age regression Method Acting (Mature) (Chapter Two)

[Baby Jemma]

Well, came up with a new story on the fly. Welcome to Method Acting, a brand-new AR story. Yes, there's a lot of tags, but I figure it needed them. It's sort-of based on the Me-Too movement, given the subject matter, particularly young female actresses going up against a rich and powerful man. Obviously, all characters here are not based on anyone in real life; just the situation.

As for the content, the tags do not include what the MC actress thinks happened to her fellow actresses: sexual assault; while what he did to the MC is a sexual crime and while there are implied threats, he did not assault the others in terms of forcing himself onto others. This story will not include sex crimes against children or grooming; he's not in it for that. He's a disgusting excuse for a person, don't get me wrong, though; just not...that.

About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it.

But if you're still with me, feel free to read on:

 

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Chapter One: Cynthia's Interview

 

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Cynthia Nachtnebel was seriously pissed off, as she sat in the media room in the El Cid Theater, waiting for the exact time for security to open the door so that the media could come in, her long fingers steepled over the conference table, close to the microphone.

 

Yes, she was a twenty-six-year-old up-and-coming actress, and yes, she knew that such a profession entailed a certain lack of anonymity. Yes, she was used to creeps by now - directors, actors, media, fans, all types - and she knew how to deal with them without trashing her budding career. Yes, she knew of the salacious rumor mill about whom she was dating, where she was dating them, and why she hadn’t sealed the deal.

 

She didn’t care about any of that as much; she almost expected it, being a fairly tall (last time she had gotten measured, she was 5’9”; never ask a lady her weight), athletic (to the point of doing her own stunts) and beautiful (long and curly platinum-blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, and a body that most women would kill for) woman. Wasn’t her fault she hit the genetic lottery, after all, and people could get jealous of that. She knew that from middle school on.

 

But there was absolutely no excuse for what this…motherfucking sleazeball did! What that fucker, A-Bomb or whatever his name was, did was despicable, degrading, and didn’t just cross the line; he leapt well over it.

 

Cynthia had no issues raising hell against him, no matter how filthy rich and obscenely powerful he was - and he was absolutely loaded with both, especially for a member of the paparazzi.

 

Her fellow actresses and actors, the directors of her films, her agent, all of them had advised her against meeting him head on. But someone had to make a stand, right? If it wasn’t her, some other poor girl would have to do it - and Cynthia Nachtnebel was not the type to let someone else get hurt while she stood on the sidelines.

 

The media were outside, waiting for her to start with bated breath: she had made it quite public on social media that she had a big announcement before she would take any questions.

 

Some assumed she was pregnant. Cynthia was far from ace/aro (pan would be a more fitting description), but she was always careful with birth control and the like; she would wait for the kids until later on in her career. Her actress mother, Nikole, with Cynthia being an only child, wanted grandkids. Her mother would have to wait for that.

 

Others thought it was to promote one of her movies. Cynthia never had regrets for any of the movies she played a role in, getting her start at seventeen in a horror film (which she played so well as a method actress - even though her character ended up dying at the end - that directors immediately lined up to get their piece), rising through the ranks and movies for eight (would’ve been nine, if not for…the incident) years, going from romance, to comedy, to action, and everything in between, never being afraid to dive deep into a character study. Even if the movies bombed, people still raved about her acting and how respectful she was to the character and the film.

 

Still more thought it would be a minor thing that she thought was major news, making a mountain out of a molehill. Cynthia had no idea why some would think that of her, even after everything she did in her career, but she supposed there were skeptics for everything.

 

She was always respectful to her fans, making sure to stay long hours for autographs, and respond to all of the social media posts and letters she received personally.

 

She got along famously with the stuntmen and stuntwomen; her German-born father, Hans-Jurgen was one, and it’s what got her interested in doing her own stunts. She got along well with everyone involved in the film industry, from the cameramen, the costume designers, the makeup artists, and everyone, even to the most menial janitors, but the stuntpeople were whom she was closest to from childhood on.

 

She always treated her peers with respect, even with other actresses, always trying to take the peaceful route, and ended up making a lot of lifelong friends with actors, actresses, agents, and many others…including two that she wanted to talk about today.

 

Even the media, for the most part, she was cordial with, even when her anxiety caused her to have panic attacks around the scrums at first. The media was still a little scary for her, but most of them were accepting, she thought.

 

None of those theories were close to the truth of the matter.

 

Cynthia breathed. In, out. In, out. She was never comfortable with the attention; she just wanted to play roles, disappear into them, forget who she was for a moment in time. But she accepted that things were never going to go the way they did again. Not after what he did, and not after what she was going to do.

 

The last nine months, from January on, were hell on earth. The disappearances of fellow actress and close friend Bethany Grassman and her agent, Nancy Leighton in the December before were bad enough…but then…it happened.

 

The photos. The porn sites. The Photoshopping. The words of “slut”, “whore”, “cunt”, and many more uncreative variations wherever she saw her picture. The death and rape threats - including THE BIG ONE from HIM. The loss of respect and the shattering of her safety. The immense anxiety and numerous panic attacks. Checking voluntarily into a private psych facility from early February to late March (even though she never talked to a counselor about what had happened), and the stalking of her there by HIM. Disappearing out of Hollywood to the small town in Germany she was born in, becoming a recluse for four more months, and being forced to cancel her movies for the entirety of the year - something she had never foreseen herself ever doing - in tears, just so she could get away from it all. And worst of all, forcing herself off the computer for those nine months, just so that she didn’t start hysterically sobbing all over again from the horrible speculation, nasty comments, and all of the threats.

 

Cynthia was going to show A-Bomb just a bit of that hell: by exposing his fucking ass for the world to see. And oh boy, did she have a fuckload of evidence to expose him.

 

She’d go to court and everything if she had to. She’d get him locked away for the rest of his sad, miserable life. And even if her friends were…

 

Tears poured from her eyes, and she wiped them away before a steely look came over her face. This was not the time to cry; she had done all the crying she had to do. This was the time where she had to be strong.

 

Cynthia nodded to the security guards to open the door for the media storm, aware of the flashing cameras, aware of the shouts, but she was perfectly, shockingly calm. She knew that she had to do this. Nobody else needed to get hurt by A-Bomb.

 

She tapped the microphone to make sure it was working, holding up her hand for silence before she began after taking a deep, long breath.

 

“I’m aware that all of you have questions, that everyone has questions, and I promise that I will answer all of them in turn,” she began, making sure her slight German accent wasn’t breaking into her voice, “and I know it has been a very long time since I’ve publicly spoken. I’ve been asked not to speak out by directors, by the stuntpeople I know, by my agent, by fellow actors and actresses, by…well, everyone I’ve talked to. They’re afraid of what might happen to me if I do. But if not me, who? And what would it cost them, in turn?

 

“I speak, of course, on the conduct of one man in particular: Adrian Naposki. You may know him as the famous paparazzo ‘A-Bomb’.”

 

Cynthia’s fingers clenched the papers in her hands. “You have known me for a very long time. For the longest time, you have known that I have promoted myself as family oriented, even with my anxiety and panic attacks. I do not pose for nude pictures of my breasts while asleep in my bed. I do not pose for pictures spreadeagled so that my vagina is showing. And I don’t send said pictures to porn sites so that impotent whack jobs can jerk off on them and call me a slut or a whore.

 

“For the longest time, you have seen that I do not partake in drinking or illicit substances; fellow actors, actresses, stuntpeople, directors, everyone who knows me knows that I do not partake in anything of the sort. I have never once tasted alcohol after what I saw it did to my grandfather and learning how he beat my dad when he was drunk. I have never been interested in marijuana, much less heroin and crack-cocaine.

 

“Then where, you ask, did all of those pictures come from? Where did all of those drugs come from? Mr. Naposki, of course. I have video records of Mr. Naposki’s visits to marijuana parlors, liquor stores, even street corners where he made numerous purchases. I had to pull a lot of strings and spend most of my earnings to get the evidence necessary, but I got it. But more importantly, I have my house cameras…where he trespassed at night, took numerous pictures of me naked, and placed the illicit substances in my home.” She placed a large file of the papers on the desk. “You are free to read them at your leisure: because I’ve already sent it to every newspaper, every news website, even the tabloids - and the police. Especially the police.

 

“I also have the digitally recorded kidnapping, rape, and death threat - and the implication that he did the same to Bethany Grassman and Nancy Leighton, two of my closest friends - of Mr. Naposki here.”

 

Cynthia bit her trembling lip, brought out a tape recorder, and pressed play on the microphone, the New Jersey accented words of the paparazzo coming clearly out of the speaker.

 

“Lissen, sweetheart, I’m gonna give yew a one-time offer: yew go public with what I say or do, I will screw with yew an' what little remains of your pride. I will screw with yew so hard that your screaming an' crying will echo in my house, like with Bethy an' Nani. An’ if I ever get bored of yew, well, I might just make yew have an accident an’ have fun with that. Got it, sweetheart? I’ll be seein’ yew. Bye for now, cutiepie! Love your tits an' pussy!”

 

The room was so silent that one of the reporter’s phones dropped on the carpet with a thunderous crash…and nobody said anything of it, the horror in their eyes clear at what was a rich and famous media personality essentially admitting that he had raped and murdered two women - and was apparently more than willing to do it again.

 

Cynthia’s eyes were dripping with tears as she paused the tape recorder. “That day, realizing that Bethany and Nancy were raped and murdered, was the worst day of my life,” she continued, trying to keep her voice from shaking, trying to breathe as she brushed her tears away. “I went to the police. For whatever fucking reason, they said they couldn’t help. My friends, two of the kindest women I knew, were murdered, and they couldn’t help me because this…monster was too rich and powerful for them to deal with. I was terrified of him, especially after I learned that he stalked me and took pictures of me when I was in psych. I left for Germany. I couldn’t handle the constant torment.

 

“It took me too long…but I realized that Mr. Naposki would just hurt someone else if not me. So, I went higher than the police, pulled as many strings as I could. You can talk to CIA Agent Francis Fortier if you need more information; he’ll be more than willing to answer any questions you have.

 

“I will not be cowed. I will not stay silent any longer. Mr. Naposki raped and murdered two of my friends and possibly many others that we don’t know of yet. He threatened to rape and murder me. And if this ends with me disappearing or dying, I’ll be glad to sacrifice my life so that he goes down for good. I will not leave it to another woman to suffer from him in order to for him to be put down like the rabid animal he is.

 

“I have absolutely no problems with the media; you have embraced me even with all of my shortcomings, all of my flaws, all of my moments of weakness, and I love you for it. I have no hatred for the paparazzi as a whole; it is something that comes with being an actress, being well-known, and they have to make a living as well in this business, too. It is just this one monster, Mr. Naposki, that has gone way too far.

 

“And to my fans who have been waiting for my name to be on a movie for almost a year, to the directors I’ve had to turn down offers from, including sequels to movies I’ve made, to my agent who has been in the dark with this, only knowing that I have a problem with Mr. Naposki, to the many people I’ve grown to know and love in the film industry, I am truly sorry that I have nothing to say except for what I’ve just said. This is something I had to get out, so that Mr. Adrian ‘A-Bomb’ Naposki cannot hide, cannot run, and most importantly, never harms anyone ever again.

 

“With that, you may ask any questions you wish.”

 

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Hope y'all enjoyed~

[Baby Jemma]

Well, I've got another chapter for Method Acting (apologies in advance for the shortness of it)! As a note, there's going to be sexist language by the POV character, and yes, he is an evil piece of work. Well, here it is:

 

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Chapter Two: A-Bomb's Secret Weapon

 

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A-Bomb was staring at his fancy flat-screen television in his living room, his messy blond hair in his hateful blue eyes as he watched Cynthia’s speech.

 

“That little bitch,” he growled, crushing an empty soda can in his fat, yet powerful fingers before he grabbed another one.

 

“Cynthia, I just want to say that you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever seen,” a male reporter said.

 

“Fuck yew, yew cuckold manwhore!” A-Bomb screamed at the reporter, even though he obviously couldn’t hear the fat paparazzo slouching in the reclining chair, as he continued, “Have you gotten a protective service yet?”

 

“Yes, they’re all at my house and will follow me on set,” she said calmly, before she gave a soft smile and continued, “But I am a stuntwoman as well as an actress. I will still do my own stunts; nothing’s changing that.”

 

“Fuckin’ cunt is what yew are,” the paparazzo snarled, crushing the second soda can, feeling the soda run down his alabaster hand. “It’s all yew sluts ever are.”

 

Then a crying sound echoed from his basement.

 

“SHUT UP!” he bellowed. “Or I’ll give yew somethin’ to REALLY cry about, yew fuckin’ whores!”

 

More crying.

 

Fucking pussies.

 

He sighed, holding his hands in his head as the crying grew. The police would certainly be here. He did allow himself an evil smirk. Francis Fortier was already here, not that the little bitch could do anything about him.

 

And as for the police that would surely be on his ass after that slut’s stupid speech? Well, he had a secret weapon.

 

“Oh, Tiamat,” he sang in an off-kilter tone.

 

A giant puff cloud of smoke exploded in the room, and the most beautiful woman to ever exist in the world appeared from that smoke. She was completely naked, but almost confident in it, as if she knew there was not a man alive who could better her - and she would’ve been right. Her black hair, dark as a moonless night and glistening with starlight, was immaculately done behind her, with not even a single strand hovering over her deep black pools for eyes. Her skin was the only thing that A-Bomb couldn’t tell, no matter what; it seemed to shift with the patterns of the sky itself, glistening like stars across that nude body of hers.

 

Tiamat the Guileful was a creature of the night: a djinn, one of the worst to be spawned against the laws of nature, drawn only to beings as awful as she was. A-Bomb had no illusions; he was the evilest man to draw breath, was proud of that fact, and even though it wasn’t true that he was interested in sexual things (the rape and murder accusations? Totally wrong; he never raped Bethany or Nancy or anyone in his life, and he hadn’t killed someone in a while either.), there were far crueler things to do to men and women, and he reveled in them.

 

“Well, then, Adolf,” she purred seductively, sashaying her hips as she walked over to him with her utterly gigantic breasts bouncing, saying A-Bomb’s actual first name, a name from a far different time. It gave her power over the man, and it wasn’t the only way she had power over him, as much as he hated to admit it. Even though she would gladly let him have his fun, she would only allow her powers to be used through her as a conduit, not give people powers themselves. “Let me guess: you need to channel my reality-bending again, don’t you?”

 

“I do,” he said with that evil smirk. “Those police, protective services, the proof that little bitch has? I want it all gone from reality. That was my second wish, wasn’t it?”

 

Tiamat gave him a playful wink. “It was your second wish to have power over all of reality, time, and space, further invalidating your foolish first wish of complete and total immortality with invulnerability. I gave you your camera for my entertainment as well, do not forget it.”

 

A-Bomb grinned outwardly but was seething within. He wasn’t going to admit it to any woman, but Tiamat utterly had him in every way. Her power was intoxicating, but there was a price, there always was a price, even when one had worded his wishes as foolproof as he had. As she had said herself when she first met him, she could easily leave when her boredom wasn't satiated, and she was not one to let her previous masters and mistresses able to tell the tale.

 

“Yew did, an’ I’m grateful to be allowed my fun,” he said, wording his sentence politely as the police lights started shining around his house; the cops were almost there. “Now, shall yew be my conduit? I need an accident fer little Cindy, an’ the police an’ all searchin’ on her words? It certainly won’t do.”

 

Tiamat’s grin widened, her perfect white teeth shining like the stars, as she slid her left hand into the paparazzi’s tight left-handed grip. “Then I shall be your conduit, dear Adolf.”

 

She snapped the fingers on her right hand.

 

Nothing happened for a moment; it took fifteen seconds to do a channel, and it couldn’t be interrupted by anything in order to work. The sirens wailed in the distance. Voices were shouting indistinctly. A-Bomb breathed, counting down the seconds, waiting, waiting.

 

And then…nothing. Not a single siren. Not a single reporter was on Cynthia’s conference, as she stared in stunned confusion, then disbelief, then fear before the television moved to another meaningless event. She would be aware of the broken reality back at her home, but there was nothing she could do about it. There would be nothing she could do about him.

 

A-Bomb relaxed his grip on Tiamat. “Well, that worked wonderfully,” he said with a smirk. “Now, I want the little criers to shut up fer a moment. Yew know what to do. I’ll be headed down to Cindy’s house with this-” He pulled out a seemingly innocent video camera, an older design, but for his purposes, it worked much better than a normal video camera, “an’ we can continue my fun when we get back here.”

 

Tiamat’s grin grew to inhuman proportions, her teeth becoming jagged and sharp, her nose almost disappearing in that grin. “Oh, and you’re not going to sacrifice her to me instead?”

 

“Why should I?” A-Bomb said with a cruel laugh. “I know yew. Yew have a weakness fer them in their current state. Torturin’ ‘em? Sure. Drivin’ ‘em crazy with boredom? Definitely. But killin’? Yew drew the line at that with the last one I did, an’ it was all of the above. An’ Cindy deserves more than just a nice, quick death.”

 

Tiamat’s grin faded. She was still smiling; in all of the long (for him, at least) time he knew her, the djinn never stopped smiling, but her shrug seemed a tad annoyed. “You know me very well, Adolf,” she said in a forced demure tone. “I admit, I haven’t seen a man or woman like you for most of my entire existence, and your cruelty knows very few boundaries; it’s why I was drawn to you.”

 

“An’ it’s why yew love me so,” A-Bomb teased.

 

Tiamat’s cold eyes froze the paparazzo as he realized he had gone too far with his words. “Do not mistake my want for entertainment as love, Adolf Komarski. I do not love, least of all love a human. The only reason I do not leave you and end your lifespan is because you give me entertainment from boredom. The second that falters, I will leave, your body will turn to ash, and your soul will go to the afterlife you so richly deserve.

 

“Now, I shall go feed and entertain your charges, and I expect you back here with the next. Do not keep me waiting; I will be bored.”

 

She vanished in another puff of smoke, and A-Bomb immediately got off his ass as quickly as his bulk would allow him, scurrying over to the garage in his fancy one-story home where his black Lamborghini awaited him. He got in the driver’s seat, thrusting the keys in the ignition, putting the GPS on, and gunned it for Cynthia’s home.

 

After all, the djinn was dead serious about not being bored.

 

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Hope y'all enjoyed~