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anabsolutetrainwreck · 4 years ago

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through the warning signs || h. styles

warnings: a couple of swears, mentions of covid

word count: 3.1k

summary: you first met harry on the set of dunkirk, but now you’re reunited on the set of his new film...

Films had always fascinated you. The endless possibilities of art you could create, from the cinematography to the mise en scène, even to the sound, had always blown your mind. So, even from an early age, you always knew you wanted to get into filmmaking somehow. You were perhaps the worst actor to ever grace the planet, so acting was never an option for you. But alas, you studied film studies in school and went to university for the very same thing. At first, you’d considered becoming a cinematographer, but you realised you could entwine your love of film production and fashion. So, you found yourself as a costume designer.

In 2014, your dearest friend, Louisa, had dragged you to see Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar. She had an unhealthy obsession with Timothée Chalamet at the time, and had made you watch every single film he’d been in - big role or small. So, while Louisa was busy being in love with Timothée Chalamet, you were busy nursing an adoration for Christopher Nolan films. And then, in 2016, you found yourself in Dunkerque, France, working alongside Mr Nolan himself.

As well as being incredibly interested in films, you were also somewhat of a history buff in school. So, working on a film like Dunkirk alongside names like Kenneth Branagh and Cillian Murphy, was one of the most surreal first days on the job. Or, more notably, Harry Styles. Though Louisa was then going through her Tom Hardy phase, she was once a massive One Direction fan. And, though you never bothered to learn every last fact that was public knowledge about them, you could certainly appreciate their music.

As the weeks went on, you began to slip into place more. The more time that passed, the more you knew this was the career for you. And, you knew it wasn’t very professional, but you developed somewhat of a liking towards the singer. He was nice to you. But, then again, he was nice to everybody. It was just in his nature. You weren’t even sure he knew your name...

And then filming wrapped and you never saw him again. The pair of you had never exchanged numbers or followed each other on social media. And that was the end of that. And, after a month or so, your little crush on Harry died away. And, even when you went to the premiere, you only got a couple of glances at him.

In the three years since you last saw him, you’d never forgotten about him. It wasn’t exactly an easy feat forgetting about Harry Styles. But he had definitely been pushed to the back of your mind. Plenty of things had managed to take the front seat since then. You’d won an Oscar for Best Costume Design for your work on Greta Gerwig’s adaptation of Little Women at the beginning of 2020, which was completely insane (Louisa was still more amazed by the fact that you got to work with Timothée Chalamet). The award sat on your mantelpiece in your London flat beside a picture of Louisa and yourself.

However, more recently, you’d taken a place on the crew of Olivia Wilde’s new film: Don’t Worry, Darling. You’d worked on Booksmart with her and she simply adored you. Before production had even begun, you could already tell you were going to love working on this film. It was a psychological thriller set in the 50s - you were in love already. Not only that, but it was starring one of your good friends you’d made in the industry: Florence Pugh.

This all seemed great, until you were notified that Harry Styles would be taking the place of Shia LaBeouf to play ‘Jack’. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t let yourself be caught up by his unintentional charm once again. So, on the first day of filming, you turned up in your puffer jacket (despite it being filmed in California).

You had already worked with Olivia before filming on the costumes, or at least a large bulk of them. It was an odd sort of dynamic; she wanted you to take control simply due to your brilliant eye for fashion, especially vintage fashion, and you wanted her to take control as it was her film. In the end, you managed to create a cooperative working environment.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t stalling as you were fixing up Florence’s costume. Harry’s needed doing next and you didn’t exactly want to face him. You’d tried desperately to stay out of Harry’s sight. And, so far, you’d been successful. When it came to measuring, you’d kindly asked one of your assistants to measure him (and she was more than happy to do so). But all your clever sneaking around was about to go down the drain. “You all right, Y/N?” Flo asked, noticing your shaky hands and your incessant fiddling.

You nodded quickly, “Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I think you’re good to go.”

She smiled, “Thanks. Love you.”

“Love you too!” you grinned as you watched her jog away. She disappeared behind a couple of trailers. As you approached Harry, who was busy talking to a couple of other crew members, you tried to convince yourself that, if you kept your head down, there was no way Harry would attempt to make small talk as you fixed his costume. You’d have your mask on, so there was absolutely no way he’d recognise you. Besides, it had been four years since you filmed Dunkirk, he wouldn’t even remember you. As you neared Harry and one of the gaffers, you cleared your throat, “Do you mind if I steal Harry for a second?”

“Sure,” the gaffer nodded, turning to work on some of the lighting. Keeping your head down and your hands quick, you got to work on adjusting his tuxedo. Awkward was definitely an understatement. Or, it was for you, at least. In an odd sort of way, you were begging for him to make some sort of conversation to ease the sheer awkwardness, but you prayed he stayed silent at the same time. Alas, your prayers weren’t enough. “It’s Y/N, right?” his voice came, though slightly muffled by his mask, you made it out clearly.

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, adjusting his cuffs and trying your very hardest not to make eye contact with him.

“Congratulations on your Oscar,” was what he said next. “It was for Little Women, right?”

That got you to look up at him. Had he actually remembered your name all of four years or had he just recognised you when you made your acceptance speech at the Oscars? Maybe Florence had just mentioned your Oscar win earlier in the year, and that was how he knew. “Yeah, it was,” you replied. “Congratulations on your album.”

“Cheers,” he said. It was a good album - both of his were. Louisa had forced you to listen to his entire discography whenever you drove her around. Not that you were exactly complaining, you enjoyed Harry’s music. And, just as the awkwardness was beginning to pour back into the atmosphere, he added, “It’s no Oscar, though.”

“It was a bloody good album, though. It was nominated for a Brit too, wasn’t it?” you asked, vaguely remembering Louisa scream in your ear that Fine Line had been nominated for Best Album, or something along those lines.

He nodded, “Well, yeah.”

And, just like that, the conversation fizzled out into uneasy silence. You wanted to kick yourself for being such a shit conversationalist; there’s people who would kill to have a chat with Harry Styles. Yet, here you were, complimenting an album you weren’t even sure you could name all the songs on. Thankfully, the sound of Olivia’s voice caught your attention, “Y/N!”

The two of you turned to see her approaching quickly. She was waving two samples of fabric in front of you, “Oh, hi, Harry. Good thing you’re here, actually. Which of these were you thinking of for his other suit?”

You took both from her, inspecting them closely. One was a brown and the other was a blue, slightly lighter than a navy. “Well, I thought both would work. I mean, it’s up to you, but I think the brown contrasts with Florence’s costume better,” you replied. “But then I’ve got this lovely tie set aside for the blue. So, really it’s your decision.”

She hummed, agreeing with what you said, “I see what you mean. We could always use the blue for a different scene?”

You shrugged, nodding, “Yeah, I mean, the brown will definitely work better with Florence’s costume for those couple of scenes we’re shooting in Palm Springs. But, like I said, the blue is very fifties.”

She smiled, “Brilliant. I’ll sort out the brown, then.”

Quickly, you said, “No, it’s okay. I’ll sort it out when I’m finished with Harry.”

She thanked you as she left. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off you as you worked away, your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you sorted the hem of his trousers. And, thank God for the mandatory masks, as he couldn’t help the smile that danced across his lips. Then, in no time at all, Harry was snapped out of his small trance at the sound of your voice, “Right, you’re good to go.”

“Cheers, Y/N,” he smiled slightly, watching as you walked off towards one of your assistants. Sighing softly to himself, he left to find Florence.

The two weeks the entire cast and crew had off due to somebody testing positive for covid was a lovely break for you. As well as constant fear that they’d just call Don’t Worry, Darling off completely and you’d be out of work again. And the relentless guilt you felt for having to stay at Florence’s for the two weeks with her boyfriend because you didn’t have your own house in America, and you couldn’t fly back and forth between England and America. And the nights where you cried into Florence’s arms as you missed your family from back home. And the nights where you couldn’t sleep because you began to overthink things like if you’d locked your front door or turned the oven off. But, other than that, it’d been a smooth run.

But now you were back and in Palm Springs. And the sun was out and you were longing for a cold shower. You found yourself stood in front of Harry once more, trying to decide which tie would work best with his brown suit. He’d followed you on Instagram since your first interaction since Dunkirk, which received an onslaught of ecstatic texts from Louisa. But that was as far as it had ever gone. None of your conversations progressed past his costumes or anything work-related. And, when you first turned up on set on the very first day of production, that was what you’d wanted. But now you had to surround yourself with him everyday, you longed for him to ask about something other than the job. You wanted to discuss favourite novels and guilty pleasures and pet peeves and bad habits and embarrassing childhood stories with him. All these little things you wanted him to know about you.

Your mind was wandering and it took you a moment to realise that you weren’t even thinking about which tie worked best anymore. Your head was full of swirling fantasies that you knew would never come to be.

Harry, however, didn’t notice your zoned out expression either. He was too busy trying to figure out whether you were single due to the shirt you were wearing, which hung much too large on your frame. And the feeling of knowing there was a possibility that you were living a happy life with somebody else was beginning to rip him up inside. He was trying to remember if you’d thanked a boyfriend in your acceptance speech at the Oscars, but that all seemed so long ago now - he couldn’t possibly remember. So, in spite of himself, he asked, “Missing your boyfriend, then?”

You looked up at him, your hands dropping down to your sides. “What?”

“Your boyfriend - are you missing him?” Harry repeated, a small smile on his face to make his tone sound slightly less bitter.

“Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend,” you replied, finally settling on a tie.

“You don’t? I just figured, you know, with the shirt...” he trailed off, prompting you to elaborate.

You chuckled awkwardly, “Right, of course. I only do it to make myself appear less single.”

He laughed, but it was mainly out of relief. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten about you from the set of his first movie, you just hadn’t been on his mind for the four years following. But then he’d turned up on the first day of filming, seen you laughing with Florence and Olivia, and everything just came rushing back to him. All of the pent up feelings and the nights pondering all of the what ifs and the maybes. “Well, you fooled me,” he smiled.

“Just my ingenious plans working, as usual,” you joked, earning a small laugh from Harry.

As you finished wrapping the tie around Harry’s shirt collar, you informed him you were finished. He thanked you and left to get his hair and makeup done. You practically jumped out of your skin at the sound of Florence’s voice behind you, “I’m pretty sure if he asks you about your love life, it means he likes you.”

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you exclaimed, hitting Flo’s shoulder with the tie you opted not to use.

She laughed loudly, “You know I’m right!”

“He’s just making small talk.”

“No, Y/N, small talk is how nice the weather is, not ‘oh, are you single?’”

“Okay, firstly, he didn’t say that. Secondly, it’s California - it’s always nice weather,” you retorted. As much as you fought back, you quite liked the idea that Florence thought Harry liked you.

“You know what I mean!” she replied, grinning her infamous broad, cheeky smile. “Don’t even try and act like you wouldn’t mind if he liked you!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said sheepishly, a small smile gracing your features. As aforementioned - you were perhaps the worst actor to grace the planet.

“I knew it!” she grinned excitedly.

“Don’t you have hair to be done?” you chuckled, pushing her towards where she needed to go to get her hair styled for the shoot.

“This isn’t over, Y/N!” she called back as she slowly disappeared.

The following day, as you were patching up one of Chris Pine’s suits, Florence came and sat down opposite you. She had one of those devious smirks on her face and you knew that couldn’t mean anything good. You placed your needle down, staring expectantly at her. “How can I be of assistance?” you asked skeptically.

“Well, as your dear friend, I thought it was my duty to report back to you. So, I’d like to tell you that our good pal Harry was asking about you,” she grinned.

You sighed, “Was he? And what was he asking?”

“Something about if you have any allergies,” she replied.

“Wow,” you laughed, “must be hopelessly in love with me then.”

“No, listen. He asked about your allergies and then he asked what kind of food you liked. So, my guess is he’s going to ask you to dinner.”

“We’ll see,” you said, offering her a smile in the hopes that she’d just drop it.

“Indeed we will. I’ll see you in a bit, Y/N,” she grinned, pinching your cheeks as she got up. “Love you!”

You chuckled, “Love you too!”

And, just like that, you were left to your own devices. Though your flow had been disrupted, you got back to stitching up Chris’ suit, which had a minor tear in the lapel. Working on a film set, you were used to being interrupted; people would come and go, asking you all sorts of questions. You always found it pretty easy to get back into your rhythm. However, when Harry came and took the place of Florence, you were sure you wouldn’t be able to get back into your desired flow easily. “Oh, hey, Harry,” you greeted. “Are you okay?”

He nodded quickly. He wasn’t hiding his nervous shifting very well - despite how good of an actor he may be. He fiddled with his fingers, which lay in his lap. They were lacking the many, expensive-looking rings they usually adorned. He was out of costume, instead dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His hair wasn’t slicked back and full of gel like it usually was on set. “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay,” he said, rather unconvincingly.

His eyes followed your fingers as they gripped the little needle, weaving it in and out of one of suit’s lapels. Another wave of awkwardness washed over the pair. But, for once, you didn’t feel uncomfortable. You weren’t the one who came over to start the conversation. “Are you busy tonight?” he suddenly asked, his voice almost shaky.

“Uh, no. Not if I can get this lapel finished,” you replied, your tone joking. Your eyes were still trained on your needle, but your mind was most definitely concentrating on every last syllable that fell from Harry’s lips.

He let out an awkward, breathy chuckle, “Right. Um, well, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to grab something to eat?”

You couldn’t help the tiny grin that pulled at the corner of your lips, “I’d love to.”

This was what you felt you’d been waiting for for a good four years. And, thank God, Florence had warned you that she suspected Harry was thinking of asking you out, otherwise you weren’t sure you’d be able to get out any comprehensible words. “Great,” he grinned, whatever nervousness that had been racing through his veins seemed to slowly drown away. “I’ll see you tonight, then. At 6?”

You nodded, overwhelmed with serotonin, trying to suppress the urge to let out a loud squeal. You knew you’d get back to Florence’s, share a glass of predate wine with her and dance about happily in her kitchen. All of these marvellous emotions swept through your body, which was abuzz with electric euphoria. And yet, all you replied was, with a small smile, “At 6.”

part two.

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hyunsracha · 5 years ago

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now or never — bang chan

word count: 4.5k

summary: liquid courage lets you jump at your last chance to tell him how you feel.

one.

Han Jisung might just be your least favorite person on the planet. You think this when he leans over your shoulder, your thumbs paused above your phone’s keyboard. Your phone was open to Instagram as you struggled to think of a caption for this particular post. It wasn’t anything special, just a picture of you and Chan at the annual fair over the weekend. The two of you had gone together every year since you were little kids. It was one of your favorite traditions.

“I have an idea.” Jisung took the phone from your hands, his fingers quickly getting to work as you yelled protests at him, “Relax! It’s nothing bad.”

Oh, but it was.

“We look like a couple here?! Jisung, are you serious?” You cried out, yanking the phone back from him and editing the post before anyone (hopefully) saw. The boy next to you cackled.

“It’s not like anyone would be surprised. Everyone already thinks you’re together.” He nonchalantly shoved fries into his mouth as he spoke. Jisung ate like a pig, but you didn’t complain about it anymore. Last time you did that, he got all up in your ear and started chewing with his mouth open. Disgusting.

“Shut up, Han.”

“Yeah, shut up, Han.” You don’t even flinch when Chan and Changbin take their seats across from you. You could practically sense when one of the three boys was going to appear. Changbin said it was because your friendship was so strong, but in reality, they all wore such strong cologne, you’d be an idiot not to sense them.

“I literally did nothing and you’re attacking me.” Jisung whined, kicking Chan’s shin under the table. Chan gasped, kicking him back with more force. They would do this for hours if you didn’t stop them.

“Guys-” You started, but you stopped yourself. Jisung deserved to be kicked.

The four of you were hardly quiet when you were together, so you ate your lunches and talked about your day. Jisung got the chance to tell Chan and Changbin about him spilling folic acid all over his crush in chemistry, which he told you about on the way to your shared history class.

“It was mortifying! He’s never going to want to talk to me again!” He cried, hiding his face behind his hands, “I was even planning on asking him to prom! Now what am I gonna do?”

Suddenly, everyone’s attention was on Jisung.

“Prom?” Changbin yelled, his eyes wide.

“Yes?”

“We were supposed to go to that together, you dick!”

“It’s my senior year! I wanted to shoot my shot!”

“Yeah! Senior year! That’s why we were going together!” Changbin shook his head, false disappointment evident on his face.

“Well, since we’re asking people to prom now,” Chan started, folding his hands on the table. He bit his lip, darting his eyes around the room, “Y/N...do you maybe...wanna go to prom with me?”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. Your fingers twisted themselves around each other as you pulled your lip between your teeth, willing yourself not to smile like a lovestruck idiot. This was your best friend, asking you to prom as his best friend. You pulled yourself together, heaving a sigh before you replied,

“Yeah, totally. It’s a date.”

“IT’S A DATE? Have I lost my fucking mind?” You fell back onto your bed, staring at your ceiling in disbelief. Jisung cackled from his seat at your desk, obviously very pleased by your choice of words at lunch. He invited himself over to your house, wanting to discuss prom plans with you, but you two were getting nowhere. As soon as you got home, you ran to your room to wallow in your own peril. You remembered how Chan had smiled at you when you accepted his proposal, his eyes managing to sparkle even under the shitty fluorescent lights the cafeteria provided.

“I’ve only been waiting four years for one of you to slip up. I’m glad it was you so we can talk about it. That asshole Chan still hasn’t confessed his undying love for you to me. But I bet he told Changbin. Fucking traitor.” He started to ramble, his eyes drifting across the paintings on the wall, “Hey,” he pointed to one in the corner, “this one is new.”

You nodded, gazing at the painting yourself. You had only hung it up a few days prior. You smiled, remembering the night you painted it. Chris was at your house, taking up all the space on your desk with his laptop, portable keyboard, and hard drive. He was working on a 3RACHA song, like he usually was. You always found those days with Chan so relaxing. The two of you didn’t need words to communicate with each other, you had your art. He would make music and you would paint, and your art would always end up reflecting the other’s. The song he was working on that night, Alchemistry, showed itself in your painting, swirling clouds of grey in a fading sky of purple and black.

“Since we’re not going as a group anymore, I need to find a way to ask Hyunjin to prom.” Jisung sulked, opening up one of his one thousand notebooks. Jisung was a notebook kinda guy. He wrote every little thought down, just in case something could be used in a future song of his. And if he wanted to find something specific? Get ready for notebooks being tossed at your head as he sifts through every single one because he doesn’t label or organize anything.

“Write him a song.” You suggested, gaze still trapped in that painting. Now that you were thinking about it, most of the paintings on that wall had something to do with Chan. It was like he had seeped into every corner of your life, including the darkest and most personal ones.

“That’s your answer for everything I do.”

“Because your songs are good?” Not that you were lying. Your three best friends made up the rap trio 3RACHA. Were you a little bit jealous that they didn’t even ask if you wanted to be part of it? Yes, but you designed their album covers, so you forgive them.

Jisung was silent for a second, pondering your idea. Then he nodded, flipping to an empty page in the neon green notebook. He started scribbling, and you can’t really tell if it’s lyrics or drawings. But you looked away, letting Jisung do his thing. Pulling yourself up from the bed, you made your way to your closet, flinging the doors open with a huff. You scanned the rows of clothing before deciding that you definitely needed to go prom shopping.

“I need something new, something that screams-”

“Please date me?”

You scoffed, “Han Jisung, you’re going to be the death of me.”

two.

Your room was an absolute disaster. Clothes were strewn everywhere, makeup and hair products settling on every surface. You hardly noticed the mess, you were so...excited? Anxious? You didn’t really know.

It was the big day.

Changbin was laying on your bed, no doubt texting Chan about how dramatic you and Jisung were being. Jisung was three inches away from your mirror, sucking in a breath as he applied a line of dark brown eyeliner. You were on the other side of the room, running your hands through your hair as you decided what to do with it.

“Just leave it how it is, Y/N, who cares that much?”

“I care that much, Changbin!” You huffed, deciding to leave it how it was anyway.

The only reason Chan wasn’t with you guys is because he was now your date. Jisung had banished him and Hyunjin from the room as soon as you started getting ready, claiming that he wanted your looks to be a surprise.

“I’m giving you guys ten minutes before we leave, alright? I’m getting a fucking drink.”

“Your favorite juice is on the bottom shelf.” You called out as Changbin was leaving the room.

“I know where the juice is!” He shut the door firmly, leaving you and Jisung alone.

“Y/N,” he sighed heavily, having just finished his wing, “I think I’m going to piss myself.”

“That’s a rented tux-”

“I didn’t mean it literally! I’m just...really nervous.”

You nodded, moving from your spot to go comfort the boy, “If it’s any consolation, you look super hot. And I’ll make out with you if Hyunjin doesn’t.”

He laughed, and you could feel the nervous energy around him dissipate a little bit.

Once the two of you were ready, Jisung opened your bedroom door, calling out to the boys below. He linked arms with you before walking out the door and down the stairs slowly.

Chan turned around when he heard movement on the stairs, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. His face turned bright pink as he adjusted his tie. He cleared his throat, extending a hand for you to take, “You look...um...really...n-nice, bunny.”

You breathed out a nervous laugh, feeling your stomach churn at Chan’s nickname for you since you were children, “Thank you. You look...nice, too.”

Jisung unhooked your arms and wandered over to Hyunjin, and you could hear them mumbling soft compliments to each other, both of their faces tinged pink.

The car ride to the school seemed to be the most normal feeling part of the night. You all talked to each other, awkwardness temporarily thrown out the window. You laughed at Jisung’s impressions, trying to avoid the weight of Chan’s hand in yours. It felt nice; right, even. His grip was tight, but in a comforting way. Every once in a while, his thumb would gently graze over your skin, causing goosebumps to appear on your arms.

Once you got inside the gym, it all changed again. Now, Chan wasn’t just your best friend. He was your date, and you got all dressed up for each other, and everybody was looking at you two. He sent a charming smile your way, half bowing and extending yet another hand for you, “May I have this dance?”

And it was okay again, for a little while. The two of you danced, all worries about keeping face and feelings out of your mind. Your friends joined you for some of the songs, and you finally got to see Hyunjin dance. For months, Jisung would rave about how amazing he was. And you agreed; he certainly deserved his spot as co-president of the dance team.

An hour or so into the dance, a slightly sweaty Chan pulled you away from the dance floor and over to the refreshments. Confused, you asked, “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. I just want some punch.”

“And you had to take me away with you. Felix was just about to throw it back!” You whined, feigning disappointment. In reality, you were kinda glad to be out of the dance circle. High school kids really didn’t understand the concept of personal space when it came to these things. And besides, you wouldn’t mind some alone time with Chan.

“Let’s go outside,” You suggested to him, “we’re both sweaty. We could use some air.”

He nodded, taking your hand again. Pushing open the gymnasium doors, the two of you were met with a cool spring breeze. You sighed, letting your eyes shut for just a moment. In that one moment, Chan’s eyes were trained on you, fondness practically seeping from his pores. He took you to his favorite spot on campus, the music hallway. It was his favorite place to study, and the acoustics were dope, just in case he felt like bursting into song. Jisung did that sometimes.

The two of you sat on the cold cement floor, giggling at each other like little kids. You weren’t worried about what your friends inside the gym would think. You were just thinking about Chan. Chan and his dimpled smile and his sparkly eyes and his calloused but still gentle hands and how he was getting closer and why he was getting closer and - oh, his lips tasted like peach. You always liked peaches. So you kissed him back, because he tasted like peach. Not because you’ve been head over heels for him since the 7th grade. Absolutely not. Although, to be fair, 7th grade you would be absolutely geeked at how good of a kisser Chan was. How those calloused hands still managed to hold your face like it was made of porcelain while he sucked on your bottom lip like he would die without it.

He pulled away first, the popping sound of your lips disconnecting making you blush.

“That was - I - I’m sorry-”

“Sorry for what?”

“I just kissed you!”

“I don’t mind.”

“Oh,” He gaped, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, “it’s just that, yanno, I dunno. The prom...energy...got to me...haha.”

You stared at him, running your tongue over your bottom lip, trying to push the feeling of his lips out of your mind. You forced a smile, “Totally! And we...don’t have to mention this to anybody if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah...that would be best...let’s go back to the gym.” He stood and pulled you up with him. How he can stand to still hold your hand after crushing your heart like that, you couldn’t understand. But you let him.

You would always let him.

three.

It only takes two weeks for you to tell someone about the kiss. Granted, you’re drunk. And it’s Jisung. And he’s offended it took so long.

“I said I wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“I’m not just anyone, Y/N! Let’s not forget, I told you about my first kiss with Hyunjin when it happened!” He was practically yelling.

“You guys are dating! Chan and I are not dating!” You cried out, your grip on the plastic cup in your hand tightening. You weren’t really sure what was in the cup. Changbin had brought you one of his concoctions, promising to get you fucked up. And you just graduated high school, you deserved it! Thank whatever higher power that Choi Lia’s parents were on route to Canada right now.

“You guys still aren’t together? That’s so embarrassing.” Jisung hiccuped. He had the lowest alcohol tolerance you had ever seen, and you knew Lee Felix. You smacked his arm, apparently harder than you thought, because he yelped in pain. Or maybe he was just being dramatic. You pouted, staring at the neon green liquid in your cup. Sighing, you downed the rest of it, your face contorting at the awful taste. You figured you needed to be wasted to deal with Jisung’s bitching for the rest of the night. You loved the boy to pieces, but he sure had a mouth on him.

Seemingly out of thin air, Hyunjin appeared next to Jisung, immediately slinking an arm around the shorter’s waist. Jisung giggled, “Hey, handsome.”

“Don’t do this in front of me.”

They couldn’t hear you, “I’ve been looking for you all night, babylove. Should’ve guessed I’d find you with Y/N.”

“Was the glittery silver blazer not enough for you to spot him? He looks like New Year’s Eve in May.”

Still ignoring you, Jisung poked Hyunjin’s chest teasingly, “Sounds like you missed me.” He bit down on his lip, and that was the last straw for you. You huffed, making your way to where Changbin was in the kitchen.

“Hey, Y/N! How was the drink?”

“Absolutely horrible. Make me another one.”

Changbin took the cup from your hands, pouring random amounts of various liquids into it. He handed it to you with a sly smirk, warning you to drink slowly. Not that you ever listened to Changbin. You pulled yourself onto the kitchen counter, sipping on the horrible substance while making conversation. You ignored the dark cloud seeping into your mind while he spoke about college. Chan, Changbin, and Jisung had all made it into the same university, as they had submitted 3RACHA songs with their applications. You weren’t a musician, so you were going to a different university that focused more on your kind of art. It was only two hours away, but that was two hours farther than you had been from them in years.

“Hey,” You interrupted his tangent, your voice barely above a whisper, “You guys aren’t gonna...forget about me, right?”

His smile dropped, “Of course not. We’re still gonna be best friends, aren’t we? And we’re gonna see each other every weekend, and when we come home for holidays, we’ll be together all the time.” He closed the gap between you two, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. It was awkward positioning, but Changbin’s hugs always made you feel secure. You swallowed your tears, mumbling a shaky, “thank you,” into his ear.

When he let you go, you quickly finished the rest of the drink and tossed the cup into a nearby trash can. Your last drink was starting to hit you, big time. A sudden determination filled your veins, “Hey, Binnie?”

“Mhm.”

“Have you seen Chan lately?”

“He’s probably with Seungmin somewhere.”

You nodded, jumping off the counter and starting your pursuit. It shouldn’t be that hard. How many guys did you know with fried blond hair?

After a few minutes of searching, you found him sitting on the couch with Seungmin like Changbin had said. Seungmin made a joke, and Chan threw his head back as he laughed. God, he was so...stunning. A gasp escaped your lips as you watched him. You felt your determination wither for a second, but you pushed through. This is your last chance, Y/N, you thought to yourself. It’s now or never.

“Can I talk to you?”

A look of alarm crossed Chan’s features as he nodded. He sounded unsure as he spoke, “Yeah, totally. What’s up?”

“I mean,” You glanced at the boy sitting next to him, “alone.”

A soft oh left Chan’s lips as he stood. He nodded to Seungmin before gripping your hand like he’s done so many times before. You could just barely hear Seungmin’s laughing as Chan pulled you away. Wait, you were the one who asked him to talk, why was he dragging you around?

To be honest, Chan didn’t know either. For him, taking your hand and leading you to secret places just seemed...natural to him. He led you up the stairs and into the first room he found. Lia’s room. Lia wouldn’t mind; she was a good friend. He closed the door behind you two, locking it just to be sure.

“What’s up, bunny?”

Your heart began to pound in your chest as you sat down on the bed. You sucked in a breath, making eye contact with Chan as you folded your hands, “I’m in love with you.”

He just stared at you, not even blinking. You watched his chest rise and fall with his breaths. An excruciating minute passed, which felt like hours to you, before he made his way across the room and next to you on the bed.

“Y/N…” He had hardly finished saying your name before your heart shattered, “we’re going to different schools next year. You’ll be focusing on your painting and I’ll be producing probably non-stop. I...wouldn’t be a good boyfriend to you.”

You tried to hold in the tears, you really did, but you were drunk and the boy you’ve been in love with for like 5 years just rejected you and you’re cold. So you couldn’t really help the choked sob that comes from your throat, and you had to restrain yourself from throwing yourself at him for comfort. He started to stutter, “N-No that’s not what I meant! I mean, it is, but don’t cry!” He clasped your shoulders and pulled you to him, allowing your tears to flow freely on his nice black shirt, “Y/N, you know I have feelings for you. I just...won’t be able to be there for you like you need me to. I want to be with you, I really do. It would just end in heartbreak. I would rather still be your best friend and only that than have you hate me as a boyfriend, okay?”

“I’ll wait for you.” You barely managed to get those words out through your cries.

“No, you won’t. Please don’t. Please move on, bunny.” You removed yourself from his hold, scrunching your nose up to sniffle the tears away.

“Can we just...go to bed?”

The smile that he gave you in that moment broke your heart again; so sad and sincere.

“Of course.” He laid you down, holding you close enough to hear his heartbeat. He was so warm.

God, how you wished you could stay like that forever.

four.

Chan couldn’t tell if he was more excited or nervous to see you. Your group hadn’t seen each other as much as you had hoped. At the beginning of the semester, you met up every weekend, excitedly chatting about your new classes and the new people in your lives. But as life continued, it got in the way. You hadn’t seen each other face to face since October, opting for texts and FaceTime sessions instead. And he missed you terribly. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, right?

He found himself thinking of you often. Even during songwriting sessions with Jisung and Changbin. They laughed at him when his lyrics became sappy, threatening to pull their phones out and text you Chan’s adoration. He regretted what he told you back in May; that he wouldn’t be good to you.

He sat in the living room of his childhood home, fidgeting in his seat. Changbin was scrolling through channels on the TV, a bored expression on his features. Jisung and Hyunjin were in the kitchen, making hot chocolate for the third time that night.

He couldn’t focus. You were going to knock on that door any moment, your parents in tow, and he didn’t know what he was going to do. Cry? Run into your arms? Fuck, try and kiss you? He stood abruptly, scaring the boy next to him.

“I-I’ll be right back.” He excused himself, hurrying to lock himself in his bedroom to breathe.

Changbin opened the front door, his eyes lighting up at the sight of one of his best friends, “Y/N!”

“Is Y/N here?” Jisung yelled from the kitchen, the pitter patter of his feet telling you that he was running your way. Two pairs of arms wrapped around you. They walked you through the door, with Changbin yelling something to your parents about where the other parents were. You felt your mother’s hand on your back, a way for her to tell you that they were going. When the boys finally released you, they noticed one other figure in the room.

“Oh…” Jisung gasped. Changbin just stared, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Um-” You coughed, trying to relive some of the tension, “where’s Chan?”

“In his room.”

You nodded before heading that way, lightly tapping on the door three times, “Channie? It’s Y/N.”

The door swung open, a breath-taking smile on the boy’s face. He wrapped you up in his embrace, swinging you around as he yelled your name.

“How have you been? How are you? Wow, you look so pretty!” His hands cupped your face, lightly dragging his thumbs over your cheekbones. You placed your hands over his, a dull heartbeat in your chest as you watched him speak.

Chan’s heart was pounding in his chest. He thought you could hear it, and that’s why you were looking at him so...analytically. They’re right here, he thought. You lost your chance last time, but maybe it’s not too late. Now or never, Chan.

“Listen, Y/N…” He sighed, “about what I said after graduation, at that party-”

“No, don’t-”

“Please just let me say this.”

You nodded, allowing him to continue, “I was wrong, okay? I shouldn’t have rejected you like that. I should’ve just...given us a shot. I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N. You can ask the guys, all my lyrics have been about you, and they’re ridiculously cheesy. I know I told you to move on but...maybe I still have a place in your heart? And...maybe we can...try this?”

You couldn’t breathe. You shook your head, pulling away from him, “Chan, I-”

Seven months ago, you would’ve jumped for joy at his confession. Taken him into your arms and kissed him until you were dizzy. But now…

“Baby! How long were you gonna wait until you introduced me?”

Chan froze. Baby? Who the hell was calling you baby?

You took a few steps back, glancing over at the boy next to you, “Channie...this is my boyfriend, Minho.”

Boyfriend. You had a...boyfriend. You went and did exactly what he told you to do, but his heart still shattered. But he plastered a smile on his face anyway, shaking Minho’s hand, “I’m Bang Chan. One of Y/N’s best friends. Welcome to her second home.”

And the night continued like that. Your best friends focused their attention entirely on you and Minho. They asked him an endless amount of questions, from where he grew up to his favorite kind of bean. Sometimes, you would notice Jisung or Changbin giving Chan a sympathetic glance, but you ignored it. Minho was a good boyfriend, and you were genuinely happy with him. You didn’t expect your feelings for Chan to leave you so quickly, but distance doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder.

The five of you spent most of your winter break together. The only day you didn’t see each other was Christmas, which was spent with your families. The next day, you had your own Christmas, like you did every year.

The hardest day for Chan was New Year’s Eve. You had a party at Changbin’s house, with as many kids from your graduating class as possible. It reminded him of that night after graduation. Jisung still wore that ugly silver blazer, drunk and attached to his boyfriend all night. Changbin still made horrible, hangover inducing nightmare drinks that he persuaded poor college students into drinking. You were drunk again, too. But instead of crying into Chan’s chest like before, you were giggling up a storm with your new boyfriend. Chan watched from afar, jealousy pumping through his veins at the way you draped yourself across his lap, and how he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky. That should’ve been him.

10 seconds before midnight, he felt sick. Everyone around him was so giddy, so excited for a new start. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from you two. Your hands were locked together, staring into each other’s eyes as you counted down the seconds. The TV at the front of the room screamed, “Happy New Year,” as he watched Minho’s lips crash against yours, a smile evident on both of your faces. He stalked out of the living room, making a beeline for the bar.

He had to get over you, the way you had so easily gotten over him. And he had to get over you now or never.

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dippedanddripped · 4 years ago

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Debbie Harry doesn’t believe in harbouring regrets. “I have made many, many errors, but nobody leads a perfect life,” she reflects down the telephone from New York. “So, should I regret anything? No. It is a waste of time. It really is a waste of time.”

Dial back to the turn of the 70s and the life that Harry led before fronting Blondie – prior to her image being burned onto the retina of popular culture – was colourful to say the least. “I was so desperate to live life,” she says of her time spent hanging with the outcasts and artists of downtown New York. “I was jamming in as much experience as I possibly could and I don’t know if I could have done anything differently. I learned a lot.”

The old Bowery music venue CBGBs has long passed into music folklore as the place that called the likes of Television, Patti Smith, and the Ramones their house bands. It was also where punk and new wave progenitors Blondie cut their teeth before they sashayed into the wider world with the protean panache that would make them a household name. Classic singles such as “Heart of Glass”, “Call Me”, “Atomic”, and “Rapture” have been responsible for more worldwide rug-cutting than an industrial carpet tool. To imply that they were merely a solid singles band is to do them a cardinal disservice, however.

And although they’ve always cocked their attention to the things ahead of them, Harry and her Blondie cohorts have spent a lot of time looking back just lately. Harry’s long-awaited autobiography, Face It, hit the shelves last year, and Blondie co-founder and one-time partner Chris Stein published Point of View: Me, New York City, and the Punk Scene, a photography book featuring personal snaps taken during the band’s pomp in the 70s and early 80s. “We can’t keep on touring and doing club dates the way that we used to. It would be physically impossible,” Harry concedes. “Living through this pandemic has certainly made us take a long look at the value of what we’ve got with our body of work.” Asked if it is a process of attempting to frame their legacy, she admits it’s something that they “have to do”.

This deep-dive into their canon has culminated in a mouth-watering archive set, Blondie: Against the Odds 1974-1982, slated for release next year. Coming in four formats, it promises to include extensive liner notes, “track by track” commentary by the entire band, a photographic history plus rare and unreleased bonus material. The group will also go out on the road – coronavirus permitting – for an autumn Against the Odds UK tour with Garbage.

The artist born Angela Trimble was put up for adoption only a few months after she was ushered into the world in the summer of 1945. A loving New Jersey couple took her in, rechristened her Deborah Harry, and raised her as their own. She grew up in a suburb that she “never left”, was voted best-looking girl in her high school yearbook, and oscillated within a social circle that consisted of “many of the same people” throughout her childhood. “I was somehow shy within that,” she recalls, “(but) somebody once said to me that being shy was an ego trip and a light went on in my head. I thought, ‘Oh, uh-huh, let’s have none of that!’”

Harry travelled by bus as a curious teen to nearby Greenwich Village, imbibing the febrile inner-city atmosphere. In 1965, she graduated from junior college with an associate of arts degree and New York’s allure became too enticing to resist. She decamped to the bright lights of the city and made ends meet with a succession of odd jobs, including secretarial work for the BBC, waiting tables and an infamous nine-month stint as a Playboy Bunny.

The period was a traumatic one, too, with Harry enduring an ex-lover-turned-violent-stalker and a near-miss with serial killer Ted Bundy (although Bundy’s identity is contested by others). In her memoir, she writes candidly of the time she was raped by a man wielding a knife while on her way home from a concert with Stein. Music offered a vessel for her creativity, and she spent time as part of girl group The Stilettoes and folk ensemble Wind in the Willows before her meeting with guitarist Stein which set the foundations for Blondie. Their classic lineup was completed by Gary Valentine (bass), Jimmy Destri (keys), and Clem Burke (drums).

“Somebody once said to me that being shy was an ego trip and a light went on in my head. I thought, ‘Oh, uh-huh, let’s have none of that’” – Debbie Harry

Although they self-identified as punks, the parochial and nihilistic mandate as promulgated by the genre’s militant diehards never fit Blondie comfortably. The group looked outwards from the moment they started, drawing inspiration from their cosmopolitan city. Their sound was a melting pot pulling at the seams of culture’s fabric, and they would weave their own patterns from it.

Harry agrees that their eclecticism was down to good fortune in coming from the “metropolitan area of New York” where they ingested “a lot of musical influences”. Taken as a whole, their catalogue bears this out. Blondie never stood still musically – yet never sounded like anyone else – and they loaded their songs with more hooks than a fisherman’s trawler. 1976’s punchy, eponymous debut married surf-rock textures with 50s girl-group sensibilities, and their palette had expanded exponentially by the time of seminal third album, Parallel Lines (1978). Eat to the Beat and Autoamerican followed, by which point they could boast flirtations with disco, rocksteady, funk, hip hop, and more within their enviable output.

When asked to pick one track that encapsulates the essence of Blondie, Harry opts for their 1981 US number one single “Rapture”. “What happens in ‘Rapture’ is very comprehensive,” she says. “It took a form of music that was, or still is, very modern and can be very political. Rap and hip-hop songs back then didn’t have their own songs. Rappers would just rap on somebody else’s music. (‘Rapture’) was crafted specifically for that rap. Until then that hadn’t been done. It was a breath of fresh air.” It stands as one of the things in her career that she feels “very good about”.

Blessed with the sort of features that could sell sand to the Saharans, Harry’s appearance caused a stir from the band’s earliest days. “That’s part of showbiz,” she says to me, trying to downplay it. “We always had an eye for that, the entire band. We always had an idea of making a look that represented our sensibilities and links to British pop and mod.” Maybe so, but it was Harry alone who was immortalised by Andy Warhol in one of his iconic silkscreen prints, and who posed for era-defining photographers including Robert Mapplethorpe and Anne Leibowitz.

Did the disproportionate attention she attracted ruffle feathers within the Blondie camp at the time? “Yes and no,” Harry remembers. “We were all happy that it was working. I suppose there was a certain amount of competition or jealousy but ultimately, no. I think that’s a better question for Clem or one of the other members in the band. Of course my relationship with Chris was so close that he was very happy about everything.”

The band’s wheels eventually came off after their muddy and unfocused sixth album, The Hunter, dashed against the commercial rocks in 1982. They had to abandon their subsequent tour after Stein became gravely ill with a rare autoimmune disorder, pemphigus vulgaris, that proved extremely difficult to diagnose. Blondie had no option but to bow out of the public eye, and they broke up quietly.

15 years later, with Stein fully recovered, the group reconvened and released a critically acclaimed and commercially successful comeback album, No Exit. They even topped the UK charts with lead single “Maria”, but faced tussles with erstwhile members at the time too. Former bassist and co-writer on “One Way or Another”, Nigel Harrison, and guitarist Frank Infante attempted to sue the rest of the band over their omission from the reformed lineup. And when Blondie were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006, Infante grabbed the microphone to express his ire publicly.

Fast-forward to 2020 and the settled iteration of the band are working on a new album with John Congleton, who produced 2017’s Pollinator. Does Harry have a formula when it comes to songwriting these days? No, as it happens. “When a phrase or a sentiment makes me respond emotionally or physically, I write it down and I save it,” she explains. “At a certain point, I’ll sort of review things. A lot of times I like to just work with a rhythm track. Just a drumbeat or some kind of drone-y rhythm, a groove. Other times people will give me a rough sketch of some chord changes – an idea that they’ve got. I seem to work in a lot of different ways.”

Thanks to her effortless chic and timeless looks, Harry’s relationship with the fashion industry has been a mutual love-in since forever, and she recently announced a revival of her partnership with ethical fashion designers Vin + Omi – the duo responsible for her profane ‘STOP FUCKING THE PLANET’ cape worn at the Q Awards in 2016 and throughout Blondie’s Pollinator tour. They have teamed up for a new sustainable clothing line entitled HOPE, and her enthusiasm for the project is palpable. “I love Vin + Omi,” she says. “They are so creative and adventurous. They have this desire to prevail and do things that are smart and modern in terms of recycling and making energy count. I think that is brilliant.”

As a fledgling bee-keeper, the plight of the bees is also something close to Harry’s heart. It was one of the reasons why 2017’s Pollinator was, well, named exactly that. “You’re either being stung by a bee or you’re going to eat its honey,” she chuckles softly, marvelling at the absurdity of the contrast. “But bees and water are two issues we cannot escape from. We should be concerned with finding better ways of living, using our resources in the best way possible.”

Help is coming, she hopes, through the election of Joe Biden, who is “firmly attached” to the idea of helping the environmental cause – and she believes his ideas can help the economy, too. “I’ve been saying for quite a long time that solar and wind power are renewable (energies) that can create jobs,” she says. It’s a far cry from her feelings towards outgoing President Trump and his “daily infusion of bullshit” and “thunderstorm of endless diatribes”.

“One of the most exciting things about rock’n’roll was that it was about breaking the rules, and (‘WAP”) is certainly a part of that. It’s titillating and aggressive and it is part of what is exciting about popular music. The nature of what we try to do is to shock and entertain at the same time” – Debbie Harry

What strikes you when you speak to Harry for an extended period is not only her warmth, but her unexpected humility for someone so staggeringly famous. I reference a Bob Dylan BBC interview from the 80s in which he observed with sadness how his fame had the ability to change a room’s energy and how he missed seeing people act naturally around him. She paws the comparison away, saying she’s nowhere near famous “to the degree of Bob Dylan”, whom she calls “such a megastar”. This could sound like false modesty coming second-hand, but in person it feels like a sincere statement, even if it is a little bewildering coming from an international icon. She will concede, however, that she has “definitely noticed and felt something like that” and has often wished she could simply be “a fly on the wall”.

There is also an inquisitiveness that makes the conversation a more two-way affair than your quote-unquote typical ‘interview’. She fires questions back at you, not as a deflection tactic, but to expand and explore a topic further. This happens when conversation turns to Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s ubiquitous “WAP”. A recent interview had her fangirling over the track, but Harry’s feelings no longer appear to be as clear-cut and she wishes to discuss the song further. “I love it and hate it at the same time,” she now shares. “One of the most exciting things about rock’n’roll was that it was about breaking the rules, and (‘WAP’) is certainly a part of that. It’s titillating and aggressive and it is part of what is exciting about popular music. The nature of what we try to do is to shock and entertain at the same time.” She pauses. “I don’t know. Everything is revealed and maybe sexual explicitness has come of age.”

Pushed about what she dislikes about “WAP”, she says she would “hate it” if any young girl or woman was hurt by the song’s message. “I think that, in a way, men have to know that women think like this, and that there is this component,” she says, “but I would hate it to mean that everyone should be treated like this. I don’t think anybody should be hurt by sex”.

Harry has long championed the LGBTQ+ communities. When she refers to her dearly departed friend and Hairspray co-star Divine as a ‘drag queen’ in Face It, she acknowledges the term in some instances is no longer accurate or politically correct. I suggest that it can often seem as though the evolution of our language is speeding up in the digital age – by necessity, of course – and ask her if online culture fills her with concern when it comes to using the right terms. “Yeah, (because) in many cases it can be a slip of the tongue, especially for an old dog like me! Things do move so very, very quickly. It is hard to keep up,” she observes. “Fortunately, I have a lot of godchildren!”

Speaking of younger generations, Harry likes to think she’d have coped with social media if she were coming up today, but is thankful that she had her “dark cocoon” in which to “bloom out of”, a place where she was able to “ripen”. “When you’re under the harsh glare of constantly being analysed, that shapes you whether you want it to or not,” she says. “It’s a germ or a seed that’s planted in your mind. It can take surprising turns and it can affect your growth. For good or for worse, who knows?”

“When you’re under the harsh glare of constantly being analysed, that shapes you whether you want it to or not. It’s a germ or a seed that’s planted in your mind. It can take surprising turns and it can affect your growth” – Debbie Harry

One thing that remains is her fierce level of self-criticism. “I always want to do better,” she declares matter-of-factly. “I’ve always been very critical of everything. I hear things or look at them and say, ‘Oh God, it should have been that (instead).” Maybe this hypercritical inclination is what still drives her forward. “I honestly don’t like resting on my laurels. I like working and I like creating. I always beat myself up about not being more creative or more prolific.”

When looking at the bounty of projects she has lined up, no one in their right mind could put Debbie Harry and laurel-resting in the same sentence. Aside from the new album, archival set and fashion project, the paperback edition of her autobiography will be released with a brand-new epilogue in April of next year. (Just don’t ask her what’s in it – “I don’t remember what I wrote. I’ll have to look it up!” she says with a laugh.)

The signs are that the musician is done looking into the rear-view mirror, though. Time may be passing, the tide may be higher, but Debbie Harry is doing more than merely holding on. Her eyes are locked to the future and she’s positively thriving.

Blondie: Against the Odds 1974-1982 will be released next year; Face It is out now via Harper Collins

#debbie harry #blondie #Vin + Omi #ethical fashion #explicitness #music blog

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dandaelions · 4 years ago

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exo journaling haul!

So a while ago I mentioned that I went BONKERS and got a ton of stickers and other stuff that I deemed absolutely necessary for my survival - and per @abunnycotton ‘s request I’m going to share what I got! It took a while for everything to come in (thank you USPS I appreciate you!) but here it all is! Under the cut for your convenience, enjoy :)

OK so the story is, I have a bunch of photocards, lomos, postcards, and other exo stuff that I’ve just kept stored away in a cupboard because I don’t know what to do it all. They came with my album purchases and while my albums are displayed on my bookshelf, I didn’t really have a good place to put the smaller things. I’ve been wanting to organize everything into something creative so I got the idea: why not make a journal? I get to come up with fun ways to store my extra stuff and it also gives me the opportunity to try journaling, which is something that I’ve wanted to do for a long time!

Side note: exo-ls who make and sell stuff are the SWEETEST people on the planet! Everyone included all sorts of freebies and personalized notes and I was so touched by their kindness <3

1) journaling supplies: I got all this from amazon! I got a mini A4 binder with plastic inserts and dotted paper. The inserts are for keeping the photocards and postcards (I’m going to use washi tape to hold everything in) and the dotted paper is for journaling. The binder gives me the option of customization so I can add stuff as I go. I also got journaling markers and a giant book of stickers because why not

2) exo lightstick stickers: from CookiessCreations on etsy

3) kyoongtube stickers: from babymilk114 on etsy. These were too cute to pass up!

4) exo playlist stickers: from YehetMonkey on etsy. The seller’s note was really sweet :’)

5) exo journal pack: from RCuteStationary UK on etsy. Ok this is where shit got crazy!! Based on the pack size selected, you can get lomos, stickers, and washi tape. You can even customize the lomos and washi tape styles you want! Everything came really well packaged with a card.

BONUS: I also ended up buying the Kihno version of Obsession from Ebay because I found it at a really good price. After I made the purchase, the seller (luckyoneot9) reached out and asked me who my biases were for freebie purposes. I replied honestly with suho and chen, thinking that maybe I was going to get one extra photo or something. WRONG. I ended up getting lomos of both, a bunch of stickers AND these uber cute handmade photocards that had me squealing!! I was honestly so touched by all the effort and I really appreciate how she went the extra mile. Five star ratings across the board!

Yesterday, I got some more washi tape rolls from amazon (for finishing touches, or so I told myself) and that order should be coming in today, but other than that I can’t wait to get started with my journaling and organizing! I’m really satisfied with everything I got and I’m excited to add all these freebies to my existing exo collection!

ALSO: While I was waiting for everything to come in, I made my first “spread” inspired by Baekhyun’s cover of “Garden in the Air”. I was SO obsessed with that song and this was a cool way to channel my thoughts and creativity! This was a great opportunity for me to play around with different fonts and designs. My handwriting still needs a lot of improvement but I think it turned out pretty good for a first try :)

So yeah that’s everything I wanted to share! I’ll post journaling updates as I get more stuff organized. If anyone has journaling ideas I’d be happy to hear them! <3

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path-of-my-childhood · 5 years ago

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D.C. Beyoncé Impersonator Riley Knoxx Talks Being in Taylor Swift's Latest Music Video

Washington City Paper // by Elizabeth Tuten // June 21st 2019

WCP: So how did you first get connected to Taylor Swift and the music video for “You Need to Calm Down?” Riley Knoxx: She basically went online looking for a Beyoncé impersonator, found my website, stalked my Instagram. She hand picked me. When Taylor was talking to me on set, she was like, “Thank you for telling your story,” and I was like, “You know my story?” and she was like, “Of course, I picked you.” She’d seen my videos, she’d read my NPR article, she knew it all. I told her that when they told me she’d picked me, I thought they meant her people had picked me, but no, it was really her.

WCP: How did you feel when you heard you’d been cast? RK: I was actually at Queeta’s Palace doing DreamGirls Twisted, doing Deena Jones. I was bouncing off the walls I was so happy. I couldn't tell anyone. Someone asked why I was so hyper and I was like “I can’t tell you but I gotta be in L.A. on Wednesday.” That was on a Sunday. Honestly I didn’t even know what I was supposed to be doing. We didn’t know if it was going to be negative, there’d just been that press about Taylor ripping off the marching band from Beyoncé. Luckily, it was positive. It was really positive.

WCP: What was the vibe like on set? RK: Taylor comes in, I turned around and she said “Hi” and I said “Hey” and she literally jumped in my arms. She sits on the couch and tells us, “I’m compared to all these pop stars, but of all the pop stars out there I’m most like Ed Sheeran, but nobody ever compares me to him, they want to compare me against these other women. So I want you girls here to represent that we’re all strong, fierce women." She was the most gracious, most kind person I’ve met in my life, not just celebrity. I totally had a different opinion of her before I met her. People say a lot of things. I mean she made a whole album about her reputation. In the media she’s painted as a mean girl, there are so many different controversies, Harry [Styles] and Kim Kardashian. But now, honestly if anyone tries to say anything bad about Taylor Swift to me, know I’ll be like “Eh! You don’t understand. This girl is amazing.”

WCP: You have so many Beyoncé costumes, most of which you design and sew yourself. How was the outfit you wore in the video selected? Was it one of your creations? RK: Yes, I make everything that I wear onstage. She had seen the NPR article with this turquoise outfit I hardly ever wear that’s a look of Beyoncé, they liked that, very sheer, very see through, so I brought that, the white one, and a gold and black one I wore in my last concert. So I had to take pictures in all of them and send them the night before in the hotel. I tried them all on, and they wanted the specific one, the turquoise one. But then I got to set, obviously the most elaborate one and the most memorable replica was the white costume from On The Run II [Tour in summer 2018]. So the director looks at it all while we’re in wardrobe, and someone’s like “Where’s the one that we requested?” and the director said no, that he wanted the most memorable one, that the white one was the best. So that’s how they selected it.

WCP: One criticism of the video is that it rips off Beyoncé’s video for “Party.” What do you think of the similarities, and do they seem intentional to you? RK: I never even heard that! Crazy. No! I don’t think so. I think it’s just a coincidence. Honestly the two videos are very different. I can see why people would say that, but I really don’t think that’s what Taylor is trying to do, I don’t think she’s trying to copy everything Beyoncé does.

WCP: What do you think of the criticism that the video puts a straight white woman at the center of the queer narrative? RK: She’s championed gay people many times, in other videos and things. It’s like, when you have a platform like that, who better to use it for than communities that have been underserved. It’s like, you have this platform, you have this voice, what do you want to say? Use that to do some good. You know, she said nothing, and they complained that she wasn’t being political enough. Now she’s saying something, and it’s “appropriating culture?” How? How is she appropriating culture? She’s trying to help. She’s saying, “These are all my friends, go follow them, go to their shows, stan them.” And she also has a petition for the Equality Act. It’s basically her lending her voice. There’s been tons of straight white women who’ve lent their voice - Madonna, Cher - you know other straight women who are gay icons. Why not Taylor?

WCP: What do you hope that people take away from “You Need to Calm Down?’ RK: Exactly that, that they need to calm down. Like she says, “Shade never made anybody less gay.” Protesting and doing all this crazy stuff won’t stop people from being gay, from being trans. Nobody ever saw a sign and said, “You know what, maybe I will stop being gay,” because someone came and picketed. You know, we live on this planet together, we all have to share, and you don’t have to like what we do, or who we are, but respect us as a community. This video will be iconic forever. Taylor even said to me, “This is the biggest video I’ll ever do.” And it’s probably the most important. It’s incorporating all queer culture. You don’t have to be gay to have the voice to help people; you’re an ally. She wants to be an ally, let her be an ally.

WCP: Where can we see you perform around D.C. this summer? RK: You can see me perform every Saturday and Sunday morning at Queeta’s Palace at Benning Road, you can get tickets at eventbrite.com. And I’ll be touring soon and doing concerts and I’ll announce all that soon on my Instagram page, @RileyKnoxx. Two x’s.

#riley knoxx #article #about taylor #taylor swift #you need to calm down #drag queens

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hlupdate · 5 years ago

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Harry Styles isn’t exactly dressed down for lunch. He’s got a white floppy hat that Diana Ross might have won from Elton in a poker game at Cher’s mansion circa 1974, plus Gucci shades, a cashmere sweater, and blue denim bell-bottoms. His nail polish is pink and mint green. He’s also carrying his purse — no other word for it — a yellow patent-canvas bag with the logo “Chateau Marmont.” The tough old ladies who work at this Beverly Hills deli know him well. Gloria and Raisa dote on him, calling him “my love” and bringing him his usual tuna salad and iced coffee. He turns heads, to put it mildly, but nobody comes near because the waitresses hover around the booth protectively.

He was just a small-town English lad of 16 when he became his generation’s pop idol with One Direction. When the group went on hiatus, he struck out on his own with his brash 2017 solo debut, whose lead single was the magnificently over-the-top six-minute piano ballad “Sign of the Times.” Even people who missed out on One Direction were shocked to learn the truth: This pinup boy was a rock star at heart.

A quick highlight reel of Harry’s 2019 so far: He hosted the Met Gala with Lady Gaga, Serena Williams, Alessandro Michele, and Anna Wintour serving an eyebrow-raising black lace red-carpet look. He is the official face of a designer genderless fragrance, Gucci’s Mémoire d’une Odeur. When James Corden had an all-star dodgeball match on The Late Late Show, Harry got spiked by a hard serve from Michelle Obama, making him perhaps the first Englishman ever hit in the nads on TV by a First Lady.

Closer to his heart, he brought down the house at this year’s Rock & Roll Hall of Fame ceremony with his tribute to his friend and idol Stevie Nicks. “She’s always there for you,” Harry said in his speech. “She knows what you need: advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl.” He added, “She’s responsible for more running mascara — including my own — than all the bad dates in history.” (Backstage, Nicks accidentally referred to Harry’s former band as “’NSync.” Hey, a goddess can get away with that sort of thing.)

Harry has been the world’s It boy for nearly a decade now. The weirdest thing about him? He loves being this guy. In a style of fast-lane celebrity that takes a ruthless toll on the artist’s personality, creativity, sanity, Harry is almost freakishly at ease. He has managed to grow up in public with all his boyish enthusiasm intact, not to mention his manners. He’s dated a string of high-profile women — but he never gets caught uttering any of their names in public, much less shading any of them. Instead of going the usual superstar-pop route — en vogue producers, celebrity duets, glitzy club beats — he’s gone his own way, and gotten more popular than ever. He’s putting the finishing touches on his new album, full of the toughest, most soulful songs he’s written yet. As he explains, “It’s all about having sex and feeling sad.”

The Harry Charm is a force of nature, and it can be almost frightening to witness in action. The most startling example might be a backstage photo from February taken with one of his heroes, Van Morrison. You have never seen a Van picture like this one. He’s been posing for photos for 50 years, and he’s been refusing to crack a smile in nearly all of them. Until he met Harry — for some reason, Van beams like a giddy schoolgirl. What did Harry do to him? “I was tickling him behind his back,” Harry confides. “Somebody sent me that photo — I think his tour manager took it. When I saw it, I felt like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction opening the case with the gold light shining. I was like, ‘Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t show this to anyone.’”

In interviews, Harry has always tended to coast on that charm, simply because he can. In his teens, he was in public every minute and became adept at guarding every scrap of his privacy. But these days, he’s finding out he has things he wants to say. He’s more confident about thinking out loud and seeing what happens. “Looser” is how he puts it. “More open. I’m discovering how much better it makes me feel to be open with friends. Feeling that vulnerability, rather than holding everything in.”

Like a lot of people his age, he’s asking questions about culture, gender, identity, new ideas about masculinity and sexuality. “I feel pretty lucky to have a group of friends who are guys who would talk about their emotions and be really open,” he says. “My friend’s dad said to me, ‘You guys are so much better at it than we are. I never had friends I could really talk to. It’s good that you guys have each other because you talk about real shit. We just didn’t.’”

It’s changed how he approaches his songs. “For me, it doesn’t mean I’ll sit down and be like, ‘This is what I have for dinner, and this is where I eat every day, and this is what I do before I go to bed,’” he says. “But I will tell you that I can be really pathetic when I’m jealous. Feeling happier than I’ve ever been, sadder than I’ve ever been, feeling sorry for myself, being mad at myself, being petty and pitiful — it feels really different to share that.”

At times, Harry sounds like an ordinary 25-year-old figuring his shit out, which, of course, he is. (Harry and I got to know each other last year, when he got in touch after reading one of my books, though I’d already been writing about his music for years.) It’s strange to hear him talk about shedding his anxieties and doubts, since he’s always come across as one of the planet’s most confident people. “While I was in the band,” he says, “I was constantly scared I might sing a wrong note. I felt so much weight in terms of not getting things wrong. I remember when I signed my record deal and I asked my manager, ‘What happens if I get arrested? Does it mean the contract is null and void?’ Now, I feel like the fans have given me an environment to be myself and grow up and create this safe space to learn and make mistakes.”

We slip out the back and spend a Saturday afternoon cruising L.A. in his 1972 silver Jaguar E-type. The radio doesn’t work, so we just sing “Old Town Road.” He marvels, “‘Bull riding and boobies’ — that is potentially the greatest lyric in any song ever.” Harry used to be pop’s mystery boy, so diplomatic and tight-lipped. But as he opens up over time, telling his story, he reaches the point where he’s pitching possible headlines for this profile. His best: “Soup, Sex, and Sun Salutations.”

How did he get to this new place? As it turns out, the journey involves some heartbreak. Some guidance from David Bowie. Some Transcendental Meditation. And more than a handful of magic mushrooms. But mostly, it comes down to a curious kid who can’t decide whether to be the world’s most ardently adored pop star, or a freaky artiste. So he decides to be both.

Two things about English rock stars never change: They love Southern California, and they love cars. A few days after Harry proclaimed the genius of “Old Town Road,” we’re in a different ride — a Tesla — cruising the Pacific Coast Highway while Harry sings along to the radio. “Californiaaaaaa!” he yells from behind the wheel as we whip past Zuma Beach. “It sucks!” There’s a surprising number of couples along the beach who seem to be arguing. We speculate on which ones are breaking up and which are merely having the talk. “Ah, yes, the talk,” Harry says dreamily. “Ye olde chat.”

Harry is feeling the smooth Seventies yacht-rock grooves today, blasting Gerry Rafferty, Pablo Cruise, Hall and Oates. When I mention that Nina Simone once did a version of “Rich Girl,” he needs to hear it right away. He counters by blowing my mind with Donny Hathaway’s version of John Lennon’s “Jealous Guy.”

Harry raves about a quintessential SoCal trip he just tried: a “cold sauna,” a process that involves getting locked in an ice chamber. His eyelashes froze. We stop for a smoothie (“It’s basically ice cream”) and his favorite pepper-intensive wheatgrass shot. It goes down like a dose of battery acid. “That’ll add years to your life,” he assures me.

We’re on our way to Shangri-La studios in Malibu, founded by the Band back in the 1970s, now owned by Rick Rubin. It’s where Harry made some of the upcoming album, and as we walk in, he grins at the memory. “Ah, yes,” he says. “Did a lot of mushrooms in here.”

Psychedelics have started to play a key role in his creative process. “We’d do mushrooms, lie down on the grass, and listen to Paul McCartney’s Ram in the sunshine,” he says. “We’d just turn the speakers into the yard.” The chocolate edibles were kept in the studio fridge, right next to the blender. “You’d hear the blender going, and think, ‘So we’re all having frozen margaritas at 10 a.m. this morning.’” He points to a corner: “This is where I was standing when we were doing mushrooms and I bit off the tip of my tongue. So I was trying to sing with all this blood gushing out of my mouth. So many fond memories, this place.”

It’s not mere rock-star debauchery — it’s emblematic of his new state of mind. You get the feeling this is why he enjoys studios so much. After so many years making One Direction albums while touring, always on the run, he finally gets to take his time and embrace the insanity of it all. “We were here for six weeks in Malibu, without going into the city,” he says. “People would bring their dogs and kids. We’d take a break to play cornhole tournaments. Family values!” But it’s also the place where he has proudly bled for his art. “Mushrooms and Blood. Now there’s an album title.”

Some of the engineers come over to catch up on gossip. Harry gestures out the window to the Pacific waves, where the occasional nude revelry might have happened, and where the occasional pair of pants got lost. “There was one night where we’d been partying a bit and ended up going down to the beach and I lost all my stuff, basically,” he says. “I lost all my clothes. I lost my wallet. Maybe a month later, somebody found my wallet and mailed it back, anonymously. I guess it just popped out of the sand. But what’s sad is, I lost my favorite mustard corduroy flares.” A moment of silence is held for the corduroy flares.

Recording in the studio today is Brockhampton, the self-proclaimed “world’s greatest boy band.” Harry says hi to all the Brockhampton guys, which takes a while since there seem to be a few dozen of them. “We’re together all the time,” one tells Harry out in the yard. “We see each other all day, every day.” He pauses. “You know how it is.”

Harry breaks into a dry grin. “Yes, I know how it is.”

One Direction made three of this century’s biggest and best pop albums in a rush — Midnight Memories, Four and Made in the A.M. Yet they cut those records on tour, ducking into the nearest studio when they had a day off. 1D were a unique mix of five different musical personalities: Harry, Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, and Liam Payne. But the pace took its toll. Malik quit in the middle of a tour, immediately after a show in Hong Kong. The band announced its hiatus in August 2015.

It’s traditional for boy-band singers, as they go solo and grow up, to renounce their pop past. Everybody remembers George Michael setting his leather jacket on fire, or Sting quitting the Police to make jazz records. This isn’t really Harry Styles’ mentality. “I know it’s the thing that always happens. When somebody gets out of a band, they go, ‘That wasn’t me. I was held back.’ But it was me. And I don’t feel like I was held back at all. It was so much fun. If I didn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t have done it. It’s not like I was tied to a radiator.”

Whenever Harry mentions One Direction — never by name, always “the band” or “the band I was in” — he uses the past tense. It is my unpleasant duty to ask: Does he see 1D as over? “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think I’d ever say I’d never do it again, because I don’t feel that way. If there’s a time when we all really want to do it, that’s the only time for us to do it, because I don’t think it should be about anything else other than the fact that we’re all like, ‘Hey, this was really fun. We should do this again.’ But until that time, I feel like I’m really enjoying making music and experimenting. I enjoy making music this way too much to see myself doing a full switch, to go back and do that again. Because I also think if we went back to doing things the same way, it wouldn’t be the same, anyway.”

When the band stopped, did he take those friendships with him? “Yeah, I think so,” he says. “Definitely. Because above all else, we’re the people who went through that. We’re always going to have that, even if we’re not the closest. And the fact is, just because you’re in a band with someone doesn’t mean you have to be best friends. That’s not always how it works. Just because Fleetwood Mac fight, that doesn’t mean they’re not amazing. I think even in the disagreements, there’s always a mutual respect for each other — we did this really cool thing together, and we’ll always have that. It’s too important to me to ever be like, ‘Oh, that’s done.’ But if it happens, it will happen for the right reasons.”

If the intensity of the Harry fandom ever seems mysterious to you, there’s a live clip you might want to investigate, from the summer of 2018. Just search the phrase “Tina, she’s gay.” In San Jose, on one of the final nights of his tour, Harry spots a fan with a homemade sign: “I’m Gonna Come Out to My Parents Because of You!” He asks the fan her name (she says it’s Grace) and her mother’s name (Tina). He asks the audience for silence because he has an important announcement to make: “Tina! She’s gaaaaay!” Then he has the entire crowd say it together. Thousands of strangers start yelling “Tina, she’s gay,” and every one of them clearly means it — it’s a heavy moment, definitely not a sound you forget after you hear it. Then Harry sings “What Makes You Beautiful.” (Of course, the way things work now, the clip went viral within minutes. So did Grace’s photo of Tina giving a loving thumbs-up to her now-out teenage daughter. Grace and Tina attended Harry’s next show together.)

Harry likes to cultivate an aura of sexual ambiguity, as overt as the pink polish on his nails. He’s dated women throughout his life as a public figure, yet he has consistently refused to put any kind of label on his sexuality. On his first solo tour, he frequently waved the pride, bi, and trans flags, along with the Black Lives Matter flag. In Philly, he waved a rainbow flag he borrowed from a fan up front: “Make America Gay Again.” One of the live fan favorites: “Medicine,” a guitar jam that sounds a bit like the Grateful Dead circa Europe ’72, but with a flamboyantly pansexual hook: “The boys and girls are in/I mess around with them/And I’m OK with it.”

He’s always had a flair for flourishes like this, since the 1D days. An iconic clip from November 2014: Harry and Liam are on a U.K. chat show. The host asks the oldest boy-band fan-bait question in the book: What do they look for in a date? “Female,” Liam quips. “That’s a good trait.” Harry shrugs. “Not that important.” Liam is taken aback. The host is in shock. On tour in the U.S. that year, he wore a Michael Sam football jersey, in support of the first openly gay player drafted by an NFL team. He’s blown up previously unknown queer artists like King Princess and Muna.

What do those flags onstage mean to him? “I want to make people feel comfortable being whatever they want to be,” he says. “Maybe at a show you can have a moment of knowing that you’re not alone. I’m aware that as a white male, I don’t go through the same things as a lot of the people that come to the shows. I can’t claim that I know what it’s like, because I don’t. So I’m not trying to say, ‘I understand what it’s like.’ I’m just trying to make people feel included and seen.”

On tour, he had an End Gun Violence sticker on his guitar; he added a Black Lives Matter sticker, as well as the flag. “It’s not about me trying to champion the cause, because I’m not the person to do that,” he says. “It’s just about not ignoring it, I guess. I was a little nervous to do that because the last thing I wanted was for it to feel like I was saying, ‘Look at me! I’m the good guy!’ I didn’t want anyone who was really involved in the movement to think, ‘What the fuck do you know?’ But then when I did it, I realized people got it. Everyone in that room is on the same page and everyone knows what I stand for. I’m not saying I understand how it feels. I’m just trying to say, ‘I see you.’”

At one of his earliest solo shows, in Stockholm, he announced, “If you are black, if you are white, if you are gay, if you are straight, if you are transgender — whoever you are, whoever you want to be, I support you. I love every single one of you.” “It’s a room full of accepting people.… If you’re someone who feels like an outsider, you’re not always in a big crowd like that,” he says. “It’s not about, ‘Oh, I get what it’s like,’ because I don’t. For example, I go walking at night before bed most of the time. I was talking about that with a female friend and she said, ‘Do you feel safe doing that?’ And I do. But when I walk, I’m more aware that I feel OK to walk at night, and some of my friends wouldn’t. I’m not saying I know what it feels like to go through that. It’s just being aware.”

‘Man cannot live by coffee alone,” Harry says. “But he will give it a damn good try.” He sips his iced Americano — not his first today, or his last. He’s back behind the wheel, on a mission to yet another studio — but this time for actual work. Today it’s string overdubs. Harry is dressed in Gucci from head to toe, except for one item of clothing: a ratty Seventies rock T-shirt he proudly scavenged from a vintage shop. It says “Commander Quaalude.”

On the drive over, he puts on the jazz pianist Bill Evans — “Peace Piece,” from 1959, which is the wake-up tone on his phone. He just got into jazz during a long sojourn in Japan. He likes to find places to hide out and be anonymous: For his first album, he decamped to Jamaica. Over the past year, he spent months roaming Japan.

In February, he spent his 25th birthday sitting by himself in a Tokyo cafe, reading Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. “I love Murakami,” he says. “He’s one of my favorites. Reading didn’t really used to be my thing. I had such a short attention span. But I was dating someone who gave me some books; I felt like I had to read them because she’d think I was a dummy if I didn’t read them.”

A friend gave him Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. “It was the first book, maybe ever, where all I wanted to do all day was read this,” he says. “I had a very Murakami birthday because I ended up staying in Tokyo on my own. I had grilled fish and miso soup for breakfast, then I went to this cafe. I sat and drank tea and read for five hours.”

In the studio, he’s overseeing the string quartet. He has the engineers play T. Rex’s “Cosmic Dancer” for them, to illustrate the vibe he’s going for. You can see he enjoys being on this side of the glass, sitting at the Neve board, giving his instructions to the musicians. After a few run-throughs, he presses the intercom button to say, “Yeah, it’s pretty T. Rex. Best damn strings I ever heard.” He buzzes again to add, “And you’re all wonderful people.”

He’s curated his own weird enclave of kindred spirits to collaborate with, like producers Jeff Bhasker and Tyler Johnson. His guitarist Mitch Rowland was working at an L.A. pizza shop when Harry met him. They started writing songs for the debut; Rowland didn’t quit his job until two weeks into the sessions. One of his closest collaborators is also one of his best friends: Tom Hull, a.k.a. Kid Harpoon, a longtime cohort of Florence and the Machine. Hull is an effusive Brit with a heart-on-sleeve personality. Harry calls him “my emotional rock.” Hull calls him “Gary.”

Hull was the one who talked him into taking a course on Transcendental Meditation at David Lynch’s institute — beginning each day with 20 minutes of silence, which doesn’t always come naturally to either of them. “He’s got this wise-beyond-his-years timelessness about him,” Hull says. “That’s why he went on a whole emotional exploration with these songs.” He’s 12 years older, with a wife and kids in Scotland, and talks about Harry like an irreverent but doting big brother.

Last year, Harry was in the gossip columns dating the French model Camille Rowe; they split up last summer after a year together. “He went through this breakup that had a big impact on him,” Hull says. “I turned up on Day One in the studio, and I had these really nice slippers on. His ex-girlfriend that he was really cut up about, she gave them to me as a present — she bought slippers for my whole family. We’re still close friends with her. I thought, ‘I like these slippers. Can I wear them — is that weird?’

“So I turn up at Shangri-La the first day and literally within the first half-hour, he looks at me and says, ‘Where’d you get those slippers? They’re nice.’ I had to say, ‘Oh, um, your ex-girlfriend got them for me.’ He said, ‘Whaaaat? How could you wear those?’ He had a whole emotional journey about her, this whole relationship. But I kept saying, ‘The best way of dealing with it is to put it in these songs you’re writing.’”

True to his code of gallant discretion, Harry doesn’t say her name at any point. But he admits the songs are coming from personal heartbreak. “It’s not like I’ve ever sat and done an interview and said, ‘So I was in a relationship, and this is what happened,’” he says. “Because, for me, music is where I let that cross over. It’s the only place, strangely, where it feels right to let that cross over.”

The new songs are certainly charged with pain. “The stars didn’t align for them to be a forever thing,” Hull says. “But I told him that famous Iggy Pop quote where he says, ‘I only ever date women who are going to fuck me up, because that’s where the songs are.’ I said, ‘You’re 24, 25 years old, you’re in the eligible-bachelor category. Just date amazing women, or men, or whatever, who are going to fuck you up, and explore and have an adventure and let it affect you and write songs about it.’”

His band is full of indie rockers who’ve gotten swept up in Hurricane Harry. Before becoming his iconic drum goddess, Sarah Jones played in New Young Pony Club, a London band fondly remembered by a few dozen of us. Rowland and Jones barely knew anything about One Direction before they met Harry — the first time they heard “Story of My Life” was when he asked them to play it. Their conversation is full of references to Big Star or Guided by Voices or the Nils Lofgren guitar solo in Neil Young’s “Speakin’ Out.” This is a band full of shameless rock geeks, untainted by industry professionalism.

In the studio, while making the album, Harry kept watching a vintage Bowie clip on his phone — a late-Nineties TV interview I’d never seen. As he plays it for me, he recites along — he’s got the rap memorized. “Never play to the gallery,” Bowie advises. “Never work for other people in what you do.” For Harry, this was an inspiring pep talk — a reminder not to play it safe. As Bowie says, “If you feel safe in the area that you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you are capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth. And when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”

He got so obsessive about Joni Mitchell and her 1971 classic Blue, he went on a quest. “I was in a big Joni hole,” he says. “I kept hearing the dulcimer all over Blue. So I tracked down the lady who built Joni’s dulcimers in the Sixties.” He found her living in Culver City. “She said, ‘Come and see me,’” Hull says. “We turn up at her house and he said, ‘How do you even play a dulcimer?’ She gave us a lesson. Then she got a bongo and we were all jamming with these big Cheshire Cat grins.” She built the dulcimer Harry plays on the new album. “Joni Mitchell and Van Morrison, those are my two favorites,” he says. “Blue and Astral Weeks are just the ultimate in terms of songwriting. Melody-wise, they’re in their own lane.”

He’s always been the type to go overboard with his fanboy enthusiasms, ever since he was a kid and got his mind blown by Pulp Fiction. “I watched it when I was probably too young,” he admits. “But when I was 13, I saved up money from my paper route to buy a ‘Bad Motherfucker’ wallet. Just a stupid white kid in the English countryside with that wallet.” While in Japan, he got obsessively into Paul McCartney and Wings, especially London Town and Back to the Egg. “In Tokyo I used to go to a vinyl bar, but the bartender didn’t have Wings records. So I brought him Back to the Egg. ‘Arrow Through Me,’ that was the song I had to hear every day when I was in Japan.”

He credits meditation for helping to loosen him up. “I was such a skeptic going in,” he says. “But I think meditation has helped with worrying about the future less, and the past less. I feel like I take a lot more in—things that used to pass by me because I was always rushing around. It’s part of being more open and talking with friends. It’s not always the easiest to go in a room and say, ‘I made a mistake and it made me feel like this, and then I cried a bunch.’ But that moment where you really let yourself be in that zone of being vulnerable, you reach this feeling of openness. That’s when you feel like, ‘Oh, I’m fucking living, man.’”

After quite a few hours of recording the string quartet, a bottle of Casamigos tequila is opened. Commander Quaalude pours the drinks, then decides what the song needs now is a gaggle of nonsingers bellowing the chorus. “Muppet vocals” is how he describes it. He drags everyone in sight to crowd around the mics. Between takes, he wanders over to the piano to play Harry Nilsson’s “Gotta Get Up.” One of the choir members, creative director Molly Hawkins, is the friend who gave him the Murakami novel. “I think every man should read Norwegian Wood,” she says. “Harry’s the only man I’ve given it to who actually read it.”

It’s been a hard day’s night in the studio, but after hours, everyone heads to a dive bar on the other side of town to see Rowland play a gig. He’s sitting in with a local bar band, playing bass. Harry drives around looking for the place, taking in the sights of downtown L.A. (“Only a city as narcissistic as L.A. would have a street called Los Angeles Street,” he says.) He strolls in and leans against the bar in the back of the room. It’s an older crowd, and nobody here has any clue who he is. He’s entirely comfortable lurking incognito in a dim gin joint. After the gig, as the band toasts with PBRs, an old guy in a ball cap strolls over and gives Rowland a proud bear hug. It’s his boss from the pizza shop.

In the wee hours, Harry drives down a deserted Sunset Boulevard, his favorite time of night to explore the city streets, arguing over which is the best Steely Dan album. He insists that Can’t Buy a Thrill is better than Countdown to Ecstasy (wrongly), and seals his case by turning it up and belting “Midnight Cruiser” with truly appalling gusto. Tonight Hollywood is full of bright lights, glitzy clubs, red carpets, but the prettiest pop star in town is behind the wheel, singing along with every note of the sax solo from “Dirty Work.”

A few days later, on the other side of the world: Harry’s pad in London is lavish, yet very much a young single dude’s lair. Over here: a wall-size framed Sex Pistols album cover. Over there: a vinyl copy of Stevie Nicks’ The Other Side of the Mirror, casually resting on the floor. He’s having a cup of tea with his mum, Anne, the spitting image of her son, all grace and poise. “We’re off to the pub,” he tells her. “We’re going to talk some shop.” She smiles sweetly. “Talk some shit, probably,” says Anne.

We head off to his local, sloshing through the rain. He’s wearing a Spice World hoodie and savoring the soggy London-osity of the day. “Ah, Londres!” he says grandly. “I missed this place.” He wants to sit at a table outside, even though it’s pouring, and we chat away the afternoon over a pot of mint tea and a massive plate of fish and chips. When I ask for toast, the waitress brings out a loaf of bread roughly the size of a wheelbarrow. “Welcome to England,” Harry says.

He’s always had a fervent female fandom, and, admirably, he’s never felt a need to pretend he doesn’t love it that way. “They’re the most honest — especially if you’re talking about teenage girls, but older as well,” he says. “They have that bullshit detector. You want honest people as your audience. We’re so past that dumb outdated narrative of ‘Oh, these people are girls, so they don’t know what they’re talking about.’ They’re the ones who know what they’re talking about. They’re the people who listen obsessively. They fucking own this shit. They’re running it.”

He doesn’t have the uptightness some people have about sexual politics, or about identifying as a feminist. “I think ultimately feminism is thinking that men and women should be equal, right? People think that if you say ‘I’m a feminist,’ it means you think men should burn in hell and women should trample on their necks. No, you think women should be equal. That doesn’t feel like a crazy thing to me. I grew up with my mum and my sister — when you grow up around women, your female influence is just bigger. Of course men and women should be equal. I don’t want a lot of credit for being a feminist. It’s pretty simple. I think the ideals of feminism are pretty straightforward.”

His audience has a reputation for ferocity, and the reputation is totally justified. At last summer’s show at Madison Square Garden, the floor was wobbling during “Kiwi” — I’ve been seeing shows there since the 1980s, but I’d never seen that happen before. (The only other time? His second night.) His bandmates admit they feared for their lives, but Harry relished it. “To me, the greatest thing about the tour was that the room became the show,” he says. “It’s not just me.” He sips his tea. “I’m just a boy, standing in front of a room, asking them to bear with him.”

That evening, Fleetwood Mac take the stage in London — a sold-out homecoming gig at Wembley Stadium, the last U.K. show of their tour. Needless to say, their most devoted fan is in the house. Harry has brought a date: his mother, her first Fleetwood Mac show. He’s also with his big sister Gemma, bandmates Rowland and Jones, a couple of friends.

He’s in hyperactive-host mode, buzzing around his cozy VIP box, making sure everyone’s champagne glass is topped off at all times. As soon as the show begins, Harry’s up on his feet, singing along (“Tell me, tell me liiiiies!”) and cracking jokes. You can tell he feels free — as if his radar is telling him there aren’t snoopers or paparazzi watching. (He’s correct. This is a rare public appearance where nobody spots him and no photos leak online.) It’s family night. His friend Mick Fleetwood wilds out on the drum solo. “Imagine being that cool,” Gemma says.

Midway through the show, Harry’s demeanor suddenly changes. He gets uncharacteristically solemn and quiet, sitting down by himself and focusing intently on the stage. It’s the first time all night he’s taken a seat. He’s in a different zone than he was in a few minutes ago. But he’s seen many Fleetwood Mac shows, and he knows where they are in the set. It’s time for “Landslide.” He sits with his chin in hand, his eyes zeroing in on Stevie Nicks. As usual, she introduces her most famous song with the story of how she wrote it when she was just a lass of 27.

But Stevie has something else she wants to share. She tells the stadium crowd, “I’d like to dedicate this to my little muse, Harry Styles, who brought his mother tonight. Her name is Anne. And I think you did a really good job raising Harry, Anne. Because he’s really a gentleman, sweet and talented, and, boy, that appeals to me. So all of you, this is for you.”

As Stevie starts to sing “Landslide” — “I’ve been afraid of changing, because I built my life around youuuu” — Anne walks over to where Harry sits. She crouches down behind him, reaches her arms around him tightly. Neither of them says a word. They listen together and hold each other close to the very end of the song. Everybody in Wembley is singing along with Stevie, but these two are in a world of their own.

#harry styles #rs #260819 #drug mention

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kissjane · 4 years ago

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Tagged!

Right. Okay. So @pinkplanetaries tagged me.

The rule is to answer the ten questions, then to write ten questions of your own & tag other people

OMG, these questions are HARD!

1. What song always gets you out on the dance floor?

I’m a terrible dancer, but if I were less shy, I’d be on the dance floor all the time.

2. How do you take your coffee or tea?

My coffee, with lots of milk. My tea, black. My faves: peppermint tea and Irish coffee.

3. You are a musician about to release an album. How would your album cover look like?

What music would I make? I’d imagine it’d have lots of blue, my name in a bright colour, maybe it’d have like daisies or sunflowers… or some sunset over an ocean… Shit, I’m basic (and cliché…).

Okay, so the cover will be designed by somebody else.

I’ll write all the liner notes, how’s that?

4.Your favorite sleeping position?

Curled up on my side.

5. How would you describe your everyday style? (You can also share a photo of an outfit, if you want to!)

Jeans, some sort of top, and except in the dead of summer usually a blazer or cardigan, often with sneakers or ballerina flats; or a dress, with a layer if needed.

I like to combine some bright colours sometimes if I’m brave, and I don’t wear black (like, seriously, I own one black skirt and two tops and I have them for funerals). I am not afraid of pattern mixing.

I actually make some of my own clothes… Some of my most heavily worn items are homemade, like a blue leather jacket, a dress with the Almond Blossoms by Van Gogh, an bright winter coat.

6. If you could go back in time and be with your 8-year-old self for 24 hours, what will do? What will you talk about?

Uh, that was a loooong time ago, yo. I think I’d tell myself to not waste any time, not waste any opportunity, to live life to the fullest.

I’d tell myself: Take the risk, jump into the water, be yourself without shame or embarrassment, be kind, don’t worry about the future because the future will sort itself out, love with all your heart – hearts heal, laugh more and stress less, dream big but also, take action. Don’t wait for life to start. Don’t wait for life to come to you. Go out and find it, and grab it, and don’t let go. Don’t ever wait for tomorrow. Celebrate every achievement. Money is important, but joy and time are necessities. Hold on to friends – call them, mail them, set up regular meetings – or there will be a time when you remember them with so much love in your heart it aches, and you won’t know how or why they disappeared from your life. But don’t take any crap, let the negative go, mourn for what was and turn into a new path when needed.

Oh, and in 2020, take all your vacations days in January, don’t bother saving them for that epic road trip in summer.

7. What’s the worst advice you’ve ever received?

You’ll have time to do that later.

(After that turned out to be a blatant lie, I have decided I’d rather regret doing something than not doing something.)

8. If you only had one sense (touch, sight, hearing, etc.) which would you want?

Wow, that’s just mean. Not which one would you give up, no, but which one would you keep.

I don’t know. I like to eat… so taste. But then, music… so hearing. But I’ve done some blind experience once and that’s really fucking hard, so yeah… sight. Smell? I guess I could do without if I had too, although I’m a sucker for scented candles and stuff.

But seriously, if I could only have one, it’d have to be touch, right?

Imagine living without it. It’d be horrible.

9. Do you believe in second chances?

Yes!

10. What is your dream elu fic? Not necessarily something you’re going to write but something you really really wish someone will write. Be as vague or detailed as you want!

Uhm, I don’t know… there’s so many awesome fics out there already. I think I like AUs quite bit… And there needs to be a happy ending, obviously! But you know what would really make my day? If all the authors of unfinished stories which I liked would finish them – or even give me permission to do it for them!

***************************************************************************

So, ten new questions then?

Okay, let’s see…

1. Which language(s) do you speak?

2. Do you vote? In every election, or only the ‘big’ ones? If you’re not of age yet, do you plan to?

3. If you were playing Never have I ever (where the idea is to name something you have never done, but all the other people in the group have done that thing), what would you say in order to guarantee the win?

4. What is the strangest thing you have ever eaten?

5. What is the last thing you watched on tv (or Netflix or some other streaming service, or pay-per-view, or whichever medium you prefer)?

6. Which subject do/did you hate most in school?

7. Have you ever had a déjà-vu?

8. What is your favourite painting or other piece of art?

9. Have you ever met a celebrity, big or small, or a personal hero?

10. Where would you be right now if you could choose any place on the planet?

Uhm, and about tagging other people? Yeah, uh, I’ve been on tumblr for like fifteen seconds. Feel free to answer if you’d like. Or come yell at me to tag people, either way.

#asked!#tagged #ten questions #did I @ correctly?#newbie #figuring stuff out

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thisislizheather · 4 years ago

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July Jiffs 2020

This was me all month.

The key word being was. We bought an air conditioner! We’ve been an A/C-free family for some time now, but since we’re spending so much time at home, we figured now was the time to be cool. In other news, everything still blows! What a shock! Here’s how I spent July.

I didn’t even know another Halloween movie was being made but of course I’ll go see it even if it turns out to be trash, you gotta support classic horror franchises, that’s just basic horror etiquette 101.

This is the most basic, boring-sounding sandwich on planet earth, but it tastes incredible I promise you (I didn’t add bacon, but I did add fresh mozzarella) and whatever bread you use, it’ll still be great. I find myself constantly forgetting about the greatness of mayo because I, my dear, am an idiot.

I ordered a bunch of new address labels on Zazzle because they were having a Christmas in July sale, so I bought some seasonally inspired labels to use over the next few months. If you’re not seasonally co-ordinating your return address labels, are you even living?

I’m still doing Nathan’s podcast on Patreon incase you’re interested. (You can find more clips on his Instagram.)

I attempted to watch the new Baby-Sitter’s Club on Netflix and it’s really not meant for me. I was never into the books or the movie or any of it, I never liked the idea of kids caring about making money, it seemed too sad to me. “Just be a kid!” I’d always thought.

Speaking of childhood nostalgia, I have started to watch reruns online of Sweet Valley High, which I loved as a kid. It’s no Breaker High, but it’s still pretty great to rewatch. God, Jessica really was an absolute bitch.

Some other things that I’ve rewatched: Con Air (practically a perfect movie, will always love, *Nic Cage forever* might be the only tattoo I’d ever get), Supermarket Sweep is on American Netflix and I was so excited (for about three episodes) then I moved on with my life, Sleepless in Seattle (still a very nice, average, reliable movie), Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure (actually a really great summer movie, will always be a fun time to watch, will forever be a huge Keanu fan, I just feel like I could trust him??), and Dick Tracy (will always love this movie even if it has eight million too many montages, the set design is gorgeous, and this one outfit that Madonna wears makes me question… everything).

Some new movies that I’ve watched: Always Be My Maybe (so, so great! How did it take me so long to see this! So many good scenes, such a good movie), The Karate Kid (insane that I hadn’t seen it before, kids were uncomfortably mean in the 80s, favourite part was when Mr. Miyagi beats up the children, great movie), The Stepfather (pretty fun time, so happy we’ve starting watching horror movies again), Eat Pray Love (ugh, I don’t know, I do love movies about women just leaving and doing fun shit alone and abandoning their lives, but this was pretty lame, I hated James Franco’s character more than life and truly didn’t understand how Julia Roberts was even briefly into him), and finally the original The Hills Have Eyes (which I loved weirdly enough despite being incredibly tense the entire movie, I just thought it was so well done and scary and incredible, the rape scene is of course awful and I shut my eyes for that part, but that was the only thing I hated, it doesn’t make sense that I liked this movie so much).

I don’t know how to word this, but something is off with the reasonably priced (and almost too cheap) parmesan sold at Trader Joe’s. It melts weird. It doesn’t taste like normal cheese. Something is afoot and I won’t buy it any longer. I’m truly dreading and equally anticipating the day that all of Trader Joe’s secrets are exposed. Be warned.

That being said, obviously I’m in love with the seasonal summer candles that TJ just released. We have a complicated relationship.

I made this gruyere mac and cheese with caramelized onions (I used almond milk and it still came out good) and can every recipe just include caramelized onions? The world is ending, let’s just put sweet, tiny, brown onions on everything and call it a day.

Ennio Morricone passed away last month and I find myself listening to the Cinema Paradiso soundtrack on repeat.

Read this great piece about summer blockbuster movies which also has just some great ideas for movies to rewatch right now.

I have to remember that Essie’s vibrant colours just f-ing suck. Only their muted/bland colours are good. They should really just stick to those. And if you’re looking for loud colours that stand out, the summer collection at Urban Outfitters is my go-to (and there’s always a 3 for $10 sale with them).

I listened to Taylor Swift’s new album and so far my favourites are definitely: the 1 and this is me trying.

Ugh, Astoriaaaaaa, DO BETTER.

I’ve been thinking about cancelling my Ipsy subscription again (because I think I don’t care about makeup at this current moment in time) and when I logged on to cancel, they let me choose one of the items being sent next month as if they knew I wanted to leave! So I chose a Sunday Riley product (because any sample I’ve tried from them, I’ve loved) so maybe I’ll cancel next month?

I tried a sample of Drunk Elephant’s shampoo & conditioner (which smelled so lovely) and my hair did seem softer the next day. There’s something about this brand though, I feel like they might be tricking us with their beautiful packaging and minimalist persona.

I bought and tried the ancient Biore Strips and I have absolutely no idea if they did what they’re supposed to do. Are you supposed to see the blackheads or whiteheads come off onto the strip? It felt like it just tried to peel my face off. No idea what’s going on with these.

I have been in love with the Peter Thomas Roth Correction Pads, I use one pad before bed each night and I think they’re doing something good because I always wake up with no new pimples. It has even started erasing all of the redness I’ve been experiencing lately from the summer heat and sweat and mask-wearing. At this point, I can definitely see myself rebuying when I run out, and if I do then I’ll definitely not get them from Sephora because you can get them way cheaper at other online retailers.

I’ve also started using this Dr. Dennis Gross All-In-One face cleanser and I think it’s a good one. It’s hard to tell because I started using it the same day at the correction pads I mentioned above (yes that was a bad idea but here we are), so maybe they’re working together to make my face good? We’ll revisit this.

I finally opened up this Belif set I bought a few months ago and it’s really nothing special. I think the face cream is probably the best item in there because you truly don’t need to use a lot to feel moisturized. But the face cleanser? Meh. I don’t think it does very much, it definitely didn’t help any redness. And the toner? Don’t get me started on how I kind of think toner might be a scam. And the “eye moisturizer”? Seems superfluous. My eye area is plenty moist, thanks.

Perfect summer soap scent: Fresh Rainfall. If I can’t travel this year, I will escape into this scent. (Send help.)

Very excited to hear about Lindy West’s new book.

So I heard that Lady M now ships their cakes to Canada and I was able to scream in excitement for approx. four seconds before looking into it and seeing that it’ll cost you over $100 to get ONE cake sent. THE GALL, I tell you. THE GALL.

I briefly looked into the app Sweatcoin after hearing good things, but it really just seems like an app where its main goal is to track you. And yes, your phone already does that whether you’re aware or not, but I think I’ll pass on the extra tracking.

I heard that the upcoming Halloween Bob’s Burgers episode will “follow the kids as they try to deliver a burger to the hotel on their street.” It’s such a sad little bit of tiny information, but I love their seasonal episodes so much that I’ll take any crumbs available.

Actually helpful tips on how to clean your home efficiently.

Christ, why do I keep forgetting that Bareburger is absolutely nothing special? Why in the good fuck is it taking so long for a Shake Shack to come to Astoria?!

I ate on the patio at Hoja Santa in Astoria and the tacos were nothing to write home about. The service, drinks and chips were outstanding though, so I may have just ordered badly.

New favourite beer alert.

Best tweets of the month over here.

I tried Thai iced coffee and it was so wildly sweet and too aromatic, I probably wouldn’t get it again. And I also tried a Vietnamese iced coffee and it was the perfect level of sweet! What’s the difference between the two, you ask?

I finally tried the katsu sandwich at Hi-Collar as takeout in the East Village and it was absolutely nothing special. No idea why people are so into it.

I haven’t been to Bite in so many months, so it was nice to get takeout earlier this week. God how I’ve missed their ciabatta bread. They use it on their sandwiches and it comes from Balthazar each morning and it’s always heavenly.

I have found the perfect, light summer blanket and I’m trying not to focus on the fact that it came from Amazon.

I tried a grapefruit shandy and holy shit, it might be my favourite new summer drink.

I ate on the patio at L’Artusi since it just reopened and good god, that carbonara will change you. So psyched to see they have the wagyu steak tartare on the menu now, too. The burger, the panzanella salad and the charred corn were all great, but that carbonara was the standout.

Some things I’d like to do this month: I’d love to try this tomato toast with blue cheese mayo, I’m going to start using a new clothes steamer I just bought with the hopes of getting rid of my iron & ironing board, I rebought a tube of Revitalash because of how great my lashes were looking when I used it a few years ago so I’ll start using it on August 1st and track my progress to prove how great this product is, I can’t wait for Moesha to be coming to Netflix this month, and I am waiting waiting waiting until I can find time to return to Lilia (on the patio) to eat this incredible tomato focaccia & garlic butter (shown below).

If you’ve got any interest in reading last month’s roundup, you can see what went down in June over here.

#monthly post #this is liz heather #Liz Heather #July 2020

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dragracereviews · 5 years ago

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My Ultimate Top 10 Favorite Drag Race Queens

#10 - Kameron Michaels: NGL, Kameron is partially on this list because I would fuck her in a heartbeat. I actually plan on making a list later of queens I would sleep with in and/or out of drag and you will definitely find Miss Michaels high on there. I’ve seen her live on the Werq the World tour and I 100% regret not getting Meet and Greet though I probably would’ve just drooled on her and made a fool of myself so maybe it’s better that I didn’t. It’s a known fact that Kameron is an incredible lip syncer (if you haven’t watched season 10, please do so just to see her in action because honestly, she’s one of the few good things about that season) and she did NOT disappoint. Her dancing was only beat out by Vanjie who you may or may not see later on this list. Kameron if you’re out there reading this (LOL, we all know she isn’t) and you ever feel like experimenting with an actual biological woman, hit me up!

#9 - Sharon Needles: And here we have another attractive man out of drag! Sharon was the OG underdog and while I’m not going to sit here and bash Phi Phi O’Hara because she’s actually talented AF (checkout her Harry Potter cosplay, it’s soooo good), Sharon definitely didn’t deserve all the shade thrown at her on season 4. Her drag aesthetic has always been equals parts spooky and equal parts fabulous, but she’s actually improved over the years and it’s made me love her even more. My favorite Sharon moment ever is during a “Queens Reading Mean Comments” video on WOWPresents’ Youtube channel where someone said they liked her old teeth better and she just goes, “Well my old teeth just looked ridiculous with my new lips!” Get ‘em, girl.

#8 - Jinkx Monsoon: I want Jinkx to be my mom. There, I said it. Also, if you don’t get that reference, get your shit together and subscribe to WOW Presents on Youtube you fucking bumpkin. Jinkx was the loveable weirdo on her season and received a lot of hate from her fellow queens but I loved her from the start. I have since forgiven Roxxxy Andrews for her cattiness because of her rudemption on All Stars 2 (insert her Read U Wrote U verse here) but nothing was more satisfying than watching Jinkx go from the underdog to America’s Next Drag Superstar. I don’t know what’s more iconic; her tendency to fall asleep at inopportune times, her laugh, or all the jokes about her being a full blown swamp witch. Either way, it will always be Monsoon season in my eyes.

#7 - Nina West: Hands down, the DEFINITION of Miss Congeniality! This choice was so obvious, I don’t even know why they took a vote. I think that even if they left it up to the fans, it would’ve been her. I fucking LOVE Nina. I’ve actually met her IRL and my first thoughts were 1: she’s HUGE (hello, she’s a six foot tall man in like 6 inch heels and I’m barely over five feet) and 2. she just radiates happiness! She is the only queen I’ve met that asked me my name (though shout out to Plastique Tiara for calling me gorgeous as if she’s not the most beautiful creature on the planet) and she didn’t make me feel like an idiot when I just stared at her adoringly and just word vomited “you’remyfavoriteiloveyousomuch”. Class act people!

#6 - Bianca del Rio: Do I even need an explanation for this one? Hands down, the undisputed winner of season 6, and that’s coming from a die-hard ***** fan (see entry #2). Did she wear the same silhouette 10+ times? Yes. Can she kind of be a bitch sometimes? Definitely. But is she the funniest fucking person alive? Probably! My love for Bianca is infinite but I still wouldn’t want her to read me, at least not in person. Actually, scratch that, I’ve seen her Twitter feed and getting read online is almost worse. I fucking love Hurricane Bianca and the sequel even though it’s one of those so-bad-it’s-good type of film series. I sadly missed her last tour because it was the same night as Sasha Velour’s Smoke & Mirrors show and as amazing as Sasha was, my heart was broken that I couldn’t go to both. But you better believe the next time she’s in town, I’m forking out lots of $$ for VIP and I may or may not faint at Bianca’s feet #noregrets

#5 - Vanessa Vanjie Matteo: Mother. Fucking. Vanjie. OKAY, I’ve met this bitch IRL and let me tell you, she is the cutest fucking thing. Like Nina, it shocked me how apparent it is that she’s a man (square jaw, hello?) but she can still paint for filth and look fishy AF even with her boyish features. Also, AMAZING performer! I waited 3 hours after the M&G for her to actually come on stage and perform only two songs (that’s a story for another day) but let me tell you, it was worth the fucking wait. I showered that bitch with Canadian monopoly money and I would’ve given her more if I wasn’t such a broke millennial. And to top the whole night off, I got woken up at 5 am to my friend screaming because Vanjie had reposted my photo in her story so I was essentially Instagram famous for all of like, a day. Thanks girl xo

#4 - Bendelacreme: I love me some Dela. This queen proved in both her regular season and All Stars that she is a force to be reckoned with. Season 6 wouldn’t have been the same without her and did I want to yell at Darienne Lake for being a bitch to her? Absolutely! (Gia Gunn pun intended) And I honestly think that if she hadn’t eliminated herself, she would’ve won AS3 (though if you read my #1 entry, I am 100% satisfied with who did win). She completely deserved her Miss Congeniality title, and while I see where the others AS3 queens were coming from when they suspected she was trying a little too hard to keep up that image, I did appreciate her trying to play the game with some class, because we don’t see that often on Drag Race. I also love her friendship with Jinkx and it’s definitely on my bucket list to see one of their shows one day. You know what they say, the Creme always rises to the top!

#3 - Brooke Lynn Hytes: Full disclosure, I’m Canadian but that’s not the only reason why I love Brooke (she is the Queen in the North though, and I’ll fight you if you say otherwise). This queen is fucking TALENTED! Season 11 would have failed without her, IMHO. She can design and sow a complete outfit, read people to filth, sort of sing (I still listen to Queens Everywhere daily, especially her verse), dance circles around ANYBODY, and lip sync like her mother fucking life depends on it. Did she, by the end of the season, forget that’s there’s more to a lip sync than being on pointe? Yes, absolutely. But that doesn’t change the fact that she is literal perfection and I think that’s why Ru gave Yvie the crown instead of her (though I love Yvie so don’t come for me). Brooke’s biggest downfall was the fact that she wasn’t relatable and I am 100% okay with that. Sometimes you just have to worship the unattainable. The only issue I have with Brooke is her and Vanjie not being officially together anymore because yes, I am one of those fans that ship queens together, especially queens that have actually dated. I will never get over #Branjie, just saying.

#2 - Adore Delano: "I'm a fucking Libra!" As soon as these words left her mouth, I knew I was in love with Adore Delano. Season 6 is by far my favorite season (spoiler alert if I decide to make a Top 10 Best Seasons list) and if it weren't for my #1 pick, she would 100% have the top spot. Hell, before I discovered WOW Presents, she WAS my #1 pick (read my next entry to understand what I mean). Adore is simultaneously adorable (pun intended) and fierce AF. She's beautiful, hilarious, and did I mention beautiful?! She is the reason I say "party" at inappropriate times. She is the reason I wish I was a Libra instead of a fucking Scorpio. She is the reason I insist everybody start their first Drag Race binge with season 6 because I know they’ll fall in love with her as much as I have. Adore, if you’re reading this, I fucking adore you.

#1 - Trixie Mattel & Katya Zamolodchikova: Of course these two are tied as my number one spot. Individually, these queens are fucking fierce and extremely talented (go download Trixie's country albums if you don't believe me), but together they are pure gold. If you've only ever watched their run on season 7, you probably don't understand why I love them so much, so do yourself a favor and go watch All Stars 2 & 3, as well as their web shows "UnHhhh", "The Trixie & Katya Show", and “Queens Who Like To Watch”. I can even give you a list of other stand alone videos of them to watch (ex. "Besties for Cash", "Fashion Photo Review", compilation videos of the pair in Palm Springs... I think you get the gist). Truth be told, I'm absolutely obsessed with these two, so much so that I may or may not have indulged in some online fan fiction about them from time to time...don’t judge me, okay?! I love a friends-turned-lovers love story, and I know I’m not the only one wishing #Trixya would happen IRL. I've also shelled out so much money to Trixie alone on her merch and makeup, and I'm waiting very impatiently for them to go on tour together so I can go full Futurama and just scream "take my money" as I buy the most VIP package they have. Trixie and Katya are the ultimate definition of All Stars and I'll fight anyone who says otherwise.

#rupaulsdragrace rupaul dragrace top10list trixya vanjie queeninthenorth dragqueen

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quarantineroulette · 5 years ago

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Minor Disappointments’ 10 Least Disappointing Releases of 2019

I wasn’t going to compile a 2019 year-end list for a number of reasons (lack of time to listen to new music, general malaise, little time to write), but I’ve read so much bad end of year music writing that I feel like I must either stoke the embers or assist in extinguishing it. I don’t think I’m doing either here, but everyone likes list so here’s another.

I haven’t had time to really think about 2019 in songs but my favorite this year was, no kidding, a Tindersticks song featuring Robert Pattinson. Speaking of...

10) FKA twigs - Magdalene

I really wish I hadn’t remembered that Pattinson and twigs dated because it put a slight damper on my enjoyment of this album. Instead of appreciating it in all its genre-destroying glory, as I did on my first listen, subsequent spins led to me becoming sidetracked by tabloid speculation over what RPattz must have done to have wronged this very singular artist. So, whether this is your first listen or 50th, forget all that I just wrote and instead let twigs fill your empty mind with her sometimes delicate, sometimes Kate Bush-evoking, wholly epic songs.

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Favorite moment: It’s pretty commendable and bold to place the lead single as the closing track, especially if its something as monumentally gut-wrenching as “Cellophane.” Also, that video is the visual treasure everyone says it is, no fooling.

9) Weyes Blood - Titanic Rising

If you’ve ever heard Karen Carpenter’s Beatles covers you might have some idea as to what this record is like. But beyond Natalie Mering’s cozy vocals and timeless compositions is an undercurrent of ambient mystery that sets everything ever so slightly askew. At times, Laurel Canyon vibes are completely dispelled for more crepuscular textures, as in the album’s centerpiece, the Julee Cruise-esque “Movies.” Who knows where Mering will go next, but her path, whether from the California sun or glow of the silver screen, is certainly bright.

Favorite moment: “A Lot’s Gonna Change”, “Andromeda”, “Everyday” - as strong of a three song run as on any release this year.

8) Angel Olsen - All Mirrors

The cynic in me wanted to resist this album, but as soon as the cinematic strings kicked in on “Lark” I decided the enormous amount of critical hyperbole that was being thrown at it was mostly warranted. Stately, dramatic, occasionally synthy and largely devastating, All Mirrors taught me that sometimes you may find many of your favorite things in the unlikeliest of places. Please insure your heartstrings.

Favorite moment: “Spring” which, like a lot of great songs, sounds a little like a fairground ride breaking down.

7) Danny Brown - uknowhatimsayin¿

This might be the funnest album I’ve listened to all year. It can be hard to do positive but “Best Life” is as heartening as Nardwuar’s interview with Brown and fewer things are happier than that. With his fifth album, Brown has proven he can ably do every mood with aplomb. And if using cleaning references as euphemisms is your poison, then, hell, he can do that too.

Favorite moment: “Hoes on my dick ‘cos I look like Roy Orbison.” Need I say more?

6) Omni - Networker

One of the strongest post-to-the-nth-degree-punk bands from the latter 2010s, I still have Omni’s 2016 debut, Deluxe, on heavy rotation. Networker, the trio’s third record and first on Sub Pop, has no shortage of twists, turns, technical dexterity, quirk and compositional audacity. Looks like I’ll be overplaying this one too.

Favorite moment: I could listen to “Courtesy Call” over a hundred times and I still wouldn’t be able to guess what direction it’s going to go in.

5) Aldous Harding - Designer

Of all the artists on this list, I find Harding the most inspiring in both her songwriting and her performing style, which is arresting to say the least. The songs on Designer are paradoxically accessible and impenetrable, with seemingly breezy songs like “Weight of the Planets” leaving you with a feeling that’s a cross between a “wow!” and a “huh?”(perhaps a bit like this). Most impressive of all, Harding draws to mind such greats as Nick Drake, Syd Barrett and Nico while always sounding completely like herself. I honestly don’t know what layer of reality Harding is from, but we should all be thankful she’s residing in ours for the time being.

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Favorite moment: “The Barrel” had been in my YouTube queue for ages; after finally watched it I was left confused, mildly disturbed, amused and completely beguiled. This kookily hatted lady is just semi-dancing in a heavily-draped room for nearly five minutes and it’s the most fascinating video in years. If the video wasn’t entertaining enough, it also happens to have one of the funniest and sweetest comment threads on YouTube. Oh yeah, and the song is brilliant.

4) Deerhunter - Why Hasn’t Everything Already Disappeared?

Deerhunter have really only misstepped once for me and that was with 2015′s Fading Frontier. Seeing as this is the band’s first full length since then, I had quite a bit of trepidation going in. Of course, a lot can happen in four years and Why Hasn’t Everything... is a thankfully thrilling addition to the band’s canon. Whether it be Cate Le Bon’s production, Bradford’s growing ease as a performer and eccentric, Lockett’s unexpectedly Low-esque "Tarnung,” or all of the above, this may well be Deerhunter’s most consistent release since Halcyon Digest. I’m even slightly tempted to say it’s better than it, but the sacrilege is too great.

Favorite moment: “What Happens to People” -- totally unique to the Deerhunter canon and already a classic.

3) Lana Del Rey - Norman Fucking Rockwell!!

I never thought I could ever love an album with a Sublime cover on it, but here we are. In all fairness, the inclusion of “Doin’ Time” matters little when the originals on this treatise on Americana is so glorious. Between the torchiness and the LA-specific witchiness of songs like “Bartender”, there’s not much on here that I’m able to resist. There may still be haters but “The Greatest” drowns them out a little more with each play. Favorite Moment: “And we were so obsessed with writing the next best American record” - yeah, thank you for doing that. 2) Karen O & Danger Mouse - Lux Prima Truth be told, the first time I listened to this record I cried when it ended because I didn’t want to leave its world. There may have been more radical records by newer artists in 2019, but hearing Karen O doing what she does best, as well as trying many new things, was such a joy to me. I’m probably among only a handful of people who wanted to hear Karen do a straight up disco song in 2019, but we got it and it’s something to be treasured for years to come. To paraphrase Sparks + Franz Ferdinand, collaborations don’t (often) work, but thanks to O’s flawless vocals and Brian Burton’s sometimes Dave Fridmann-esque production, this one is an exception. Favorite Moment: I’m tempted to say the whole thing, but “Turn the Light” and “Redeemer” are maybe two of the biggest surprises on an album of many.

1) Purple Mountains - Purple Mountains

Purple Mountains is quite possibly a new touchstone in gallows humor. Given David Berman’s suicide less than a month after the record’s release, what should now be a grim and discomfiting listen is so mordant and wry that it somehow overpowers its bleakness. More striking than perhaps even the moments of humor is the album’s tenderness, so beautifully represented in songs like “Snow is Falling in Manhattan” and “I Loved Being My Mother’s Son.” Although it’s undeniably tragic that there will be no more words from Berman, the ones he’s left us with will fascinate and move us for decades to come.

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Favorite Moment: Unsurprisingly, Berman’s lyrical dexterity on this album is beyond measure. From the internal and slant rhymes in a line like “see the plod of the flawed individual looking for a nod from God” to the layers of meaning in “the light of my life is going out tonight”, the wordsmithery here is mesmerizing. If I had the time, I would gladly write an essay on how Berman used color to further emphasize a point. Thanks for the music, David, but thanks especially for the words.

#best of 2019

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roger1na · 6 years ago

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careful ch3 - john deacon x reader

summary: you are a ballet student at the royal ballet academy. To pay for your tuition, you work part-time at the celebrity gossip magazine, Seven. One fateful day you’re sent to interview a band on the rise, Queen, post-concert and befriend the sweetest man on the planet.

word count: 2.3k+

warnings: swearing, cigarettes/smoking

author's note: thank you for being patient! i'm back in my groove after a few desperately stressful weeks and i'm super excited about this chapter and the next few ones!

[ch1] [ch2] [ch3] [ch4] [ch5] [ch6] [ch7] [ch8]

chapter three

Falling in love was so terribly easy, you thought. You wanted to drift into love, be slowly caressed into feeling romantic things. With John, you’d been pushed out of an airplane and the ground was approaching fast but you weren’t scared. You almost wanted to be taken into the embrace of the earth. It’s where humans are meant to be on, isn’t it? Feet planted.

Loud thoughts and bursting emotions stampeded in your brain after dancing. Your face was glistening with sweat and your updo had come loose, stray hairs framing your elegant face. When you danced, all your worries left you. There was just the music and the choreographed steps and the ache in your muscles. Once Tchaikovsky’s last composed note stopped though, real life came tumbling and left you more breathless than dancing ever did.

Particularly the colour of post-it note neon green kept coming up. It was a whole new level of fear that had stricken you when you had noticed it stuck to your desk telephone.

call me sometime!

xxx-xxx-xxx

The note was scrawled in messy handwriting and whoever had written it had had shaky hands for the way the letters peaked oddly. But they had forgotten to sign their name and for a moment you were extremely confused.

”Nat!” You called out to the office secretary, a small but dynamite woman with cat-eye lens and no time for anybody’s bullshit. She looked up and clicked her tongue.

”Yes love?”

”Who’s this from?”

”Oh some bloke.” She went back to her typing, acrylic nails click-clacking on the keys.

”Wow, yeah, can you be more specific?” You rolled your eyes. ”What’d he look like?”

She squinted her huge eyes and looked up to the right corner of her eyes trying to remember. ”Long brown hair. Sort of a big nose, but not in a bad way. Looked like he hadn’t smiled since birth.” Your heartbeat sped up and you held the note close to your chest. ”Why? ’Ave you got a bloke?”

”No! Shut up. Maybe.”

She grinned and set aside her work and leaned on her hands to get a better look at you. She pumped her eyebrows up a few times. ”Tell me more.”

”Sorry, I’ve actually got work to get to thank you,” you turned on your heel, trying not to squeal or scream or show any sort reaction to the little square piece of paper that had saved your morning.

”Ha ha. Run from this discussion for now, Y/N.”

And so you did. You locked yourself in the bathroom before carefully taking out your diary and sticking the note there, then casually as ever you continued your day, not thinking about it. Or pretending not to think about it. It never really left your mind. You imagined what’d it be like to roll those numbers into a phone. To hear his voice slightly muffled, slightly static, on the other end. And then you told yourself not to think about it because there was work and dancing and living to be done.

That’s how you ended up in the dressing room, clutching your diary and thinking of all the sappy things you’d like to say to him and framing the note with little hearts and stars and general squiggles, not really thinking much of it.

“Are you really going to keep writing sloppy romantic shit about him in your diary and never talk to him again?” Rose startled you, peeking over your shoulder.

You slammed the notebook shut, embarrassed that she’d gotten a glance at your innermost thoughts. “Shut up,” you bopped her over the head with the book gently. “It’s not easy. What do I say?”

“Hi, I’m madly in love with you but I’m too proud to admit it?”

”Shut up!” You laughed. ”’M really not.”

”That mushy shit-” she gestured to your diary vaguely throwing her hands around it, ”-that’s madly in love.”

“No, it’s not, it’s barely a crush.” You quipped back and held your diary tightly to your chest.

“A-ha! You admit there’s feelings!” She jumped around victoriously. A scarlet flush was spreading on your cheeks. Rose paused her celebration when she saw your embarrassed face. “What’s wrong? Is this the first time you’ve had feelings since, what, 1969?” She was joking around but your eyes were panicked. Her mouth formed a little ‘o’ when she realised.

“What do I do?” There was a certain urgency to your voice. Rose took pity on you, lacing your hands in hers.

“You goof, it’s going to go just fine.”

“Will it?”

“If you give me a light, I’ll promise you,” she had let go of your hands and was now fumbling in her bag for her trusty pack of Marlboro Reds, same shade as her lipstick. When you had tossed her your lighter and she was inhaling nicotine, you started making your way out of the studio.

“Listen, call him. You’re a total dork, he sounds like a total dork, it’s a match made in heaven.”

“I don’t call people, except for you.”

“That’s because you have no social life,” Rose laughed. She was such a breeze, floating along in life, dabbling in this and that. Part of you wished you were like her, the other part was glad to be a small, pocket-sized persona that could easily fit in anywhere quietly, no fuss, no show. “I get it, huge deal, he’s a fucking rock star, but I mean, how bad can it get?”

“I suppose,” you trailed off. The two of you had reached the stairs that lead to the underground, where Rose took the tube back home.

“Be brave for me, okay?” She kissed your cheek. “Ta!”

“I hate you, for being so right,” you called out after her. She glanced back at you over her shoulder and winked.

“Love you too, sweetheart!” Then the tunnel swallowed her and you were left alone with your mess of thoughts.

You took deep breaths to calm yourself as you caught one of the famous bright red double deckers of London. Right, it’s just a phone call, you told yourself as you got off on your stop.

Memories of him standing at the steps to your apartment complex’s front door made your heart beat faster. What wouldn’t you give to see that again? How he perfectly fit into the scenery, though he was impossibly tall and almost funny-looking with his long hair and crooked smile.

Your door creaked as you pushed it open and took in your apartment. The dumpy old couch your brother had given you. The dusty old curtains your mother had sewn up. The bright red rotary phone on a stand next to the couch that you had saved up for, for months. You liked the way it reminded you to keep striving and soon you’d have an interior design to match it, not just sad hand-me downs.

You took your sweet time getting ready. You brewed a cup of tea in a banged up kettle whilst whistling a tune. You set in a vinyl and danced to the music whilst waiting for your cuppa to be done.

When you had a cup of Earl Grey’s steaming in your hands you took the needle off the vinyl and silence settled into your house. You sat down on the couch, cringing at the noise it made in the desolation of a poor neighbourhood at night, in London.

Slowly, but certainly, you rotated the number into the phone and picked it up and put it to your ear, anxiety twisting your insides.

The line was ringing. You bit your lip nervously and played with the telephone cord.

First ring.

What if Natalie was just messing with you? Were they all in on a collective prank and she’d described your lunch date to get a rise?

Second ring.

What if he intended it for another Y/N? And Nat had handed the post-it note to the wrong person? There was one other one, in another department, another building but still.

Third ring. The line clicked. “Hello?” His East-England accent sounded marvelous through the phone.

“Hi,” you choked out, voice gone out of nervousness. You cleared your throat before repeating. “Sorry, hi.”

“Hey,” he laughed nervously on the other end. “Sorry, who is this?”

“Oh right! It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N! I’m so glad you called!” His voice deepened just slightly as he realised he didn’t have to be on guard.

“And I have half the mind to ask you the same thing. You didn’t sign your note!” You scolded him playfully.

“Shit, I’m sorry! How’d you know then, to call me?”

“Took a chance. And asked our receptionist.”

“Clever girl,” he joked. Your smile was wide and though your heart was palpitating, you were beginning to calm down.

“I was actually really nervous to call you.” You started.

“But I’m the least intimidating person you could talk to.”

“Yeah but, you’re you. What’s a twenty-something rockstar doing talking to me?”

“You make me sound old. I’m twenty-two, twenty-three in a few weeks.”

You almost spat out your tea. You could’ve sworn he was older. In the end he was only two years older than you. “What?”

“Oh, come on, am I some grandpa to you?” He complained sourly.

You started giggling uncontrollably and you heard him sigh on the other end. Sometimes, you can hear it when people smile. You swore you could hear the right corner of his mouth twitch up and his eyes wrinkle as he listened to you laugh.

“Alright, alright, calm down.”

You sighed and suppressed a smile that was trying to spread on your face. If the nosy neighbours were to glance through their window they’d think you were mad. “So, actually, how are you?” You started.

“The same. Cheered up when you called.” There was clanging in the background and somebody laughed and another voice complained.

“Where are you? Do you have roommates?” You felt your cheeks burning.

“God no, I’m at the studio. We’re working on our next album.”

“You gave me the number to your studio and not your house?”

“They’re the same. I bought the telephone, only natural that it’s my number.”

“Right,” you laughed and rolled your eyes.

“John, who’re you talking to?” A high-pitched, scratchy voice interrupted. “Is she pretty?”

You heard the scuffle of somebody covering the receiver with their palm before you heard John’s faint voice. “How d’you know it’s a girl?”

“You’re grinning like an idiot. Is it that dancer? What’s her name?” Somebody tried sounding out different names very similar to yours whilst another person kept disagreeing and suggesting your actual name.

“She’s the one who interviewed us, remember? Y/N Y/L/N.” The more reasonable voice finished.

“John?” You whispered into the receiver.

“Right, sorry about that.” His voice returned sheepishly.

“No worries but, it’s like, what, 9pm?”

“Nine forty-six.”

“Right, it’s late, why are you still working?”

“They’re arguing over something. I want to make sure they agree on something good in the end.”

You shook your head. “You need your rest. Have you eaten today?”

“You don’t need to worry, Y/N.” There was a triumphant ha in the background when he said your name.

“But I want to. You worried for me too.”

“I suppose,” he paused and you could hear him tapping on his bass, which you assumed was sitting in his lap. It made a hollow, plastic sound. “But I’m fine. Thank you. I hope you’re fine too.”

“I am, thanks. We’re rehearsing Swan Lake.”

“I have no idea what that is, if I’m being honest,” he chuckled. “But I want to see you dance. When do I get to see you dance?”

You smiled softly, blood rushing to your cheeks. “Soon, I hope.”

There was a yell in the background as somebody rushed to John who tried to keep the phone out of their reach. “Fred, fuck off, no you’re not-”

There was a small, whispered row, before John was back on the other end. He sounded slightly grumpy and a bit breathless, as if he’d just been in a fight. “Do you want to teach us dancing?”

“What?”

“Freddie is dying to learn about ballet and he’s hellbent on you teaching us.”

You giggled and you heard John scoff slightly on the other end. He was an adorably witty and grumpy man. He had a way of always seeming like the world was out to get him, but that he was absolutely too determined to get his shit done to let it bother him.

“Sorry yeah, it’s a stupid idea,” he mumbled.

“No, no! I’d love to,” you replied fondly. “When’s the best time? I’m free every saturday. Usually.”

“Brilliant, darling,” you heard Freddie’s yell into the receiver and the sound of John smacking the back of his head. “Next saturday alright with you?”

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“Right then Freddie, back to singing,” John shooed him off. More cursing filled the background. ”You're really okay with this? We’re all a bunch of dunces. And we’ve got eight left feet.”

You laughed. ”You’re a dork, John Deacon. Of course I’ll come. And I’ll have fun too.”

”Brilliant.”

“What do your new songs sound like?”

“So far, pretty good. We’re about half-way through, we’ll push the album through for the winter.”

“Will I get a signed copy?”

“We’ll see,” he teased.

“You are a piece of work, John,” you rolled your eyes before listening to him chuckle on the other end. His laugh was slightly bark-y, but not in an uncomfortable way. It sounded full of joy, with a mischievous edge to it.

”I’m going to start heading off to bed,” you whispered, after a moment of silence.

”Alright, sleep well.”

”I hope you come to a good agreement.”

”We won’t, but thank you.”

”Goodnight, John.”

”Goodnight, Y/N.”

You put the phone back before screaming into your pillow. What had you gone and done? You lifted your face to stare at the clock hung on the wall, hearing it’s ticking go too slow as you heartbeat accelerated.

“Rose is going to freak out,” you muttered.

***

taglist: @fourmisfits @deakysgirl @im-happy-at-home @obsessedwithrogertaylor @itsametaphorbriansblog

#john deacon x reader #deacy x reader #deaky x reader #joe!john deacon #joe mazzello #joe!john x reader #bohemian rhapsody #john deacon #deacy #deaky #i rlly hated writing this chapter bc it's like 90% dialogue #which is fine but it's hard to write smoothly yknow #anyway please tell me what you thought!#i had a stressful week and i hope that i can get ch4 out way faster than this #apologies!!!!!!!!!#careful - jd

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0poole · 5 years ago

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God, recent cartoons are/will be dope.

Just binged Twelve Forever in 3 days (because I wanted to prolong the experience, but failed quickly) and like, even though it’s not the best thing ever it’s super fun and cute. The fact that it’s on Netflix, not only meaning I can watch it without a second thought, but also meaning that they can slip in actual talk about puberty and shit instead of clearly alluding to it while simultaneously sweeping it under the rug, and even bringing up straight-up non-straight relationships, makes it more interesting to watch. Especially with that last one, because without the episode blurbs they totally could’ve slipped Reggie’s crush on Conelly under the rug. I mean, Mack and Beefhouse would still be there, but still.

I was super hopeful that that episode was going to be more like a generic cartoon crush episode, except with a girl-to-girl crush, but maybe something like that will end up in an inevitable Season 2. It’s weird, because usually when I hear about “progressiveness” in cartoons it kind of has a weird aftertaste, where I’m overtly okay with it but have some terrible gut feeling about it for some reason, but this time like 90% of me breaking me trying to prolong the experience was fueled by that episode. I was so excited!

And the Butt Witch is the classic part of most cartoons that make some part of it super creepy and dark. It’s funny, the fact that she has a male voice was fitting somehow, even outside of the obvious lore reason. Plus, you can never pass up a lady with multiple arms~ It’s also weird how, despite clearly being super sexualized, they managed to make her butt the sort of funny-haha-cartoon butt instead of the this-is-a-sexy-cartoon butt. There was a scene of her crawling on her knees for a second, and her but was seriously drawn like it was porn. Trust me, I should know. It was strange, considering the TV-Y7-ness of the show.

It’s not nice to play favorites, obviously, but I definitely think my favorite of the native islanders is Galaxander. First of all, his name is perfect. Second, I die for any kind of star-motif. It’s like he was made for/by me. That bit where he was showing a family photo album, except all the photos were of galaxies and planets, was genuinely the best joke in the entire show. I love it/him. Also, Ester’s nonspecific Saturn powers are really cool, as well as her vaguely retro-futuristic look. Oh, and Pretty Please? It’s always the rabbits. ALWAYS.

Really, the one thing that can sell me on any cartoon is just great art/animation/character design. Without that, I probably would’ve passed this show off as one of those “haha lol xd so ramdom111!!!1!!!” shows. Hell, even something so simple as the thumbnail for the pilot short sold me. Reggie and Shane (may he rest in peace) looked practically identical to a duo dynamic of my own creation (gung-ho long haired ginger and darker, medium-lengthed hair male friend) and that really caught my eye. It’s even funnier, because those two characters also ended up being too similar in concept to Inside Out, meaning I had to change them from that, so I guess they’re just a really “normal” character concept.

Apart from Twelve Forever, we got Mao Mao, Heroes of Pure Heart, also readily accessible via the Cartoon Network website. I love their set up for that, where you just need to log in with a network provider as proof you could’ve watched the episodes live if you wanted to. Anyway, Mao Mao has the same deal as I just mentioned: Mao Mao himself looks super dope. Plus, the overall concept of “Edgy warrior protects innocent town from evil monsters” Is what sold me in the first place. Not only do I get a fair dose of action, but I also get a fair dose of cuteness. Also, the concept of Orangusnake (had to rewatch the first episode with subtitles to figure that name out) is just stupid enough that it works. Also also, Mao Mao’s family clearly being set up as either appearing later as actual, professional warriors or as dopey losers that he thought were just cool is making me super invested.

Then, Infinity Train. The show with the balls to kill of some random nobody in the first episode. Also, what’s the trend with every lead character in these cartoons having parental issues? Either way, everything seen is dope (even if pointy-chin pilot Tulip is superior) and it’s hard not to want more.

I also just bought the first season of Amphibia so I’ll check back on that, like, tomorrow maybe. Waiting is for the birds. I will say that the giant evil insect designs are amazing so far, from the first episode.

But, Owl House has the potential to overtake ALL of these. Oh my god, who knew that adding a little lip onto a character would instantly make their cuteness skyrocket? Luz (hopefully pronounced “Looz” because that’s how my mind is saying it) is actually one of the cutest characters I’ve ever seen. Plus, she has a tiny pet Cubone! And also the potential for creepy monster designs, amazing stories... The potential is high here.

That’s not even talking about that “Curse of Molly Mcgee” that we’ve only seen a poster for. It’s like its the era of cute girls. I’m dying here.

I’ve also heard Victor and Valentino is pretty good, with true-to-culture Mexican supernatural stuff. Sounds pretty cool, but due to the lack of cute girls on the poster I’ll wait until I’m bored. I have seen a cute goth girl inside of it, though, so I’ll have to watch to see where she fits in. I’m a sucker for thick eye liner and eyelashes(?) that are only visible on the lower half of the eye.

That’s not even it, either. There’s bound to be something I’m forgetting. OK KO Is also dope but I’ve been watching that for a while, and Hilda’s pretty sweet, but is also old news (until we get another season). Like, so many modern cartoons are so great. Who needs anime?

#cartoons #poole #opinions #owl house #twelve forever #infinity train #amphibia #curse of molly mcgee #victor and valentino #ok ko #hilda #mao mao #cartoon network #positivity #love #animation #character design

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nomoreemails · 5 years ago

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why aren’t we all talking about how bad it feels to be alive

Sometimes, when I’m on drugs, I have a great time and can watch a whole season of Planet Earth and be totally ecstatic about sloths, or lie on the ground in the dark joyfully listening to a really bad album on repeat. But recently, more often than not, I’ll think one single solitary thought about climate change or mass shootings or U.S. imperialism or the opioid crisis or the state-sanctioned obesity in the Pacific Islands and spiral until I’m thinking about all of those things at once and having a complete fucking meltdown. I’ve also developed pretty bad insomnia since moving to New York. You can probably guess why.

I’ve finally come to accept that I mostly hate living here. There are a lot of reasons, chiefly among them that everyone here is obsessed with developing a brand and also that in most cases I would rather individually pull 30 hairs out of my head than try to get from point A to point B. But living here also forces you to face the reality of the United States, which is that economic and social mobility are a lie. Cities like this are sites of two class tiers, one for the “knowledge class,” college-educated people who work in fields like engineering, writing, business, policy, etc — for whom upwards mobility actually is attainable — and then the other sector that performs service work for them.

Obviously there’s some overlap (if I hear one more Brooklynite who works in publishing and went to an Ivy League lament their second restaurant job they need to pay the bills, I’ll scream), but if you’ve ever lived in a major U.S. city you’ve probably observed this too. Every day I watch my Twitter feed (mostly white, liberal, college-educated folks who also work in journalism) wring their hands over Amazon warehouse conditions and taxi driver suicides and wage theft at the hands of the gig economy, and then we all go home and open packages delivered Amazon workers, take Ubers because they’re cheaper, get food delivered by some guy who almost died five times trying to bike to your place and then gets his tips stolen by his employer. I don’t think it makes you a bad person to use these services. But, personally, every time I think about how boundlessly I have exploited labor invisible to me for the sake of minor conveniences, I want to stab myself in the face. Does everyone else feel like that?

All this to say — I feel suffocated, on a daily basis, by all the ways that I’m complicit no matter what I do. I’m overwhelmed by everything all the time. It’s hard to respond to texts or be present in my relationships when so much of what’s on my mind is so abjectly wretched, especially when the source has little to do with me and my choices (which my friends can advise me upon) and everything to do with the external world (which they can’t).

A few days ago I posted something to my Instagram story in the middle of the night, after hours of staring at my ceiling in the dark. Against a black background, it read: “Do u ever get super stoned and end up on the most depressing rabbit hole imaginable on wikipedia and cry and lie in bed awake thinking that all of human modernity was a mistake and that u wish we could all just die off immediately in a mass extinction? 🌟it’s great🌟”. This seemed to hit a nerve among my friends: within minutes, one responded with that laughing-but-also-crying emoji; another said “tbh yeah,” another said, with utmost sincerity, “every time, which is why I can’t get stoned anymore.”

So, everyone else does feel like this? Is any of this normal? How is anyone expected to be functional under the system of exploitation designed hundreds of years ago by a bunch of megalomaniacal men who created the self-destructing dystopia we live in? Every day I trudge to work, sit at my desk, read the news, wonder why I bothered to get out of bed. Am I actually, I don’t know, clinically depressed and anxious, or am I just experiencing run-of-the-mill side effects of living under the circumstances we do?

For many of my peers and me, it feels especially cursed to be in in our early twenties right now. On top of everything else….. our personal lives suck, by definition, and nothing we care about matters. Why try to improve your work situation (in which you’re likely getting underpaid in a position you’re overqualified for, or being treated like a weasel, or maybe both), pay off your student debt, learn anything about personal finances, figure out what you want to do with your life, have any long-term dreams at all when there’s a very real possibility you’ll die suddenly in a shooting or slowly, excruciatingly, with climate change?

I used to despair over other things, like: whether to choose an easy, comfortable lifestyle by becoming an engineer, or going another route. If working any job at all would inevitably compromise my principles, one way or another. Whether I felt authenticity and fulfillment in my relationships. The yearning for community and belonging. The moral backing of my day-to-day actions, or lack thereof. (And also, obviously: whether to buy those shoes, what to do with my eyebrows, if I was gaining weight, if I was losing weight.)

I still think about most of those things, but now it feels luxurious to agonize over interior minutiae, to ignore the larger existential scarcity of participating in a society and a world in decline.

I find it frankly insane that in the span of one hour I can think such thoughts as “if Tobin Heath and Christen Press aren’t secretly married I’ll kill myself” and “I wonder how much money is in my 401(k)” and also, as I survey the absurd amount of trash my household has generated in two days, “what’s the point of existing if all I do is put permanent garbage on this planet?” I mean, I’m not even going to see whatever’s in my 401(k) until the year 2060 — what am I expecting, to have a totally normal and chill retirement because the world in 2060 will be totally normal and chill? I’m not even really expecting to be alive in 2060. What’s the point of plotting out my trajectory, financial and otherwise, for even the next ten years, much less 40, when pretty soon we’re all probably going to be living in bunkers eating cockroach jelly as we watch artificial projections of polar bears and sequoias?

Being alive right now kind of feels like experiencing the churning annihilation of stability, of beauty, of moral purpose, of all the things I’ve believed since childhood I would live my life pursuing.

On an ethical basis, I want to resist cynicism, keep myself from acclimating to the barrage of atrocities brought upon by the Trump era, stay despairing, stay angry. On a practical basis, I also want to remain functional. It’s an impossible psychological position to straddle, like giving myself a black eye every night to remind myself to feel pain while doing a job that fully depends on my having an unbruised face. When, for example, another mass shooting happens, I almost feel myself having an out-of-body experience, knowing that it never stops being sickening and astonishing but also that it has become common, unremarkable, and that to be able to get out of bed and go to work and blandly say good when someone blandly asks how are you and see my friends and talk about anything other than how awful everything is, I have to be able to raise my own misery bar. But that, of course, only adds to the cycle. It’s almost worse to know you’re capable of adjusting.

Recently I logged back into Tumblr for the first time in years, just to see how things are over here. One post read, no context necessary, “looking for a group of 5 to 7 women who will sit on the floor and wail with me in grief.” Another: “why are we still here? just to suffer? every day i get emails.”

Why are we still here? Just to suffer, beg hot celebrities to dismember us, try our best to ignore the cognitive dissonance of our constant warring desires to live ethically and also to enjoy our lives, both impossible? Every day I get emails; every day I want to reply, just once, I am not going to uphold my responsibilities because we live in a ravaged world. I feel sick with anxiety pretty much all the time. Do you, too?

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