Year-End Poll #17: 1966

[Image description: a collage of photos of the 10 musicians and musical groups featured in this poll. In order from left to right, top to bottom: SSgt Barry Sadler, The Association, The Righteous Brothers, Four Tops, ? and the Mysterians, The Monkees, The Mamas and the Papas (x2), The Supremes, Johnny Rivers. End description]

More information about this blog here

*Opening chords of Fortunate Son playing softly in the background*

A few polls ago, I mentioned that the song list I was using was not the one originally published in Billboard Magazine during that year. This is another one of those cases. If you read through the magazine, you'll find California Dreamin' listed as the number 1 song of the year. However, the data has since been updated and Billboard's website (and other up-to-date publications) list The Ballad of the Green Berets as the number 1 song in 1966. Every place I looked has given me frustratingly vague reasons for this difference. Since my threshold for research ends at the point where I have to start contacting people, I decided to leave this up to my (un)educated guess and assume the magazine was published before all the data for the year could be collected. Maybe, as America's involvement in the Vietnam War skyrocketed this year, more people were flocking to TBoTGB.

However I feel about the song (I try to keep these blurbs free of my actual opinions when it comes to the songs listed), it gives me an opportunity to talk about Vietnam War era music. When I imagine this era in music, I mostly think of protest songs or basically just the Full Metal Jacket soundtrack. Often, this is in contrast to the music about "the war" my generation got. To people like me who grew up watching The [Dixie] Chicks backlash and the fire-hose blast of patriotic pro-war songs, the Vietnam War era of popular music truly feels like another era in more ways than the obvious. So why is the number 1 song in the country one of the few "pro-Vietnam War" songs from the time?

I was able to talk to my folks about this era, and keep in mind that they're pretty left-leaning so that's the angle I'm coming at this from. They talked about listening to Walter Cronkite read the death counts on CBS. My dad said that after the draft was kicked into high gear, it felt like the government was just "throwing bodies" at the war effort. Middle America no longer had the luxury of distancing themselves from the war. With the draft and the footage being broadcasted into people's living rooms, there wasn't even the pastiche of "glory". But my dad also said that when he was in school, his teacher would have the kids sing Ballad of the Green Berets in class.

It sounds like I'm spending too long talking about the context behind one song, but that's because I can't think about anything else other than the war. Because the people back then couldn't think about anything else. Even if songs weren't explicitly about "the war", it didn't take much for them to be recontextualized. Another song on this poll, The Monkees' Last Train to Clarksville, didn't sound like it was about the war to me. But if you're in 1966 and you're worried about you or your friends and loved ones getting drafted, and you hear a song with the lyrics "We'll have one more night together" and "I don't know if I'm ever coming home", it's going to strike a different note. And thus, Last Train to Clarksville is still listed in Vietnam War Music compilations to this day.

I try not to be too long-winded when writing these. And even when I do go off for too long, I'm still aware that I'm giving barely a surface level summary of what I'm talking about. All of the songs I list in these polls could be the subject of their own documentaries in my opinion, and the music of the Vietnam War could be its own documentary series. But the war is something that will continue to loom over pop culture, and I'd thought I'd mention it during the poll that has an actual decorated soldier on the banner. Unlike the people at the time, we'll be able to put the war out of our minds until it comes up explicitly again.

Alistair Ross - The Search for the Rowntree ad campaign (2000)

I hit an Age Number recently and so have been surfing on waves of nostalgia. Here is one of them: the advert that haunted me through much of my childhood, and I'm only mostly exaggerating.

The Search for the Rowntree is, in my opinion as a person with a keyboard and no knowledge whatsoever about the ad industry, one of the greatest advertising campaigns of all time. It had plot, action, a plucky child hero, unsettling adult mentors. There were awkward television ads starring Aaron Taylor-Johnson, better known these days as Kick-Ass and Pietro Maximoff. He's... probably a better actor now. It even has a fansite (google "Search for the Rowntree" to read more and watch the TV ads). Above all, though, it produced seven collages by Alistair Ross before Nestlé pulled the plug. I only ever saw the one (#2), but that single magazine ad was tailored so precisely to my weird little eight-year-old tastes that I can still quote from that page verbatim.

Here's the thing, though: I never, at any point, realised this was an ad. Living in the UK only one month out of every year, I never learned what Rowntrees were; I rarely watched television; and the link meant nothing to as I didn't use the internet. Maybe it was a bit of a book, I thought, and kept up my hopes that I might find it in the library, thus dooming myself to a decade of disappointment.

Now skip forward ten years, where eighteen-year-old me was living alone in Scotland, doing my own shopping like a grown up, and then imagine the Emotion when I found the supermarket checkout generously stocked with what were - as far as I was concerned - entirely fictitious fantasy fruit gums from a weird story I read when I was eight and then never saw again.

Friends, if I wish anything for you, it is that one day that one weird story from when you were eight might come to life before your eyes, so that you, too, may experience an Emotion.

(And did I like them? Eh. The nostalgia is tastier, but I still get myself a packet every now and then in remembrance.)

Okay. I’m ready to real talk Black Widow. I don’t want to but as an activist there’s an obligation I have to share and educate. I nerd to forget but I suppose it shows the power of this movie if it brings something real into the light.

*Spoiler Warning. Trigger warning for everything.*

There are some things I want to say that could potentially spoil aspect of the Black Widow film. I also would advise you to skip this post if you have a darker past, if you aren’t interested in getting serious, or wish to skim by, I’m sincerely not judging! I come on here to avoid the universe as well. You do you, I totally still love you if you don’t read this and want to move onto something nerdy or more fun. This isn’t the post for you.

It’s taken me a while to process and organize my thoughts. Skip if you don’t want to hear deep, raw stories.

3

2

Okay. Nerd review first.

The level of girl power and any and all glass ceilings… There is SO much left to do. So much that needs to still be addressed. But seeing 3 women run this show: Yelena, Natasha, and Melina was an absolute joy to observe. This isn’t the end of some hard waged war, it’s the beginning and I beg you; Disney/Marvel. Please give us more of this? It’s so important for young girls to see other girls kicking butt and winning. Quick summary of nerd feelings; Losing Nat still burns. Yelena is a boss.

Okay…Real talk.

I have to get a little deeper here now. My personal story absolutely played into how I felt about this film and I wish I saw some trigger warnings about the material covered. Do I know Black Window’s story? Yes. In and out. I can read it, I can write my FF on it. However. Little to no one knows my story and so absolutely no one is to blame for not warning me. I was not expecting to come out this shook.

I’m sharing this because it’s happening now, today. In the real world. I doubt the film makers had this mind over other social issues, but after feeling like it’s irrelevant, that my pain is somehow less than, I’m realizing through my activism it’s not.

I grew up in a cult where women are not relevant. You matter up to a point. You are useful, to a point. If you’re giving 24/7, you’re not giving enough. If you’re not smiling as you’re doing cult stuff, you’re complacent. In addition to why I’m about to share, my house growing up was not a safe space which is a story for another time. So it’s a stack…this janga-ish game that eventually just comes crashing down.

My trigger started moments after the film started the handing over of the kids. When Alexei chooses the job over the welfare of the girls. Alexei put his two “daughters” in danger to save ‘face’. To put the job ahead of two children…it hit home. In the group I’m from, fathers, mothers, grandparents, siblings will absolutely choose the group over blood. You are nothing and you mean nothing if you ‘defect’. If you break a rule. If you complain. If you say ‘no’. If you put in a bad review for a leader, if you have anything bad at all to say about the organization as a whole. You can confide something deep in someone you trust and it absolutely will come back to hurt you.

The title song shook me completely. This collage of video and images of brainwashing, treating these girls like absolute objects is disgusting in itself. But when you’re raised in this other world, there’s a level of brainwashing that is absolutely unmatched. Videos, books, quizzes, 12 hour lectures, weekly meetings.

People are unified to the point where you lose your own identity. There’s a language- a literally language- words you start to misuse. Verbiage only people in the cult use. Kids of any age will watch any rated film. Frequently the themes are about obedience and or cooperation and the consequences if you do not cooperate/obey. Death is a such a common theme that either you become petrified of your own shadow, petrified of breathing wrong, or turn completely numb. In sharing these videos, the goal is to instill this fear that you will never be enough. That you will die- turn into a charred hot dog of a figure if you do not obey 8 white men - the leaders, in New York. That your friends, classmates, neighbors, family will die if they don’t believe what you do. That you’re held accountable if you can’t bring them to your side.

The song for the credits hit me. I cannot listen to it. I have no idea what it was about.

When I watched the film, I couldn’t focus at this point at gosh barely 15 minutes in. I had already checked out. I heard keywords. “Entertainers,” “I feel stupid and contagious…”

In my world, I did not matter. What mattered was, what was presented to the public. To your group. Meeting some checklist of this perfect family at any cost. You’re not an individual, you’re a number. Literally. Your records are documented by men in the back room- your actions, your track record. But ultimately? You’re part of a numeral equation reported to headquarters. And if you’re a woman, you do not have a say in how you look, dress, act or in what you say. You are as the title song says, …“Entertainers”. You smile. You do your job, and you are ‘happy’ about it. Your job is to dedicate x amount of hours cleaning the room you gather in, and in recruitment of other members…

There’s a ‘job’ in the cult called a “pioneer”. Okay. No, we might not have been trained assassins. But you are trained to manipulate emotionally. To prey on the weak. You get books, magazines, movies, speeches, lectures- you rarely get a free Saturday. Oh and the job isn’t paid. So make sure you’re working (part time because full time secular work isn’t acceptable) at a desk job (because college and getting an education is not allowed). Don’t make friends with the people who work with you, they’re out to get you. Back at the club; You answer questions like it’s some schoolastic quiz every week and quote what your reading. It’s a brainwashing tactic. If you say something enough times, you remember it. You start to believe it. You spend hours reading these things, training… Your job is to target people who have lost- and have lost a lot because they’re vulnerable. You learn to go to cemeteries, and literally stalk people who are grieving. Like Val. If you can catch someone when they’re weak, senses are dulled. They’re desperate. And you bait them with this false promise. This idea that all THEY have to do is change all that they are, join you, and they’ll see their dead loved ones again. That they are doomed if they don’t change. Most pioneers draft 2-4 people per lifetime. If you’re a great saleswoman, you can draft more into this horrific world. And I regret the hours I spent lying, torturing people. For some cult that doesn’t give two cents about me.

I 100% believed of I didn’t convince my classmates, neighbors, to join my side they would either turn me in or they would be killed by a divine being. From 2 years old I was supposedly handing out pamphlets. The doom is not a quick painless death, no. You have visuals. You have men getting up to talk in detail about what your ‘friends’ will look like as corpses. Visually descriptive to the point where I still feel a bit numb to it all. That you will have to bury their bodies after the whole divine destruction. That you will have to “clean up” the earth. You are numb- convinced- bullied to the point where you believe this is true.

If you’re hurt as MANY WOMEN AND CHILDREN ARE, and you don’t have two people to testify and say they saw it- it never happened. Abuse is the norm. And if you speak up about it? You’re called a liar. Your friends cut you off. They think you’ll die along with everyone else if you put in a ‘bad review’ or leave. You’re bullied into submission and taught from a young age that you are not in control of your own decisions. You relinquish yourself under the pretense that the men you have such reverence toward are under some divine being’s control.

Your parents hurting you is acceptable. And don’t you dare speak against your father if he’s deeply involved. Don’t even think about approaching if he’s on a phone call. If you’re hit you take it- because you “deserved” it. And you smile. You shove that pain deep down. You hide the bruise, the cut lip, the depression, the bottles of pills you’re swallowing the whatever….You’re screwed if you faint, throw up, pass out, because you’ve missed a meeting. You better be dying for that to happen…

The idea that is portrayed in the movie (IMO) is that you can forgive family who hurts you. I see people forgiving Alexei and what’s her name. Look- that’s great. It’s a fun film. Alexei is funny. Here’s what I saw; it’s a toxic man- nay- father who can’t accept responsibility. He takes pride in what the girls have become- monsters. Not in who they are at their core. He has no idea who they are. And the mom has this photo album…I’m tearing up. She remembers this a certain way, a wishful thought. I’ve confronted my own mother about our past and had an album thrown at me, “We were happy. You were happy.” The fact is I was told the smile. You’re forcing this perception that everything was normal. That it’s okay to go back. (I’m not taking away Yelena’s view that everything was real to her, that’s fine for the sake of the story, and sweet. The moment between her and Alexei..fine. Milena turns and takes their side at the end, great.) The problem with how I saw this, is that’s not how the real world works. I don’t owe my parents forgiveness when I didn’t mean shit to them. When people leave the cult they’re cut off. Treated like they’re dead. I didn’t find these moments cute, I found them horrific. Hugging me, saying he’s proud of me is the toxic sh** my father would pull. Ignoring the holes in the wall, in my skull, the phony impression he gives to the rest of the group. Hugging me…after sweeping everything he did not only to me, but countless others under the rug because the cult…because 8 men in NY will protect him. Legally. Or otherwise.

I don’t need to forgive my parents. If you’ve been mistreated, you don’t owe anyone anything. They can “try” to do the right thing, that doesn’t somehow block out years of mistreatment. Years of trauma. Sheetrock only patches the surface of the broken walls. Wounds heal but some scars stay with you forever. Metaphorically or otherwise.

‘Entertainers’ was a trigger word because if you’re high enough in the ranking system you’re asked to “testify” or share a story. It’s in front of a couple thousand. It’s an “honor”. What it really is, is a three ring circus. You will only see women on the sidelines reading from the cards while only men stand at the main podium. They’re reading what they have told them to say. Stories are manipulated, cut, changed to fit a narrative that better suits the group of a couple thousand members.

Dreykov. I hate this. But I have to go there. I’m neck deep already, might as well. I think the worst part of all of it is that you can’t touch the person who made you this way. Those 6-7-8 leaders are untouchable. It doesn’t matter what you try. What legal entities, ex groups have tried. There’s a term for us and we are considered ‘mentally diseased.’ Members are told to avoid us. And in case you were curious, no, they can’t just break their nose on a table to be free- if only it were that simple. Gosh that got me. I would cut a limb, split my skull open, if it meant I could just cut a chord. It takes years of therapy and I still have nightmares. Urges to just, go. I’m OKAY. But most escapees are not. If you manage to escape with your life and don’t end it because the pressure, guilt, abuse that comes with leaving is too much. (This is sadly the fate of MANY LBGTQ+ members.)

The only hope is either the group eventually runs out of money or they’re taken down legally. Both of which are impossible since many older members will leave all they have to the group rather than to their family. It’s a complex billion dollar publishing company that plays monopoly with people’s investments, homes, and lives.

If you speak up, you’re the liar. So you cannot free your friends, who have turned on you, already cut you off, and discarded you the day you walked out and didn’t come back.

Watching Natasha, and Yelena free their sisters made me think of every woman who is stuck in this cult. For every woman, child, currently being sexually/physically abused and can’t say sh** because they literally believe god will kill them. If I say anything to them, they block me. If I expose what’s happening they will lie in court. That’s what is happening. And it’s not in the news, it’s not talked about. Because you can’t. You’re forced into silence. There’s a block. A literal legal force field that you cannot penetrate. They have their own lawyers. You can’t break into it. You’ll lose every, single, legal battle you try to fight.

Was this a decent movie? Yes. Was I expecting to share this days after release, no. I’ve been forced into silence for so long, told that people have it far worse and that I shouldn’t talk about it. But just today I saw a grown ass couple in an escapee group, talking about how one trigger word sent them into a depressive spiral. Wondering if some god damn lightening will come out of the sky and knock them dead. And we frickin struggle in silence. People will just shrug and go “oh it can’t be that bad,” while my gay best friend can’t catch an effing break. While someone else suffers at home because god wants it that way. Someone else will bury their kid today, maybe not even hold a funeral for them if they were ‘mentally diseased.’

For people like that couple I met today, like me, if you don’t just see a fun film but a darker past or maybe it’s brought up some memories for you, I’d honestly love to chat!!! Message me! I feel like for as painful as this is to hash out not too many people know about what goes on behind a group of smiling, well dressed woman who come knocking on your door. “It’s just a religion.”

I guess I didn’t realize…the criminal aspect of what happened to me. You’re so ingrained to keep quiet. To smile. To ignore, to suppress. I can smile, joke laugh, but visualizing…inadvertently seeing this mirror was so unbelievably uncomfortable. I would always rather help someone else because it takes me out of my head. Live in a bubble where I can call my trauma a ‘fantasy’. What’s real is when someone like me has a bad day? Lol! Look, my husband literally checks his phone to make sure a conversation never touches a couple hundred trigger words that will absolutely send me into the closet with a gallon of ice cream or a bottle of whiskey. I can’t imagine what someone else, what some other traumatized individual goes through. (Maybe that’s why the Bucky stuff makes me all angry She-Hulk too..)

Look, talking people ex members of this group, out of suicide is a daily endeavor to the point where it’s borderline on autopilot. But having this, I suppose, brilliant, piece of cinema turn the camera around left me raw and writhing and angry. Not for me, but for everyone else still stuck. With every year you spend in that cult, add ten more to therapy.

If you feel like me at all, you’re not alone. Not anymore. We were raised to feel alone in the world. That the universe is somehow out to get us and that’s simply not true. You don’t need the people who raised you if they were absolute shit bags. And you DO NOT have to forgive them for keeping you in that environment. Family isn’t family if they’ve hurt you. You owe them nothing. It is healthy to feel your feelings (and you and your feelings are valid. )

Anyways! I hope to be able to talk about more fun Marvel topics soon. But this felt important so thanks for listening. I’m really not hating guys, this is just…it’s heavy. And I beg you to do your research into cults and to help out where you can.

Love and light,

-M

Lookalike (2/2)

Part 1/2

A/N: there were a couple requests for Part II to this one, I hope it makes up for the angst of Pt I!

———————————————————————

Jules and I pretend to look at the menu at brunch, already knowing full well we were getting a large stack of pancakes and endless iced coffee. It was our usual Sunday plans for the Saturday nights we spent together.

I had crashed at Jules after the party, too down to imagine going home to an empty flat. And Jules had been more than happy, talking my ear off about the half hour she had spent with Ed, analyzing every detail and falling more in love with him, only hitting pause when I reminded her he was married.

“The usual?” Jules looks up from her menu, her nose scruchled in humour which makes me laugh in agreement. As soon as we place the order, Jules launches into what she’d been sitting on all morning: “So what was up with Harry’s new girl being your exact lookalike?”

Even though this was the last thing I wanted to discuss, I knew it would also keep me sane. “Do they not realise how she looked just like me?”

“I know I kept asking myself that every time I saw her. He’s so not over you. Did you get that vibe?”

“I don’t know Jules! He ended it! That’s so not fair. It feels like I won but I also just feel like the biggest loser ever.”

We’re interrupted by our server and soon we’ve tucked into pancakes, discussing all the details of last night and every last word of mine and Harry’s conversation.

“It’s so weird how you two ended things. I never said anything before but that doesn’t seem like something he would say? He always seemed like one of the good ones.”

“That I’m holding him back?” The words are just as painful now as they were then.

“Yeah! He was so in love with you. I just can’t believe he thought that.”

I shrug, it was those words that made it so hard for me to move on. I felt like I couldn’t trust what anyone said to me-I thought I knew Harry and our falling out just showed I hadn’t. Who knew what would happen if I trusted anyone else.

***

A couple weeks had gone by since seeing Harry, I’d mostly been able to move it to the part of my mind that only activated when I couldn’t sleep at night. If I pretended I was okay, I would eventually be okay. Right?

I decide to walk home from an interview that day instead of taking the heated tube. This was the third interview I’d been to this week and my morale was low. Days like these, I wondered why I even went to uni when I could have stayed in my family’s food business. Who wanted to be depressed and barely making rent when I could have been well-fed and still home. I sigh.

I step into the supermarket as I near closer to home to pick up a few essentials. In line, I notice the trashy magazines with the collage of pictures. But one of them...is me. I do a double take before I snatch it up.

This was definitely me, in the club with Harry. My face is only half in the light, Harry’s profile is clear. It’s when he took me off to the side to talk. How did papparazzi get into the club?

I quickly pay for my groceries and the magazine and rush home, barely putting my bags on the countertop before I rip the glossy pages open.

Is Harry secretly dating twins or does he just have a thing for lookalikes?

A side by side of the picture on the front with me and a photo of Harry walking through a park with Katy. Katy is turned to the side, saying something to Harry. You can see plain as day the similarity. The world knew! I was in a bloody gossip magazine and the world saw what I saw! Harry was dating somebody who looked exactly like me!

I try Jules but she goes to voice mail. I didn’t even know what to do with this information. I always thought my first time in a magazine would be for something far more important.

I sit, try to take some deep breaths. I needed to talk to somebody about this. I look at the spread again and realise there was nothing there about my identity. Nobody knew who I was. At least there was that.

My spiralling is interrupted by an unknown caller. Thinking it was Jules from work, I pick up without checking.

“Y/N,” Harry’s distinct voice carries through the phone to me and it has the same effect as always. I instantly unclench my shoulders but stay on guard. Why was he calling me?

“Harry,” I clear my throat. “What...why are you calling?”

“Um, I don’t know if you’ve been on Twitter and seen the shots...my publicist asked me to reach out to you because...” I almost laugh. Of course it was just business. Why did I think Harry was calling for me. About us. “...and if you can just lay low for a bit. He was saying...”

I zone out again to Harry’s quiet tone. He was probably with his publicist now. I wondered how much heat he was in. I glance at the picture again, trying to see what the outside world saw. It was intimate, I had to admit. Harry’s hand balanced on the wall I was leaning on. His eyes are trained on me and so is what you can see of mine. You can tell we knew each other, Jules would even call that gazing. I wonder what Katy thought. Why did I even care!

“If all you’re calling is to tell me to wait for the photos to calm down, you don’t have to worry.” I cut Harry off. “I’m not famous or anything, that’s your job remember?”

There’s silence on his end, I hear a whisper somewhere-was I on speakerphone?

“Ah great. Thank you Y/N, I owe you.”

“Don’t bother,” I hang up, ignoring the sting.

***

There were some days that just felt harder than others, and I wasn’t sure where it came from, but I could barely get out of bed the next few days. My job search felt useless, I felt so lonely and used, I didn’t know why I couldn’t move on from my past. Why I was sabotaging my future like this.

It was 2pm and I had gotten up for a late breakfast before hiding under the covers again. London was rainy and I couldn’t be bothered.

Jules calls me after work, by then the sun was a lot lower in the sky and my stomach was starting to grumble in hunger. “I’m buying you a get well dinner, I’m swinging by in twenty and you better be ready.” Jules was no nonsense.

“But I really-“

“No butts except yours in a cute outfit. I’ll call you when I’m there.”

***

“Jules this is fancy,” I gasp when we pull up to a dimly lit restaurant I knew was owned by a celebrity chef.

“Don’t worry, it’s on me. I can smell the fact you didn’t take a shower recently, so I know you’ve been in bed all day. You need this.”

Tears spring to my eyes and I pull Jules into a tight hug. “I’d be in a ditch somewhere without you.”

Everything is going perfectly, I even begin to feel myself relaxing and forgetting about my worries temporarily. But it’s like the universe really couldn’t give me a break.

“Don’t look right now,” Jules says as she casts her eyes to our dessert. “But the devil himself just walked in with your doppleganger.”

“What?” I whisper. “Are you kidding? Here?”

“Shh,” Jules switches to a laugh and launches into a story as if she were midway through it. “So I’ll be doing casts of people’s heads next week and-Harry hi!”

I slowly turn, the blood rushing to my head, pounding against my ears. He’s in a stylish black button up and perfectly tailored trousers, his hand holds Katy’s who is wearing a fitted checkered dress. Her eyes meet mine and I attempt to smile but she looks away-so much for being friendly.

“Jules, Y/N, what a surprise. To bump into you two here.” Harry sounds closed off.

“We’re celebrating, so I picked the fanciest place I know. You can join in the celebration if you want?” Jules says cheerily.

I kick Jules under the table but she barely glances at me, still smiling up at Harry. I finally look at Harry and he’s watching me. Our eyes meet for one, two, three seconds, and he breaks contact.

“Best not to, what with all the stories right now...it was nice uhm seeing you ladies.” Harry looks nervous, his other hand running through his hair before he trails after the waiter who’s showing them to their table.

“What was that?” I hiss at Jules. I don’t bother even responding to Harry. He wanted to make it business so I would keep my personal feelings out.

“It’s so obvious Harry and his girl are one date away from breaking up.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Did you not see the same couple I saw?” Jules exclaims. “Mega. Tension.”

I eye them again from where I sit, no one’s smiling or talking. They stare at their menus. Then suddenly, Harry looks to the side and our eyes meet. Shit.

“Can we change the topic?” I ask, my body is breaking out in a sweat and I couldn’t piece together what I felt. Why I still felt a connection with Harry when he thought he was too good for me or why every inch of my body was aware of Harry in the room.

Jules changes the topic as requested and the rest of the evening is spent on edge. I turn down Jules’ offer to get drinks. I just wanted to be alone; today had been a roller coaster. And I was tired, I don’t even change when I get home. I simply collapse onto the couch and turn on the TV.

But at midnight on the dot, I receive a text.

I know I don’t deserve to ask, but can I see you? -H

I cross check the number to the one that called me before and it’s the same. This was Harry, wanting to see me. But after how he’d treated me-not even how he left me, but the way he played with me at the club and then left it strictly business on the phone, I didn’t want to deal with him.

You’re right, you don’t deserve to ask, I respond. I had to have some self respect if I wanted to move on from this part of my life.

I just need to explain, please? I’ll leave you alone after this if that’s what you want.

It was like holding my breath underwater knowing I’d come up for air eventually. It was just a matter of when I’d crumble. After re-reading his text, I come up for air. I let him know the door was unlocked, he knew this flat inside out. He knew where to come if he wanted to talk. And I swore I’d just let him talk and then take him up on his offer to leave me alone.

It was as if he were in the lobby because I hear the door open a few minutes later.

“Were you downstairs the whole time?” I ask as he walks in, his magnetism undeniable.

“Uh,” he pauses by the doorway. “I guess I should have given it a few before I charged up?”

I shake my head, fighting back a smile. Harry was never a good liar, but a very good charmer.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask out of habit.

“Ah no...no. Y/N...I just want to explain some things.”

I sit back down and Harry walks over tentatively, perching on the sofa himself, his long legs stretching out. It was weird seeing him back here.

“What did you want to say?” I ask.

“Firstly, that I’m an idiot and I’m sorry.” He looks down at his hands, barely making eye contact. “I regret so many things but the way I treated you is number one. Everything’s just a bloody mess and I keep getting deeper into this pile of shite I created.”

I raise my eyebrow, where was he going with this.

“Right so I...I had to call you that day, about those photos. I really didn’t care if people saw you with me or not but I realised if they found out who you were, you may not get any peace so that’s the only reason I agreed to call you when my manager said I should-“

“Yeah since I’m not cut out for fame, right?”

“No, no tha...” Harry sighs, I was being petty and I knew it. I ease up and let him continue. “That’s not it. I didn’t want you to be harassed every time you stepped out. But what I was trying to say is...Y/N I’m sorry for the way I ended things. It was a shitshow-“

“That’s right,” I interrupt, I couldn’t help it. “It cheapened the whole relationship. Harry I don’t even know who you are or what you want with me anymore. You claimed you were too good for me, I was holding you back-“

“I didn’t mean any of it! I heard you that day.” Harry stops my rambling. “I heard you on the phone with your mum, saying you were thinking of deferring your last semester to join me on tour. It killed me! I knew you were going to do it. But I would hear you talking about your studies and...you love what you do-but you were willing to put it aside to be with me? I couldn’t let you do that. I’m not worth that Y/N. And I tried to word it but you know how shite I am at words. It was a slippery slope and before I knew it you were angry at me at something I didn’t even mean. But it was better that, than you going on tour and realising you didn’t want to be with me and realising you’d wasted your year for nothing.”

The silence that follows his confession is loaded. I can barely swallow. But I can see his relief at unloading, the burden lifts from his shoulders, he finally looks at me with hesitance. But the burden settles on my own shoulders. All this time, all the weeks turned to months I had felt my lowest and this breakup had just added to it...it was all just a misunderstanding, a way for Harry to push me away because he thought he was protecting me. Where did that leave me? Leave us?

“Why are you telling me this now?” I choke out, tears threatening to fall.

“Because I realised...I realised I still love you. I bloody love you and I don’t think I’ll ever stop. Katy is a wonderful woman but she was a stand-in...I was only looking for you. I...” Harry gets up and walks over to the window to catch his breath. “I’m ashamed it took me this long to realise I was dating your lookalike. She looked just like you Y/N, how did I not see that? I was just trying to hold onto you.”

He turns to me and his eyes have a wild look, I can’t imagine all the trouble he’d gotten in since those photos. With his team and his girlfriend. And here he didn’t even know his girlfriend was just a lookalike. He literally went out and dated my lookalike and he hadn’t even realised! The thought bursts my tension like a bubble, a giggle escapes me and Harry furrows his brows.

“Are you laughing?” He asks. Which sends me into a full blown laugh. The reality of what happened between us settles over me, I feel a sense of clarity. All this anger and hurt I’d held onto for so long was just Harry’s fucked up insecurity pushing me away. He never meant a thing. And I feel lighter than I had in forever: He didn’t hate me, I was enough for him.

“I-you didn’t even...” my words trail off as I’m overtaken by more laughter. “When did you realise she looked-“ I manage to get out.

Harry begins chuckling at this point as he sits back down, closer to me than before.

“Well as soon as I saw the two of you side by side that night. I knew I fucked up.”

I fall back and laugh harder, but as I catch my breath again, a sob bubbles up in it’s place and pretty soon my laughing fit has turned into crying.

Harry looks on, confused by my manic descension. “Y/N...” he sounds unsure.

“Jesus, Styles, You put me through hell.” I say as I gain control of myself again, taking a few breaths to calm down. “I was at my lowest because of you. I was barely living here.”

Harry moves back, “I’m sorry Y/N. You don’t know how sorry I am. I hated myself for doing that to you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to.”

“How?” I demand. “We’re on two different paths remember? And you’re dating Katy.”

“We broke up after those pictures,” Harry moves closer to me again. “We just had to keep up pretense for the paps. And who bloody cares if we’re on two different paths. We’ll build a bridge or something. We’ll make it work.”

Harry’s voices grows deeper as he moves in closer, lowered so I couldn’t hear it if I were across the room. I don’t stop the smile overtaking my face, I’d felt ungrounded for so long. Harry being here, promising me a future where we can make it work, it felt like my old roots were finding me again. I feel myself shedding the darkness I’d been clouded under for so long.

“You’re radiant,” Harry gazes at me, his hand coming up to the side of my face and I feel the heat rush to my face.

“You’re charming,” I try not to give in too easily but he made it difficult with the way he grins, his eyes drifting to my lips.

“As for how I can make it up to you,” Harry whispers to them before he looks back up at me. “I can think of a few ways.”

He slowly leans the rest of the way in and every one of my senses are overwhelmed as he kisses me the way he always did. The way he was always meant to. The way we always would.

I wasn’t too fussy. With each kiss Harry leaves across my face, my neck, my body, I forgive him a little more until there’s just me and him and nothing else between us.

Chapter 2

Just before I exited the elevator into the vestibule of Waters Field & Leaman, the advertising firm I worked for on the twentieth floor, Lauren whispered in my ear, “Think about me all day.”

I squeezed her hand surreptitiously in the crowded car. “Always do.”

She continued the ride up to the top floor, which housed the headquarters of Jauregui Industries. The Crossfire was her, one of many properties she owned throughout the city, including the apartment complex I lived in.

I tried not to pay attention to that. My mom was a career trophy wife. She’d given up my father’s love for an affluent lifestyle, which I couldn’t relate to at all. I’d prefer love over wealth any day, but I suppose that was easy for me to say because I had money—a sizable investment portfolio—of my own. Not that I ever touched it. I wouldn’t. I’d paid too high a price and couldn’t imagine anything worth the cost.

Megumi, the receptionist, buzzed me through the glass security door and greeted me with a big smile. She was a pretty woman, young like me, with a stylish bob of glossy black hair framing stunning Asian features.

“Hey,” I said, stopping by her desk. “Got any plans for lunch?”

“I do now.”

“Awesome.” My grin was wide and genuine. As much as I loved Cary and enjoyed spending time with him, I needed girlfriends, too. Cary had already started building a network of acquaintances and friends in our adopted city, but I’d been sucked into the Lauren vortex almost from the outset. As much as I’d prefer to spend every moment with her, I knew it wasn’t healthy. Female friends would give it to me straight when I needed it, and I was going to have to cultivate those friendships if I wanted them.

Setting off, I headed down the long hallway to my cubicle. When I reached my desk, I put my bag and purse in the bottom drawer, keeping my smartphone out so I could silence it. I found a text from Cary: I’m sorry, baby girl.

“Cary Taylor,” I sighed. “I love you . . . even when you’re pissing me off.”

And he’d pissed me off royally. No woman wanted to come home to a sexual clusterfuck in progress on her living room floor. Especially not while in the middle of a fight with her new girlfriend.

I texted back, Block off the wknd 4 me if u can.

There was a long pause and I imagined him absorbing my request. Damn, he texted back finally. Must be some ass kicking u have planned.

“Maybe a little,” I muttered, shuddering as I remembered the . . . orgy I’d walked in on. But mostly I thought Cary and I needed to spend some quality downtime together. We hadn’t been living in Manhattan long. It was a new town for us, new apartment, new jobs and experiences, new partners for both of us. We were out of our element and struggling, and since we both had barge loads of baggage from our pasts, we didn’t handle struggling well. Usually we leaned on each other for balance, but we hadn’t had much time for that lately. We really needed to make the time. Up for a trip to Vegas? Just u and me?

Fuck yeah!

K . . . more later. As I silenced my phone and put it away, my gaze passed briefly over the two collage photo frames next to my monitor—one filled with photos of both of my parents and one of Cary, and the other filled with photos of me and Lauren. Lauren had put the latter collection together herself, wanting me to have a reminder of her just like the reminder she had of me on her desk. As if I needed it . . .

I loved having those images of the people I loved close by: my mom with her golden cap of curls and her bombshell smile, her curvy body scarcely covered by a tiny bikini as she enjoyed the French Riviera on my stepdad’s yacht; my stepfather, Richard Stanton, looking regal and distinguished, his silver hair oddly complementing the looks of his much younger wife; and Cary, who was captured in all his photogenic glory, with his lustrous brown hair and sparkling green eyes, his smile wide and mischievous. That million-dollar face was starting to pop up in magazines everywhere and soon would grace billboards and bus stops advertising Grey Isles clothing.

I looked across the strip of hallway and through the glass wall that encased Mark Garrity’s very small office and saw his jacket hung over the back of his Aeron chair, even though the man himself wasn’t in sight. I wasn’t surprised to find him in the break room scowling into his coffee mug; he and I shared a java dependency.

“I thought you had the hang of it,” I said, referring to his trouble with the one-cup coffee maker.

“I do, thanks to you.” Mark lifted his head and offering a charmingly crooked smile. He had gleaming dark skin, a trim goatee, and soft brown eyes. In addition to being easy on the eyes, he was a great boss—very open to educating me about the ad business and quick to trust that he didn’t have to show me how to do something twice. We worked well together, and I hoped that would be the case for a long time to come.

“Try this,” he said, reaching for a second steaming cup waiting on the counter. He handed it to me and I accepted it gratefully, appreciating that he’d been thoughtful about adding cream and sweetener, which was how I liked it.

I took a cautious sip, since it was hot, then coughed over the unexpected—and unwelcome—flavor. “What is this?”

“Blueberry-flavored coffee.”

Abruptly, I was the one scowling. “Who the hell wants to drink that?”

“Ah, see . . . it’s our job to figure out who, then sell this to them.” He lifted his mug in a toast. “Here’s to our latest account!”

Wincing, I straightened my spine and took another sip.

* * *

I was pretty sure the sickly sweet taste of artificial blueberries was still coating my tongue two hours later. Since it was time for my break, I started an Internet search for Dr. Terrence Lucas, a man who’d clearly rubbed Lauren the wrong way when I’d seen the two men together at dinner the night before. I hadn’t gotten any further than typing the doctor’s name in the search box when my desk phone rang.

“Mark Garrity’s office,” I answered. “Camila Cabello speaking.”

“Are you serious about Vegas?” Cary asked without preamble.

“Totally.”

There was a pause. “Is this when you tell me you’re moving in with your billionaire girlfriend and I’ve got to go?”

“What? No. Are you nuts?” I squeezed my eyes shut, understanding how insecure Cary was but thinking we were too far along in our friendship for those kinds of doubts. “You’re stuck with me for life, you know that.”

“And you just up and decided we should go to Vegas?”

“Pretty much. Figured we could sip mojitos by the pool and live off room service for a couple days.”

“I’m not sure how much I can pitch in for that.”

“Don’t worry, it’s on Lauren. her plane, her hotel. We’ll just cover our food and drinks.” A lie, since I planned on covering everything except the airfare, but Cary didn’t need to know that.

“And she’s not coming with us?”

I leaned back in my chair and stared at one of the photos of Lauren. I missed her already and it’d been only a couple of hours since we’d been together. “she’s got business in Arizona, so she’ll share the flights back and forth, but it’ll be just you and me in Vegas. I think we need it.”

“Yeah.” He exhaled harshly. “I could do with a change of scenery and some quality time with my best girl.”

“Okay, then. She wants to fly out by eight tomorrow night.”

“I’ll start packing. Want me to put a bag together for you, too?”

“Would you? That’d be great!” Cary could’ve been a stylist or personal shopper. He had serious talent when it came to clothes.

“camila?”

“Yeah?”

He sighed. “Thank you for putting up with my shit.”

“Shut up.”

After we hung up, I stared at the phone for a long minute, hating that Cary was so unhappy when everything in his life was going so well. He was an expert at self-sabotage, never truly believing he was worthy of happiness.

As I returned my attention to work, the Google search on my monitor reminded me of my interest in Dr. Terry Lucas. A few articles about her had been posted on the Web, complete with pictures that cemented the verification.

Pediatrician. Forty-five years of age. Married for twenty years. Nervously, I searched for “Dr. Terrence Lucas and wife,” inwardly cringing at the thought of seeing a golden-skinned, long-haired blonde. I exhaled my relief when I saw that Mrs. Lucas was a pale-skinned woman with short, bright red hair.

But that left me with more questions. I’d figured it would be a woman who’d caused the trouble between the two men.

The fact was, Lauren and I really didn’t know that much about each other. We knew the ugly stuff—at least she knew mine; I’d mostly guessed her from some pretty obvious clues. We knew some of the basic cohabitation stuff about each other after spending so many nights sleeping over at our respective apartments. she’d met half of my family and I’d met all of her. But we hadn’t been together long enough to touch on a whole lot of the periphery stuff. And frankly, I think we weren’t as forthcoming or inquisitive as we could’ve been, as if we were afraid to pile any more crap onto an already struggling relationship.

We were together because we were addicted to each other. I was never as intoxicated as I was when we were happy together, and I knew it was the same for her. We were putting ourselves through the wringer for those moments of perfection between us, but they were so tenuous that only our stubbornness, determination, and love kept us fighting for them.

Enough with making yourself crazy.

I checked my e-mail, and found my daily Google alert on “Lauren Jauregui.” The day’s digest of links led mostly to photos of Lauren, in black tie sans tie, and me at the charity dinner at the Waldorf Astoria the night before.

“God.” I couldn’t help but be reminded of my mother when looking at the pictures of me in a champagne Vera Wang cocktail dress. Not just because of how closely my looks mirrored my mom’s—aside from my hair being brown, long and straight—but also because of the mega-mogul whose arm I graced.

sinu Cabello Barker Mitchell Stanton was very, very good at being a trophy wife. She knew precisely what was expected of her and delivered without fail. Although she’d been divorced twice, both times had been by her choice and both divorces had left her exes despondent over losing her. I didn’t think less of my mother, because she gave as good as she got and didn’t take anyone for granted, but I’d grown up striving for independence. My right to say no was my most valued possession.

Minimizing my e-mail window, I pushed my personal life aside and went back to searching for market comparisons on fruity coffee. I coordinated some initial meetings between the strategists and Mark and helped Mark with brainstorming a campaign for a gluten-free restaurant. Noon approached and I was starting to feel seriously hungry when my phone rang. I answered with my usual greeting.

“camila?” an accented female voice greeted me. “It’s Magdalene. Do you have a minute?”

I leaned back in my chair, alert. Magdalene and I had once shared a moment of sympathy over Corinne’s unexpected and unwanted reappearance in Lauren’s life, but I’d never forget how vicious Magdalene had been to me the first time we’d met. “Just. What’s up?”

She sighed, then spoke quickly, her words flowing in a rush. “I was sitting at the table behind Corinne last night. I could hear a bit of what was being said between her and Lauren during dinner.”

My stomach tensed, preparing for an emotional blow. Magdalene knew just how to exploit my insecurities about Lauren. “Stirring up crap while I’m at work is a new low,” I said coldly. “I don’t—”

“she wasn’t ignoring you.”

My mouth hung open a second, and she quickly filled the silence.

“she was managing her, camila. She was making suggestions for where to take you around New York since you’re new in town, but she was doing it by playing the old remember-when-you-and-I-went-there game.”

“A walk down memory lane,” I muttered, grateful now that I hadn’t been able to hear much of Lauren’s low-voiced conversation with her ex.

“Yes.” Magdalene took a deep breath. “You left because you thought she was ignoring you for her. I just want you to know that she seemed to be thinking about you, trying to keep Corinne from upsetting you.”

“Why do you care?”

“Who says I do? I owe you one, Camila, for the way I introduced myself.”

I thought about that. Yeah, she owed me for when she ambushed me in the bathroom with her catty jealous bullshit. Not that I bought it as her sole motivation. Maybe I was just the lesser of two evils. Maybe she was keeping her enemies close. “All right. Thank you.”

No denying I felt better. A weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying around was suddenly relieved.

“Something else,” Magdalene went on. “she went after you.”

My grip tightened on the phone receiver. Lauren always came after me . . . because I was always running. My recovery was so fragile that I’d learned to protect it at all costs. When something threatened my stability, I ditched it.

“There have been other women in her life who’ve tried ultimatums like that, camila. They got bored or they wanted her attention or some kind of grand gesture . . . So they walked away and expected her to come after them. You know what she did?”

“Nothing,” I said softly, knowing my man. A man who never spent social time with women she slept with and never slept with women she associated with socially. Corinne and I were the sole exceptions to that rule, which was yet another reason why her ex sent me into fits of jealousy.

“Nothing more than making sure Angus dropped them off safely,” she confirmed, making me think it’d been a tactic she’d tried at some point. “But when you left, she couldn’t chase after you fast enough. And she wasn’t herself when she said good-bye. she seemed . . . off.”

Because she’d felt fear. My eyes closed as I mentally kicked myself. Hard.

Lauren had told me more than once that it terrified her when I ran, because she couldn’t handle the thought that I might not come back. What good did it do to say that I couldn’t imagine living without her when I so often showed her otherwise with my actions? Was it any wonder she hadn’t opened up to me about her past?

I had to stop running. Lauren and I were both going to have to stand and fight for this, for us, if we were going to have any hope of making our relationship work.

“Do I owe you now?” I asked neutrally, returning Mark’s wave as he left for lunch.

Magdalene exhaled in a rush. “Lauren and I have known each other a long time. Our mothers are best friends. You and I will see each other around, Camila, and I’m hoping we can find a way to avoid any awkwardness.”

The woman had come up to me and told me that the minute Lauren “shoved her dick” in me, I was “done.” And she’d hit me with that at a moment when I was especially vulnerable.

“Listen, Magdalene, if you don’t cause drama, we’ll get by.” And since she was being so forthright . . . “I can screw up my relationship with Lauren all by myself, trust me. I don’t need any help.”

She laughed softly. “That was my mistake, I think—I was too careful and too accommodating. she has to work at it with you. Anyway . . . I’ve taken up my minute. I’ll let you go.”

“Enjoy your weekend,” I said, in lieu of thanks. I still couldn’t trust her motivation.

“You, too.”

As I returned the receiver to its cradle, my gaze went to the photos of me and Lauren. I was abruptly overwhelmed by feelings of greed and possession. she was mine, yet I couldn’t be sure from one day to the next whether she’d stay mine. And the thought of any other woman having her made me insane.

I pulled open my bottom drawer and dug my smartphone out of my purse. Driven by the need to have her thinking as fiercely about me, I texted her about my sudden desperate hunger to devour her whole: I’d give anything to be sucking your cock right now.

Just thinking about how she looked when I took her in my mouth . . . the feral sounds she made when she was about to come . . .

Standing, I deleted the text the moment I saw it’d been delivered, then dropped my phone back in my purse. Since it was noon, I closed all the windows on my computer and headed out to reception to find Megumi.

“You hungry for anything in particular?” she asked, pushing to her feet and giving me a chance to admire her belted, sleeveless lavender dress.

I coughed because her question came so soon after my text. “No. Your choice. I’m not picky.”

We pushed out through the glass doors to reach the elevators.

“I am so ready for the weekend,” Megumi said with a groan as she stabbed the call button with an acrylic-tipped finger. “A day and a half left to go.”

“Got something fun planned?”

“That remains to be seen.” She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Blind date,” she explained ruefully.

“Ah. Do you trust the person setting you up?”

“My roommate. I expect the guy will at least be physically attractive, because I know where she sleeps at night and paybacks are a bitch.”

I was smiling as an elevator car reached our floor and we stepped inside. “Well, that ups your odds for a good time.”

“Not really, since she found him by going on a blind date with him first. She swears he’s great, just more my type than hers.”

“Hmm.”

“I know, right?” Megumi shook her head and looked up at the decorative, old-fashioned needle above the car doors that marked the passing floors.

“You’ll have to let me know how it goes.”

“Oh, yeah. Wish me luck.”

“Absolutely.” We’d just stepped out into the lobby when I felt my purse vibrate beneath my arm. As we passed through the turnstiles, I dug for my phone and felt my stomach tighten at the sight of Lauren’s name. she was calling, not sexting me back.

“Excuse me,” I said to Megumi before answering.

She waved it off nonchalantly. “Go for it.”

“Hey,” I greeted her playfully.

“camila.”

I missed a step hearing the way she growled my name. There was a wealth of promise in the roughness of her voice.

Slowing, I found I was speechless, just from hearing her say my name with that edginess I craved—the sharp bite that told me she wanted to be inside me more than she wanted anything else in the world.

While people flowed around me, entering and exiting the building, I was halted by the weighted silence on my phone. The unspoken and nearly irresistible demand. she made no sound at all—I couldn’t even hear her breathing—but I felt her hunger. If I didn’t have Megumi waiting patiently for me, I’d be riding an elevator to the top floor to satisfy her unvoiced command to make good on my offer.

The memory of the time I’d sucked her off in her office simmered through me, making my mouth water. I swallowed. “Lauren . . .”

“You wanted my attention—now you have it. I want to hear you say those words.”

I felt my face flush. “I can’t. Not here. Let me call you later.”

“Step over by the column and out of the way.”

Startled, I looked around for her. Then I remembered that the Caller ID put her in her office. My gaze lifted, searching for the security cameras. Immediately, I felt her eyes on me, hot and wanting. Arousal surged through me, spurred by her desire.

“Hurry along, angel. Your friend’s waiting.”

I moved to the column, my breathing fast and audible.

“Now tell me. Your text made me hard, camila. What are you going to do about it?”

My hand went to my throat, my gaze sliding helplessly to Megumi, who watched me with raised brows. I lifted one finger up, asking for another minute, then turned my back to her and whispered, “I want you in my mouth.”

“Why? To play with me? To tease me like you’re doing now?” There was no heat in her voice, just calm severity.

I knew to pay careful attention when Lauren got serious about sex.

“No.” I lifted my face to the tinted dome in the ceiling that concealed the nearest security camera. “To make you come. I love making you come, Lauren.”

she exhaled harshly. “A gift, then.”

Only I knew what it meant for Lauren to view a sexual act as a gift. For her, sex had previously been about pain and degradation or lust and necessity. Now, with me, it was about pleasure and love. “Always.”

“Good. Because I treasure you, Camila, and what we have. Even our driving urge to fuck each other constantly is precious to me, because it matters.”

I sagged into the column, admitting to myself that I’d fallen into an old destructive habit—I’d exploited sexual attraction to ease my insecurities. If Lauren was lusting after me, she couldn’t be lusting after anyone else. How did she always know what was going on in my mind?

“Yes,” I breathed, closing my eyes. “It matters.”

There’d been a time when I’d turned to sex to feel affection, confusing momentary desire with genuine caring. Which was why I now insisted on having some sort of friendly framework in place before I went to bed with a man. I never again wanted to roll out of a lover’s bed feeling worthless and dirty.

And I sure as hell didn’t want to cheapen what I shared with Lauren just because I was irrationally scared of losing her.

It hit me then that I was off balance. I had this sick feeling in my gut, like something awful was going to happen.

“You can have what you want after work, angel.” her voice deepened, grew raspier. “In the meantime, enjoy lunch with your co-worker. I’ll be thinking about you. And your mouth.”

“I love you, Lauren.”

It took a couple of deep breaths after I hung up to compose myself enough to join Megumi again. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Everything all right?”

“Yes. Everything’s fine.”

“Things still hot and heavy with you and Lauren Jauregui?” She glanced at me with a slight smile.

“Umm . . .” Oh yes. “Yes, that’s fine, too.” And I wished desperately that I could talk about it. I wished I could just open the valve and gush about my overwhelming feelings for her. How thoughts of her consumed me, how the feel of her beneath my hands drove me wild, how the passion of her tortured soul cut into me like the sharpest blade.

But I couldn’t. Not ever. She was too visible, too well known. Private tidbits about her life were worth a small fortune. I couldn’t risk it.

“she sure is,” Megumi agreed. “Damn fine. Did you know her before you started working here?”

“No. Although I suppose we would have met eventually.” Because of our pasts. My mother gave generously to many abused children’s charities, as did Lauren. It was inevitable that Lauren and I would’ve crossed paths at some point. I wondered what that meeting would have been like—her with a gorgeous blonde on her arm and me with Cary. Would we have had the same visceral reaction to each other from a distance as we’d had up close in the Crossfire lobby?

she’d wanted me the moment she saw me on the street.

“I wondered.” Megumi pushed through the revolving lobby door. “I read that it was serious between you two,” she went on when I joined her outside on the sidewalk. “So I thought maybe you’d known her before.”

“Don’t believe everything you read on those gossip blogs.”

“So it’s not serious?”

“I didn’t say that.” It was too serious at times. Painfully, brutally so.

She shook her head. “God . . . listen to me pry. Sorry. Gossip is one of my vices. So are extremely hot women like Lauren Jauregui. I can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to hook up with a gir whose body screams sex like that. Tell me she’s awesome in bed.”

I smiled. It was good to hang out with another girl. Not that Cary couldn’t also be appreciative of a hot guy, but nothing beat girl talk. “You won’t hear me complaining.”

“Lucky bitch.” Bumping shoulders with me to show she was teasing, she said, “How about that roommate of yours? From the photos I saw, she’s gorgeous, too. Is she single? Wanna hook me up?”

Turning my head quickly, I hid a wince. I’d learned the hard way never to set up an acquaintance or friend with Cary. He was so easy to love, which led to a lot of broken hearts because he couldn’t love back the same way. The moment things started going too well, Cary sabotaged them. “I don’t know if he’s single or not. Things are . . . complicated in his life at the moment.”

“Well, if the opportunity presents itself, I’m certainly not opposed. Just sayin’. You like tacos?”

“Love ’em.”

“I know a great place a couple blocks up. Come on.”

* * *

Things were going well in my world as Megumi and I headed back from lunch. Forty minutes of gossip, guy-ogling, and three awesome carne asada tacos later, I was feeling pretty good. And we were returning to work a little over ten minutes early, which I was glad for since I hadn’t been the most punctual employee lately, even though Mark never complained.

The city was thrumming around us, taxis and people surging through the growing heat and humidity as they crammed what they could into the insufficient hours of the day. I people-watched shamelessly, my eyes skimming over everyone and everything.

Men in business suits walked alongside women in flowing skirts and flip-flops. Ladies in haute couture and five-hundred-dollar shoes teetered past steaming hot dog vendor carts and shouting hawkers. The eclectic mix of New York was heaven to me, stirring an excitement that made me feel more vibrant here than anyplace else I’d ever lived.

We were stopped by a traffic light directly across from the Crossfire, and my gaze was immediately drawn to the black Bentley sitting in front of it. Lauren must’ve just gotten back from lunch. I couldn’t help but think about her sitting in her car on the day we’d met, watching me as I took in the imposing beauty of her Crossfire Building. It made me tingly just thinking about it—

Suddenly, I went cold.

Because a striking blonde breezed out of the revolving doors just then and paused, giving me a good, long look at her—Lauren’s ideal, whether she’d been aware of it or not. A woman I’d witnessed her fixate on the moment she’d seen her in the Waldorf Astoria ballroom. A woman whose poise and hold over Lauren brought out all my worst insecurities.

Corinne Giroux looked like a breath of fresh air in a cream-colored sheath dress and cherry red heels. She ran a hand over her waist-length hair, which wasn’t quite as sleek as it’d appeared last night when I’d met her. In fact, it looked a little disheveled. And her fingers were rubbing at her mouth, wiping along the outline of her lips.

I pulled my smartphone out, activated the camera, and snapped a picture. With the proximity of the zoom, I could see why she was fussing with her lipstick—it was smeared. No, more like mashed. As if from a passionate kiss.

The light changed. Megumi and I moved with the flow, closing the distance between me and the woman who’d once had Lauren’s promise to marry her. Angus stepped out of the Bentley and came around, speaking to her briefly before opening the back door for her. The feeling of betrayal—Angus’s and Lauren’s—was so fierce, I couldn’t catch my breath. I swayed on my feet.

“Hey.” Megumi caught my arm to steady me. “And we only had virgin margaritas, lightweight!”

I watched Corinne’s willowy body slide into the back of Lauren’s car with practiced grace. My fists clenched as fury surged through me. Through the haze of my angry tears, the Bentley pulled away from the curb and disappeared.

MW Act 2, Scene 5 - Runaway

Title: Most Wanted: The Hollywood Killer (A CIU Screenplay)

Main Pairings: Dave x Sam

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite

Rating: PG-13 for violence, blood, swearing, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: The three investigators explore Tull’s trailer, where they find more than they expected...

Previous Scene: Knock Knock

Masterlist: Link

INT. TULL’S TRAILER - NIGHT

Sam kicks the door in, and she, Dave, and Rhea enter the trailer. It is filthy. Trash, moldy food, and dirty clothes are scattered haphazardly. There is no sign of John Tull.

SAM: Dammit! He’s not here!

DAVE (disgusted): Eugh. At least he left a garbage heap of evidence...

RHEA: Literally. Eww.

She looks away from the garbage, catching sight of a photo that has been pinned to the wall near the bed. The photo shows a younger Tull standing with a large group of people, all wearing similar clothing and haircuts. A young girl stands just in front of Tull, who is resting a hand on her shoulder.

RHEA: Huh. What’s this?

Dave pulls on a pair of evidence gloves and crosses over to look at the photo. He gingerly picks up the photo and examines it.

DAVE: A family? His file didn’t mention that... Sam?

SAM: He doesn’t have one... at least as far as I know. Though who knows, with how little we’ve found about him?

DAVE: Might be worth followin’ up on.

He places the photo in an evidence bag. Then he turns, picking up a notepad sitting on a table nearby. He flips through the notepad, frowning.

RHEA (excitedly): A notepad? Ooh! Maybe he wrote his secret plans on it, or--

DAVE: Don’t get your hopes up, Rhea. It’s completely blank.

RHEA: Aww, and here I thought we had something.

DAVE (shrugs): Real life isn’t like the movies. The bad guys don’t usually write all their plans on...

He trails off as he notices something about the notepad.

DAVE: Actually, this might still be useful. The front page was ripped off.

RHEA: And that’s helpful... how?

DAVE: To be honest, I have no idea. But I bet forensics can get something out of it.

He puts the notepad in another evidence bag, then grins at Rhea.

DAVE: We’ll make an investigator out of you yet! Hey, Sam, have you found...

Dave and Rhea turn to see Sam staring at a sawed-off shotgun hanging on the wall. Her hands are balled into fists, and she is quaking with barely-contained rage.

DAVE (hesitantly): ...Massey? You okay?

RHEA: Looks like we found Tull’s weapon, at least--

SAM (with tranquil fury): That is not Tull’s weapon.

RHEA: What? But what else could it be? I mean, it’s here, in his trailer, with--

SAM: It’s the gun Tull’s been using. But it’s not his gun.

She reaches out, running her fingers along the gun’s barrel.

SAM (quaking with rage): It belonged to my mentor, Bill. He loved this gun... called it Old Genevieve. Look at this. Tull sawed it off. Desecrated it.

Dave crosses over to her, and hesitantly places a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder. She holds his gaze for a moment, then relaxes.

DAVE: We’ll get this bastard. I promise you.

SAM: We’d better.

Sam takes a deep breath, calming herself before starting to look around the trailer once again. The three of them search for a few moments in silence.

SAM: Right. So, we’ve got a picture of Tull with... some group or another, a blank notepad, and the weapon he stole. That ain’t nearly enough to go on.

DAVE: That about sums it up, yeah...

SAM: There’s gotta be somethin’ else.

She surveys the surroundings carefully, until her gaze stops at a pile of clothes draped across the far end. She stomps over to the clothes and shoves them aside, revealing a closet door behind them.

DAVE (impressed): Well, what d’you know?

SAM: Jackpot.

She grasps the door handle firmly and throws it open, revealing the inside of the closet. The entire thing is filled with a “shrine” to Hayley Rose; numerous newspaper clippings, photos, and magazine covers featuring the pop star cover every inch of the closet’s walls. The collage has been surrounded in a huge red heart, and several of the newspaper clippings have passages highlighted. Sam, Dave, and Rhea stare open-mouthed at the sight.

SAM: Holy...

RHEA: Freakin’...

DAVE: ...Shit.

They spend several moments just taking in the sight.

DAVE: How many words are there for “stalker?” Mirasol’ll have a field day with this.

He raises his phone and begins taking photos of the shrine from various angles. Rhea and Sam step closer.

SAM: Look... this clipping’s from her debut album in 2011.

RHEA: And here’s one from even earlier! 2003--whoa, fifteen years ago--this says that Hayley was just an orphan when she came to Hollywood. Wow, can’t believe the media never picked up on that story!

SAM: With stuff this old, he must’ve been collecting this for years now. Just waiting for the chance to--

DAVE (with sudden realization): Wait. What did you say?

SAM: Just sayin’, with stuff this old, he must’ve been collecting it all for years...

DAVE: That’s it. That’s the missing puzzle piece. Massey, Sarkar, you realize what this means?!

Rhea and Sam exchange glances as the same realization dawns on them simultaneously.

RHEA: No one hired Tull.

SAM: The people he killed... it wasn’t for cash. Gavin Routh, Jessica Greene... they wronged Hayley when they leaked her pictures. Tull must’ve thought he was doin’ it for her. Sick bastard.

DAVE: This whole time, we were looking for the person who hired Tull... but it turns out they didn’t exist.

SAM: One thing still bugs me, though. Why Hayley Rose? Out of all the celebrities in the world... why her?

RHEA (thoughtfully): Hang on... I might know why.

DAVE AND SAM: You do?!

Rhea pulls out her phone and starts tapping through it. A moment later, a familiar song starts playing.

HAYLEY ROSE (ON PHONE) (singing): Sirens flickering in your tail lights, your long-lost love’s your only flaw... You kill, you steal, you burn the daylight... ‘Cuz you’re my broken, bad outlaw...

SAM: You’re kiddin’ me.

DAVE: It’s the song! “Outlaw!” This redneck moron actually thinks the song’s about him?!

Suddenly, the distinct sound of a shotgun being racked is heard from off-screen! Dave and Rhea whirl to see Tull, standing in the trailer, his gun pointed at the base of Sam’s skull. Rhea shrieks as Sam stands stiff, teeth clenched.

TULL: Call me ‘redneck’ again, piggie, and I’ll splatter Blondie here all over ya.

SAM (angrily): Ugh. Li must’ve set us up--

Tull jabs Sam in the back of the neck with the gun. Dave whips out his pistol in a blur and aims it at Tull, trying to get a clear shot without hitting Sam.

SAM (mouthing): Take. The. Shot.

Dave hesitates, and Tull grins.

TULL: Attaboy, piggie. Don’t do nothin’ stupid. Put the gun down on the floor. Nice an’ easy, now.

RHEA (terrified): He’s gonna kill her! Dave, do what he says!

Dave thinks for a moment, then smiles.

DAVE: I think there’s something you’re forgetting, Tull. I know your secret.

TULL: The hell you talkin’ about?

DAVE: Hayley Rose? Your sweetheart? I saw your super-creepy shrine to her. C’mon, don’t you think she’s a little young for you?

TULL: Shut yer mouth, cop!

DAVE: I mean, seriously, you think she’d go for you? She dates rock stars and heartthrobs, not hillbillies who look like they just crawled out of a swamp...

TULL (growing angrier): I said shut up!

Sirens howl in the distance. Tull adjusts his grip on the gun, jamming it into Sam’s neck once again, as Sam glares daggers at Dave.

DAVE: How about we take this outside, huh? Fight like men?

TULL: I’m gettin’ real tired of listenin’ to your whiny voice, cop! How ‘bout I get this over with, right here?

He adjusts his grip on his gun.

DAVE: You’d shoot her, huh? Just like that. Kill her in cold blood.

TULL: Damn right I will.

Rhea steps forward, clearly terrified but with a confidence in her voice.

RHEA: Gotta say, Tull, you’re a real outlaw.

TULL: What... what did ya just say?!

RHEA (mock-innocently): Oh, you know. An outlaw. (singing) Sirens flickering in your tail lights, your long-lost love’s your only flaw...

TULL: Shut yer mouth, girl!

RHEA (singing): You kill, you steal, you burn the daylight...

TULL (seething with rage): Don’t. You. Say it.

RHEA (singing): ‘Cuz you’re my broken, bad outlaw!

Tull roars with fury and shoves Sam forward! Dave lines up his shot, but then Sam elbows Tull in the face, causing Tull to stagger back with a bloody nose! He raises his shotgun right at Sam, and then...

RHEA: No! You bastard!

Rhea suddenly charges at Tull! Distracted, Tull’s shot goes wide, hitting a stack of plates and causing the lights to flicker!

DAVE: Too close!

Tull turns, kicks Rhea away, and rushes out of the trailer, slamming the door shut behind him. Immediately, Sam runs after him, only to stop short at the door, barred from the outside and now immovable.

SAM: Rrrrgh! No! Tull is not getting away again! What the hell is wrong with you, Reyes?

DAVE: Wha... me?!

SAM: Why’d you stand there blabbin’ for an hour instead of shooting?

DAVE: Because I use my words, like a goddamn adult, and--

Both he and Sam pause in their argument to sniff the air. They exchange glances, all animosity forgotten for the moment.

DAVE: Do... do you smell something burning?

RHEA: Yeah, something’s burning all right!

She staggers to her feet and points toward the far end of the trailer, where thick black smoke is seeping in. Flames begin licking the corners of the trailer.

RHEA: We gotta get out of here! NOW!

_______________________

Next: Conscience and Variables

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0

MW Tag List: @griselda1121

when you need me

a/n: here’s that slowburn i mentioned. there WILL be a part 2 so don’t hound me on it!!!! i promise she’s coming!! enjoy :~)

w/c: 5.1k

warnings: sfw! brief mentions of violence

***

Harry and Y/N were friends for exactly one summer.

Y/N and her family moved in next door to Harry when she was seven, and her parents were delighted to find out that the boy was the same age as their daughter. Sure, at the time of the move, Y/N wasn’t intensely attached to any of her old friends or her old home or her old school, but it was good to have someone to ease her into the new life.

The two clicked immediately. They played every day that summer, either swimming or playing cops and robbers or drawing on sidewalks with chalk. They rode bikes around the neighborhood, and shot basketballs in the hoop that belonged to the teenager down the street, and explored the small forest behind their home for squirrels. He taught her cool card tricks and she taught him how to make perfect chocolate milk without using an overwhelming amount of chocolate sauce.

It was a match made in heaven—up until a few days before the beginning of classes, the last time they would've openly called the other a "friend". It wasn't that when the summer ended, they'd had some big fight or randomly stopped talking to each other; it just... wouldn't have been logical to remain associated once the school year picked up.

They’d been playing in a sandbox at the local park that day. Sure, they were a little old to be playing in a sandbox, but the only people there were a family occupying their usual spots on the swing set. Harry dug around in the sand forming both holes and piles around him while Y/N drew pictures with a stick.

“Look what I found!” he yelled, holding up a little earwig he’d dug out from the sand. He waved it in her face, to her disgust.

“Gross, Haz.” She backed up and almost stumbled back out of the sandbox.

Harry laughed and tossed it back into the sand, where it burrowed itself. “You’re such a girl sometimes.”

“Because I don’t want you shoving bugs in my face?”

“Tommy and James like bugs. They think they’re cool.” His gaze dropped down to the sand where he began to mimic her drawing.

Y/N paused for a second. “Well I’m not Tommy and James, am I?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “So… you don’t want to be friends with them when we go back to school?”

“Not really. I don’t like bugs. I like…” She scanned around the park. “Flowers. And art!”

He laughed. “I guess we’re just different people at school. What are we gonna do?”

She thought it over but didn’t answer. “It’s getting late. Let’s start walking home.”

The two strolled back to their homes, kicking rocks and not saying much. Once they’d reached their front lawns and the street lights flicked on, she broke the silence.

“Just because we can’t be friends doesn’t mean we can’t say hi.” Such a simple conclusion. “And we’re pretty helpful to each other.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I taught you how to shuffle cards.”

“Exactly. Let’s make an agreement.” Y/N had been watching some Law and Order episodes when her parents weren’t around. They mostly bored her (since she was far too young to understand what was going on) but the legal parts of the show enticed her. “Let’s just be there for each other when we need it.”

“Like when we’re in trouble?” he asked, brows furrowing.

She giggled. “Yeah. But just in general too. If one of us needs help, the other will do what they can.”

Harry nodded, staring past her. “Sounds fair. Shake on it?”

The two shook hands and went inside their homes, with no idea what can of worms they’d just opened. ***

The first time the pact is utilized, it's for a jar of dewberry jelly.

The school year had arrived, and Harry and Y/N had almost no contact other than a brief ‘hello’ whenever the two ran into each other during the day. He hung out with Tommy and James who laughed too loud in class and threw dodgeballs really hard in Phys Ed. She made new friends with girls in art class who put stickers on their binders and gushed about fashion. Their agreement went unused for a very long time—two years to be exact, but it’s not like a child is gonna find themselves in deep trouble at every turn.

Y/N's parents were still in bed asleep one Saturday morning and she really wanted some toast. It was quite an easy breakfast to make for a 9-year-old by herself, up until she went to open the jar. Nothing. Not even a budge. It was almost ridiculous how much she was struggling to open the stupid lid. She even tried going on Google for tricks on how to open a jar: tapping the lid with a knife, running it under hot water, using duct tape, etc. No dice.

The idea of waking up one of her parents for help flashed over her mind, but stirring them before noon after a whole week of hard work just seemed evil. She had no other option but to ask Harry for help.

She grabbed the jar and ran next door, using the knocker to alert them of her presence. Gemma opened the door, one headphone in her ear and the other dangling. She scanned Y/N, and before the younger girl could even open her mouth, Gemma turned around.

"Harry, your friend is here!" she called and drifted back in without inviting her in. Fortunately, he appeared in the doorway before Y/N could realize how awkward the situation felt.

"Oh, hey, what's up?" he asked. Instead of answering his question, Y/N just shoved the jar into his hands.

"Please help me! I just wanted some toast but the jelly doesn't want to get eaten!" she whined, crossing her arms in a huff.

He inspected the jar a bit before laughing and popping open the lid with ease. When he handed back the jelly, their fingertips brushed together but he pretended not to notice. "Enjoy your toast."

"Thank you!" And she went off with her opened jar, skipping back to her house.

***

The second time, he needs her.

It's been two or three years since the jar fiasco, and Y/N had started to get an inkling that she wouldn't be seeing much of Harry anymore. If he could go so long without needing her or even acknowledging her in the hall, maybe that was the end of the two of them. The long amount of time without H had somewhat given her closure anyways.

Her mother had already gone to bed and she should have as well, but late-night reruns of Full House were so much more appealing than sleep. Y/N could feel her eyelids get heavier and heavier and she almost drifted off right there on the couch before there was a tap on the living room window looking out into her backyard.

She nearly jumped out of her skin, but when her eyes adjusted and she realized it was just Harry, her shoulders relaxed. As quietly as she could, she opened the back door and guided him inside, holding a finger to her lips so that he’d remain silent. Y/N took him to the dining room, an area far from her parents’ room so that they could talk freely.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked, eyeing the backpack draped over his shoulder.

“Mrs. Williams is gonna fail me if I don’t get this project done,” he breathed, setting the bag on the table. “It’s a collage piece, and I’ve tried to do it m’self three times now and I ruin it every time. You’re an art genius, can y’help me?”

She smiled at being called an art genius. Sure, Mrs. Williams gave her an A on every piece and she even won an award at the local art competition for her stop-motion movie on a butterfly hatching, but she wasn’t Van Gogh. Still the compliment rang in her ears and the pact itched at the back of her mind. “Of course.”

It was a simple assignment, using magazine clippings to make a collage about anything they wanted, and Harry picked football. He pulled out several magazines, most of which had been cut out of already (presumably for his first three attempts) but there was still enough left to make a coherent project.

As Y/N got to work, he stared at her. “You’re not using enough glue,” he noted as she arranged David Beckham in the center of the cardstock.

“Who’s the art expert, again?” she snapped. The cutout stuck perfectly and he hummed in deflation. “I see why your first three projects didn’t work,” she joked, making a little smile appear on his lips.

As Y/N finished up the cutting, the two of them could no longer contain their yawns and Harry began rubbing at his eyes with his fists. "Do you ever think that we shouldn't be this tired, at this age?" she asked, breaking the heavy silence lingering over the dining room.

Harry unceremoniously dropped his chin into his palms, watching her work. "I think we'll be thinking that for the rest of our lives."

***

Y/N hated being late.

First there was the issue of wasting other people’s time, then there was the whole show about feeling awkward when you did arrive. This was all her history teacher’s fault—he was so freakin’ deaf he didn’t hear the warning bell and griped at the students who tried to pack their bags or leave. Once he’d realized what time it was he griped even more about how nobody told him it was time to go (they did; he just didn’t hear).

So, she somehow had to make a five minute journey across her campus in negative two minutes. Easy peasy. Y/N had no other option but to book it, until she unfortunately ran smack into Cara, one of the mean girls in her year.

“Watch where you’re going, spaz!” she whined, even though Y/N was the one who crashed onto the floor. Two other girls stood behind her, one of whom was named Lacey and the other was just some bitch who copied Cara to get ahead.

At the beginning of eighth grade, the secretary at the front desk of the school chose a few students each class period to help her with filing and giving notes to teachers and so on. Cara was one of the students chosen which virtually gave her the free pass to wander around whenever she wanted. Her friends, not so much, but if Cara told you to do something, you did it, even if it meant skipping class.

Y/N scrambled back up without apologizing, adjusting her bag and planning on walking away and ignoring her. Unfortunately, Cara stopped her by stiff arming her. “What’s the rush?” she hissed, a malicious smile curling up. Her eyes fell down to the ground. “Nice shoes. Do they come in women’s sizes?”

Okay, she was just trying to psych Y/N out. They were plain black Doc Martens, for crying out loud—it’s not like she was in steel toed work boots. “Are you done?” Y/N asked, unamused.

The grin on Cara’s face dropped and was replaced by a grimace fit for a cartoon villain. “Now listen—” she started, ready to chew the other girl out, but was interrupted by someone behind Y/N.

“Fuck off, Cara, or I’m telling the headmistress that your clown posse is skipping class thanks to you.” It was Harry, of all people. (Why he wasn’t in class either was a whole new can of worms, but Y/N chose to be grateful.)

She huffed out of her nose, realizing she was backed into a corner. Cara shoved past Y/N and slammed her shoulder into her, her goon squad following behind hot on her coattails.

Y/N breathed out a very appreciative thank you to Harry, and when he nodded at her, she went back on her way to her class, now with negative 4 minutes.

***

Y/N’s first mixer party was a night to remember, to say the least.

It took ages to convince her parents to let her go, but in her defense, both her mom and her dad were going to parties at 15. Plus, that was in the age of serial killers and before cell phones, so she definitely had the upper hand in that argument. Besides, it’s one party, what’s the worst that could happen?

Someone in her geometry class had invited her, and the same day she went to get a new flowy top from H&M to wear there. One of her art friends, Jenna, had already gotten her license and drove the two of them to the party where things were already in full swing once she’d entered.

It was a very mild kick back. It was a lower attendance than she’d anticipated, but the main point of reference she had were those crappy teen movies. The only thing people had to drink were those Smirnoff Ices that have almost no alcohol and a ton of sugar in them, which totally repulsed Y/N. Guess it’d be a sober evening for her.

After a few hours of chatting with people (that she would just talk to in school anyways) and listening to music, Y/N was about ready to call it a night. She excused herself from the host’s living room in search of Jenna when she felt someone tug at her arm.

It was Tyler, one of the centers on the school basketball team. “Y/N, hey! What’s up?”

She was totally caught off guard. Tyler was reallygood looking and didn’t usually spend his time around the art students. “Oh, um, hey. I was actually about to—” she started, eyes drifting to where he was holding her elbow still.

“Leave?” he finished, flashing a pearly white smile. “No way, it’s so early! Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

A pit formed in Y/N’s stomach. What could Tyler want with her? Her eyes narrowed, but she figured she’d probably regret leaving more than finding out what he wanted. “Sure, what’s up?”

“In private, I meant.” He gestured towards the back porch, which eased her mind. If he was just trying to get handsy with her, he’d take her to a bedroom—not outside by the pools where everyone could see.

“Okay,” she finally agreed, letting him guide her outside into the yard.

The backyard was large and well taken care of. The pool had lights that changed colors, and all of the furniture matched the mahogany color of the deck, fence, and pool shed. A black grill looked like it had never been touched and the grass was a beautiful shade of bottle green.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked, breaking the ice and shoving his tanned hands into his pockets.

“Kind of. Not many of my friends are big partiers so this scene is pretty new for me,” she admitted, eyes dropping down to her shoes.

“That’s why I was surprised when I heard you were coming.” His hand came out from his pocket and lifted her chin up so that they were making eye contact. “I figured it was my only chance to tell you how pretty I think you are.”

Y/N was, how you say, shook. Her eyes widened and she squeaked out a “really?” before being alerted by a noise coming from the pool shed just a few feet away. “Did someone just laugh?” she asked, head snapping over to the shed in question.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Tyler claimed, trying to get her attention away from the shed to no avail.

“No, I swear I heard a laugh,” Y/N absentmindedly insisted, leaving Tyler to go yank open the doors of the shed.

What happened next was in light speed. The doors flew open to reveal Cara and Lacey, the former holding a 5-gallon bucket and the latter a cell phone as if she was filming. Before Y/N could even get a dazed ‘what?’ out, Cara had dumped the contents of the bucket onto Y/N. Ice water.

She let out a shriek at this, frozen in every sense of the term. When she could feel her feet beneath her again, she spun around to see Tyler laughing his ass off along with the girls.

“I almost couldn’t do it!” he yelled, clutching his stomach.

“Thanks, Ty,” Cara purred, going to loop an arm through his. “You earned that $20 fair and square.”

Y/N didn’t stick around for any longer. She didn’t want to go back in the house in the state she was in, and everyone had probably seen what happened anyways. Rather than face even more humiliation, she did the only thing that came to mind: run.

Y/N could text Jenna later. She ran and ran and ran until she was home, but rather than go inside and cry her eyes out in bed, she found herself at the base of the oak tree next to Harry’s window.

She frantically shimmied up the tree, pausing only to wipe tears out of her eyes. Her knuckles collided with his window and for a moment she wonders if it was too loud. Then the thought of Harry not hearing the knock at all flashed through her mind, and she was left wishing she'd hit it even harder.

The room brightened just a little bit, as if he'd turned on a lamp. She perked up at this, leaning forward but keeping her balance in the tree. He pulled aside the dark curtains and opened the window carefully.

"Y/N?" he asked groggily. "What are y'doing? Why are you soaking wet? Y'scared me half to death." She opened her mouth to explain but her eyes just welled up and she felt her face turn pink. "Wait, are you crying? Get inside." He lifted the window even higher so that she could tumble in gracelessly. Without asking any more questions, he pulled her into a big hug, where she sobbed quietly into the crook of his neck. It took a moment to get the sad out of her, but once she was ready to let go, his hug lingered for a half-second too long.

So there she sat, on his bedroom floor, covered in cold water and trying not to shed any more tears then she already had. Harry handed her a fluffy towel and she wiped her face off before starting to babble. "I'm sorry it's late, and you were probably sleeping, but it's been a really - hic - long and rough night and I just needed someone. I know I needed you last and it's not my turn but I didn't know who else to go to—"

"Wait wait wait, what did you say? Your turn?" he asked, holding a hand up and completely halting her babbling.

She nodded, wiping at the mascara running under her eyes. "I mean... yeah. The past eight years we've switched off who gets the next favor. You helped me last time when Cara and those other girls were picking on me, and now here I am again."

His eyebrows were knitted together in sheer confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said slowly. "It's never been on a turn system. Whenever you come to me in a time of need, or vice versa, we help each other." Y/N nodded, feeling dumb. "Besides, you didn't cometo me that time. I was just in the right place at the right time. Even if we were doing turns—which we're not—it's still technically yours anyways."

He was trying to make her laugh, and it worked. Her wobbly and blotchy face broke into a cute smile without her even trying, and Harry always found an underrated beauty in a laugh after a good cry.

"Now, do yeh wanna talk about tonight?" he pressed gently, sitting on his bed and offering her a spot next to him. It was hard explaining what happened without crying again, but once his hand started rubbing up and down her back, it was easy to relax and tell her story.

He was disgusted with what he’d heard, of course. “I’m so sorry about that Y/N,” he stammered, unsure of what to say. “You don’t deserve those kinds of people in your life, not now and not ever.”

She smiled and it was totally contagious. “Thanks H.”

“Do y’want me to get you some of Gem’s clothes?” he offered. “Yeh look like a sad puppy, shiverin’ and all.”

Y/N shook her head. “No, I think I’m just gonna go home. I can tell my parents I fell in the pool. Thank you for listening, and everything else. You’re a great friend.”

She returned the towel and left the same way she came in, Harry making sure she safely got to the ground before she ducked into her home. Something felt strange for a few minutes afterwards and Harry couldn’t put a finger on it until he was tucked into bed and drifting out.

That was the first time she’d called him his friend in eight years.

***

Fuck, my laundry!

Three universal words that will have anyone throwing themselves out of their bed late at night to go dig through a washing machine and pray it hasn't been so long that the clothes need to be rewashed.

Y/N was one of these people, on a night where she should probably be out with friends. It was Saturday night, but that meant tomorrow was Sunday and the day after that was Monday and that meant her stupid Calculus homework would be due. Who said that senior year would be a breeze? She wanted to kick their ass.

Fortunately, the clothes were fine, and on the way back to her room she was imagining how she was going to backflip into her bed and knock the hell out for nine hours. Just before she went upstairs, she saw a shadow in the corner of her eye fluttering outside the front door.

Her blood ran cold. Her parents were long asleep at this hour; if this was some intruder, she wouldn't be able to make it over to their room and have them awake quickly enough. Her mind scrambled over dozens of plans and ideas (all of which ended with the intruder totally catching her) before something really surprised her.

A knock at the front door.

Umm... people planning on breaking into your house don't knock. Well, they do, but only at two in the afternoon when they're checking if someone's home, not when it's well after midnight. She tiptoed to the door and peered through the glass to see none other than Harry.

She swung the door open instantly. "Harry? What are you do—?" She stopped when her eyes adjusted and finally was able to see that he was notin good shape.

Harry's hair was mussed up, lacking its usual composure. He wasn’t able to stand up straight without leaning on the column, like he was drunk as hell. One of his eyes had a purple smudge under it and his nose trickled a tiny amount of blood. His arms were covered in scratches and bruises, but the most pressing issue was what seemed to be a paper towel soaked in blood he was holding against the side of his torso.

"Oh my God!" she whisper-yelled, guiding him inside and taking him upstairs to her bathroom. She sat him down on the edge of her tub and dug through her cabinets for a first aid kit.

Y/N didn't ask any questions. She washed her hands, found a clean rag, wet it with warm water, and rubbed a tiny bit of soap on it. Harry was still sitting with the paper towel, which she tossed in the trash can immediately.

"Can you... uh..." Y/N trailed off, gesturing weakly towards his black t-shirt. He nodded, understanding exactly what she meant, and slowly reached up to the back of the neck on his shirt to yank it off his body. He hissed when he was able to lower his arms, and she got straight to work cleaning up his wounds despite his whines.

She'd never been this close to his skin before. That was kind of a weird sentence when she thought about it, but it was true. It was tanned and firm, and a few inches above the cut on his side were the ripples of the serratus muscles. Nice.

Once the cut was cleaned up, it was clear to see that it wasn't bleeding nor had it been very deep in the first place. To be safe, Y/N used an alcohol pad to sanitize the wound once more (which Harry was not a fan of, since he didn't see her pull out the packet nor have time to brace himself) and bandaged it up with a Band-Aid bigger than the palm of her hand.

Harry watched her intently while she tended to him. He noticed how when she focused really hard she always pursed her lips, just like she did when she did his art project. Everything she did to him was delicate, as if getting his ass beaten was enough excitement for one night. Even just her stepping back to admire her handiwork and cocking her head was so... gentle.

"Hmm... you're pretty," he goofily mumbled, making her head snap up. As soon as it was out in the room, he shook his head and ran a hand down his face. "God, sorry about tha'. I think I'm still a little drunk."

"Wow, the first boy who compliments me immediately takes it back and blames it on being drunk. Just my luck, right?" she joked dryly, cleaning the bloody rag and rewetting it with fresh warm water.

He stared at her. "Wait, are yeh serious? The first?"

Y/N paused, staring down at her hands. "I mean... does my dad count?"

Harry laughed at this but only for a second before wincing from the pain. He figured she wasn't counting that skeez who'd tricked her back when she was 15. "Then I take back taking it back. You're beautiful and caring, and I really appreciate you--ah, fuck-- doing this for me."

She'd started dabbing at the dried blood from his still-sensitive nose. "Thank you, Harry. That means a lot." Y/N further inspected his nose, gingerly feeling it and holding the rag below it to prevent any further bleeding. "Doesn't feel like it's broken. Think it's just a little sore. In a day or so you'll be right as rain." Her focus moved up to his black eye, and Harry didn't breathe while she let her thumb ghost over the thin skin. "This doesn't look that deep, either. I'll get something to cool it down, and if it still looks bad, I'll give you some makeup to cover it. Be right back."

She left him alone in the washroom but returned quickly with two little boxes of apple juice. "Why'd y'get two?" he asked, taking them from her.

"So you can drink one. You looked parched." She went back to cleaning the remaining blood from the rag and hanging it to dry on the towel rack. Once the bathroom had been reorganized and Harry had finished his juice box, she sat on the lid of the toilet. "So... if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, but... can I ask what happened?" She waved a hand around his entire body.

He snorted. "Honestly, whenever I think about it, I cringe a little. It's so cliché."

"How so?"

Harry inhaled through his bruising nose sharply. "So m'at this party with my mates, right? I didn't know a lot of people there, so I was just trying to mind my business and have a pint or four. I'm sitting in the corner of this house near the front door and I see this girl trying to leave. She's totally wasted, and it kind of looked like she was calling an Uber. I tried t'keep an eye on her 'cause, y'know, world's a dangerous place. Just as she's about to leave, some guy comes up to her. Looks real mad. Demands that she go home with him, which she protests, says her ride is there. They kind of argue while she's going out the door, so I got up to follow 'em." Harry paused to roll his neck side to side, one pop one each side making the only sound in the bathroom. "Out on the porch, he's practically got her in a bear hug. I go into panic mode and start yelling at him.

"I'm yelling at him 'get off her' and 'what's your fuckin' problem' and stuff till I catch his attention. He shoved me, I shoved him back, then it's kind of a blur. Guess he got a couple in on my face before one of his buddies joined in on kicking my arse. I got knocked down and I landed on somethin’ rough which is what cut me up so bad." He gestured towards the bandage on his torso.

"Jeez, Harry," she breathed out, eyes like saucers.

"I know. The girl managed to make it out to her ride while all this was going on. Some other blokes pulled the fighters off me and I didn't know what to do. I grabbed some paper towels from a gas station t’stop the blood and came straight here.” Once he’d finished explaining, his gaze dropped down before adding a soft, “Didn’t know where else t’go.”

She nodded. “I appreciate that. I’m glad you’re okay and I’m glad that girl is as well. The universe will reward you for this for sure.”

He laughed at her ominous remark. “Little weird, but it’s not like I expected normalcy from the art expert.”

Y/N guided Harry back downstairs after giving him a big shirt to change into. “I’ll wash this and give it back as soon as I can, okay?”

He nodded and stopped at the front door. Harry looked down at his little Florence Nightingale, decided to do the one thing he’s wanted to do for almost ten years now, and leaned down to plant a kiss on her lips.

For a second, she was pliable and willing, and he thought she was about to deepen it, but instead she pulled him off. “I need…” she started, dazed. “I need you to forget that just happened.” Then she opened the door, pushed him outside, and closed it in his face.

GETTING DOWN IN DETROIT WITH JOE BROOK | HOUSE OF VANS POP UP

Another epic evening at the House of Vans Detroit Pop Up kicked off! And we’re still pumped up from all the awesome music, art, and activities. We chatted with photographer Joe Brook to find out what he enjoys shooting the most, who some of his favorite photographers are, and the inspiration behind his art installation. 

Take the leap! 

Photographs by Laura June Kirsch

Can you tell us about your art installation and the different mediums you used to create it?

Vans gave me a lot of freedom to curate my own show, which I really appreciate. 

I produced a Xerox photo collage, a group of Risograph photo prints, color photos mounted to foam core, as well as 2 collage posters of the Ride It Sculpture Park from when it was being built. In addition, I also produced a zine, which I went a bit overboard on and some skate videos that I made for "Fatback Productions" were be projected.

What was the inspiration behind it? What was your favorite piece from it? I was born and raised in Michigan. I learned to skateboard and fell in love with skateboarding while living there. The best times I've had skateboarding were the times I was skating with the friends I grew up with in Michigan. Skateboarding opened a door to a new world for me in the late 80's. From skateboard magazines and videos, I learned about art, music, photos, film and traveling.

This show is for all the Michigan skaters. The zine is my favorite. The zine consists of photos of skaters and scenes from Michigan. It's my love letter to Detroit. It covers some projects we did in Detroit over the past 6 or 7 years which consisted of building the Ride It Sculpture Park as well as a skate art trip I had with skaters who make art, shoot photos, tattoo, paint, sculpture, play music, etc. Those were very special trips for me, and I met some really amazing people in Detroit because of skateboarding.

What hands-on things did folks get to do at your workshop? What did you want folks to take away from it? I explained what my job consists of beyond just shooting photos. I taught them some techniques on lighting, composition, etc. As well as how to use very basic tools to take photos and make videos. 

You don't need a top of the line film camera or video camera to work on a project with your friends, whether it's skating or knitting. Find your passion, document it and don't be afraid of taking chances or failing while shooting photos. Be excited about what you're creating.

What do you enjoy shooting on the most? What type of things are you drawn to photograph? I like shooting skateboarding as well as other sports, portraits, street photography & landscapes. I enjoy exploring my surroundings. I like to study and watch light. Riding a skateboard makes you see the world we live in in a different light. You are always looking at your surroundings for something to skate, obstacles the everyday person wouldn't even think about. It's the skater's eye. You tend to notice little nuances of life that are different. 

Who are currently some of your favorite photographers and videographers? Daniel Sturt, Michael Burnett, Alex Soth, Frank Ockenfels, Gabe Morford, Tobin Yelland, Brian Gaberman, Arto Saari, Anton Corbijn, Ed Templeton, Nick Jaskey, Anthony Acosta, Lance Dawes, Mark Whiteley, Danny Clinch, Atiba, Thomas Campbell, Jai Tanju, Jerry Hsu, Greg Hunt, Ewan Bowman, Schmitty, Ty Evans, Rye Beres, Jon Minor, Mike Manzoori, Spike Jonze, William Strobeck, French Fred, Serge Vutuc.... there's too many to mention.

Here’s how it went down on this date in music…

March 28th

1958 - Buddy Holly

Buddy Holly kicked off the first night of a 43 date tour at Brooklyn Paramount Theatre in Brooklyn, New York. The Alan Freed’s Big Beat Show also featured Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry, Frankie Lymon, The Diamonds, Billy Ford, Danny & The Juniors, The Chantels, Larry Williams, Screaming Jay Hawkins, The Pastels, Jo-Ann Campbell and Ed Townsend. On most days the acts played two shows.

1964 - The Beatles

Madame Tussauds, London unveiled the wax works images of The Beatles, the first pop stars to be honoured.

1967 - The Beatles

Working on sessions for the new Beatles album Sgt. Pepper at Abbey Road studios in London, John Lennon recorded his lead vocal for ‘Good Morning Good Morning’, and Paul McCartney added a lead guitar solo to the track. Lennon had decided he wanted to end the song with animal sound effects, and asked that they be sequenced in such a way that each successive animal was capable of scaring or eating the preceding one.

1968 - Pink Floyd

Pink Floyd recorded a performance for the BBC 2 TV Omnibus - The Sound of Change show from Barnes Common, London, England. The special, which was produced by Tony Palmer, also featured performances by The Who, Cream and The Jimi Hendrix Experience. The show was later broadcast in September of this year.

1970 - Simon and Garfunkel

Simon and Garfunkel were at No.1 on the UK singles chart with 'Bridge Over Troubled Water', the duo's only UK No.1. Only Art Garfunkel sang on the track.

1973 - Led Zeppelin

Led Zeppelin released their fifth studio album, Houses Of The Holy in the UK. The album title was a dedication by the band to their fans who appeared at venues they dubbed 'Houses of the Holy'. The cover is a collage of several photographs which were taken at the Giant's Causeway, Northern Ireland, by Aubrey Powell of Hipgnosis. The two children who modelled for the cover were siblings Stefan and Samantha Gates.

1976 - Phil Collins

Genesis began their first North American tour since Peter Gabriel left the band, appearing in Buffalo, New York, with Phil Collins taking over as lead singer.

1981 - Blondie

Blondie started a two week run at No.1 on the US singles chart with 'Rapture', the group's fourth US No.1 and the first No. 1 song in the US to feature rap and its lyrics, notable for name-checking hip-hop pioneers Fab Five Freddy and Grandmaster Flash.

1982 - David Crosby

David Crosby was arrested after crashing his car on the San Diego Highway. Police also found cocaine and a pistol in the Crosby Stills & Nash stars car. When the police asked Crosby why he carried the gun, his reply was, 'John Lennon'.

1992 - Ozzy Osbourne

Over a $100,000 (£58,800) worth of damage was caused at The Irvine Meadows Amphitheatre, California, when Ozzy Osbourne invited the first two rows of the audience on stage. Several others took up the offer and the band was forced to exit the stage.

2000 - Jimmy Page

Jimmy Page accepted substantial undisclosed libel damages from a magazine which claimed he had caused or contributed to the death of his Led Zeppelin bandmate John Bonham. Page's solicitor, Norman Chapman, told High Court Judge Mr Justice Morland that the feature in Ministry magazine printed in 1999 claimed Page was more concerned with keeping vomit off his bed than saving his friend's life, and that he stood over him wearing Satanist robes and performing a useless spell.

2005 - U2

After playing a warm-up date the night before at the Los Angeles Sports Arena, U2 kicked off their Vertigo tour at the iPay One Center in San Diego, California. The 131 date world tour would see the band playing in North America, Europe, South America and Japan. By the time it finished, the Vertigo Tour had sold 4,619,021 tickets, grossing $389 million; the second-highest figure ever for a world tour.

2013 - Hugh McCracken

American rock guitarist and session musician Hugh McCracken died of leukemia in New York City at the age of 70. He appeared on many recordings by Steely Dan, Donald Fagen, Billy Joel, Roland Kirk, Roberta Flack, B. B. King, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, The Monkees, Paul Simon, Art Garfunkel, James Taylor, Phoebe Snow, Bob Dylan, Carly Simon, Graham Parker, Eric Carmen, Loudon Wainwright III, Aretha Franklin, Van Morrison, The Four Seasons, Hall and Oates, Gary Wright and Andy Gibb. Because of such high demand for his work, McCracken declined Paul McCartney's invitation to help form his new band, Wings after appearing on his 1971 album Ram.

Innerview: ? / STEP Inside Design

December 2006

Poster: DJG Design

Note: Interview about winning the STEP 100 for a poster.

0​1) Do you personally like DeVotchKa’s music? In other words, were you personally attached to this design? Or to the band?

First of all, if I wasn’t personally attached to my work then I would quit design altogether. This is why I skipped the whole real job format and stuck to my own no-money-making, yet, wealth-of-design-freedom GUNS… (A Little History) I was attending a concert by the great M. Ward a couple years ago in Omah, NE and was blown away by his opening act. It’s rare to experience something truly pure and straight from the source in person. I felt an intense passion and power displayed by DeVotchKa that night. Something that really came from deep inside​ ​the heart/gut and I longed to be a part of that. Immediately I wanted to marry my design to this band (I know this all sounds pretty big cheese, but I really feel an attachment with things that possess an actual soul). After the show I chickened-out at the idea of approaching the band. So, I stuck to my quiet ways and waited for them to come to my town. Eventually, they came to Kansas City, MO as an opening act again. I didn’t have enough notice to make anything for the show so I waited some more. They came back half a year later, headlining just a few blocks away from my house (this was my design chance that you now see in this magazine). And ironically, DeVotchKa is getting ready to take stage just forty minutes away from my fledgling writer fingers. Originally I was scheduled to attend tonight. Sadly, a lack of funds, a sick wife, house guests, a mountain of work and a Monday night keep me locked in the basement. DeVotchKa is blasting on my speakers and I can’t think of a better alternate place to be this evening. Oh well, the last DeVotchKa show was absolutely perfect and I’d like to leave that impression for a while longer. Trust me, the show was way better than my poster that represented it. ​0​2) What inspired you to make this design? The majority of the time a client can be linked to my posters. But, sometimes I just make them for the heck of it. Usually this is on occasion for bands/musicians that I really enjoy and wish to help spread the word about (and, I just like to make things). I found that some of my more memorable/enjoyable posters come this way. I DO work with a couple of venues/people first-hand, and carry a great relationship. However, for some shows it can be quite a shoestring to get to the bottom of making posters officially. I realize that some designers might think I’m working around the system a bit and possibly stepping on toes. But what’s the matter with just making something for the heart of it? There is no harm in that. It’s like when I was a ten and spent my hours penciling a life-sized, detailed drawing to commemorate Batman. It’s the exact same thing to me…me just really enjoying something and paying a tribute to it. The posters are also a self-promotion and more importantly help the venue and artists out. Everybody is a winner in my book. The Design Gods know I don’t make any money at the dang thing…all of those in declining favor can do ME a favor and find real world problems to moan over. Another thing is that I simply don’t have the time or resources to make the hundreds (or thousands) of posters that some promoters might request with a big show. I’ve had more praise than problem with making posters without permission…but, I bet some of the real hot-shot guys would hang me for it. Now, there’s a poster to get worked-up ugly over! Anyway, inspiration came from me liking DeVotchKa’s music along with my want to sit in the basement with a bad back…to pay them back in the only way I half-way know how to. ​0​3) Was there anything or one that influenced you? People have an easy-hard time wrapping questions like this one around my work. Like I said previously, I just felt like making this. I sat down and interpreted what DeVotchKa meant to me at that moment. Any other moment it would have been different. For instance, I made a poster for their show tonight. It consists of hand-cut, ornate, spray painted type that is overlapping 47 crudely-drawn, prancing ponies on lime green paper. It’s not very much like this poster (the one STEP picked), other that it’s really nothing special and it captures what I felt to be a moment in DeVotchKa’s music…or at least when I was listening/creating. It’s just where I felt like going at the time of departure. This image came and I grinned…problem solved. If I have to really work at something, then it becomes work. And you can always spot the ones that didn’t work for me. On influences…I got bushes and buckets of them (that’s another interview). In general I can’t go anywhere or do anything without absorbing in everything…it can be good and bad. I can read peeled billboards and restroom scribbles with ease, but I have a hard time with restaurant menus. Graphic design and so-called art saved and ruined me. But, it’s the only thing I really like to do (other than watch movies and listen to music…and eat junk). It’s important to me to just try and soak-up lots of things…especially the little, ordinary elementary things. A crummy day job has to be worked to keep the basement lights on. Though, I keep the actual design lights on 24-7. With a limited leash on my actual time to work on design, I don’t have time to mess around. This is where outside daily absorption comes in handy. Let’s say I need a centaur (like in this poster)…well, I just grab one from the place I keep the centaurs in my head. Which, is basically my Dad’s arms spread-out to coax a big ol’ bull into a pen…right before the bull kicks Dad in the gut and then he busts a fence board over that bull’s head. Growing up on a farm taught me to pay attention…and never make my dad angry. And I keep stockpiles of all types of things at arm’s length to reach and grab and just make and do. I like to have a good time with it. I don’t really consider it work. ​0​4) Does the conglomerative nature of DeVotchKa’s music influence the collage-like nature of the design, with all of its parts and motifs? Why did you choose this particular aesthetic? Very rarely do I make a premeditated aesthetic design choice. I’m very strict with not restricting myself. A lot of the time I’ll just have the idea in my head. I do-do sketches…but, they always ramble on and I tend to always go back to that initial idea in my head. So, then it’s all about putting clothes on it. Simply, I just go. It’s exciting to have an idea and then watch it grow. I’m sure that if America could design their children before pregnancy/birth (maybe even pick them off the shelf), we sure would. Personally, I like the purity of letting something develop. My designs are my babies. I like to hold hands with them and when they grow-up they are chosen to represent some design competition…and then I’m asked to bail them out by way of trying to answer questions. It can be pretty embarrassing. I like to just let them speak for themselves. But, people like answers. Yeah, I’ve been called a collage artist, an assembler. Mainly because the bulk of the designs are build with my hands. The computer is just a production tool for me (and a late night time saver/savior). I’m instantly encouraged to push things further if such “collage-like” labels arise. I have got to stay ahead of myself because I’m my only competition. But in the end, isn’t all design “collage-like” in some fashion? I guess the way I built this design ended up marrying to DeVotchKa’s music properly. Honestly, I never really thought about it. It just felt good and right to me. I suppose it did to you too? ​0​5) What are you most satisfied with regarding the design? This is a funny question. It sounds like I’m dying or going away (which, is sorta true in the grand scheme). I guess I’m just happy with the silly idea of being able to find a bit of time in life to do something like this. To slow it all down to the speed of a little Exacto blade slice, pencil scratch or thumb-print. Sitting by my self is very important to me. It helps me. A lot of people get bored when they are alone. I’ve never understood that. Some of my more wholesome life moments have come by way of sitting on my rear, making things for the heck of it. But, I don’t want to get into all that artsy junkyard talk. It DOES mean a lot to me whenever the work reflects well to others. I don’t care what you/they get from it. Just the fact that it speaked a spark of something, of anything, means so much to me. It’s nice to hand out brain smiles. Something of me has got to have some personality because me in person is pretty boorish (and not good to look at). Overall, I don’t find this design to be special or original. It’s probably been done a billion times before…and better. Posters are the same as pop songs. But, this is my blood…my pop song with a twist…and a wink. ​0​6) I noticed the messiness, the thumb-prints, the smudges. It gave it a nice kind of die-hard fan making a logo for their favorite band feeling. Was there a reason for this kind of aesthetic technique? Is this particular to or for the band and/or is this a DJG style? Is it to go along with the feel of DeVotchKa’s Music? As a child with many acres to roam in the country, I was dirty all the time. That’s carried over to now when I roam for answers at the design table. The difference is that thankfully my mom doesn’t hose me off at the back door anymore. (Fast Forward) In design school we didn’t jump to the computer right away. One day my friends were grumbling about how they couldn’t wait to start designing on computers. I told them that I was going to take the more hands-on approach…the route that didn’t need computers. I was dead serious. All of those previous years building things by hand and getting dirty, conditioned me to think this way. I even thought that typography was creating the layout of land by building map sculptures by hand (boy, was I disappointed). My friends thought I was a complete idiot and tried to set me straight. It’s really funny now because most of them aren’t even doing graphic design anymore and I sit and make most things with my hands and really love it. While learning computers I didn’t like how I couldn’t physically touch what I was working with. I couldn’t get around the screen barrier confidently. And the bulk of computer graphics and design firms felt so lifeless and seemed to lack passion and soul. I preferred something that felt like a human being was responsible for it. Computers are appreciated greatly, but they are just a tool. Smudges, marks, thumb-prints and so-ons are evidence of a human element. Hardly do I ever remove those elements. There is something pure, matter-of-fact, cave-like and very of-the-moment about them. They help narrate the story and reveal the process of life. Is this a DJG style? Well, I don’t know what that means. I’ll answer yes, I suppose. It’s nothing I strive to achieve or be known for branding sake. Each new day to me is a new style on my brain and soul. Whether its design, music or movies, I long for the attraction of immediacy (I suppose I’m using this word correctly?)…to me, its something that feels lived-in and instantly speaks in its own way. But, has a down-to-Earth familiarity to it that makes you want to really listen and come back for more. It’s something authentic and with a soul that shows it’s been spit-shined. I feel this way especially about the work of Saul Steinberg, Henryk Tomaszewski, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Wes Anderson, Michel Gondry, ElliottbSmith…and…child drawings, folk art, hand-drawn type/signs, cuts, scribbles and marks. (to name a few). …and I don’t trust a man with clean hands. Or a man that won’t let his kids dig up the yard. ​0​7) What is the explanation behind the cows? The Wine bottle? Why is the poor wine-bottle-girl stepping on her own head? Those are centaurs, not cows. While most centaurs have the body of a horse, mine have a cow!…and with big horns on their heads (at least in this depiction). I also tend to make my animals pretty meaty. I keep them well-fed! For some reason I couldn’t get the centaurs out of my head with this poster. I draw it to the whole animal instinct in human nature. Even better is that the wine bottle woman is a centaur too. She wears a skirt made of her ex-lovers’ hides, trophies of the ones she’s conquered (except for the couple that are getting away with some dignity left). She definitely means business. To flip it around, the centaurs can also represent the idea of climbing a mountain of struggle…it could be relationships, bad luck, a loss of faith or addiction. It’s all subjective, really. I enjoy hearing what others interpret from the design(s). The lead singer for DeVotchKa drinks from a wine bottle in-between each song. This image in my head from their live sets must explain the wine reference. I get the sense that he’s been through some battlefields with the ladies. With the woman spilling the skull under her heels…well, the band has a song called “Death by Blonde” (or something like that). I always get a good giggle at that mangled face on a stick! I don’t know much more about how it came along. I just sat and spit it up. I cut the start and the finish ribbons and was happy with the run. ​0​8) It seems as if you are referencing some mythology here. What is it? Did you create it? Or is it something the band references? I’m no scholar in mythology (or anything for that matter), so it’s definitely just a piece that I’ve pieced together in my own head and on paper…to make it part of my mythology. I just like a design that says something. Each design of mine tries to tell a story. It must be talking to you. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. (I’m sorry to answer this question so short) ​0​9) What motivates you? What makes/how do you define good design? An aspect of motivation to me (like I’ve said before) is the ability to slow things down and sit alone…to simply make things. I’ve always been a big supporter of my own time. I get so much out of design by way of discovery. Not just for design-sake, rather it’s important for me to do it to help understand myself a bit more. If there is anybody to shovel and burn the coal in my world, well it’s definitely gotta be me. Though, all that time alone has caused me to acquire a major case of social inadequacies (among other things). But, I’ve always carried a heavy backpack ever since I can remember. I’ve also had to make many sacrifices in other areas of life. And I’ve also gained so much and am learning to manage things a bit better as I earn some years. Still, there are times when I’ve wanted to slice my design limb off, or maybe just do things for myself completely. Maybe I’m just too dramatic or need a vacation? I’m also my only competition/enemy. Even though my work ethic, excitement, goals, and bulky portfolio are over-exhaustive (to you and to me)…I still think I’m the laziest guy in my room. (I’ve touched base on the following too…) Good design to me is defined by something that moves me…something with heart and identifiable to the human spirit. True, it’s all subjective, but there is a fine line too. I’m just not a big fan of snobs and elitists. Most of the time I’d rather talk with an every-day person, struggling to work two jobs as a school lunch cook-office cleaner, than a group of fancy-pants designers with clean fingernails…it just feels more real to me. And I don’t mean to offend anybody here. Awkward as I may be…I will talk with anybody. I DO love talking about my work with interested people. But it’s good for me to get away from the work and talk about everyday things (I know I’m running circles right now, sorry). Good design has also got to have something to say, and the majority of the time it’s gotta have great humor! I like to get a giggle. It brightens my day to see something and say, “Look at that! It’s great!” And most of the time I’m referring to a crumpled shopping list, a great hand-made thrift store find, handwriting samples or a child’s drawing. I do have my art and graphic design heroes, but there is great everyday stuff that makes up the design of the real world. Whenever I go to most gallery shows, art and design ends up feeling lifeless to me for several days. A college professor once told me that there is no good and bad design, only smart and stupid. I tend to keep that in mind. I’m sure you are bored with this by now and are scratching at what I’m probably not really saying right now. Sorry to ramble on. But, I trust it helps understand a bit for you…it does for me. I thank you so much for your time, patience and interest. -djg

PHONELESS IN BERLIN

Words: Kirsty Allison

All photographs by Martyn Goodacre, except images of Danielle De Picciotto’s art, and Alexander Hacke’s studio…and the portrait of Morgan, by Kirsty.

Clouds’ shadows camouflage the sea. Sardine boats dodge the lifeboat wind farms. I jet-trash over last night’s cab, and the phone left on the back seat.

SCHONEFIELD AIRPORT

“Yes,” with an ‘of course’-face, “It has all the streets on it.” The tourist board office give me a map with the VisitBerlin travel card – 41E for 6 days, generous. I like free travel, and I like maps. Not Maps that rhyme with apps. I see the island of West Berlin – I put all the streets in my long black woollen notebook pocket.

U-BAHN/S-BAHN

Map in a glass cage – no index – I’ll take a photo – look at it when I’m moving – I can’t take a photo. My cogs shift from the cybernet dimension.

Alone. Letting go of my infatuation with being monitored, I feel an analogue glitch, a slip of fortune as I enter the low-rise city, uninterrupted with pings.

A watch. I could buy a watch – to tell the time.

I could walk rather than do the connection.

THE HORRORS / Synästhesie Festival / Volksbühne

“The people putting this festival together told me this granite floor was from Hitler’s Bunker,” says Anton Newcombe of the Brian Jonestown Massacre and A Records, DJing in the green room, two floors of sweeping staircases up in the People’s Theatre of Mitte’s Rosa-Luxemburg Platz – once the centre of East Berlin’s GDR.

“Do you believe them?” I ask, of the 8MM Bar promoters who put the festival together. We consider the plausibility, the Nazi star, in dirty creams and blood reds.

Mark Reeder later confirms it to be from the Nazi Vice Chancellor office. And of the cenotaphs stashed beneath the KuDamm – the Nazi spikes. Close enough. Anton is a hero – DIG! the film he stars in aside spars, The Dandy Warhols – an essential on the rock n roll rites-of-passage Reading List. Between his selection of classic psychedelia: “I was born in 1967, in California, of course I’m psychedelic”, with highlights such as Fabio Viscollios 7”, he sets the record straight on all kindsa connections that zip around my references of the night – the stars that guide us, the magnets who form us.

Arrival in Neukölln

So 90s, no blue arrow locator. Without the digital psychographic veils of my screen, the meaning of wrong direction changes – I love to travel, to feel on top of the globe, wherever you walk, with only the weight of the identifiers you carry.

Natural order leads me to Stroke Order – my faux-god-sista, of the Sacred Sound Club – her haus is pink. Y3 shoes, high ceilings, dribble shower, CK mirror. She’s a costume designer for films, but has been hiding out here for a year. Making minimal techno – using autonomous sensory meridian response samples – sounds that turn us on.

Our mothers are pretend godmothers to me and her. She grew up in Vancouver. Dad is a motorcycle racer and ballet dancer in Japan.

Synästhesie Festival / Volksbühne

CAMERA take to the main stage of seated theatre hall. Brutalist fractal collage films of matrix shifting cities, juddering with intent. Projections of you watching me watching you – perhaps being shot live in the auditorium – full scope. Beaming around the physical force of a standing drummer triballing out for a 20 minute set on a bass drum, snare and cymbal. The centre-piece. Astral simulacrum to The Egg who I played with earlier this year. The standing drummer keels in sweat, throws a death white sheet over the drums as though he has beaten them dead, only to dampen their noise, and continue hitting and hitting. Keys, 2 x guitar, sitar bass, different genereration radical on sax – elf dancing.

I’m reminded of the need for parameters – the ones we invent to live inside. The significance of numbers plays on the screens – another hallucination. A replacement for seeing everything through snapshot Insagram lens. Abandoning our digital religion – is so FKK (freikörperkultur – the GDR East Berliners act of rebellion was to strip on Sundays around the lakes – to rip off the communist soaked nylons of identikit clothing*). So naked.

TANGERINE DREAM

A violinist in black – modular synth Memotron on one side – a bank of other buttons on the other side. One life. One nerve shatters and then rest follow. First they twitch, and glitch the matrix…

I catch a bit of THE PINS – all girls – superhot, riot grrrrl electronica.

THE HORRORS

Violent Lenin Uber Alles track shatters across the increased scale of the stage for this headline performance – punk anger of East Berlin, red deco chandeliers of alles Ku-damm Cabaret glory. Waiting for Faris Badwan, the singer who I first interviewed for Dazed and Confused, making a film about his illustration – and exhibition, I wonder about the symbolism of genre/sound/music/art as signs of the times – about resonance – of what we are creating and producing – of X Factor sounds as the capitalist panacea – of our art resonating our environment – or us gravitating towards it. Stroke Order making techno in Berlin.

The futurism of white noise perfection – the dystopian values, four albums in from when I first met Faris – he was maybe 23 then. Unsure if he was going to carry on at St Martins art school. By the time I interviewed him again for Vogue, he was not going back.

And here, seated in the very front row – I witness the evocation of destiny – he’s become less of the shy frontman, but someone who is commanding the respect of the universe – he violently whips the mic lead – he hails the pulses of front row screamers, bonding their necks with rubber wire – he in black PVC – guitarist in red lipstick – beautiful rockstar boys. Lyrics are lost in the Elritch reverb – Faris is crown stealing. Volatile black energy of goth industrial – contemporised by Tom Furse – and his techno pyramid synths. Ice sweat dripping Hackney vampire bassist Rhys Webb. Faris has become storming iconic balearic, striding over theatre seats, in smart city shoes. It’s cosmic goth, it is power – it is owning the depth of Poe hell to Blakean heavens. From voyeurs to submission, the audience leave satisfied.

WEDDING/NW multi-cultural reaches of the city.

Fire station studio. Danielle De Picciotto walks us across a courtyard in twilight. Pyramid of flowers, split by stairs to a below-sea-level, waiting buddha, draped with beads. Left and right basement of Californian security doors, co-joined studios, His and Hers. Drums on the male side, Alexander Hacke, Einsturzende Neubatten – poles of metal to hit. Next door: paintings of black and white folklore S+M dolls with tripped out wings, and photograph reflections. Hers. With tea. Laughter. Discussion. Love. She is love.

***

Lost – ghetto kid guides me and Stroke Order to the ambient dinner in a bar beneath a block in Wedding: soundproof triangles of three-tone pastel shaved hardwood. Clean vegetables, and a series of performances from three post-Akai-ists. Poetry, soundscapes layering paranoic schizophrenic voices – a DJ girl in from Seattle. The residents, ex-pats, from across Germany, and the world – carrying less ego than London. A wholesome intellect carries through, it gets lost in the whirl of London survival. I think back to hanging with the man commonly known as Rodent, the Sex Pistols’ sound tech – he was saying everything is lost in our digital times – the lack of ability to hang out together, they had to live frugally, himself in the studio of The Clash. The intensity of art. It’s easier here. To get involved in your creativity – away from the grab.

SUNDAY

Home jukebox, coffee, and Okay Cafe cinnamon swirls at Jason McGlade and Anne-Cathrin Saure’s (the art director/photographer, and designer of Cold Lips II, and co-createurs of the Shedville font). They moved back here recently – but Jason’s back and forth to London, working on an incredible analogue Polaroid project.

Stroke Order and I head out to Berghain – but instead collide with a very old friend who’s been living in Thailand for 14 years – Martyn Goodacre. He took the most iconic picture of Kurt Cobain, and many more. We tried doing music together when we worked on magazines. We go to a bar, meet with a midwife – talk about the horror show of birth, the guidance into the world, policed by the womb and the channel to birth and the rejection from the vulvic eye. The propulsion.

MONDAY MORNING COMING DOWN FROM AN EMAIL THAT IS CHANGING MY LIFE

Space, China – coffee with Mark Reeder. His vinyl of Mauderstadt is out now. I’ve just run a trilogy of stories on him in DJ Mag, explaining his part in Berlin, from being the Factory rep in Berlin in Joy Division days, through to putting on punk gigs in East Berlin, recording the music in gay bars to play to New Order – thus Blue Monday – and since, from inventing trance music with his label MfS – getting Paul van Dyk on the map – he’s the man. His uniforms. Rare light.

“Danielle [De Picciotto] and Katia – Love Parade would never have started without them.”

[Love Parade was the street party that began in the ecstatic reunification of East and West Berlin. The wall came down in 1990. The old GDR was a wild land. Read Danielle De Picciotto’s Beauty of Transgression for more…or watch Mark Reeder’s B-Movie…and his forthcoming E-Movie.]

He realises he’s late for his lunch…

Alone, back on the Neukölln streets, I look into the door of a Moroccan cafe – get called in by a round-faced Muslim woman, grey jumper, jeans – trainers – Tangiers market vibes, enter – beans – good – no English – point at a box – I don’t know if she knows I don’t want a tagine but takeaway – they waterfall me mint tea – the door slams shut. There are stickers on the wall tiles – plastic table cloths. Am I about to be drugged? Locked in – I have few Euros and no phone to be stolen.

I sit, read the Unspoken Berlin I’ve picked up – and wait for either the drugs to kick in, or to relax. Oh, some brot on the table – no it ain’t Gucci Bloom sea hedgehog fennel and jerusalem artichoke, chestnut puree and scallop, purple watercress like the exquisite experience of Lokal where local ingredients will dance on plates for us later – nor is is it as refined as the Techno sauna we’ll meditate in around the bar – but it is E2.50 and beautifully wholesome – the chickpeas are larger than London.

—-

Neurotitan have taken Cold Lips and my last 3 copies of Unedited. Stefi there is lovely. It’s somewhere that’s always called me on previous trips to Berlin. Many putting a film together that became impossible, about Manuel Gottching, of Ash Ra Tempel – and E2:E4 – the most sampled record – inventor of ambient – before Eno, before the HANSA recordings of Iggy and Bowie. I tell Stefi of my gig last night with Whisky and Words at the Keith bar – where Stroke Order – her pals – and Jason McGlade come by – and Mark Reeder. And Rasp Thorne [post coming to Cold Lips soon, or buy the second edition for total spread]- the consumate performer – lighter over here – my lips are still red from the wine. Stephen Crane. Rasp’s performance of Crane. He’s so good.

Everytime I get on a train here the stasi black jacket ticket checkers are on the same carriage. It’s happened to Morgan 3 times in her year here – and 3 times with me in as many days. I am able to fight my usual paranoias from the top of my Maslow pyramid – the email from a publisher – saying he wants to publish my novel – the one I have had two agents hawk around in 11 years – during which time, I have changed, and so has the story. It is the best email I’ve ever had. Here, lying in bed on the Monday morning after meeting with Anton Newcombe and front row for Faris – Faris frow.Two days later, I’m still flying, as I hit EchoBucher, back in Wedding – they’re taking some Cold Lips…I drop into Potsdamer – meeting… No fucking way. Ticket checkers.

Zug Fallt aus!

You have amazing eyes – you look like Madonna said the guy from Milano – I’m hoping he means old skool hot Madz. En route to the airport – delays – nerves shot / triggering towards Parkinsons and spiked dreams. He calmed me – so did the guy who was also travelling to Stansted – as we ran for the plane, and vice versa. Detoxed from the phone, train home, to the temple – travelling with Alice A Bailey. Nanobotic karmic overide. More ticket inspectors – haunted by the stasi – on plane now – could do with some extra O2 from the overhead locker after running in a coat I just bought which I think I may be allergic to. But it’s so warm.

*German born LA-resident, Benedikt Taschen, the art collector and publisher, has directed the content of the new EAST GERMAN HANDBOOK. An encyclopedic collab with Wende Museum, a place of Cold War artefacts in Culver City. It’s a compendium of communist porn – picture-led, masonically-charged graphics of the whole nine yards of life behind the wall – from ideal weaponary to food, fags, appalling vodka, and the requisite communist shit shoes. It’s got 50s utopian vision written all over it.

To be honest, we are all bored in quarantine. We complain that we don’t have much to do sitting at home, thinking how our lives have taken a tedious turn with the advent of this pandemic that has brought the world to its knees. I was contemplating on the same thing but soon managed to kick the boredom out and do something interesting. It wasn’t challenging, nor was it too convoluted of a activity to indulge in and finish, but I surely did enjoy my time writing it!

The photos in the collage were not taken by me but it has five countries I’d love to visit soon in the future! Mesmerized by the allurement of these countries from numerous sources, like books, photographs, magazines, TV shows, etc., I have fortified my tenacious will and insatiable wanderlust to include these gorgeous destinations in my wish list. I have written short notes on the five gems, going row-wise from the top and they are as follows:

1. France 🇫🇷 - Pretty much every globetrotter has this idyllic European country in their lists and the reasons are obvious. Don’t feel the need to elaborate on them and why this beautiful country is in the heart of those who love to travel, infatuated with exploration. I’m waiting for you, France! Vous êtes belle!

2. Greece 🇬🇷 - Right at the base of Eastern Europe lies the prepossessing soul of the hellenistic land- another favourite for tourists who are always hooked on expeditions to new discoveries and sheer excitement to placate their unquenchable thirst for travel! Need to prepare myself to immerse into the colours of its enticing culture and rich history, along with the beautiful assets it boasts, starting from historical sites - which are reflected in large part by its 18 UNESCO World Heritage Sites, beaches, archipelagos and its long coastline.

3. Switzerland 🇨🇭 - This beautiful country at the heart of Europe is nothing short of breathtaking and absolutely paregoric in its distinctive aura that makes it one of my picks. One of the most popular tourist attractions on Earth, it is famous for its diverse landscape, from the beguiling Alpine villages, ski resorts during the winter, picturesque mountaineering locations and destinations. Definitely ready for the thrilling Swiss adventure!

4. Morocco 🇲🇦 - Words aren’t enough to describe how captivating this North African country and Elysian paradise on Earth is! I’ve always wanted to visit this absolutely amazing country that so vibrantly blends the Occident and the Orient and has nothing but its stunning beauty and remarkableness to offer to its visitors. Enriched with aesthetic culture that elegantly encompasses the taste of Europe and Africa, Morocco’s diversity in tourism is so empowering that I do not know where to start! It is the westernmost country of the Arab world where the East meets the West. In fact, it is so dizzyingly diverse that if you were to move from one place to another, it would feel as if you’ve just travelled to an entirely different one! All of them are ethereal and alluring in their own ambiences. From the eye-catching beaches and the glorious coastline across Tangier, wonders of Casablanca and Fez to the red city of Marrakech which reverberates with the rhythm of North Africa, you will find the country so sublime and out-of-this-world that it’ll be difficult to say farewell. Never been there but I can confidently say so! Can’t wait for Morocco! Pretty sure my Maghrebi buddies have got me covered for that!

5. Finland 🇫🇮 - Finland is drop-dead gorgeous! And COLD! But that’s not something you’d wanna worry about in your vacation because of how awe-inspiring this northern part of Europe is! The name doesn’t really show up in the lists of most travellers but it is that little gem that I have always had in mine! The beauty of nature opens itself with an outlandish psyche from the upper polar region near Lapland to the southern, near the idyllic and clement capital, Helsinki. Beautiful lakes, fjords, ski resorts, wintry forests, pearl vales, exquisite villages, exotic picnic spots and giant snowy cliffs - all of these are there waiting for you in Finland. The trip would be considered incomplete without an unforgettable experience in viewing the beautiful aurorae or the Northern Lights in the winter resorts - their effulgence up the northern sky with their multichromatic dance, truly eyegasmic!

🏠🛏🐻📖🗑 for the New bostonians?

House – *Scout  lives in a very small apartment building in the bad side of town. There are two bedrooms; the brothers are split between them and his mother sleeps on the pull out couch. It’s crowded and messy and has a very lived in feeling. Scout shares a room with three of his older brothers but actually isn’t in the house very often. It is a collage of many interests.

*Mia shares an apartment with her two younger siblings. The apartment is fairly dark, and they try not to use the lights very often to save on the electric bill. There’s usually dirty laundry thrown over the back of the couch and even though it’s not very full furniture wise, it’s pretty messy. There’s knick knacks all over the place, little glass figurines that Mia has picked up at yard sales and thrift shops. She also collects candles even though she hardly ever burns them.

*Ellie and Jason live in the same house together, and even though their family isn’t rich it’s larger than most of the other New Bostonian’s homes. It’s a little brownstone house in the good side of town, with a small fenced in yard. Jason’s room is filled up with bottles of ingredients and bits of metal scraps all over the place. It always smells like smoke and sulfur and burning things. Ellie likes to keep her room super neat, and she’s got a large sparkling bean bag chair that she sits in while she reads. She has a retro record player that she hardly ever uses.Bedrooms – *Scout shares a bedroom with three of his older brothers. There are two bunk beds crammed into the room. Because Scout is the youngest in the family, he’s stuck with a bottom bunk. All of his personal belongings are kept under the bunk; age relays rank in the household, and rank means you get more space in the room for your stuff. There’s a poster of Babe Ruth tacked up on the underside of the top bunk, along with a picture of Scout’s mother when she was younger, a collectors card for Mechanic, and a group shot of the New Bostonian’s.

*Mia’s bedroom is a cluttered mess. She doesn’t like to get rid of things. There are glass figurines tacked up on all of the shelves and none of the colorations or styles of the room matches. Her bed is piled full of her younger sister’s stuffed animals and there’s always dirty laundry on the floor. She keeps a box under her bed of adult magazines and has a huge collection of death metal and hair metal cd’s. There’s a poster of Nate’s band hanging up on the wall.

*Jason’s room is a mess. There are burn marks on the floor and singed spots on the wall. It always smells like smoke and sour things, from his failed experiments. Bits of metal scraps, screws, and used up herbs always litter the floor. Ellie’s room is a sharp contrast to her brother’s and is super neat. She loves bright colors and it shows in her wall paint choices and the colors of her bed sheets. There’s a box filled up with spare head phones on her dresser.

Toys/Stuffed animals*Scout has a huge collection of toys under his bed! They’re all really small things with a lot of texture, like those sticky hands, slap bracelets, jelly bands, and bouncy balls! He likes things that he can fiddle with and there’s probably a box of Lego’s under the bed, but Scout hardly ever gets a chance to play with them anymore ‘cause his older brothers make fun of him.

*Mia’s bed is filled up with her younger sister’s stuffed animals. Supposedly, they’re in there to “keep watch” over Mia.

Diary – *Scout – Those fuckrs need 2 shut up bfore I get out of bed and kick their asses they’ve been arguing all nite holy shit I just want a little sleep. It’s all stupid shit 2 no one cares who 8 the lst fucking poptart jesus Christ

*Mia – I’m going to do it today. I’m going to tell Nate what I’ve been doing. Yeah, okay, so I’ve said this the last three weeks but – I mean it this time! You know, because I need to defend myself to a bunch of papers. Pretty sure this means I need more sleep.

*Ellie –   Did I make a good impression on them? I’m not sure. I know that Mia likes me, but the others are so hard to read! What if I just came off as stupid? Jason’s got such a good grasp on his magic, and I barely understand how mine works. Is this a mistake?

*Jason – My hands are killing me. It’s a good thing that we’re having a cold snap. I think Ellie might murder me if she realizes that I messed them up again. It’s really not my fault, though! I’ve almost figure out what’s wrong! If I can just get the calibration right…

Trashcan –*Scout: is it wrong to say that the entire house is his trash can?

*Mia: every room has a different trash can, and they’re all those super small plastic colorful themed ones that you buy for children’s bathrooms at Walmart.

*Ellie: a mesh trash can that she keeps under her desk

*Jason: several carefully sorted metal bins that he keeps at his work station and hardly ever empties, because he believes you can find a use for everything

Project Evaluation (approx. 1000 words)

An important part of the way you develop your own photographic practice throughout the course is the relationship between your research (in all its forms) and your own creative practice. You should have been making regular updates on your blog throughout the semester and using it as a space to think through and develop your ideas. Project evaluation is an opportunity for you to reflect on, and summarize, these updates so that your tutors can have a clear overview of your working process, progress and development during the module.

Use the headings below as a guide and feel free to add to this and include images if you wish.

Project Title: Off The Wall

How did this develop and what was involved in the decision making process?

My original intentions for this project was to create album covers inspired by my own poetry, music taste, and views of the world. This process would have been inspired by music, poetry, art, photography and film. I wanted to do this project because i didn’t want to confine myself to a particular creative process; I wanted to be free and experiment with painting, drawing and text. I thought i could bring a fine art approach to this project and condense down into a graphic design. This way, I can be critical in my work and know how to distribute my images to a particular demographic. The decision making process was very important to me and I always took time to see what worked well and what didn’t. I decided not to include Tom’s photo-shoot in the final piece because the creative just wasn’t working and I believe the photos are not as strong as the others in my selection. There are also some images i didn’t include in the pieces because I thought they would not flow effectively. I changed the album art for Emily’s piece a couple of times. I thought the original did not look like an album cover. I added a water background and placed her image on top. I thought the relationship between the two layers did not work. I felt it needed more texture in order to bond a connection between the two. I thought the images were quite intimate themselves; so it did not need to be overwhelmed by another image. A simple border and text does it well.

Subject

Reflect on the subject matter of your project.

The subject matter for this project was not very personal or making a large statement- which is what I am used to. The purpose of this project was to see how creative I could be in image making when it comes to graphic design. The process was about seeing the potential of images and that photography can be a collaboration- with text, music and technology. I wanted the final piece to be tangible to it’s audience. I’ve called it ‘Off The Wall’ because the pieces themselves can be taken off the shelf and be experienced intimately. It is the best of both worlds. I want my audience to know that physicality and the way we experience art forms is incredibly important. The way we see things on the wall, in our hands, the way we hear things in our earphones or out loud is unimaginably influential.

Visual Research

Reflect on how key photographers / visual artists who are relevant to your project research have impacted upon the development of your project?

Explain how they influenced your approach and what you learned from them.

I first started my research at Tate Modern visiting the Robert Rauschenberg exhibition, which kick-started by project. I really liked one of his processes where he used lighter fluid on a piece of paper and sticking it to a magazine; he would then use an empty pen and draw on the other side. Through this process the image would come out on the paper. I was fascinated with this process and realised that I can create a lot of work through physical manipulation whether, that’d be painting, drawing or collage making. The exhibition was very inspiring.

I then started looking at my favourite album covers, and why I like them so much. I started to study their composition, use of colour and text. From here, I took some images and started to experiment with composition and digital collage. I then looked at photographers Nick Knight and Paola Kudack for my first photo-shoot. I was interested in the concept of body language and posing. I did a self portrait shoot, which prepared me for photographing other people and how they pose for the camera.

I also visited the Wolfgang Tillmans exhibition at the Tate, which was also very influential. My favorite parts of the exhibition were the corners of the wall where Tillmans put up several images next to each other. I loved the way he presented his work- It felt very personal and I was able to engage with the images on a new level. It all felt very tactile and it felt like it was presented like how someone would decorate their bedroom. There were also many books on display and was fascinated with the amount of archives he has. Tt had got me thinking in terms of how i want to display my work. This was when I knew I wanted the same tactile feel to my work; That people could pick up the photos and have a much more personal engagement with them. It was at this point where I thought I could call the piece ‘Off The Wall’. I knew that the exhibition space doesn’t need to be ‘professional’ or ‘glamorous’, it can be whatever I want it to be.

I also looked at photography books such as Sentimental Journey 2: Nobuyoshi Araki, Requests And Antisongs: James Richards, and Harry Callahan: The Street. I was fascinated with the creative processes of these works, and the way they were laid out on a page. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to make a book, but looking through the pages, I got an idea of how I could present images on a page, and the challenge of how can I make a page interesting. The Edgar Martin’s talk was very important to me. I was in love with his most recent project- Siloquies and Soliloquies on Death, Life and Other Interludes, 2016. The relationship between the personal imagery was incredibly emotional and is now the best piece of photography work I have ever seen.

Aims, Objectives, Concept

Discuss your aims and objectives and the main concept for your project and evaluate how successfully these have been resolved.

My main objective with this project was to be free in my creative processes and tackle my issue with photographing people. I think I was quite free in my decision making process when it came to creativity, however I think I could have explored much more process such as painting and scanning. I was afraid of the process not turning out well because the possibilities with this project are endless and sometimes the process don’t work well and this is an issue I have had in the past. I think I have photographed the models well. I definitely have some good photographs, however I wish I knew what more I could have done to tell the person who I was shooting. There is only so much I can do as the photographer- people either understand posing or they don’t.

Production

Reflect on the specific production methods you have been exploring and how these approaches and visual strategies have affected your project development.

Photoshop has been the main production method for me. I would print out photos on paper to see how the look on a page. From this, I would determine which photos are strongest, and which sequence it should go in. I would then retouch the photos and play around with composition and text until I came to a conclusion which I was happy with.

Presentation

How effectively have you communicated your ideas in relation to your identified audience and context?

I think I have communicated them well. I think the title works well with the concept and the work. I wanted to find a middle-ground with the way that the images are presented. In the exhibition I may have a CD player or a computer to play music on, while the person engages with my images.

Evaluation

Identify the strengths and weaknesses of your project and what you might do to improve it in the future?

Strengths:

I think I have a good concept with this project and have used technical skill well in my photography. I have communicated with people I do not know, which is a challange for me because I am quite a shy person. This has made me come out of my comfort zone and improve my confidence.

Weaknesses:

I have not experimented with material to its full potential. I don’t have a huge range of processes that I originally intended to do. Many of the photos were shot in a studio and share a very visible similarity. I could have changed it up and worked more in colour and escape the studio.

Improvement: To improve the project I would have fitted in more artists to collaborate with. I needed to have a legitimate conversation with them to talk about their music and what it means to them. This way, the creative process would be much clearer and I would have more of an idea of what to do with the images. Overall I am happy with this project and I am still continuing the photograph artists from this University. I hope to create much more stronger imagery and extended my creative possibilities.

2018-03-17 19 MUSIC now

MUSIC

Brooklyn Vegan

What's going on Saturday?

Shelter announce tour with Dave Smalley's band Don't Sleep

tours announced: Candiria, The English Beat, POPTONE & more

Charli XCX played guest-filled 'Pop 2′ show in L.A. (review, videos)

Gov't Mule announce 'Dark Side of the Mule' dates with The Avett Brothers

Consquence of Sound

This Year’s Model Is Still Elvis Costello at His Angry Best

Snapchat stock loses $1 billion following Rihanna’s scathing response to offensive ad

The Decemberists thank Special Counsel Robert Mueller in the liner notes of their new album

Motion Picture Academy president John Bailey accused of sexual harassment

SXSW Film Review: Paradox Works Better as a Concert Film Than As a Sci-Fi Western

Fact Magazine

Inga Copeland releases new Lolina album The Smoke

Visit MJ Cole’s gin factory-turned-studio in east London

Influential South African artist DJ Spoko has died, aged 35

Behringer shares prototype of Sequential Circuits Pro-One synth clone

Google has designed a DIY controller for its AI synthesizer

Fluxblog

The Sun In Your Cold World

Took Me For A Ride

At My Leisure

What Is This Force

Hopes Or Holidays

Idolator

She’s Coming! Tinashe Announces ‘Joyride’ Release Date, Unveils Cover

PRETTYMUCH Have A Massive Pop Moment With “Healthy”

Demi Lovato Helps Q-Tip Put A Unique Spin On Elton John’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart”

The Driver Era Talk “Preacher Man,” New Direction & Innovation: Interview

Troye Sivan Delivers A Chic “My My My!” Performance For ‘Jimmy Fallon’

Listen to This

Drew Ofthe Drew -- Bad One (The Black Gate Opens) [funk / electronic / metal] (2015)

TOISOC -- Cognitive Dissonance [psychedelic rock/funk] (2016)

L'Rain -- Stay, Go (Go, Stay) [Neo-Soul/Psychedelic](2017)

Oren Lavie -- Second Hand Lovers [Chamber Pop] (2018)

The Future Babes — Cold Blooded [Rock] [Alternative]

Popjustice

Saluting the artwork for PRETTYMUCH’s Healthy

Louisa Johnson interview: “We went, ‘oh, fuck it, let’s just get drunk’”

Popjustice’s Spring Statement: Key Points

New Music Friday: Vera Blue’s Lady Powers are still strong

New Music Friday: When it’s time to put Andrew WK at the top of the playlist it’s time to put Andrew WK at the top of the playlist hard

Reddit Music

Dance Gavin Dance - Here Comes The Winner [Experimental Rock/Post-Hardcore]

The Dubliners - Whiskey in the Jar [Irish Folk]

Flogging Molly - Drunken Lullabies [Irish Punk Rock]

Portugal. The Man – Live In The Moment ("Weird Al" Yankovic Remix) [indie/polka]

Dropkick Murphys - Barroom Hero [Irish punk rock]

Rolling Stone

Aretha Franklin Cancels Upcoming Concerts on Doctor's Orders

Mike Gordon: Five Songs That Transported Me

Hear Toni Braxton's Heartbroken New Song 'Sex & Cigarettes'

10 New Albums to Stream Now: The Decemberists, Meshell Ndegeocello and More Editors' Picks

Rich Homie Quan Reveals New LP Made With 'Hennessy, Weed, Fruit Snacks'

Slipped Disc

Vivaldi hated the viola

I was saving this music for the afterlife

What James Levine wants

Australian tenor pleads guilty to child sex offences

The next Mahler cycle will come from … Minnesota

Spotify Blog

Spotify Launches Self-Serve Advertising Platform in the UK and Canada

Spotify Announces Launch of Line-In

John Hancock and Spotify Give Runners Everywhere Access to Custom Playlists and Tips from Some of the World’s Fastest Marathoners

Spotify Kicks off Women’s History Month with the Launch of ‘Amplify,’ a New Hub Spotlighting Causes & Community Voices

Spotify’s Electrifying Concert Series “RapCaviar Live” Returns with a New Tour Lineup featuring Migos, 2 Chainz, Tory Lanez, DJ Mustard, Lil Pump, and more

We Are the Music Makers

Weird moment

Good midi keyboard?

Earl Scruggs Tries A Moog Synthesizer In 1972

Paying rent vs Creating

Introducing MovingCollage: create video collages online for free - made with musicians in mind*