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Lana thinks Taylor Swift is probably the most insufferable bitch she's ever fucking met and she's only known her for three minutes.

Like, honestly, she's half an hour late and she's holding what looks to be the snobbiest coffee Starbucks serves. Her eyes are cold, she doesn't greet anyone as she walks in, and she snatches the script up from the table with all the entitlement that a former child actor is entitled to after falling off the deep end. If she'd snorted a line of coke before driving over, Lana wouldn't have been surprised.

Her hair is chopped short and probably would've been bleached if the hair and makeup department wouldn't have thrown a complete fit. It's done almost messily, and she has on a pair of heels that click against the tile in the production office like she's trying to be threatening. It's working, because Lana feels that lump form in her throat and adjusts her own hair, brown and boring, falling long over her shoulders, because she feels self conscious all of the sudden.

It's her first day on the job. Maybe. They're doing a chemistry read, because Lana's up for a character that works closely with Taylor in Taylor's show. It's Taylor's show, and maybe that's because her father sits at the table of bigwigs, glasses perched on his nose as the others breathe out exasperation. Because it's Taylor's show, her name is first on that credits roll, and she can show up half an hour late if she wants to because they aren't going to start without her.

And all Lana is to her is that somewhat-new, starry eyed actress, who memorized all of the lines the night before and studied the entire first season of the show. The first season had been a big hit, a fan base that grew more than any of them had expected, so to be in that room with the decision makers, the ones who could cast her, that was a very big deal. The second season had just been cleared by the bigwigs, apparently, so they didn't have a lot of time to waste if they were going to get it done by the time they needed to.

But Taylor's so insufferable as she slouches against the table, that Lana almost wonders if it's even worth it. Taylor put her sunglasses on, she's also chewing gum, and she's not said a single word to anyone still. Her father is droning on, and all Lana wants is to recite her lines and move on. It probably wouldn't be a good fit, not if Taylor made her feel like she was going to throw up because she was so ridiculously annoying and terrifying all at once.

She's twenty-nine and her career is not where she wants it to be, so she stays as Taylor removes her sunglasses and ruffles her own hair. Her sneakers slide against the faded, eggshell tiling on the floor, nervously shuffling, and she tries to remain calm as Taylor grabs the gum from between her teeth and flicks it into a trash can by the door. Her heels, once again, go tap, tap, tap, and Lana's brain yells at her run, run, run.

But she's still standing there, listening to Scott talk about their vision for the character and she wonders why he didn't start while Taylor was running late, because she definitely wasn't listening anyways.

In the middle of the long, overly drawn out spiel, Taylor removes her sunglasses that must just be for dramatic effect and looks at her father, her blue eyes slightly narrowed, "Can we get this show on the road? I have a pilates class in less than an hour."

The clock by the door is ticking and Lana quickly glances at it to check the time, despite having looked at it numerous times while they waited. It's not even ten in the morning yet and she doesn't have anywhere to be that day besides going home, so she kind of doesn't care if Taylor misses her pilates class— not one bit.

"Relax, Taylor," Scott shuffles a couple papers around, "Are you three or thirty? Have a little patience. We all did while you were running late."

Insufferable - Taylor Swift AUWhere stories live. Discover now