#in harry as a person/as a performer/as an artist is completely bizarre to me

[pop-punklouis]

-

[twistedtummies2]

The Devils I Know - Top 9

Welcome to “The Devils I Know!” For this spooky time of year, from now till Halloween, I’ll be counting down My Top 31 Depictions of the Devil, from movies, television, video games, and more! Today’s Devil is a particularly mysterious malefactor. Number 9 is…Robert DeNiro, from Angel Heart.

A friend of mine introduced “Angel Heart” to me about a year ago. Up till then, I had never even heard of the film, and…in hindsight, I find that completely baffling that the film somehow was unknown to me for so long. The movie is something of a combination of a neo-noir murder mystery, a psychological horror story, and a supernatural thriller, all rolled into one. A little bit like “Constantine” or “The Prophecy,” both of which I mentioned earlier in the list. However, this movie is much more grounded than those films: there is no great cosmic war between Heaven, Earth, and Hell going on here. It’s the story of one man, one world, and one mind in tatters.

The story takes place in the 1950s. Private detective Harry Angel – played by Mickey Rourke – gets a job from a mysterious, well-to-do client who calls himself “Louis Cyphre.” (If you think that alias is about as transparent as naming yourself “Mr. Devil Person,” don’t worry, because a.) the film itself makes fun of it later, and b.) even if the movie didn’t do that, I think that’s kind of the point, to be honest.) Cyphre is looking for a man who apparently owes him a debt: a singer named John Libeling, a.k.a. Johnny Favorite. The man apparently suffered shell shock after fighting in World War II, and has since gone missing. Harry travels to New Orleans to try and track Johnny Favorite down, and what at first seems like a standard missing persons case becomes increasingly more bizarre, disturbing, and complex as the detective digs deeper. I won’t give away the full ending of the movie, but naturally, it’s eventually revealed that the mysterious "Louis Cyphre” is, obviously, Lucifer. And, as you might just as easily suspect, the “debt” Johnny Favorite owes him is the man’s immortal soul, which sold in hopes of gaining fame and fortune as a singer. What I find most interesting about DeNiro’s Devil is honestly what I think I find interesting about the movie as a whole: maybe it’s just because I have seen so many mysteries in my time, but I sort of knew what the twist was going to be by the end of the film. However, the movie still kept me engaged due to its artistic merits and the strength of its performances. DeNiro’s Devil is the same way: even if you don’t guess automatically that he’s THE Devil, the way he looks and the name itself would automatically make it clear that something Devil-ish is going on with the character. But even knowing what we know, Cyphre manages to be a scene stealer and an intriguing portrayal of the Prince of Darness. He’s a very sly, slick, methodical Devil, and the way he’s shot, framed, and presented as a whole makes him feel almost like a villain in a fairy-tale, which makes him all the more interesting in a story that’s so brutal and visceral as this one. DeNiro plays the character with effortless calm; this is another Devil who rarely shows his inner monster, but you can feel that monster brewing under the surface. He’s only in the movie for a few scenes, but in every single one of those scenes, you cannot take your eyes off him once he’s onscreen; he just rules every moment he has, and DeNiro seems to disappear into the part as a result. The moments between himself and Mickey Rourke as Angel are the best parts of the movie by far, and I could watch them over and over again without ever seeing the rest of the picture and feel just as satisfied as if I watched the whole thing through. To the friend who introduced this movie and this Devil to me…if you’re reading this, thank you so much. Tomorrow, the countdown continues with Number 8! HINT: Proof that the fast-food industry is the most evil thing in the world. Bua ha ha.

[tpwkay]

Medicine (h.s.)

You’re finally given permission to cover the song you’ve wanted to perform for years and a special surprise during your performance sweeps you off of your feet.

Word count: 11.5k

Rating/warnings: NSFW - A lot of this is plot but there is smut as well. Contains explicit language and consensual sex acts between a man and woman. This is a story written in the 2nd person (“self insert"). This isn’t written to be exclusionary, it’s just my preferred style! Author’s note can be found at the end!

"Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough for coming out tonight to listen to me and the band. We've got a couple more songs coming up for you but I just wanted to take a minute to tell y'all how much we appreciate you." You gesture to yourself and the band behind you as the lights on stage come up a bit. "We wouldn't be where we are without your support. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you!"

The crowd cheers and you can't help but experience an insurmountable feeling of joy. It never gets old. You'd been in the spotlight for a few years now, already at the end of touring your second album, though the size and scope of venues this time around was much, much larger. There was nothing that compared to being able to sing your own songs and have a crowd of thousands scream them right back at you.

Being an up-and-coming singer and songwriter in the genre of country music hadn't been easy. Girls your type had been a dime a dozen, hoards of Taylor Swift-wannabes covering "Teardrops on My Guitar" during open mic night. You held nothing against them; there was a path to success for everyone, but yours had been, well, different. 

It was a karaoke cover of Brooks & Dunn's "Boot Scootin' Boogie", a song that you'd been singing since you were a toddler, that had gotten you noticed by a recording artist one night while out with your girlfriends, which led you to where you stand now, performing in front of thousands. You were liked for the range of your voice, with it's easy easy transitions from the sounds of pop to country and rock, in addition to the way you performed, and your take-no-shit attitude towards the entirety of the industry. People liked that you were forward and left nothing on the table, though you had to admit that it was mostly an act, a means of coping with the pressure of working your way to the top.

///

"It's refreshing!" Jax, your manager, had shouted one day, arms flailing as you had argued that maybe your attitude was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Aren't you, as, you know, my manager, supposed to be the one keeps me in line?"

"You aren't out doing coke, killing anyone, public indecency and all that," he had shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, you are in line. People talk about you because of your attitude. They like it! They like you. Why is that so hard for you to accept sometimes?"

"Maybe I just haven't been caught doing those things," you grinned, effectively dodging his question. Fame hadn't helped break down the walls that you'd long ago built around yourself. If anything, you had done some reinforcing, built a moat even, in an effort to ensure that you protected yourself from getting too close to anyone that would only end up using you in the end. You had seen the way people in life had been used, and what it ultimately led them to, and you had promised yourself long ago that even if it meant being known as the Boot Scootin' Bitch, you would protect yourself and your heart at all costs. 

"Your momma would tan your hide for much less than any of those, you know. Hell, you should be more afraid of her than you are of me or anyone else… 'cept maybe God."

///

You shake your head, working the memories free from your mind as you grab a bottle of water from the platform on which the drum set rests.

There's one more song of yours to sing before you performed a new cover, the one you had been looking forward to for months. Although you'd gotten permission to perform it not long into the start of your tour, the set list had been rehearsed already and every other detail ironed out around it. You'd convinced Jax and the crew to let you slot it into the last concert of the tour, Austin, Texas. These folks knew their music and for some reason, they liked you so you were thrilled to be able to share something new with the crowd that had welcomed you to their city with open arms. 

You grab your guitar off its stand and slide the strap over your shoulders, adjusting it as you step forwards to the mic stand. A shimmering blue shirt catches your eye in the crowd and you do a double take because surely it can't be Harry because he's—

And it's not him, of course, though the fashion of the gentleman in the pit area would surely catch his eye as well as it's right up his alley. It's not him - it can't be him - because you know exactly where he is right now and it's not in the pit of your Austin performance. 

A grin stretches over your face as you think of him. You strum the first chord of the first song you'd ever written about him, although there had been many more since. He probably knew this one was about him, having come just after your first meeting. 

/// 

A friend of yours was good friends with Kacey, who had been the guest artist that night. Her name had been added to the VIP list and in the summer of 2018, just as you were hitting your own stride in your career, you tagged along with her to Harry Styles' live tour performance in your hometown of Nashville. 

If you were being honest, prior to his concert, you hadn't heard much of his solo work, apart from the various huge hits like his Kiwi or Watermelon Sugar and a few other ballads. You liked his sound, seemingly influenced heavily by rock stars of days past, but you'd had other influences to worry about in your own side of the industry. 

Sure, he had country music connections through the likes of Kacey Musgraves and Cam, and legends like Stevie Nicks, but his pop and soft rock style was pretty far removed from most country playlists that you yourself had graced. Your genres just didn't cross paths and the two of you seemingly operated in different realms of the music industry, topping your own charts and breaking your own peer's records. 

Of course, you hadn't been completely oblivious to The Harry Styles. One Direction had been too big of a deal to ignore and you'd often found yourself bopping along to their old hits, singing along as they played amongst the other nostalgic pop hits to which you listened. 

The concert had been in June, a hot sunny day followed by a perfect breezy evening. Downtown Nashville was always busy, but that night the city seemed to buzz, bright with music and life. After meeting for drinks at Acme on the River, you allowed yourself to luxuriate in getting lost in the crowd that milled about on Broadway. It was a surprising thing to not be recognized in your hometown, but you weren't one to complain about it. It was one reason that you value your time in Nashville over other music-centric cities like Los Angeles - it seemed that people here respected the private lives of musicians. There was an odd fan here and there, but you'd lived a majority of your "famous" life in Nashville in relative peace. 

You were early to the venue, your friend having wanted to have a chance to see Kacey backstage. You were excited to finally meet the star - though you'd been around the block of fame a bit already, there would always be people that you never had an opportunity to meet in passing. You had been greeted at will call and had been led backstage.

The arena was alive with excitement. At that point, you yourself had never toured a venue that large, so the experience of being backstage and seeing the operations first hand were thrilling and a bit overwhelming. In her dressing room, Kacey pulled you straight into a hug, gushing about how excited she was to watch your career take off. She insisted on sharing her personal cell phone number with you, urging you to call her to get together on a collaboration. You were in shock leaving her room, blown away by her kindness and the way the music industry worked in the most bizarre of ways, when you turned a corner and ran smack into a tall, solid, smiling Harry Styles. His arms had come out quickly to steady you on your heels boots. 

"Fuck," you swore, shaking your head at your clumsiness. "I am so sorry. What a great way to introduce myself."

He laughed and the sound flowed through you, warm and sweet like a cup of tea with honey. "Y'alright?" His eyes looked you over, and you couldn't help but notice the way they lingered. 

Your cheeks blushed and a wave of embarrassment washed over you. "I'm the one that should be asking you that. I don't think your adoring fans would be very happy if I took you out with a textbook tackle right before you're due to go on stage." You took a moment to give him the same appreciative glance he had already given you, admiring the way his deep blue custom-beaded suit jacket fell open to reveal a black dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest. 

"Ah, 'm fine. Lil' thing like you couldn't do too much damage to me, even in those heels. Don't think they'd be very happy though," he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the already-rowdy crowd while offering his hand. "I'm Harry."

You laughed as you introduced yourself, shaking his hand. 

"I've heard that name before, but I'm sorry to say that I don't recognize you. You don't seem like one that's easy to forget."

"I sing, write music," you shrugged, not sure how to explain to a superstar that you were on the way up, yet still somewhere much farther down the fame totem pole than him. "Country, mostly. Not sure if that's on your radar."

"The new stuff's not, but I may have to change that." He was tapped by one of the event producers, needed for another pre-show procedure. "Where will you be tonight?" 

"To your right, in the pit."

He smiled and you had almost immediately fallen in love with the crinkles that appeared under the corners of his eyes. "I'll look out for you. It was wonderful meeting you. Oh, shit, wait, just remembered— may I?" he gestured for the phone that was in your hand and you unlocked it before passing it to him. 

You watched as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. He paused for a moment before he grinned. "Hi Harry, it's you from before the show. This is a message to remind you to text this number and ask the owner of it out on a date. She's the one with the beautiful smile and great tackling skills. You won"t have forgotten her. 'Kay, bye!"

You laughed at an almost embarrassing volume, blown away by his cheek. 

"Why not ask 'her' out now?" you pondered to him as he handed the phone back.

"What, and risk getting shot down? Wouldn't want to be sad and disappointed through my whole show, now would I?"

"It would make the ballads a bit more emotional," you had reasoned with a grin.

"Ouch! They're already filled with emotion, love. You'll see, I'll sing 'em right to you if I have to. Gotta run, thank you for letting me use your phone, that was a very important message!"

You laughed again as he took off. "Harry!" you had shouted to get his attention in the busy hall. He turned quickly, a small smile on his face. "She definitely won't say no, but you can wait until later to ask if you want to."

His grin stretched wider and he'd pumped a fist in the air before turning and jogging down the hallway. 

You liked to joke with anyone who knew the story that your life had changed that day all because you met Kacey. Which wasn't a complete lie - it had been her dressing room you'd come out of before slamming into Harry in the hallway. 

///

Singing the last lines of one of your songs, your stomach began to flutter in a bit of nervousness and a lot of excitement. Performing the next cover was something you had been looking forward to for months, and the moment that you got to share it with your fans was finally here. 

You retreat from the mic stand to pass your guitar off to a stagehand, taking another sip of water to settle yourself. 

"Doing alright?" Wyatt, your drummer, shouts over the pounding bass drum and you give him a thumbs up before turning back to face the crowd. 

"I've got one more cover to play for y'all tonight," you say, grasping the mic stand to keep your hands from shaking. "I've been working on getting permission to play this one for quite awhile now. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it played and now here I am, performing it for you all. It's an unreleased piece by a very, very good friend of mine, but his performances of it are all over the internet so some of you may know the words. This song is called Medicine."

The song starts out with a steady bass line and the rhythm centers you a bit, steadying any nerves that still linger. The intro gives you a minute to shake out your shoulders and get comfortable at the mic stand once more like Harry does at each performance. You catch yourself having fun mimicking him and feel thankful that you're able to perform one of your favorite songs of his. When the bass drops in pitch and the electric guitar riffs, you slide in close to the mic stand.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine," you sang the opening lines, already settling into the sexy rock sound of the song you and the band had rehearsed relentlessly over the last few weeks. No, the genre wasn't one you normally dabbled in, but part of the fun of performing was taking chances, risks. You had to admit, you liked the sound a lot. It tempted you to branch out a bit more on your upcoming album. 

The opening lines of the first verse throw you back into thoughts of meeting Harry that first night. You hadn't imagined what would follow the concert, let alone have the foresight to see it bringing you to this very moment in time. 

///

You had been standing outside the arena after the concert, ears buzzing and heart thumping still from the incredible show Harry had put on. As soon as he disappeared from the backstage hall earlier, you had immediately saved his number to your phone, still in disbelief over the night's events. 

Your heart had soared when your phone began to vibrate, not in a text message but in a voice call. Harry's name appeared on the screen and your friend had nudged you, clearly approving of the night's turn of events. 

"Harry," you answered, ready to praise him halfway to Sunday on his performance. 

"Let me take you out," he interrupted you. "Right now. Please? Anywhere you want to go." 

You laughed and paused. "Yeah, okay. I might know of a place."

There was a lot of shuffling on his end before his voice came back on the line. "Might've had to do another fist pump."

"Told you she wouldn't say no."

"Where are you?" You heard the smile in his voice, already familiar with it. 

"Demonbreun and John Lewis, headed towards the park."

"Give me 10, I'll pick you up." He paused. "Be careful, okay?"

"I'll stick with the hoards of your fans milling about, maybe ask some of them for the hot gossip on you while I wait."

"Don't believe anything they say," he said, and you could tell he was still smiling as he hung up. 

He and his driver arrived shortly after, Harry's hair damp and covered with a baseball cap, dressed down in black pants and a simple loose white shirt, tattoos peeking out everywhere you looked. He exited the car and opened the back door for you, helping you balance as you stepped up into the large Suburban. 

"We'll go to Pecker's," you said to his driver, laughing as Harry snorted next to you. "Shut up, it's just a bar. Take a right up here onto 24 and it'll take us all the way to Fairfield. It'll be on the right."

He looked at you and smiled before reaching out to hold your hand in the middle seat between you. 

Taking Harry to Pecker's had just felt right. It was where you'd been discovered, where all of your adventures had started, and you weren't sure why but you wanted to share that small part of you with him after watching him up on stage that night. 

"Won't people recognize you? I looked you up before the show, you're apparently a pretty big deal around here." He had asked, smirking, sipping on the locally-brewed beer that Clint, the regular bartender, was serving that night. 

"Locals are pretty good about not interrupting our normal lives. Pecker's isn't as well known to tourists either, so it's a good hideout. This is where a lot of producers, executives and all the other professionals come to unwind." You ignored his comment on your fame and had taken a sip of your margarita instead. "Unless, of course, there's a drag show scheduled, then it's a bit of a madhouse."

Harry laughs into his drink and you grin. "So," he started after a pause, twiddling with the rings on his right hand. "What'd you think?"

"It was incredible," you said without hesitation. "Truly one of the best live shows I've seen in a long time, country acts included. You've got such a magnetism about you that people can't help but want to watch." You blushed a bit, alcohol and the quick comfort of him loosening your lips. "The whole water spraying trick was hot," you admit, making him blush. "And don't tell Stevie, but I think I might prefer your version of The Chain."

"Sacrilege! That's some incredibly high praise," he said, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. 

"Earned and deserved," you said, tilting your glass to his. "Honestly, Harry, you're an incredible musician. There aren't many out there that have the whole package like that."

"What about you? You seem like the whole package."

"I don't know if I'd say that. If you looked me up, you've likely seen what they say about me. 'My attitude won't get me far' and all. But I don't think it's my attitude, so much as it is my willingness to take the risks that others won't. I'm not out here to make music that's just there to be sold. Hell, I couldn't care less about the money. All I want is to create music that makes me feel fulfilled, and I think that honesty scares them." You twirled your finger in the condensation of the glass in front of you. You glanced up to his face finding his eyes already on yours, holding your gaze steadily. "It doesn't scare you, does it?"

"It's the most refreshing thing I've heard in a while. Not many people in the industry are fearless in the face of failure like that."

"I'm definitely not fearless; I just refuse to change who I am to make a buck."

"Who are you then?" Harry had asked, and telling him your story was easy. You couldn't understand how it was so natural, opening up to a stranger, but as the conversation wore on, you realized how similar you and Harry were in terms of the way you conducted your professional lives and that was without apology. 

And you also realized, as the evening continued and you and Harry crept your bar stools closer and closer to one another, feet and knees bumping, his fingers tracing the ridges of your knuckles as you shared life stories like long lost friends, that you didn't want it to end. 

///

"He's acting like a gentleman," you continue, changing up the lyrics slightly as you finish the first verse. The line always made you smile and you let yourself briefly flash back into your reminiscing about the night you'd met Harry, and how, even though he had acted gentlemanly upon dropping you off for the evening, you wanted to be anything but a gentlewoman. 

///

After enjoying drinks late into the evening at Pecker's, Harry had insisted on having his driver take you home rather than allowing you to call an Uber. 

"Such a gentleman," you commented as he opened the car door for you once again. 

"Maybe my gentlemanly actions have motives," he said, sliding his hand along your lower back as you step past him and into the car. Your grin matched his smirk as he shut the door and you decided that he'd been right - not calling an Uber was the right thing to do.

The car ride back to your apartment building was too quick and before you knew it, he was at your door again, offering a hand for you to hold for balance as you exited the car. Neither of you let go as you walked through the lobby towards the elevators. 

"You're uh— You're welcome to come up, if you'd like," you said, suddenly shy but not wanting to chicken out on asking for what you wanted, asking for some continuation of this sweet but likely brief meeting between you two. "For a drink, I mean, or to keep chatting, you know."

Harry smiled and glanced around the empty lobby. His hand in yours smoothed up the length of your arm, over your shoulder, and came to rest at your jaw. "I'd love to, believe me. You have no idea how much I want to." He leaned towards you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and your skin burned at the contact of his lips. "But I want to do this the right way. Don't want you to get the wrong idea of me."

"What if I want the wrong idea of you?"

He laughed, the sound open and honest and it had given you hope. "You called me a gentleman earlier and I have to admit that I liked it, coming from you. Would like to keep up the facade that I am, even if it's just for a bit." His face searched yours, each of you trying to read the thoughts that were flying through one another's minds. "You have beautiful lips," he whispered suddenly, his accent thicker than it had been all night. 

Your mouth quirked into a smile, unable to do anything but preen at his compliment. "You do too," you replied, just as softly. 

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes." Before the words had settled he was kissing you, slowly and with too much care, like you would break if he wasn't gentle enough. It was over much too quick but you knew you would remember every moment of it for the rest of your life. 

"Christ, I'd wanted to do that all night." His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, smiling when you leaned into the touch. He glanced up as the elevator doors swung open and gently nudged you towards them. "Thank you, truly, for a wonderful evening. I promise to give you a call soon."

"I'll send Kacey after you if you don't!" you laughed, stepping into the lift.

"Good night darling." He winked and the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the delicious ghost of his lips on yours. 

///

"Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline, think I'm gonna stick with you," you finish the first verse as Ryann rips through the chords on her guitar. You loved that the song built slowly, and even though that meant a quieter beginning, it promised an explosive end. 

Though the crowd had been hesitant at first, you can see that the first few rows of them are nodding along, countless phones out recording the performance. You know that somewhere out there at your request is a member of your press team, professionally filming the cover. You may only be doing it once, but you were determined to make sure you would never forget it.

///

You had enough time at home to check some of your social media accounts, shower and get comfortable in bed before your phone rang again. For the second time that day, your heart soared seeing Harry's name light up your screen.

"If you're going to say that you're downstairs because you've reconsidered my offer for that nightcap, I'll need a few moments to prepare as I'm currently in my pajamas," you said as a greeting and you were met with his warm laughter once again.

"No, no, I had to go back to the arena for a bit anyways, pack up and all of that," he said, still chuckling. "I just— I wanted to make sure you weren't offended by me declining your offer. Because I wanted to— I didn't want the night to end there. There's something about you that's… Transfixing. And I don't want to ruin that and make you think you're just a fling."

"That's quite a compliment," you said, a bit awed by his words.

"What was it you said earlier, "earned and deserved", yeah?" He said, quoting your toast to him at the bar, making you grin. "I want you to be more than that. I'd like to get to know you, the gentlemanly way."

"Okay. Will we have a chaperone at our next date then?" He laughed but didn't correct your referral to that evening as a date. You had snuggled a bit deeper into the sheets, still disbelieving that all of this had been the result of being dragged along to a concert. 

"No chaperones," he chuckled, "but yes, I do want to take you out again, if you'd let me."

"Hmm," you jokingly pondered aloud, as if answering with anything other than a resounding "yes" was on your mind. "I suppose I could fit something into my schedule."

"I hope that's a yes."

"Of course it's a yes! I didn't want the night to end either. And don't you dare say that you just did another fist pump," you had laughed, hearing the familiar shuffling of the phone on his end of the line.

"Me? Never!"

"You're adorable," you had said, a smile stuck on your face.

"And you're beautiful. Two can play this game."

There had been a comforting silence between you for a moment before you had spoken up again. "Harry?"

"Yeah, love?"

You had blushed at the pet name but loved the way it sounded being directed your way. "Thank you," you had whispered. 

"Should be me thanking you. Sleep well sweetheart." You'd fallen asleep with your phone in hand, hopeful that you wouldn't wake up the next morning to realize it had all been a dream.

/// 

It hadn't been a dream, and here you were, nearly two years later, performing one of the songs that Harry himself had sung the night that you'd begun falling for him.

The second verse continued quickly and you let the lyrics wash over you as you sang, loving the way the rock energy of the song sounded with a bit of your band's country influence. 

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine, rest it on your fingertips," you sang, holding your pointer finger in the air much like Harry did every time he performed the song before bringing it to your lips as you sang the next line. "Up to your mouth, feeling it out, feeling it out."

/// 

Beginning to date Harry - properly date him too, not just make FaceTime calls to one another from across the world and sending texts back and forth until the wee hours of the morning thanks to the differences in time zones, sharing everything and more with one another as best you could digitally - had been the most exhilarating experience of your life, and you had performed in front of sold out crowds and accepted awards on live television. His tour was due to stretch on for almost another month throughout North America and the next time you saw him was when you'd been invited as Harry's guest to his show in Chicago just a few weeks after you'd met. 

While he had put on an incredible show for the United Center, there had been moments that felt like he was performing just for you, glancing over to where you stood in the Friends and Family area, meeting your eyes and grinning. By that point, you could sing along to every song of his and you knew he loved it, loved watching you dance along to the music that he had created and was performing. 

In a moment where you were thankful for the differences between the genres in which you two performed, you hadn't been recognized at all by his fans. You'd both talked about wanting to keep things quiet as you got to know one another, and you hadn't wanted a relationship with him, an already incredibly famous artist, to somehow influence the trajectory of yours. While it had been easy when you were apart, being together without seemingly being together was difficult. Especially in that moment, when all you wanted to do was curl up into him and soak in the post-show bliss with him. Instead, you sat on the couch with him, a cushion apart from one another, holding his hand tightly while you chatted about the concert. 

"Someone is gonna notice that you looked to my side of the pit constantly all night," you said and he grinned guiltily. 

"I like knowing you're in the crowd," he shrugged. "Besides," he scooted closer and threw his arm around you before dragging you in close, "you look incredible, how could I not want to stare at you all night?"

"Anyone could walk in," you pointed out, watching as his eyes followed your lips. 

"Just want a little taste," he said, moving in closer, "Haven't I earned a kiss from my girlfriend after all of that work up on stage?"

Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you looked at him and he seemingly realized his slip-up. 

"I mean— What I meant was— Shit," he scrubbed a hand over his face but you could tell he was hiding a grin. "Wasn't exactly how I wanted to ask you, but… Will you officially be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, H. I'm all yours."

"Love it when you call me H." He pulled you in for a kiss that you both lost yourselves in, finally able to experience the feeling of one another after being denied it for so long. When a knock at the dressing room door came, Harry had to all but drag himself away from you, hair disheveled and lips swollen, scowling at the door. 

You threw your head back and laughed as he stalked over and pulled it open with a flourish. 

"What?"

"The hell's your issue?" you heard Mitch ask before Harry widened the door so he could see you laughing on the couch. You raised a hand in greeting and Harry's scowl deepened as Mitch chuckled, taking in both of your disheveled appearances. "Oh, shit, hey, sorry. Uh, car's ready when you are. See you tomorrow bud." 

"Harry!" you chided once he'd closed the door in Mitch's face, giggles still bubbling out of your mouth. "He was just being polite."

"Interrupting arse is what he is," Harry said, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. "Where were we?"

You threw your arms around his neck and pressed your body as close to his as possible, hoping that he'd thought to lock the door before returning to your embrace. "Right about here, I think." With a hand on your hip, sliding under your shirt to reach warm skin and one at the back of your neck, Harry kissed you until you were breathless and not only wanting more but very seriously needing it. 

"Come back to the hotel with me," he murmured against your lips as you ground your body down on him, reveling in the way the action made him throw his head against the back of the couch and exhale sharply. 

"You sure?" Your hands smoothed over the chest of his skin, tracing the dark swallows with your fingertips as you rolled your hips. 

He shuddered at the light touch and gripped your hips tightly, pressing his up as you pressed yours down and the action made you sigh, the pressure a delicious tease of what was hopefully to come. "Absolutely," he said, his grin telling you he was pleased with the noises he was causing you to make. "Want you so bad, like I won't be able to breathe right until I properly have you."

You leaned in to kiss at his neck, his shower-damp curls tickling your cheek. "The feeling is mutual. Adored watching you up on stage tonight. Have I told you yet how much I love seeing you perform?" You nuzzle at his neck, urging him to tilt his head back farther, exposing more of his skin to you. 

"Yeah, you have, but tell me again," he sighed, his hands running up and down your back. 

"It's like when you get on stage no one else before or after you matters," you said honestly, letting your lips against his skin hide how truthful you were really being, spilling all of your thoughts about seeing Harry up on stage. It was scary, feeling so deeply for him already. But you wanted him to know, at least in part, what it meant to be able to watch him perform. "Something about your live voice just makes my breath catch in my throat, I can't get enough of it."

Harry breathed deeply for a moment, working to center himself while you nosed at the curls around his ear and heaped praise upon him. 

"It's like you connect with every person out in the crowd, like you're singing just for them. You can tell that you're having fun and people want to join you in that. They know you love the attention," you whispered and he hummed in appreciation (or agreement), the sound low in his throat. "They'd stay out there all night for if they could, screaming about how much they love you."

"And you feed into it, playing it up for them. You know exactly what you're doing when you get to act a little bit naughty up there, driving them all mad," you said with a smile. 

He chuckled and you could hear and feel the sound rumble through him. "Played it up for you tonight. Did it work?" 

"You mean did it make me want to jump your bones the second you came off stage? Yeah, it worked."

"Fucking hell," he said, holding you close with his hands on your butt as he stood up. "Our first time is not going to be in a dressing room so we need to go now."

He let you slide down his body and held you steady as you balanced on your legs. "Would be pretty fitting though, don't you think, given how we met and what we do?"

"Yeah, but then I'd think about it every time I was in one. You wanna torture me relentlessly?" He pulled you tight against him, kissing you once more before separating to grab his bags. 

"Yeah, relentless torture sounds like something I might be into." 

He glanced up at your words, eyes dark and hungry, a smirk on his lips. "Careful what you wish for, love." 

///

The bass line increased behind the riff of Ryann's guitar and you leaned into the mic stand, eyes closing as you continued singing the first bridge. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted, and when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

There were a few fans of yours and Harry's who apparently knew the words as they helped you out, screaming the unwritten word that finished the sentence: "tasted."

///

Harry was quick to say goodbye to everyone on the team before pulling you quickly through back hallways and down quiet staircases, sneaking quick kisses when he was sure there was no one around. You were both out of breath when you finally climbed into the car, grinning like kids getting away with sneaking around. 

The hotel ride was quick, mercifully, but Harry had been anything but patient, his hand at your knee creeping up slowly, closer and closer to the hem of your dress, toying with the hem while he chatted with the driver. 

"I'm gonna head in first with Martin and Eric will loop around and drop you off at the side entrance. I would wait in the lobby for you but this hotel hasn't been the best in the past with uh— containing sensitive information, we'll say, so Martin will meet you on your floor to get your stuff, then bring you up. Is that okay?"

"You sound like you've done this before, Styles," you said with a wink, using humor to cover the nerves that had settled in the pit of your stomach. 

He blushed and you loved knowing you got under his skin so easily. "The band used to stay here when we toured… and I was young and dumb once, yes."

"Just giving you a hard time, H."

His grin stretched as he leaned over to peck your lips once more. "See you in a minute, love."

Harry climbed out and the driver took off once again, slowly circling the block. "He's quite taken with you, you know," he said, glancing up in the rear view mirror as he parked the car at the curb. He got out and opened the door for you in the empty street then used his keycard to unlock the heavy side door of the hotel.

"Thank you," you said, both for his actions and his omission about Harry. Sure, you had talked to him as often as possible over the last weeks and had yourself been on the receiving end of his attention, but it felt validating to hear that Harry's feelings for you may have gone a bit farther than just a small crush if people around him had also noticed his behavior. 

Harry's bodyguard was waiting by the elevators and escorted you to your room to gather your luggage, then led you to Harry's door.

"Car'll be around about 9 tomorrow morning, H. Flight's at 10:30." He turned to you. "I understand you have business to continue here in Chicago?"

"Yes, meetings tomorrow and then I fly back to Nashville in the evening."

"There'll be a driver ready for you tomorrow as well. He's been instructed to take you wherever you need to go and he'll stay until you depart. Have a nice evening," he nodded at Harry, who was smiling in the doorway, before departing.

"You didn't have to do that for me, I could've managed by getting an Uber," you said, stepping into the room past Harry to set your bags down and kick your shoes off. 

"I didn't, was Martin's idea; says he doesn't want anything to happen to the one thing that's made me so happy these last few weeks."

"Oh yeah? I'm the one thing, huh?"

"You're everything, honestly," he replied a bit sheepishly, taking your hands in his. "Think I might like you a bit more than I already should. Lettin' my heart get a bit ahead of my head, I suppose."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," you said softly and he beamed. 

He moved his hands up to cup your face, pulling you close for a sweet kiss that quickly turned insistent, heat rising between the two of you. Harry slid his hands under the hem of your shirt to rest where your spin ended and yours wrapped around his neck, dragging him down to you as you stepped behind you towards the bed. His long legs tangled with yours and you tumbled backwards, laughing as you hit the plush bed and Harry collapsed on top of you.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at you with a smile, pushing the hair that had fallen into your face aside. "Hi baby," he said softly.

"Hi."

"Missed you," he said, leaning down for another sweet kiss. 

"We were apart for like, eight minutes," you giggled between his kisses, your laughter giving way to a sigh as he moved to press a kiss to your nose, your cheek, your chin.

"Doesn't matter," he breathed into the crook of your neck, pressing small open mouth kisses to the soft skin there, "Any time apart is too long."

"The two weeks left of the tour will fly by. You should enjoy them while you can."  

"Wish you could come with me, love performing for you." He kissed his way across the base of your neck, collarbone to collarbone as his fingers trailed to the small straps on your shoulders. "Would you like to take this off?"

"Please," you sighed, desperate and aching for the feeling of his skin against yours. 

Your first time sleeping with Harry had been exactly what you'd wanted and expected - hot and fast, admittedly over a bit more quickly than either of you had wanted, but worth the weeks of wait. 

Harry's skill set hadn't ended at singing and playing instruments. If anything, his vast experience using his hands and mouth only helped him excel in other pastimes that also utilized those parts of his body. To both of your delights, he had proven his adeptness in all areas multiple times that night, and once again in the morning before he had to rush into the shower, dragging you along with him simply to get more time together before you were forced apart once again. 

/// 

You had spent the next two months away from one another, Harry having wrapped his tour and immediately beginning work on his next album. You'd spent your own time mixed between writing and recording an upcoming single. You had already written a handful of songs that were inspired by him and you'd wondered, albeit a bit nervously, if the sentiment was shared. When he stopped in Nashville on a long layover, pushing his flight back even longer to stay with you for another night, you'd tried to pry the information out of him. Unfortunately, no amount of sexual teasing or denial had convinced him — he, however, had you singing like a canary almost immediately, teasing you in the best way about how easily you opened up for him, telling him all about the music that he had already inspired.

You had been FaceTiming him late one night weeks later, both tired from long days spent in the studio. He had suddenly gotten shy, biting at the skin around his fingernails. 

"Hey, stop that. What's the matter H?"

"Wanna ask you something," he mumbled, but a smile was peeking through where his fingers were still at his lips. "Jus' don't know how to."

"Baby," you sighed, "you can ask me anything. Y'know that." 

"I know, I know." He paused and took a deep breath before a wide smile stretched across his face. "Would you maybe want to come home with me this Christmas? To London? Wouldn't be for long, maybe just a couple nights, I just wanna introduce you to my mum already, she's been pestering me nonstop lately 'bout meetin' you and Gem's joined in on it now too, so it's two against one when they call and I've told them that—"

"Harry," you said chucking, trying to interrupt his nervous rambling.

"—and she actually called me Harold last time she told me to bring you 'round and that got me a bit worried so I—"

"Harry! Of course I'll come with you. I'd absolutely love to."

You met him at the airport weeks later, desperate to pull him close and kiss him silly in the confines of his darkly tinted car, but you refrained, knowing how seriously Harry took the protection of your relationship from the press. You may not have been able to see anyone straining to capture pictures of you two, but you knew there was always the chance. 

It was an entirely different story, however, when he'd finally pulled the car past the mechanical gate and into his private drive. You both reached for each other immediately, arms tangled and shifter knob pressed uncomfortably against your side, but perfectly content so long as his lips were against yours. 

"Fuck— I missed you— so much," he muttered between kisses. He pulled away, forehead resting against yours, sly smirk pulling at his lips. "Mum won't expect us for a few hours at least."

"What is it that you're insinuating, Mr. Styles?"

"That there's plenty of time to give you a tour around the house, that's all," he said innocently. He gave you a sweet smile before hopping out of the car and coming to the passenger side where he helped you out and picked up your bags.

You were eager to be given a house tour, more than keen to learn all of the things you could about his London life. The house was decorated in a way that made you smile - eclectic but with a definitive air of cohesive taste. It suited Harry to an absolute tee. From the artwork that decorated the walls to the mismatched but homey furniture, you could tell immediately that this was Harry's sanctuary - every inch of the home screamed his name. 

"It's incredible," you said as he led you into the largest room, the master. He walked over to the dresser that sat under the window and pulled open the top two drawers. 

"I know we won't be here long, this time around, but I cleaned out a few drawers for you here, if you want to unpack some things. And there's space in the closet for you too," he nodded towards the door on the other side of the room, dragging a hand through his hair as he talked, "I had too much in there anyways and some of it needed to go and I wanted you to be able to leave some things, if you felt comfortable, of if Mum drags us out shopping and you don't want to take it all home now you can leave it here and-"

"You- you cleared out a drawer for me?"

"Well, yeah," he said, resting his hand on the back of his neck. "Made some space for you in the bathroom too, though I doubt it'll be enough, with all that you bring along to fix yourself up." He paused and thought for a moment. "I know how our lives are. I just wanted you to have some of your own space here; want you to feel as comfortable in my home as I do. Is that too much?" 

"H," you said with a sigh, your lips curling into a smile, "it's perfect, and so thoughtful. I'm sorry I haven't done the same for you in Nashville yet."

"'s alright, love. I've already got a toothbrush there at least. I can take some time when we fly back to come and help if you'd like me to. As long as you don't end up wearing all the clothes that I leave there," he chuckled.

"You know me too well," you said, reaching for his hand. He lifted your entwined fingers to his lips to brush a kiss over your knuckles.

"You do look good in my clothes," he confessed, pulling you close to face him. "Look good in my house. But you always look good anyways."

"Said the pot to the kettle," you said with a smile. "I like being here already," you shrug, hands resting on his shoulders. "It feels like you, like home. Thank you for inviting me," you add, as though the measly voicing of your appreciation is enough to convey what you truly feel. 

"You're welcome anytime, if I'm here or not."

"You trust me that much?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll get you a key and everything." He leaned down to kiss you slowly, relearning the map of your lips and mouth, before pulling away. He laughed when you made a noise of protest.

"The bathroom's over here if you'd like to freshen up." He had pulled at your hand, stepping towards the other open door in the room. "Figured a shower might sound nice after a long day in an airplane. Besides, I've gotta clean up before we go to Mum's anyways."

"Gonna join me?" 

"Yeah, thought I might, if that's okay." His smirk had been wicked as he pushed you the rest of the way into the bathroom. He dropped your hand to reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. As he reached for the buckle of his pants, he had met your staring eyes. "See something you like, love?"

You definitely had, though you didn't think your attraction — physically or emotionally — for Harry had stopped at something that was as weak as "like." Getting to know him over the last six months had made you worry that there wasn't ever going to be anyone else like him, anyone that made you feel like he did. You had fallen for him, desperately hard, and the realization of it as you stood in front of his half-naked self almost embarrassed you. 

"Babe? You alright?" he asked as he stripped down to his boxers. 

"Yeah, you just got me all distracted," you had grinned, pulling your sweatshirt and remaining clothes off quickly before joining Harry under the warm spray of the water.

Meeting Harry's mom that evening went better than you could've ever dreamt it would. The two of you got on like old friends, and Harry had stared, almost in wonder, at how easily you seemed to bond with her. And then he had stared in horror as Anne offered to pull out the photo albums filled with pictures from Harry's childhood, particularly when Anne offered up the album filled with photos from Harry's and Gemma's emo phases. 

As the evening wore on, you caught Harry on more than one occasion glancing your way, cheeks bright from the red wine he was sipping on and eyes warmly reflecting the bright Christmas lights. He always looked like he was a split second away from saying something, only to shake his head and look away with a small smile. 

Later, in bed, Harry pulled you close to him. He was laying on his back, you on your side, and you threw a leg over his waist, soaking in all of the cuddles you could get on this short trip together. The room was only illuminated by the ambient light coming in through the blinds. 

"Mum liked you a lot," he murmured, gently stroking the skin at the base of your spine, "said I should hang onto you". 

You returned the gesture, running your fingertips along the lines of ink that make up his many tattoos. "I liked her too. She's wonderful, I see where you get it from now."

"Hey now, 'm wonderful all on my own!" He tickled your side and you couldn"t help but arch towards him, shrieking and laughing at the touch. 

"Stop that! You are an absolute pest, you know that?" you said, grinning up at him.

"Ah, you love me," he whispered, and his joking tone made you smile but the way he pulled you tighter as he said it made you brave. 

You let the weight what you were about to say wash over you, aware that things were going to change forever with just a few words. "I do love you, Harry," you whispered, moving up his body to press a kiss to his lips.

"Thank God," he had said, wrapping his arms back around you and pulling you on top of him. "Cause I love you too."

Leaving Harry after that had been even more difficult. All you wanted to do was be with him, but you had too much coming up with the future release of your album and Harry was still in the midst of doing his own writing and recording. 

It was your professions, along with the desire to keep your relationship private, that kept you apart. You weren't sure how you did it, but your relationship had withstood the distance and odd-hours. The only step now would be deciding if, when, and how to confirm the suspicions to tabloids and fans alike that you were an item.

The wait was killing you. All you wanted was to show off to the world that Harry was yours.

///

The bridge of the song was followed quickly by the chorus and the heavy guitar and pounding drums had you rocking on your feet, body swaying into the mic stand as you let yourself get lost in the lyrics. "If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive."

The crowd was even more into the song now, many picking up on the words quickly and screaming them along with your singing. The rock and roll vibe of the song was coursing through you and the crowd, the arena electric with energy already. 

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

You remove the mic from the stand and dance towards one end of the stage, singing as you move to the beat. "We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

///

You had been on the phone with Harry one day in July, nearly five months after the release of your album, having him help you decide what the setlist of your tour would be when it began in November. 

"I wish I could cover one of your songs."

He had laughed and slurped his tea, the sounds comforting to you, even over the phone. "That'd be a bit obvious, wouldn't it love?"

"I don't mean cover Golden or Kiwi," you said, tapping your pen against the pad of paper in front of you. "What about one you wrote for 1D? What about Perfect? Or Stockholm Syndrome! That was always one of my favorites."

"Getting permission on those might be a bit more difficult, s'not just me that's gotta sign off on it. Besides, do you really wanna be the artist that covers a One Direction song on her own headlining tour?"

"Guess I'll stick with singing along to them in the shower then."

You were both quiet for a moment, lost in your own thoughts. 

"What if I covered Medicine?" you asked suddenly, realizing it was the perfect compromise, not to mention your favorite song that Harry himself performed oh his own tour. The rock sound wasn't a far cry from the roots that country music had and you knew it would sound great. "Even if it was just for one stop!"

"Hmm," Harry mused. "It would sound great with the band, I'll give you that. But videos will go around, people will know it's my song you're singing and they'll connect the dots about us."

"H, I'm ready for that if you are. I love you, and I'm ready to be able to share that love that I have for you with the world. Sneaking around has been fun but I want people to know how proud of you I am and how much you're loved and appreciated. Half of our fans know already, it's just a matter of us confirming it. I think that we could really-"

Harry was laughing at your rambling on the other end of the line. "Alright, alright, you drive a hard bargain, love. I think you're right, maybe it is time we stopped sneaking around. I'll try, but Jax and everyone else still have to agree to it too. It might be easier to convince everyone if it's just a one time thing. Pick another cover, something you'd normally do, in case it takes some time to work things out."

"I'll ask him right now! Thank you Harry!"

"I just have one condition," he said, and you could hear the grin that was surely pulling at the corners of his lips. 

"What's that?"

"I get to perform it with you," he had said, and the smile already on your face widened exponentially. "If we're finally gonna make "us" public, may as well do it with a bang."

///

In the moment after the chorus, an 8 count beat is carried by the drummer and guitarist. For this performance, and the only performance you'd put on of this song, you had rehearsed the 8 count repeating once between the chorus and the next verse, as you needed a bit of extra time to announce your guest performer. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," you shout into the mic, grin wide and face beaming already at what was about to take place. "To help me finish this performance, please help me welcome my very good friend, Harry Styles!"

Harry emerges from behind the stage holding his own wireless mic as much of the crowd screams - he may not be a country artist, but he was absolutely known worldwide. You step back with a wave of your arm, smiling as he begins the next chorus. His performance is for the crowd but he's singing the words directly to you. 

"Tingle running through my bones, fingers to my toes, tingle running through my bones," he sings, voice smooth like whiskey, and the crowd adores him, eating out of the palm of his hand. "The boys and the girls are in, I mess around with them, and I'm OK with it." 

You can't help but dance as he sings, his voice and the energy of the crowd propelling you to move. He watches you, eyes no longer on the crowd, as he sings the next lines. Immediately, heat pools low in your belly at his glance and the words. 

"I'm coming down, I figured out I kinda like it. And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

You gyrate your hips at the unsung line of "ride it", listening with a sly grin as some in the crowd scream the two words that go unsung. 

///

After giving him a key, Harry had moved some of his clothes to your apartment in Nashville some time while you were away on the first leg of your tour. He had found the city to be incredibly welcoming and inspirational for his upcoming album and had decided to stay there for a spell while you continued to tour around the country. 

You had scheduled a short break between your concerts over New Years, wanting to be able to grab at least one or two nights at home with him to celebrate the holiday before you were back on the road again. 

"So fucking glad you're home," Harry panted, pulling your shirt over your head before attaching his lips to yours once again. "Missed you like crazy."

"Missed you too," you moaned as his lips moved downwards, across your neck and over your collarbones, down the valley between your breasts. Before he could reach around to unhook your bra, you reached for his shirt, as desperate as he was to see and touch what you'd been missing. 

As he pulled the half-unbuttoned blouse over his head, you pulled your leggings off and reached for him, pushing him back onto the bed behind him. He unbuttoned his pants as he scooted up towards the middle of the bed, shoving them and his boxers off in one swoop. 

You climbed on top of him, hurriedly reaching to kiss him as you rubbed your clothed center along the length of his hard cock. 

"Fuck," he hissed, throwing his head back to allow you room to kiss his neck. "Desperate aren't you, darling?"

"Want you so bad it hurts," you whispered, sucking a bright hickey right where it would absolutely be seen by anyone.

You moved to continue kissing down his chest but he stopped you with a hand under your arm. "Not gonna last long, love. Wanna be inside you."

His cheeks and chest were flushed bright red, lips puffy and pupils blown wide. This was when you loved him most, being able to have him like no one else did. The same feeling always hit you at certain moments, particularly ones of domesticity, like when you watched him back the car out of the driveway or when he stood in the kitchen in the morning in nothing but socks, boxers, and his ratty old robe, singing along to old big band jazz as he waited for the coffee to brew. There was Harry Styles the musician, Harry Styles the actor, and Harry Styles the performer, but then there was your Harry. 

"Yeah, okay," you sighed, moving off of him quickly to remove your bra and panties. You climbed back onto the bed and threw your leg over his hips, straddling him. He immediately reached for you and pulled you flush against his chest, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss. 

You rocked your hips against him as he held you, your slick arousal gliding along his length, drawing a moan from both of you. 

"Baby, please," he panted, and you could only mod in agreement, lost already to the sweeping feeling of your close release. 

His hands rested on your hips as you positioned him at the entrance between your legs. You groaned in harmony as you worked down him slowly, the only sound in the room was your shared heavy breathing and gasps. 

"Fuck me," he sighed as you set a slow pace, rocking on top of him to reach each spot that you know will get you there. 

"Workin' on it," you grin. A quick swivel of your hips hit at just the right angle and you tossed your head back, repeating the movement over and over again until you shuddered with a final snap of tension, your orgasm rolling over you as Harry helped you move, hands tight on your hips, to wring all you could from the release. 

"You look so beautiful right now, like a fuckin' angel," Harry said, voice low and gravely, accent thick with need. 

"How's that line go?" you said as you slowed down, smirking when a harsh rock of your hips caused Harry to moan. "'Turns out she's a devil in between the sheets'?"

"Fuck," he groaned again, eyes closed tightly. "Can't just go reciting my own lyrics to me while I"m buried in ya like this, love."

"And there's nothing you can do about it," you continued, singing the line of his song this time, and his hips buck up into yours harshly.

"You're gonna pay for that," he had said, quoting another of his songs, before he had flipped you over onto your back and set his own brutal pace.

///

Like he can read your thoughts, Harry beams and wags a finger in your direction and the crowd screams at your chemistry together. You grab your mic from its stand and take a step towards Harry to sing the chorus together.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive." Harry dances off to the side of the stage, performing once again for the crowd. 

You dance at center stage with your wireless mic, too excited about performing with Harry that you can't stand in one spot. The music and Harry's energy make you want to move. "You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it." 

"We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da!" Harry throws his head back, singing along in his own world and you can't look away from him. He really was a rockstar and getting to share the stage with him like this was an experience you'd never forget. 

"You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

There's a great pause in the lyrics where the guitar, keyboard, and drums play together, increasing the tension of the song. You and Harry take off towards opposite ends of the stage, both reveling in the performance for the crowd as you dance and stomp to the beat. Eventually, with a slide down the keys of the keyboard, the instrumental quiets into just the steady beat of the bass line joined by the hi-hats. 

You and Harry urge the crowd to clap along as you both return to the middle of the stage to sing together once again. He always said that this portion of the song was one of his favorites to perform, the repeated line from the bridge ending abruptly with the lights going out before flashing back on, the added theatrics of the performance elevating the climax of the song completely. Having rehearsed that Harry would sing the following chorus alone, you let yourself get lost in his gaze as it settles on you.

You stand facing one another behind the mic stand, once again singing more to one another rather than to the crowd. You step closer towards him as the lyrics progress, nearly chest to chest now with your voices sharing one another's mics. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm—"

Before you can sing the last word of the line and the lights can blink out as rehearsed, Harry leans forwards and captures your mouth in a hungry kiss. The crowd erupts with screams as the lights above the stage go dark.

You can feel rather than hear him say the words "I love you" against your lips and you have just enough time to repeat them back to him before the drums and guitar pick the beat up once again, the lights flashing back on brightly. He moves away and continues to sing the chorus that follows as if nothing had happened. You're a bit stunned, not having prepared for his relationship-revealing public display of affection to happen during your performance of his song but it was perfect and he knows it. Your smile is wide and you can't help but stand rooted where you are and laugh at what has just finally happened.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive," he sings, smirking at you while you blush across from him. 

You join him in singing the last lines, your right hand joining his left hand where everyone can see your fingers entwine. 

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it. We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh!"

You urge the crowd with a waving hand to join in and they do, singing along with you and Harry. "La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

The drums and guitar end the song on five quick beats and the crowd erupts once again in screams. You immediately jump towards Harry, throwing your arms around his neck in a close embrace. His hands wrap around your waist to hold you close, and you can feel him smile where his face is pressed close to your jaw.

"How was that?" he asks, chuckling against you.

"It was perfect, you're perfect. Thank you, H. For everything."

"Can take you on a proper date now, yeah? Wanna show my girl off to the world."

"Yes, please!" You can't wipe the smile from your face as he sets you down and Harry continues to beam at you as the crowd continues screaming, reeling from your shared performance. 

Harry nudges you gently before turning back to them, lifting his and your arms high in the air and leading you in bending for a bow. He steps away from you and turns, opening his arms wide to you for the crowd to praise and you laugh, tearing up at his gesture and the overwhelming emotions of the performance while you take another bow just for yourself. 

He pulls you into another hug and you can't help but angle your face up towards him, wordlessly asking for another very quick, very public kiss.

He glances down at you, smiling. "You're gonna love this now, aren't you?"

"Course I am. love showing them you're mine."

He leans down to peck your forehead, your nose, and finally, your lips, as the crowd goes wild. "Love showing them you're mine. You've got a show to finish, love. Go kill it."

///

Ahh! So much fun! This has been such a joy to write and I appreciate you taking the time to give it a chance! It’s my first (of hopefully many) Harry fics - reading all of the stories here has been immensely inspiring, and I’m so looking forward to writing more!

Tagging my love @morganlatte​ who is a wonderful hype woman and beta reader. Thanks buddy!

Anyways! Thank you for reading! My love language is words of affirmation (aka I have a praise kink) so leave me a comment here if you feel so inclined!

[therockerfromspace]

What the hell is going on with the Grammys - a massive master post.

 Buckle up; this is a mess.

So as we all know, Grammy nominations came out on Tuesday. And... whew there’s a lot to unpack. So this master post is (hopefully) going to explain all the different strands of this. 

A disclaimer before we start: this is in no way bashing the artists who have been nominated. I am sure they all work immensely hard and although they submit themselves, most of them have 0 say in the nominations process. For the love of God - we’re not going after any individual artist. 

(also, just for clarity and conciseness: this post is going to focus on the “Big 4″ in terms of nominations - Best New Artist, Record of the Year, Song of The Year and Album of the Year). 

So - Best New Artist. As a category I’m happy with all the nominees - the criteria is weird as hell though (basically you can just keep submitting yourself up to 3 times? and it doesn’t matter how far into your career you are? ok I guess). I’d love for Phoebe Bridgers or Megan Thee Stallion to take it personally, but I’m happy with all the nominees. It’d be nice to see Blackpink get an acknowledgement but they could end up getting nominated next year because of eligibility dates. So yeah, no major issues with Best New Artist. 

Just to clarify before we move on - Wikipedia has better definition of the difference between SOTY and ROTY so I’m just going to paste it here:

Record of the Year is awarded for a single or for one track from an album. This award goes to the performing artist, the producer, recording engineer and/or mixer for that song. In this sense, "record" means a particular recorded song, not its composition or an album of songs.

Song of the Year is also awarded for a single or individual track, but the recipient of this award is the songwriter who actually wrote the lyrics and/or melodies to the song. "Song" in this context means the song as composed, not its recording

ROTY: Record of the year ... it’s very safe. Rockstar, Say So, Everything I Wanted, Don’t Start Now, Circles and Savage were all expected. The Black Pumas song is an outlier but normally there’s a couple of smaller songs on the nominees list so not a complete surprise. Black Parade is also a bit of a turnup - it’s a great song and obviously had some momentum this summer but wasn’t huge . I was surprised not to see The Weeknd in this category (more on that later); would have nice to see BTS on the list but again, not shocking. 

SOTY: A mix? I guess? Most of it is overlap from ROTY - but there’s a few different songs in the way of Cardigan, I Can’t Breathe and If The World Was Ending. Personally, I’m really happy that Cardigan and I Can’t Breathe are in there - my personal favorite would be I Can’t Breathe Winning. “If The World Was Ending” ... was there I guess? So congratulations. 

AOTY: Oh boy. AOTY is a mix. So the less surprising inclusions: Folklore and Future Nostalgia. I do genuinely believe it’s a tossup between those two now as to who wins AOTY - I’m going to give the edge to Taylor right now because she’s won it before for Fearless and 1989 but I’m not sure the Recording Academy would give it to her 1 in 4 years ish consistently. Then again, Taylor is a Grammys darling and 2nd highest Metacritic score of the nominations, so it wouldn’t shock me. I’m shocked HAIM are nominated in the best possible way (it’s my personal AOTY), but the rest ... I’m stunned by. Djesse Vol 3 is also great but I don’t think it has a shot; Chilombo was good but not brilliant, Black Pumas got in with a deluxe version (yes it’s a good album, but it’s going to be close to 2 years old by the time the Grammys roll round), I’m not a massive fan of Hollywood’s Bleeding but Post Malone’s commercial impact can’t be denied. Coldplay is the one I find most bizarre - it wasn’t a particularly good album nor did it stick around commercially. So yeah - it would nice for HAIM to take it (I think they have a shot of pulling a “Golden Hour” and taking it home) but I’d be shocked if it didn’t go to Taylor.

So. Yes, there were some snubs - I thought Harry Styles would get a SOTY nomination, I was also expecting BTS to sneak into a couple of categories; Phoebe deserved an AOTY nomination and Rina Sawayama deserved some recognition. However. 

WHERE THE FUCK IS THE WEEKND?

The Weeknd not getting a single nomination. How? No matter which way you look at it, Blinding Lights, should be up for ROTY or at least in the Pop categories. OK, so After Hours isn’t going to be one of the all time great albums, but you can’t look at that list and think “hmm, yes; they’re all objectively better than After Hours.” Because they’re not. That’s a fact. The Weeknd has spoken out against the Grammys in the past (which I’ll come to in a minute), but the truth of the matter is is that the Grammys are institutionally biased. Let’s roll back to 2015. In 2016, the nominees for AOTY were 1989, Beauty Behind The Madness, Sound & Color, To Pimp a Butterfly and Traveler. Thinking about this in terms of critical success, the Grammy should have gone to Kendrick for “To Pimp A Butterfly”. It went to 1989. Ok, so 1989 is a great album! and commercially, was the biggest selling album that year. So from, that (and the following year, where 25 won over Lemonade) we could deduce that the Grammy focuses on the album that’s made the most commercial impact. HOWEVER: if we carry this logic into 2021, none of the nominees make any sense. Surely if they did, then only Folklore and Future Nostalgia would be on their. No matter how you look at it, After Hours straddled the line of being inescapable for a year and of getting great reviews. It should have been nominated for AOTY and that’s the bottom line of it. 

So why wasn’t it?

Probably The Weeknd criticizing the Grammys previously didn’t help. But according to that bastion of news, TMZ, he was given the choice between performing at the Grammys or at Superbowl. The Weeknd negotiated, and agreed to do both. He was announced to be performing at the Superbowl on 12th November (link: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-54921206) . Grammy noms come out on the 24th, TMZ reports he was given the choice between Superbowl and Grammys about 8 hours after the nominations (https://www.tmz.com/2020/11/24/the-weeknd-ultimatum-grammys-super-bowl-performance-snub/) . Then, The Weeknd tweets this maybe an hour later (https://twitter.com/theweeknd/status/1331394452447870977). To add insult to injury, he went from being in “negotiations to perform” to no nominations. Now that’s a kick in the teeth.

A day later, the president of the Grammys, Harvey Mason Jr. does an interview with Variety (https://variety.com/2020/music/news/grammy-harvey-mason-weeknd-snub-show-1234839208/). Gives a load of non-answers as expected. But he does talk about the Grammy committee. 

We don’t know much about how the Grammy voting process works. If you’re a member, you listen to the songs in the categories and then vote. BUT THEN. The top 20 songs/albums go to the committee. There’s 20 people on the committee - some with direct links to labels and artists. So they could hypothetically pick songs ranked 15-20 and nominate then. Which is why I think The Weeknd was majorly snubbed. I think The Weeknd got into the top 20 in all the categories he was nominated in and the committee overruled. That’s my theory anyway. The Grammys have been problematic for years - but since I’ve been following then from 2015ish - they’ve been accused racism (lack of BAME winners), sexism (remember the “well women should make better music” comments in 2018 https://variety.com/2018/music/news/grammys-so-male-women-recording-academy-president-neil-portnow-1202679902/) and then the mysterious ousting of Deborah Dugan at the start of last year (https://www.vox.com/2020/1/26/21082057/2020-grammys-sexual-harassment-corruption-recording-academy-deborah-dugan-rigged-nominations). 

When Deborah Dugan was fired, she alleged sexual misconduct and voter corruption in the academy. (If I can find a copy of the original PDF I will, https://www.theguardian.com/music/2020/jan/22/suspended-grammys-chief-deborah-dugan-alleges-sexual-misconduct-in-recording-academy). But honestly the article speaks for itself. The grammys are corrupt, and not a true measure of artistic integrity. 

So, as much as I find them fascinating - let’s not give them any more weight then they deserve. If your fave has a nomination, great! If not, it doesn’t make them any less of an artist. 2020 has been a fabulous year for music, so let’s concentrate on that. 

It’s impossible to cover every aspect of the Grammys in one tumblr post, and well done if you’ve made it to the end. If anyone has any questions, I’ll try and answer them to the best I can. 

Thank you so much for reading! And Happy Thanksgiving, remember to donate to Native people today if you can - here’s a link to some places to donate https://twitter.com/MsKellyMHayes/status/1332000439378784261 !

[netflixandgrill-blog]

We’re Just Not That Into He’s Just Not That Into You

9 Netflix and Grill Takeaways 

1. Ginnifer Goodwin Acts Her Ass Off 

We both had a sudden realization when watching this movie: Ginnifer Goodwin is (or at least should be) America’s sweetheart. She’s cute, likable, intelligent, vulnerable, and funny, and she carried this movie like she was Atlas and this turd of a movie was the world resting on her shoulders. 

2. It’s Chock Full of Stars 

Even the smaller roles are played by like A-List actors. How they got all these assfaces to sign on for three total minutes of screen time in this dud is the biggest head-scratcher of 2009 (and that was the year everyone was still trying to figure out what caused the financial crisis.) There are roughly 700 major characters in this film, and their lives all loosely intersect like a way-shittier Magnolia or a slightly-shittier Love Actually. 

There are so many characters, in fact, that perennial star Drew Barrymore pops in and out so infrequently that you forget that she’s in the movie. It seems Drew Barrymore’s character’s sole function is to plug the barely-still-relevant MySpace in the 3 scenes she’s in. We half-expected Tom to make a cameo.

3. Jennifer Connelly Is Way Too Intense for This Romcom

Someone shoulda told J-Con, “This isn’t Requiem For a Dream, this is just some light viewing for couples on date night or boozed-up quarantiners. Let’s take it down about 5 notches.” But instead, J-Con swings for the fences in this fairly banal role as if she can smell an Oscar within reach. Like when she flips out on her poor home renovator (Luis Guzman), delivering a diatribe aimed at him with the same intensity that Liam Neeson directs toward the kidnappers in Taken. And over what? She suspects he and his fellow workers have been smoking. (Cue members of the audience clutching their pearls.) 

In fact, the whole subplot of her paranoia about everyone around her enjoying a cig on the down-low feels like a “truth” anti-smoking ad. She even lets husband Bradley Cooper off the hook for nailing ScarJo behind her back as long as he wasn’t smoking during it!

4. Jennifer Aniston is Somehow a Pathetic Character 

We are supposed to buy that the other characters in the movie look down on the still-unmarried Jennifer Aniston like she is a pitiable, kooky old maid with 39 cats when in actuality she is literally the most beautiful woman in the world (see People Magazine in 2004 and 2016). 

To both of their credit, Jennifer Aniston and on-screen beau Ben Affleck prove their star quality with a touching proposal scene that could easily have become a romcom cliché. Heidi definitely got a bit misty-eyed. Mike wept openly.

5. And Justin Long Is Somehow the Heartbreaker

Remember Justin Long as Warren Cheswick, the super dorky teen in the TV show Ed? Well, that’s how we will always remember him. How did he make the insane leap from that (very appropriately cast) role to one where he is slaying puss like Leo at Cannes? The world may never know. 

6. ScarJo Is Apparently a Rising Music Star and We Never See Her Sing 

A struggling musician, ScarJo connects with music exec Bradley Cooper and they exchange numbers, so at their next meeting he obviously he comes to see her at a venue where she’s performing, right? Wrong, it’s at a yoga class that she apparently teaches, as if yoga has anything to do with anything. E from Entourage also has the hots for ScarJo and is chasing her all over town, so we see him catching up with her at an open mic, rehearsal room, or recording studio, right? Wrong, wrong, and wrong. When does she perform/rehearse? ScarJo’s character might be the least disciplined artist since, well, us.  

Then, at the end of the movie, we finally see a snapshot of ScarJo performing without sound as if they are hiding the fact that she can’t sing, which is completely bizarre, as ScarJo has released two albums in real life and, oh, by the way, has a song on the film’s fucking soundtrack.

Of all the silly choices the filmmakers made for this movie, and there are many, this bungled subplot is by far the most baffling.

7. The Story Incorporates Pointless Confessional Vignettes 

The writers of this movie evidently watched When Harry Met Sally, saw the confessional interviews interspersed throughout the movie, and said, “Let’s just copy those and make them strange non-sequiturs instead of using them to connect the narrative.” It’s almost as if the writers were getting paid by the movie minute, making this already-too-long-movie even longer. 

8. E From Entourage’s Character Is the Most Hard-Up Person in History 

E from Entourage has it bad for ScarJo, his friend who he used to date.  ScarJo  exploits his attraction to her in order to gain emotional support, but that’s fine with him because he is obsessed with her and will take what he can get. She’s all, “Could you just tell me I’m beautiful?,” and he’s all, “Could you just touch it, blow on it, look at it for a second, literally anything?” In one scene where she greets him with a hug we expected him to immediately need a change of pants.

 9. Heidi’s Favorite Song Is In the Movie

It’s the Talking Heads’ “This Must Be the Place,” which is ironic, cause this 41-per-cent-on-Rotten-Tomatoes chick flick is the last place she wanted to hear this song. 

[actualhumansunshine]

oh my god you're right!!!!! I didn't even realize, but I've been stanning niall this entire fucking time in hopes that one day he would perform one specific eagles cover, and now that he's done that, it's time for me to move on to my TRUE calling: stanning the great and almighty Harry E. Styles™, true heir to the greats and most perfect man/artist to ever live. I'm glad that you so bravely came to open my eyes to the truth 😩🙏

that shitty sarcastic answer is all this trollish ask really deserves, but I can't help myselfa) I don't "not like" niall's album. yes, I have things that I hope he'll change next time around, but thats only because I know that he has so much more potential than what was shown on NH1 and I would love to see him take advantage of that with NH2.b) clearly you haven't seen all my thirsty ass tags if you don't think i find him attractive or like how he looks, but regardless of that fact, I don't think that liking the way a person looks should be a determining factor in whether or not a person stans them?? it seems to me that it should be more about character and personality and the work they put out than PURELY how they look??c) his voice HAS grown and gotten stronger over the years. in no way does that mean that he was BAD at any point, it just means that he's better currently than he has been up to this point. it's fine if his voice isn't your cup of tea, but to act as if he's NEVER been good and still isn't?? the stan goggles are strong ripd) good for you if you love and adore every single thing that your fave has ever done, but that's just not the way that I approach stanning or being a fan. I have my issues and unpopular opinions when it comes to niall and the way he does or says things sometimes (or...doesn't do/say thing sometimes), but that's how I would be with ANYONE I followed this closely or cared about this much, including harry if I were to "stan the real deal" like you suggest.

there are SO many reasons that I stan niall, starting with his music and extending to his personality and the way he relates to fans, the way he so passionately loves the things that he does and shares them with the world, the hard work he puts in to every aspect of something he's put his mind to. I could go on and on about the reasons that I personally have chosen to stan niall, because I find him to be a fascinating and compelling person PLUS he makes music I love (and the fact that I think he's good looking is just a bonus).

and tbh I think this metaphorical dick measuring contest between harries and niall stans debating which one is somehow ~better is so bizarre?? ESPECIALLY when it takes a form like this, where you're coming into my "niall stan and loving it" inbox to try and convince me on anon that I'm an idiot (or "too smart" as another anon said) for stanning niall and should get on the winning team with harry. there's no winning team between the two of them!! they're both doing their own thing and interpreting a similar set of references in very different way, so people can be fans of one or the other, both or neither, who the fuck cares. it's completely fan made competition and it's Exhausting™ so just let me hang out over here in my niall loving lane unbothered ghalsjfh

[fvsdfdsfds-blog]

Hoppa Alba Hoppa

In the fifties the English café became a continental coffee bar with espresso changing tea. In The Golden Disc Harry and Joan (Lee Patterson and Mary Steele) convert Aunt Sara's decrepid café into a coffee bar (to encompass a document shop and a recording studio) eventually selling a young singer (Terry Dene) to No.1 inside the tune charts and cashing in on the begin of the rock and roll era. Unconsciously, it's far a picture of the past due fifties in Britain. It throws in a cornucopia of track styles, the manufacturers obviously try to section all. There is folk, instrumentals, skiffle, jazz, ballads and rock'n'roll. As a chunk of musical history it's far outstanding in capturing the sensation of changing times.

The fact that prime-time television or cinema could result in hysteria and phenomenally growth sales of rock'n'roll music was now not unknown. That said, the complete concept of those early pop musicals were in particular created for economic benefit in a failing film business with audiences that had dropped off because the late forties.

The opening song Dynamo by using Sonny Stewart's Skiffle Kings stretches from ambient diegetic to performance mode (through a dissolving montage of nightclub neons from one espresso bar into another) as the tune abruptly modifications from a studio recording to stay performance. This courageous musical edit did not idiot everyone. 'You can be annoyed through the way it every so often fades the music before the artists have quite finished' says Nina Hibben in the Daily Worker, (15/3/58)

Campbell Dixon's person view of the time sees 'a strange world of frenzied exhibitionism and phoney, cautiously 호빠 cultivated hysteria. He is aware of it exists... because the young playwrights guarantee us its big, and I'm sure it's far, idea just what its large of, besides own family forget about and bad teaching, I've virtually no idea. All that worries me here is that I locate it quite numbingly dull.

The change of the coffee bar throughout a musical number is sort of a religious transformation. The Gaggia espresso device is delivered into the newly refurbished espresso bar ceremoniously carried on a timber plinth like a pharaoh's mummy. It is located within the position of font on a bar serving as the altar. The jukebox pervades as the church organ and the Espresso espresso serves ritualistically as a relaxed form of communion. These easy traits are indicative of the brand new trend: the blood of rock'n'roll in religious undertones. The owner cannot believe the amount of coffee inebriated because the coffee bar begins to be successful.

The attractions of the espresso bar; that bizarre amalgam of pine, caffeine, bamboo and bullfight posters, were legion. The coffee bar offered teenagers a warm, welcoming assembly place. Not a determine in sight. They had been places you could hang approximately for an evening, spend a shilling on a espresso, go in at nine and pop out at eleven, and no one bothers you.

Terry Williams (as Dene turned into born) labored as a record-packer, who had a desire to sing at office parties (his Presley imitations were properly received) and become found by way of manufacturer Jack Good of 6.five Special. As Terry Dene, he almost had decent hits, however his cover of Marty Robbins' White Sport Coat turned into a larger hit for some other British group, and his second unmarried became overshadowed by means of a Sal Mineo version. Nevertheless he became an overnight sensation along with his Elvis impersonation.

Terry Dene's part within the film is overshadowed with the aid of his disastrously brief career (that could have matched any of the opposite artists mentioned). Scandal and his incapacity to address drink within the track clubs led him to be the primary UK rebel. In his documentary he bemoans that the ballads Decca pressured him to file had been no longer what he changed into about, he changed into a rock'n'roller while he played live. 'Girls swooned over him, boys wanted to punch him.' says manufacturer Jack Good inside the biopic of Dene's lifestyles.

After various tantrums regarding panes of glass and mirrors being drunkenly smashed, he lost the respect of his fans. The alcohol delivered out a violent streak in him that became now not there whilst he changed into sober. A slight and mild natured person from London's operating magnificence Eastend (Platchet), he was faced with National Service (following in Elvis's footsteps). The other soldiers taunted him and within 48 hours he had had a fearful breakdown and left the navy in disgrace. The press of the day scolded him for his pointless scandals and lack of ability to perform his obligation for his country.

The Golden Disc took him to achievement, which become quick lived, and he soon became portrayed because the 'bad boy' of British rock'n'roll. This left him jobless after his demobilisation. In 1964 he then located solace in Christianity and proceeded too produce gospel records.

The movie finale sees Mary Steele and American Lee Patterson launch a document agency and make a nation-wide hit with Dene's first report. A massive British enterprise nearly ruins them, but an even bigger American agency large-heartedly steps in and saves the day. As Nina Hibbin says in the Daily Worker (15/3/58) 'It's speculated to be a British film but its message is "Good vintage Uncle Sam".' This is in contrast to Expresso Bongo 'which is a rarity: a British film-musical of which we may be proud of and America envious.'

Expresso Bongo 1959 The Manager

A rowdy elegy to British kids culture inside the fifties Expresso Bongo 'plunges a savage paw into the mess that is display business.' It is a film spoof of The Tommy Steele Story, (written by means of Wolf Mankowitz), taken from the West End musical of the same name. So enter Bongo Herbert, the 'unbroken road Arab' as defined by his sensible supervisor Johnny Jackson (Harvey) into a lifestyles of Penny arcades, Prostitution, spaghetti, espresso coffee, garlic sausage, neon, parmigiani and salt beef and the whole plethora of necessary beatnik paraphernalia of props that shrouded the movie from tip to toe.

'In 1959, show business is entertainment of the morons, by way of the morons, for the morons. And you get not anything for nothing'.

This factor of view is put forward in Expresso Bongo. It may seem exaggerated but changed into no longer some distance from the fact in its portrait of Tin Pan Alley and Soho, wherein 'stars are made and broken by the chequebook' as Anthony Carthew found out in his scathing file wherein he also claimed 'This vicious story of display business may be very close to the truth.' John Waterman speaks of 'the penalty of writing a bitingly topical e-book or play or musical is that by the point the movie appears it may have lost some of its teeth.' Whatever the outcome it changed into his impression that 'in a single day making a song successes are not the subject of public interest as they had been 18 months ago, in the stage play.' Perhaps this comment spells the stop of the pop years, which are well known to be between 1956-1960, after which period the Beat Boom commenced which led to the 'British Invasion' of British Pop tune into the American charts. This started with the achievement of the Beatles in Richard Lesters Hard Days Night (1964).

[thevividgreenmoss]

I always liked Louis C.K.’s standup, but I loved his show Louie. The surreal wackiness was, for me, the most accurate rendering of what it actually feels like to live in New York (that was, until Broad City came along, and did Louie but better). I loved Louie’s odd moments of seriousness (Parker Posey’s character’s recounting of her childhood cancer has haunted me for years). There’s an extraordinarily funny and touching episode that takes place in Afghanistan (and who else in the last decade talked about Afghanistan instead of pretending the war didn’t exist, and thought to present the country we invaded and ruined as a fundamentally human place inhabited by ordinary people, all of whom are entranced by the sight of a cute yellow duckling?) Yes, at times, Louie himself could be a bit of an asshole. But he was always relatably an asshole, in situations where we all can be jerks, and the women he dated were all real, well-written people (see especially Parker Posey’s character).

I finally stopped watching Louie in season four, after an episode where I finally noticed the misogyny behind the mask. In the episode, titled only “Model,” Louie goes to the Hamptons. After bombing a comedy gig, he meets a wealthy and gorgeous blonde model who found his gig funny for some reason. She takes him home and they have sex. During the act, he accidentally punches her in the face, knocking her unconscious. Was this meant to be funny? I’m still not sure. The scenario was unrealistic, not surreal; eyeroll-y, not edgy. The blonde model didn’t have a personality; she existed to fuck him and be punched. Maybe you were supposed to laugh at her for fucking Louie, or laugh with Louie for punching her; but either way you were definitely not supposed to laugh at the pathetically transparent fantasy of it, because that part was intended to be serious. (In a later episode of season four, “Pamela”, which I did not watch until much later, Louie attempts to rape his friend Pamela, but fails at it. Lol?)

Comedians joke about everything, except comedy. When it comes to their art, they employ a frigid joylessness that puts all caricatures of feminists to shame. Louis C.K.’s new jokes are not to be criticized. They’re angry: viciously so, directed at trans people and people with disabilities and teenagers whose friends were murdered. The pretended “accidental” nature of C.K.’s punching is gone. Now he’s just hitting us in the face.

Maybe he’s being daring. Maybe Louis C.K.’s “surprise sets” are simply pushing the boundaries of comedy just like he pushed the boundaries of consent by masturbating in front of female comedians against their will. There’s nothing bold, however, about being shitty. There’s nothing particularly rebellious or inventive about bigotry. They call it “reactionary” for a reason: It’s an unthinking backlash, the automatic spasmodic reaction of the old when confronted with the new. There’s a reason conservative can never be “the new punk.” It is, by nature, totally square.

Louis C.K.’s new comedy—which is really his old comedy, without the barrier of distance created by his persona—are regressive not just in politics, but in content. The leaked jokes from his new sets are adolescent in character. I remember edgelords at my high school making basically the same gags about the word r*tarded, racial penis size, etc, etc, yawn. But this kind of humor is adolescent for another reason, too: because it’s concerned ultimately with coolness, superiority, which is found in other, more marginalized people’s discomfort and humiliation. There’s another word for this: sociopathy. What it comes down to is a sense of permanent disengagement: There is a difference between myself and the world; I am better than the world; my self-expression matters more than others and shouldn’t face social consequences. I am furious and offended, but I have a right to my feelings; anyone who is offended by meis an over-sensitive, earnest, tryhardy loser. I am unaffected by the pain of others. I am separate from it.

Separateness is always an act, a self-delusion. We are not that different from other people (sorry, conservatives, you are not special snowflakes!) And the space between a real self and a persona is also an act, which exists in various shades of consciousness. Everyone who has ever created a persona (and most people have online) is aware of this. You can pretend all you like that your screen name is not-you: but of course it is you, a part of you, a side of you. You would not say these things if you did not think them, even if just in character. Your relationship between your self and your persona is healthy only if you honestly acknowledge what’s true and what’s not.

Not everyone who uses a persona is unaware of the scope of this distance; not everyone is faking it. That is to say, everyone with a persona is a liar, but not everyone is a bullshitter. Harry Frankfurt’s short and essential work of philosophy, On Bullshit, lays out important distinctions between liars and bullshitters. A liar knows they are lying, which means they know what the truth is, and have a certain respect for it. But a bullshitter either doesn’t know or doesn’t care, and is fundamentally unable to handle being caught. Louis C.K. is a bullshitter. His old comedy rested on a contradiction that didn’t exist: As Matt Zoller Seitz wrote in Vulture: “Anxious laughter erupted from the tension between the person that C.K. had portrayed himself as being (thoughtful, sensitive, self-interrogating) and the worst-case-scenario person he envisioned in his stand-up bits (narcissistic, lazy, vicious).” Louis C.K. was always this worst-case-scenario person, really, and the decency was a mask. And he’s mad as hell now, not just at the lost millions and the currently canceled movie called “I Love You, Daddy” (ick) but that we finally see into the bullshit, and we know for certain that he’s shit all the way down.

This is the distinction to look for, and it’s very subtle: There must be a clear, unambiguous, delineation between the artist and the mask they’re wearing, a measurable degree of daylight between author and character. This is what Junot Diaz never achieved, despite all the critics’ desire to see it. He was always his misogynist protagonist Yunior, and Yunior was always him, and you could tell because most of the women in his novels, like the blonde in the “Model” episode of Louie, lacked their own reality. Diaz’s work is bullshit—beautifully written bullshit, but nevertheless an attempt to perform awareness rather than being aware, to occlude personal sexism by pretending to critique it. Lena Dunham, who gained her fame by playing the role of the obnoxious asshole (but feminist because she’s a woman), has finally been fully understood by most people as an authentically obnoxious asshole (and not feminist, because she doesn’t actually care about women besides herself). Kevin Spacey collapsed the waveform between self and persona entirely in his recent bizarre videowhere he addressed his fans, in character, as Frank Underwood. He said, “Oh, sure, they’ve tried to separate us. But what we have is too strong. It’s too powerful.” By “us” he appears to have meant himself and his fans; but he might as well have meant Kevin Spacey and Frank Underwood. The waveform will always, eventually collapse; bullshit will always win out. It’s impossible to maintain an insincere act forever. You must either walk away from it, or become it completely.

[ahouseoflies]

The Best Films of 2018, Part II

Part I is here. Let’s keep it moving. ENDEARING CURIOSITIES WITH BIG FLAWS

103. Zama (Lucretia Martel)- In this movie there's a motif of Zama, an officer of the 18th century Spanish Empire, starting a scene by talking to someone or staring at someone off camera. After a minute or two, the camera cuts to some servant and disorients us. There's a person there, always there, to serve him, and it doesn't really matter who it is. It's a brilliant way to get at the colonialism that the character depends on but is still trapped by. So I get a little bit of what the film is trying to do, but it's boring. I'm an ignorant person who doesn't know how to watch Lucretia Martel's films or have any context for South American history, but I know what boring is. 102. I Feel Pretty (Abby Kohn and Marc Silverstein)- I like that Schumer tried something different instead of falling back on her persona, but there isn't enough new or interesting here for me to recommend--besides National Treasure Michelle Williams, of course. The film nearly displays "Do you see that she's turning her back on her real friends now?" on the screen. 101. A Simple Favor (Paul Feig)- At times cheeky and sexy and juicy, but it still wears out its welcome by twists ninety-one and ninety-two. 100. Double Lover (Francois Ozon)- Diverting until it gets silly, then so silly that it gets diverting again. There are about five too many twists, and I'm still unclear on how seriously the film takes any of those twists. More importantly, I don't think there's much of a takeaway from any of it. Ozon seems to have found a real muse in Marine Vacth though. 99. Borg Vs. McEnroe (Janus Metz Pedersen)- As a Shia Pet, I felt obligated to see his portrayal of Johnny Mac. I didn't learn anything that I didn't already know from this mediocre biopic though. Watch the documentary McEnroe/Borg: Fire & Ice instead. 98. Ralph Breaks the Internet (Rich Moore and Phil Johnston)- There's some clever visualization of the the Internet, such as the way that a link shuttles an avatar off in a transparent car or the way that shady newsboy types whisper about pop-up ads. And I liked a lot of the Disney tie-in stuff that critics are wincing at. As far as textbook screenwriting goes, it's great at that idea of making you think that the protagonists will accomplish their goal very easily, only to have them be re-directed to square one. The voice acting is top-notch. Why do these movies get so plotty though? I felt as if the internal logic started getting inconsistent about halfway through--at the same time that the first one got bogged down with candy stuff instead of 8-bit video game stuff. And if there are so many lovable characters from the first entry, why do we get such tiny servings of them here? The movie's too long already, but what I wouldn't give for an occasional cut back to Fix-It Felix raising some kids.

97. We the Animals (Jeremiah Zagar)- The Tree of Life is one of my favorite movies, and on its face, We the Animals is a really similar impressionistic memory. So why do I like it half as much? Are lighting and music that important? Is Jessica Chastain? Is latent racism? All I know is that this felt like a story I had seen before pitched at the same intensity for a running time I was happy to see expire. 96. Kodachrome (Mark Raso)- The three leads are all pretty good. (Ed Harris does this bashful, pulling-on-his-eyelid thing that killed me.) But with mathematical precision, the film matched each element I liked with another thing that infuriated me. Specifically, the whole plot hinges on one scene, and that scene is preposterous and alien to human behavior. 95. Deadpool 2 (David Leitch)- The pacing of these movies is bizarre to me; they're half-over before they really get started. No one else is bothered by the fact that Cable has no motivation or backstory for the first hour? Some of the connections to X-Men felt more forced this time around, but I thought this entry was much funnier than the first, even mixing in some more subtle visual gags. (The exotic locales montage ending in Biloxi really got me.) I have to give credit to the X-Force parachute sequence, which is audacious and unexpected. And clear out for Zazie Beetz, who is a huge star in the making. 94. At Eternity’s Gate (Julian Schnabel)- Something about Van Gogh was essentially unknowable, which is a great reason to make a movie about him and a terrible reason to make a movie about him. I'm not sure that Julian Schnabel got to the bottom of the man any better than anyone else has, though maybe that's an unfair expectation. To his credit, Schnabel yada-yadas the ear business and Van Gogh's death in favor of his more poetic understanding of the artistic life. The movie doesn't coalesce for me, but there's a banger of a scene between Dafoe and Mads Mikkelsen about the responsibility an artist has toward God. That short nested inside makes the whole thing worth seeing. The conversation I had afterwards with one of the two other people in the theater, an art historian, was a solid three stars. 93. Bohemian Rhapsody (Bryan Singer)- Some biographical movies do a good job of compressing time, and their supporting characters don't feel sacrificed or glossed over. For many other mediocre ones though, including this one, I submit the Three Scene Rule. Three scenes is kind of the minimum for a character to register an arc and for an actor to present any kind of dynamic performance, so in a lot of these true story movies, that's all that a supporting character gets. If you're looking for it, it's glaring. (Watch Hidden Figures again with the husband and boyfriend characters in mind. I'll wait.) This movie has a few characters that matter: Freddie Mercury, obvs; the other Queen members; Paul Prenter, the unfairly composited villain; and Mary Austin, the platonic love of Mercury's life. The movie spends way too much time on her, as if to tease the audience with the idea that Freddie might be straight. As for everyone else? Three scenes. Ray Foster, the record executive played by Mike Myers (!): A. "Look, guys, I like formulas. This opera stuff you're talking about? That sounds crazy." B. "The opera stuff is crazy. I ain't making that the single. You can walk out of here for all I care." C. [hangs head in shame after being proven wrong] Jim Hutton, Freddie's partner for the seven years this movie doesn't care about: A. "Look, pal, I may be a waiter, but you can't just grab me like that. On second thought, let's talk. You should learn how to love yourself." B. "Oh, hey. Glad you tracked me down, slugger. You love yourself now? Sure, let's go meet your parents." C. "Guess I'm your boyfriend now. Looking forward to the show." Freddie's Parents: A. "You go out every night! What are you doing out there? Why can't you be a good boy? What's up with your new name?" B. "Why can't you be a good boy? What's up with your new name?" C. "You're a good boy, I guess, even if you're gay. Guess that's your name for real." I like the idea of reproducing the Live Aid performance in full, and the movie comes alive during its musical sequences. But I wish that the same attention given to, like, the number of Pepsi cups on the piano was also given to the nuts and bolts of the storytelling.

92. The Predator (Shane Black)-  I get why other people don't like this. The final fourth feels obligatory, and it seems cut to the verge of incoherence. But if you don't get a little tingle out of a game cast saying Shane Black things like, "Predators don't just sit around making hats out of rib cages," then we are very different moviegoers.

91. Sorry to Bother You (Boots Riley)- I admire Boots Riley's ambition, the way he's taking many of the ideas that drove his music and channeling them into film. But there are too many ideas and, strangely, too much plot to cohere. I liked some of the jokes, especially the Robocop-py TV clips laced throughout. I think my main problem, however, is Lakeith Stanfield as Cassius. He's a fascinating actor, but his energy is completely wrong for an everyman lead like this. I don't think he was the right choice to carry it. 90. Thoroughbreds (Cory Finley)- The repartee at the beginning is sharp, and there are some engaging elements of style. God knows I've never complained about rich, sad, nubile brunettes with strange eyes. But there are pieces missing in that forest-for-the-trees way that happens sometimes with debuts. Like, how do these privileged girls not have access to a gun when our national nightmare is based on all young people having access to guns? Or what is the exact motivation behind the crime at the center? Lots of great characters have been spurred by a violent curiosity, but a zinger here and there doesn't make these girls Raskolnikov. 89. White Boy Rick (Yann DeMange)- Even if this isn't it, I think Yann Demange has a great film in him. There's some urgency to White Boy Rick's politics, and it looks interesting. If nothing else, it succeeds in making the surroundings seem as gloomy as the characters all acknowledge them to be. But this isn't a great film in either of its halves. It's motivated by plot until a crucial event that I don't want to reveal, then it veers much more into character. I would normally sign off on that, but this movie grinds to a halt in the change and never recovers. McConaughey pulls his weight, but Richie Merritt is pretty bad in the lead. 88. The Strangers: Prey at Night (Johannes Roberts)- Despite some striking images and a welcome lack of explanation for the menace, Prey at Night doesn't reach the heights of its predecessor, mostly because the characters are too paint-by-numbers. 87. Ant-Man and the Wasp (Peyton Reed)- Probably the first Marvel movie that would benefit from more action. Some of the material is genuinely funny thanks to Michael Pena and Randall Park, but I got a little drowsy during the middle hour of talk about phase-shifting and the quantum realm. Get back to making things big or making things little, Dr. Molecule! 86. Creed II (Steven Caple Jr.)- The pieces are there, but it's a problem when Jim Lampley, who has one hundred times as many lines as the fifth lead, explains to the audience what they literally saw an hour earlier. If nothing else, this movie proves, through his absence, how good of a director Ryan Coogler is. I would be lying if I said I didn't get the chills at some key moments. Stallone’s performance and Jordan's muscles are good. But there was a dark, honest way for this movie to end, and it went directly against that ending into something more Hollywood. 85. Let the Sunshine In (Claire Denis)- Like Taxi Driver if Travis Bickle just wanted the guy to get him a glass of water afterwards. The film does have that kind of myopic focus--the sexy, ever-candid Binoche is in every scene--but it's far more elliptical, progressing only through character, never through plot. Let the Sunshine In is unique in a way that is different from Denis's other unique works: No one talks like an actual person, and she acts as if you should know all of the characters instead of properly introducing them. It's not supposed to be funny ha-ha, so excuse me if that's what I wanted.

84. Revenge (Coralie Fargeat)-  like the style of this film, the color palette, the synth score, how far it's willing to go with the gore. But if it's called Revenge, and it's clear who the hero is (hint: not the rapist), then the whole thing feels like a fait accompli. We know exactly who's going to be the last woman standing, and we even know the order of the people she's going to kill.

PRETTY GOOD MOVIES 83. The Rider (Chloe Zhao)- This movie is trying to be a poem, but the parts I like the most are prose. It's a promising piece of filmmaking with heartbreaking moments, but I found it most effective when the storytelling spelled things out. It's an all-hands-on-deck independent film, so the amateurism of the piece shines through in the performances from non-professional actors. The relationship between Brady and his autistic sister is interesting because she speaks with that sarcastic cadence that can be learned from only children's programming. It's unlike what we usually see because, you know, she's a non-professional actor and real autistic person. So what do I know? 82. Unfriended: Dark Web (Stephen Susco)- Pretty tight from a storytelling standpoint and definitely grisly enough to get under the skin. But these laptop flicks move with such alacrity that it's hard to believe them whenever they ask you to buy something like love, since they paint it with the broadest strokes imaginable. Not that I would want a two-hour version of this anyway. 81. Juliet, Naked (Jesse Peretz)- Charming enough, arriving at a more realistic place than I expected, Juliet, Naked does nothing to make me revoke my charter membership in the Rose Byrne fan club. What an odd shape this film has though. The inciting incident happens at the hour mark, and it races obligatorily to an ending at an hour, thirty-seven. 80. Ocean’s Eight (Gary Ross)- It sets its marks and hits them adequately, with most of the charm that made the other Ocean movies fun. But there's something lifeless about Ocean's 8, both in the direction and the score. Take, for example, Richard Armitage's bland, sort of lost performance as an old flame/mark. It's such a nothing part that I began to think that it was a thesis: The men are just chess pieces, and they shouldn't take attention away from the women this time. But then James Corden emerges in the last half-hour and shines. So maybe Armitage was just bad and directed poorly? This movie exists for the Movie Star interplay though, and it delivers on that level. Cate Blanchett was good for so long that she's popular, and Sandra Bullock was popular for so long that she's good. Rihanna has to dress like a janitor at one point as a disguise, and she proves how absurd it would be for her to ever blend in. Anne Hathaway is the funniest of the bunch, balancing on a highwire of how big she's supposed to seem. Helena Bonham Carter gets the "and" hammer for all my credit fetishists. 79. Mary Poppins Returns (Rob Marshall)- I saw this on Christmas night with my family. The original Mary Poppins was the first movie my mom ever saw in theaters, and it's probably my wife's favorite. To the extent that insulting it is kind of insulting an important part of who she is. So I couldn't be the guy coming out of the theater like, "The Bankses definitely deserved to lose their house." Between you and me though, it's just fine. Entire sequences could be cut without damaging anything--do we ever come back to the bowl that Meryl Steep is supposed to be mending?--and most of the conflict feels manufactured. These legasequels always end up feeling like boxes being checked. We all know that the guys with the cannon had to come back, right? But some of the numbers are so joyful or stirring that even this grinch snuck a few smiles at his daughter as she pointed to the screen and said, "That's so silly." It's a good movie to see on Christmas night with your whole family. 78. RBG (Betsy West, Julie Cohen)- This movie is designed to make the viewer who would seek it out go, "What an American hero." It does that, I suppose, and there isn't a whole lot wrong with it. Yes, she is a very impressive person. But the film has too much untapped potential and too few teeth to recommend beyond that rubric of achieving its goals. For example, what about half of the population that would sneer at the notion that Ruth Bader Ginsburg is an American hero? Besides the inclusion of some radio clips over the credits, the filmmakers aren't concerned. "Look, she was friends with a conservative!"

77. Searching (Aneesh Shaganty)- Since I've seen thousands of movies that don't take place inside of a computer, there's still some novelty to the handful that do. On one hand, there are four or five twists too many, and the film isn't consistent with its own rules. On the other hand, it gets intriguingly dark for PG-13, and it never stops moving. 76. Uncle Drew (Charles Stone III)- The attitude toward women is retrograde, and to call the plot cookie-cutter would be an understatement. But this works, mostly because of the sunny, natural performances. Kyrie Irving, whose handles are even more of a marvel on a forty-foot screen, has to act through pounds of makeup, but he pulls it off. With only commercials to his name, he has to carry scenes of, like, standing at someone's grave and apologizing, and he has the presence and confidence to do it. I also should mention that Nick Kroll has a nothing-to-lose, galaxy brain performance for which probably zero of the lines were written ahead of time. "Shout-out to Oberto, shout-out to Aleve, the number one pain reliever in the game right now." I have to extend some of the credit here to Charles Stone III, who has made a calling card out of coaxing performances from newcomers. 75. Christopher Robin (Marc Forster)- Cute. 74. Unsane (Steven Soderbergh)- What seems to be a B-movie hitting its marks gets elevated by one fantastic scene that makes it seem timely and vital. I can't help but think Steven Soderbergh is punching below his weigh class though. I'm glad that an experiment like shooting a movie with an iPhone gets him up in the morning, and I know he doesn't want to make another Traffic or Out of Sight. But maybe, here's an idea, audiences might? 73. 22 July (Paul Greengrass)- The first thirty minutes are harrowing, in part because of their disciplined cross-cutting and Anders Danielsen Lie's chilling stoicism. The mistake that Greengrass makes is thinking that, later on, the three strands of story are equal in importance. He cuts away from the court case at its apex to see a kid trying to walk again or a prime minister demanding that his administration get tougher. Some moments are powerful, and Greengrass's composition and editing have mercifully softened, but this becomes a grind at a certain point. 72. Solo: A Star Wars Story (Ron Howard)- I hate to state the obvious, but this feels like multiple movies stitched together because that's exactly what it is. On one hand, we have the foggy opening, featuring an airtight inciting incident and setting up Emilia Clarke as that rarest of things in a Star Wars movie: a character with unclear motivations. But as the film goes on, it reveals why Han doesn't work as a protagonist. (Ehrenreich is bad, but the storytelling sinks the movie more than his performance does.) Everyone else in the movie drips with charisma and comments on the action while Han is left to connect the dots. In other words, the other characters get to be Han Solo, and Han Solo doesn't. By the time we get to the marauders, past the two hour mark of a movie that shouldn't have been more than two hours, the narrative crumbles under its own weight. These movies are way too competent to fail--I can list five or six moments that transcend the flaws--but each of these origin stories has a way of erasing the myth of Star Wars with a pen. 71. Bird Box (Susanne Bier)- This is a genre film that you've seen before in one way or another, so your expectations (and filmgoing experience even?) will dictate what you think of it. There's a metaphorical reading available, but that doesn't make the picture more artful automatically. Trevante Rhodes is a Movie Star. Here's what I can tell you: We need to appreciate John Gavin Malkovich while we can. Delivering the apotheosis of the selfish dickhead survivor character, he a) asks why the group can't stay in the grocery store forever, b) points shotguns at people when they try to let in strangers, c) drinks as he's telling people matter-of-factly that this is the end of the world, and d) (sort of) explains why he is the way he is. And-he-does-it-all-with-the-deliberate-cadence-that-you-are-doing-in-your-HEAD-right-NOW. I'm not saying the guy should win Best Supporting Actor or anything, but I admire his career more than any that would get a Best Supporting Actor.

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 19/12/2020

Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” spends a second week at #1. It’s #1 in the States as well. We’ve got a week of Christmas music and a Taylor Swift album bomb so... God, let’s just get this over with. Welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Rundown

So let’s start as always with the drop-outs from the UK Top 75, which we have a few of but not as notable as the last few weeks, as the less interesting 2020 hits that just can’t leave the chart are slowly dropping off. We have some of the bigger hits like “Looking for Me” by Diplo, Paul Woodford and Kareen Lomax (Good song, by the way), “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion, as well as some more recent and more moderate successes like “Princess Cuts” by Headie One featuring Young T & Bugsey, “i miss u” by Jax Jones and Au/Ra and “SO DONE” by The Kid LAROI. I can see this all rebounding after Christmas though, especially those last few. What I can’t see rebounding are the three Christmas songs that ironically dropped off from last week, particularly “Santa’s Coming for Us” by Sia which I do not remember being a top 20 hit. We do, of course, have some more fallers as well, like “34+35” by Ariana Grande at #14 and “Santa Tell Me” also by Ariana at #17 – not a good week for her, I suppose. I also find it funny that we have a couple Christmas songs that actually dropped places this week, not many of which are notable, but to give an example, due to three separate songs entering the top 10 this week, “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” by Michael Bublé dropped five spots to #12. On the course of fallers, we also have “Midnight Sky” by Miley Cyrus at #22, “Therefore I Am” by Billie Eilish at #28, “Holly Jolly Christmas” by Michael Bublé at #36, “Monster” by Shawn Mendes and Justin Bieber at #44, “Head & Heart” by Joel Corry and MNEK at #48, “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd at #50, “Lemonade” by Internet Money and Gunna featuring Don Toliver and NAV at #51, “you broke me first” by TateMcRae at #57 (the biggest fall this week), “Golden” by Harry Styles at #58, “Lonely” by Justin Bieber and benny blanco at #60, “Wonder” by Shawn Mendes at #63, “What You Know Bout Love” by the late Pop Smoke at #65, “See Nobody” by Wes Nelson and Hardy Caprio at #69, “Sunflower (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse)” by Post Malone and Swae Lee at #70 and “A Little Love” by Celeste at #74. Of course, we also have some notable returning entries and gains, those returning entries being “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” by the Jackson 5 at #75 and “Baby it’s Cold Outside” by Adele Dazeem and Michael Bublé at #61. The most notable gains aren’t as plentiful this week because I feel like most songs, Christmas or not, are relatively stable if they’re not falling dramatically off the chart, so I’m not going to separate it into festive and non-festive tracks this time. We start off with “No Time for Tears” – the biggest climber this week – by Nathan Dawe and Little Mix up to #64, “Christmas Lights” by Coldplay at #43, “Get Out My Head” by Shane Codd at #32, and whilst that’s it for notably large gains, we do see “Whoopty” by CJ and “This Christmas” by Jess Glynne enter the top 10 at #10 and #9 respectively. Delightful. Well, we’re already done with the rundown – oddly quickly – so let’s get on with these new arrivals.

NEW ARRIVALS

#72 – “The Business” – Tiesto

Produced by Anton Rundberg and Tiesto

I have no time for umlauts. They’re simply not productive. Dutch DJ Tiesto has been at it for a while now and “The Business” is his new house-pop track with vocals from James Bell, probably propped up the chart by a remix with English DJ 220 KID. The original song charted though, so we’ll talk about that one and I do like the cold, bizarrely eerie strings for a song like this, even if the pitched-down vocals make it more comical than anything. The deep house groove here is cool but mostly cheap, especially whatever the hell those claps are. The bridge is aimless and James Bell gives a performance really not worthy of note. At least this has some essence of personality and artistic intent, unlike 220 KID’s usual output, who actually improves on the song by giving it more of a 90s Eurodance tinge, in my opinion at least. The 220 KID remix is a remix of a song that already felt like a remix though, so everything about this is unnatural and awkward, even for EDM.

#71 – “Cuddle Up, Cozy Down Christmas” – Dolly Parton and Michael Bublé

Produced by Kent Wells

The only time country music charts on the UK Singles Chart is when it’s barely country or Dolly Parton. Whilst a lot of country music is rarely appreciated out of the States, I feel like Dolly Parton is one of those singers that’s just universally loved. Michael Bublé on the other hand I have no patience for and I was dreading the time I’d have to review his songs again. The man made a career of off offensively inoffensive Christmas standards and his original music is painfully bad, so honestly, I’ll take it, but the man is clearly not interesting and whilst I understand why Dolly had him on her A Holly Dolly Christmas TV special in the vein of Mariah Carey’s this same year, I’m not excited to hear it. I’m not excited to talk about it either, because this is only vaguely country and is mostly just a jazz-adjacent traditional pop standard, except this is an original song. Neither Parton and Bublé have any chemistry, there’s a lot of empty space, and Bublé’s awkward attempts to add personality to what is and will always be a dull, painful slog of a track are just cringe worthy if anything. This song is barely about Christmas either or anything warm and intimate about cuddling up with family as I expected. It’s just the image of Dolly Parton banging Michael Bublé by the fireplace, and it goes on for about three minutes and 39 seconds too long. Next.

#66 – “Baby it’s Cold Outside” – Brett Eldredge featuring Meghan Trainor

Produced by Ron Mousey and Jay Newland

“Baby it’s Cold Outside” spews controversy nowadays, and whilst I never found a reason to be mad at what is clearly a dated but to me pretty innocuous and satirical Christmas standard, I never found a reason to like the song. Even the classic Dean Martin version is pretty much a slog, but that doesn’t mean I can stomach John Legend’s “politically correct” version either, which is probably the worst rendition I’ve heard, although Bublé’s is close. I don’t mind Tom Jones’ attempt, I guess. Regardless, this version from 2016 is by another country singer, but it did just chart because Meghan Trainor’s here. These two might have even less chemistry than Dolly and Bublé; at least they tried, whilst here despite the song being a back-and-forth, they seem to be on completely different ideas on how to tackle the song. Admittedly, I like this flat, jazzy rendition of the track fine but if anything Trainor is an inconvenience to my enjoyment of this lounge track. She shows off her vocal strength a bit too much for it to work until that awkward burst of energy at the end. Also, Brett Eldredge exists. How unfortunate. It may also be insensitive in retrospect, and maybe ironic, that the song ends with Eldredge warning her she might catch pneumonia if she went outside. Huh.

#55 – “Forever Young” – Becky Hill

Produced by Charlie Hugall

“Forever Young” by Alphaville is one of those classic 1980s synth-pop tracks that sounds so obviously 1980s but is far from dated, with the lyrics being a take on contemporaneous political issues covered in optimistic calls for action and gorgeous strings that undercut Marian Gold’s longing, belting delivery and of course, that horn section at the end that sadly fades out instead of coming to a genuine climax but would be brilliant either way. The song has a legacy indeed, and is continuously topical, being covered by One Direction, Kim Wilde and Imagine Dragons, and being sampled or interpolated by Dorian Electra, JAY-Z, Maroon 5 and even Tangerine Dream. The song has had so many reimaginings that it’s hard to imagine what new can be done with a classic track that didn’t really need much reworking in the first place... so naturally, Becky Hill made an acoustic cover for a McDonald’s commercial. It’s just her singing it vaguely competently over an unimaginative piano rendition of the original, but it does offend me in how it strips everything out of the original song to replace it with a vague orchestral swell and exhaustingly boring delivery from Becky Hill. Sure, the original song sounds cheaper now but if anything, this sounds even cheaper, with mixing drenched in reverb that makes everything sound a lot uglier than it’s supposed to. JAY-Z screwed “Forever Young” up to hell and back on his track with Mr Hudson but at least he rapped over it and had a bit of a sample flip, instead of just reciting the lyrics and chord structure without realising what made the song so biting and anthemic in the first place. This isn’t REVIEWING THE ADVERTS though, even though most of the time it ends up being, so I won’t bore you much longer with this.

#37 – “Show Out” – Kid Cudi, Skepta and Pop Smoke

Produced by Dot da Genius, Plain Pat, Heavy Mellow and Gravez

I knew this would be the highest-charting track from the Cudi album as soon as I saw the feature credit, but I didn’t expect it to be the only one charting. Regardless, I should probably talk about the album because I have listened to Man on the Moon III: The Chosen, Cudi’s highly-anticipated follow-up to his last two Man on the Moon records, both of which are pretty damn great, and this one isn’t far from it either. I liked it a fair bit and even if its derivative first few tracks means it gets off to a slow start, there are absolutely moments on this album where we see a classic Cudi matured and aged, and able to talk about mental health in shallow detail as always but from a perspective where we see a Scott Mescudi that has settled down and is happy with life. While it’s far from a perfect album, I won’t lie and say it wasn’t heart-warming to hear Cudi like this considering how much he’s struggled in his decade-long career, and it’s backed by great, psychedelic production as always. “Show Out” is a complete abandonment of all of that, acting as a shallow turn-up drill track with a massive posthumous hook from the late Pop Smoke’s booming voice, accompanied by an Auto-Tuned Cudi mumbling over gorgeous string samples, which don’t feel like they’re watered-down by the overwhelming drill beat and instead accentuated, which I think is missing from a lot of UK drill. It helps that Skepta is here to slide effortlessly in his verse. He’s selling out shows and shooting guns “the same size as Kevin Hart”, and whilst the verse feels a little short, he absolutely steals the show when he’s there. That’s not to say Cudi doesn’t spit endlessly on his verse, which is also fire, before an atmospheric bridge where, in the midst of the gang violence and hedonism, he calls out to God to ask what the cost of it is. It’s the one part of the song that makes it make any lick of sense in the context of the album, but it’s also the one part I’m never so sure on. It sounds pretty jarring between Cudi’s verse and the hook, and it’s not cathartic when Pop Smoke comes back in so I think it could have been better used as an outro if anything. Other than that, the song is still really hard-hitting and one of my favourites from Man on the Moon III. Songs like “The Void” and “Rockstar Knights” with Trippie Redd blow it out of the water though.

#19 – “no body, no crime” – Taylor Swift featuring HAIM

Produced by Taylor Swift and Aaron Dessner

As you probably know, Taylor Swift dropped a new album last week called Evermore, which is basically a much weaker collection of B-sides from the Folklore sessions. I’ll discuss my gripes with the album more as we get onto “willow”, so I’ll give some short individual reviews here. This is one of my favourite tracks on the record, mostly because of how it takes Taylor back to her country roots but in sharp contrast to the original bubblegum country-pop style she had on her first few albums, she and HAIM of all people perform a pretty convincing true crime story about a missing persons case that might just end up being a murder. With a catchy chorus, oddly eerie and menacing delivery from Taylor Swift that sounds determined and honestly kind of badass with those electric guitars in the post-chorus, as well as some descending melodies in the verses I admittedly love, this is one of the best tracks on the album without hesitation for me. It’s one of the few tracks on Evermore that feels like Swift’s storytelling, knacks for infectious choruses, and the more serious, rootsy acoustic guitar-based instrumentation, are in perfect harmony, even if it is a bit short and much like the rest of the album, it falls victim to the meandering nature of these songs and their aimless bridges or outros. Either way, it’s good. Check it out if you haven’t already. It’s cool to see HAIM back on the chart too, by the way.

#15 – “champagne problems” – Taylor Swift

Produced by Taylor Swift and Aaron Dessner

When I was listening to Kid Cudi, Avalanches and Taylor last Friday all in one session, I was constantly engaged even through the duller parts of the second half of We Will Always Love You or the most rote, derivative Travis Scott rip-offs present on Man on the Moon III. I was only awake for about three and a half hours when I first went through Evermore, but you know that feeling you get in your eyes when you start feeling tired or exhausted? Maybe that’s just a me thing, but “champagne problems” is that feeling when your eyes start to sore a bit and you start blinking a bit more. The storytelling isn’t as engaging as it usually is on this track, and although I do like the main narrative, it takes a detour and doesn’t decide whether it wants to focus on that or a vaguer metaphor about mental illness and how it’s affected Taylor as a celebrity. I care about that on Reputation but I do not give a damn when it’s presented with this uninteresting chasm of piano melodies and a really awkward, pointless outro, once again, that’s out-of-place if anything. I wish anything on Evermore was as good as “seven” but that’s wishful thinking. Anyway, let’s start rambling, because it’s the big-boy debut time now.

#3 – “willow” – Taylor Swift

Produced by Aaron Dessner

I have nothing to go off when judging Aaron Dessner’s production. He’s the frontman behind The National and he does contribute to the album vocally on one of the worst tracks but usually takes a backseat in production. On Folklore, although Dessner was still greatly involved, it felt a lot more varied and interesting from Taylor particularly, who went on unexpected songwriting angles and some melodies I genuinely love. I’m not a fan of the indie-folk direction for her – I think her style of writing and vocals actually fits better on pop tunes, which might be a hot take but I mean, my favourite album from her is Reputation so I’m full of those when it comes to Taylor. I can appreciate when it’s done well, though, and I like her storytelling abilities most of the time, unless of course the song itself is nothing to be interested in... and, I’m sorry, but half of Folklore was aggressively dull, particularly the back half, and I can barely make it through songs like “exile”. Maybe I just don’t “get” it, maybe I’m just not “listening hard enough”, or maybe, perhaps, I’m just not a fan of Taylor doing exactly what she usually doesn’t do on her albums, which is bore me. Say what you want about Red, 1989 or even Reputation, and ESPECIALLY Lover, but they take risks, intriguing ones at that and whether they’re successful or not is obviously up to listener’s interpretation, but regardless, it makes for a listen that is unpredictable and often fascinating. Lover is an absolute mess full of pretty mediocre attempts to do... well, anything, but it’s a better listen than Evermore out of sheer intrigue alone. It’s interesting to hear Taylor try all of these different musical ideas, whether it’s her trying obnoxious bubblegum-pop on “ME!”, ballads with the Dixie Chicks, 1980s-style synth-pop on “Getaway Car” and the majority of 1989, or even industrial-pop rapping on “...Ready for It?”. It’s not interesting to hear her make 16 quite similar songs and less than half of them have a unique flavour to them that makes the hour-long listen feel like you gained anything from it. It’s not just the album experience either that Folklore and Evermore lack, but it’s also the songs themselves, particularly in Evermore. Let’s look at “cardigan”, one of the best songs on Folklore, with Swift’s pretty low-key but emotive delivery, a noticeable and profound refrain, songwriting that evokes a pretty sweet metaphor and tells the start of a story that runs throughout the record in a way that can detach itself from the rest of the record, infectious choruses (even if they are cribbed somewhat from “Wildest Dreams”) and that subtle drum machine with pretty intricate percussion patterns covered by gorgeous string compositions, and a four-minute runtime that feels worth it, especially for that last chorus and verse, an effortless switch-up. Now let’s compare it to its equivalent lead single “willow”, a track with a checked-out Taylor singing pretty janky, awkward melodies over a cluttered mess of guitar strumming, with absolutely none of the very few ideas Taylor has musically actually succeeding. The song has to drop out entirely because Taylor and Dessner apparently can’t handle the three over-lapping ideas just in the first two verses and choruses, and whilst it still has that switch-up for the third verse/bridge, it does not feel worth it because there is another, over-long chorus with no lyrical adjustments to the hook that made the subtleties in “cardigan” so special. The song is 20 seconds or so shorter than “cardigan” but feels a lot longer because of how directionless the outro is, and none of it feels like anything other than a pretty folk-pop tune (which is barely qualifies as anyway because of how ugly these acoustics are, and how meandering Taylor’s cadence is throughout). She tries out the chorus with and without the falsetto for no reason other than to extend the song by the end and it makes effectively no change to how the chorus feels like it’s delivered. I’ll give “willow” credit that it’s listenable and a lot less boring than other tracks on Evermore but I can’t see this as anything more than a failed attempt that should be met with a “game over, try again” screen. I’d accept the musical chaos of misshapen ideas if I ever felt it was genuinely warranted. On Evermore, nothing Taylor does is what the audience deserves accompanying – or maybe even improving on – Folklore. Sorry.

Conclusion

Yeah, “no body, no crime” by Taylor Swift featuring HAIM takes the Best of the Week, but it was a toss-up between her and Kid Cudi, who gets the Honourable Mention for “Show Out” with Skepta and Pop Smoke. For the Worst of the Week, it’s really picking your poison between sickly Christmas duets, but I’ll ignore them and give it to Becky Hill for absolutely butchering “Forever Young”, with a Dishonourable Mention also going to Taylor Swift and “willow”. Here’s the top 10 for this week:

You can follow me on Twitter @cactusinthebank for more ramblings and Taylor Swift hot takes, if you’d want to see that. I won’t post another episode before the 25th so, if you’re reading this, merry Christmas, everyone, and I’ll see you on Boxing Day!

[28allthelove28]

Pink Dolphin - Fionn Whitehead Fan Fiction (13500 words)

Everything is red. The sun looks bigger than it normally does, and it always sets the sky on fire. Dark shadows swim into unknown corners and the ocean is always pink, but Fionn can’t go home. Not until the plan falls into place. Fionn is not leaving this surreal pink film set until he’s honest with Alana, the mysterious artist girl with pale skin and hair like a flame. And Harry is there to make sure neither of his friends waste any more time pretending they aren’t in love.

13000+ words of pining, pet names, conceptual art and true friendship. Meet Me In The Hallway, a big plot twist, some long smut scenes*, and a love of nature. Harry is married to Louis, he’s acting with Fionn in an art film that his best friend Alana wrote and throughout the nervous giggles, there is a happy ending for everyone.

I put a stupid amount of time and effort into writing this so I no longer have any idea if it’s wonderful or terrible, and I’m pretty embarrassed about it, but please, please do read (It definitely gets sooo much better as it goes, I think Chapter 2 is my favourite)  This will hopefully be on Archive of our Own soon! 

Also, a WARNING to any of my friends reading this, parts of this are pretty explicit, sorry!!! Xx

 PINK DOLPHIN

 “She’s ridiculous!”

The words hiss from Fionns mouth before he realises he’s let them out. His eyes squint, following the droplets of water travelling down Alana’s body, as if her white skin is too bright for him. Her arms hang around Polly’s waist, their fingers linked loosely. They look like a renaissance mother and child.  

“She doesn’t like LA, you know?” A deep voice speaks and startles Fionn. He blinks himself back into consciousness and looks down to the left of him. Harry peers up at him with a smug smile, he looks more playful than normal. He knows.

“She doesn’t really like LA.” Harry repeats, following Fionn’s line of vision to the girl sitting across from them. The two boys are lying together lazily by the side of the outdoor pool, warm evening air sitting heavily above them, and the orange sun falling into the sea. Harry’s been anticipating this conversation for a while. A long while.

“No?” Fionn leans back. The weird pink cocktails reveal the interest in his face a lot more than he may allow if he were slightly more sober. Harry sits up, wrapping a sheer floral blouse round the butterfly tattooed on his chest. He’s prepared for this, and the time is now.

“Alana’s been here for months, Fionn, even before starting this weird film project with us. Yeah, she got that studio deal here, and she made good friends through work …she’s been preparing for this film a lot, she’s been writing and drawing as usual, but she can do all of that stuff at home just as easily. The weather is much nicer here, for sure. She likes the landscape and the wildlife but nobody, nobody loves Newcastle as much as Alana.”

Fionn accepts that this speech is going somewhere.

“Her mum’s there, up north. Her closest friends are there. And it’s not just that, Fi, if she’s not been here then she’s been in London. And the exact same goes for there too. She likes it of course, she’s always got plenty to do, but it’s just not her home.” Harry says. “And this has been going on for over a year.”

Harry looks at his friend and realises he still needs to be more obvious. “Alana is only in LA or London when you are in LA or London.”

Fionn pushes air from his nose in an almost violent sigh. He knew something was coming. Something was going to happen on this film set. Something beyond his control. Something more real than he could ignore. Not that he was even sure he wanted to ignore it anymore.

He lays further back on the strange pink sun lounger he’s melted himself onto, and he cradles his head theatrically. He absolutely knew it.

There was something about the light in Alana’s eyes which shone brighter when looking into his. There was something about the way sun fell on her red hair which made it glow golden, like leaves in autumn, like a colour Fionn had never seen before, and can now only associate with her. There was something about the way her presence in a room made itself known to Fionn before he even reached the doorway. There was a tenderness in Alana’s voice that sounded more intimate when she spoke to him. As if every word were plucked from a letter she’d written that no one else were allowed to read, and that, honestly, Fionn didn’t want anyone else to read.

Of course he knew it.

He was just terrified to admit it.

Harry’s hand gently holds Fionn’s knee. He can feel Harry’s silver rings cold against his skin. “I know her Fionn. She’s my best friend, and has been for years.” He gives Fionn’s knee a little squeeze. “I know how she loves.”

Harry slides his thumb over Fionn’s skin once more then takes his hand away. “Alana’s more vulnerable and shy than you’d think, but when she’s certain on something, she’s certain.” He continues. “She’s busy, her mind never stops, not for a second. She’s so impatient. But here she is, a year after meeting you… still there. Right fucking, there!” Harry nods his head to the other side of the pool for more affect, his brown hair swishing into his eyes, and Fionn allows himself to see her.

His green eyes lift to gaze through the glasses pushed up on his nose. He sees her bright floral dress hanging loose, hair clipped into a curl behind her ear, and a camera in her hands. Alana films her friends watching the peacock butterflies fly around lilac buddleia flowers with a smile on her face. Always a smile on her face.

“I don’t want her waiting forever Fionn, and I don’t think you do either.”

Fionn meets Harry’s eyes and smiles. Bless him. Bless him for doing this. He doesn’t deserve someone like Harry, or someone like Alana. “She’s so nice to everyone, Harry. I love the way that her eyebrows curve into the top of her nose. I love how she always asks questions, and how she’s always excited by everything… as if it’s all new. I’m just… fuck. I’m just a bit scared.” Fionn confesses. “Quite a lot scared.”

“That’s ok, Fionn. So is she. She’s terrified! And it is scary.” Harry says this calmly with all the wisdom of an old woman, but there is a glint of excitement in his eye. He loves drama. But Harry knows exactly what he’s talking about. “You don’t think I was scared when I told Louis how I felt about him when I was just 16? But look now, almost 8 years later, we’re married and he basically re-proposes to me again every month.”

The two of them laugh and Fionn realises he might be being over dramatic. Fionn is far from unlovable, he isn’t hopeless, and he isn’t even sure why or when he started to think he might have been. He isn’t too busy. Maybe he isn’t even too shy. He’s actually completely fine, and he does deserve this. He does want this. A lot.

Alana isn’t some ethereal princess or the most beautiful person in the world. She’s quite odd. Her face is both angular and soft at the same time. Pale but often with blushing cheeks. Thick eyebrows and thin hair. A bit funny looking if you really think about it, but just lovely. Pretty in the way which art is pretty. But she’s just another human. An incredibly lovely one, yes, but another human nonetheless, and Fionn is going to be honest with her, in whichever way he has to be.

“Thank you, Harry. Thank you so much for everything. You’re an absolute sweetheart and I’m very grateful for you.” Fionn grins and squeezes Harry’s chin, pressing into his dimples.

“Anytime, Finley, you handsome and wonderful man!” He grins back. “Count yourself lucky that I’m letting you both go, but I’ll be keeping watch.” He warns. “You two will be wonderful. Please just go for it, love.”

----------------------

The film set they’re all working on is odd, of course it is though. The whole project is bizarre, but in the most excellent way. The buzz transcends the cast and crew, it seems that everyone is excited about this movie. Alana and her friend Polly had the idea. They shared a studio together in Newcastle and Alana had performed in several of Polly’s videos before. They describe this project as a film which isn’t so much a film, but more so a film about the idea of a film. And this idea for the film is discussed and questioned by the cast as it morphs and grows, but all in a poetic and romantic way. The owner of the idea narrates the film and explains which aspects are clear and which are undecided. The focus is on the atmosphere and the visuals more than the structure. A feeling more than a story.

Everyone involved received a pink envelope with a hand written letter inside, inviting them to collaborate in whichever way they wanted. The film is essentially an art piece and the actors are essentially performers. The package also included postcards of paintings which inspired the set, mainly David Hockney’s brightly coloured swimming pools, as well as notes and sketches from Alana and Polly themselves, referencing the ideas which fuelled their project, and offering some quotes from the narration.

“Maybe sharing your thoughts is more revealing than sharing the work which the thoughts made. ….One loose, unresolved, foetal, dreamlike thought can inspire concrete ideas, or maybe just an idea can be enough in itself.”

“Art allows you to somehow make real the thoughts which would otherwise only exist as imagination.”

Initially Fionn found it a little hard to follow. Very arty. Maybe even a bit ‘Inception’. But there was something new about it, something honest and very compelling. Harry was all over it of course, and Fionn always likes a challenge. He’d started off in the theatre, doing plays about social media and queer rights. He did a TV show about a troubled boy with telekinetic abilities and then a film about a young war soldier trying to get home. That’s how he’d met Harry, through whom he’d then met Alana.

After months of them purposefully and in-purposefully bumping into each other in London and ultimately becoming somewhat close friends, neither Fionn nor Alana fully entered or fully left the other’s lives.

They both intend to fix that now.

------------------------

There is a definite colour scheme to the film set. Very warm and soft, but also quite sinister. All the furniture is clothed in fluffy fabrics of a deep orange, there is hot pink neon tube lighting drawing a continuous line over every corner, it’s always dark inside and most of the walls are painted in a glossy black or rich red. The sun looks bigger than it normally does and it always sets the sky on fire, black and red butterflies dance around the lush shrubs and the yellow flowers which are planted everywhere. The outdoor pool is made of shimmery bright pink tiles and seems to be the epicentre, when filming or not.

Fionn stretches his arms out and floats on his back, the water laps against his sides and briefly puddles in the dip of his chest, then runs down his body and back into the pool. He drops his head back so his dark hair soaks neatly away from his face and flicks out behind his ears.

“Harry said you don’t like LA?” Fionn questions Alana and playfully splashes a tiny bit of water over her lap. She is perched on the edge of the pool steps, her legs reaching into soft ripples as she twists them in the water, toes painted with a warm peach colour.

“I do.” She smiles, tucking her legs back up and rolling the hem of her striped trousers back down. “Just not as much as home.”

Fionn leaves the water to re-dress into a checked shirt and jeans. He sits by her side and looks at her. “Why have you spent so much time here then? Apart from the film, I mean…”

Alana thoughtfully scans over the water, the sunset is sinking into it and making everything a deeper pink. “The people.” She answers, her eyes smiling cheekily into his.

Surely that wasn’t too obvious? She wonders.

Fionn’s face creases into a smirk and Alana giggles. Good. ‘Just enough’ she thinks.

“I feel like wherever you are, if you have good friends around you, then you’ll be at your happiest.” Alana declares, and Fionn has to agree with her.

“Am I your good friend?” He asks, nudging her in the elbow. He’s feeling cheeky too, and confident.

“Of course, Fionn!” She answers.

No hesitation. Excellent.

“Great.” This is going well, he thinks. And he hears her voice again.

“You’re great. …You’re very cute. Very lovely.” Her cheeks sting a little but she’s seeing this through.

They both laugh and Fionn pretends to shh her. “Oh stop!” He dramatizes. “I think you’re…. I think you’re really wonderful, Alana. Honestly.”

Oh my gosh, he sounds sincere. Keep it together Alana, come on.

“Gee, thanks Fionn!!” She jokes and they laugh more than is necessary, for no particular reason, but they feel comfortable. It’s a nice, light, hopeful feeling. Finally! Something is beginning to happen between them that feels more like ‘something’. They move to lie back on a stretch of grass and watch the clouds darken to red. Alana announces coyly “I think you’re as nice as that sunset.” She’s joking. …maybe half joking.

Fionn barks a loud laugh which sort of pulses his body forward to hang over his knees, he almost surprises himself, it really wasn’t that funny. He looks up to see Alana pulling a mock-disgruntled expression. “Excuse me, Finley, I was being deadly serious, man!”

He chuckles, “I know, that’s why I’m laughing.”

They silently thank God that not many people are nearby, because they’re probably being outrageous. But that’s alright. “Oh, charming!” Her soft Geordie accent thickens slightly.

Fionn can’t help but blush at how endearing she is. “That would have sounded stupid coming from anyone else, but because it’s you, it was very sweet and kind.” He tells her. “Thank you, Alana.”

She can’t believe they’re just sitting there talking to each other. It’s the simplest thing in the world but her body tickles all over. “Good.” She teases him, springing up and jokingly running away. “…Because it’s the last compliment you’re getting, mate!”

She leaves him watching her scamper off, a stupid big grin on both their faces.

Maybe it starts here.

--------------------

Their time spent together is fleeting, Fionn and Alana. But still often. They are both essentially at work. And they both work hard, everybody does. But luckily, because of the personal and creative nature of the project, it was encouraged from the outset that the actors spend all their time together and inhabit the film set as their home, making the whole video more collaborative. The cast is essentially friends of friends, so really, it’s just very social and enjoyable.

Alana and Polly and the rest of the team wanted the character interactions to be real and organic, hence their minimal script, and their emphasis on the actors trusting their instinct and taking more ownership. All the actors and crew started off watching films together which influenced Alana and Polly’s ideas, so they could get more of a collective understanding of the reference points, and of the style they were aiming for. There was a good week spent living on set discussing The Neon Demon, Submarine, High Rise, The Tree of Life, Amelie, and basically Wes Anderson and Stan Brakhage’s filmographies.

The camera crew are filming almost constantly, to capture the candid human interactions. Most of the film will be made in post-production, not necessarily with fancy editing, just piecing the right clips together once all the footage is there, instead of story boarding it all beforehand. The narration and spoken word will be the main thing, with only a few specific scenes being pre-planned. The film basically makes itself as it exists as a living organism.

The core of the whole piece is a poem Alana wrote. The entire film was imagined from it.

 “I cannot make real the thoughts which I imagine, because an imagined thought is not clear.

The thought came to me like a dream.

It was pink.

I saw us by the pool,

Sunken in a foreign sunset,

Foggy and thick.

Warm colours.

Words seeping from our tongues like water and they all reflected in our eyes.

I think of you and see starlings murmorating over the sea,

And swallows flying home.

It is important to share a thought before it expires.”

 This one poem is the only concrete scene in the film, everything else is woozy and unclear - like a thought or a dream. The scene is two people by the pool at sunset, talking. Yet there is no script for it. Polly wanted the actors to be free to feel the experience fully and to say what came to them naturally, and whatever they do, she’ll use. The actors for this scene are Fionn and Alana, playing Toby and Isla, and they film it tomorrow.

Them and the whole cast were prepped as much as they could be, and treated with nothing but kindness and inclusiveness by Polly and the team, and they were mostly guided to just enjoy themselves and go with it. As completely unusual and open ended as the brief is, Fionn and everyone else thought it sounded amazing. He knew it would be a pleasure to work with Harry again, and admittedly, Alana’s allure was as consuming as the atmosphere of the whole film.

*------------------

It’s this allure which Fionn is trying his best to ignore as he makes steps back to his room, intent on rehearsing some more ideas for Toby, but then he sees her.

Fionn sees Alana from across the landing by the lift.

He sees her in a way he doesn’t feel he should see her.

He’s stood on the dark red carpet near the corner of the hotel corridor. A window in front of him. Night begins to fill the sky, but a warm orange glow burns from Alana’s room.

Fionn sees her and he can’t move. He should, but he can’t.

He must walk away now. What is he doing?

He sees her white skin, all of it. It shines against the dark red silk of the bed sheets.

It’s erotic. The lighting. The whole film set. Everything. Why do the lights have to be so warm? Why is the colour of everything so sexy? Why do shadows seep into every corner of wherever Alana is not? Why is Fionn thinking of the colour red when his heart begins to beat like bubbling acid, and his breath bleeds fast out of the cracks in his lips, and his chest rises and falls like waves? And he can’t move. He cannot move.

It’s like she’s a siren and he’s drowning in the Red Sea but her song keeps pulling him back, spluttering.

He shouldn’t look. What the fuck is he doing? It’s wrong. It’s unprofessional. It’s disrespectful. This is his friend. His friend’s friend. This is essentially his boss. It’s wrong. But she’s there, and it’s hot. It’s so hot in here. Fionn can’t think clearly.

Where is everyone else? Why when night falls, does everyone disappear, and why is it always just him and Alana left?

Why is it so hot?

What the hell is happening? How is he seeing this?

This!?

Walk away right now Fionn, stop it. Stop watching her.

But she’s still doing it. And he can’t move.

She’s there. Her bed is right next to the window. Why? It doesn’t matter. Maybe to feel the breeze rush in through the window in the hot mornings. Good. That makes sense. The morning. Her. In the morning. Waking up beside her. Skin. Warm, beneath the covers. Hot. Pale skin beneath pink silk covers.

Her skin.

All of it.

Stop it. Walk away.

It throbs. He feels it. Tight, hot, stiff. There, pressing against him. Hard.

She’s doing it by the window. Of course she is, her bed’s there. Fuck.

Walk away Fionn.

No. God no, oh God. Fuck.

Fucking hell.

He rushes nearer the window that he’s watching her from, he stands behind the curtain. Lays his hand over himself.

He breathes out.

She breathes out. She presses the side of her face into the hot pink cushion.

For God’s sake, what’s wrong with this place? Why is everything dark and pink? What the fuck do they expect to happen?

Don’t touch anymore. Just keep your hand there Fionn, breathe out. Walk away, this is wrong.

Oh, fuck no. God. Look at her! Look at her, fuck.

She’s… She’s actually… Oh my God he can’t believe this.

Her other hand runs up, from her thigh, across her abdomen. He feels it.

Fionn feels her hand across his own abdomen, just below the belly button. He can practically feel his hand on her, sweeping over her skin. Fingertips pressing into her flesh. God. No.

Fionn presses his own hand against his abdomen. He presses his other hand down on himself harder. He sighs out.

Her hand travels up over her stomach, to her breast.

Her face rolls upwards and she presses her head down into the pink pillows, her eyes closed tight.

No. God, no Fionn. Leave now. Fuck.

He sighs out loud and pushes himself away from the window, leaving the dark purple curtain gushing in his wake.

Fionn storms along the corridor. Furious. Strides up to his door and, God. No. Absolutely not.

Not a chance.

“Louis!!”

“Lou! Ahh ah …oh fuckkk”

No.

Please, no.

“Harry! Harry ohhhh, yeah”

“God! Ah ahh fuck, Harryyy”

Fucking hell no.

“Yes, God! Ahh ah yesss”

Do not fuck in the room next to me right now, Harry. For the love of God, no!

“Louis!! Louis! Ahh”

“Fuck, yess!”

No. Please. Not now.

Fionn hurls his own door open, tripping over his own feet, breathing heavily and shutting it firmly behind him.

For God’s sake.

What the hell?

He leans against his door, desperately, then he quickly pulls his shirt up over his head, his glasses come off with them and fly onto the floor. Fionn huffs loudly, flustered and cheeks burning. Furious. He storms towards the bathroom, kicking off his shoes on the way and pulling off his burgundy socks. Fucking burgundy, for God’s sake!

“Ah! Louis, fuck!”

“Fuck fuck fuck Harry, God!! Yes!”

Fionn yanks the bathroom light cord down and switches the shower on. While the water heats up he violently undoes his belt and pushes down his pants and trousers with almost laughable urgency.

This is fucking ridiculous.

He grips himself and leans back into the sink edge, his head falling back.

He’s already wet.

He spreads out pre-cum with a shaking thumb and runs his hand down himself smoothly.

He tugs back up, and sighs.

Fionn steps into the shower, warm water falling on him, he bows his head and pumps himself hard. He puffs out frustrated sighs and moans, almost whimpers.

Veins sting in Fionn’s arm and neck, his eyes screw shut, and the water collecting in his fringe gushes down onto his cock.

Fionn steady’s himself with one hand fanned out against the shower wall and lifts his head back to breathe out, as if exhaling cigarette smoke.

His arm moving fast and steady, he works himself beneath the water.

One leg is bent slightly, and the water keeps washing over Fionn’s skin. Droplets fly over his thighs with the force that his hand flies up and down.

Low groans escape from Harry’s mouth, muffled through the wall, but still loud.

“Harry, God. YES!” Louis’ voice is audible even over the rush of the shower. “So good, baby, ah!”

Fuck. God.

“Ah! Ah!” Fionn pants, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth. “God!”

“Louis!!! Ahh! Fuckkk”

God, no.

“Fuck.” Fuck, Harry, why now?

Why is everyone in this hotel fucking at the same time!??

Why are the walls so thin?

Fionn sees her again, seeping into his vision, Alana with legs stretched out across the bed cover, her hand moving fast. Red light swimming around her.

Fuck, God.

Her fingers pressed together, and rotating fast, between her legs. Her lips apart.

Oh God.

He could see Alana’s breath moving inside her body. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuckkk

Harry moans loudly in the next room.

Alana’s legs drop against the red silk, a breath heaving out of her throat, she trusts up into the air.

“Ah!”

Louis pounds hard into Harry and quivers inside him. One hand clutches Harry’s waist and pulls him further back onto his own dick. Louis’ other hand squeezes hot cum out of Harry’s dick. Louis presses his forehead against Harry’s shoulder and blows a hot breath onto his skin. Harry moans, hanging his head, kneeling over the bed.

Fionn thrusts forward desperately into his fist. Sighing loud. His Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows down his stunted breath. He pictures Alana, touching herself. He remembers Alana touching herself. She’s in this building right now, stretched out naked on a red satin bed. Fionn squeezes the end of his dick and shoots thick bouts of cum against the shower wall.

Some streams of cum run down over his thumb. He’s open mouthed and panting heavily. Fionn holds his hands into the stream of water and shuts his eyes. “Fuck.”

He leans his back heavily against the wet pink tiles, Fionn slicks all his hair back smoothly against his head, and breathes out an exhausted sigh. His cheeks are burning pink beneath his freckles, water trickles down his heaving chest. Fionn begins to rub shower gel into his hot skin, shaking his head and breathing out what could be deciphered as a small, pitiful laugh. “What the fuck, am I doing here?”

------------------------

CHAPTER 2

Morning sun brushes over Fionn’s face and buries itself into the folds of his dark orange duvet cover. It’s early. Too early. Fionn grumbles something into his pillow about mornings and how wrong they are, before distorted memories from the night before absorb into his conscious.

Oh dear.

Everything about this place is weird. Nothing’s quite normal, there is a familiarity to everything, a softness, a niceness, but it’s all sort of clouded with something quite impure and unsettling. Appealing at first and then uncertain. Darker. That is the point of the film, he supposes, but still. He feels it.

Fionn decides to forget last night. Or at least try to. He’s here. He’s here to work, and then he can leave. Just keep your head down, get the job done, and stay focused. Don’t think of Alana. Don’t think of her waking up this morning, don’t think of her going to sleep last night. Don’t think of her saying your name. Don’t picture what you saw. Don’t think of Harry either. Don’t think of Harry and Louis. Don’t get sucked in by the allure of this weird, pink, watery environment, or Alana’s weird allure either. Just don’t speak to her.

-----------------------

Several hours later, or maybe several years, Fionn is watching Alana surface from the pool. Midway through the day he decided it would actually be very rude to stop speaking to her. Unprofessional, even. She steps back into her clothes as Fionn playfully throws a towel over her head and greets her with a cheery hello.

She won’t know a thing, Fionn tells himself, just be normal. Be nice.

“Hi Dolphin!” she smiles, wriggling her painted toes into the plush of the orange towel. She places herself right by his side and says “Sorry to keep making you swim.”

But he just questions “Dolphin?” with a confused smile.

Alana deadpans a very serious yes. “You’re part dolphin now aren’t ya?”

Oh God no. What’s happening?

This wasn’t meant to happen.

“Alana get out of here right now. Did you just call me Dolphin??”

Does Fionn drop his head back in laughter, look down in embarrassment, crease his eyes shut to try and contain any reaction? A mixture of all three? He isn’t too sure. He just knows what this means. She isn’t referencing this film. Not the significance of the water metaphor in this film. No. This means Alana really did watch all of his and Harry’s Dunkirk interviews. This means she knows what a dork he is. Oh no.

“It makes absolute sense Fionn.” She’s still there. She’s still talking to him. Oh Jesus. “You can swim. You’re intelligent, and friendly, and cute, and fun. You sort of had a pod of other swimmers, you used to work on a ferry, and you’re a total doll! Fionn… dolphin… Dolfionn, it fits. It’s brilliant!”

Fionn’s definitely laughing now. He mockingly rests his fist against his hip and adopts a silly old man voice. “I’m part dolphin now. Ohh, dolphin eyy!” He jokes. “Why do I say these things on camera? Honestly!”

Through many giggles and words of encouragement and praise from Alana about how much her and the whole world enjoyed every single interview, Fionn realises if he is going to be named Dolphin, surely Alana must meet the same fate. “You need a name” he informs her.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. This whole film is ridiculous, everything that’s going on here is absurd. Probably some sort of social experiment. Forget what you told yourself this morning, Fionn, you’re here. She’s here. Just do it. Life brought you to this surreal pink world for a reason. For her. Right now feels like a good a time as any to reintroduce The Plan… if he could call it that.

“How about deer?” He suggests, with a smug grin.

The pace with which Alana’s face turns to meet his, suggests that The Plan may actually work.

He’d better keep going then.

“Or sun? Or maybe sunny? …Or yellow?”

‘I can’t bear this. He’s adorable.’ Alana thinks she’s not breathing. ‘He’s ridiculous!’ Her lips feel dry from smiling, like they’re sticking to her teeth. Her stomach feels heavily pregnant with butterflies and nerves and certainty.

“Deer like in Richmond Park?” She whispers, in awe.

“Yes. Deer like in Richmond Park.”

He remembers.

Fionn looks her straight back in the eye and smiles softly. Alana’s breath faults.

He remembers last June after the BBQ at Harry’s. The two of them walking through summer mist, the smell of damp earth, the rain shining silver on the path, as the sun broke from the clouds. Both unintentionally wearing the same yellow raincoat. They’d only just met and their sunlight coloured coats drew them together. The wild deer were reaching up to eat berries from the trees, and the blackbirds sang their final songs of the day. They’d walked Fionn’s dog until dusk guided them home. They may have even agreed to describe it as ‘idyllic.’

“That’s too much of an honour, Fionn. Deer are too good for anyone.”

She’s right though. They are. They’re the best creatures on the planet. Her absolute favourite.

“I knew you’d say that, Alana. …But I’ll think of something.” Fionn lays his hand on her shoulder, traces his fingers over the antlers of the deer tattoo inked onto her skin, then slowly slides his palm round to gently cup her neck. “Just you wait and see.”

This time it’s Fionn who runs off, leaving both him and Alana alone with the same stupid smiles.

*------------------

The moon beams a pool of light into Harry’s hotel room.

Alana’s been with him for a little while since they finished filming in there. They’re lounging on his bed listening to Meet Me In The Hallway crackle on his baby pink vinyl player. Alana basically asked Harry to be involved in the film solely because he wrote that song. He’s been her best friend since they were children, when their families met on holiday in the Lake District. Harry’s a calming influence on her, and he fits the aesthetic of this film effortlessly, but that song, his whole album in fact, and all the photoshoots that came with it, inspired Alana as much as any painting or movie.

Alana is in some way attempting to create her own visual interpretation of Meet Me In The Hallway. The mistiness. The dreaminess; it’s both haunting and comforting. It sounds sort of like a memory. Neither completely sad nor completely happy, but there is emotion there, and it’s real. Even if you don’t know what it means, the honesty is pure. There is a history to it, and a presence. It’s sort of an in-between state, that for whatever reason, you’ve chosen to remain in. There is a neediness to it, but a neediness for something which has only just passed, and will probably come back. And this is basically how Alana wants hers and Polly’s film. …You can listen to that song in the bath, or in bed, she thinks. Or driving to the beach. Indoors by the fire, rain hitting against the window. Day or night. At home or on holiday. It has the right balance between being obvious and being vague, and it’s just nice. It’s lovely.

“I wish it lasted three hours, H” Alana ponders out loud, proudly finishing the last coat of clear glitter on Harry’s dark grey nails.

“What?” He replies. “Sex?”

Alana scowls at him and cuddles a fluffy pink cushion to her chest. “Noooo, you little scamp! I meant your beautiful song!” She exclaims and prods him in the dimple. “You’re too cute, Harry-bo.” She tells him, and it’s true. He could get away with anything. He usually does.

“Heeeeyy! I think you’re cute, Lala!” He grins. “Honestly though, you’re doing very well with this film and I’m proud of you.” He begins plaiting a small section of her hair, where she dip-dyed it yellow. “Whether you believe me or not, I think you’re pretty you know, for a lady.” They giggle together but she scrunches her face at him, dismissing the compliment. “You’re kind of like Perrie if she were ginger and in Warpaint instead of Little Mix.”

A wide grin lights Alana’s face. “Woah, that’s the absolute dream!!” She imagines. “Are you being extra nice, pet, because you want me to plait your hair too?”

Harry swings his legs clumsily off the bed and begins to put on his gold boots. “Nope. I’m being as nice as I always am, but I do need to meet Polly now for some late filming.” He explains this whilst dressing himself in a leather jacket and applying a touch of dark burgundy lipstick. “However…” he flutters his eyelashes flirtatiously “…I’m not the only boy in this corridor who thinks you’re pretty and cute.”

And with that outrageous remark, Harry skips away gleefully into the night, leaving Alana to whimper to herself in a mixture of joy and despair. Having a proper crush on someone is a horrendous ordeal. She decides this is a fact, as she tidies up hers and Harry’s nail polish and straightens the pink bed spread. She wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

Her day today was an early one, she and some of the other girls drove along to record the sun rise over a lavender field, and they were mainly shooting offsite there, or during the journey. It was when Rea and Vissy lay together in the meadow that she realised perhaps she was trying to make every fantasy that Tim Walker’s photographs induced in her as a young girl come true. Either that or her genuine desire as an artist was to make an hour long glorified perfume advert.

Alana throws some pink and black cushions to the floor and sits herself down. Leaning her back against the far wall of Harry’s room, she reflects on her romantic predicament. Maybe it’s not even a predicament. Maybe it is actually hell. Or maybe she’s just overdramatic and everything is actually falling into place.

Alana never wants to be defined by another person. She doesn’t want to obsess over someone, the way that she has been. Certainly not this much, or for this long.

She has a lot to be grateful for in life, and a lot of things which bring her happiness. Alana doesn’t need a relationship, she just quite wants one. Someone to say goodnight to, to make a packed lunch for, to push the cuticles down on her nails, to clean her teeth with, to draw circles into their skin after sex, to know the mole on the right hand side of her back, to leave notes for.

She wants Fionn.

A part of her wishes she didn’t, but she really really does.

Alana’s ex broke her heart. It was complex but for years she thought she was safe with him, until he didn’t love her anymore. So she went home, she drew, she wrote, she danced, she let her friends and her mum look after her, and she walked as far into the ocean as she needed to rid herself of him. She turned her pain into art, and she got over it.

Alana made a promise after that, to live for herself until the time she met someone she didn’t need to question. She doesn’t know if that time is now or not, but she does know that when she thinks of that promise, she only thinks of Fionn.

All she ever really does is think of Fionn.

Always.

A noise through the wall wakes Alana to the realisation that Harry’s record has long stopped playing, and that she ought to descent to her own room to sleep. She’s packing the record into its sleeve and hears the muffled noise continue. These walls are so thin. They’re nicely painted, but so thin. Leaning down nearer the wall to clear the cushions, Alana hears a soft sort of grunt or moan.

With her ear pressed against the wall, the thought of sleep is in disregard. She hears it again, a deep, breathy sigh, and any thought of leaving this wall is now in complete disregard.

It’s unmistakeable.

Completely, universally, categorically, unmistakeable.

The sound of sex.

Haha! Wonderful. Alana does know she ought to leave though, these are her co-workers and friends, after all. Throwing the cushions back onto the bed, she lets herself wonder who it might be. If this is Harry’s room, then… no!

Fuck.

No!!

Absolutely no way.

She listens harder and yes, that is a man moaning… and yes, it sounds like he’s alone. But… that doesn’t mean it’s… but… Harry’s room is the end one, so… there isn’t really anyone else it could be… other than Fionn.

Oh my God.

I have to leave.

This is unprofessional, Alana. This is disrespectful. I have to…

Oh, fuck.

God, he’s really… right now. Right there!

He can’t be… but he is. Oh God.

Fuck, he’s swearing. That’s Fionn!

That’s Fionn pressed against the other side of this wall…

Right now!

Fuck, Alana. Don’t make a noise. Stop. Leave now and don’t you dare think about listening for a moment longer.

Do not touch yourself. Don’t do it.

She means to walk away but the sigh already leaves her mouth.

Alana asking herself why she’s making noises doesn’t make her any quieter, and it doesn’t make her leave any faster.

Stop it. Don’t.

Why is it so hot in here?

Why can I hear him? Like this? Right now?

Why is the wet nestling into my thigh?

She feels so much.

It’s too much.

Why does the movement behind the wall sound like its right behind her?

Fionn hits his fist against the wall.

Fuck.

No.

Alana moans. She doesn’t mean too. Fionn doesn’t mean too. It’s just so hot in there, and all the lightbulbs are red, and everything feels wet, and the air is thick, and the walls are pink and they’re so, so thin, and there’s only three more days left there on set, and Fionn groans louder just to be sure that he’s wrong.

Of course he’s wrong.

There is no girl on the other side of the wall.

He just wants there to be.

But there isn’t.

Alana’s hands don’t mean to travel up her thigh and lift her dress.

Alana’s voice doesn’t mean to call out when she holds herself against the wall and grinds into her hand.

She doesn’t mean to at all.

She wants to leave, but, well… no, she wants to stay.

What she wants is to tear down this wall that she’s pressed against, but she can’t do that.

All she can seem to do is reach her hand beneath her underwear, and feel the wet wrap round her skin, and drag her fingers up hard, and breathe out a loud sigh.

Fuck.

It can’t be.

Absolutely not.

Fionn slams his hand against the wall, and grips himself tighter and bites down hard on his lip.

How is she there?

If it even is her?

What the fuck is wrong with this building?

Why are the walls so thin?

Why does everyone fuck at the same time?

How the hell is this happening? Again??

How do two people find themselves fucking against each other in a weird pink and orange hotel with an entire wall of old bricks and missed opportunities and unspoken words between them?

Jesus Christ.

Fionn doesn’t press his mouth against the wall and breathe out Alana’s name deeply through his lips.

He surely did not just do that.

No.

He couldn’t have.

…But if he hadn’t… why would the girl behind the wall gasp like that?

Why would she moan so loudly in response?

What she actually means is to leave right now but instead Alana flings her body around desperately, her forehead meeting the wall, she moves her finger tips in tiny circles, pounding them hard into her clit.

There can be no going back now, it’s already gone this far.

Fionn has nothing to lose. Or maybe he has everything to lose. Or maybe he doesn’t care.

Not right now.

He thrusts so hard into his hand, his dick is inches away from grinding against the wall that his hand holds him against.

“Ah! Alanaa… fuck!”

Fuck.

He said her name.

He just said her fucking name!

God.

“Ah! A...lana …mmm yess!”

Fionn has literally just fucked himself against a wall, loudly moaning Alana’s name.

She grasps her hand against the other side of the same wall, to pull at nothing, her body flinches and jumps, she gasps for air and groans out.

There’s no point in being quiet now.

She means to say ‘fuck’ but it sort of sounds like ‘Fionn’.

“Yes! Alana. Fuck.”

He speaks to her from the other side. This is it.

“Fionn! Fionn! Ah, fucking God!!”

This cannot be happening.

They’re fucking each other and they can’t even see it or feel it.

Alana’s so close. Her fingers are slipping, she’s so wet. She throbs and pants, breathless and so close.

“Alana”

Fionn’s voice speaks to her through the wall. It sounds calm, deep. Firm, and definite.

Almost dominant.

“Cum for me.”

“Please.”

Alana breathes in sharply with a sudden moan. “Fuck!! Fuuuuck!”

Her head slowly stretches back to hang, facing the ceiling, as she feels the breath escaping her lungs, leaving her mouth in a soft sigh of his name. She cums with two fingers pressed hard against her clit, her hips thrusting forward in short, intense jolts. Her moan squeaks and she sighs heavily, breathing out a clear “Fiiiionn”

The two of them stand in the same position, their foreheads resting against the same spot on separate sides of the same wall.

They breathe in and out deeply as their heart rates regulate.

Fionn and Alana shakily tug their underwear back on and briefly let their eyes close.

After a little while of quiet, Alana asks “Should I say sorry?”

She doesn’t know neighbour sex etiquette, but surely that’s the polite thing to say when you masturbate against a wall with someone uninvited.

“No” Fionn laughs. “You really don’t need to say sorry. Not at all”

Phew.

“Do I need to say sorry?” He asks, suddenly sounding concerned. He rests his palm out against his side of the wall.

“No, Fionn. Never.” Alana sits back on the floor, and rests her head back. “Not for anything.”

She hears another mumbled laugh. “Good, because that was fun!”

Oh, man!

Alana chuckles to herself and calls back. “You’re amazing Fionn, really.”

“Wait until there isn’t a wall between us!” He knocks on it twice, leans back against it and laughs.

Oh my God.

“See you tomorrow, darling.” Alana says, standing up and neatening her dress. “I’d better go because this probably isn’t really ok.” She laughs sort of nervously and sweeps her fringe out of her eyes.

“Bye, deer.” Fionn smiles and pulls his t-shirt back on. “Goodnight, Alana”

“Goodnight” She says, and kisses her side of the wall. “Sweet dreams, Dolfionn.”

--------------------

CHAPTER 3

Most of the visual content had been shot, there weren’t too many days left at all now. Harry and everyone else had basically done their bit. Everyone stayed from start to finish though, to boost morale and maintain the team effort, and because they were all still enjoying themselves. A lot of the bodies on set were simply required as extras now, there to be seen dancing and drifting through the background, in some sort of flamboyant garment.  

The only major part left was the pool scene with Fionn and Alana, well… with Toby and Isla, technically. The only clear thought in the film. Maybe the only clear thought in Fionn’s mind. …If he forgets about another night of questionable masturbation preferences, that is.

But he’s got to do it now. He has to. Time feels like it’s running out, but it also feels like it’s on his side, running towards him. Towards them. Fionn needs to see this through, somehow. Even if he’s cheating a little and doing it through his character, Toby, Fionn is finally going to do this. …The Plan.

Polly’s voice is calmly reassuring her friends to remember that they know what they’re doing and that she believes in them. “Anything that feels natural, yeah? Whatever you both do or say, it won’t be wrong.”

Would you say that about last night, Pol? Alana tells her brain to shut up. Get your head in the game, girl! This isn’t the time to make up rude jokes in your head.

Polly shuffles back, mostly out of view, and the camera men and women are situated comfortably far back. “We have all evening, guys, so take your time.” Everything feels as organic as a pink swimming pool surrounded by rhododendron bushes and orange beanbags can feel. …and if you ignore the night before.

Fionn lies across his chest with his face held in his hands and peers up at Alana through his clear framed glasses. He’s wearing a striped shirt beneath an old denim jacket and repeatedly telling himself not to blush. He draws a breath and feels a deep sickness in the pit of his stomach. But he’s a professional actor. He can do this. Well… he used to be professional.

Here it goes. The Scene, The Plan, whatever you want to call it.

“I think.”

Oh, he started too sure.

“…I don’t think.”

Alana sighs a soft laugh. “Good start, Toby”

“Stop it, Isla”

Toby sits up right, removes his glasses and crosses his legs. Isla watches him fondly.

Oh my gosh, she thinks to herself. Something’s definitely happening. Don’t think about last night. Because something is about to happen.

She chances a glance, both Isla and Alana.

Fuck. ..His jaw line.

Another glance. Oh God. Regulate your breathing, remember.

Her eyes travel from the low set of Fionn’s eyebrows, to the verdant green of his iris. Across the freckles on his cheeks, down the sharp line of his nose. The bump of his top lip, the mole on his chin. The prominence of his Adam’s apple, the ring pierced in his ear. There’s something about the angles of his face Alana feels she’ll never tire of admiring.

“I don’t think…”

Oh, shit. Listen.

He isn’t speaking through a wall anymore.

Listen to him, Isla. Listen to Toby.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody that I’ve been so intrigued by.”

Isla takes a breath, feels aware of every vein and pore in her body, keeps her mouth closed, and tells herself to listen.

“You’re sweet. And lovely, and really cool, and nice. And friendly. But. There’s more, like… to you, than that.”

Keep it together Fionn, you can do this. You’re only acting.

So why does this feel so important?

It’s not just the cameras, he can’t look at her. This is scarier than he thought, for both him and his character. Look at the pool, that’s a good idea.

“I mean, you’re… kind of like water. But… but, not. But maybe you are. I mean…”

Just go for it, Fi. He hears Harry’s voice in his head, encouraging him.

“You were born by the sea, Isla. You always say you like the ocean…”

He should not have said that. That’s too real. That’s Fionn and not Toby. That’s Alana and not Isla. It’s too far from the script. But there is no script. Oh Jesus, he’s going to be fired. He’ll never act again.

“I do.”

She whispers.

Alana. No… Isla.

“I do like the ocean.”

Toby looks at her, and there are lights reflecting in her eyes.

“I like dolphins.”

She did not just do that.

Fionn allows himself to laugh, surely Toby would laugh at that.

But he has more to say. Both Toby and Fionn. She deserves more …Isla and Alana.

“I think you’re great, Isla. I don’t really know what to say because you make me nervous. But in a nice way. But you make me comfortable, and happy too. And funny, maybe?”

“You’re really really funny.” She says.

Oh boy, there she is.

Keep going Toby.

“…And you’re encouraging, and kind. And your voice is like nothing I’ve heard, and you look…amazing. Just lovely. And you work hard, your mind… the way your mind works, and the ideas that are born inside it, astound me. And your eyes are so big and they’re like, green. But no…brown. Orange? Hazel. Yeah, hazel. A deep, enchanting hazel, and… and I’m saying this because. Erm, because… I should have said it sooner.”

Here we go.

“I should have said it last year when we walked in the park after it stopped raining, or when we made that salad together at Alex’s house.”

She’ll know exactly who he means.

“…Or at that gig, or when I saw you buying all those vegetables that time, or when you bumped into me at that café with my family, or maybe I should have just turned up at your door and declared it, or…”

Maybe Toby’s getting carried away, but its Art. Maybe this is what feels organic to him. Maybe this is what Isla wants to hear, maybe it is professional to use a live film set to confess your actual feelings for your co-star, and maybe, maybe he can’t stop… “Or maybe I should have written you a letter, or even sang you a song, or maybe even pressed orange roses through your letter box, but…

Fionn finally looks at her so that Toby isn’t declaring this to his hands and she’s… she’s not… crying? No. She’s smiling, but… well, kind of crying, and, both. Yes. She’s sort of smile crying into her hand, but it’s quite cute. Everything she does is cute.

“…I was scared.”

“For some weird reason I just felt scared, maybe that I would let you down, Isla, or simply that I liked you too much, or maybe not enough. Or that the timing was wrong, and we’d be too busy, but…I just always wanted more. And you were always there. Even when I didn’t think you would be. But I didn’t want to come to expect you, but you always seemed so happy to see me. You were so friendly and you kept saying nice things to me, and touching my arm. But, I know you do that to everyone...”

Keep going Fionn, it’s for the film. You’re a great actor.

“My dog likes you. And my sisters like you, and… and Alex said that you like me.”

There’s no way back now, just carry on.

“And… well, yeah. That was nice to hear. Everything said about you is nice to hear. Your voice, especially, is nice to hear. I just… I suppose that if there were ever a choice for you to be somewhere or to not be somewhere, and I suppose by ‘somewhere’ I mean with me, by my side, I’d much rather that you were. There. …By my side, I mean. Than not there.”

Fionn takes what feels like his first breath in several hours and what might actually be his first breath in several hours.

“I guess that’s the best I’ve got. For now, anyway.” He says. “But maybe I can work on it.” He’s not speaking to the crew, but still to Alana. Well, no. It’s Toby speaking to Isla.

He realises all the extras have gone inside, and the moon has replaced the sun, and the butterflies are sleeping and Alana, well… Isla, is wearing a loose red cardigan he never saw her put on. And she’s sitting right in front of him though he never noticed her move forward.

Somehow Alana is holding Fionn’s hand in hers, although he never felt her take it. He realises the cameras are still rolling, of course they are. And the set lights are still shining on the tears in Alana’s eyes and he wonders where she learnt to be such a good actress that she could just cry like that.

And then he hears her soft, angelic voice though he never saw her open her mouth, and he realises she’s talking to him.

“Of course I like you, Toby.” Isla breathes out. “I always have.”

She’s such a good actress.

Listen to her.

“You’re intelligent and creative. And you’re respectful about everything. The way you talk, about things, it’s so… earnest, and important. And I could listen to you, for ages. You speaking… you’re voice…I dunno. You’re just compassionate, and so endearing. And you’re so cool! God, you have no idea, but that just makes it better! You’re so humble and wonderful and your singing voice, Jesus Christ!! You’re sort of unbelievable. You’re sort of everything, but mostly, you’re just so nice, and you work hard. And you care about your family, and you’re really funny!”

Alana’s sort of exasperated, as if she’s only realising all of Fionn’s amazing qualities right now but she isn’t, she’s known the whole time she’s known him. She has to keep going though. Isla does.

“You make me care about things more. I learn things through you, you’re just great… I don’t, know… you’re really peaceful. It sounds silly but knowing that you exist, in my life, somehow, is just… really soothing, and reassuring. You’re a bit weird, you’ve got your quirks and everything, but so do I, and… I guess it doesn’t really matter.” She says. “I mean look at you! You’re lovely. So, so lovely. You’re just… real. There’s this grace and composure about you that I’ve never witnessed in anyone else.”

God, she’s good.

Fionn thinks he might see one of the camerawomen moving position and the sound technician move the mic, but all he’s looking at are Alana’s eyes on him, open wide and shining, staring into his.

Maybe the plan is working?

“Toby, I suppose I don’t really know all that much about you, but I don’t know if I need to, because I know enough to know that I feel something.”

Neither Toby nor Fionn know if the feel of lips blowing air against skin is the breeze or the feeling of two sets of knuckles folded together.

“I kept waiting for it to fizzle out, but it never did. I could never just appreciate you in moderation …I wanted more, too.” She speaks. And yes, maybe this is finally happening. And it doesn’t matter with whose voice she speaks, Isla’s or her own. “There were times I was unsure if I wanted you in reality, or if it were safer to enjoy the idea of you, but there was just something...” Alana moves their hands to rest in her lap, her heart crashing in her throat, and she speaks firmly, hopefully in Isla’s voice. “There is just something about you I never felt ready or able to leave behind. And I still don’t want to. I’ve always wanted you, and I still do.”

Fionn thinks he can hear plants rustling beneath a soft wind but he doesn’t know because neither he nor Toby would be listening to that. It’s not important. This is happening. He feels sick, in the most beautiful way.

“For a while, admittedly, I tried to pretend you were only a concept.” Isla pauses, her eyes switch between focusing on Toby’s and studying the stitching on his sleeve.

Just keep going, Alana. It’s for the film.

“I wish I could say I was an actress.” Isla’s free hand climbs Toby’s forearm and rests at his elbow. “…That there was a reason for all this.”

Oh Jesus. It’s for the Film, ok?

Fionn lifts his eyes from looking at Alana’s hand nestled in his, and meets her eyes. “You just had this grip on me.” Isla says, but it is Alana’s eyes that are still glossy. “…And whether either of us intended it to or not, your presence just somehow seeped into everything, and thoughts of you consumed me, but not even in a bad way! Just in a constant and certain way, and I… I made art about you.”

It’s too late now, she thinks. She’s said it.

“Everything I’ve done has sort of stemmed from initially thinking about you. All of this, in a weird and kind of unintentional way, it’s sort of all for you.”

Toby scans from Isla across to the plants which frame her; lavender, foxglove, fuscia. His eyes travel into the still water, decorated with petals and confetti and sequins, through all the other orange and lilac and yellow flowers in the far corner, up into the deep red and golden sunset which seeps into the sea, and then back to her. Gems glisten in her ears, glitter lines her eye lids. A peacock butterfly is tattooed onto her shoulder, and a pale pink flower is woven into her hair. She smiles the sweetest smile and her eyes are full of honesty. “You’re a bee.” He says.

They laugh …finally.

Fionn, Toby, Alana, Isla. It doesn’t matter. Their hands separate and they move to align their bodies side by side, legs stretched in front of them. “You wear yellow, you’re rare, and you like flowers. Everything surrounding you is pretty. You like the outdoors. You sort of fly around everywhere, pollinating everything, I’m not sure what with… but wherever you go, you leave a trace of something hopeful. What you give out is sort of necessary and appreciated. Your words, or art, or smile. I don’t know. But, it’s always nice to see you.” He says. “You’re a bee. …That can be your name. That’s what I’ll call you.”

--------------------------

CHAPTER 4

Morning sun rises slowly in a pale sky and shines weakly through the open window.

The eyes watching Alana are interrogative, in a caring way. Unflinching, deep with questions, but safe. Familiar. A silvery grey blue, with lashes painted black fluttering above them.

“Mornin’ Poll! How’re you feeling?” She asks her friend, it’s a genuine question but she anticipates it won’t be answered.

“Yesterday, Al.” Polly’s eyes widen. “Yesterday.”

“Yesterday was Tuesday.” Alana smiles around a spoonful of fruit salad, investigates a kiwi in her bowl with more interest than needed, and she absolutely doesn’t blush. Not at all. It might be sunburn.

“Alana, please!” Polly reaches across the pink breakfast table and holds onto Alana’s arm.

“I thought I was meant to be the actress round here!” But she can’t keep this up, Alana quickly retreats into shy grumbles and unsure whimpers and adolescent giggles and she cradles her knees to her chest. “Yesterday was amazing, if not maybe a little odd, I suppose? Quite intense. Very, very beautiful, but intense.” She admits, half smiling, half nervously puckering her lips.

“It was amazing, Alana! I could barely watch, I felt like I wasn’t allowed to be there …I couldn’t breathe. I think Isaac the lighting guy was crying! We were all sweating afterwards, just looking at each other in silence. No one knew what to say.” Polly’s a little manic, it was obvious that she’d been holding this in all night. “Acting rarely creates that kind of atmosphere, Alana, I know Fionn’s amazing at his job, obviously, but there was tension. That was super intense!” She decides. “What you both said was personal and obviously, undoubtedly, completely real.”

Alana can only respond with a quiet ‘hmm.’ It’s all out there now, she guesses. Everything. Exposed, honest, said. Everything’s finally been said. Everything she thought and dreamt and wrote and hoped for all year has finally been said…Unless by some miracle all of the shots are unusable and they have to burn everything and no one will ever know a thing. Or maybe the sound is somehow so poor that they have to just make up some random subtitles, or add loads of effects, or maybe even play the speech backwards like in Twin Peaks. Maybe that would be better? Maybe she should suggest it?

“Alana, please.” Polly brings her back to earth. “Please don’t you dare get nervous and avoid him now. Things between you and him do not end with that scene, you know that, right?”

She’s right. God, of course she is. Alana reaches out to hold her friend’s hand and listen to her.

“Lana, you haven’t come this far to freak out about it now. You don’t actually have anything to be scared of anymore. It is quite clear that he feels the same. He is absolutely lovely and believe it or not, you are a catch.”

Alana laughs weakly and brings hers and Polly’s hands up to her mouth to press her lips nervously and tenderly into Polly’s fingers.

“Go and see him, petal. You’ve both done more than enough for this film and all of us can start packing stuff up.” Polly tells her. “Everything you have waited for is happening now. Go and see him. Today.”

Alana squeezes her friend’s hand and smiles at her. “Thank you, Pea. Thank you so much, for pulling me together!” She says. “I love you.” Alana stands to clear her dishes with a slightly wobbly hand, but a big smile on her face. “I’ll do it.”

------------------------------

There is a backless pink bench situated in a secluded corner of a small garden behind the pool. Bull rushes, flag irises and orange water flowers stand tall in a small turquoise pond dressed with layers of lily pads. A willow tree hangs its branches over the grass, the fine green leaves reflect in shards of mirror mosaicked into the pink wall at the back. White butterflies with orange tipped wings and painted-lady butterflies jitter around pink and yellow flower heads.

Fionn is sitting on the bench, cradling a bright pink mug and blowing lightly over the surface to cool down his morning coffee. A navy blue tee-shirt stretches over his chest, soft strands of brown hair curl messily over his forehead. Sunlight paints patches of white light over his face, and tangles into the hair on his legs. Despite not being a morning person, Fionn feels peaceful as he watches little bubbles travel up to the surface of the pond water, he sees them pop with a content smile on his face.

He feels a hand slowly stroke his back then tenderly smooth down his hair from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck.

Alana slides her hand down Fionn’s arm as she sits herself on the bench to face him. She folds her leg to rest her knee on Fionn’s thigh and she says a happy, shy good morning. Fionn places his hand gently on her leg and laughs out an equally shy greeting.

Fionn and Alana are both slow and quiet. As if they woke too early. They are not sleepy but the day is unfamiliarly new, it feels like the morning has paused so it can stretch out for longer than normal. The sun is awaiting their instruction before it rises higher in the sky.

Alana rests her head against Fionn’s shoulder and laughs out “I don’t know what to say!” She feels his two fingers and thumb slide to cup her chin and trace the edge of her jaw. Fionn sweeps his fingers up Alana’s face to push her hair behind her ear, so slowly and softly that his knuckles tickle her skin. She takes his hand in hers, looks at him and smiles. “Maybe we’ve already said everything.”

Fionn turns so each of his legs are on either side of the bench with Alana sat cross legged between them. Their hands hold each other’s thighs. He smiles softly. “Yeah, maybe we have said it all now.”

“Thank you for everything you said.” Alana speaks, earnestly. They sigh quietly through little smiles and slow blinks as they realise that they’ve finally sorted everything out. “Thank you, too.” Fionn says. Alana reaches her arms around Fionn’s neck to hug him and he holds her with his arms wrapped round her back.

Their faces nestle into each other’s necks, cheeks squished into tight smiles. Close, skin pressed inside folds and corners of skin. The morning, their skin pressed together in the morning. No walls between them. No water between them. No windows between them. No unspoken words between them. No cities between them. They’ve done it. They are here. Together.

Their hug loosens a little and they rest their cheeks together with their eyes closed. They stay like that for a while, or what feels like a while, or what feels like no time at all. Eyelids shut softly and they breathe in and out slowly, they rub their cheeks together ever so slightly, almost like deer. The tips of Fionn and Alana’s noses and lips brush over each other’s skin in the hazy yellow morning light. Fionn gently ghosts faint kisses along Alana’s jaw and onto her chin. They are gentle and slow. No rush. Just waking up. Alana leaves a trail of small kisses along Fionn’s neck and onto his face and up to his forehead.

Fionn kisses the end of Alana’s nose. “So we’re good?” She asks him with a smirk and locks her hands around the back of his neck. “We’re, like… friends…and stuff?” She laughs.

“Alana.” Fionn says her name seriously with a raised eyebrow. “Come on!” He smooths his palms over the back of her head and cups her face in his hands.

“Okay” She smiles. “More than friends, please?”

“That’s better.” Fionn nods. “More than friends.”

They’re still smiling even when they try not to. It’s in their eyes and their whole faces, their whole bodies. It could be embarrassing but they don’t care. It’s only the two of them anyway, and they’ve waited long enough. A year and a bit isn’t that long, really, but it felt like it.

“Are we…” Alana leans closer to Fionn to speak in his ear “…Together?” She asks him in a giggle, with a small knot in her stomach, and she takes his ear lobe into her mouth to suck in a little kiss. Fionn whispers into her ear, his lips touch her skin with every word. “I think… that we are together, Alana.” He kisses her cheek. “Yes.”

“Good!” She sighs. “That’s wonderful to hear.” She turns to smile against the corner of his lips. “Phew!”

“I’m so sorry it took me so long to tell you how I felt.” Fionn admits, linking their fingers together. And Alana replies, smoothing her hand over his. “Don’t be. You’re worth the wait, and I’m really sorry it took me such weird and dramatic methods to tell you how I felt.”

They laugh and Alana wraps her legs around Fionn’s waist, he holds his arms around the bottom of her back. They rest their foreheads together. They are comfortable and happy, but nerves still tickle them and shoot up inside their stomachs, like an itch. It’s comfortable but new at the same time. They are so close now, hugging and resting their heads together, but they itch, they both know it, silently. Slowly, with twitches in their bellies, Fionn and Alana lift their heads up, their chins meet gently, they tilt their heads slightly, slowly. They close their eyes, and they slowly press their lips together in a soft, gentle peck. They smile slightly then open their lips to slide between each other’s in another kiss. Their lips open and meet again, and again. Fionn and Alana share a slow, long kiss. She rubs her hand over Fionn’s hair where she lightly holds the back of his neck. He gently lays his hand on her jaw. Alana can feel the shape of Fionn’s top lip between hers. Their lips are warm together. Soft, and they move slowly. Continuously. Soft, wet and gentle. The very faint flavours of coffee and toothpaste mix and taste much better than they should. Sort of comforting. Sort of sweet, sort of funny. Nice. Their lips are close, always. Never leaving, never stopping. Keeping kissing. Sliding. Long, slow, deep, wet, soft kisses. Sentences of long kisses, punctuated with little kisses. A paragraph for a kiss. Their lips are pink and kissing makes them more pink. They kiss in the garden. They sit on the pink bench, in the little garden with the pink walls, by the turquoise pond with the pink lotus flowers, and they kiss. They finally kiss because they finally can.

They kiss every word they never said into each other’s lips. They kiss every word they did say to each other, by the pool at sunset last night. They kiss for every look they shared across every room they’ve been in. They kiss for every inch of distance they ever had between them. They kiss for every time they could have kissed sooner. They kiss for every person who told them to kiss sooner. They kiss for them kissing now. They kiss for them kissing again. They kiss for them finally getting it right. They kiss for the first time because it’s not the last time. They kiss till the sun rises higher in the sky and tells them the day has begun.

---------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 5

(Bonus chapter with plot twist)

 September 2019

Fionn is at home, his dog Lewis curling up to his side, and Alana cuddling the other. Their limbs, dressed in comfy jeans and woollen autumn jumpers, tangle lazily on the sofa. Fionn looks up from reading and meets Alana with a wide and fond, if not slightly bemused, and maybe even teary-eyed smile. He places what he’s just read onto the table; a short story self-printed and hand bound in baby pink card, titled ‘Pink Dolphin’.

He chuckles and leans in to give Alana a lingering kiss. “Bless you” he tells her. “This is crazy, this story. It’s amazing! I can’t believe you did that, it’s so funny!” Fionn shakes his head with an amused smile. “Yeah, it’s maybe a tiny tiny bit strange, and it’s pretty hot!” He says. “But honestly… that’s maybe the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Fionn smiles even wider and lays his hand across his heart. “Parts of that really, really got to me. That was so, so nice!”

Alana reaches out to take Fionn’s hand in hers and breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Phewww, thank God!” She looks at him with wide, innocent eyes and a smile, as if she didn’t just share her dirty fanfiction with him. Fionn chuckles and pinches Alana’s nose. He runs his thumb over her cheek to show he’s just teasing. The pair of them nervously giggle. Even after almost 3 years together, they’re still as awkward with each other as they are comfortable.

Alana tucks her legs under Fionn’s and holds Lewis’ paw. “I never even planned for you to read it, you know! I was so embarrassed, I’m so sorry!” She laughs at herself, and at Fionn laughing at her. “I know I’m a bit of an idiot, I just really love you and you’re very inspiring!” Alana snorts a laugh at the facial expressions Fionn is pulling at her. “It’s all completely Harry and Louis’ fault anyway! They made me write it by planting the idea in my head! They’re out of control.”

“I’ll tell you one thing.” Fionn replies, wrapping one of Alana’s legs up in his arms and resting his face against her knee. “Fionn is right.” He points to the pink laminated document on the table and picks it up. “You are ridiculous!” He laughs, swatting at her with her own story. “All of you are absolutely, beautifully, stupidly, impossibly, ridiculously, ridiculous! I have no idea why I spend time with any of you.”

Alana stretches away from him, laughing. “I’m ridiculously in love with you!” She sings. “We all are, does that help!??”

“It only helps a tiny bit, you lunatic!” Fionn laughs, pulling his girlfriend back into his arms. “When Harry said he’d dared you to write fanfiction about us aaaaages ago, I certainly never expected you to have taken it this far, or gone to that much effort! It’s craaazy but it’s honestly brilliant though, and I’m very flattered …but don’t tell Harry that.”

“Ah thank God, though, honestly!” Alana sighs again, kissing Fionn’s knuckles. “I was so worried you’d be absolutely disgusted, and outraged, and confused, and just want to leave me immediately, and then be angry at Harry too!” She gushes, far too dramatically. “You know… Louis even tried to get me to post it online!! Can you believe him!?” She admits, her eyes wild with excitement and confession.

“I just wrote it cos it helped me to, like, deal with you.” She explains, a little more peacefully. “I didn’t wanna get obsessed or anything, or invest too much in our relationship too soon. I just wanted to be calm, and to enjoy fancying you, and happily take things slow, so transferring some emotion into this helped.” She admits. “I wrote it before we were properly together, and I know it sounds odd, and I know I’m really dramatic… but it just made sense to me, and it was fun! I tried to keep all this hidden for all these years, and I pretended that I never actually wrote any, just on the off chance you got mad at me or were, like, really disturbed.”

Fionn laughs loudly at how stressed Alana’s getting. She is so silly. He is actually really enjoying this. Seeing her freak out and feel awkward is pretty funny. It’s adorable, actually. “I’m not angry with you!” He has to save her at some point. “I’m actually really glad that you took Harry’s dare, or advice?, so seriously, and wrote such an amazing story and managed to hang onto it all this time!” Fionn moves to rest his chin on top of Alana’s head. “And it clearly worked, cos we’re all good.”

“You made us into art, Alana, and that is really sweet and a real privilege. You know I’d never judge you for doing something which helps or inspires you.” He says. “You knew that at some point I’d eventually reveal you to the world as the arty mad woman that I was somehow in love with, and I suppose if we do decide to share this beautiful, funny, wonderful, weird, sexy, and ridiculous story that you’ve created, then maybe that would be as good a way as any for us to ‘come out’.” He jokes with her and kisses her on the temple.

Alana giggles and combs her fingers through Fionn’s hair. “Yeah. We’re really private, Dolfionn, and we hope to ‘come out’ in a quiet and simple way…let’s definitely reveal this epic, dramatic, arty, cinematic, fantasy filth about us!” She plays along. “Sure! Maybe we should... Maybe it’s a brilliant idea! Maybe it would be funny?” She lays her head in Fionn’s lap and tickles Lewis under his ears.

Fionn rests his hand over Alana’s tummy. “Yeah, I definitely think so. Louis’ onto something... It would be silly and endearing, like us! But no… seriously, if we just stay calm, don’t make much fuss, and continue living our lives quietly like we always do…” He starts, “And I’ll keep mainly just talking about acting in any interviews, then everything will definitely be fine when people do know.” Alana has to agree with him. She meant it when she said Fionn was inspiring.

“I’m happy for people to know about us now, but we can definitely still be private.” He reassures them both. “We’re not giving Harry and Louis the satisfaction of sharing that story anyway!” Fionn laughs and slides his hand beneath Alana’s jumper, to slowly run his fingers over her warm skin. “What I’m most concerned with now, however…” He leans closer. “…is fucking you through a wall.” He teases but reaches further up under Alana’s top, and licks a stripe up her neck. “You wrote some incredibly sexy things and I was very impressed.”

Alana laughs and tugs at Fionn’s hair. She sits up to straddle him and leave wet, introductory kisses up Fionn’s neck. “So, just to completely clarify first, you’re absolutely sure that you’re definitely not annoyed or embarrassed that I wrote that??” She double checks, stroking the soft hair on Fionn’s arms beneath his jumper sleeves.

“You’re pretty difficult to be angry with, bee.” Fionn smiles and holds Alana’s hips beneath her jumper. “I’m maybe the tiniest bit surprised? If not just at how detailed it is, even though I really shouldn’t be because this is actually typical you… and its typical Harry and Louis! But honestly, love, no.” He answers. “I’m not annoyed with you at all. I absolutely love it, and I actually find the whole thing really cute!” He tells her. “I might be embarrassed if your story were shit, but luckily I’m quite a fan.” Fionn flirts and rests his head against Alana’s chest, kissing it through her clothes.

Alana cradles Fionn’s head in her arms. “I know I’m silly and weird, pet, but for what it’s worth, I meant the things that I wrote. Well… what Harry forced me to write!” She jokes but winds loving kisses into Fionn’s hair and down over his throat. “I meant it a lot, petal, the romantic bits as well as the naughty bits.”

“I know. I can tell that you did, bee, you don’t need to say sorry and I honestly do sincerely appreciate it.” Fionn says. “I appreciate yours and Harry’s unorthodox tactics to deal with your overwhelming love for me!” He jokes between tickles and cuddles and he playfully bites Alana’s shoulder. Lewis wakes up and happily scrambles off into the other room.

“For what it’s worth, Al, I would say everything to you that you wrote in that story, because it’s all completely true, and you deserve to hear it every day, and I’m really proud of you. And I really do love you. And I appreciate everything we have together.” He kisses her firmly and pulls her closer into his lap and against his body. “I love you so fucking much, you adorable weirdo.”

“I love you, Fionn.” Alana sighs out and holds his face tightly up to hers, stroking her thumbs over his cheeks. “I really really love you a lot. Thank you for everything. For putting up with me so well, and for always being so kind.” She kisses his lips. “And wonderful.” She kisses him again. “And pretty.” Another kiss. “And amazing.” Kiss. “And sweet.”

Fionn holds the back of her neck and they kiss quickly through deep breaths. Alana’s hands run down Fionn’s chest and he squeezes the backs of her thighs tightly, moving his hand up her back and into her hair. In the moments Fionn’s lips aren’t held between Alana’s he informs her “We’re reading the rude scenes aloud to each other while we have sex, you know.”

Alana sinks lower onto Fionn’s lap and hurriedly pulls off his jumper. “Yes! God, I know.”

[ourheroictommo]

FLICKER OF PASSION Niall Horan reveals a secret lover he had in 1D inspired his best songs — and it has inspired his emotional debut album Flicker

Niall Horan takes over Dan Wootton's Bizarre Column for the day

FOR his five years in ONE DIRECTION – and the nearly two years since they went on hiatus – NIALL HORAN has been linked to a string of beautiful women.

But while his bandmates HARRY STYLES, LIAM PAYNE, LOUIS TOMLINSON and ZAYN MALIK have had plenty of girlfriends since shooting to fame, Niall always insisted he was single . . . until now.

In his first Bizarre guest-edit since going solo, Niall revealed his incredible debut album Flicker, out today, was inspired by a secret relationship.

He said: “It is written about one person. Most of it is. There’s obviously songs that are not particularly about anything, just scenarios I’ve made up in my head or situations I’ve seen among my friends.

“But yeah, for the most part it’s about that one person.

“I live most of my life out of the public eye. I try to keep as much of it shut as possible, because if you let it out, people start asking you loads of questions and it becomes uncomfortable.

“That’s why I wrote the album I did — because I’m not the greatest talker in terms of emotion. But I found that I’m good at writing it down on paper and putting it on the record. It’s still quite a hard thing to do but I found it better to do it that way.”

The ten-track album is filled with emotional tunes about a complicated relationship — with a few mega-romantic ones too.

But Niall confirmed his muse is now an ex, adding: “I’m single now, yep. Yep. Extremely single.”

His mystery girl is NOT the Neighbours actress OLYMPIA VALANCE despite rumours they were close. Niall insisted they met through mutual friends and merely “hung out” at a barbecue.

And he was perplexed by the supposed love triangle between himself, ELLIE GOULDINGand ED SHEERAN in 2013, when Niall was believed to have got together with Ellie while she was dating Ed. That reportedly inspired Ed’s tune Don’t.

Niall, who also used 1D’s hiatus to launch sports management firm Modest! Golf, said with a laugh: “It kind of all happened without me knowing and that was it really.

“I can’t remember a specific time or a specific moment. It all kind of kicked off and there was a song written about it, apparently.”

Now Niall has his own heartache tunes to sing.

NIALL is overjoyed to be the only member of 1D to be up for an American Music Award – as Best New Artist. He said: “It’s unbelievable. It’s one of my favourite nights of the year. This year, with the nomination, it’s really cool, especially with some of the sick artists that are out.”

Kneel Horan

NIALL has been plagued by issues with his left knee and had major reconstructive surgery in January 2014.

Now he needs an op on his right one, as it’s been overcompensating for his left – but is struggling to find the time as his 2018 world tour nears.

He admitted: “It’s still f***ed. It’s nasty.

“In my family there’s a joint issue where the bones don’t sit in the socket properly.

“That’s the same with my ankles, my knees, my shoulders . . . every time I do press-ups I get pains in my shoulders, so it’s an on-going thing.

“The whole process was excruciating. I was lucky that I did my rehab when I did it.”

HAVING purposely stayed away from a dance sound, Niall said: “My music probably stands out like a sore thumb today. You’re competing in the charts with THE WEEKND, ED SHEERAN and DUA LIPA. It’s tough.”

Life after 1D

WHEN Zayn quit 1D, things were never going to be the same between him and the rest of the band.

But Niall has revealed their relationship is now almost non-existent, admitting he doesn’t even have a phone number for his old pal.

He explained: “I haven’t spoken to Zayn in a while.

“I spoke to him at Christmas then I spoke to him again a couple of months ago.

“Zayn’s Zayn , not a lot of people would be able to say that they get in touch with him. He’s the hardest man to get in touch with. He is always changing his number.” Things couldn’t be more different with his other bandmates, though.

Niall has already showered gifts on Bear, the seven-month-old son of Liam and CHERYL. He said: “I’ve met Bear. I got him a set of golf clubs, so I have to drop them off when I get the chance. I’m getting everyone into golf. I’m trying to grow the game.

“As a start I got him little trainers which have his name on the back. Little pairs of all the different trainers that Liam likes. Little Air Max, little Stan Smiths and stuff.”

Last month Niall saw Harry perform a solo gig in Los Angeles.

He said: “We hugged it out, had a drink afterwards and had a bit of a chat. We talk every day but we don’t get to see each other all the time because everyone’s doing their own bits and pieces.”

As for a reunion of the band in 2014, Niall said: “It’s only been like two years or whatever so I’m not worried about it. I’m not rushing it and I’m not worried that it won’t happen.”

That will be music to ears of their fans.

TOURING is different this time around. Niall said: “It’s a lot smaller entourage. I think there’s 16 of us. We had 160 crew on 1D and 30 or 40 trucks every day, everywhere we went. It was like a circus rolling into town.”

My pal's just unbeliebale

NIALL is the closest out of all the ONE DIRECTION lads to JUSTIN BIEBER.

And two months after the Canadian superstar axed the remaining dates of his Purpose tour, prompting concerns about his health, Niall says he is doing better than ever.

Niall said: “I love that fella. He’s mad, brilliant. He’s a different man completely.

“It’s unbelievable. He doesn’t drink, doesn’t do anything else, he’s in good shape, keeps himself to himself with a smaller group of mates and gives me a shout every time he wants to play golf.

“Fair play to him, I think he’s done a great job of turning it around.

“We kind of grew up together.”

bizmeter: Niall's nuggets

AWARDS — Niall is overjoyed to be the only member of 1D to be up for an American Music Award – as Best New Artist. He said: “It’s unbelievable. It’s one of my favourite nights of the year. This year, with the nomination, it’s really cool, especially with some of the sick artists that are out.”

HOME — With family Down Under, he revealed he is keen to move there one day. Niall explained: “I’m sure when I’m older I’d love to live in Australia. But that won’t be any time soon. I have a place in London and I’ve got a place in LA. I’m living out of the suitcase for the next year.”

DUET — His album is out, but Niall is still keen for a collaboration with SHAWN MENDES. He said: “The fans would love it. He’s in the middle of his album at the minute so if we can get something rustled up in the next while, we’ll see what happens. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

SINGER —Niall is just like everyone else when it comes to his favourite acts. As well as being a fan and a pal of SHANIA TWAIN, he said: “Oh I love ADELE, she is a dream. She’s just an unbelievable talent and what she’s done for British music around the world – she’s just incredible.”

NIALL found it hilarious when fans pointed out his album title Flicker looked awkwardly like a swear word. He said with a laugh: “It does look like f***er, doesn’t it. But no, it definitely says Flicker. I did think that was quite funny.”

[jules889-blog]

My problem with Stydia

Stydia was established from day one through Stiles' crush on Lydia. The dynamic was so interesting that it even helped set up both their characters on the show. In other words, Stydia helped build up Stiles and Lydia characterization through their interactions. This is what a good relationship development on a show does, it builds character not only when paired together but also on their own. This was done very well between Scott and Stiles in the first season. From Sciles we learnt that Scott is not the smartest person but ultimately he's sweet and caring (much like the ever lovable Joey from Friends). Similarly, Stydia punctuated who Stiles and Lydia were. Stiles as the funny, awkward, bumbling, obsessively loyal "Robin" to everyone else's "Batman" and Lydia was self-assured but also  insecure, she wanted to feel appreciated but also wanted to stand on her own two high-heeled feet.  Stydia is undeniably important to both characters on the show because it created multiple levels to their personality outside of other pairings on the show. Without that dynamic, Stiles would have just been 'the best friend'  and Lydia would have been the 'self-absorbed prom queen'. The fact that Stydia is real is undisputed, they have always had that "connection". The question here is 'is Stydia romantic or platonic?'

This is a relationship that could have gone either way. If Stydia was endgame, Jeff Davis should have cashed out on the development a long time ago, way back in Season 3B when Lydia and Stiles were starting to build up a friendship and Lydia could be seen developing feelings for Stiles (the red string, the staring, leaning on each other for support, staying back with him when he passed out). Jeff could even have done it after their first kiss which could have been passed off as Lydia actually wanting to kiss Stiles because she was starting to develop feelings for him. Instead, time went by, nothing happened until Stalia and we could only assume that the kiss was just to calm his panic attack and there was absolutely no romantic feelings behind it after all. The fact that Jeff Davis is now claiming it was always his intention all along cheapens all character development that both characters had after the kiss (and let's be honest, there wasn't much development since Season 3 to begin with).

If Jeff didn't want Stydia to happen then he should have stuck to his guns and kept it that way. The rush to push Stydia in 6A now seems forced and much like fanservice that doesn't even please its fans because they've run out of time to properly develop it (what with Dylan O'Brien leaving). It is almost impossible to develop a romantic onscreen relationship when half of its participants isn't there. Not to mention most of the fanbase isn't there anymore either. 

I was 13/14 when Teen Wolf first came out in 2011 and as a straight, white girl who was just discovering my sexuality, I hopped onto the Stydia train along with my group of friends with whom I used to watch the show. Growing up we weren't big on computers so we weren't involved in the online fandom but we had our own little Stydia ship happening. Fast forward a few years and my friends all slowly lost interest in the ship and the show, leaving me as the only one left watching the decimation of this once beloved show which was a huge part of my teenage years.

  I'll admit, Stalia completely destroyed any interest I had in the Stydia. I would have been happy if neither of them ever ended up dating anyone as long as they were happy and had strong characterisations. Why give them a relationship for the sake of having a relationship without any real substance? The fact that Jeff is pushing Stydia together now after most of its fanbase is no longer invested just reeks of desperation to keep the few fans who remain. This, to me, is not only an insult to the fans who have stayed in hopes that the show will again become what it once was but also an insult to himself. He is hanging himself and ridiculing all the work he has done in the past by devolving into fanservice and ridiculous plotlines. 

It also shows just how incapable Jeff is of actually creating strong, original content that keeps up with the ever-changing fans. As I said, I grew up watching the show, I now have more opinions on the show than I ever had before and am now starting to think for myself. The problem is that the show just refuses to grow with me. I see Jeff throwing new writers and characters at the show in hopes that something will stick. What he should have done is gone back to the characters that made the show successful (Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Derek, Isaac, Deaton, the mamas and papas, etc.) and developed those characters. This show has been on air for six years... it could have been very sentimental to the audience if they got to see the characters grow with them (this is the reason Harry Potter has kept its audience throughout the years). This is also the reason Stiles in the FBI was such a success with the few remaining fans (even though it made no sense at all). It was poorly written and had no business being in the (already screwed up) timeline but for once, we actually got to see some development that we've been itching for instead of the constant stalemate.

That said, fans have to accept that Jeff is not obligated to make a ship canon just because a fanbase wants it to happen. He is the creator after all, he has the right to decide which artistic direction his show should take. However, the same can be said for the fans... if the show no longer caters to our interests, we are not obligated to keep watching. This in no way makes you a 'bad fan' (a term I hear the Stydia shippers using more and more lately) nor does it make your past eperience with the show any less valid. It simply is what it is... and that leads me onto the next thing that bothers me about this show, Tyler Posey.

Although I was a Stydia fan in the beginning and I never picked up any other ship, Tyler Posey's comment on "watching the show for the wrong reason" really rubs me the wrong way. There is absolutely no right or wrong reason to watch a show. The audience can watch the show for any reason they choose. They don't even have to like a show to be invested in it. Sure, most people watch a show because they enjoy the plot but you can go in the extreme opposite and be invested in the show because of how bad it is. A show can be so bad that is keeps you entertained (God knows that's the only reason to watch Jaws 4). The fact that Posey thinks he can dictate the reason we should watch 'his' show is not only immature but also extremely misguided. It is not his place to tell a fan that they can't watch the show because they want to see Stiles or Derek (or a romantic Sterek). Heck, it's also none of his concern is a person is watching the show for a guest star or a recurring character like Danny or Coach or even Deucalion. Any reason to watch a show is valid if it makes you want to watch it. Don't get me started on the "twisted, weird and bizarre" comment because that is plain insulting to the show's dedicated fans. Oddly, he never stopped to think that maybe he should be encouraging any reason to watch the show. It doesn't matter how small or inconsequential it seems to him as long as they are watching 'his' show. He is the main character of this show and he has staked his professional reputation on it. Surely it is more important that 'his' show is successful even if it turns out to be a collaborative effort.

This brings me to the other actors in this ship... Holland Roden and Dylan O'Brien. To be honest, the actors just don't seem invested in the relationship. Like I said earlier, I never used to pay attention to fandom and behind the scenes interviews. It was not until the show really started to decline in quality (ahem, Season 4) that I started wondering "what the hell is going on?" and decided to look it up. From looking at cast interviews, I have come to the conclusion that Holland Roden's perspective has always been 'I don't care about about Stydia, but I'll do it if I have to'. On the other hand, it is Dylan O'Brien's attitude throughout the years that has had a massive change. At first, he was very interested, his attitude towards the romance was 'yes, give Stiles a romantic interest. I would love to act on the romance'. In one interview he said, "it will happen one day". Then along came Stalia and it seemed like he was ready to move on to other potential directions that his character could go and his attitude towards Stydia changed into 'it could be fun if it happens but I'm also willing to explore any other relationship'. Fast forward another year and he came off as 'I don't care about this anymore. It's time to move on from not only Stydia but also the show'. 

Normally, I don't care about whatever is going on behind the scenes, and I don't care about how an actor feels about their character as long as they portray it well (Harrison Ford can hate Han Solo as much as he wants, he portrayed that character too well for me to do so). The difference here is that Stydia was very poorly executed by both cast members. Holland and Dylan are both very good actors and have both given a solid performance throughout the past seasons (despite the horrible scripts as the seasons progressed). Despite their acting ability, neither of them were able to sell the relationship at all.

This begs to question, if even the actors could tell that the relationship had lost momentum, why couldn't Jeff Davis (the creator/ writer/ producer/ god of all things good and evil on heaven and earth? I don't even know what he is anymore) realise that this story arc had missed its opportunity and is no longer feasible? Who thought that the best way to develop one of the most demanded ships on the show was to have them kiss, look at each other then never do anything about it ever again? In what universe could this have possibly ended in any other way besides disappointment?

[angularnotions]

Right, I have to get this off my chest

I'll start off by saying I love Harry, I do. I firmly believe, even now, that he is ridiculously talented, brilliant, fully capable of producing amazing music and could have a very long career in the business. So what the fuck is this promotional campaign for his first solo album? We start off with dead silence for a year, which, fine, he was busy, he wanted time for himself, he's notoriously private. That's ok, that's perfectly acceptable and I don't blame him for one second. But to then go from that to a bizarre, creepy, cheesy commercial? What the fuck? Is that really how you want to introduce yourself to the world as a solo artist? By looking like a pretentious drowned rat? It made no sense, no one who wasn't a Harry fan would have a clue what in fuck was going on, so why do it? Since then, it's all been sort of downhill, with so many great opportunities that seem to have missed the mark or been squandered. He gets SNL, which is huge and he essentially bombs his first song performance because of a lack of practice performing it live. Yes I'm sure he was nervous, don't blame him, SNL is kind of a big deal, and he did pull his shit together for the second one, but that first one is going to stick in people's minds. Graham Norton should have been the first live performance, a much smaller stage to work out the kinks, a more familiar place, it would have made sense. But that wouldn't have fit into this metric they are pushing that Harry already is a superstar, he doesn't need practice. Pretentious, ridiculous and a incredibly stupid mistake. Then we get Rolling Stone, which again, was a fantastic opportunity for him to show the real Harry, be organic and authentic and he did to a point, but then he got contradictory, stopped making sense as this weird need to keep up the mystique seemed to battle with his desire to be honest. Harry has said he doesn't like to talk about the meaning of his songs yet he gave a very detailed description for SOTT and talked about a relationship that influenced a big chunk of the rest of the album. So which is it? Do you want people to take what they feel from the song or are you gonna tell us what it's about. On top of this, the relationship question had to be brought into the discussion. I get it, for the vast majority of the general public, the name Harry Styles is synonymous with a womanizing player who bangs everything that moves. It's not fair, we don't know if it's true, he understandably has refused to address it in the past aside from complaining that he doesn't like the reputation, so why let it become a talking point in Rolling Stone? Why let Ben Winston talk about listening to Harry fuck A-listers upstairs night after night, why let James joke about 'house guests'. Again, contradictory. Are we to believe that when Cameron asked about Taylor and Harry left the table that he was in the bathroom crying about his long lost love Taylor? Or was he outside angry about it, we don't know. But it's still weird. And the worst bit is, the only topic that made it to the media in regards to the Rolling Stone interview is the paragraphs about Taylor. Everything else he said, any important pieces about his process, writing, his personal feelings on the album were erased by that one topic. Extremely unfair to Harry in my opinion. My point in all of this is that the whole metric of his promotion has been off. And I don't think, based on the sales numbers, that it's working. Yes the fandom is losing its shit, but that's fandom, it's what they do. But I've been seeing more and more Harry fans like myself questioning and becoming disappointed by something that should be happy and exciting. Harry seems to be super proud and excited himself, the guy we see in interviews live and on radio is a funny, charming, talented, down to earth person who is easy to love, easy to be happy for, but then I look at the promo and all of that happiness and excitement fades. And I'm left with a cheesy commercial, creepy post-rape pink water pictures (complete with condom) and a guy in a hideous Gucci suit. When has having this aesthetic, being this pretentious, clothes horse, mysterious enigma taken precedence over being a person? Who came up with this promo campaign? Who sat and thought, hey this'll work? Was it Jeff 'just exist' Azoff? Was it Rob Stringer from Columbia? Or was it Harry? I still have high hopes for the album and if I'm honest, I think they chose wrong for the first single, it's way too overproduced, dreary and unfriendly for radio. I personally don't really like it and it doesn't seem to translate to a wider audience. Ever Since New York would have been a much better choice, it just feels more authentic, it's still groundbreaking in its departure from what we've heard from Harry in the past but it's more real, more genuine to me. Speaking of departures and contradictions, why the big push to separate Harry from his 1D days? While at the same time they seem to be depending on his established fan base, the majority having come from 1D, to help him in sales and charts. I get wanting to break into a newer audience but alienating the old one isn't the way to do it. Sorry not sorry, but this has been my impression since promo began, I don't want to feel negatively but it's how I've been left feeling.

[recentnews18-blog]

New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/30-movies-worth-watching-in-seattle-this-weekend-nov-15-18-2018/

30 Movies Worth Watching in Seattle This Weekend: Nov 15-18, 2018

Widows is a damn fun thriller from an artsy director.

You’ve got many options for movie thrills this weekend, from Steve McQueen’s spectacularly cast Widows to the creepy/comedic classic Beetlejuice. For artsier fare, don’t miss Frederick Wiseman’s new documentary on small-town America, Monrovia, Indiana. Follow the links below to see complete showtimes, tickets, and trailers for all of our critics’ picks, and, if you’re looking for even more options, check out our film events calendar and complete movie times listings.

Stay in the know! Get all this and more on the free Stranger Things To Do mobile app (available for iOS and Android), or delivered to your inbox.

Beautiful Boy I’ve never been a parent or a junkie (yet!), but I found a lot that resonated in Beautiful Boy, a low-key film based on a pair of interconnected memoirs from father and son David and Nicolas Sheff. David (Steve Carell) chews himself up over son Nic’s (Timothée Chalamet) spiral into meth and heroin addiction, asking what he could have done to prevent it and wondering how he can fix it. Nic, meanwhile, copes with not only his body’s betrayal but with the disappointment he feels, both self-directed and from his patient, confused father. From Beautiful Boy’s perspective, Nic is really only guilty of having a curious mind, while David, a good father in every recognizable way, might have simply waited too long to show his beloved son some tough love. The performances make the whole thing sing. Carell and Chalamet both do expectedly good work, and they’re matched by Amy Ryan as Nic’s mother and Maura Tierney as his stepmother. Beautiful Boy is driven by the real-life horror of watching a loved one succumb to drugs, but it’s a family drama devoid of most of the genre’s manipulative qualities, substituting them with honesty, empathy, and fully drawn human beings. NED LANNAMANN Meridian 16 (Regal) & Oak Tree

Beetlejuice Newly dead Adam and Barbara Maitland aren’t down with the Deets family, who moved into the couple’s home after their unfortunate passing and don’t seem at all phased by the Maitlands’ attempts at scaring them out of it. Enter rotten, pervy Betelgeuse (“Beetlejuice”), who sells himself as a bio-exorcist capable of getting rid of their living pests, though he turns out to be a dangerous nuisance who’s more trouble than he’s worth. Tim Burton’s first film (and my first Tim Burton film, too) is on-point with vibrantly weird visuals, quick-witted comedy, and strong before-they-were-big-stars performances from (goddamn he looks young) Alec Baldwin, Geena Davis (extra dimply, woman-next-door funny), a teenage gothed-out Winona Ryder, and Michael Keaton at his comedic one-liner-throwing best—like, has he ever been this good? It’s bizarre yet delightful and still tons of fun three decades later. Even the dated special effects retain their charm. LEILANI POLK Central Cinema Friday–Sunday

Bohemian Rhapsody I heart Queen. The song this film is named for was on the soundtrack of my youth. But early reactions to the film biopic (that’s more about Freddie Mercury than the British rock band he led) have been mixed to bad. The New York Times’ Kyle Buchanan tweeted that Bohemian Rhapsody “is a glorified Wikipedia entry but Rami Malek plays Freddie Mercury (and wears his wonderful costumes) with incredible gusto.” Our own Chase Burns was not a fan at all. (“The 15-minute long shit I took during the middle of the movie was more nuanced than the straight-washed hagiography peddled in that movie theater.”) In sum, enter at your own risk. LEILANI POLK Various locations

Boy Erased This film features the most prolific twinks of our time: Troye Sivan, Lucas Hedges, and Nicole Kidman. These three gays will dazzle the screen in this year’s most star-studded gay flick—oh wait, Troye Sivan is the only gay among them. Lucas Hedges has said he’s “not totally straight, but also not gay and not necessarily bisexual,” and Nicole Kidman, despite being the world’s most famous twink, is surprisingly a 51-year-old Australian woman. While think pieces on Hedges’s sexuality will probably dominate the conversation around Boy Erased, it looks like a cute holiday movie about gay conversion therapy. Go see it! CHASE BURNS SIFF Cinema Uptown & Meridian 16

Can You Ever Forgive Me? In Can You Ever Forgive Me?, Melissa McCarthy stars as real-life best-selling biographer Lee Israel. But this isn’t a life of literary glitz and glamour that you’re imagining after such a juicy introductory sentence! After falling on hard biographer times, Israel turned to a life of writerly crimes, forging letters from long-dead authors to make just enough cash to pay her rent, take her cat to the vet, and aggressively drink. This all sounds sad, I know, but there’s warmth underneath, thanks to Israel’s friendship with the charming, equally self-destructive Jack Hock (Richard E. Grant). McCarthy, who’s made a career of portraying loud women, is a different kind of jerk here—a real person who lashes out not for laughs, but because life is hard and she knows she’s making bad choices. ELINOR JONES SIFF Cinema Egyptian & AMC Seattle 10

Cinema Italian Style The Cinema Italian Style is a weeklong SIFF mini-festival featuring the best in contemporary Italian cinema. This final day, watch Euphoria, about two very different brothers who come together in difficult circumstances. SIFF Cinema Uptown Thursday only

Dr. Seuss’s The Grinch If you’ve ever wondered how the jammy vocals of Benedict Cumberbatch would sound coming from a neon-green Seussian monstrosity, you have your chance in this visit to Whoville. This time, the Grinch has a doggy sidekick named Max. Angela Lansbury voices the Mayor and Rashida Jones does Donna Lou Who. Various locations

Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald Twee hunter Newt Scamander returns for more J.K. Rowling-inspired exploits. Of the previous Fantastic Beasts film, critic Bobby Roberts wrote: “It is eager to please and amaze, but undersells its spectacle until that spectacle becomes perfunctory. It milks sentiment drier than the Arizona desert Newt’s trying to get to. It’s a goofy blast of kid-lit in love with Looney Tunes-inspired adventure—except when it’s a sour metaphor for child abuse and intolerance that owes one hell of a debt to Stephen King’s famous prom queen.” The new one has Johnny Depp as the titular dark wizard. Various locations

First Man The space stuff is great. When La La Land director Damien Chazelle’s biopic about Neil Armstrong focuses on NASA’s insanely ambitious and dangerous plan to put a man on the moon, it thrums with thrill and threat—from the astonishing scope of space to the claustrophobic confines of the command module, the best parts of First Man are worth experiencing on the biggest screen possible. Ryan Gosling offers an excellent turn as Armstrong, but even Gosling can’t liven up the story’s more pedestrian elements, which largely involve Armstrong’s relationship with his wife (Claire Foy) and his stoic mourning of his daughter. First Man bears the familiar curse of the biopic—it somehow feels both overlong and unsatisfying—and never quite escapes the shadow of The Right Stuff, Philip Kaufman’s remarkable 1983 film that told a similar story with more grace and smarts. Still: the space stuff is great. ERIK HENRIKSEN Meridian 16 & AMC Pacific Place

Free Solo This highly praised, dizzying documentary reveals the heart-stopping journey of Alex Honnold as he conquered Yosemite’s El Capitan wall without ropes or safety gear. You don’t need to be a climber to be thrilled at this glimpse into human accomplishment. Various locations

Hep Cats Cats in movies have symbolized everything from elegance to curiosity to evil, but sometimes they are simply their wonderful selves. Hep Cats delivers a handful of these ailurophilic flicks, like Harry and Tonto, a charming road movie about a man and his cat forced to leave their Upper West Side apartment. It stars Art Carney, who won an Oscar for the role. JOULE ZELMAN Northwest Film Forum Saturday only

HUMP! Film Festival The 14th Annual HUMP! Film Festival, the world’s biggest and best porn short film festival, premiers in Seattle, Portland, and San Francisco this November! After the opening festival concludes its run, HUMP! will hit the road in 2019 and screen in more than 50 cities across the U.S. and Canada. HUMP! invites filmmakers, animators, songwriters, porn-star wannabes, kinksters, vanilla folks, YOU, and other creative types to make short porn films—five minutes max—for HUMP! The HUMP! Film Festival screens in theaters and nothing is ever released online. HUMP! films can be hardcore, softcore, live action, animated, kinky, vanilla, straight, gay, lez, bi, trans, genderqueer—anything goes at HUMP! (Well, almost anything: No poop, no animals, no minors, no MAGA hats.) DAN SAVAGE On the Boards

Meow Wolf The adorably named Santa Fe artist collective Meow Wolf caught the fancy of George R.R. Martin, who helped them take over a disused bowling alley for an epic art exhibition. But success comes with its own struggles. Enter their world and find delirious, DIY inspiration. Northwest Film Forum Thursday only

Mid90s Mid90s tells the story of 13-year-old Stevie (Sunny Suljic) who, after he’s rejected and bullied by his older brother Ian (Lucas Hedges), finds new role models in a crew of skaters led by the wise and magnanimous Ray (Na-kel Smith). Stevie’s willingness to repeatedly fall on hard concrete as he tries to maneuver a skateboard that looks half his height endears him to his newfound friends. The resultant feelings—and the film’s title—places Mid90s squarely in Hill’s nostalgic memory, where he both dramatizes and idealizes the kids’ adventures. SUZETTE SMITH Various locations

Monrovia, Illinois The amazingly prolific documentarian Frederick Wiseman (Ex Libris, In Jackson Heights, National Gallery, and 40 more films!) explores a tiny American hamlet steeped in old farming traditions and periodic ceremonies, like church services, Town Council meetings, Freemason rituals, weddings, and funerals. Northwest Film Forum Friday–Sunday

Mystery Train Exactly one year ago, I was walking down a street in Memphis, Tennessee, when I had what is known as a Proustian experience (or what literary critics call an “involuntary memory”). But in Proust’s novel Remembrance of Things Past, the involuntary memory sends the narrator, Marcel, to a town he visited as a boy (Combray). My memory, which was triggered by crossing a street, sent me to a film, Jim Jarmusch’s Mystery Train, which is set in Memphis and concerns young Japanese lovers who are obsessed with American popular culture. The couple walks around Memphis a lot. And while I walked around Memphis, I found myself walking, not through my Memphis, but theirs. This movie does not have much of a plot. CHARLES MUDEDE Grand Illusion Thursday only

Narcissister Organ Player The feminist body-shocker Narcissister, who carries out her performance art mostly naked and masked, muses on her Moroccan, Jewish, and African American roots and her intense relationship with her mother in this absurdist, experimental documentary. Northwest Film Forum

Night Heat They proliferated in anxious postwar America and still occasionally return to brood and smolder onscreen: films noirs, born of the chiaroscuro influence of immigrant German directors and the pressure of unique American fears. Once again, the museum will screen nine hard-boiled, moody crime classics like this week’s Night of the Hunter, one of the most unusual and thrilling films ever to come out of Hollywood. The veteran actor Charles Laughton took inspiration from the stylistic extremity of German Expressionism to film this hallucinatory tale of a psychotic preacher pursuing two young children who know he’s murdered their mother. Clear your Thursday night schedule for this one. Seattle Art Museum Thursday only

Night on Earth Five cabbies and five passengers around the globe share funny, weird, and intimate moments in Jim Jarmusch’s quirky classic—a little inconsequential, but charming and beautifully acted. Thanks to Roberto Benigni’s performance, you’ll never look at a pumpkin quite the same way again. Grand Illusion Thursday only

The Old Man and the Gun Based on a true story, the latest from David Lowery (Ain’t Them Bodies Saints) reteams the filmmaker with Robert Redford, who plays Forrest Tucker, the charming, handsome leader of a trio of geriatric bank robbers. Forrest’s partners in crime are Teddy (Danny Glover) and Waller (a fantastic Tom Waits). Like one of Forrest’s disarmingly polite robberies, The Old Man and the Gun starts out pleasant and sweet before revealing hints of darkness—each of these characters is deeper than they first appear, and one’s never quite sure what any of them are going to do next. Lowery is happy to tag along, capturing lives that are polished by time and dented by experience but remain bright and sharp with wit and passion. Watching Redford have this much fun is, as always, a goddamn delight. ERIK HENRIKSEN Admiral Theater

Overlord While carrying out a vital pre-D-Day mission, a ragtag bunch of American Dogfaces stumble across a small French village that’s just packed to the rafters with secret Gestapo experiments. (Note: In what may be a controversial move in this day and age, the Nazis are unequivocally depicted as the Bad Guys.) Genre mashups are often content to rest on their high-concept laurels, but this J.J. Abrams production is very willing to do the grunt work, solidly establishing its war movie bonafides—an early paratrooper sequence is genuinely alarming—before transitioning into full-tilt body horror. (This is an extremely moist movie.) If this sounds even remotely like your sort of thing, Overlord’s combination of heavy artillery and horrid creatures should prove to be pretty irresistible. When it comes to B-Movies, nasty, brutish, and short all count as positive traits. ANDREW WRIGHT Various locations

Ponyo You can pretty much guarantee that anything with Hayao Miyazaki’s name attached to it will be superbly wrought, fantastically animated, and delivered with a fine dose of poignant storytelling. He has left a fine legacy of films in his (no longer retired, for now) wake, including Ponyo, which has its 10-year anniversary this year and is being celebrated in a series of screening events across the country. This anime fantasy is loosely based on The Little Mermaid (Hans Christian Andersen’s version, not Disney’s), about an austere, potentially malevolent warlock/sea king whose young amphibious daughter runs (swims) away from her home. Sosuke, the little boy who scoops her from the waves, believes she’s a goldfish, names her Ponyo, and introduces her to a small slice of his world before her father finds her and brings her back to their underwater kingdom. But Ponyo’s taste of food and friendship fuels her next escape, setting off a chain of events that will change her (and Sosuke) forever. This film gets me choked up every time. LEILANI POLK SIFF Cinema Egyptian Saturday only

Prospect Is this the first major work of Northwest science fiction? Indeed, it imagines a moon that is like the evergreen forests that surround Seattle. The whole planet is green—gothic green. And the light on this strange moon is sharply slanted like Northwest light. The superb film is about prospectors (a father and daughter) looking for a root-made gem that will make them rich. The daughter, however, is keen to get off the planet because the line to it is about to be shut down. But her father is money-mad. If he does not make it here, he will never make it anywhere in the galaxy. Translucent insects float through the air. There are other money-mad prospectors in the endless forest. You do not leave this planet without paying a big price. Money is the root of all evil. CHARLES MUDEDE Meridian 16

Sadie The latest from local filmmaker Megan Griffiths (Lucky Them, Eden) has a perfect Northwest feel. Sadie is 13 and lives with her mother in a dilapidated trailer park. Sadie worships her absent father while being impossible with her harried mother. She is smart and precocious, trying to come to an understanding of how the world works, but the adults around her have their own problems. The film shows the way adults communicate with kids, never talking to them directly, trying to fool the kid and themselves. This leaves young people with half-ass ideas, and they run with them without really understanding the situation, with mixed results. The film has a great cast: The wonderful Melanie Lynskey plays the mom, with Sophia Mitri Schloss as Sadie. GILLIAN ANDERSON SIFF Cinema Uptown Sunday only

Seattle Turkish Film Festival The Turkish American Cultural Association of Washington will present the sixth annual edition of their community-driven, volunteer-led festival featuring a rich panorama of new Turkish films. For the final weekend, check out Something Useful, an intense drama about two women, one of whom has a grim mission, who meet on the train; The Legend of the Ugly King, about the Kurdish actor/director Yilmaz Güney; and Taksim Hold’em, about a man determined to play his weekly poker game despite the massive anti-government protests taking place outside. SIFF Film Center Friday–Saturday

SHRIEK!: Thirst The class focusing on women and minorities in horror is back with a screening and discussion of Park Chan-wook’s Thirst, about a saintly Catholic priest transformed into an insatiable blood-drinker and sex fiend by a risky medical experiment. Here’s an excerpt from the review Lindy West wrote at its release: “Thirst is a horror movie, albeit a silly one. Actual scares are few to none—instead, Sang-hyun’s painfully earnest consternation at trying to live as an ethical monster (losing his priestly virginity, daintily sipping a comatose man’s blood straight from the IV) make it a funny, cartoonish, and strangely sweet fable about ethics versus instincts: ‘Is it a sin for a fox to eat a chicken?’ Unfortunately, Thirst drags on for a punishing gazillion hours—ethical monster shacks up with manipulative harpy and the complications pile up like bodies (because, you know, they literally are bodies)—and you feel like you’ll never see your home or your mom or the precious golden sun again.” It might not be the most positive of reviews, but you’re guaranteed to get a good discussion out of it with organizers Evan J. Peterson and Heather Marie Bartels. Naked City Brewery Sunday only

Suspiria Call Me by Your Name director Luca Guadagnino’s reinterpretation of Argento’s film Suspiria is a precisely choreographed mindfuck, and progressing through the film’s six acts feels like peeling off layers of an onion until you reach the reeking core. It’s swift, brutal, and breathtaking, but it’s also frequently bogged down by overcomplicated subplots and distracting details. The original premise remains the same—ancient ballerina witches trying to live forever by sacrificing students—but this time around, the Markos Dance Academy is located right next to the Berlin Wall in post-World War II Germany, and Susie Bannion (a very meh Dakota Johnson) is a runaway Mennonite from Ohio. Whatever parallels Guadagnino hoped to draw between the traumatic aftermath of the Holocaust and the bloody chaos going on inside the coven ends up feeling more confusing than profound. CIARA DOLAN AMC Pacific Place & SIFF Cinema Uptown

A Star Is Born If you’re entering the theatre simply desiring a couple solid musical numbers, then your $15 will not have been spent in vain. Unfortunately, the movie falls flat as only a two-dimensional vignette of common misogyny can. Ally, the lead character played by Lady Gaga, is a woman who knows she has talent but needs to hear that she is sufficiently pretty to be an appropriate vehicle for said talent. Like any woman vying for a piece of the proverbial pie, she is just one man away from success. One man to lead her, to mold her, to push her through to the finish line. This man-shaped void is filled by her father, her husband, her manager, her producer, her choreographer, and her photographer, all of whom take credit or receive credit from other men for her creative output and appearance. A Star Is Born is a classic tale, meant to be mutable, fluid, to adapt within each age it is reimagined. But the flaws of the inherent narrative are too real, too every-day damaging to continue being told in the form of a cinematic fantasy. KIM SELLING Various locations

Voyeur Presents ‘The Prowler’ The November edition of VOYEUR brings “one of the bleakest noirs ever made,” Joseph Losey’s The Prowler, about a man who’s determined to get what he feels society owes him—an unhappily married woman played by Evelyn Keyes. Scarecrow Sunday only

Widows Arriving a week before Thanksgiving, Widows is an overflowing plateful of entertainment, piled high with juicy plot, buttery performances, and plenty of sweet genre pie. It’s a mash-up of pulp and prestige that shouldn’t work well on paper but plays out tremendously well on-screen. Director Steve McQueen (12 Years a Slave, Shame) cowrote the twisty script with novelist Gillian Flynn (Gone Girl, Sharp Objects), and while the interconnected webs of Chicago’s crime underworld and its racially charged local politics contain more than enough intrigue, the performances are what’ll grab you. I mean, just look at this cast: Harry (Liam Neeson) leads a crew of career criminals (including Jon Bernthal and Manuel Garcia-Rulfo) in a heist that goes disastrously wrong, leaving their widows Veronica (Viola Davis), Linda (Michelle Rodriguez), and Alice (Elizabeth Debicki) with a serious problem when crime boss Jamal Manning (Brian Tyree Henry) and his enforcer brother Jatemme (Daniel Kaluuya) demand they return the stolen money. The real fun is watching McQueen, Flynn, and this ridiculously large talent pool of actors lay the groundwork for a slick, rich, tantalizing thriller, and then connecting all the dots. NED LANNAMANN Various locations

Also Playing: Our critics don’t recommend these movies, but you might like to know about them anyway.

The Girl in the Spider’s Web

Instant Family

Nobody’s Fool

The Nutcracker and the Four Realms

Venom

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Source: https://www.thestranger.com/things-to-do/2018/11/15/35633515/30-movies-worth-watching-in-seattle-this-weekend-nov-15-18-2018

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The Inspirations Behind These Movies Will Make You Need To Watch Them Once more

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The Inspirations Behind These Movies Will Make You Need To Watch Them Once more

Have you learnt how your favourite films got here to be? So much goes into making a movie, however audiences aren’t normally conscious of the artistic course of that results in the entertaining last product. For those who’ve ever discovered your self questioning “the place’d they get the thought for this?” when you’re watching a film, then this can be a gallery you’ll be able to’t miss. We’ll be taught the place the inspiration for some massive movies got here from and get a number of enjoyable behind-the-scenes info too.

You’ll be touched by the real-life story behind one of the crucial well-known alien films ever made…

Many individuals who grew up throughout the 1980s recall being terrified by the slasher traditional A Nightmare on Elm Avenue. Within the film, some youngsters expertise horrifying desires through which they’re hunted down and murdered by the disfigured villain Freddy Krueger. When the youngsters are killed of their desires, additionally they die in actual life.

Creator Wes Craven based mostly Nightmare on real-life occasions that he’d examine within the newspaper. In 1981, the New York Occasions reported that 18 refugees from southeastern Asia had died of their sleep. One of many high theories investigators explored was that the victims had been “frightened to loss of life by nightmares.” Additionally terrifying is that the Freddy Krueger character was based mostly on an previous man in Craven’s childhood neighborhood. Candy desires tonight!

Many instances, films are autobiographical to some extent. Individuals normally write what they learn about, and parts of a screenwriter’s life are certain to finish up in scripts typically. So that you may guess that Imply Women, the 2004 teen comedy written by Tina Fey, was a mirrored image of Fey’s personal experiences.

Really, Fey obtained inspiration for the film about imply and cliquish highschool women from an sudden supply: a self-help e-book. Rosalind Wiseman’s e-book Queen Bees and Wannabes offers recommendation to oldsters whose kids are struggling by the hands of bullies and imply youngsters.Additionally, the Cady Garey character, performed by Lindsay Lohan within the film, is known as for Fey’s school roommate.

The subsequent movie had a real-life bully for inspiration.

Again to the Future, like many different movies, was impressed by a e-book. However the 1985 comedy sci-fi traditional wasn’t based mostly on a novel. No, author Bob Gale bought the idea for Again to the Future by flipping by his father’s previous highschool yearbook whereas visiting his mother and father. He questioned, “Gee, if I went to highschool with my dad, would I’ve been mates with him?” and the thought was born.

One other key inspiration for the film was none aside from the present president of the USA, Donald Trump. In a 2015 interview with the Each day Beast, Gale confirmed what many followers had guessed all alongside: that the film’s imply bully Biff Tannen was based mostly on Trump. Ouch.

The idea behind Ghostbusters, the 1984 movie that blended supernatural parts with comedy, got here from a real-life perception in ghosts. Actor and author Dan Akroyd has had a lifelong curiosity within the paranormal. “It’s the household enterprise, for God’s sake,” he advised Self-importance Honest in an interview.

Akroyd’s great-grandfather performed séances on the household farmhouse. And his grandfather, who labored as a phone engineer, tried to plot an instrument that may enable him to speak with the useless. Even his father was in on the household passion – he penned a e-book about ghosts. Dan Akroyd sat down and wrote Ghostbusters after studying an American Society of Psychical Analysis article about parapsychology. The movie finally launched a sequel, two animated collection, video video games, a preferred remake, and extra.

Adults and children alike cherished the Pixar-produced animated hit Ratatouille, a few rat who turns into a well-known chef. Many cooks additionally praised the movie for its realism – its creators had been meticulous with their analysis and spent numerous time interviewing and observing actual cooks at work.

It’s a standard idea that the character of chef Auguste Gusteau was based mostly on the real-life Bernard Loiseau, who owned the well-known French restaurant La Côte d’Or. The similarities are fairly arduous to disregard. For one, each cooks bought traces of frozen meals. Additionally, in Ratatouille, Gusteau dies of a damaged coronary heart after his restaurant loses considered one of its Michelin stars. 4 years previous to the film’s launch, Loiseau’s restaurant misplaced its three-star standing and he dedicated suicide. Sort of a bleak reference for a youngsters’ film…

Put together to be completely creeped out by the following slide.

Lots of the movies on this checklist had been impressed by real-life occasions. Alfred Hitchcock’s traditional 1960 psychological thriller Psycho is one other. Hitchcock based mostly Psycho on a e-book that was written a few infamous serial killer and grave robber named Ed Gein. The movie’s antagonist, Norman Bates, shares many frequent traits with Gein.

Gein, who saved human organs and made clothes out of physique elements, additionally had a domineering and controlling mom. Similar to Bates, Gein stored a room in his house as a shrine to her and wore her clothes after she died. Gein has been the inspiration for a lot of of filmdom’s creepiest characters and it’s straightforward to see why. Shudder.

The 1976 blockbuster hit Rocky has earned a everlasting place in popular culture historical past and is ceaselessly cited as an inspirational favourite. However many followers of the Sylvester Stallone movie aren’t conscious that it was based mostly on an actual particular person. Meet Chuck.

Chuck Wepner is the previous heavyweight boxer who impressed the Rocky Balboa character. The movie borrowed closely from his life story. Some of the iconic scenes within the movie, the stair run, was based mostly on an exercise that Wepner did ceaselessly. “The operating up the steps they used within the movies, that was all my life,” he advised USA As we speak. Wepner additionally lasted an astonishing 15 rounds with the heavyweight champion, identical to Rocky did within the film.

Now a pioneering movie director and three-time Academy Award-winner, Steven Spielberg didn’t have a straightforward childhood. “In highschool, I bought smacked and kicked round. Two bloody noses. It was horrible,” he as soon as advised the New York Occasions. He was so lonely that he invented an imaginary buddy to make himself really feel higher, “[a] buddy who might be the brother I by no means had and a father that I didn’t really feel I had anymore.”

Spielberg’s imaginary buddy was an alien – an alien who impressed one of many best science-fiction fantasy movies ever made. Sure, E.T. the Further-Terrestrial was based mostly on Spielberg’s childhood expertise. “E.T. displays quite a lot of that. When Elliott finds E.T., he hangs on to E.T. and he declares in no unsure phrases, ‘I’m maintaining him,’ and he means it.” Awwww. Realizing this certain makes that last goodbye within the film that a lot tougher to observe, doesn’t it?

Which Hollywood star impressed a film a few serial killer?

Within the 2000 horror/comedy flick American Psycho, we watch as actor Christian Bale turns into an eerily real looking yuppie who leads a double life as a serial killer. It seems that he used a shocking mannequin for his villainous character: fellow actor Tom Cruise.

Director Mary Harron shared particulars about Bale’s inspiration in a BlackBook interview. “We talked about how Martian-like Patrick Bateman was, how he was trying on the world like someone from one other planet, watching what folks did and attempting to work out the best technique to behave,” she mentioned. “After which sooner or later he known as me and he had been watching Tom Cruise on David Letterman, and he simply had this very intense friendliness with nothing behind the eyes, and he was actually taken with this power.”

80s film followers will benefit from the subsequent entry.

Keep in mind the 1984 movie Gremlins? It was a bizarre mixture of comedy and horror, and starred a bunch of bizarre furry creatures that had been cute when dry. But when a Gremlin bought moist, be careful… they’d flip into evil little monsters able to inflicting main destruction.

Gremlins’ author was Chris Columbus, who additionally wrote The Goonies and directed hits like House Alone, Mrs. Doubtfire, and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. His inspiration for the Gremlins? The mice that inhabited his Garment District house in Manhattan. IndieWire studies that Columbus had this to say about his undesirable roommates: “By day, it was nice sufficient, however at night time, what seemed like a platoon of mice would come out and to listen to them skittering round within the blackness was actually creepy.” It sounds just like the mice will need to have gotten moist at night time.

Good Will Searching, the dramatic movie launched in 1997, was famously written by two of its starring actors, lifelong mates Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. Their purpose for writing the screenplay shouldn’t be as well-known. It seems that when Matt was learning at Harvard, he needed to full one last task for a drama class. He turned in a 40-page script, which the 2 mates later was Good Will Searching.

In 2016, Damon gave the graduation speech to M.I.T’s graduating class. In it, he shared a enjoyable reality concerning the film. “One of many scenes in Good Will Searching is definitely based mostly on one thing that occurred to my brother Kyle. He was visiting a physicist we knew at M.I.T. and he was strolling down the Infinite Hall. He noticed these blackboards that line the halls. So my brother, who’s an artist, picked up some chalk and wrote an extremely elaborate, completely pretend model of an equation. And it was so cool and fully insane that nobody erased it for months. It is a true story.”

The 1975 Steven Spielberg-directed thriller Jaws began as a e-book that was written by novelist Peter Benchley. In it, an enormous nice white shark torments a Lengthy Island seashore city over the course of a summer season. Benchley, who had been occupied with sharks since he was a toddler, was impressed to jot down Jaws after studying a few two-ton nice white that was caught in New York. The fisherman who caught it turned the inspiration for the character Quint.

A little bit of Spielberg trivia: he named the movie’s mechanical shark “Bruce” after his legal professional Bruce Ramer. The picture above exhibits Spielberg goofing round with Bruce whereas on set.

You gained’t imagine that the following movie was based mostly on an actual occasion.

Even individuals who haven’t seen The Blob, the 1958 sci-fi horror film, have most likely heard of it or seen the hokey promotional posters for it. The film’s plot sounds fairly foolish – an unidentified alien “blob” crashes on Earth in a meteorite, then goes on a killing rampage. The blob dissolves everybody it comes into contact with and it grows greater and stronger with every consumed sufferer.

Right here’s the actually bizarre half. The Blob was based mostly on actual newspaper tales. A 1950 New York Occasions article with the headline “A ‘Saucer’ Floats to Earth And a Concept Is Dished Up” goes on to say that 4 policemen in Pennsylvania had discovered a bizarre jelly-like substance. Once they touched the goo it caught to one of many officer’s palms and began to dissolve. Ultimately it disappeared fully, however its story spawned one of the crucial beloved tacky B-movies ever.

Within the 1980s, author Daniel Waters moved from Indiana to Los Angeles and bought a job at what he described to Hollywood Interview as “the least cool video retailer” ever. He spent his shifts “[t]eaching poor kids to not hire Zone Troopers simply because it’s a brand new launch, and to hire Alien as an alternative.”

Surrounded by dangerous films, Waters began writing Heathers whereas he labored. His purpose was easy: “I simply wrote Heathers as a result of I wished to see Heathers.” His screenplay was the 1988 darkish comedy movie starring Winona Ryder and Christian Slater. Not dangerous for a video retailer clerk.

The traditional film that comes subsequent had one of the crucial weird influences ever.

The Birds, Alfred Hitchcock’s 1963 horror movie, gave many a viewer nightmares concerning the feathered creatures. Within the movie, residents of Bodega Bay, California are terrorized by days of unexplained and violent assaults by birds of all totally different species. The movie was based mostly loosely on Daphne du Maurier’s e-book of the identical title but in addition had real-life inspiration.

In 1961, a whole lot of seabirds mysteriously began crashing violently into houses round Monterey Bay, California. Hitchcock included parts of this mysterious occasion in his movie. Only in the near past, scientists solved the thriller of why all these birds abruptly went berserk: leaking septic tanks had launched poisonous algae. Any birds who ingested the nasty stuff had been with confusion and seizures. Marvel what Hitchcock would suppose if he knew that considered one of his most well-known works was partially impressed by sewage?

The Coen Brothers’ 2000 comedy-crime movie O Brother, The place Artwork Thou is ready throughout the Nice Melancholy. The story follows three convicts who escape from jail and head out on a journey to seek out treasure that one of many males claims to have buried years earlier.

Though there the movie clearly references Homer’s The Odyssey, the epic poem was not the unique inspiration for O Brother, The place Artwork Thou. Fifteen years after the film’s launch, Joel and Ethan Coen attended a Q & A and shared some particulars about its inspiration. “It began as a ‘three saps on the run’ type of film, after which at a sure level we checked out one another and mentioned, ‘You realize, they’re attempting to get house — let’s simply say that is The Odyssey,” mentioned Joel. “We had been pondering of it extra as The Wizard of Oz. We wished the tag on the film to be: ‘There’s No Place Like House.’”

Whereas in Paris, director Wes Anderson stumbled upon a replica of a novel known as Watch out for Pity whereas he was looking in a bookshop. The title, by Austrian creator Stefan Zweig, had been out of print for years. Anderson knew he’d discovered one thing particular, and in an interview with Selection mentioned “I believe I learn the primary web page within the retailer and thought, ‘OK, this can be a new favourite author of mine.’”

He favored the e-book a lot, in truth, that he based mostly his comedic 2014 movie Grand Budapest Lodge on it. Zweig, as soon as the world’s most translated author, set lots of his works in grand lodges. Grand Budapest Lodge pays homage not simply to Watch out for Pity, however to Zweig himself. The Academy Award-winning movie’s first credit score goes to the author, who died in 1942.

Being rejected from the army impressed a screenwriter to create the following film.

John Milius, the screenwriter for the Francis Ford Coppola-directed Apocalypse Now, has an obsession with struggle. Milius, who was given an Academy Award for his work on the 1979 movie, says that he had tried to enlist within the Marines throughout Vietnam however was rejected resulting from his bronchial asthma. He went to varsity as an alternative however his curiosity in struggle by no means left him.

In a lecture sooner or later, Milius’ professor advised the category that there had by no means been a “good” movie model of the Joseph Conrad novel Coronary heart of Darkness. Milius had the thought to jot down an adaptation of the novel, set within the jungles of wartime Vietnam as an alternative of Africa. He later mentioned, “[t]hat was a very powerful choice I made in my life as a author.“ It definitely was an essential second in movie historical past, as nicely.

Though the Jim Henson/George Lucas fantasy musical Labyrinth was not an enormous success on the field workplace, it’s now a cult traditional and stays a fan favourite greater than 30 years after its launch. The movie was impressed by quite a lot of creative works.

The Wizard of Ouncesis probably the most distinguished of Labyrinth’s influences, with the character Sarah’s expertise mimicking that of Dorothy. And movie critic Nina Darton advised The New York Occasions that the film’s plot “is similar to Exterior Over There by [Maurice] Sendak, through which 9-year-old Ida’s child sister is stolen by the goblins.” Brian Froud, Labyrinth’s idea designer, says that David Bowie’s character Jareth was impressed by a slew of literary works, together with Jane Eyre, the Scarlet Pimpernel, and Wuthering Heights.

WALL-E is an animated Pixar Animation Studios-produced movie that was launched by Disney in 2008. The film tells the story of WALL-E, a lonely robotic on a abandoned planet. He finally finds one other robotic and develops a romance together with her. Co-writer Andrew Stanton says that considered one of his essential inspirations for creating this movie was the 18th century novel Robinson Crusoe, which follows a person who lives in isolation for years after being shipwrecked.

In an interview with Newsarama, Stanton went into extra element concerning the growth of WALL-E. He and his co-writers had been nearly carried out with Toy Story and wanted to brainstorm new film concepts. “We had no story. It was form of this little Robinson Crusoe type of little character. [Then we thought] what if mankind needed to depart Earth and someone forgot to show the final robotic off? I began to simply consider him doing his job on daily basis and compacting trash that was left on Earth.”