tagCelebritiesBluescreen Harvest

Bluescreen Harvest

bynazgul109©

This story is completely fictitious. This is a parody of celebrity figures.



Mark closed the door in disgust as he entered his dressing room. It had been a stressful day on the set. Absolutely nothing seemed to be going right with the film. The entire day had seen a host of mechanical failures with the puppeteered Jabba the Hutt creature. The oversized muppet had cost over a million dollars to create, and getting the two operators to create lifelike motion had proven to be very problematic.

What was more; Mark had spent the entire morning having script discussions with George who was simply not taking any input like he had on the previous films. Mark had spent over an hour pleading with George to make his character more edgy. A scar, an earring, an attitude, anything! But George would have none of it. Luke was to remain as pure and innocent of a character as ever. Mark looked at himself in the mirror. Good god, he had Aunt Beru's haircut from the first film! George had personally seen to that. Mark studied his face more closely, leaning towards his makeup mirror. His depression became only deeper as he saw the scars and lines in his face left over from the car accident he would never forget. It had taken everything from him....his future in movies, his confidence in himself. He would never again have the boyish looks that had landed him this role. At least he was still in the production. He would not have been surprised if George had replaced him entirely in Empire with another actor. And what would he do after shooting had wrapped on Jedi? "Typecast" was an understatement considering the popularity of these movies. Harrison could go on to other projects, he was sure of that. The man's charisma and charm made him the kind of star material Mark once had dreams of becoming himself. Now those dreams were shattered. By an accident that had left him scarred....and deformed.

At least he had Mary. His wife was so sweet, so tender. She was his anchor in life. He had met her a short time after the first film.....in his dental chair of all places. But she was not here with him now. Not when he needed her comfort and support. Not when he needed her body to relieve the stress of the shoot. When filming began on Jedi, Mark began such a hectic schedule that he rarely saw his wife at all. In fact, he was beginning to feel as monastic as the Jedi he was playing in the film. He wondered if he would ever play anything BUT a Jedi after this film.

Mark leaned back from the mirror and sat down in his makeup chair. He looked down at his black Jedi tunic costume. It was as black as his career prospects. This was it: his pinnacle, as far and as high as he would climb in life. If only his face hadn't been shattered. Why did it have to happen? Still, he would make this last movie his best performance. He had read the script several times and he knew it gave him a chance to show his acting range. The loss of the Yoda character, the revelation that Leia was his sister, the struggle and redemption with Vader....he had a good script here. Not GREAT. Not George's best work to be sure. But Mark could see the stress of the divorce was really hitting George. He could forgive him the way it was affecting his writing and the film. God, the man must be going through hell right now. No wonder he was so inflexible about things on the set. No wonder he was taking script advice from his children about teddy bears beating the Empire. No wonder he was letting Carrie walk around the set in a drug induced stupor.

Carrie.....Carrie. She had been so sweet once. He had met her back during screen-testing for the first film. Their chemistry had been electric right from the start. She could read him, react to him; take his lead when he improvised a line. She could look him dead in the eyes when he was reciting some of George's techno-babble and help him to actually believe in the lines. Even as introverted and shy as George had been in those days he saw it as clearly as Mark did. The way Mark and Carrie fit together on screen. The way they were such perfect counterpoints to each other both in acting style and even when off camera. After every take Carrie could always make everyone laugh. She put the entire set at ease. Being the only female in the room instantly made her the center of attention. But she always knew how to handle it. They had become friends during these movies. Great friends. And yes, there was a sexual element to their chemistry. Mark had been sure of that. The lingering looks every now and then...it was there......no, it HAD been there. Before the dark times. Before her drug addiction.

Mark didn't know when exactly her drug problems began. But he noticed the changes in Carrie on the first day of shooting Jedi. She had a vacant look in her eye; she had lost the light-heartedness that Mark loved about her. Carrie no longer seemed interested in her character, in her lines, she seemed to view the entire set as a kind of strange drug trip. Well, Mark could forgive her for that. He had more than once let his mind wander on the sets, believing himself to actually be on strange, alien worlds. And poor Carrie had spent all of yesterday chained to a giant slug, surrounded by costumed aliens from a thousand worlds. In a metal bikini no less.

That outfit....Mark felt his dick start to harden just thinking about Carrie in that slave girl outfit. When he had first seen her enter the set wearing it, he had to catch his breath for a moment. It was so out of place compared to everything George seemed to be doing. This film was clearly geared more towards children than the previous two. Good God, Mark had just yesterday met a small boy named Warwick who would be playing a cuddly teddy bear for the film's finale. And yet there was Carrie's outfit: Sultry.....erotic......sleazy even. As Harrison had said to him once, "She's got it where it counts kid."

That was the only "good" thing Mark could think of regarding Carrie's new drug use. She looked fucking fantastic. Her new "friend" cocaine had completely removed any desire for food like no diet ever could. The results were amazing. Unlike the fat camp that Carrie had been sent to for the first film, which Harrison never tired of teasing her about on the set, this vile drug had the side effect of giving Carrie a body she had always craved. Of course she joked with Mark about her new "exercise" routine but Mark knew like everyone else on the set just what kind of exercise Carrie had been involved in.

Mark had only personally seen it happen once. Twenty minutes after shooting wrapped on the "Strangling Jabba" sequence, Mark had been walking across the large Jabba's Palace set to find George and discuss some dialog changes. He had heard the breathing coming from a corner of the set near the Sy Snootles puppet. Mark slowly edged closer to the mechanical diva and peered around her bloated puppet body. There was a stage hand, some nameless best boy or gaffer or whatever the hell those guys were called. He was leaning against a circular alien keyboard with a blue elephant like creature lifelessly sitting in the center. And there was Carrie, her perfectly curved back to Mark as she kneeled in front of the stage hand, her head feverishly bobbing up and down on his cock.

The sounds of the frantic blow job had filled Mark's ears with disgust but at the same time a kind of perverse thrill. Here was Carrie, his sweet costar, shamelessly sucking off some eighteen year old kid with a Blue Harvest shirt on and his jeans pulled down around his ankles. The boy had his eyes closed and his face contorted in pleasure as the metal bikini clad starlet devoured his throbbing erection.

All at once Mark knew that the rumors had all been true. Carrie had lost control of her life. She did have a drug problem, she was fucking various members of the production and she was not the same girl he had once known. Mark quietly slipped away from the cocksucking spectacle that was happening right on the closed set and started to leave the room the same way he had entered. Mark placed his right hand on the grey plastic door frame as he left and paused for just a moment. It was then that he had heard Carrie's voice. Although speaking to her young lover quietly from across the room, the words echoed in Mark's ears like a gunshot.

"Do you like it baby? Do you like the way Leia is sucking off your big fucking cock?" she asked.

Mark left the set.

Mark shifted in his makeup chair considering the words he had heard from Carrie as she blew the stagehand. "Leia" she had said. She was giving that kid a fantasy. That was the only explanation. She was giving him the fantasy of being sucked off by her character Leia. Mark couldn't get it out of his head since that day. It had been a fantasy he had shared for a few years now. To fuck Carrie....he had that thought since the day he met her. But it had become more than that. Losing himself in his heroic role from time to time, Mark began to think not just about fucking Carrie, but fucking LEIA. The Princess. He had found himself jacking off to that thought during his morning showers on more than one occasion. For a few months after shooting the first film, it could well have been considered an obsession. He was Luke, and he was fucking Leia, and together they were perfect for each other. A perfect coupling of two lovers made for each other.

Until George had destroyed that fantasy with his goddamn typewriter. Mark remembered the moment he had read the Jedi script so vividly. It had been so exciting to him to finally see how the greatest cliffhanger in movie history would be resolved. It looked like George favored Han and Leia ending up together, but with all of Harrison's pushing for his character to die heroically, Mark began to believe that Luke might just get the girl in the end after all.

"Leia. Leia is my sister." Mark said out loud to himself in the room, as if he was rehearsing the line.

It was ridiculous. It had been ridiculous when he first read it, it was ridiculous now. What the HELL was George THINKING? There was a love triangle in the second film. Leia had kissed him passionately in the Hoth scene to make Han jealous. And now, they were goddamn brother and sister. It bothered Mark more than any other aspect of the script. Even more than those damn teddy bears that Warwick kid had been dressed as.

Mark looked up at the digital clock on the wall. 6:05pm. He should get back to his trailer and get some sleep. It would be a long shoot tomorrow, no doubt plagued with further mechanical mishaps with the muppets of Jabba's palace. And he still had to find some time to go over his Endor lines with Carrie. She had been completely uninterested in rehearsals lately. Her irreverence and lack of professionalism was starting to show. And that scene would be shot in two days.

"Fuck. I need to rehearse with her." Mark said to out loud.

The truth was, since the cocksucking spectacle he had witnessed, he was uncomfortable around Carrie for the first time. He had almost been avoiding her.

"No more." Mark announced to the empty room as he stood up and started for the door. He would find Carrie right now. They would rehearse together even though it was after working hours. This film was too important to be half-assed.

Mark walked across the deserted sets of Return of the Jedi. It was comical how quickly the production crew disbursed after hours. As much as everyone loved being a part of these movies, quitting time was still quitting time.

Mark considered trying Carrie's trailer, but he slowed his pace as he crossed the bluescreen area. What if she was with someone? That stagehand again. Or worse, some other random member of the production. What if she was strung-out?

Mark stopped in his tracks and considered things for a moment. Carrie was not at her best, that much was clear. They were still friends though and they needed to rehearse the Endor scene before shooting began. Mark wondered if she had even read the script yet. He doubted it. Her new found drug addiction and sexual promiscuity left her little room to care about events in a galaxy far, far away.

"Hey there, Luke Skywalker." Carrie's voice came from behind him.

Mark turned around to see Carrie sitting at a set designer's work table just off the side of the bluescreen set. She was smiling at him, with that perfect smile that had won him over years ago. She was still wearing her slave girl wardrobe from the day's shoot, her right leg resting on the desk, across the set designer's papers, her left leg stretched straight out on the ground. Carrie's legs were splayed apart almost obscenely, her crotch covered by the front of the dress that hung down onto the ground between her perfect legs.

They were alone on the set. Mark starred in awe at the shameless pose his co-star was assuming. He quickly found his voice.

"Oh, hey there! I was just looking for you!" he stammered

"Oh you were, were you?" Carrie breathed in a sultry, seductive tone.

Mark's gaze had been fixed on her crotch, and he suddenly realized it. Mark moved his eyes up to Carrie's face, seeing her amused expression. She knew he was turned on by her. She had always known it, from day one.

"You ahh..", Mark began. "...you can't be comfortable in that metal swimsuit."

Carrie laughed aloud.

"It's not comfortable, Mark." she laughed. "In fact, it's the most uncomfortable thing I've ever worn in my fucking life."

Mark joined her in laughing. The initial tension between them seemed to be fading quickly.

"Then why the hell are you still wearing it?" he chided her. "The shoot was finished hours ago."

"Because..." Carrie said in a serious and almost sorrowful tone. "It makes me feel beautiful....It makes me feel sexy."

"You do look fantastic, Carrie." Mark admitted.

Carrie met his eyes and smiled again. There was still a connection between them. The attraction was still there.

Mark remembered his purpose for being there.

"Carrie, have you read the entire script?" he asked.

"Actually no, I've been so busy lately I haven't finished it yet." She admitted.

"Carrie, we have a scene that we have to go over." Mark said sternly. "The scene where I tell you we are really brother and sister."

"WHAT?" Carrie said, taking her leg off the desk and standing from her seat. "We're supposed to be WHAT?" she asked incredulously.

"It's in the script Carrie. I talked to George about it and he said he's always intended it that way. Luke and Leia are actually twin brother and sister."

"What the fuck is George thinking?" Carrie said incredulously, "I'm your sister? Why did he have us do all those takes of kissing each other on that ice-planet set?"

"Hoth." Mark reminded her.

"Oh right, Hoth." Carrie said slightly amused. "Hoth. That planet where your sister kissed you, Luke."

"Hey I don't write this stuff." Mark said defensively.

"Yeah, and I don't bother reading it anymore." Carrie answered.

"Carrie. We have to. We have to rehearse that scene together. The shoot is in-"

"Alright." She interrupted. "We're both in costume anyways."

"I don't think you'll still be wearing that bikini in the Endor scene." Mark said.

Carrie took a step towards him.

"Want me out of these clothes then?" she whispered seductively. "Is that what you'd like?"

She was coming on to him like a slut—and Mark became infuriated. She was treating him like some random stage hand to be seduced out of boredom.

"Shit Carrie!" Mark suddenly exclaimed as he turned from her and began to walk off the set. "What the hell has happened to you!"

As he began walking away, suddenly her arms were around him from behind.

"Wait! I'm sorry!" she cried out. "I didn't mean that like that. I mean I didn't mean to.....oh God!" She began to sob against his back, holding him from behind.

Mark struggled to turn and face her in her shaking grip but she would not let him go.

"I'm so sorry Mark! I'm so fucked-up right now!" she sobbed. "I've never felt so lost in my life."

Mark finally was able to turn around in Carrie's bear-hug and face her. Her metal bikini pressed against his chest so hard it hurt. He held her waist in his hands and tried to look her in the eyes. She kept her face buried on his shoulder as she continued to sob.

"It's alright Carrie. It's al—"

"It's NOT alright!" she exclaimed. "I'M not ALRIGHT! I'm fucking up everything, I'm wrecking my friendships with everyone! I'm lost Mark. I'm so fucking lost."

She dissolved into crying. Her body quivering against him. Mark tried to comfort her with his embrace. Despite it all he felt himself becoming aroused. His manhood was stirring in his pants. He didn't want her to feel it. It would make her think his feelings were just sexual. And he cared about her so much. She was such a sweet thing underneath her problems. He moved his body away from her to hide his burgeoning erection. She looked up into his eyes for the first time and he met her gaze.

"Listen to me Carrie." He said firmly. "Look at my face. Look at what that car accident did to me. I'll never be the same."

"No, Mark you're not—" she interrupted, shaking her head.

"I'll NEVER be the same Carrie." Mark stated emphatically. "I will always be disfigured and my career in movies is probably over."

"OH MARK! You're SO WRONG!" she pleaded. "You look fantastic. You've never looked so fantastic!"

"Carrie—"

"NO! Listen to me" she said. Her arms tightened around him. The old Carrie was there again. Comforting him. Caring for him. "You look so fantastic right now. The way you've pumped up your body, the muscles in your arms, I can't even tell you how sexy you have become."

He smiled at that and dropped his gaze down "I did work out a lot for this role." He admitted, feeling his face flush at the compliment.

"I know how seriously you take these movies." Carrie said, wiping her tears off on his black tunic as her voice steadied. "I'm sorry I've been so out of it. I haven't been there for you like I should be."

"It's alright Carrie."

"No. No it isn't. I've just been so empty Mark." She said frankly, looking into his eyes. "I've felt so empty lately. I've been doing cocaine."

Mark tightened his hold on her. "I know." He said.

"You knew?" she whispered.

"I've known you haven't been yourself. That's all." Mark said quickly. He didn't want her to know that rumors of her drug use were going around the set.

"There's more Mark." Carrie admitted. "I've been sleeping around a lot lately. I thought it would make me happy. I've never been so thin and felt so sexy and I just wanted someone to—" she trailed off. "Oh god Mark what's happened to me." She whispered, shamefully burying her face again.

"You've always been perfect as far as I'm concerned." Mark said earnestly.

She looked up at him again. She ran her right hand through his hair.

"Mark." She breathed.

He felt himself becoming fully hard in his pants. He felt his heart beating powerfully, sending the blood down to his penis.

Carrie leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. It was a sweet kiss. A friendly kiss. But it lingered there a second to long to dismiss as platonic.

She pulled back and looked in his eyes again.

"Do you like that? " She whispered to him.

"Oh Carrie..."

Carrie pulled his face to hers gently and parted her lips. Her tongue reached gently out as their mouths met. Mark returned her kiss with his tongue touching the tip of hers. Her hand went down to his crotch instinctively. She found his raging hard cock through the material of this pants.

"Mmmph" she moaned into his mouth, her eyes flying open in surprise as her hand found the outline of Mark's erection. His eyes opened see her reaction. Carrie opened her mouth wide and gave him the kiss he had so long fantasized over. The kiss of a lover.

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