#but style savvy was the only game that had all of these in one package PLUS a super cute style

[izanori]

idk who needs to hear this, but if it hasnt already been done i want to clear up some things

Fashion Dreamer is not Style Savvy. BUT. It’s created by Syn Sophia, just like Style Savvy was. So, if you’re still holding out for a title that’s specifically called Style Savvy it’s time to give up, because it’s very safe to assume that Fashion Dreamer is meant to be Style Savvy’s spiritual successor. This may be due to influencers and other internet personalities being way more popular than wanting to run a store among children these days.

so… yea. ^_^

[sweetiecenter]

Fallout, Borderlands, and how a Medium Compliments a Theme.

Fallout, Borderlands, and how the Theme can serve the Medium well, and vice versa. A small essay by me about two of my favorite game series.

2K Games and Bethesda are industry giants. Both of these studios have built their companies on the backs of extremely successful game franchises.

In the case of 2K, they built their franchise around sports, as well as Sid Meier’s RTS, Civilization, as well as delving into many other genres. It wasn’t until 2K started to delve into RPGs like Bioshock, from the creators of System Shock 2, that they started to develop their formula.

For Bethesda, they got their massive start a bit earlier with id software with games like Doom and Wolfenstein, which almost singlehandedly popularized the FPS genre.

Both of these industry giants are responsible for thousands of hours of love and enjoyment, and Bioshock 2 is singlehandedly responsible for growing my love of video games, and their writing.

There are two franchises from these respective companies that are both known for being notable open-world, first person RPGs: Borderlands and Fallout, and both series were published by their respective companies around the same time, with Borderlands 1 entering development in 2005, and Bethesda being commissioned to work on Fallout 3 in 2007, which later turned into Bethesda buying the rights and absorbing Interplay. Fallout 3 was released in 2008 on October 28, with Borderlands coming out almost exactly a year later.

As time has gone on, both companies have paid mutual respect to each other, particularly in regards to these FPSRPG games; Borderlands 2 even has a gun called thre dog in reference to the infamous Three Dog from Fallout 3. The similarities between the themes and playstyle of these games has led to many comparisons, but I would just like to take the time to talk about how each respective game does justice to the themes of their stories and the medium they use.

So what are the themes of these games, really?

The more unique taglines and themes of these games would be “war never changes” and “everyone is the hero of their own story” for Fallout and Borderlands, respectively. The underlying themes that go unspoken (mostly), seem to be anti-imperialism and anti-capitalism.

The anti-imperialism and anti-capitalism arguments are where it gets interesting.

First, let’s look at how both games use American culture and atmosphere to their advantage and to get their point across.

We can all agree that governments are, at their core, made to protect folks, right? That is their stated job. It is in their job description. Especially in America, the idea is that you should never, ever have your rights taken from you. We are surrounded by people who believe in the government, and if not in the government, then in your country itself. Patriotism has its own dedicated holiday! This is why Fallout has such a huge focus on how the government of their universe shifted away from protecting people, and how they have become imperialistic, jingoistic, and xenophobic. Even if you hate the military, the world of Fallout is intended to make you go “shit, at least we aren’t THAT bad”.

And this tone helps to set the theme for the Fallout games. Everywhere you turn, you are completely let down by the people you rely on. Looks are deceptive, and yet they aren’t. The dark and gritty atmosphere of the games are constantly screaming at you that the world has already ended, even as Ron Perlman tells you it is only the beginning. Happy endings are nonexistent in almost every case, with the sole exception of perhaps the Courier... but then, the Courier is the only one with no ties to a Vault. No delusions of grandeur, no expectations.

It should be noted that in the dialogue choices as the Courier, you are the most aware of everything that has happened. Instead of being shocked that someone shot you in the head, you are apathetic at best and mostly want the package back; even if you roleplay your courier as a revenge-driven mailman, they are never surprised. Disappointed? Oh, almost certainly.

The first time I booted up the original Fallout and saw the Overseer start talking, my first thought was:

“This is it. Humanity has degenerated into ridiculous blue cavemen.”

I think the design of the Overseer was very intentionally made to be odd, and to showcase that the people have changed. Then you step out into the wasteland. You see the disconnect between the Vaults, the only remnants of pre-war society in the first game, and the rest of the world.

The discovery that the government willingly let all these experiments happen only adds to our disgust as we piece things together, piece by piece. You become jaded and cynical, and in your quest to save everyone, you truly have changed. Sure, the Overseer exiling you because “you’re different” may seem weird and a flimsy excuse to keep the experiment going, but it has a hint of truth to it. You’ve changed. You’re knowledgeable. You can no longer be controlled by the propaganda you had taken as the truth, that all Vault residents had taken as the truth. This disconnect between reality and the Vaults is further explored whenever you reach a new Vault.

Finding out the horrifying truth about what the Vaults were, what they were made for, never gets any easier. The game’s sound design is always made to harken back to something behind you, in some way. The base game’s sound design usually invokes paranoia and fear, while the radios that constantly play music from a bygone era invoke a general feeling of “nothing will ever be the same”.

All in all, Fallout does a fantastic job of setting the basis of its universe. Worldbuilding is a massive part, and their is little to nothing left unknown for a savvy player, should you be willing to listen to exposition. The overall tone is tragic and bleak, in order to juxtapose itself with the pre-war propaganda.

Which brings us to Borderlands.

Borderlands does not ask you as a player to think. It does not ask you to feel. The main focus has never been the story, and yet it is still a beautiful aspect of it, in the way of all the things that go left unsaid. How did the sirens come to be? Who knows. How did all the Eridians die out? Who knows. Why is it so much god damn fun to shoot a vertically challenged man in a gas mask and watch his head explode? Who knows.

Borderlands never gives you enough time to reflect on the overarching theme of the series. Compared to Fallout the game is much more fast-paced and linear, but if you take the time, you can see everything fall apart as the story progresses. You have no choice. Nothing you do ever matters, especially in the face of corporate overlords. All these bandits you’ve been fighting? They were normal people once. Convicts, sure, but they were also taken advantage of, brought to this strange alien planet and used as slave labor. Fresh off of the heels of Fallout, you could ask yourself, “what sick government would do this?” The answer is it isn’t a government. It is a corporation that styles itself as a government.

There lies the sick joke of the Borderlands series. This isn’t some far fetched, awful alternate reality. This is the future, where corporations continue down the same path they are on now - unchecked, allowed to ruin the worlds, contracted by governments - and nobody did a god damn thing. These guns you buy? Produced by Atlas. The clothes you’re wearing? Probably Hyperion fashion. The planets you come from? Owned almost completely by corporations. Atlas has an iron grip on Promethea, and Mister Torgue literally blew up an entire PLANET, even if it is played for laughs.

Just like in Fallout, nobody is on your side - and yet you know this. You embrace futility anyway; you buy Atlas, you buy Hyperion, and you buy Maliwan because at the end of the day, they are more powerful than any Vault Monster you could hope to kill. The bright tones and dark humor of the Borderlands are a direct result of embracing futility. The fun does not lie within facing your oppressors, it lies within killing them over and over. The thing that makes Borderlands so celebrated is its replayability; in Fallout, everything you do is permanent. Borderlands has next to no permanence. No matter how many Hyperion soldiers you kill, you won’t put a dent in them. These corporations span six whole galaxies.

Borderlands doesn’t need to set an atmosphere to make you immerse yourself in the story. We already know corporations are horrible. Jeff Bezos spends his money on space while Amazon employees die of exhaustion.

The horror of these two games directly correspond with each other. Fallout is horrifying because of past deeds, because of what could have come to pass. Borderlands is horrifying because of what still could happen.

Both of these game series have, in many’s opinion, fallen off in recent years, but I personally will always have a special place in my heart for these wonderful games and their storytelling.

Thank you for reading.

[artificialqueens]

Five People's Thoughts on Adore and Bianca: Laganja Estranja (2/5) (Biadore-ish) - doctor bitchcraftt

Yes gawd mawma, it’s finally time to hear from Laganja, okurrrr?  

1. Courtney Act

2. Laganja Estranja

3 & 4. Raja & Raven

5. Trixie Mattel

A/N: Laganja isn’t a character I’ve written before, and I wanted to avoid reducing her to a caricature of her own behavior by exploring the deep insecurities exposed by her Untucked outbursts and her version of calculated competition.  She’s the quintessential unreliable narrator, and I hope that comes through properly.

Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

********

Laganja had been pleased to find Adore in her group for Drag Race, both as a friendly face and a known quantity: good, but not going to outshine her in the end (she didn’t even cinch).  They’d gotten on well before the show, and she couldn’t wait to kiki with her on camera.  More importantly, she wanted to find a moment to ask if she’d managed to stash anything for later since her nerves had been buzzing for hours already.

Striding into the workroom, she landed a perfect death drop that hopefully would capture the fans’ attention once the episode aired.

Sizing up the rest of the competition proved more challenging.  She almost immediately dismissed Vivacious (what the fuck was that on her head anyway?) and cautiously considered the likelihood that BenDeLaCreme would turn out to be playing the long game behind her sweet persona.  Laganja weighed the potential benefit of establishing Gia as an ally, felt a twinge of envy for April’s showy costume and Latin charm, and came up suspiciously neutral in her impression of Kelly Mantle.

After the photo shoot and gleefully celebrating her first win, she sat back and waited for the other queens to arrive, ignoring how much she really wanted to light up to calm her nerves.

Kelly hadn’t lasted long anyway.  One queen down, and six new bitches to add to the mix.

********

The first thing she noticed when the second group walked in was how much older Darienne and Courtney looked in person (although she had to begrudgingly admit that Courtney’s fishyness was impressive).  Courtney was pretty, but her makeup wasn’t drag-worthy.  As for Darienne, well, a queen who couldn’t wear high heels wasn’t a queen at all in her book.

Joslyn seemed genuinely nice, although probably not savvy enough to last long.  On the other hand, she would definitely make Laganja seem even more polished by comparison, so maybe she would be worth keeping around for a couple of weeks.

Trinity had faded into the background, and Laganja figured she would stay there.  Part of her empathized with the air of someone struggling with their own inner issues, but she couldn’t afford to play nice.  Trinity didn’t seem likely to pose a threat, and it was probably safe to leave her to her own devices.

Most of all though, the last two who came through the doors set off alarm bells in her head.  

Milk looked like a demented marionnette wrapped in organza, but the sheer outlandish energy coming off her might be a problem as the challenges progressed.  She also wondered if Milk had any dance background, watching her assured movement in and out of drag.  So far no one else seemed to be able to match her for flexibility and ability to tear up the floor, but she planned to keep an eye on the bearded wonder.

Last across the threshold and sporting neon eyeshadow that badly needed blending, Laganja recognized Bianca Del Rio.  The queen had to be pushing forty (Alyssa had mentioned her a few times, calling her ‘established in the business’), but her padding and wig line were flawless.  Beyond the packaging though, she recognized the sharp eyes of a fellow competitor.  Combined with her sharp tongue, Laganja might actually have some serious competition.

********

Scream Queens

After the first acting challenge, when Laganja found herself laughing along with Bianca’s cutting retort to Adore, she wondered if the other queen might actually not be as much of a problem as she’d anticipated.  If she was going to devote energy to taking down all of the girls verbally, then it was less to focus on everything else.  Adore rarely played well with other queens in her experience, so why should Drag Race be any different?  It meant that Laganja ought to have her undivided support, at least until she was sent home.  

Bianca didn’t appear concerned with playing to the camera outside of the challenge, nor did she make an effort to capture airtime in the workroom.  Moreover, she didn’t make any attempt to showcase her slender legs (nice, but not as nice as Laganja’s) to take attention away from her overdrawn face, which could only be a serious tactical error.  And while the old Hollywood glamour admittedly flattered her petite figure, it wasn’t edgy or exciting for someone who claimed to be a costume designer.  

The oversized rhinestoned collar was actually impressive.  Not as imaginative as her butterfly fascinator, but definitely interesting.  

Laganja had studied the looks on Bianca’s garment rack, and while a part of her coveted the craftsmanship (apparently Bianca made everything herself), her overriding impression was that the queen was stuck too far in the past.  People like Laganja, and Adore, were the new face of drag, outside of smoky clubs and bars.  

Also, the obsessive neatness and organized rows of identically styled wigs made her supremely uncomfortable.

********

Shade: The Rusical

In the Gold Bar, she struggled to contain her tears when a message from her parents played.  Everything was finally coming together, and she could picture the crown on display in Alyssa’s dance studio for everyone to know that Laganja Estranja of the Haus of Edwards was a true winner.

Sniffling, she turned her attention back to the other girls, waiting for their separate conversation to end so they could finish validating her experience.  It started out well, and even Bianca was complimentary towards her parents.  Who would have thought she had it in her?  (She was half convinced that Bianca spent every night off set thinking up ways to insult everyone else.)

And then, right as Laganja felt safe in relaxing just a little, Bianca cut across her moment with a joke.  It wasn’t the joke itself - she couldn’t care less what the bitter bitch thought of her - but then all of the other girls laughed and started another conversation without her.  Worse, they seemed to be laughing at her, which wasn’t fair at all.  The prickling sense of doubt came roaring back full force, and she couldn’t afford to let anyone see it, especially not here.    

How could they be so insensitive?

…how dare they?

“This was my moment!” she sobbed, not even hearing what was said after and barely conscious of the words coming out of her mouth.

This couldn’t be happening.

****      

Later, when she was calm again and Adore was disappointed in not winning the main challenge, Laganja found herself torn between annoyance on her behalf (Courtney Act was so *pitchy*) and being secretly relieved that one more episode was complete without the judges being drawn under Adore’s charming spell.  

The thing about Adore, was that her powerful voice wasn’t going to make up for her thrift store drag budget.  Her punk rock rebel schtick was only going to go so far, especially in comparison to queens with professionally made looks.  Laganja hated to think it, but Bianca Del Rio’s unclockable hairline next to Adore’s messy shake-and-go Party City closeouts was a point in her favor.

More importantly, she was relieved to unload her frustration at being dismissed on a friendly ear.  Adore might be a little slow, but she definitely stuck up for her friends.  Bianca wouldn’t catch her off-guard again, and not with Adore now aware of her awful behavior.      

********

Snatch Game

Laganja woke up feeling peaky and drained.  She panicked for a moment, thinking about the cameras catching her looking tired.  The only solution, as Alyssa had taught her, was to put on her biggest wig and blow the other bitches out of the water.  Digging in her suitcase, she located her pièce de résistance: a high braided turban that was sure to deflect from anyone noticing the bags under her eyes.

Her tactic seemed to be working, because the other queens were staring with impressed expressions as she showed off her flexibility for the camera.

Crisis averted.

Unsurprisingly, Bianca was the first one in full face and wig while the other queens were still baking and contouring.  She moved around the workroom purposefully, offering to help DeLa with her old lady face and brushing out Trinity’s wig.  When her black-clad form (why did Bianca suddenly look so tiny?) appeared behind Laganja in the mirror, she steeled herself for more negativity.

“Want me to help?”

Laganja blinked, certain that she’d heard wrong, and tried to continue.

Bianca watched her fumble with her highlight for a few seconds before holding out her hand.

“Give it to me, queen.”

Laganja froze, brush in midair and compact clenched in her other hand.

Rolling her eyes, Bianca made a ‘come here’ gesture before plucking both items out of her hands and tugging her shoulder until she turned around.  Gripping her chin gently, Bianca started moving with quick, precise strokes.

“It’s easier if you start near your hairline, and…"  The rest of what she said was lost as Laganja’s mind spun into overdrive.  There didn’t seem to be any ulterior motive, yet here she was helping her competition.

She zoned back in as Bianca set down the brush and highlighter, and nodded briskly.  

"Let me know if you want me to show you how to do it next time.”

As she walked away, Laganja could almost understand why Trinity and Adore seemed to love Bianca and talked about her being great.  Sometimes when the cameras weren’t rolling, she even felt a sense of camaraderie.  It never lasted long enough to convince her that it was real, because the moment filming started and her anxiety rocketed upwards, everything that came out of her mouth seemed to annoy the older queen.

****

She left the Snatch Game set nearly in tears.  Rachel Zoe was an easy part of her repertoire for her friends, but everything had felt so off today.    

It took a trip to the bathroom and a five-minute private mirror pep talk before Laganja felt ready to take on the Night of 1,000 RuPauls.  What she really needed was to get away from everyone and smoke, but that hadn’t been an option for weeks.  

Staring into her own eyes, she tongue popped for luck and resolved to slay it on the runway.

Bianca gave her a curious look when she breezed back into the workroom.

”Everything all right, queen?”

Laganja steadfastly ignored the attention.  

Halfway through gluing her lace down, she realized that Adore was no longer perched on the chair beside her.  Looking around the room, her heart dropped when she located her friend.

Instead of lingering at her station like usual to keep Laganja company and her mind off her nerves, Adore was off in the corner.  Off in the corner with Bianca, who had paused in the middle of piling hair on her head to lace her into a cincher.  Bianca’s cincher.  

Bafflingly, she was actually being nice to Adore and not sabotaging her, because as far as Laganja could tell, there wasn’t anything wrong with the garment and she had seemed genuinely concerned that Adore was comfortable and happy with the final product.

She didn’t understand Bianca at all.

****

The fragile sense of calm that she’d achieved on the main stage crumbled the moment Adore pointed at her and Gia as being in the bottom.

Hearing Adore laugh at DeLa’s naive question about Rachel Zoe hit like a bad death drop and for a moment Laganja couldn’t breathe.  

She scrabbled for something to defend herself with.  Bianca was an automatic target - after playing nice with her makeup, she had turned right around and messed with her in the Snatch Game.  Laganja wasn’t buying her “I hate everyone equally” excuse this time, not when she was obviously trying to come for her.

Looking across the lounge, she was overwhelmed by the sense of betrayal as Adore claimed that Bianca wasn’t singling her out for attack.  

It felt like the floor was slowly collapsing under her feet.  Not only had her friendship with Adore been far less of a stabilizing force than she’d expected, but Adore had actually joined forces with Bianca against her.  

It wasn’t the only thing, but that was the last heave it took to upend the cart of her control.

“Did you or did you not come for me today?” she snapped, hoping that someone else (Gia? Joslyn?) would stand up for her.  

“…hold up girl, I’m not trying to create a moment -“

Her heart pounded in her ears, and she badly wanted to grab the stupid pillow off of Bianca’s lap and throw it at Adore’s bitchface.  

“I’m not saying you came for me but I do feel a little shafted by you today.”

The words were spilling out and Laganja gave up trying to hold in all of her frustration and hurt.

”I don’t remember the exact comment you said, but earlier I do feel like you were saying -“

Her breathing was too shallow, but all she could see was Adore’s newly cinched waist.

“I don’t even know, but I felt a little hurt by you earlier,” she finished lamely, unable to articulate the pain and panic welling up in her chest.

She no longer recognized her rebellious good time party girl, always a few steps behind.  Adore wasn’t even trying to support her, just offering empty words as she she spent her time cozying up to Bianca.  While the person on the other side of the table looked like Adore and spoke in Adore’s voice, she might as well have been a stranger.  

Laganja shied away from Bianca’s touch on the way back into the hall.  Not five minutes after coming for her, Bianca had to be mocking her with her ‘advice’.  

She couldn’t trust anyone here, not anymore.

Why didn’t anyone else see what was going on?

********

Oh No She Better Don’t

“Miss Laganja Estranja. Next time you death drop, reverse that and drop dead.”

Adore’s read felt like a stab in the back and Laganja didn’t even bother to try to smile.  Everyone was laughing at her, Bianca’s cackle rising above the others.  

********

Glamazon by Colorevolution

Surveying the others, Laganja was certain that her black and white runway look would win the judges over - no one else had anything as edgy.  Even Adore was wearing a Forever 21 sweater and a miniskirt, but she could forgive her friend the look because their commercial had gone amazingly well.

Joslyn looked like an extra from a porn about magicians, and Courtney…well, that weird sparkly tuxedo thing was a look.  Courtney was blathering on about someone called Clause No Me (whoever that was), but it wouldn’t matter if she was wearing Dior, because her boy legs were on full display.  Not to mention, the giant pile of hair that DeLa was pinning up made her think of a butt plug.  Laganja was surprised that Darienne hadn’t made any catty comments about it given the palpable tension between them.  She started to move closer, but was distracted by the activity in Bianca’s alcove.

Still in pantyhose and corset with her skunk-striped hair, Bianca was helping Trinity zip herself in.  The domino dress was well-made, although she ought to be carrying drinks in Monte Carlo in it.  Laganja admitted she might even ask Trinity where it came from.

As for Miss Perfect herself, Laganja once again grudgingly had to give her credit for the ensemble as Bianca started to get dressed.  The enormous ball gown skirt seemed to materialize from nowhere in a cloud of tulle.  How the hell had she fit that in her duffels?  It wasn’t even creased, and it must have contained miles of crinoline.  Laganja had barely been able to close her five suitcases, but Bianca’s luggage all seemed to be under the maximum amount.  Not to mention, she’d only unpacked a bag and a half of wigs.

She started to pace anxiously, balance thrown off after the high of performing.  Her feet carried her to Adore’s table, hoping to mend their friendship, but once again Adore was busy talking to Bianca.

********

It wasn’t fair.  She had to keep her chin up, because the road to success was never easy, but it also shouldn’t have been this hard.  

She’d promised her parents and Alyssa that she’d bring home the crown.  Her parents seemed to finally be at peace with her drag, and it would be everything she’d ever wanted to validate following her dreams.

Laganja just had to hold on a little longer, prove to Ru that she deserved to be America’s next drag superstar.

********

Queens of Comedy

The comedy challenge was a disaster.  

After seeing Adore perform with shaky insecurity, Laganja’s confidence had risen.  All of the other girls were trying for a ten, but she was going to dial her personality up to one hundred.

Except instead of howling with laughter, the old people in the audience stared at her as if she was speaking a foreign language.  She dug deep for the best jokes that never failed to entertain her usual crowd, but nothing worked.

Barely keeping her angry tears in check, she slumped back into her seat and watched the rest with a stony stare.

Witnessing Bianca Del Rio effortlessly work the audience was awful.  Every laugh she drew from them hit her like a punch to the stomach, reminding her of how inadequate her jokes had been.  

Worse, seeing Adore’s rapt attention made her physically ill.  Bianca was now the recipient of the same wondering smile that Adore used to give her when she performed.

Nothing made sense.

Without heels, Laganja towered over Bianca; she couldn’t understand how the queen could still make her feel insignificant without even saying a word.

She was sick to death of Bianca’s clever insults and her perfect white teeth.  She hated her stupid dimples and how her voice grew soft when she spoke to Adore.  

Adore was her friend, or at least she used to be.  If Bianca had to pick someone to be nice to, why did it have to be Adore?  

This was supposed to be her moment.

[uniform-company-in-dubai]

Uniform Company In Dubai

Uniform Company in Dubai.

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[fayewonglibrary]

FAYE ACCOMPLI (2000)

With a new album and a younger beau, Faye Wong again is the centre of media attention. She talks to Life! about her family, daughter, and the paparazzi

By YEOW KAI CHAI

FAYE WONG is a curious, unique and fascinating phenomenon in the Chinese entertainment scene.

Hers is one lit by sacred mystery, slavish fan-dom and marketing savvy – a kind of meteorite which makes an impact on pop consciousness that is felt years later.

Just last week, several incensed Faye-natics wrote to Life! to complain about the less-than-positive review of her latest album, Fable. The letters burned with an unbridled intensity reserved normally for matters of life and death.

Faye is a diva, and divas are infallible even when they falter, these correspondents insisted.

While the bigger Western pop market has always loved its fair share of staunch, individualistic visionaries, ranging from loose cannons like Courtney Love to weird, elliptical New Age daughters like Tori Amos, the East had preferred its female singers decked out uniformly in pretty frills, smiling coyly and oozing saccharine.

The entry of Faye changed all that.

THIS EMPRESS DOES HER OWN THING

A*MEI can belt better, CoCo Lee can shake her bon-bon with more fervour, but Faye – who moves very little on stage, makes scant eye-contact, and banters very poorly – is Queen. Or Empress, if you go by her Chinese name, Fei.

She is the Anti-Entertainer made good, the kind of gauche, strangely-riveting drama unfurling on stage.

Faye as a proposition came at the right time in the Internet era, a child of the global village, where the twain finally met.

As Life! music columnist and “I’ve-never-stopped-being-angry” singer and DJ Chris Ho once told this writer, he fancies the “idea” of Faye Wong, somebody who does her own thing without a care in the world for social approval – never mind whether her songs are good or not.

How many of Singapore’s unloved “indie” rockers would love to have that kind of clout.

Here is a goddess who subsists on both flaws and gifts alike – her lousy media relations, superb style sense, and her talent in out-copycatting her Hongkong counterparts in choosing smarter, more revolutionary musicians to filch from.

All these add up to an irresistible package.

Last weekend, on the popular Taiwanese variety show Super Sunday on the TVB-S channel (Ch 54), Faye was the guest.

She was gorgeous and smiling all the time, but was otherwise in typical Faye mode. She did not play to the crowd, or banter needlessly. She just spoke when she needed to.

Tellingly, the usually-riotous team of Harlem Yu, Huang Chi Jiao, A Liang and premier veteran compere Chang Hsiao-yan wound down their antics and became less irreverent.

They kept calling Faye tian hou (Heavenly Queen), and spoke to the 31-year-old, 1.72-m tall singer in clearly deferential tones.

The more senior Chang, usually quick and particularly ruthless, even gave way to her guest in a contest.

The singer, on her part, looked bemused by the surrounding plebeian inanities, a placid self orbiting at her own pace.

A COOL ONE FOR GENERATION NEXT

THE name Faye, at the cusp of the new millennium, has become synonymous with Attitude and Coolness personified for Generation Next.

Just last month, an impressive turn-out of 500 journalists from China, Hongkong, Taiwan, Malaysia and Singapore flew to Shenzhen. Faye, as part of a promo tie-up with Head &Shoulders Shampoo, was scheduled to emerge from a helicopter in a golf buggy and perform three songs from Fable on an aircraft carrier.

Alas, due to rain, the gig was brought indoors, and she stayed for only about 15 minutes to field questions from the disgruntled press before being whisked off.

It was all in a day’s work on Planet Faye.

MEANING BEHIND THE SONGS

FEELINGS: A diva speaks

On the lyrics of her songs “(Lyricist Lin Xi said) it is to do with the various love stages and incarnations. Sounds very deep…’

On a message to her listeners ‘No, there is no special message. For this album, it’s basically an expression of certain moods.’

On the paparazzi "There has to be a decent limit. I feel it’s immoral for the paparazzi to snoop.’

On negative news reports "I just treat the reports as if they were about someone else.’

On movies she enjoys "I like to watch movies from which I can get some enlightenment or inspiration.’

SO, OF course, we didn’t get the one-on-one interview or even a phone interview with this elusive mystery. But we were given the privilege of faxing her a list of questions. And here we have Faye’s answers, recorded on tape.

We cannot tell you what her facial expressions were, or what she was wearing, or what Singaporean make-up designer Zing had painted on her face.

We hear only the Beijing native’s mellifluous, Northern-accented Mandarin, punctuated occasionally by a peal of laughter.

She has ignored some of the more probing questions, preferring to spend precious reel on giving us a very detailed run-down on the mystical meanings of the first five songs, which she says are "all about love and its complexities, from the beginning of creation to modern times”.

Oh, okay. But which songs in Fable mean the most to her?

“The five songs I wrote are the songs I like more,” she declares, not very diplomatically.

“I asked lyricist Lin Xi what they mean and he said it is to do with the various love stages and incarnations. Sounds very deep, but that’s what he was writing. Anyway, people don’t really have to really listen to the lyrics. They can listen to the music.”

On the whole, what message does she want to convey to her audience with this album?

“No, there is no special message. For this album, it’s basically an expression of certain moods,” she offers in a typically-obtuse manner.

“When people hear the songs, they should be able to feel the moods. I only write lyrics and music when I am inspired. I won’t write for the sake of writing. I hope that people can find some form of emotional empathy. No big pronouncements.”

No big pronouncements. Such a casual statement of nothingness can only come from supreme confidence. Faye has come a long way since 1987, when she was an 18-year-old who had left Beijing for Hongkong, to take singing lessons.

Two years later, her singing teacher introduced her to Cinepoly, which released her first three albums, and marketed her as a cookie-cutter balladeer.

At the time, she went by the plain name of Shirley Wong Jin Man.

She was not happy. She was getting famous, but she was an introvert and she did not like the attention brought by fame.

She took a sabbatical and flew to America, where she attended some singing and dancing lessons.

The trip was an eye-opener. In New York, people in the streets dressed the way they wanted, and acted the way they wanted.

It proved to be the turning point in her life. She returned to Hongkong in 1992, more assertive and ready to steer her own ship. She reverted to her own name, ditched Shirley for Faye, and decided to record Mandarin albums instead, save for one or two novelty Cantonese tracks on each CD.

She made an about-turn away from the chart-friendly pop route and transformed herself into a canny alternative popster who spoke her mind and followed her heart. She dressed the way she wanted, and acted the way she wanted.

She struck gold.

Musically, the 1990s was an experimental era which gave free rein to Faye, who borrowed the fine (some say bad) points blithely from the leading female originals of the western pop hemisphere – Bjork’s sartorial and follicular sensibility; Sinead O'Connor’s nuanced vocal styling; and Liz Fraser’s unintelligible phrasing.

She covered the Cranberries, and mimicked Dolores O'Riordian’s yodelling. She even worked with the Cocteau Twins.

On the media front, she was no PR merchant, happily dissing reporters who dared ask her about her marriage/divorce to mainlander Dou Wei.

She would deflect intrusive questions with mystical monosyllables, which, depending on your ardour or the lack thereof, was either intriguing or just plain rude.

In short, she turned the rules of the game upside down. It was shocking, baffling – enchanting. She stood out.

The media and public, thrilled or repulsed by such blatant insouciance, lapped it all up. They trailed her every move, her elusive relationship with Nicholas Tse, who is 11 years her junior, and second-guessed her every new image overhaul.

It was a beneficial media-celebrity relationship for both parties: fuelling her cool, defiant stance and adding grist for publicity.

PAPARAZZI SUCH A HEADACHE

SO WHAT does she really think of the media, especially the paparazzi? How does one maintain the line between one’s public and private selves?

“Of course, I don’t like the gouzai dui (paparazzi)”, is her calm, candid answer.

“The paparazzi make the task of separating work and private life very difficult. There is absolutely no way for me to protect my own privacy. It is a headache!

Although I understand that as a public personality, my private life would be an issue of interest, I still think there needs to be some restraint. There has to be a decent limit. I feel it’s immoral for the paparazzi to snoop.”

As for the “negative reports” in the tabloids, Faye, a devout Buddhist, professes she has transcended frustration.

“Now, they don’t affect my state of mind that much. I just treat the reports as if they were about someone else. The report and my life are two different matters. I wouldn’t be bothered.”

It does seem that she has become less irascible, more at peace with her life and its inconveniences.

Asked what kind of movies she enjoys, she ponders, then offers, most beguilingly, “the kind of movies I don’t like”.

“War movies, period movies, I don’t quite like. Things that are distant from my present lifestyle, I’m not so interested in. I like to watch movies from which I can get some enlightenment or inspiration.”

To her credit, Faye thinks that Fable could have been better produced.

“The mixing for this album was done in England. We worked with an English mixer – I don’t know whether people who heard the album could tell that. I heard the CD, and it wasn’t as good as I had expected, but it has its fine points.”

For the next album, she will work again with longtime collaborator, arranger-producer Zhang Yadong, and find some famous European arranger/producer to arrange and mix the album, she says.

Unfortunately, as the singer points out, “the more famous producers are usually very expensive, and we have yet to settle the copyright issue”.

“It’s a headache, but I hope the plan will work out,” she adds, laughing.

HER SUCCESS AND ITS DOWNSIDE

REFRESHING it is to hear Faye, often typecast as wilful and artistic, considering a serious business matter.

At this juncture of her life, she may have achieved equanimity. She has learned how to enjoy success, and dealt with its downside.

Indeed, slavish adoration may come and go, but Faye has one basic guiding principle on how to live her life.

“My parents’ biggest positive influence is on my character. They are very upright people. They have integrity, and they are not fake or insincere.”

If all else fails, there is always her darling daughter. So, has Dou Jingtong inherited Mummy’s talent?

“Yes, she is sensitive to anything that has rhythm. She is acutely sensitive to music. I don’t think it’s all hereditary though. Maybe she was a musician in her previous life!”

As if surprised at her own elucidation, Faye chuckles, sounding truly embarrassed. And for a second, you think you hear beyond the Superstar, the Hype and the Fable, the wide-eyed girl who once marvelled at the things she had seen for the first time.

Fable is out in stores.

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

SOURCE: THE STRAITS TIMES / LIFE

[elee-thesis]

:Sweats Nervously:

The Concept Notes Part

Just kidding! I’m not that nervous.......yet. For week 15, I just wanted to add a bit of concrete direction to my previous post, since I feel like that post really contains the MEAT of the newest direction my project is going in.

As per my most recent blog post, I've been leaning into creating tools that allow users to subvert the oppressive system engineered into their tech, and provide space to explore the materiality of this technology, by pushing at the boundaries set in place. One thought I had: I realized that it might make most sense to create a google chrome extension that contains my final suite. After doing a bit of research on what exactly is allowed in the Google Chrome store, I noticed that apps can only have "one function" or if several functions they all must pertain to one main function. My "suite", of course, in no way meets that rules, so I’m guessing there's no way I can publish it on the app store. While this may initially seem like a disappointment I'm actually feeling pretty good about it having to be distributed via zip file and then uploaded as a "package" in the Developer Tools section of folk's Chrome Extension library. It creates kind of an interesting dynamic because enabling developer mode and loading a package from there opens up a ton of vulnerabilities to someone’s computer. This means that the person that want to have their _own_ suite *must* trust me... this is definitely something I’d like to think more about.

I also read a bunch of "The New Dark Age" by James Bridle this weekend and found an excellent quote:

"We have been conditioned to think of the darkness as a place of danger, even of death. But the darkness can also be a place of freedom and possibility, a place of equality. For many, what is discussed here will be obvious, because they have always lived in this darkness that seems so threatening to the privileged. We have much to learn about unknowing. Uncertainty can be productive, even sublime"

Using the darkness as a metaphor for the subversion let's say, or the chaos created by my tool set, allows for the opening up of this beautiful liminal space. Those that are familiar with these spaces, I hope, will recognize it as a home. I'm not entirely sure if this is how my project will be perceived, but it's something to work on never the less.

I also talked to a bunch of folks over the age of 55 about technology this weekend to glean some info about what their interactions are like with their computer/phones/etc. I heard a lot about trying to interact with a computer that is constantly evolving, and just when they felt that they had a grasp on the "latest" feature, etc, things would change again. Specifically, my mom, who happens to be pretty internet savvy said she feels badly when she sees all these folks on twitter enjoying memes or other online tomfoolery, and she wishes she could be more ~*~in on it~*~*. She said something about missing out on having online friendships. She said this feeling of sadness always turned inward; "is there something wrong with me?". I had never really talked to folks who felt alienated by technology because of their age, and especially when as of late, it’s become a point of contention with younger folks. So, I'm now a little nervous about my suite pushing people who share these feelings further into the shadows. I ended up showing these folks what I had been working on, though, and most of them found it conceptually interesting and also said how some of the "effects" of the tools I had created replicated ways in which they would "accidentally mess something up” something, which I thought was interesting. Specifically someone commented that the “click” chrome extension that I created that slid words of the page really looked like something he had accidentally done once. I'd definitely like to think more about their feedback...after all my projects doesn't have to do something for everyone so I'm hoping this doesn't add too much pressure. 

The Form Notes Part

SO for form: I'm thinking that I'd like to ultimately have a sort of "tool bar" at the bottom of my screen that pops open a box and provides a bunch of "tools" that folks can choose from. I'm not sure if this should become something that I continuously add to or not, but in the meantime this is my running list:

Cursor as Medium

Having bits of data from past browsing history that is "summoned" by one's cursor

Browser Shimeji

Aka Tamagotchi for your computer that roams around your screen and is cared for by browsing activity (TBD)

Shy Cursor

Having the cursor hide when you move too quickly (it seems that the shy hyperlinks prototype was wonky, but might be more effective with the cursor)

Blur/replace faces

OpenCV is my friend!!!!!!!!!!!! It might be ridiculously intensive to load in each image on a computer, detect a "face" and cover it… this might end up looking more like my mad face "click"

Random intervals of touching your computer for its warmth

Connecting with your computer and feeling how hard it's worked

Illustrate one's journey online

Visualize a little map of each link you've visited

Though I haven't actually made something like this yet, I *think* it'll be easy-ish to implement…

Close Button Death

Implement the naming and formalization of a ritual surrounding closing tabs

Word FLIP

Flipping words around on a page. I'd like to change how this currently functions because I think it might be interesting to parse each word from a sentence and reorder them (?) Something to play with

Reorder google search

There's so much blatant oppressive tactics surrounding the order in which google searches are revealed, I'd like to work on creating a randomizer that randomizes the links presented. I have no idea if this is feasible so we'll have to see :')

Ugly!

I'd like to work to mess with CSS styling and randomize what a page's style could look like.

SO my game plan is so mock up the above (most of them are already actually functional), or if it's easy enough, create real solid versions of them. Easy Peasy! Bring on the final presentation ;) I am feeling a little anxious about what I'm creating but also feeling fairly good about it all. We'll see how I'm feeling in a week!

Check out some mocks of the form below:

Before clicking!

After clicking! 

Version 1 of the tool set all laid out

Version 2 of the tool set all laid out

[emulateharry]

Story of my life

Chapter 11

A/N  Thank you to my dear Alex (@niallandharrymakemestrong​) and Mel (@melissas173​),  I could not do this without your support and superb editing skills.  If you are reading this story–please take a moment and give me a like or a comment (all comments are welcome).  If you particularly like it, consider reblogging.  Thanks!

After a late night celebrating the end of the OTRA tour with Harry and the rest of the band and crew, Kacey was awakened on November first by Harry pressing soft kisses to her eyes, cheeks and finally her lips.  

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said, his voice raspy.

“Mmmm.  Is it morning already?  What time is it?” she asked sleepily.  

“It’s time to celebrate your birthday.  Do you have anything special you’d like to do today?”  he asked, kissing her temple.

“Hmmm…I think I’d like to…do you,” she said huskily, a crooked smile on her lips.

“I think that can be arranged.  Or, perhaps I could do you, hmm?” he smiled at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Why don’t we just do each other?” she suggested diplomatically.

“Good idea,” he trailed off as his mouth found hers.

* Kacey had just finished drying her hair when the smell of coffee hit her.  She wandered back into the room to see Harry holding out a cup from Starbucks. She accepted the proffered drink and sighed with satisfaction as she took the first sip.  Harry had ordered breakfast and it was set up on the table in the corner of the room.  There was fresh fruit, muffins, Devon cream, and poached eggs with smoked salmon and hollandaise on a bed of asparagus.  Fresh flowers and several beautifully wrapped packages completed the table.  

“Wow…this is wonderful,” Kacey breathed.

“Let’s eat.  We have a lot to do today,” Harry said, smiling enigmatically and kissing her cheek.

Kacey allowed him to lead her to the table and sat as he held her chair.  He sat next to her and offered her the Devon cream for her muffin.  She spread some on and took a bite, eyes closed at the gorgeously smooth, buttery taste.

“Oh, Harry, this is heaven!” she gushed.

Harry took his napkin preparing to wipe the corner of her mouth where a drop of the cream had deposited but then thought better of it and kissed it off instead.  Kacey beamed at him and kissed him back.

“Kassidy…stop looking at me like that.  I’ve made plans for us today and if you keep that up we’ll never leave this room,” he admonished.

“You started it,” she pretended to grumble, smiling despite herself.

As they finished their breakfast Harry asked eagerly “Ready for presents?”

Kacey smiled at his excitement and placed her napkin on the table.  “I’m ready,” she replied, enthusiasm edging into her voice.  Harry bought her gifts often; he got so excited giving them to her, like a big kid, and always watched her reaction closely.  He brought her something from every city the band played in.  His gifts were never overly expensive but they were always thoughtful.  

Harry reached for a rectangular package and handed it to her.  Kacey tore into the wrapping and pulled out a box.  It was an iPhone 6 plus.  A tiny twinge of worry nibbled at the back of her neck.  This was expensive.  This newest model had only been out for about 6 weeks and there were huge waiting lists to get one.  She knew money was not an issue, Harry was seriously wealthy.  It was just…maybe a little too much?  She didn’t feel completely comfortable having him spend money on her.  She was a multi-millionaire in her own right, thanks to her books and Laura’s stock market savvy, but chose to live simply.  Her main indulgences were her homes, which also happened to be good investments.

“Oh Harry!  This is amazing but I’m afraid it’s too much…” she began, but saw his face fall. Quickly she finished “technology for me! Will you show me how to use it?”  His grin returned, this time accompanied by dimples.   Oh, thank goodness—it was a good save.  The last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt him.

“Of course, I will.  Yours hasn’t worked properly since you dropped it at the pub.  I don’t want you to be stranded with a phone that doesn’t want to work,” he explained.  Kacey kissed him.

“Thank you! It’s really cool—and you got it in red!  How did you manage that?” she asked, impressed.

“It’s a secret,” he grinned.  Leaning a bit, he grabbed another box and passed it to her.   This one was even larger than the first, but not as heavy.  Kacey, once again, tore into the paper.  Inside the box, wrapped in tissue, was a silk scarf.  She recognized it immediately.  It was a vintage Gucci floral scarf with a pink border that she had saved to her Pinterest page.  She looked up at him wide-eyed.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“I’ve seen you looking at this several times.  It wasn’t hard to guess that you really liked it,” he said with a dismissive little wave of his hand.  

“I love it.  It’s even prettier than I imagined. Thank you!” she admired, stroking his cheek.

Harry reached for the last package and a colored envelope.  Handing her the package with a grin, he said “This kind of goes with the scarf.”

Kacey tore into the last package to find a small box.  Removing the lid, she gasped.  Inside was a brooch with two large, round rubies hanging from gold stems with marquise cut emerald leaves; cherries on stems.  It was stunning.  Kacey looked up at him with tears forming.  “Oh Harry, it’s beautiful!” she whispered.

Harry’s face was joyous. “I thought you needed a symbol for your Order,” he explained.

She laughed, and sniffed.  “Thank you.  This is all so wonderful.  Best birthday ever.”

In a humorous game show host voice Harry intoned “But wait!  It isn’t over yet!” and handed her the envelope.  

With trembling fingers, she pulled the envelope open.  It was a pink card with “Happy Birthday Beautiful” on the front.  Inside was a note telling her the he had booked them a stay at Middlethorpe Hall, an 18th century manor house that had been converted into a hotel and spa.  She looked up at him, amazed.  

“We have celebrating to do:  the tour is over, our album is coming out, and you have just sent your third best seller to the publisher,” he said smiling at her.  “We could use some relaxation and I know how much you love the old homes and castles.”

“It’s all perfect.  Thank you. This has already been the bestest birthday and it isn’t even noon!” she giggled.   * They spent four days in the Garden Cottage suite at Middlethorpe Hall, most of that time snuggling next to the fire or walking the twenty acre grounds.  Harry had scheduled a full spa day for them and they indulged in massages, manicures, pedicures and facials.  Kacey laughed at Harry and tried to take a picture of him, covered in the face mask with his hair in a towel turban style, but he stared her down.  She giggled about the image for the rest of the day until he threatened to spank her.  That led to a challenge which resulted in Harry chasing her until he caught her in the sitting room of their suite.  He flipped her over his lap and whacked her bottom a few times before they found the whole situation too erotic and wound up taking care of business on the cottage floor in front of the fireplace. The end of their stay came far too soon and they reluctantly packed up to head back to London.  

Harry was starting album promo in a few days and Kacey had a meeting with her publisher to discuss timelines.  In six weeks the band’s hiatus would start and they would have more time to spend together.   Kacey could hardly wait. * Kacey sat in the corner of the room two chairs away from Julie the Modest! agent.   It was a press day and Harry had asked if she wanted to tag along.  She agreed with alacrity, always taking advantage of any opportunity to spend time with him.  The 1D guys were split up with Harry and Niall taking the first shift of reporters to be followed by Liam and Louis in the afternoon.  Kacey was impressed with their press skills, answering the same tired questions over and over but seemingly excited to do so each time.  Of course, they had thousands of interviews under their belts so it was almost automatic.  She was chatting quietly with them while the next team of cameraman and interviewer got set up.  Julie signaled that they were ready and Kacey went back to her chair.

The interviewer was a woman in her late twenties with over-processed hair and under-plucked brows wearing what appeared to be a sneer.  Her obviously expensive, yet frumpy, blouse was unbuttoned one too far, her skirt a trace too short.  Her posture was ramrod straight as she leaned forward toward the boys causing her small bosom to jut out.  Kacey could smell her cloying perfume all the way across the room leaving her to wonder how Harry and Niall weren’t choking or tearing up sitting so close to the source.  Her voice was adenoidal when she introduced herself as Arabella Braxton-Hicks, journalist from a snooty little mag that Kacey avoided.  Disguising a snicker with a cough, Kacey earned herself a stern look from Julie.  She ignored her and returned to playing Words With Friends on her phone, only half listening to the interview.  Dammit.  7 consonants, one of which was a Q.  What the hell was she going to do with that?   Sounds tickled her attention; it took a moment for Kacey to realize that the voices in the room were no longer cordial.  She heard tension in Harry’s tone and looked up, frowning.  On instinct, she tapped her phone and began recording. Ms. Braxton-Hicks was pointing her pen aggressively to punctuate her next question.  

“Harry, it has been suggested that you are bisexual with a long history of both male and female lovers.  Is this true?”

Kacey, eyes wide with disbelief, looked at Harry to see his eyes tightening before responding with a careful, measured tone “Suggested by whom?”

“Oh, loads of people.”

“How does that pertain to our album, Arabella?” he asked quietly, leaning back in his chair.

“Your fans and the public want to know.  Are you going to answer me?”  she challenged, the hostility evident.

“No.”

Kacey felt her fingernails bite into the palm of her left hand and flexed her fingers to relax it, phone still recording the scene in her right.  Her pulse was rising, heat creeping into her cheeks.  Arabella turned to Niall.

“Niall, you have a history of very short romances.  Does your inability to keep a girlfriend stem from your poor relationship with your mother?” she inquired archly.

“Oh, hell no,” Kacey sputtered, practically launching from her seat and across the room. “Excuse me!  I’m sorry for interrupting.  Really.”  

Harry and Niall were looking at her with wide eyes and Julie was alarmed, not quite sure what was happening.  Kacey smiled sweetly at all of them, but Harry could see that the smile did not reach her eyes.  They were slightly narrowed and…what was with the color?  Normally an icy blue they were now, somehow, almost yellow.  

“Two minutes, I promise.” Kacey resumed, then turned to the interviewer.  “May I speak with you in private, please?”  

When she gave Kacey a smirk and prepared to decline, Kacey added in a tone so low that only she could hear “You can walk out with me or be dragged.  By your hair.”  

The interviewer’s face flushed an angry red but she stood and walked after Kacey who held the door open for her.  Before it could close all the way, the boys heard her say “Bitch! Who do you think you are…”  Harry started to rise but Niall, still staring at the door put his hand out to stop him.  They could hear Kacey’s voice, low and deliberate, but could not make out any of the words.  They just sat and watched the door.

 “Bitch! Who do you think you are…”  She barely got the last word out when Kacey turned on her.  Her voice low with a hint of menace, anger radiating out in waves that were almost palpable.

“Oh sweetie, I am not A bitch, I am THE bitch.  And this bitch has reached her limit with your rudeness, your derision, and your extraordinarily unprofessional behavior.  Actions have consequences, did you know that?  Shhh.  That was rhetorical.  That means that you don’t talk, you just stand right there and listen.  I am going to, first, call your editor and discuss your performance here today.”  Receiving only a sneer in response, Kacey went on.  “Then I am going to contact the publisher and lodge a complaint about your unprofessionalism.”

Again, only a smirk.  “Lastly, I am going to take this little video of the way you have treated them today and upload it to twitter and tumblr with provocative tags like #protect Harry and #protect Niall.”  The smirk began to fade.  “Jonathan Heaf garnered death threats for himself and his editors at GQ for suggesting that Harry was a man whore.  What do you think the fans would do to you?  Hmmm?” Kacey could see the beginnings of fear dawning on her face.

“Everyone knows One Direction fans are rabid and crazy; this video would send them into a frenzy.  They are in every corner of the world; there is nowhere that you could hide.  Those girls hack airport security cameras for heaven’s sake, you will be easy prey.”

“You’re threatening me,” Arabella said with an audible tremor in her voice.

“Oh, no darlin’, I never make threats.  I make promises. Before you leave this building, it will have started.  Unless you march your ungrateful ass back in that room and apologize, profusely and sincerely, to those lovely men giving you their time so that you can make some money.  If I ever hear a whisper about this on any website or in any publication, I will upload.  Consequences.  My two minutes are up.  Your move, wannabe,” Kacey finished in a firm tone.

She moved to the door and opened it, holding it wide for Ms. Braxton-Hicks and following her through.  Harry, Niall, Julie and the cameraman all stared at the now chastened journalist who walked in stiffly with her shoulders tight and eyes bright.  Pausing by her chair she cleared her throat and mumbled “I am…very sorry…for my behavior.  I would be grateful if you would allow me to continue.”

All eyes but hers turned to Kacey who was moving quietly to her seat.  

“Of course,” Harry responded quietly, dimples sneaking out.

Niall was grinning at Kacey, shaking his head slightly.

The rest of the interview was unremarkable and they were all relieved when it was over.  Ms. Braxton- Hicks thanked the boys then hastily packed her things and made for the door, flinching when Kacey called out after her “It was nice to meet you, Arabella.”

Harry ambled over to her kissing her forehead and hugging her to him.  “What did you say to her?”

“Oh, we just discussed actions and consequences.  Nothing big,” she replied pleasantly.

“You can be scary sometimes, d’ya know that?” * Harry had another small break before he had to fly back to North America for some television appearances and awards shows.  He asked Kacey if she would come home with him to Cheshire to meet his mum and Robin.  The idea terrified her but, seeing how important it was to him, she agreed. She was a bit relieved to hear that Gemma would be there too.  Kacey wasn’t afraid of parents as a rule but she was worried about making a good impression on Harry’s.  He valued their opinion so much and was particularly close to his mum.  Kacey knew that if Anne Twist disapproved of her, her relationship with Harry would suffer if it survived at all.  

Kacey was trying desperately to calm herself during the three-hour drive but her anxiety increased with each mile they traveled.  Harry knew she was nervous but he was also quite sure that there was no reason for her to be.  He hadn’t brought a girl home to meet his mum and step-dad since he left for the X-Factor.  He had been talking about Kacey to his mum for months and was excited for the weekend when the three most important women in his life would all be together.  He was confident that Anne would adore Kacey as much as he did.   As they pulled up to the house, the front door opened and his mum and Robin rushed out to greet them.  Harry had just opened Kacey’s door and helped her out of the SUV then turned to hug his mum.  Anne’s smile was huge as she enveloped her son in a tight embrace.  Harry hugged Robin then turned to introduce Kacey.

“Mum, Robin, this is Kassidy Day.  Kassidy, my mum Anne and my step dad Robin,” he finished formally.  

There were smiles all around as they shook hands, ‘nice to meet yous’ floating in the air.  They had turned to go inside when Gemma came bounding out the door with a large smile and a shout for Kacey.

“Kassidy! It’s been too long!” she called, rushing up to hug her.

“What about me?” Harry asked, after being ignored.  

“Meh, I’ll get to you later little brother.  Right now, I want to see your girlfriend,” Gemma retorted.  “Kassidy, I love that scarf!”

“Harry gave it to me for my birthday,” Kacey said smiling.

“Oooh! That pin is gorgeous!” Gemma exclaimed, fingering the cherry brooch. “Don’t tell me he gave you that too!  Has my younger sibling finally gained some taste?”

Kacey laughed and replied fondly “Yes, that was another gift from Harry. I love it! Rubies and emeralds are two of my favorites.”

Gemma took Kacey’s arm and they chatted as they followed Harry and his parents into the house.  Harry was telling them about the trip to Middlethorpe and funny stories about the spa day; Anne’s smile fading a bit the more they talked.  They all gathered in the lounge, Gemma finally hugging her brother before they sat on the sofa together, Kacey on his other side.  The girls talked around Harry as he sat beaming at everyone, very happy to be at home with the people he loved most.   Only Robin Twist noticed that his wife was quieter than usual.   They went to dinner that night at their favorite local restaurant and the conversation was lively.  Harry was laughing as he got caught up on the local news, asking about friends and neighbors.  Gemma and Kacey were giggling over their wine and talking about the two People’s Choice awards that Kacey had been nominated for.   “Ugh! The day the nominations were announced, Jimmy Fallon called to remind me about a bet we made at my movie premiere.  I lost so now I have to go on his show as the musical guest.  What am I going to do?” Kacey groaned. “You could always sing that song you did for karaoke…” Gemma barely got the words out before bursting into laughter.   Kacey, a little tipsy on the wine, giggled with her.  Anne watched them all as she sipped her wine. * The next morning after breakfast, Harry went to play golf with Robin at the local club.   Kacey spent some time in their room studying a script for Mortwick Murders that was shooting the next week.  She came downstairs in the afternoon and Anne called to her as she walked into the kitchen to get a drink.   “Kassidy, would you like to join me for tea?” Anne invited from the table by the window. Kacey accepted with “That would be lovely.  Thank you.” Anne had poured and offered Kacey a biscuit from the plate.  Smiling, she chose a shortbread.  Anne’s face was serious wearing a very slight frown.

“So, Kassidy,” she said conversationally but with a firm edge to her voice.  “I notice that my son has given you a lot of gifts.”

She looked pointedly at Kacey, one eyebrow raised slightly.  Anne watched as the smile slowly melted from Kacey’s face.  Kacey set her cup down gently on the saucer, expressions flitting across her face.  At last she pursed her lips slightly and settled for resigned.  Releasing a barely audible sigh, she looked Anne in the eye.  

“I don’t care about Harry’s money,” she began.  Anne’s expression conveyed her doubt.  Kacey continued “Yes, I know that sounds disingenuous.  It would be, if I didn’t have any, but I do.  I have more than enough to live very comfortably for the rest of my life.  I don’t have many needs and even fewer wants.  I don’t want him to buy me gifts but he gets such joy from giving them to me that I don’t discourage it.  When he grows tired of me, as he surely will, I’ll return them all.” Kacey paused.  “Well, all but one.  That one I’ll keep.  It’s my favorite and it was also the most expensive.  Do you want to know what it is?” Kacey continued without waiting for a reply, “One afternoon we were in my flat and Harry sang to me for over an hour.  Can you imagine?  A private concert with Harry Styles? Astronomically expensive.  It’s a memory I will always treasure.” Her voice cracked.  “Would you excuse me?” she murmured, rising quickly.

Anne sat nonplussed watching her bolt from the room.  That had not gone as she imagined.

Kacey hurried out of the kitchen and out of the house.  She walked briskly, unseeing, her breaths coming in sharp sobs.  The voice in her head ran amok ‘Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.  She thinks I’m a user, a gold-digger.  His mom disapproves of me!  What am I going to do?  OMG.  I knew this was too good to be true.  He’ll never stay with me if she dislikes me.  Oh no! I’m going to lose him!  I thought I’d have more time.  I’m not ready for this.  Please, oh please, no.  OMG.’  Her brain, focusing on a meltdown, failed to note her surroundings or the passage of time.

Slowly the exertion worked off the panic and she was able to calm down some.  A lump was still wedged in her throat and tears were barely at bay but she began to notice her surroundings. She didn’t recognize them.  She was unfamiliar with Holmes Chapel; this was her first visit and, she realized, it was probably her last.  STOP THAT.  Get a grip.  She had been so nervous on the trip here that she hadn’t paid attention until they had arrived.  Patting her pocket, she did not find her phone.  The image of it on the kitchen table popped into her mind.  Shit.  She tried to remember the Twist’s address but she wasn’t sure she had ever known it. Great.  She was lost, she had no money, no phone and no one in this tiny town would give a stranger the address or directions to Harry Styles’ house.   They would all assume she was a fan trying to get to him.  She thought about trying to find a police officer but she had no idea where the constabulary might be.  Looking around she saw a wooded area, a kind of park, but no houses.

It also dawned on Kacey that the weather was changing.   It had been mild for November and she was wearing a thin pink hoodie, yoga pants and trainers.  She didn’t know how long she had been gone but it must have been quite a while because it was the sky was darkening and the wind had really picked up. Correction, it hadn’t merely picked up, it was blowing hard.  The trees were whipping around violently and it became clear to her that she needed to find shelter of some sort.  She turned around and began walking the direction from which she came hoping that some details had registered subconsciously.  A sudden gust almost caused her to lose her balance.  She heard a loud crack followed by a thud behind her as a large limb broke in one of the trees and fell to the ground.  Kacey began to run; she needed to get away from the trees.   She stopped after about a mile, winded and trying to catch her breath; she had never been a runner. Looking around she was now in a field or maybe it was a park.  The wind was becoming even more fierce but she saw no place that would offer her shelter.  She’d gone maybe a quarter mile when the skies opened and the rain began.  Great sheets, whipped by the wind, pelted her; the drops stinging where they hit her skin.  Not far away she could make out a bench and she made for that.  Reaching it, she curled up on the seat trying to make as small a target as possible for the elements.  Shivering in the dropping temperatures, wind and icy rain, she began to cry again.

Behind her headlights appeared on the lane near the bench that she hadn’t been able to discern in the storm.  They slowed as they approached and a spotlight joined them, moving until it focused on her.  The constable got out of the car and walked quickly to her, touching her shoulder causing her to jump. “Miss?  You need to get out of this storm.  Come with me.”  He helped her up and to his vehicle.  Once inside he reached in the back and found an extra jacket giving it to her and then cranked up the heater tilting the vents toward her.  “Are you Kassidy Day?”

Kacey nodded, bewildered that he would know who she was.  The officer radioed a message that he had found her and was taking her to the Twists’.  He explained that they had received a call from ‘Mr. Styles’ that she was lost and without a phone.  

“Miss, I have to ask, do you want to go back there?  Did you run because you were in danger?” the constable watched her closely.

“Y-yes, please take me back.  I just got lost and then the storm…” she managed between chattering teeth. * Harry was laughing as he came in from golf with Robin.  They had enjoyed a day on the links but decided to stop after 9 holes when the weather began to deteriorate.  They had lunch at the clubhouse and then returned home to find Anne waiting for them.  Looking at her face, Harry immediately asked what was wrong.

“It’s Kassidy…” she began.  

“What’s happened to her? Is she okay?” he blurted out.

“She went out about two hours ago and she isn’t back yet,” his mum explained worriedly.

“Kassidy went out? Have you called her?” he asked, pulling his phone from the pocket of his golf pants.

“She left her phone on the table.  I’m afraid she left rather abruptly,” Anne said reluctantly.

“Annie, what’s going on?  What happened?” Robin asked his wife gently.

“I…I told her that I noticed you give her a lot of gifts…” she stammered, an embarrassed flush creeping into her face.

Harry took a moment to absorb what his mum had said and all that it implied. Quietly he said “Mum, I give her gifts because it pleases me to and she lets me.  Kassidy means so much to me, I just want to make her happy.”

Harry looked at his phone and dialed the police as a loud rumble of thunder shook the windows.   * The rain had momentarily relented as the police car pulled up outside the Twists’ home.  Harry was out the door before it came to a complete stop.  Hurrying to the vehicle, he opened Kacey’s door and gently lifted her out of the car before turning back to the house and heading upstairs.  She was burrowing into his chest, holding him as tightly as she could.  

“I’m so sorry!  I didn’t mean to cause any trouble!  I got lost and I didn’t have my phone–” she began to sob.

“Shhh, baby.  Shhh, it’s okay.  You’re safe now.  Come on, let’s get you warmed up” he said calmly.

Anne wanted to say something but Harry stopped her with a shake of his head. Gemma had run a very warm bath and left the room quietly as Harry entered with Kacey, closing the door behind her.  Kacey’s lips were blue and she was shivering as he carefully undressed her and lifted her into the tub.  He turned to get the shampoo but Kacey grabbed at his arm frantically.

“P-Please don’t leave me Harry.  Please don’t leave me…” she cried as tears began flowing again.  

“Oh, baby, no.  I’m not going anywhere,” he said as he stroked her hair.  

After he rewarmed the water several times (and finally undressed and climbed into the tub, and then shower, with her) Kacey managed to feel warm again.  Harry wrapped her in towels from the warmer and dried her softly.  He combed the tangles out of her hair, then helped her put on one of his t-shirts and got her into bed.  Climbing in next to her, he held her close until her breathing became deep and regular as she fell asleep.  Harry lay awake for hours in the dark before he finally drifted off.