of Cecelia, her mother, and her father, then of just her mother and her. He felt sorrowful for her. But he knew life was different for everyone.

"Cecelia, what'stakin' you long!" Denise knocked at the door. As Calpurnia chuckled. "She's getting pretty for that boy."

"Or kissing that damn poster..." Denise sighed. Cecelia was on her tippytoes as she left a deep red print on her Elvis poster. When she finished, she flattened out her red gingham dress, wiggled her petticoat, and walked downstairs.

"Don't you look like a cute picnic tablecloth?" Calpurnia chuckled,

"Glammy..." Cecelia glanced at her,

"What push comes to shove. It's one way to get him on top of you. I mean, hey, men like food," She shrugged as Denise was red in the face.

"Must you be vulgar!"

"Must you keep tryin to shelter your 22-year-old child?" Calpurnia walked past her. Cecelia walked down the steps, she saw Elvis leaning on the couch, comfortable with his legs open,

"Careful, you'll pinch a nerve," Calpurnia mumbled,

"Mr. Presley..." Denise said as he stood up, helping her down the stairs, then Calpurnia and then his precious Cecelia, who he couldn't help but stare at, sneaking a kiss on her wrist as she giggled,

"You look beautiful..."

"Thank your ho- Mr. Presley," She blushed, the pair walking to the kitchen. There was an array of food on the table, honey biscuits, steak, macaroni and cheese, mixed vegetables, greens, and more, Elvis felt like he was in heaven,

"So blue eyes..." Calpurnia said,

"ma'am?"

"How's a boy like you not married. I mean, if I were your age, I'd-"

"Mother!" Denise nudged her as Calpurnia laughed. Elvis laughed at the flattery, "I'm just saying, Denise, have you seen his hips move." Calpurnia said between eating, "There's a lot more they can do..." Cecelia mumbled as Elvis was a beating bright red,

"I-I'm glad someone enjoys my dancin." He was flustered, but he loved it,

"Forgive her, she's 65." Denise laughed,

"Not a problem at all," He laughed as Cecelia drank her lemonade. Elvis held her hand as Calpurnia noticed. She knew something was up.

"So, I heard you bought a mansion in Memphis?" Denise said, cutting her steak as Cecelia sighed, "I assume you plan to have parties and whatnot in it."

"Oh no, Ms. Valmos, Nothin like that. My family mostly lives with me,includin my parents." He smiled as she nodded, "There's a special girl in mind I've got movin in me with me, but parties, not too many." Elvis flinched when he felt Cecelia kick his thigh under the table,

"So you're traditional?" Calpurnia asked,

"Yes, Ma'am." He smiled,

"God-fearing too, I suppose?"

"He's always reading his bible, and if he's not, then he's quoting scripture," Cecelia added, their eyes meeting as Denise and Calpurnia looked at each other, some friends they must've been.

"Good, Good, pastors run in our family, and singers," Denise said

"Really?" Elvis was happy to hear that.

"Yes, which makes me wonder. You probably are a firm believer in no sex before marriage." Calpurnia said, grabbing another biscuit, Elvis got quiet, and Cecelia laughed,

"I mean, my granddaughter has been raised to be untouched until then, and she will remain untouched, correct,"

Cecelia was sweating bullets as Elvis was laughing at her now.

"This dinner is amazing, don't you think so Elvis."

"Y-Yeah, love the plates, delicious." He smiled,

"You two are still virgins, aren't you..." Calpurnia asked as even Denise was intrigued, "Glammy, this is dinner... it's rude and unjust to ask such a thing." Her voice went up an octave,

"You know these greens and this here steak is amazin." Elvis smiled, "Y'all should try the uh-uh honey rolls, so good you could make love to 'em- WHich I've never done!" Elvis was so embarrassed he didn't know what he was saying. All Cecelia wanted to do was pass away at the very moment. Denise couldn't help but laugh at his response as Cecelia was still sweating,

"You know Elvis and I are workin in a movie together soon!" she blurted out as the room fell silent. For once, it felt great,

As the night progressed from its awkward start, Elvis learned that Cecelia was surrounded by love, a slightly strict mother and manager, but love,

"I'm so sorry about tonight. I-I didn't think she'd ask something like that or the many weird questions or-" Elvis pulled her close as he gave her a tender, passionate kiss. Cecelia kissed back with the same passion, her fingers in his hair, and her eyes closed. She didn't want to watch him leave out the driveway, but she knew she'd see him later on tonight in her room, next to his.

"Honey, your family is lovely, and one day I'll marry into it." He kissed her again, not noticing the door opening,

"Uh-huh... I knew it.."

"Glammy!? How much did you hear?"

"Everything," Calpurnia said, dressed in her night gown, "So, I assume I'll be covering for you tonight." Elvis and Cecelia blushed,

"Glammy, you mean you-"

"Mhmm, you two gone on home, I'll handle the rest." She winked, watching her granddaughter leave out with Elvis.

"Mother where's Cece?"

"She went to rehearse with Elvis..."

#oc #fanfiction #new stuff #new #romance #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis x poc oc #50s elvis #cecelia valmos #elvis presley fanfiction

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s1llycleric · 8 months

Note

who’s ur top 10 bands/artists?

ooouuhhh !!! THIS IS SUCH A GOOD QUESTION MICRO OMGGG

buttttt i thinkkkk

top artists:

Mitski

2. The Cure

3. The Smiths

4. TV Girl

5.Nirvana

6. Alex G

7.The Aubreys

8.Calpurnia

9. conan gray

10. Car seat head rest

bonus : WEEZER

:3 eeehh this was kind of hard- also this is just in order of how my memory went :P

#idk man #asks #send asks #music #weezer #car seat headrest #conan gray #calpurnia #the aubreys #alex g #nirvana #tv girl #mitski #the smiths #the cure

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ekza-art · 1 year

Text

Thought in the wake of the Nirvana's popularity, the style in which Calpurnia sang would be quite appropriate. And then in college Mike could get his band together and we'd hear him sing Say It Ain't So on campus.

Will'll like it

I don't know, I just thought

#mike wheeler #byler #will byers

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zannolin · 5 months

Note

I knew he was in Calpurnia cuz I actually really enjoy Cell but damn white boy, two bands? Next he’ll start an improv troupe 😒

NOT THE IMPROV TROUPE philip labes get behind me

anyway i was just informed of calpurnia's existence about 10 min ago which i also did not know about but yeah jumpscare. and now i'm listening to the aubreys this is just like last year with asher angel

#answered asks #meowtheextremechickenhorse #sounds like so vampire weekend to me i dont know why

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cloudycleric · 9 months

Note

hiiii I'm here again with another ask (I was in the bylerween ask vid ik that was like a long time ago but yeah, also when i noticed my ask was in a vid I was shocked lol)

ANYWAY

I'm sure people have asked u this before but what are some of ur fav artists/bands????

also if my pfp didn't give it anyway one of my favs is conan gray<3

so my next question is do u know/like conan gray???

if u don't it's ok lol just wondering<3 (and yes I can relate all of his songs to byler in some way)

thank u!!! have a good and bylerly day!!!<3

OMG i remember you pookie also here are some bands & artists i love with all my heart

the smiths sigh sorry but theyre good

the cure

siouxsie sioux & the banshees

jukebox the ghost

tally hall

twenty one pilots

tyler, the creator

djo haha stranger things

on that note calpurnia & the aubreys unironically go hard

rage against the machine

strawberry switchblade

childish gambino (i love donald glover <3)

foo fights

QUEEN

my chemical romance but im not a POSER bc andi showed me their music when they were babysitting me 10+ years ago

anyway, i have heard of conan gray & i've only really listened to heather & astronomy but i like both of those songs & i try to listen to albums i've never heard before a lot so he will be added to the list!!!

#asks

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watchmenanon · 2 years

Text

Let's Hear It for the Boy: Finn Wolfhard

from STATUS Magazine August 2017 feat. Finn Wolfhard and Noah Schnapp

by STATUS Magazine

While some kids hide underneath their blankets once they discover the monsters underneath their beds, Finn Wolfhard didn't need a lot of growing up before he decided to face them himself. Sure, the underground creatures he takes on are a bit fictional, but the young actor is braving the real world with promise and precision.

It’s not that hard to be smitten with Finn Wolfhard.

Just like the characters that he portrays, he’s a charming young boy who views the world with eyes of wonder and excitement. At 14 years old, he’s already been in two huge thriller franchises that most kids his age wouldn’t even dare to watch. He first hit our frequencies last year starring in Stranger Things as the determined leader of the pack, Mike Wheeler. The series might’ve catapulted his career, but his love for the craft has been keeping him grounded. “The only thing that’s different now is that I get stopped on the street for pictures and have a lot followers on social media, but that never changed my personality or anything. I’m just happy to be an actor in general,” he adds. Making his way from Hawkins, Indiana to Derry, Maine, he’s also set to star in the upcoming movie adaptation of Stephen King’s horror classic It as the buck-toothed goon Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier. While both involve a plot where children mysteriously go missing, we’ve found ourselves a star in Finn Wolfhard. He’s definitely got the “It” factor, and there’s nothing strange about that.

Despite being a middle-schooler, Finn is wasting no time kidding around. Although it seems like he’s shaping up to be sci-fi’s It-boy, he’s been gradually showing different sides of himself. When he’s not busy slaying strange creatures and dancing clowns, Finn can be seen shredding his bass and guitar, and he’s got an impeccable taste to match the skill he’s been refining. His covers of Mac DeMarco and Nirvana have been circulating across the Internet, in addition to the buzz he’s been creating with his band Calpurnia–and it doesn’t stop there. He recently hosted and performed at Sweet Relief’s benefit concert called Strange ‘80s alongside Sarah Silverman, “Weird Al” Yankovic, Tenacious D, and Slipknot’s Corey Taylor. And now, he’s stepping behind the camera with his latest project, co-directing a crowdfunded music video for Spendtime Palace’s Western rock tune “Sonara” with former Viner Josh Ovalle. With It premiering this September and the second season of Stranger Things streaming this October on top of his personal ventures, Finn might’ve seemingly bitten off more than he can chew, but never underestimate a small kid with a big appetite.

: You recently dabbled into the world of filmmaking, co-directing a Westernthemed music video for Spendtime Palace with Josh Ovalle. Can you tell us some of the directors that inspire your vision as a director?

A: I think my favorite directors would be Spike Jonze and Edgar Wright. I like Spike Jonze because he’s so versatile in a way that he can make skateboarding videos but also win an Oscar for Best Screenplay. That really gives me faith that I can be an actor and still be a director. And Edgar Wright’s incredible because he just knows how to create something visually. He has perfect vision. Oh, also Sofia Coppola! That’s another director that I admire a lot.

Q: We’ve also been seeing a lot of your band Calpurnia online. Can we expect any music release from you guys soon?

A: Yeah, it all depends on my schedule, but I think we’ll be doing an EP that’ll be out in the next couple of months. Hopefully next year, we’ll do some shows. We want to do as many shows as we can ‘cause we love performing so much. We want to do shows in Vancouver and a tour maybe next summer.

Q: Going into your upcoming projects, you’ve been into a lot of scifi and supernatural stuff so far. Was this a conscious choice or a mere coincidence?

A: It’s a weird coincidence for sure. ‘Cause when I auditioned for Stranger Things, I was auditioning for everything. That was just the right thing for me to do at that time. Same thing with It, and I’m glad that they were. It’s just complete coincidence. Acting is my favorite thing to do, so whatever comes to me, I’d do it as long as the script is good.

Q: Both Stranger Things and It are set in the glorious decade of the ‘80s. How were you able to play a character from a time period you have no memory of?

A: The cool thing about playing a character in general is you have to add yourself to it, so I try to put as much of myself into every character that I play as possible. Like in Stranger Things, I read the lines like how I would say them in real life. I think the only thing that really has to do with the ‘80s is that it’s set in a different time. If you know enough about it, it’s easy enough to do.

Q: You got the chance to work with Sean Astin for this season. How was it like working with him?

A: He’s so amazing. He was open to anything. I asked him every question I had about The Goonies and The Lord of the Rings. He just gave me so much knowledge and told me to enjoy being a kid but at the same time, be comfortable with what you’re doing as well as the projects that I’m in.

Q: How different would this season of Stranger Things be from the first one?

A: The second season is just like the first season, but better. It has the same sense of wonder and adventure, but adding more horror and drama aspects to it. I even think it’s funnier than the first. It’s taking everything that the first season did and just improving it.

Q: Moving forward into your career, what kind of projects are you interested in doing next?

A: For acting, I’d love to do a comedy or a drama. I don’t want to do too many sci-fi and horror stuff ‘cause I would just get typecasted. Obviously, I enjoy doing Stranger Things, but the genre in general isn’t always my favorite. And I’d also want to continue directing anything that’s written by me. I don’t want to misquote Matt and Ross [Duffer], but they told me, “If you want to be a director, you have to write your own stuff.” And I really like that ‘cause you have full control of everything.

Q: Being a kid yourself, do you have any tips for other kids who want to follow the same path that you thread on?

A: I think anyone my age who’s into acting should go to open casting call websites like Craigslist and just find whatever they can find. If you want to do acting classes, that’s fine, but acting classes never worked for me. I’ve learned to access my emotions way more as I went along. But it depends. If you want to study it, that’s a different thing. I only advise that you go to school for it if you don’t know anything about acting. But if you already know enough about it, then I think that you should just do your own thing.

issuu

#finn wolfhard #mike wheeler #st articles #byler #< target audience

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