#( she def sang a large part of the song )

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

The Hangover (Def Leppard x Reader)

(Happy birthday to my blog!! To celebrate 3 years of the place where I concentrate my insane Leppard obsession, I thought I’d celebrate by posting the FIRST Def Leppard fanfic I EVER wrote ((which I have NEVER posted anywhere before!)) I began writing this exactly 3 years ago today- the day I made this blog ((February 19th, 2018))- and officially finished it about a year later. This is not intended as a romantic/sexual fic, it’s simply just an x reader in which the reader is basically one of the guys. In other words, it’s on crack.)

((I am aware this is kind of cringe-worthy at times... but I still like a lot of things about it. While I revised it very slightly before queuing it,  I was still 16 when I started writing this, okay... gimme a break...))

(Illustration by @paper-sxn​)

Words: 8,684 Prompt: Dublin, 1984. You’re with the Leppards in their early pre-Hysteria era house. You all wake up with hangovers after a boozed-up night at home, and you each try to put the pieces of the previous night back together. Meanwhile, you’re praying that one particular piece won’t fit in anywhere... (partially inspired by the “Blitzgiving” and “The Pineapple Incident” episodes of How I Met Your Mother)

-----

Gently piercing white light made its way through the windows of the bedroom. It hit your eyelids, and it hit your brain, igniting a brief but killer headache. As your eyes clasped together more, you turned your face into the gloriously soft pillow. For a second you asked yourself why you would have a headache so early in the morning, but then…

You laughed quietly into the bed, recalling without warning some vague happenings from the night before. There wasn’t much you remembered, but you clearly saw the image of the guys flat out drunk at some point (you along with them). There were some blips of you all singing together, Sav hanging from a door frame, you chugging some scotch, Joe chugging some vodka, Steve’s hair being in pigtails, and you think Phil might’ve been giving you a lap dance... or vice versa. It was, all in all, hysterical (at least- that’s what you wanted to think).

 Other than those faint events, unfortunately, the night was gone. Still, you were thrilled that it happened. Crazy times with your boys were always good.

You rubbed your eyes, ready for more sleep to combat the pounding in your head. When you did, they opened a little, and you realized… this wasn't your room you were in. Squinting around, you noticed that you were sleeping in Phil’s room instead of yours.

Oh, it’s not that much of a problem, you mused, I’m sure he doesn’t mind. I’ve woken up to worse in this place.

You let your eyes close again easily, and you found peace as you began to fall under again. That is, until you felt someone move next to you.

When it happened, you became aware of the warmth coming from someone else in the bed. They only shifted in their sleep a little bit before going still again. Your eyes went wide, and you held your breath. You don’t remember getting into bed with someone (in fact, you don’t remember getting into bed at all). Turning your head, you looked to see what sort of stranger was in bed with you currently. Instead of a stranger, scraggly blonde hair over a kind and shy face met your sight, and you were instantly calmed upon realizing that it was just Steve. That was good, that was good, but why were you and Steve sleeping in Phil’s bed? You were sure you didn’t have sex last night- at least, not with Steve. This tiny moment of appeasement and confusion was cut short by the faint sound of guitar chords coming from downstairs. The music echoed to your ears, signaling that it had to be Phil, and that he was playing the opening to Bringin On the Heartbreak. Cautiously taking the covers off you- not wanting to wake Steve- you felt obliged to go to the other guitarist. When you stood up and began walking, you nearly fell forward from the sudden vertigo of your hangover. You had to hold onto the counter of Phil’s dresser for extra support, and that’s when your reflection in his mirror caught your eye. Not only that, but that’s when your outfit also caught your eye. One of the guys’ Union Jack tank tops had been slipped over you somehow, and two hand prints were on either side of your face in dried paint; one was blue, one was green. "What…?“ you whispered, touching your face and feeling the shirt on you. It seemed to fit you alright, which made you wonder whose it really was. You were also in black underwear, and nothing else. While eyeing yourself, you took notice of Steve in the reflection. You now saw a few big red lipstick stains on his face, untouched and unsmudged. It was pretty cute, you had to admit, but another thing that came to your attention was that it wasn’t you who was wearing the lipstick at the moment. So then who kissed Steve all over his face? You treaded carefully down the hallway, putting one foot in front of the other and dragging a hand on the wall for support. The melody of the distant guitar didn’t cease the whole time you trekked through the house to get to Phil. When the chords of the song dragged on to the part where the vocals should have begun, no vocals came. Everything in the house looked remarkably the same (despite everything you remember from last night). There were large, ripped pieces of cardboard in the middle of the hallway;  scattered out as if leaving a trail. Alongside that, there was a piece of paper labeled “pay 2 the orerr of Rick: one fuckin bendee straw” in what may have been Sav’s handwriting on top of the stairs, and blue paint smudged on the railing going downwards (guaranteeing that whoever did that eventually got to your face, too).

Step by step you descended as the scenery of the house teetered around you (a little too reminiscent of Me & My Wine, you would add). When you reached the bottom of the stairs and looked into the living room, sure enough, Phil was there, strumming away.

“But it’s easy come and easy go…” he hummed.

“You’re…” you mumbled, burped a little, and continued, “Awake. How?” He stopped playing and crossed his arms, quietly sassing you, “Ah, she rises again. You regrettin’ anything yet?” You blinked and rubbed your eyes, scratching a little bit of paint off of your face and inquiring in a scratchy, tired tone, “I guess so… but- how? You, how?” Phil took off his guitar and stood up with his hands in his pockets, “Because I barely drank at all last night, and I also sure as hell didn’t shag Steve in someone else’s bed!” “How do you mean- I didn’t- wait- and Steve- what?” you rubbed your head, getting dizzy, causing Phil to guide you to the couch. “I didn’t- I didn’t shag Steve last night,” you insisted. “Mm hmm,” the guitarist hummed disapprovingly, “Alright.” “What the hell are you on about?” Phil smirked evilly and laughed, “He carried you upstairs, we heard the door close, and then some rather happy noises were heard, so we all just assumed-!” “That’s not-” you swallowed and lay your head back on the couch, “-a valid assumption.” “Oh, you poor thing,” came the sarcastic remark, “You really don’t remember, do you?” “Well I figured if I ever fucked any one of you I would- you know- remember it!” you raised your voice at him, then rubbed your temples. “I’m touched, really. But I’ll fill you in a bit,” Phil yanked up his guitar he’d put down, placed himself next to you, and played the into to “Ballroom Blitz”. Then a bit of the night came back to you. “Oh... that’s what started it all, didn’t it?”

~The night before~ Rick began banging out a tune on his drum kit in the house with you, Sav, and Steve sitting close by, them being at the ready with their guitars. “You ready, Steve?” you mimicked the original lyrics. “Uh-huh,” he replied exactly like Steve Priest in the original song. “Savy?” you said next. “Yeah,” Sav bopped his head to the beat. “Rick?” “Okay.” “Alright, fellas,” you called out, “Let’s go!” The two guitarists let their instruments ring out around the house, playing the all-too-familar tune. As soon as they started this, the front door opened, and none other than Phil and Joe walked in. Joe was holding a bag that was weighed down by the mass inside it (a painfully obvious sign that there were a few bottles of booze). Although the two of them weren’t talking, they were physically hushed upon hearing the situation you and the others had created. “Oh life’s been getting so hard, living with the things you do to me…” you sang lowly and quietly along with the music being made, just to make sure the musicians knew their places. You noticed Phil run out of the room in excitement, and into the one where he keeps his guitars. Joe, on the other hand, stayed put and watched the rest of you from afar, fighting a smile. “My dreams are getting so strange, I’d like to tell you everything I see…” You stood up, and Joe began walking towards you when you called out the next line of the song, “Oh- I see a man in the back, as a matter of fact, his eyes are as red as a sun!” Joe chimed in without warning at the next line, putting an arm on your shoulder and pointing at you, “And the girl in the corner, let no one ignore her, ‘cos she thinks she’s the passionate one!” *** “It’s, it’s a ballroom blitz, it's, it's a ballroom blitz,” Phil sang the ending teasingly to you when he put his guitar back. It felt like he was rubbing his energy in your face (since you lacked it). Before Phil could continue, Joe suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Yeah! It’s a ballroom blitz!” he announced, throwing his arms into the air and taking a bow. He sounded a bit tipsy still. Joe was wearing his Union Jack shorts, but no shirt. Instead of a shirt, though, he had the words “PROPERTY OF DEF LEPPARD” sloppily painted across his chest in blue and green paint. Right over his nipples there were also two handprints, almost exactly matching the ones on your face. Joe stumbled in the doorway, falling to his knees and groaning in discomfort, “Ohh... probably should’ve stayed in bed.” Phil sluggishly trekked over to the singer and pulled him partially to his feet, yanking him towards the couch, “Oh yeah? And by ‘bed’, you mean-?” “Definitely not the bathtub.” Joe assured him, but winked at you. “No matter where you slept, it’s still not as bad as where she slept,” Phil pointed at you, “And what she did there.” “Why? What’d you do?” Joe’s tipsiness wore away in his sentence, making him sound genuinely concerned and curious. You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what Phil was going to say, “Phil, I-” “It’s not what she did, it’s who she did- she shagged Steve in my bed!” the guitarist accused you again while pointing a finger. Immediately Joe exclaimed, “Nice!” and held up a hand to high-five you. “Joe!” you scolded him, surprised that he took this as good news. “Oh-uh, not… nice?” he took away the offer of a high-five and scratched the back of his head awkwardly instead, “Also, is that my shirt?” You took a look down at the Union Jack tank top you were wearing and back at Joe’s torso. Then something clicked in your head. “Ohh…” you continued staring at Joe’s chest, feeling yourself blush as old memories unraveled in your head, “I think... I think I remember something else that happened last night.” *** You were all drunk; it was no lie. After your quick jam session, there was a booze-filled music fest going on in the house. Joe had even put on his Union Jack outfit, pretending he was getting ready for a show. At one particular point of this “festival” you'd all created, records were being played, and you ended up dancing in front of Joe to REO Speedwagon’s “Take It On the Run”. “You’re bringing up your white lines, you’re pullin’ on a bedroom eyes, you say you’re going home, but I won’t say when,” you sang the wrong lyrics as you swayed and drunkingly made flirty faces at Joe on the couch. Sav, meanwhile, was playing with some old craft paint off in the corner. The blue and green substances were all over his hands (but somehow, one color managed to stay on each hand). “Yeah, you dance for him, Y/N!” Rick cheered you on from the kitchen as Steve and Phil sat on the couch. Phil was perfectly sober, and Steve was giggling and laying with his head on Phil’s lap. You, on the other hand, were now moving closer to the singer, almost like you were giving him a lap dance. “You take it on the run, baby,” you sang along, slowly taking Joe’s Union Jack tank top off of him (with no objections from below), “If that’s the way you wanna, baby...” In return to Joe being shirtless, you slowly took off your own shirt (triggering wolf-whistles and cheers from the guys) to replace it with Joe’s tank. “Sav, mark him up!” you ordered the painted bassist in the corner as you tried to dress yourself. He happily made his way over to you and questioned, “What should I mark him with?” A single hazy idea came to you, and you eagerly whispered it into Sav’s ear. He giggled in response, and proceeded to move over to Joe, drawing something on his chest in the paint. To keep Joe from looking at what it was, you went behind the chair and covered his eyes, ordering coyly, “No peeking!” “All done!” Sav announced and retreated back to whatever he was doing in the corner. “Now, wait, Sav!” you sped over to him, lifted his hands up, and double high-fived him, getting the paint on your hands as well. To finish off what Sav had started, you ran back over to Joe on the chair, and slapped your hands on his chest, right over his nipples. Laughter erupted from everyone in the room (including Joe) and you repeated Sav’s words. “All done!” Joe gazed down at the words “PROPERTY OF DEF LEPPARD” on his chest as you continued to dance to the song playing. “You’re mine, now! You take it on the run, baby... if that’s the way you want it, baby...” Joe tried to tell you in a sexy voice, “Am I your baby now?” “If that’s the way you want it baby,” you repeated the words from the song to him, “Now I’m done dancing for you! Somebody dance for me!” Steve began pointing at everyone individually, childishly suggesting, “It should be, eenie, meenie, miney, Phil!” “Why me?” Phil laughed in objection as you took a seat across the room. “Because you’re not wasted,” his terror twin argued, poking him on the nose. The sober guitarist looked over at you with happy anticipation, awaiting a comment, while all you did was wiggle your fingers at him with a goofy grin. After that, you returned the gesture to the man on his lap, giving Steve a sexy wink. *** “Oh my god...” you put your head in your hands shamefully as Phil and Joe giggled at the memory of the previous night, “I can’t believe I did all that...” “That was a treat!” Phil laughed, hugging you from the side and pulling you closer to him in consolation, “It was funny! We never get to see that side of you!” “There’s a certain reason why you don’t...” you moaned with embarrassment, then asked out of guilty curiosity, “How many times did I grab your ass during that lap dance...?" Phil thought for a bit before telling you, “Four. Well- four and a half...” You gave a loud groan of protest as Joe laughed and slumped back into the couch. “Oh, you only did those things because you weren’t thinking!” Phil consoled you, swayed back and forth with you in his arms. Joe chimed in, “Yeah, and see what happens when you don’t think? You do! Most importantly, you do Steve!” “I didn't do Steve!” you shot your head up and yelled at Joe. You received only laughs and snorts from both men in reply. Suddenly, Sav appeared on the staircase and began singing “Squeeze Box” by The Who with a tired yet cheeky smirk, “Mama’s got a squeeze box she wears on her chest, and when Stephen comes home, he never gets no rest-” Joe and Phil joined into his song with, “Cos' she’s playin’ all night, and the music’s alright! Mama’s got a squeeze box, Stephen never sleeps at night!” You just put your head back in your hands, trying not to accept your fate of being teased. You didn’t want to think that you possibly shagged Steve. He always seemed so innocent to you in a way, and you feared that this would kill your friendship. If everything the boys said was true, you would never hear the end of it, and you don’t even know what Steve would think of you from now on. Was it possible that he remembered anything about the night before? “It didn’t happen, it didn’t happen...” you repeated to yourself in a whisper as Phil unwrapped his arms from you. Sav came all the way down the stairs; his body language making him look grumpy with the world, but his tired grin signaling that he was pleased with seeing you. “Oh, it happened, sunshine!” the frizzy-haired bassist laughed, but quickly regretted it and rubbed his head with his still-painted hands, “Ah- yep, it happened. You could probably hear you two up the whole damn street.” As Sav wearily joined you all on the couch, Joe complained, “Sounds like that was a treat; I wish I remembered it!” Phil was caught off guard at the comment. His head turned to Joe in the blink of an eye and gasped, “Wait, you don’t remember hearing them?!” “I wish I could say I do, but there’s nothing there,” Joe stood up after he spoke, and quickly held onto the wall nearby. His hand went over his stomach as he whined, “Oh... fuck, Y/N, why did you make me race you last night?" “'Race me'?” you squinted as you inquired, “Race you with what?” Joe didn’t answer, but slowly took steps into the kitchen, using the wall as his guide. His answer came when you, Sav, and Phil all heard him throw up into the sink. You sighed, resting your hands over your eyes, trying to remember the cause of Joe’s sickness, “Oh no, was that really my idea?” *** “Look what I found!” you trotted into the room tipsily, holding two bottles; one of scotch, one of vodka, “Only half full! Who wants em?” While you weren’t full-on drunk, it was no secret that the title wasn’t that far away. After your little Ballroom Blitz, it was one beer after the next, then it was digging into the fancy liquors that Phil and Joe had just brought home. Your judgment was impaired, no doubt about it, and so was the judgment of all the guys. Joe even changed into his normal live-show-only Union Jack tank top, claiming that he was gonna "put on a show." The only one who was still sane and sober was Phil, who seemed to be staying away from your poison. Upon registering your sacred offer of alcohol, Rick ran forward, chanting, “Me! Me!” You lifted the bottles away from him, commanding, “Uh-uh! I get the scotch.” “Oh, bollocks, then you can keep the vodka,” the young drummer grumbled and turned away from you. Just as Rick rejected your offering, Joe sprung up and eagerly trotted over while shouting happily, “I’ll take it!” “Sold!” you handed the bottle over to him, “Betcha can’t finish before me!” “Betcha I can!” he sneered back before taking the cap off his bottle. There was no official “ready, set, go” for the race; you both just kind of went for it without any saying. While your throat and stomach were already protesting your actions (and you could almost sense that Joe’s were doing the same), you didn’t stop once; neither of you did. You held up your bottle and announced, “Done!” Looking over, you saw Joe was also finished. “I finished first!” “Nuh-uh!” you insisted, “It had to be me! Tell him, guys!” The four others hadn’t been paying attention to you and Joe’s little competition; they were instead focused on a box that Sav had pulled out from a cupboard. From the box they pulled out bottles of paint and various types of used makeup.

Joe scolded them all in a more sober manner, “Oh come on, you lot weren’t even watching!” “Yeah, yeah, it was probably a tie, anyways,” Rick chuckled, pulling out more items from the box. “This box is much more interesting, too," Phil protested, holding up a stick of lipstick as Sav held up two bottles of paint, "This is a box of makeup that I had for me and the lads in Girl! Just look at it all! Think we can have some fun with this?" "Oh, piss off," you threw the empty bottle onto the couch, "We need some music." Joe had slumped down onto a chair, and you stumbled your way over to the shelf with all the records on it, flipping through and eyeing them all as carefully as your body would let you. After only a few seconds of searching, your eyes lit up at a discovery. "Here's a good one!" you exclaimed as you pulled out a copy of Hi Infidelityby REO Speedwagon, "Let's give it a spin!" ***

Joe wandered back into the room and fell onto the empty couch with a grumble. “Sorry, Joe...” you muttered over to him, realizing that you pressured him into more consumption of the booze. “It was probably gonna happen anyway...” he admitted, wiping his hands over his face, “It’s was my stupid choice to go through with it.” “Woah,” Phil pointed out out of nowhere, looking at you with great surprise, “What’s that on your neck?” You felt your heart drop into your stomach. “What!?” you shot up from where you sat (bringing on more dizziness), and rushed over to a mirror. Once your dizziness subsided, and you could finally see your reflection, the pink shape of a hickey on the side of your neck was now clearly conspicuous. You wondered how you hadn't noticed it before. Joe exclaimed with a smug and proud grin, “Is that from Steve!?” You groaned angrily, feeling yourself become more and more defeated. “I can’t believe it,” you gasped, slapping a hand over the mark, “Something did happen between us-!” “Y/N,” Phil pointed out again, “There’s lipstick on your thigh...” Looking down at your legs, you saw that he was right. There was a single red symbol on your right thigh that marked a kiss from the night before. Upon seeing this, what you saw when you woke up popped into your head. “Looks like Steve went to town down there,” Sav smirked at you, only wanting to rub it in more. “Guys,” you softly noted, “That wasn’t Steve... he has lipstick marks all over his face from someone else...” The three men all exchanged confused looks with each other. There was a dead end to the story of the previous night. None of them knew how to solve the mystery of the lipstick. Not even Phil, who was as good as sober 12 hours ago, didn’t have any input. Sav suddenly blurted out, “Wait a minute, I know what happened- I think...” No one said anything, but eagerly leaned forward, ready to hear the tale the bassist had to tell. “You lot remember how we found that box of old makeup last night?” he began, “Well, I walked into the bathroom with you afterwards, Y/N...” *** Rick looked at himself in the mirror in the bathroom, carefully applying the makeup to his lips, and being extra careful to not get it on the blazer he was wearing. The drummer put on his best suit just to see how it would look with the makeup he was putting on. He thought he was doing a good job for the most part; he didn’t look half bad at all! It was far easier than he expected it to be, and wondered if he was good enough to help you with your makeup at times. Thinking of you seemed to have made you appear in the doorway next to him. Both of your hands were still covered in paint. “Sink,” was all you commanded of the drummer. He moved without a word and you began to wash your hands. At the same instant, Sav appeared nearby. He grabbed the doorframe and began to swing from it, leaving conspicuous handprints afterwards. “Aren’t you gonna wash up, too?” Rick crossed his arms to sass him. “Nah, I want the colors, they’re makin’ me feel- colorful...” Sav grinned, walking over to you at the sink, requesting, “C’mere.” You looked up, only to have your face taken in Sav’s paint-covered hands. He softly giggled as you squared your vision in on him with a sneer. “Rude,” you teased, then went back to washing your hands; paint now all over your face. “What’s really rude,” Rick pulled back the shower curtain and taking a step into the tub, “Is you two interrupting my makeup time! Good night!” He sat himself down in the tub and laid himself down as if he was going to sleep.

Before he had the chance to catch some shut-eye, you marched over to the tub and objected, “Rick, if you’re gonna sleep, I want a goodnight kiss first.” Without another word, Rick sat up and planted a kiss on your thigh (since it was closest to him). There was now a bright red imprint of his lips on your leg. “Thank you.” you smiled down at him, “Now goodnight.” “Don’t leave the water on, you hear?” Sav nagged him, pointing a colored finger, “You’ll drown." Rick chuckled with his eyes closed, “I’ll drink myself out. I'm in a drinkin mood, anyways." “Oh yeah? You haven’t got a straw or anything,” the intoxicated bassist continued to argue with him. “Then don’t let me drown! Get one!" “I’ll get you one later. I’ll just-“ Sav burped, and continued, “I’ll write a note or something.” “Sounds good, mate,” Rick slumped further into the tub and pulled the curtain closed, “Now you gonna stay here all night?” “Actually,” you noted out loud to yourself, different alcoholic emotions boiling up inside you, “I wanna go downstairs- I just need to see Steve- like right now...!" You turned on your heels, speeding past Sav and flying back down the stairs. *** “So that explains the paint on my face, and the paper in the hallway, and the lipstick, but what happened after that?” you asked Sav, as you were now slumped on top of Phil’s arm again. “Beats me,” Sav ran his still-painted hands through his hair, “That’s all I’ve got.” “But wait, if you said that Rick fell asleep in the bathtub...” Phil began his sentence, only for you and the other two men to exchange knowing looks with each other. All four of you immediately sprung up and rushed (as much as you could) up the stairs and into the bathroom. Upon getting there, Phil flung back the shower curtain to reveal a partially awake Rick, dressed in a suit, and still wearing the lipstick from the night before. “Mornin’,” he groaned as he stretched, then winced, “Ah, fuck- sleeping in here wasn’t the best idea for me neck.” Sav looked back at the paint on the doorframe and asked the drummer, “So then why did you sleep in here?” “Oh,” Rick looked around the tub, stating as-a-matter-of-factly, “The porcelain keeps the suit from wrinkling. I guess drunk me was very careful last night.” “I’ll say,” Joe complemented, “The lipstick’s still holding up pretty well.” Phil halted the conversation, “Wait, so you were in here when I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night?” Rick chuckled, “Yeah, and let me tell you, for a smaller guy, you’ve got a big bladder.” “Wait,” you slowly turned and pointed at Joe, “I thought you said you slept in the bathtub-?” He gave you a cocky smirk in return, “I told you, ‘definitely not the bathtub’...” Rick sleepily laughed and pointed at you, “Ha- Y/N, you look like Joe!” “Why, just because of the shirt?” you inquired, pointing at Joe’s tank top on you. “And the paint!” Rick corrected you, “I can’t believe you guys didn’t wash it off yet!” In a second, you felt a rush of worry upon realizing that Rick hadn’t said anything about you and Steve yet. It made you suddenly come to the possible conclusion that he may not know about it all. “Wait,” Phil snapped his fingers, “So you do remember some stuff from last night?” “Yeah, a bit, I think. Why?” “Philip Kenneth Collen, don’t you fucking dare....” you growled at him in an almost pleading manner, rubbing your temples and grinding your teeth. “What do you remember?” Phil asked him, not giving any sort of reaction to your begging. Rick thought for a few seconds, clearly as hungover as the rest of you. It didn’t take him long to list off some brief happenings he recalled. “Well, I remember us singing Sweet, there was a lap dance, I remember- uh, being denied a bottle of scotch, there was, uh... there was lipstick... and did I try to ice-skate on pieces of cardboard down the hall...?” “Is that why there’s cardboard all down the hallway?” you motioned towards the door. Rick gave you a big proud smile and a nod in response. “So...” Joe looked around, definitely looking eager, “What’s the last thing you remember before falling asleep?” Rick rested his head back on the tub again, thinking as hard as his hungover mind would let him. You hoped to every god there was that he didn’t say anything about Steve. “Just Phil comin’ in here and having a long piss, that’s all.” came the verdict. “You sure you didn’t hear-“ Phil anxiously began to ask him, but got a hand slapped over his mouth by you. “No!” you yelled on impulse, sending more daggers through your burned-out head. All eyes were now on you, and silence fell. For a few tense seconds, you stared into Phil’s eyes, sending him visual messages of both threats and desperate requests. “...what the hell happened last night?” Rick broke the silence in a tone of utter confusion, knowing that something more serious than what he remembered had taken place. You pulled your hand back from Phil’s face, “Yuck, Phil, come on!” “You licked her hand, didn’t you?” asked Sav. “Yes,” Phil confirmed, and continued without missing a beat, “And I’m glad you asked that, Rick, cos' I know what happened after Y/N and Sav paid you a visit last night.” “Phil, if you love me in any way, shape, or form, you will not tell Rick what happened,” you begged to him as you began to walk out the bathroom door, heading back downstairs to wallow in more of your shameful hangover, “I refuse to believe it happened until there’s hard proof.” “Well what more proof do you want? A positive pregnancy test?” Phil shrugged, but suddenly slapped his own hand over his mouth, realizing what he’d just said. You shot him an angry look. You were too tired to have it out with him, so you stumbled away. Right about now, you were ready to give up and accept the fact that you probably did shag Steve. Phil turned to Rick, gaping, and slowly began to speak again, "Right... so last night, after those two were in here, I think that’s when they came back downstairs..." *** "So why are you tying up my hair again?" a drunk Steve asked Phil, who was happily putting his hair into pigtails. "Because I knew you’d look pretty, and I knew you wouldn't object, either," the other guitarist laughed evilly as he finished tying the second bundle of golden locks together, "There, you're all done now." "Cool... I think," Steve tilted his head, staring at himself in the mirror on the wall as footsteps began pounding their way down the stairs. "I think you look pretty, Steve. Pretty, pretty, pretty," Joe giggled as he was flipped off by the pig-tailed guitarist. As this happened, you trampled the stairs in your descent, calling out, “Steve- Steve! Come here!” More than happy to be ripped away from Phil’s pigtailed plans, he let you run up to him as you belted out, “I’ve got an idea...!” He didn’t say anything, but he did let you whisper something in his ear. The second he heard your idea, his eyes lit up and an evil smirk crossed his face. Steve was always in the mood for causing terror. You pulled back and exchanged the same look of understanding with the guitarist. He stared at you with a sort of appreciation, and without another word, swept you off your feet, carrying you bridal style now. With a quick smooch to your lips, he began carrying you up the stairs as you giggled with some sort of glee. Phil’s jaw dropped, looking at Joe with astonishment in the process. The singer’s face mirrored the exact same expression. “I should’ve bloody known...” Phil gasped in astonishment, “She’s been eyeing him up real funny all night... I can’t fucking believe it!” Sav came down the stairs slowly, his life depending on the railing as he dragged his hand on it. He left a long streak of blue paint as he did so. “What’s gotten into their pants?” “Each other, apparently,” Joe scoffed, taking a sip of a beer he found, “Lord knows how the hell that happened.” *** You were all sitting back on the couches in the living room, all seemingly regretting the night before (you knew you most certainly were). Everyone knew that the end of Phil’s story was the true ending of the night. Now there was really a dead end to the whole tale. “I can’t believe it,” you whispered with sorrowful acceptance, “Me and Steve...? What happened next?” Joe scoffed, “Well that’s kind of a stupid question.” “That’s where it ends, Y/N. I went up to bed afterwards, only to hear-“ Phil cleared his throat to impersonate you and Steve, “‘Oh, Steve! Yes!’ coming from my room! So after an immense helping of disapproval, I slept in Rick’s room.” “No, no, that can’t be it!” you insisted, “Guys, what really happened next?” “Can’t say,” Joe mumbled, holding his head. “Sorry, mate,” Rick apologized. Sav remained silent, but looked apologetic. “That can’t be where it ends...!” you persisted, “Sav? Tell me I’m right!” Sav rolled in his lips, and darted his eyes away from you. You continued to stare at him suspiciously, but no one else thought anything of it. Phil tried to finalize your fate sympathetically, “Give it up, Y/N, at least it’s all over now.” “But it still happened! What am I gonna say to Steve when he wakes up? You know what- no. It didn’t happen, I refuse to believe that it did.” “How much more proof do you want?” Rick shrugged, pointing at Phil and Sav, trying to make you face the terrible truth, “They both heard ya, and Steve even gave you a hickey.” You hung your head, thinking you might just decide to cry out of shame. Yes, you loved Steve, just as you loved anyone else in the band, but you never had (or planned to have) any sort of sexual relationship with them. Even if you ever did, you were afraid it would ruin everything your friendship had stood for. “Sav, what’s wrong, mate?” Joe asked out of the blue. The bassist in question was still avoiding the conversation, staying eerily silent and weaving his hands together. At this point, you noticed that he was also blushing. “That wasn’t Steve.” he stated bluntly, still not looking at you. “What wasn’t Steve?” you asked as you stared at him dead on, your heart now pounding. “That hickey... that wasn’t Steve,” he paused, “That was me.” Immediately you gasped and slapped a hand over the mark on your neck. “What?!” the other three exclaimed. Joe and Rick immediately hissed at the searing pain their outbursts caused. “Sav, what the hell?!” you scolded him, finally happy that you weren’t the only one being called out for their mistakes. “Now before you say anything else,” he finally looked at you and held up a hand, “It was your idea.” Your face fell, softly asking him, “What do you mean?” “Well, after you and Steve-you know- and only Joe and I were downstairs, you actually came back down, too- wipe that smug look off your face, Joe. You’re not entirely innocent here, either.” *** You stumbled down the stairs, giggling to yourself. Your mission was now accomplished, and Steve was asleep upstairs. In a word, you were pleased. In two words, you were still drunk. Records were still being played when you returned to the living room, and Joe currently had his copy of Sheer Heart Attack on the turntable. “She Makes Me (Stormtrooper In Stilettos)”flowed softly from its speakers. “There’s our killer queen!” Joe cooed to you happily. He was now sprawled out on the couch, two empty beer bottles on the floor beside him. Sav wasn’t too far off. The paints on his hands were now dry, and he was reclined in a chair across the room, twiddling a bottle in his hand. They both looked ready for bed, and it made you wonder how they held out for this long. The singer slurred on with an interested smirk, “You two have fun?" Sav spoke up with a scoff-like laugh, “Sure sounded like it!" “Oh, you know it,” you gave them a wink, setting yourself down on the couch next to Joe, “Guess Phil finally ditched, huh?” “Yeah, the wanker went to bed- but you’ve lost your pants!” he gestured to your black underwear, made room for you to lay down with him, and took you in his arms like a teddy bear with a sigh of appeasement. You reached back and playfully poked at Joe’s dimple, “Steve's fault." “Well, that’s no good,” Sav objected, pushing the footrest of the chair in and returning to a sitting position. “What isn’t?” Joe asked him, "Steve gettin' into it with her?" “No, that cuddlin' you're doing- it’s boring. You stay like that, you’ll fall asleep on me!” He was certainly right about this. With you in Joe’s arms and his face nuzzling into your hair like some sort of animal, he was already falling asleep. “What do you want us to do?” you chuckled, thinking that Sav was only jealous of his friend. Joe mumbled happily into your hair, “How 'bout you just do me like Steve, and we’ll be good.” At this point, you noticed the feeling of something pressing lightly against the bottom of your back; a certain weight where Joe’s hips were, and a weight that wasn’t there at first. “Joe,” you whined at him, “You’re fucking gross.” He chuckled, then slowly moved his hips to lightly rub himself against you, a low quiet moan rising in his throat from the temporary pleasure it provided. “Ah- Joe!” you protested again, reaching back and hitting him as best as you could. You wiggled out of his embrace as he burst into giggles like he had just accomplished something. Sav, on the other hand, cringed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re even hornier than when you’re sober!” you grabbed a pillow and whacked Joe with it. “You’re one to talk! You just shagged Steve!” he smirked evilly, "Why not me?" “Ha! The only way I’ll do you is by some miracle, or at least a dare,” you threw yourself onto the other couch, picking up a nearly empty beer bottle and pouring whatever was left into your mouth. Sav’s eyes finally lit up, “That’s what we oughta do- truth or dare!” “Ooh, sounds like terrible fun,” you turned yourself so you were sitting upside-down on the couch, “Sav, truth or dare?” “How come he gets to go first?” asked Joe, “I wanna get down to business!” “Dare,” Sav declared, ignoring the singer’s objections. Immediately, your intoxicated mind thought of a scheme. Despite the plan you and Steve had executed ever so perfectly, you were still a child seeking more terror. You knew Joe wanted you, and it was no secret either, so how exactly would you use Sav to reign terror over him? You wanted something to rub in Joe’s face- something that would leave a mark on him. “I dare you to-" you clumsily pointed to your neck, "Gimme a hickey.” Joe's jaw dropped with offense and jealousy; exactly as you had expected. Sav began to laugh rather loudly at the request, and stood up, now understanding your true intention of making Joe jealous. “C’mere,” he motioned with his hand. More than happy to obey the command, you strutted over to him and paused, waiting for him to make the first move. He took a step so your bodies were practically pressing together, moved your hair out of the way on your neck, and dove right in. You smiled with glee, taking in the feeling of Sav’s mouth and tongue moving over your skin (as well as Joe’s groans of protest coming from a few feet away). As the bassist sucked on your neck without hesitation, it only made you think of one thing: “Wow, there’s definitely gonna be a mark after this.” *** Rick and Phil were staring at Sav with their mouths open in shock. You kept a hand over the mark he left on your neck to prevent everyone from looking any more than they already had. “So, wait, if it was you who gave me this, why didn’t you say anything before when we said it was Steve?” you asked Sav, more suspicious than outraged now. “I- ah, didn’t... wanna say anything...” he looked away, beginning to blush again, “I guess I was too embarrassed." “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is you, Joe,” Rick turned his attention back to the singer, “You fuckin dry humped her!” Joe exclaimed in his own defense, “Yeah, and I don’t even remember it! It’s not my fault- I was drunk and horny!” “See! Just like me and Steve! I don’t remember shagging him, either! So I guess we’re even.” “Even Stephen,” Phil scoffed. You slumped into the couch more, staring blankly ahead and realizing, “So I pretty much got to second base with all of you last night...?” “I think you made it all the way home with Steve,” Rick pointed out. “Thanks, Rick,” you kept your head hung, “I feel like a slut.” “You mean you’re not?” Phil joked, only to be hit in the arm by Sav.

Just then, you all heard the sound of movement upstairs. Your heart stopped and your blood ran cold; Steve was awake now. Everyone's jaws hit the floor, and for a second, you thought they were all afraid of what you were fearing. "He's awake..." Rick announced in a sing-song voice, teasing you. “Oh no...” you gasped quietly, “Oh no, oh no! Oh god, what am I gonna do? What am I gonna say to him?!” “Hate to break it to ya, but this isn’t necessarily our problem!” Joe shrugged in a panic, hearing Steve’s footsteps get closer. “But guys! You’ve gotta help me! You’re his best friends! What should I say to him?!” “Just act like it didn’t happen! Maybe he doesn’t remember-?” Sav proposed. Rick suggested, “Just straight up ask him if he remembers anything!” “Just get out of here!” Phil made a swatting motion towards the other room. “None of those are gonna do me any good! It still happened!” you yelled at them in a whisper, “I have to live that with that fact, even if neither of us have any memory of it to live with!” It was too late for any salvation; Steve was already at the top of the stairs. The band members held their breath, and- without words or warning- all scrambled out of the living room. “No!” you whispered, “Guys- wait!” You caught Rick by the wrist when he stood up. “Rick, c’mon, please don’t leave me here!” you begged. He yanked out of your grip and apologetically condemned you, “Sorry, Y/N, but this is your business.” As the four of them retreated, you tried to bolt after them. As soon as you hit the doorway, however, Phil turned around and pushed you back on the couch nearby as slowly as he could. It was so sudden that you were on your back before you knew it, and they were all gone. “Hey!” you called out after them, “Assholes!” Steve’s voice suddenly came to your ears (rather closely, too), “What’s their problem?” You jumped, “Ah- Steve!” He had a silent step, and made it down the stairs and across the room without making a sound. He also looked just as he did a little while ago when you first woke up; scraggly hair, lipstick stains all over his face, but no visible evidence of a hangover. “Hey, wow,” you forced an awkward chuckle at him, “Nice- uh, nice- lipstick...” Steve slumped down onto a chair and grumbled, “Thanks. Who even did this to me? Doesn’t look like it was you.” “That was, that was Rick- I’m assuming... I don’t remember that happening and I don’t think he does, either. He’s still got the lipstick on, too.” He played off the remark with a tired smile, “Oh, nice... last night really was something, wasn’t it?” Heat rushed to your face, and you tried to look away without being conspicuous. “Ha ha... yeah... really something!” you faked your amusement for him, now wondering if he was implying anything about the previous night. Steve leaned forward and asked, “Do you remember Sav and the paint? That was pretty funny, wasn’t it?” Still blushing, you darted your eyes around the room and nodded in agreement, “Mm hmm, yeah... he was like a toddler or something.” He sunk back into the chair again and closed his eyes, reminiscing about the events of the previous night. For a second you thought you were in the clear, and that maybe he didn’t remember the specific event that Phil and Sav did.

That illusion was shattered when his eyes snapped open, whispering “Wait a minute”, and sitting back up. Immediately, your heart dropped into your stomach.

“How did our plan go?” he questioned quietly, figuring that the others were still somewhere nearby and listening. “P-plan?” you stuttered, partially afraid of what he meant, but partially caught off guard, “What plan?” “You know-” he whispered again, thinking you remembered, “It was your idea. Did they believe it? We were convincing enough?" You darted your eyes down to the floor, confused, but also embarrassed. 'Convincing'? What did that mean? "Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t remember!” he smiled playfully. As you stared at him with fearful confusion in your eyes and redness on your cheeks, his smile was suddenly wiped away. He muttered under his breath as his face fell, "Oh... you don't remember... bloody hell, okay, this is gonna be hard to explain..." "Then explain it, because I'm really fucking confused..." your voice wavered with a sarcastic chuckle. Steve sighed and leaned forward, slowly weaving his hands together. He didn't know where to begin. "This is one of the few things I remember from last night..." he started off, "And there's no way to make this sound... good... in any way, but you came up with the idea of us pretending to shag- like making noises and shit like that- to trick the others into thinking we really did. For some reason I thought it was a great idea, and I'm pretty sure I carried you upstairs, too.” Instantly, a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders. It wasn't real; you didn't shag Steve, and he could even tell the guys himself! You blew out a big sigh of relief, and slumped back into the couch, closing your eyes. "Oh, god," you slowly panted, "What a huge relief- I suppose we were really convincing, then." "Why d'you say that?" You laughed tiredly, now feeling rather thankful for your raging hangover, "The guys are all convinced that we fucked last night. Only Phil and Sav seem to remember it, though. They've been hounding me about it all morning. I kept telling them it couldn't be true- and I was right!" "What, would it be so bad if we actually did?" he teased you in a hushed voice. "Well, I've had to live my day so far under the impression it did happen. I was teased, ridiculed, embarrassed, and felt guilty about it. I was afraid it'd ruin our friendship if it was true... I was kinda hoping you didn't remember so we could just forget..." The red in your face returned all over again. Steve, however, didn't seem bothered. "If you really want to, we can keep pretending it happened and steer into the act; give em' what they want." "What? No!" you laughed out loud, standing up, "You're crazy, Clark! I think I better go tell the others the bad news. They'll be disappointed-ha!" You walked across the room to go find the others and disclose unto them the "bad news", giving Steve a pat on the shoulder when you passed him. Once you were gone and out of sight, Steve also blew out a big sigh of relief. "She didn't remember anything," he thought to himself, "That was a close one." While he knew you two didn't go all the way the previous night, he figured if you didn't remember it, then it was for the best you didn't find out. It was nothing serious; just a bit of fooling around, really. Just a bit of drunked-up teasing, and nothing more. The guys had no proof that anything actually happened between you two, and you were about to tell them the partial truth anyway, so why say something to reignite the suspicion? After all, they were all hungover to begin with, so there wasn't much memory of the whole affair, either. "Thank god for these hangovers,"Steve thought, "Thank god. I couldnt've asked for anything more." ~Epilogue~ When you got to the top of the stairs, Steve put you on your feet and spun you around. "You ready?" he whispered, childish excitement in his voice. You nodded with equal excitement, "Take me away, Clark." The two of you began eagerly walking hand-in-hand to whatever room you pleased, but before either of you had the chance to pick one, the bathroom door opened, Rick popped his head out and commanded, "Stop right there!" Both you and Steve froze and looked at him. He still had his lipstick and his suit on, and a kind of serious look overtaking his face. A finger was kept in a pointing position at you, a few large pieces of cardboard were underneath his other arm, and he slowly took steps down the hall to meet you. Neither of you moved, but both of you waited. When Rick got to you, he didn't say a word, but did take Steve's face in his hands (dropping the cardboard in the process), and proceeded to the kiss the man all over his face.

Steve remained silent, and let Rick have his way until he decided to stop. When he did, there were several lipstick stains on various parts of the blonde's face.

"Thanks, mate," Steve muttered sarcastically as Rick kicked some of the cardboard pieces in different directions. He then stepped on two of them, trying to slide down the hall on them as if they were ice skates. When he got back to the bathroom, he went back inside and shut the door again.

Without another word, you turned Steve's face toward you, gave him a peck on the cheek as Rick had done, and kicked open the door behind you (which just so happened to be Phil's bedroom). You both fell back into the room, giggling with makeshift lust in your eyes.

After all, you had to make this authentic, right?

[kirishimaskousin]

Finding Out His S/O Can Sing

Please enjoy these fluffy head cannon/one shots for Bakugou, Kirishima, and Denki. I linked all the songs, and 100% recommend them. 

Warnings: none

A/N: I don’t think each student has their own bathroom in the AU dorms,,,,but I’ve taken creative liberties. fight me. Also, I tried not to be too specific about gender or race, but Kirishima’s is about wash day sooooo. (my blackness is showin....not sorry) 

Bakugou Katsuki

Song: Kiss You Right Now by Duckworth

It was Saturday evening. You had come to Bakugou’s dorm earlier that morning to study for a big test. 

Bakugou sat at his desk and you sat cross legged on his bed, surrounded by notes and books.The studying was going well...

Until you fell asleep. 

“(Y/N) Do you have notes from chapter–”

He turned around to see you sprawled out on his bed. If it was anyone else, he’d be mad that they were wasting his time. Instead, he just looked over your frame. He studied the rise and fall of your chest, the slight twitch in your lips, and the small sliver of torso that peeked from under your tousled shirt. 

He picked up the notes you were laying on so that you didn’t crumple them any further and left you to go train. 

When he returned, he expected you to still be asleep or to be gone to study on your own. 

So, when he heard a muffled voice coming from his room, he stood listening for a moment. 

The voice was mellow and effortlessly enchanting. He’d never admit it, but he wanted to stay there listening forever. 

He cracked open the door just enough to see you sitting at his desk and wearing one of his large hoodies with your headphones in. You were facing away from him, doing more singing than studying, so he stepped inside to watch you dance around in your seat. 

You fell silent for a moment, and Bakugou opened his mouth to speak. Before he could call you out though, you began to sing in a more sensual tone. 

“I think I wanna kiss you, right here in front of everybody, right now.”

A blush crept up bakugou’s neck, and a crooked smile played on his lips.  He rubbed the hairs on the back of his neck as he tried to make a decision. 

“I think I wanna miss you, purposely leave so I can come back to you, right now.”

Part of him wanted to keep listening, drinking in your buttery voice. 

The other part of him wanted to wrap his arms around you from behind and give you the kisses you sang about. 

And a teeny tiny part of him just wanted to scare you.

“That's some holy matrimony, how we joining our lips. Holy moly the one and only to grip on yo hips.”

With those exciting words, your dark voice, and the languid motion of your head, he made up his mind.

With two large strides, he crossed the room and spun you around in his chair. 

The sudden movement made you jump and clutch your chest, but you barely got the chance to scold your smirking boyfriend before he planted a harsh kiss on your lips. 

One of your headphones laid on the desk, still playing as Bakugou kissed your breath away.

“When I kiss you, Right her in front of everybody, right now.”

As if he could hear your lungs screaming for air, Bakugou pulled away and walked towards his shower. 

“If you wanted to kiss me, you could have just said it.” And he shut the bathroom door behind him. 

Denki Kaminari

Song: Electricity by: Sam Pinkerton

Class 1-A was still riding the high from the school festival. Everyone had worked so well together and had so much fun showing off their talents that they decided to have their very own class talent show. 

Chatter and giggles filled the common room as everyone piled onto the plush couches. You were running a bit behind, so all the seats were filled when you got there. 

You scanned the group, looking for a seat on the floor with the best view of the “stage”. Before you could find your seat, Denki called out to you.

“I saved you a seat right here.” He patted his lap and you chuckled a little. 

Kaminari never really cared about PDA. He was so proud to call you his girlfriend and he took every chance to show the world that you were together. He’d hold your hand in the market, pull you close when you shared a booth at a restaurant, and even stole kisses on your strolls. 

For the most part, you were okay with his affections, but you rarely let him do such things around your classmates. You knew they’d tease you relentlessly, and mineta would definitely be a perv about it. 

But, everyone was focused on their conversations, so you took your seat in Denki’s lap.  

“What’s cracking cutie?” He laughed, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Excited to show off your talent?” 

“Um, not really.” You held up your hand to show your trembling fingers. “I’m a bit nervous.” You’d been a part of the technical team for the school festival, so no one had to see you, but today there'd be so many pairs of eyes on you. and Shoji’s quirk didn’t help 

Denki grabbed your hand and brought it to his cheek. “Don’t worry babe, I know you’re gonna be great”  

“You don’t even know what my talent is.”

“That is true,” he let out giggle “but everything you do is amazing. I believe in you.” He gave you a quick peck on your cheek. You weren’t sure if it was your nerves, your heart, or Denki’s quirk, but you felt a spark where his lips had been. Denki pulled you in tight, as everyone began to perform.

The talent show was almost over, and it was your turn. You looked to Jiro, who was plugging her guitar into an amp. She nodded to you once you were ready, and you took the stage. 

Looking at all your classmates made your stomach flip, so you looked to your boyfriend instead. He sat there in his pikachu onesie  I couldn’t help myself clapping his hands with the biggest smile on his face. 

A smile that eased your nerves.

Jiro began to play, you closed your eyes, and let the words fall from your lips.

“I remember the first time that I ever looked you in the eye”

The smile on Denki’s face slowly melted into an amazed gasp. He’d call you an angel before, but he was starting to think there was more truth to that pet name than he originally thought. 

The lyrics dripped off your tongue like syrup, and your voice wrapped him in a warm embrace.

‘I love you like I never stopped. I need you not to break my heart”

 You opened your eyes, staring into Denki’s. Everyone was leaning forward in their seats, but you only noticed Denki. 

“The electricity between you and me”

A blush dusted the tip of his nose as you shared sickeningly sweet stares. His proud gaze filled  you with confidence to sing harder. As long as you were singing to him, everything would be fine. 

Before you knew, the song ended and Denki was released from his trance.

“WOOOOOOOHH!! THAT’S MY GIRLFRIEND EVERYONE!” Denki ran up to you, pulling you into a suffocating hug and jumping up and down. Heat rose in your cheeks. His praise meant the world to you.

Eijiro Kirishima 

Song: If I Was Your Woman cover by: Alicia Keys

Kirishima had heard you sing many times before. You two would sit down to play a video game or watch funny videos, and end up singing silly made up songs until Mr. Aizawa came to yell at you about breaking curfew. 

Kirishima hadn’t heard your real voice though. Whenever you sang together, your notes were broken up by fits of giggles and silly dance moves. 

He didn’t know how well you could sing until the day you brought all your hair and skin care products to his room. It was one of your few days off from hero training, and you were in desperate need of a wash day, but you also wanted to spend time with Kiri, so you decided to compromise. 

Wash day in Kirishima’s room!! 

He just sat back as you connected to his speaker, played your washday playlist and disappeared into his bathroom. 

The songs on the playlist were all soulful and rhythmic, something Kiri wasn’t used to.

This guy def listens to EDM and rap 25/8

He just sprawls out on his back and savors the domestic symphony. The sweet melodies, the sound of your shower, and your light hums all wash over him.

Kirishima is at peace, and nearly falls asleep. But, his ears perk up as he hears your voice spilling under the bathroom door. You weren’t humming anymore. You were actually singing, and it was heavenly. 

“If I was your woman and you were my man”

He had definitely underestimated your talent. Your voice was soft but textured, like you were pulling the lyrics from your very core. He turned the speaker down to hear you better. 

“You're a part of me but you don't even know it. I’m what you need but I'm too afraid to show it.”

You were filling the song with passion and heartache, but it came so easily. Your voice was so strong and clear, unlike anything he’d ever heard from you.  

Kirishima, captivated by the song, got up to stand by the bathroom door. You hit every note, rode every riff, and blew him away. Your voice reverberated through the walls as he anticipated the song’s climactic bridge. 

“If I were your woman. If I were your woman, here's what I'd do. I'd never, never, stop loving you.”

The words rang in his chest, and tears welled in his eyes. He wanted to suck the tears back up, but even Crimson Riot, the manliest man, would cry at your performance. So he let the droplets fall. 

The song ended, and the water turned off. He could hear you padding around the bathroom as you continued to hum to yourself, but He was stuck there, replaying your song over and over in his mind. 

You stepped out of the bathroom, steam pooling at your feet. “Why are you standing at the door, Kiri?”

He didn’t answer. He just took in your smaller frame, clad in fuzzy shorts, one of his band tees, and a towel wrapped around your head. How could you be so casual after singing your heart out?

“I- I’m just glad to be your man.” He pulled you into a hug that nearly crushed your ribs. 

It took a moment to click, but when it did, you let out an airy chuckle. “Oh you heard me? Oops.”

“Don’t apologize, you sounded so beautiful.”

“Thanks Kiri. I’m glad to be your woman.” You left a soft kiss on his lips then pulled two packages from behind your back. “Now,” you said, excitement bubbling inside of you, “Time for face masks!”

[path-of-my-childhood]

The Rolling Stone Interview: Taylor Swift

By: Brian Hiatt for The Rolling Stone Magazine Date: September 18th 2019

In her most in-depth and introspective interview in years, Swift tells all about the rocky road to 'Lover' and much, much more.

Taylor Swift bursts into her mom’s Nashville kitchen, smiling, looking remarkably like Taylor Swift. (That red-lip, classic thing? Check.) “I need someone to help dye my hair pink,” she says, and moments later, her ends match her sparkly nail polish, sneakers, and the stripes on her button-down. It’s all in keeping with the pastel aesthetic of her new album, Lover; black-leather combat-Taylor from her previous album cycle has handed back the phone. Around the black-granite kitchen island, all is calm and normal, as Swift’s mom, dad, and younger brother pass through. Her mom’s two dogs, one very small, one very large, pounce upon visitors with slurping glee. It could be any 29-year-old’s weekend visit with her parents, if not for the madness looming a few feet down the hall.

In an airy terrace, 113 giddy, weepy, shaky, still-in-disbelief fans are waiting for the start of one of Swift’s secret sessions, sacred rituals in Swift-dom. She’s about to play them her seventh album, as-yet unreleased on this Sunday afternoon in early August, and offer copious commentary. Also, she made cookies. Just before the session, Swift sits down in her mom’s study (where she “operates the Google,” per her daughter) to chat for a few minutes. The black-walled room is decorated with black-and-white classic-rock photos, including shots of Bruce Springsteen and, unsurprisingly, James Taylor; there are also more recent shots of Swift posing with Kris Kristofferson and playing with Def Leppard, her mom’s favorite band.

In a corner is an acoustic guitar Swift played as a teenager. She almost certainly wrote some well-known songs on it, but can’t recall which ones. “It would be kind of weird to finish a song and be like, ‘And this moment, I shall remember,’'” she says, laughing. “‘This guitar hath been anointed with my sacred tuneage!'”

The secret session itself is, as the name suggests, deeply off-the-record; it can be confirmed that she drank some white wine, since her glass pops up in some Instagram pictures. She stays until 5 a.m., chatting and taking photos with every one of the fans. Five hours later, we continue our talk at length in Swift’s Nashville condo, in almost exactly the same spot where we did one of our interviews for her 2012 Rolling Stone cover story. She’s hardly changed its whimsical decor in the past seven years (one of the few additions is a pool table replacing the couch where we sat last time), so it’s an old-Taylor time capsule. There’s still a huge bunny made of moss in one corner, and a human-size birdcage in the living room, though the view from the latter is now of generic new condo buildings instead of just distant green hills. Swift is barefoot now, in pale-blue jeans and a blue button-down tied at the waist; her hair is pulled back, her makeup minimal.

How to sum up the past three years of Taylor Swift? In July 2016, after Swift expressed discontent with Kanye West’s “Famous,” Kim Kardashian did her best to destroy her, unleashing clandestine recordings of a phone conversation between Swift and West. In the piecemeal audio, Swift can be heard agreeing to the line “…me and Taylor might still have sex.” We don’t hear her learning about the next lyric, the one she says bothered her — “I made that bitch famous” — and as she’ll explain, there’s more to her side of the story. The backlash was, well, swift, and overwhelming. It still hasn’t altogether subsided. Later that year, Swift chose not to make an endorsement in the 2016 election, which definitely didn’t help. In the face of it all, she made Reputation — fierce, witty, almost-industrial pop offset by love songs of crystalline beauty — and had a wildly successful stadium tour. Somewhere in there, she met her current boyfriend, Joe Alwyn, and judging by certain songs on Lover, the relationship is serious indeed.

Lover is Swift’s most adult album, a rebalancing of sound and persona that opens doors to the next decade of her career; it’s also a welcome return to the sonic diversity of 2012’s Red, with tracks ranging from the St. Vincent-assisted über-bop “Cruel Summer” to the unbearably poignant country-fied “Soon You’ll Get Better” (with the Dixie Chicks) and the “Shake It Off”-worthy pep of “Paper Rings.”

She wants to talk about the music, of course, but she is also ready to explain the past three years of her life, in depth, for the first time. The conversation is often not a light one. She’s built up more armor in the past few years, but still has the opposite of a poker face — you can see every micro-emotion wash over her as she ponders a question, her nose wrinkling in semi-ironic offense at the term “old-school pop stars,” her preposterously blue eyes glistening as she turns to darker subjects. In her worst moments, she says, “You feel like you’re being completely pulled into a riptide. So what are you going to do? Splash a lot? Or hold your breath and hope you somehow resurface? And that’s what I did. And it took three years. Sitting here doing an interview — the fact that we’ve done an interview before is the only reason I’m not in a full body sweat.”

When we talked seven years ago, everything was going so well for you, and you were very worried that something would go wrong. Yeah, I kind of knew it would. I felt like I was walking along the sidewalk, knowing eventually the pavement was going to crumble and I was gonna fall through. You can’t keep winning and have people like it. People love “new” so much — they raise you up the flagpole, and you’re waving at the top of the flagpole for a while. And then they’re like, “Wait, this new flag is what we actually love.” They decide something you’re doing is incorrect, that you’re not standing for what you should stand for. You’re a bad example. Then if you keep making music and you survive, and you keep connecting with people, eventually they raise you a little bit up the flagpole again, and then they take you back down, and back up again. And it happens to women more than it happens to men in music.

It also happened to you a few times on a smaller scale, didn’t it? I’ve had several upheavals in my career. When I was 18, they were like, “She doesn’t really write those songs.” So my third album I wrote by myself as a reaction to that. Then they decided I was a serial dater — a boy-crazy man-eater — when I was 22. And so I didn’t date anyone for, like, two years. And then they decided in 2016 that absolutely everything about me was wrong. If I did something good, it was for the wrong reasons. If I did something brave, I didn’t do it correctly. If I stood up for myself, I was throwing a tantrum. And so I found myself in this endless mockery echo chamber. It’s just like — I have a brother who’s two and a half years younger, and we spent the first half of our lives trying to kill each other and the second half as best friends. You know that game kids play? I’d be like, “Mom, can I have some water?” And Austin would be like, “Mom, can I have some water?” And I’m like, “He’s copying me.” And he’d be like, “He’s copying me.” Always in a really obnoxious voice that sounds all twisted. That’s what it felt like in 2016. So I decided to just say nothing. It wasn’t really a decision. It was completely involuntary.

But you also had good things happen in your life at the same time — that’s part of Reputation. The moments of my true story on that album are songs like “Delicate,” “New Year’s Day,” “Call It What You Want,” “Dress.” The one-two punch, bait-and-switch of Reputation is that it was actually a love story. It was a love story in amongst chaos. All the weaponized sort of metallic battle anthems were what was going on outside. That was the battle raging on that I could see from the windows, and then there was what was happening inside my world — my newly quiet, cozy world that was happening on my own terms for the first time. . . . It’s weird, because in some of the worst times of my career, and reputation, dare I say, I had some of the most beautiful times — in my quiet life that I chose to have. And I had some of the most incredible memories with the friends I now knew cared about me, even if everyone hated me. The bad stuff was really significant and damaging. But the good stuff will endure. The good lessons — you realize that you can’t just show your life to people.

Meaning? I used to be like a golden retriever, just walking up to everybody, like, wagging my tail. “Sure, yeah, of course! What do you want to know? What do you need?” Now, I guess, I have to be a little bit more like a fox.

Do your regrets on that extend to the way the “girl squad” thing was perceived? Yeah, I never would have imagined that people would have thought, “This is a clique that wouldn’t have accepted me if I wanted to be in it.” Holy shit, that hit me like a ton of bricks. I was like, “Oh, this did not go the way that I thought it was going to go.” I thought it was going to be we can still stick together, just like men are allowed to do. The patriarchy allows men to have bro packs. If you’re a male artist, there’s an understanding that you have respect for your counterparts.

Whereas women are expected to be feuding with each other? It’s assumed that we hate each other. Even if we’re smiling and photographed together with our arms around each other, it’s assumed there’s a knife in our pocket.

How much of a danger was there of falling into that thought pattern yourself? The messaging is dangerous, yes. Nobody is immune, because we’re a product of what society and peer groups and now the internet tells us, unless we learn differently from experience.

You once sang about a star who “took the money and your dignity, and got the hell out.” In 2016, you wrote in your journal, “This summer is the apocalypse.” How close did you come to quitting altogether? I definitely thought about that a lot. I thought about how words are my only way of making sense of the world and expressing myself — and now any words I say or write are being twisted against me. People love a hate frenzy. It’s like piranhas. People had so much fun hating me, and they didn’t really need very many reasons to do it. I felt like the situation was pretty hopeless. I wrote a lot of really aggressively bitter poems constantly. I wrote a lot of think pieces that I knew I’d never publish, about what it’s like to feel like you’re in a shame spiral. And I couldn’t figure out how to learn from it. Because I wasn’t sure exactly what I did that was so wrong. That was really hard for me, because I cannot stand it when people can’t take criticism. So I try to self-examine, and even though that’s really hard and hurts a lot sometimes, I really try to understand where people are coming from when they don’t like me. And I completely get why people wouldn’t like me. Because, you know, I’ve had my insecurities say those things — and things 1,000 times worse.

But some of your former critics have become your friends, right? Some of my best friendships came from people publicly criticizing me and then it opening up a conversation. Hayley Kiyoko was doing an interview and she made an example about how I get away with singing about straight relationships and people don’t give me shit the way they give her shit for singing about girls — and it’s totally valid. Like, Ella — Lorde — the first thing she ever said about me publicly was a criticism of my image or whatever. But I can’t really respond to someone saying, “You, as a human being, are fake.” And if they say you’re playing the victim, that completely undermines your ability to ever verbalize how you feel unless it’s positive. So, OK, should I just smile all the time and never say anything hurts me? Because that’s really fake. Or should I be real about how I’m feeling and have valid, legitimate responses to things that happened to me in my life? But wait, would that be playing the victim?

How do you escape that mental trap? Since I was 15 years old, if people criticized me for something, I changed it. So you realize you might be this amalgamation of criticisms that were hurled at you, and not an actual person who’s made any of these choices themselves. And so I decided I needed to live a quiet life, because a quiet personal life invites no discussion, dissection, and debate. I didn’t realize I was inviting people to feel they had the right to sort of play my life like a video game.

“The old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Because she’s dead!” was funny — but how seriously should we take it? There’s a part of me that definitely is always going to be different. I needed to grow up in many ways. I needed to make boundaries, to figure out what was mine and what was the public’s. That old version of me that shares unfailingly and unblinkingly with a world that is probably not fit to be shared with? I think that’s gone. But it was definitely just, like, a fun moment in the studio with me and Jack [Antonoff] where I wanted to play on the idea of a phone call — because that’s how all of this started, a stupid phone call I shouldn’t have picked up.

It would have been much easier if that’s what you’d just said. It would have been so, so great if I would have just said that [laughs].

Some of the Lover iconography does suggest old Taylor’s return, though. I don’t think I’ve ever leaned into the old version of myself more creatively than I have on this album, where it’s very, very autobiographical. But also moments of extreme catchiness and moments of extreme personal confession.

Did you do anything wrong from your perspective in dealing with that phone call? Is there anything you regret? The world didn’t understand the context and the events that led up to it. Because nothing ever just happens like that without some lead-up. Some events took place to cause me to be pissed off when he called me a bitch. That was not just a singular event. Basically, I got really sick of the dynamic between he and I. And that wasn’t just based on what happened on that phone call and with that song — it was kind of a chain reaction of things.

I started to feel like we reconnected, which felt great for me — because all I ever wanted my whole career after that thing happened in 2009 was for him to respect me. When someone doesn’t respect you so loudly and says you literally don’t deserve to be here — I just so badly wanted that respect from him, and I hate that about myself, that I was like, “This guy who’s antagonizing me, I just want his approval.” But that’s where I was. And so we’d go to dinner and stuff. And I was so happy, because he would say really nice things about my music. It just felt like I was healing some childhood rejection or something from when I was 19. But the 2015 VMAs come around. He’s getting the Vanguard Award. He called me up beforehand — I didn’t illegally record it, so I can’t play it for you. But he called me up, maybe a week or so before the event, and we had maybe over an hourlong conversation, and he’s like, “I really, really would like for you to present this Vanguard Award to me, this would mean so much to me,” and went into all the reasons why it means so much, because he can be so sweet. He can be the sweetest. And I was so stoked that he asked me that. And so I wrote this speech up, and then we get to the VMAs and I make this speech and he screams, “MTV got Taylor Swift up here to present me this award for ratings!” [His exact words: “You know how many times they announced Taylor was going to give me the award ’cause it got them more ratings?”] And I’m standing in the audience with my arm around his wife, and this chill ran through my body. I realized he is so two-faced. That he wants to be nice to me behind the scenes, but then he wants to look cool, get up in front of everyone and talk shit. And I was so upset. He wanted me to come talk to him after the event in his dressing room. I wouldn’t go. So then he sent this big, big thing of flowers the next day to apologize. And I was like, “You know what? I really don’t want us to be on bad terms again. So whatever, I’m just going to move past this.” So when he gets on the phone with me, and I was so touched that he would be respectful and, like, tell me about this one line in the song.

The line being “. . . me and Taylor might still have sex”? [Nods] And I was like, “OK, good. We’re back on good terms.” And then when I heard the song, I was like, “I’m done with this. If you want to be on bad terms, let’s be on bad terms, but just be real about it.” And then he literally did the same thing to Drake. He gravely affected the trajectory of Drake’s family and their lives. It’s the same thing. Getting close to you, earning your trust, detonating you. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore because I get worked up, and I don’t want to just talk about negative shit all day, but it’s the same thing. Go watch Drake talk about what happened. [West denied any involvement in Pusha-T’s revelation of Drake’s child and apologized for sending “negative energy” toward Drake.]

When did you get to the place that’s described on the opening track of Lover, “I Forgot That You Existed”? It was sometime on the Reputation tour, which was the most transformative emotional experience of my career. That tour put me in the healthiest, most balanced place I’ve ever been. After that tour, bad stuff can happen to me, but it doesn’t level me anymore. The stuff that happened a couple of months ago with Scott [Borchetta] would have leveled me three years ago and silenced me. I would have been too afraid to speak up. Something about that tour made me disengage from some part of public perception I used to hang my entire identity on, which I now know is incredibly unhealthy.

What was the actual revelation? It’s almost like I feel more clear about the fact that my job is to be an entertainer. It’s not like this massive thing that sometimes my brain makes it into, and sometimes the media makes it into, where we’re all on this battlefield and everyone’s gonna die except one person, who wins. It’s like, “No, do you know what? Katy is going to be legendary. Gaga is going to be legendary. Beyoncé is going to be legendary. Rihanna is going to be legendary. Because the work that they made completely overshadows the myopia of this 24-hour news cycle of clickbait.” And somehow I realized that on tour, as I was looking at people’s faces. We’re just entertaining people, and it’s supposed to be fun.

It’s interesting to look at these albums as a trilogy. 1989 was really a reset button. Oh, in every way. I’ve been very vocal about the fact that that decision was mine and mine alone, and it was definitely met with a lot of resistance. Internally.

After realizing that things were not all smiles with your former label boss, Scott Borchetta, it’s hard not to wonder how much additional conflict there was over things like that. A lot of the best things I ever did creatively were things that I had to really fight — and I mean aggressively fight — to have happen. But, you know, I’m not like him, making crazy, petty accusations about the past. . . . When you have a business relationship with someone for 15 years, there are going to be a lot of ups and a lot of downs. But I truly, legitimately thought he looked at me as the daughter he never had. And so even though we had a lot of really bad times and creative differences, I was going to hang my hat on the good stuff. I wanted to be friends with him. I thought I knew what betrayal felt like, but this stuff that happened with him was a redefinition of betrayal for me, just because it felt like it was family. To go from feeling like you’re being looked at as a daughter to this grotesque feeling of “Oh, I was actually his prized calf that he was fattening up to sell to the slaughterhouse that would pay the most.”

He accused you of declining the Parkland march and Manchester benefit show. Unbelievable. Here’s the thing: Everyone in my team knew if Scooter Braun brings us something, do not bring it to me. The fact that those two are in business together after the things he said about Scooter Braun — it’s really hard to shock me. And this was utterly shocking. These are two very rich, very powerful men, using $300 million of other people’s money to purchase, like, the most feminine body of work. And then they’re standing in a wood-panel bar doing a tacky photo shoot, raising a glass of scotch to themselves. Because they pulled one over on me and got this done so sneakily that I didn’t even see it coming. And I couldn’t say anything about it.

In some ways, on a musical level, Lover feels like the most indie-ish of your albums. That’s amazing, thank you. It’s definitely a quirky record. With this album, I felt like I sort of gave myself permission to revisit older themes that I used to write about, maybe look at them with fresh eyes. And to revisit older instruments — older in terms of when I used to use them. Because when I was making 1989, I was so obsessed with it being this concept of Eighties big pop, whether it was Eighties in its production or Eighties in its nature, just having these big choruses — being unapologetically big. And then Reputation, there was a reason why I had it all in lowercase. I felt like it wasn’t unapologetically commercial. It’s weird, because that is the album that took the most amount of explanation, and yet it’s the one I didn’t talk about. In the Reputation secret sessions I kind of had to explain to my fans, “I know we’re doing a new thing here that I’d never done before.” I’d never played with characters before. For a lot of pop stars, that’s a really fun trick, where they’re like, “This is my alter ego.” I had never played with that before. It’s really fun. And it was just so fun to play with on tour — the darkness and the bombast and the bitterness and the love and the ups and the downs of an emotional-turmoil record.

“Daylight” is a beautiful song. It feels like it could have been the title track. It almost was. I thought it might be a little bit too sentimental.

And I guess maybe too on-the-nose. Right, yeah, way too on-the-nose. That’s what I thought, because I was kind of in my head referring to the album as Daylight for a while. But Lover, to me, was a more interesting title, more of an accurate theme in my head, and more elastic as a concept. That’s why “You Need to Calm Down” can make sense within the theme of the album — one of the things it addresses is how certain people are not allowed to live their lives without discrimination just based on who they love.

For the more organic songs on this album, like “Lover” and “Paper Rings,” you said you were imagining a wedding band playing them. How often does that kind of visualization shape a song’s production style? Sometimes I’ll have a strange sort of fantasy of where the songs would be played. And so for songs like “Paper Rings” or “Lover” I was imagining a wedding-reception band, but in the Seventies, so they couldn’t play instruments that wouldn’t have been invented yet. I have all these visuals. For Reputation, it was nighttime cityscape. I didn’t really want any — or very minimal — traditional acoustic instruments. I imagined old warehouse buildings that had been deserted and factory spaces and all this industrial kind of imagery. So I wanted the production to have nothing wooden. There’s no wood floors on that album. Lover is, like, completely just a barn wood floor and some ripped curtains flowing in the breeze, and fields of flowers and, you know, velvet.

How did you come to use high school metaphors to touch on politics with “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince”? There are so many influences that go into that particular song. I wrote it a couple of months after midterm elections, and I wanted to take the idea of politics and pick a metaphorical place for that to exist. And so I was thinking about a traditional American high school, where there’s all these kinds of social events that could make someone feel completely alienated. And I think a lot of people in our political landscape are just feeling like we need to huddle up under the bleachers and figure out a plan to make things better.

I feel like your Fall Out Boy fandom might’ve slipped out in that title. I love Fall Out Boy so much. Their songwriting really influenced me, lyrically, maybe more than anyone else. They take a phrase and they twist it. “Loaded God complex/Cock it and pull it”? When I heard that, I was like, “I’m dreaming.”

You sing about “American stories burning before me.” Do you mean the illusions of what America is? It’s about the illusions of what I thought America was before our political landscape took this turn, and that naivete that we used to have about it. And it’s also the idea of people who live in America, who just want to live their lives, make a living, have a family, love who they love, and watching those people lose their rights, or watching those people feel not at home in their home. I have that line “I see the high-fives between the bad guys” because not only are some really racist, horrific undertones now becoming overtones in our political climate, but the people who are representing those concepts and that way of looking at the world are celebrating loudly, and it’s horrific.

You’re in this weird place of being a blond, blue-eyed pop star in this era — to the point where until you endorsed some Democratic candidates, right-wingers, and worse, assumed you were on their side. I don’t think they do anymore. Yeah, that was jarring, and I didn’t hear about that until after it had happened. Because at this point, I, for a very long time, I didn’t have the internet on my phone, and my team and my family were really worried about me because I was not in a good place. And there was a lot of stuff that they just dealt with without telling me about it. Which is the only time that’s ever happened in my career. I’m always in the pilot seat, trying to fly the plane that is my career in exactly the direction I want to take it. But there was a time when I just had to throw my hands up and say, “Guys, I can’t. I can’t do this. I need you to just take over for me and I’m just going to disappear.”

Are you referring to when a white-supremacist site suggested you were on their team? I didn’t even see that, but, like, if that happened, that’s just disgusting. There’s literally nothing worse than white supremacy. It’s repulsive. There should be no place for it. Really, I keep trying to learn as much as I can about politics, and it’s become something I’m now obsessed with, whereas before, I was living in this sort of political ambivalence, because the person I voted for had always won. We were in such an amazing time when Obama was president because foreign nations respected us. We were so excited to have this dignified person in the White House. My first election was voting for him when he made it into office, and then voting to re-elect him. I think a lot of people are like me, where they just didn’t really know that this could happen. But I’m just focused on the 2020 election. I’m really focused on it. I’m really focused on how I can help and not hinder. Because I also don’t want it to backfire again, because I do feel that the celebrity involvement with Hillary’s campaign was used against her in a lot of ways.

You took a lot of heat for not getting involved. Does any part of you regret that you just didn’t say “fuck it” and gotten more specific when you said to vote that November? Totally. Yeah, I regret a lot of things all the time. It’s like a daily ritual.

Were you just convinced that it would backfire? That’s literally what it was. Yeah. It’s a very powerful thing when you legitimately feel like numbers have proven that pretty much everyone hates you. Like, quantifiably. That’s not me being dramatic. And you know that.

There were a lot of people in those stadiums. It’s true. But that was two years later. . . . I do think, as a party, we need to be more of a team. With Republicans, if you’re wearing that red hat, you’re one of them. And if we’re going to do anything to change what’s happening, we need to stick together. We need to stop dissecting why someone’s on our side or if they’re on our side in the right way or if they phrased it correctly. We need to not have the right kind of Democrat and the wrong kind of Democrat. We need to just be like, “You’re a Democrat? Sick. Get in the car. We’re going to the mall.”

Here’s a hard question for you: As a superfan, what did you think of the Game of Thrones finale? Oh, my God. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this. So, clinically our brain responds to our favorite show ending the same way we feel when a breakup occurs. I read that. There’s no good way for it to end. No matter what would have happened in that finale, people still would have been really upset because of the fact that it’s over.

I was glad to see you confirm that your line about a “list of names” was a reference to Arya. I like to be influenced by movies and shows and books and stuff. I love to write about a character dynamic. And not all of my life is going to be as kind of complex as these intricate webs of characters on TV shows and movies.

There was a time when it was. That’s amazing.

But is the idea that as your own life becomes less dramatic, you’ll need to pull ideas from other places? I don’t feel like that yet. I think I might feel like that possibly when I have a family. If I have a family. [Pauses] I don’t know why I said that! But that’s what I’ve heard from other artists, that they were very protective of their personal life, so they had to draw inspiration from other things. But again, I don’t know why I said that. Because I don’t know how my life is going to go or what I’m going to do. But right now, I feel like it’s easier for me to write than it ever was.

You don’t talk about your relationship, but you’ll sing about it in wildly revealing detail. What’s the difference for you? Singing about something helps you to express it in a way that feels more accurate. You cannot, no matter what, put words in a quote and have it move someone the same way as if you heard those words with the perfect sonic representation of that feeling... There is that weird conflict in being a confessional songwriter and then also having my life, you know, 10 years ago, be catapulted into this strange pop-culture thing.

I’ve heard you say that people got too interested in which song was about who, which I can understand — at the same time, to be fair, it was a game you played into, wasn’t it? I realized very early on that no matter what, that was going to happen to me regardless. So when you realize the rules of the game you’re playing and how it will affect you, you got to look at the board and make your strategy. But at the same time, writing songs has never been a strategic element of my career. But I’m not scared anymore to say that other things in my career, like how to market an album, are strictly strategic. And I’m sick of women not being able to say that they have strategic business minds — because male artists are allowed to. And so I’m sick and tired of having to pretend like I don’t mastermind my own business. But, it’s a different part of my brain than I use to write.

You’ve been masterminding your business since you were a teenager. Yeah, but I’ve also tried very hard — and this is one thing I regret — to convince people that I wasn’t the one holding the puppet strings of my marketing existence, or the fact that I sit in a conference room several times a week and come up with these ideas. I felt for a very long time that people don’t want to think of a woman in music who isn’t just a happy, talented accident. We’re all forced to kind of be like, “Aw, shucks, this happened again! We’re still doing well! Aw, that’s so great.” Alex Morgan celebrating scoring a goal at the World Cup and getting shit for it is a perfect example of why we’re not allowed to flaunt or celebrate, or reveal that, like, “Oh, yeah, it was me. I came up with this stuff.” I think it’s really unfair. People love new female artists so much because they’re able to explain that woman’s success. There’s an easy trajectory. Look at the Game of Thrones finale. I specifically really related to Daenerys’ storyline because for me it portrayed that it is a lot easier for a woman to attain power than to maintain it.

I mean, she did murder... It’s a total metaphor! Like, obviously I didn’t want Daenerys to become that kind of character, but in taking away what I chose to take away from it, I thought maybe they’re trying to portray her climbing the ladder to the top was a lot easier than maintaining it, because for me, the times when I felt like I was going insane was when I was trying to maintain my career in the same way that I ascended. It’s easier to get power than to keep it. It’s easier to get acclaim than to keep it. It’s easier to get attention than to keep it.

Well, I guess we should be glad you didn’t have a dragon in 2016... [Fiercely] I told you I don’t like that she did that! But, I mean, watching the show, though, maybe this is a reflection on how we treat women in power, how we are totally going to conspire against them and tear at them until they feel this — this insane shift, where you wonder, like, “What changed?” And I’ve had that happen, like, 60 times in my career where I’m like, “OK, you liked me last year, what changed? I guess I’ll change so I can keep entertaining you guys.”

You once said that your mom could never punish you when you were little because you’d punish yourself. This idea of changing in the face of criticism and needing approval — that’s all part of wanting to be good, right? Whatever that means. But that seems to be a real driving force in your life. Yeah, that’s definitely very perceptive of you. And the question posed to me is, if you kept trying to do good things, but everyone saw those things in a cynical way and assumed them to be done with bad motivation and bad intent, would you still do good things, even though nothing that you did was looked at as good? And the answer is, yes. Criticism that’s constructive is helpful to my character growth. Baseless criticism is stuff I’ve got to toss out now.

That sounds healthy. Is this therapy talking or is this just experience? No, I’ve never been to therapy. I talk to my mom a lot, because my mom is the one who’s seen everything. God, it takes so long to download somebody on the last 29 years of my life, and my mom has seen it all. She knows exactly where I’m coming from. And we talk endlessly. There were times when I used to have really, really, really bad days where we would just be on the phone for hours and hours and hours. I’d write something that I wanted to say, and instead of posting it, I’d just read it to her.

I somehow connect all this to the lyric in “Daylight,” the idea of “so many lines that I’ve crossed unforgiven” — it’s a different kind of confession. I am really glad you liked that line, because that’s something that does bother me, looking back at life and realizing that no matter what, you screw things up. Sometimes there are people that were in your life and they’re not anymore — and there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t fix it, you can’t change it. I told the fans last night that sometimes on my bad days, I feel like my life is a pile of crap accumulated of only the bad headlines or the bad things that have happened, or the mistakes I’ve made or clichés or rumors or things that people think about me or have thought for the last 15 years. And that was part of the “Look What You Made Me Do” music video, where I had a pile of literal old selves fighting each other.

But, yeah, that line is indicative of my anxiety about how in life you can’t get everything right. A lot of times you make the wrong call, make the wrong decision. Say the wrong thing. Hurt people, even if you didn’t mean to. You don’t really know how to fix all of that. When it’s, like, 29 years’ worth.

To be Mr. “Rolling Stone” for a second, there’s a Springsteen lyric, “Ain’t no one leaving this world, buddy/Without their shirttail dirty or hands a little bloody.” That’s really good! No one gets through it unscathed. No one gets through in one piece. I think that’s a hard thing for a lot of people to grasp. I know it was hard for me, because I kind of grew up thinking, “If I’m nice, and if I try to do the right thing, you know, maybe I can just, like, ace this whole thing.” And it turns out I can’t.

It’s interesting to look at “I Did Something Bad” in this context. You pointing that out is really interesting because it’s something I’ve had to reconcile within myself in the last couple of years — that sort of “good” complex. Because from the time I was a kid I’d try to be kind, be a good person. Try really hard. But you get walked all over sometimes. And how do you respond to being walked all over? You can’t just sit there and eat your salad and let it happen. “I Did Something Bad” was about doing something that was so against what I would usually do. Katy [Perry] and I were talking about our signs. . . . [Laughs] Of course we were.

That’s the greatest sentence ever. [Laughs] I hate you. We were talking about our signs because we had this really, really long talk when we were reconnecting and stuff. And I remember in the long talk, she was like, “If we had one glass of white wine right now, we’d both be crying.” Because we were drinking tea. We’ve had some really good conversations.

We were talking about how we’ve had miscommunications with people in the past, not even specifically with each other. She’s like, “I’m a Scorpio. Scorpios just strike when they feel threatened.” And I was like, “Well, I’m an archer. We literally stand back, assess the situation, process how we feel about it, raise a bow, pull it back, and fire.” So it’s completely different ways of processing pain, confusion, misconception. And oftentimes I’ve had this delay in feeling something that hurts me and then saying that it hurts me. Do you know what I mean? And so I can understand how people in my life would have been like, “Whoa, I didn’t know that was how you felt.” Because it takes me a second.

If you watch the video of the 2009 VMAs, I literally freeze. I literally stand there. And that is how I handle any discomfort, any pain. I stand there, I freeze. And then five minutes later, I know how I feel. But in the moment, I’m probably overreacting and I should be nice. Then I process it, and in five minutes, if it’s gone, it’s past, and I’m like, “I was overreacting, everything’s fine. I can get through this. I’m glad I didn’t say anything harsh in the moment.” But when it’s actually something bad that happened, and I feel really, really hurt or upset about it, I only know after the fact. Because I’ve tried so hard to squash it: “This probably isn’t what you think.” That’s something I had to work on.

You could end up gaslighting yourself. Yeah, for sure. ’Cause so many situations where if I would have said the first thing that came to my mind, people would have been like, “Whoa!” And maybe I would have been wrong or combative. So a couple of years ago I started working on actually just responding to my emotions in a quicker fashion. And it’s really helped with stuff. It’s helped so much because sometimes you get in arguments. But conflict in the moment is so much better than combat after the fact.

Well, thanks. I do feel like I just did a therapy session. As someone who’s never been to therapy, I can safely say that was the best therapy session.

[amaranthprincess21]

As the Curtain Falls

Rating: M Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Pairing: Vil/Reader (Eventually >:3c) Synopsis: As summer approaches, you look for a job on El Capitan: Twisted Wonderland's version of Broadway. Getting into a show is the chance of a lifetime, but as rehearsals go on, the flaws of the show and its production team slowly come to light. The ship you're on is burning and there's no way of backing out. You will have to make the best of things and deal with the drama that comes your way. And here comes Vil, your co-star, making things more complicated as the two of you become closer during rehearsals.

A/N: okay so I need to make some things explicit: 1) Although this going to heavily riff on LND, a lot of experiences that are in this fic are experiences I had while acting and a lot of this fic is honestly just me trying to make sense of some of the weird shit I went through. A bad sequel musical is really just the setting and I doubt any of this stuff actually happened during LND production so don't like, look into too much? I just wanna bitch about acting drama I went through years ago and also make some jokes about LND. I'll most likely talk about those experiences more in author notes so I guess look forward to that? 2) also i'm sorry if you genuinely like LND bc I will be making fun of it a lot. And also Phantom like I'm a fan but I'm def gonna roast it 3) For reals tho, I don't know if this is going to be slow burn or not so alskjdfahsd

----

The moment I stepped into the large rehearsal space, a sense of dread and excitement washed over me. The space looked like a small warehouse more than anything else. Large props or set pieces (I couldn’t tell) were pushed towards the back of the room. One whole wall was full of mirrors. I wasn’t the first one here, thank God. But seeing just how many people were in the room was… not reassuring. Along one wall there was a long table set up and several people were seated behind it. It had to be the investors and the production team. 

Man, I was really in over my head, wasn’t I? My callback would be getting judged by ten people and I was up against so many people. But then again, I should’ve expected this. This wasn’t some school musical: this was the Broadway of Twisted Wonderland. Everything was bigger here and the stakes were higher. I needed to make sure I was perfect. I needed this job. I needed this role. 

A few people were already warming up, stretching on the ground. Okay, let’s be social. After all, these might be my new coworkers. I tried to exude friendliness and confidence as I went over to the group, saying hi and introducing myself, but I just wanted to throw up. More people trickled in and every time the door opened, I found myself looking over. Some joined us in warming up, others went behind the table. 

“So, what’s your background?” a tall redhead woman asked. My head whipped to look at the group to see everyone staring right at me, expectantly.

“Oh, uh, I don’t have much of one, to be honest. I did musical theater in school, but this is my first professional audition,” I told them.

“Really? Congrats on making it to callbacks, then!” someone said. I wasn’t sure if it was genuine or a snide remark. 

“T-Thanks.” Might as well err on the side of niceness. “What’s your guys’ backgrounds?”

“I’ve only ever done ensemble before, so this is my first time being called back for a principal role,” one said. As they all started talking about their backgrounds, the door opened again and I instinctively looked. I had to do a double take as Vil walked in, joining the others behind the table. 

“Am I seeing that right?!” the brunette next to me demanded, elbowing me. “Is that Vil Schoenheit?!”

“That, or we’re having the same hallucination,” I told her. It wasn’t like I was friends with him or anything, but I didn’t know he liked musical theater. I thought he was just a model with some TV guest star credits. But then again, I didn’t know him. We just saw each other during prefect meetings with Headmaster Crowley. But I think Jack mentioned one time he was wealthy. Maybe he’s investing in the show? I mean, it’s that or he’s a part of the production team.

“Well, this just got way more interesting,” she commented. I glanced back over to the table. Vil seemed deep in conversation with the other auditioners. Yeah, interesting seemed like a good fit. An older man with a bright teal tie stood up from behind the table and clapped his hands. All conversation died and we all looked at him.

“Welcome to the callbacks for Romance is Immortal. You’ve all done well to make it this far. But sadly, only a few of you will make it into the cast,” he said. Way to pile the pressure on. “We’ll start with the sides and song we emailed you. We’ll call you in as small groups. The holding room is through that door.” He pointed and wordlessly, a few actors got up and made their way over. 

Okay, this was happening. This was really happening. The callback was starting. The brunette helped me to my feet and as I walked to the holding, I stole another glance at the panel. Vil’s sharp amethyst eyes caught mine. He gave me a small nod. This was weird. This was so weird. To think Vil would be judging my audition was a strange one. Would things stay this weird if I got the role? Would it be weirder if I didn’t? 

The holding room was fairly spacious and I found a spot by the water cooler. One of the auditioners was at the door, calling a few names already. The auditioner and actors left and the door shut behind them. Quiet conversation started up, filling the room. I pulled my phone out of my bag and saw a few texts from Ace and Deuce, telling me to break a leg. Those poor guys. I’d dragged them along on this journey and sang so much in our hotel room that Ace left to get noise cancelling headphones at one point. It wasn’t the most reassuring thing, even if he told me he just got them because he couldn’t hear his video game audio. But I knew he wasn’t really into musical theater. Deuce wasn’t either, but his mom loved musicals so he at least was willing to try and sing opposite me for prepping this callback piece. That was awkward. I never want to act like we have sexual tension ever, ever again.

I texted them back, thanking them and asking how sightseeing was going. I opened Magicam to see if they posted anything. They hadn’t put anything up yet, but Vil did. He had some vague things on his story. Showing he clearly wasn’t at Night Raven College, getting a smoothie this morning, basic things like that. I started scrolling through his profile, wondering if I’d find any past work of his on there. Mostly it was just selfies and modeling pictures. He really was pretty. Beautiful, even. Unfairly so. A notification popped up on my phone; a text message from Deuce, saying they were at an observation tower taking in the views. I really wish I could’ve seen that with them, but I had a job to get. Maybe if I got this role and got a place here, I could go sometime.

I waited and waited and waited for what felt like hours, although my phone said it was just a half hour. The first group returned and the assistant called out a few more names. My stomach lurched as my name was called. Trying not to shake, I stood up and followed him and a few others out to the main audition space. The room looked so much bigger without all the actors there. The assistant motioned for us to sit on the sidelines against the mirrored wall. As I sat down, I glanced over to Vil again, only to see him getting up. Was he leaving?

“We’ll start with auditioning our potential Opera Ghosts and Carolines. We’ll be double-casting these roles,” the man in the teal tie told us. “We’ve already had Mr. Schoenheit sign on as our main Opera Ghost -” Huh?! He was already in the show?! Was there another audition session I missed? Something about this unnerved me and I couldn’t place my finger on it. Sure, it was unusual, but I couldn’t tell why it was bothering me so. 

The man in the teal tie called out a name and a woman stood up, joining Vil in front of the auditioner’s table. I looked down at my script, reading through the lines again. I didn’t really need to; I was a fast learner and Deuce and I had gone over this enough times for me to remember it. But it was nice to stare at something that wasn’t other people.

Nerves were starting to eat at my stomach. The other actress sounded so good. Was I really cut out for this? I mean, I’d be thankful for any role in this show, but what if I bombed this so badly I wasn’t cast at all? 

… No. I couldn’t think like that. I had to get this job. I had to. I just needed to put everything I had into this. Nerves or awkwardness be damned. If I didn’t get this job, I wouldn’t have the money to get a place to stay this summer. I’d be homeless. Grim would be homeless. If I blew it, it wouldn’t be just me that would suffer. I needed to get this role at any cost.

I breathed in and out, trying to calm myself as one by one, each actress went up and read with either Vil or another man. I listened to the notes the auditioners gave, watched the way each actress portrayed Caroline, decided what choices I could make. I needed to keep a level head. I needed to destroy the competition. 

Suddenly, my name was called out as someone returned to sit with us. A deep breath. I could do this. I could do this. I got up and walked to where Vil was standing. I wasn’t sure if reading with someone I was acquainted with was going to be the most comfortable, but whatever. 

“Are you off-book on the sides?” A woman from behind the table asked. 

“I am,” I replied. She grinned.

“Go ahead and stow your script under the chaise lounge, then,” she instructed me. I gently tossed it under the lavish chaise right behind Vil and I. She was writing something down when I looked up; a majority of them were. My stomach was starting to knot itself again as I waited for the go-ahead.

“Hey.” Vil’s voice in my ear made me flinch. I looked at him. Up close, he was ever more beautiful, more beautiful than any photo could capture. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

“Huh? Yeah, it’s totally fine. Is it all right if I touch you?” I asked back. 

“Don’t mess up my hair or makeup,” he replied. 

“If you set your makeup right, that shouldn’t be a problem,” I said, grinning. He raised an eyebrow and I couldn’t decipher the look on his face. He was amused or pissed. One of those.

“All right, places!” the man in the teal tie called. Vil and I hurried to our spots, him on the chaise lounge and me just off to the side. I tried to channel Caroline, the heroine of the show. “Begin scene!”

After the sudden disappearance of the Opera Ghost, my mentor, I’d found his hiding place. I barged in, breathless, relieved that I’d found him. Yet, despite my joy, I was unsure, no, in denial about the true reason I wanted to find him. He shot up from his seat, shock written on his face.

“I…” The situation was hitting me. What could I say to him after everything that had happened? “I’ve found you.”

“So you have.” Cautious. He moved behind the chaise, keeping it between us. “Why are you here? To bring a mob to me?”

“No,” I breathed. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being hurt. “I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“Even after everything I did?” he demanded. Slowly, I started to move toward him.

“Even then.” I reached out to grab his hand, but in a flash, he moved away from me. My hand slowly fell back to my side.

“You have always been too kind for your own good,” he said softly. “...  I am not worthy of your kindness.”

“Don’t say that!” I cupped his face with my hands, praying my touch could convey my feelings for him. “You are deserving of love…” He smirked, his fingers brushing against my cheek. The touch made my heart race. I leaned into him.

“Do you really believe so?” he asked with a smirk.

The music began, the keyboard blaring. The heavy notes filled my blood and I could only imagine how it would sound with a full orchestra. Vil’s honeyed voice filled the air and I had to fight back surprise. Who knew he could sing? His hand slipped into mine, leading me around the room. His words dripped with innuendo and the walls around my heart were falling. Although I was to be wed soon, I fell under the Ghost’s spell. 

Soon, he wasn’t just leading me. I grabbed at him, pulling him close, desperate to be closer to him. His fingers dug into my hips. In an instant, he twirled me around, body pressing into my back. Oh, he wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to touch me; his hand was right on top of my thigh. Our duet was becoming faster, heavier. All I wanted was him to take me, to ravage me, to make me his. I was tired of his teasing touches. I needed more.

Once again, his hands gripped my hips tightly, walking me back to the chaise. Carefully, he laid me down. My heart was racing as he climbed on top of me. This wasn’t the closest we’d been and yet my heart was thudding so loudly I worried other people could hear it. I reached out, hand resting on his back and bringing him closer to me. We sang our last notes together, voices melting together. His face got closer to mine, our lips practically touching. But he didn’t close the small gap. We froze, waiting for the auditioners to end the scene.

“End!” someone called. I breathed a sigh of relief as Vil got off of me. My heart was still racing in my chest and I hated to admit it, but I felt winded from that scene. Vil offered his hand to me and helped me get off the chaise lounge. Was it so obvious? 

Some auditioners were still jotting down notes, others looking up at us. Vil stood by me, waiting patiently to receive notes.

“Your chemistry is fantastic,” one person said to us. They turned to me. “Towards the end, you were losing a little bit of energy. Be sure to keep that up through the whole piece.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“Your vocal performance didn’t suffer too much from it, but again, it wasn’t as confident as we’d like,” another added. It hurt, but I nodded.

“Thank you,” I replied again.

“Vil, come back here. We’ll audition for another Opera Ghost.” Vil didn’t spare me a single glance, heading back to the table to join the producers and creative team. It’s not that I wanted him to stay with me, but man, I needed a breather after doing an intense scene like that.

The rest of the audition went fine. No one was as intense as Vil was and I did my best to take the notes I’d been given and improve on it. As I sat on the sidelines, I watched after time and time again Vil be fairly aggressive with the other potential Carolines. Part of me wished they were intimidated by it, but no, they all did really well. As expected of professional actors. 

“Great job, everyone,” the man in the teal tie told us as callbacks wrapped up. “We’ll email you with the results. If you don’t hear back within the week, you haven’t been cast.” Why did we have to wait so long? I’d have to spend this whole week anxious and checking my emails every hour.

“Have a good evening, everyone,” one of the auditioners called out from behind the table. The tension in the air disappeared immediately. It was over. I pulled out my phone, ready to text Ace and Deuce that I was done. As I left, I glanced over to the table. Vil was deep discussion with the producers. Oh well. I could get away with not saying bye. 

---

“So, did you have to do anything other than the song and lines?” Deuce asked me as we sat in our hotel room, boxes of pizzas in front of us. 

“Yeah. We did a quick dance portion, but it was mostly the sides and singing,” I replied. Now the audition was done, I could indulge a little in junk food.

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Ace said, mouth full.

“It wasn’t. It was tiring, though,” I admitted. “I started off intense so it was an uphill battle. Vil was pretty aggressive.”

“Vil? He auditioned too?” 

“Yeah. It was that seduction scene Deuce and I suffered through and he was going for it. A couple times I legit thought he was going to touch me. But he didn’t!” I added hurriedly as looks of rage came over both Ace and Deuce. “He asked if he could touch me and I said it was fine, don’t worry. He wasn’t going around just grabbing my thighs like a life preserver without consent.” Their bodies relaxed.

“Are you sure you want to do this show if the audition is like this?” Ace asked. 

“Of course I do! If I get into this show, it’s a job and I don’t have to rely on Headmaster Crowley for everything!” I fired back.

“Jeez, calm down.” Ace crossed his arms in front of his chest. “This just seems like a weird show.”

“You’re saying that as if the first musical wasn’t weird,” Deuce commented.

“I’ve never seen The Opera Ghost and I’m not going to. My grandma took me to see Dance of the Vampires when I was a kid and that’s the first and last musical I’ll ever see,” Ace said indignantly.

“You can’t base every musical off of one you saw,” Deuce argued. I just grabbed another slice of pizza and kept eating as they fought. As much as I hated it, Ace’s words stuck with me. Sure, I didn’t know the first musical, but this was a job. A job I needed. Right now, I was technically taking dorm funds for necessities and although I doubted Crowley cared, I needed some way of making my own money. Who knew how long I was going to be here? 

I needed to start trying to be independent.

… No. I’ve worked hard. I can worry about money later. I pushed the anxiety to the back of my mind, jumping back into the conversation Deuce and Ace were having. The night went on and despite my long day, I had a hard time sleeping. 

I lay awake in the stiff hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling. Deuce was sound asleep in the roll-away bed that was wedged between mine and Ace’s beds. I sighed, rolling over towards him and the night stand. I grabbed my phone and unlocked it. Instinctively, I double-checked I was on the hotel’s wifi before doing anything.

There was a notification bubble on my email app and my stomach did a backflip. I took a deep breath and opened it. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but still, my insides were starting to vibrate. There were two emails, one from the school about something I didn’t care about and the other from the people who’d sent me the music and sides for the audition. My body was shaking as I opened the email. My eyes read over the words quickly and that bubbly feeling grew and grew.

They offered me the role of Caroline.

My phone fell onto the mattress with a soft thud. My heart was about to beat out of my chest yet again today. I did it. I got the part. I wouldn’t have to worry about money soon. I had a job. I had a paying job. 

I got up and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. My body shook and I jumped up and down, trying to get the adrenaline out of my body. I did it! I had a job! Everything was going to be okay.

But as I tried to calm myself down, something came to mind. My audition with Vil. Who was already cast. … Was I going to have to do that scene again in front of more people?!

[talix18]

November 8

(There's a lot of padding in there.)

I have no free time today in front of a keyboard so I should be writing. Or working. Or listing all the things I forgot as I was half-heartedly packing. Or listing all the things I need to do before I leave so Mom isn’t disgusted when she comes to take care of the cats (Clean The Toilet). I managed to overpack without buying anything new but predictably, am not happy with any of it. This is one of my least favorite qualities about myself. Mom always hated shopping for jeans with me but I find my resistance to packing is incredibly annoying. I’m good at making sure the laundry is done so all of my options are open, but terrible at knowing what I will want to wear once I’m wherever.

I also managed to completely overlook shampoo and body wash on my first round of packing, which doesn’t bode well.

Is there some kind of rule against contractions I don’t know about? Word keeps putting blue squiggly lines under my contractions as if I don’t know what they are. I understand that writing all the words out will boost my count, but it’s not how people tend to talk.

Among the amenities at the retreat center where I’ll be this weekend is a working farm with baby animals. Yes, please, I would like to play with all of the baby animals. When life is complicated and ugly, baby animals are easy and adorable. My sister will be jealous when she sees the pictures with which I intend to spam her.

My sister is one of my best friends and I’m grateful for her every day. I’m not sure she would have chosen the way our lives have played out this far, but she is also unmarried and child-free (that part I’m pretty sure she’s okay with). If she dates, she doesn’t talk about it much with me, but I haven’t seen her in a relationship in over ten years. It was a brutal one. First love, first boyfriend, first break-up all in her mid-20s. Although my romantical adventures have been largely, um, unsuccessful, I am glad I got used to the idea of heartbreak young. (Even the song that turned me from a pop princess to a rock goddess was “Bringin’ On The Heartbreak” [MTV was born when I was in eighth grade and was my obsession for the next five years.])

Def Leppard is how I met my first boyfriend! We were in ninth grade, he was in my homeroom (both of our last names start with “H”), and he was wearing a tour shirt promoting the band’s second album. I was entranced. “You’ve seen them?” (Wanders off down a Randy Rhoads rabbit-hole.) I remember the conversation included something about Ozzy Osbourne and Randy Rhoads; either he’d seen them or was supposed to right after Randy died. Wikipedia tells me that Def Leppard opened for Ozzy at Merriweather, which is probably where A saw them; Randy Rhoads and all. (Now I am irrationally jealous at missing a show 38 years ago.) That’s probably where he got the shirt that made me talk to him; the shirt I made him leave with me when he moved away.

I should probably blame all my romantic misadventures on Def Leppard. They were a “heavy metal” (The lead singer joked “light alloy”) band that appealed to a slightly rougher crowd than I hand previously hung with. A introduced me to drinking beer in the woods by the elementary school (I was all of 13 or 14). The cops came and we ran to his apartment – his bedroom was on the ground floor and we climbed in through the window. We made out for a while to the Scorpions’ “Lovedrive”. A was a bad boy, and it took me a long time to get the taste for them out of my mouth.

A called every few months and my stomach would do flips at the sound of his voice. Did he ever actually say he was coming back for me or did I just make that part up?

My next boyfriend showed up when I was a senior and wreaked havoc on and off for the next seven years. He was a serial cheater and a pathological liar against which I had absolutely no defenses. I was a goody-goody. Teacher’s pet type. There was a pivotal moment one adolescent summer when the decision I made set the course for the rest of my life. I was hanging out in town with one of the tougher girls and her friends, trying to figure out how to smoke, and noticed it was 9:15. Curfew was 9:30, and I was easily a mile from home. I knew that showing up late would mean trouble. Was I going to say “fuck it” and keep hanging out?

I ran my ass off to make it home on time. Goody-goody. This probably kept me out of a lot of future trouble.

I fell hard for S – he was charming and charismatic and sang “Dixie Chicken” and made me laugh. He went to the Catholic boys’ school and was friends with my friend MB’s older brother. By that time I was solidly British pop new wave with some hard rock on the side (much like MTV itself). For the next absurd amount of years either he cheated on me or with me – he knew I would always be there. Until the night when he told me that he knew I was never going to find anyone who loved him like I did and he was ready to commit, but he had to tell me something first. His ex was pregnant and it was his. That was it for me. Finally. “Dixie Chicken” still gets me, as does the taste of Marlboro Reds and Bazooka bubble gum. (I started smoking when he broke up with me the first time.)

After my first college boyfriend (a good guy who is still married to the woman he dated after we broke up), I decided I wasn’t going to let anyone get close anymore. I was done with love; I was going to be one of those distant women who could never be possessed and never get hurt. I imagined veils and fog. If it was good enough for Stevie, it was good enough for me. At that time the idea of “if you want what someone has, do what they do” didn’t include the caveat of perhaps “asking if it was what they wanted and would they make the same choices again.” (I’m not saying Stevie’s not happy with her life, but 30 years ago she may have gently steered me another way.)

My old team leader just came by to chat and now my roll is slowed. She and I have worked together since I started here 17 years ago. My mind is starting to wander since I’m out of here soon.

I do want a partner – for practical reasons as well as romantic ones. I hate thinking that all the good sex is behind me, for one thing. It would be awesome to have help around the house – to have someone motivated to get something done when I just can’t get it in gear. (Much like this writing day. It was so easy yesterday!) (Five hundred more! Push through!)

I’m already annoyed because I’m not going to get my active minutes in today. It’s hard to be compulsive and unmotivated at the same time. I hate the feeling of being rushed – of not having enough time to get everything done. I want to get on the road before 4:30 because it’s Friday rush hour and I’m going around the beltway but I also want to clean the bathroom, scoop the litterboxes, and collect all of the paraphernalia I’ve forgotten to pack. It will be ridiculous if I have to level up a suitcase to go to a yoga retreat. Which is going to be interrupted by my service commitment, which is my decision, but ugh. I would prefer not to.

I’ve had an absurd amount of coffee today! The ideas should be flying out of me!

But where does a forty-ten-year-old meet people if not at work? There are people in all the meetings I go to but hardly any I’m interested in dating. My current working theory of relationships is that you should to the things that interest you. Whomever you meet along the way will have at least one interest in common. The problem with this theory is that carried to its logical conclusion, I’ve been in the wrong place for the past blah blah years. I must not be doing what I should be doing if I’m not meeting people I’m attracted to.

I mean, I know it’s all a crapshoot and our lives are run just as much by chance as by anything else. I can’t even complain about the cards I’ve been giving because I am way privileged. That’s something it took me way too long to figure out. I am a white woman who has always been housed and clothed and fed. I’m cis, I’m mostly heterosexual, and my body still does almost everything I ask of it. I have very little room to complain. I know that complaining about mental illness is something of a luxury – look at all the things going right that would otherwise take priority.

I have to thank the Internet for introducing me to people I would have never met otherwise. Yes, there are many cons to this big-data-driven lifestyle and I panic when my smart phone stops working. Social media absolutely has its negatives, but the people that I’ve met there are none of them. I met my first collection of Webpeeps thanks to FARK.com, but it was LiveJournal and Tumblr that expanded my world view.

(Does one last sentence complaining about being short on word count count as more words? I feel like it’s been all stops and starts today after the Randy Rhoads rabbit hole.)

(P.S. I’m ready to go - plus one big bag - at 3:50. I am the worst.)

[sinceileftyoublog]

Riot Fest Sucks

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Riot Fest Sucks. It’s a tongue-in-cheek phrase that occupies multiple meanings and connotations, referencing the organizer’s self-deprecating recognition that they’re not gonna make everyone happy with the lineup and scheduling conflicts. It’s the name of a Goose Island Beer Co. pale ale made for the Fest, at times served lukewarm, its $10 price tag a symptom of a somewhat pretend punk festival bombarded by corporate sponsors whose presence fails to belie the lack of close, cheap parking, credit card lines, and functioning ATMs. Oh, and Riot Fest Sucks because hours into it my girlfriend sprained her ankle exiting the Vans popup experience down the 20-foot fire pole with no soft landing. So unlike previous years, this year, I left after a couple sets on Friday.

I won’t get there yet--first things first, Caroline Rose. When I walked up to her stage and heard Natalie Prass playing on the loudspeaker, I thought what I initially did upon first seeing Rose’s name in small print on the lineup poster: “Why not Pitchfork?” But as soon as her band gradually came out--first "nicest legs in the band” drummer Will Morse, then “handsome and single” bassist Mike Dondero, then “best friend” Abbie Morin--and started playing a surf rock melody as Rose entered, it was clear that her unique mix of electro pop and retro rock--not to mention her early folk and country material--had her suited for a festival that embraces classic sounds. They began with new song “Everybody’s Making Out”, potentially from the new album she just finished, and then “Cry!”, the band providing a plinky breakdown to the LONER standout. Rose alternated between genuinely appreciative of a fairly large crowd coming out early on a Friday to hear some upbeat but sad songs, and being playful and goofy--essentially conducting the band with her feet while playing keys on another new spacey synth pop song, all before noticing the camera and posing as if she was in a photoshoot. Her joking fit the sarcasm of songs like “Money”, which was interrupted by Rose chugging a 312 and barely smashing the can on her head and then playing Aerosmith’s “Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing” on kazoo. Rose is as fun at a festival as she is forlorn on record.

But then the incident happened. I listened to a remarkably nonstop and consistent Hot Snakes set through the medical tent next to the stage as my girlfriend iced her foot, leaving for urgent care right as Neck Deep’s catchy but juvenile pop punk began, not to return until mid way through Turnstile on Saturday. Thankfully, we were able to rent a wheelchair for the next couple days. Navigating the grounds with a wheelchair was a challenge, parking for free on Roosevelt before going through the grass of Douglas Park and the various street curbs separating the Ferris Wheel and the Rebel Stage from the main area. For what it’s worth, save for a couple unsavory comments (“You’ve got him trained well!”), most people were extremely aware and respectful, moving out of the way when necessary, and even helping us out of the mud. We chose not to get ADA access next to the sound stage until Sunday, partially because we were unaware of the possibility, but also because we wanted to be with friends and in the crowd. And from my brief experience, Riot Fest and its attendees walked the walk as much as they talk the talk about acceptance and zero tolerance for discrimination against differently abled bodies.

Speaking of Turnstile, what I saw from them was a perfect mix of rap rock, hardcore, and nu metal, favoring songs from last year’s Time & Space like “Generator”, short ditty “Bomb”, and standout “Moon”, the last played twice, once regularly and once a capella by vocalist Brendan Yates to close the set. It was much more inventive and progressive than the band who commenced immediately afterward, nonetheless Riot Fest staple Gwar. This time around, most of Gwar’s set surprisingly focused on the generic thrash music, not as many antics, just costumed men playing and spraying blood willy nilly as opposed to as part of a plot. (Except when they killed Donald Trump--that was great.) It’s not Riot Fest without Gwar, but at this point, their sick jokes and edgelord humor is appealing mostly to dudes like the one in the Joe Rogan 2020 shirt I saw leaving the set.

We then traveled to the secluded Rebel stage to catch supergroup The Damned Things, who thankfully came on late, since on the way we got caught up in one of many “What happened?!?” conversations with a friend. The band first formed in 2010 to release their debut album Ironiclast, then consisting of Joe Trohman and Andy Hurley of Fall Out Boy, Scott Ian and Rob Caggiano of Anthrax, and Keith Buckley and Josh Newton of Every Time I Die. Nine years later, they’ve released their second album High Crimes, and this time around, Caggiano and Newton have left, and in has come Alkaline Trio’s Dan Andriano. At Riot Fest, they played half songs from the first record, half from the new one, including the first four tracks of the latter, which showcase equally what The Damned Things do well and where they fall into the traps of MOR rock. “Cells” is more raw than you’d expect from a band with FOB and Alkaline Trio members, both on record and live, and is a surprisingly great introductory song to the album. The other songs they played from High Crimes, including cheesy cheerleader chanting “Something Good” and “Omen”, whose lead riff can’t decide whether it rips off Tame Impala’s “Elephant” or Muse’s “Uprising”, could have been ditched in favor of record standouts like “Carry a Brick” or “Young Hearts”. The former combines the vocal urgency from Buckley that we’re used to with ETID, with Anthrax-worthy thrash metal, while the latter (along with the record’s centerpiece “Storm Charmer”) interpolate a menacing blues rock stomp that could have been emphasized over the pop punk sheen of the Fest. Not to mention “Let Me Be (Your Girl)”, whose music is straightforward but whose lyrics feature gender inversion when assumed sung from the perspective of the lead singer. I left enjoying the set but wishing they had played for longer so I could hear the deeper cuts.

Album score: 6.3/10

Of course, the scheduling gods put Testament, also known as “if Metallica was still good,” during The Damned Things, so we had time for just a bathroom break before catching The Struts. In case you’ve never heard of them, The Struts are English glam rockers, fronted by a man who wears a shirt with batwing sleeves, who fancy themselves the lovechild of Queen and Def Leppard but end up falling closer to someone like The Darkness--which is not a bad thing! Their second album Young & Dangerous is catchy and somewhat undeniable, and the band’s fanbase came out to support them at Riot Fest, British flag in tow. It was probably the crowd’s enthusiasm that fed off lead singer Luke Spiller that made the set infectious; “If you’re not ready to dance and sing, then you might as well fuck off,” he proudly proclaimed, a nice, clear contrast to drummer Rafe Thomas oozing out the words “Hello Chicago” in the most droll voice possible. Sure, the lyrics “I bet your body’s so sweet” are even more cringey in 2019 than they would have been in the 70′s and 80′s, and the “instructing the crowd to get down to the ground” maneuver is pretty tired, but it was refreshing to see a band so unabashedly and unironically unashamed of their influences. “Don't wanna live as an untold story / Rather go out in a blaze of glory,” Spiller sang on the opening lines of “Could Have Been Me”, and upon ending the song, he instructed the crowd: “Ladies and gentlemen, remember our names!” It felt like a scene from a movie, and I couldn’t help but think that such cinematic flair is exactly what the band is going for.

I had time to catch a little bit of underrated electro pop band Pvris and pick up an Orange Wit from All Rise Brewing Co (another Riot Fest staple whose most popular beer has actually improved over the years) before catching Wu-Tang Clan, almost by default. The legendary group seems to be Riot Fest’s token hip hop booking every other year, and so I’ve seen them play Enter the 36 Chambers about 36 times. They ended up doing it again even though not billed to do a complete album set, but was I really going to see Rise Against, Manchester Orchestra, or Andrew W.K. over some of the greatest artists, let alone the greatest hip hop collective, of all time? I’ll take time number 37.

Then came what I knew was going to be the most difficult decision of the weekend, and one I kept thinking about even after it was made. Thrash metal titans Slayer were playing their final Chicago area show at Riot Fest, and their other supposed farewell show I saw last year was phenomenal. Then again, who am I to believe that this would be the time Slayer would finally stop cashing it in and retire? Instead, I opted to see something I very likely would not see again: Bloc Party playing their 2005 debut Silent Alarm in full. Based on how surprisingly great their Lollapalooza 2016 set was, I was eager to hear a set filled with, uh, only good songs, and the idea of the first sounds of the set being the echo of the opening drums to “Like Eating Glass” traversing through the crowd, was one that supplied me with a rare kind of glee. So when the band came out donning masks, launching into the album’s slow final song “Compliments”, I realized that what I initially heard as speculation--that they would be playing the record in reverse--would be true. There went my dream. The sounds and images of fire coming from Slayer’s stage filled me with regret.

But as the set went on, I realized that the choice was one that was both strategic on the part of the band, making the crowd stay to hear favorites like “Banquet”, and beneficial to the crowd. Each song was more energetic and frankly better than the previous one, from the sweet dancefloor melancholy of “This Modern Love” to the stop-starts of “Positive Tension” and “Helicopter”. Of course, “Like Eating Glass” proved to be a worthy singalong, everyone around me air drumming like nobody was watching. And I even got to see Slayer close with “Angel of Death” on the way out!

With one full day of Riot Fest finally in the books and surprisingly sore from navigating a wheelchair over patches of grass, mud, and curbs, I was thankful that the first batch of sets we were interested in seeing on Sunday was at the same stage, where I could grab beer and food and come back, and we could switch off between the grass and the ADA stage (which, awesomely, had free water). Arriving to hear the end of wildly cool and catchy Chicago post-punk band Ganser, we sat and waited for Nick Lowe with Los Straitjackets (and watched a different kind of “jacket” swarm unfortunate members of the crowd who mistakenly wore too much cologne). With the masked instrumental rockers (another band with masks?!?), two years ago Lowe released an album of instrumental versions of some of his best songs, so I was curious to hear how they would fare as his backing band. They got a slowed down “So It Goes” out of the way, as if to say to casual fans in the crowd, “I dare you to leave,” before burning through a variety of early era Lowe classics like “Without Love”, given a country spin by the band. The band delivered a mid-set instrumental performance as Lowe took a break, showing their guitar chops and stop-on-a-dime dynamism, before Lowe came back for “Half a Boy and Half a Man” and the other song everybody was waiting for, “Cruel To Be Kind”. Before playing set closer “Heart of the City”, Lowe said to the crowd, “Thank you, music lovers!” the quintessential statement from a true “music critic’s band,” but one with the pop songwriting talent to reach beyond.

I took the one-two punch of the “Save a lollipop, suck a dick” t-shirt and the tardiness and subsequent flatness of The Village People’s set as a sign that I should leave and walk by Less Than Jake opening their set with Back to the Future music, be mad again at the scheduling gods for putting the amazing-sounding Ride at the opposite end of the park from where Guided By Voices was about to play, and grab some delicious Harold’s Chicken for myself and unfortunately protein-lacking pad thai for my girlfriend. But there’s nothing like GBV to fix a less-than-ideal situation or improve an already good one. “How do you follow The Village People?” Robert Pollard hypothetically asked as the band went on. “With the village idiots!” With even less time to play than they had at Summerfest, GBV churned out practically all hits, starting with their usual set closer “Glad Girls” and revealing a barrage of known live gems--“Cut-Out Witch”, “Motor Away”, “The Best of Jill Hives”--and some they haven’t played in a while, like Isolation Drills’ “should have been a hit” “Chasing Heather Crazy” and “Echos Myron” prelude “Yours to Keep”, during which a crowd member actually blew a whistle when Pollard sang, “the whistle blows.” The latter was part of the band’s Bee Thousand finale, giving a crowd of casual fans exactly what they wanted and pleasing diehards no matter what.

Deciding to forego sprinting and catching any of Against Me!’s full albums (two of them!) set or Dave Hause & The Mermaid, I planted myself in a spot where I could see Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson’s beehives. The B-52′s followed a recipe for success in their set, leading off with track one of their debut, placing one hit early (“Private Idaho”), segueing a couple more from their debut into “Roam”, saving the two you knew they were gonna save for last. (Though I didn’t know they’d introduce “Love Shack” with War’s “Low Rider”.) The band was appropriately absurd and silly, frontman Fred Schneider’s sprechgesang adding hilarity to his response to Pierson’s “Something’s on fire in that pizza joint!” (“That’s my dinner!” he responded.) After the band ended with “Rock Lobster”, Pierson broke character and said two very serious things: 1) “Please vote!” and 2) “Go see Patti!”

And Patti Smith we did see, in all her glory. Her voice was as strong as ever on “People Have The Power”, “Dancing Barefoot”, “Free Money”, “Because the Night”, and “Gloria”. Unfortunately, almost half of her set was covers: “Are You Experienced?”, The Rolling Stones’ “I’m Free”, “Walk on the Wild Side”, “After the Gold Rush”, and for some reason, Midnight Oil’s “Beds Are Burning”. I would rather have heard something from her excellent later career albums like 2012′s Banga.

Hey, but she got a tribute during The Raconteurs’ set, as they chanted a little “Gloria” during “Top Yourself”. Along with shouting out headliners Bikini Kill (and the fact that they call God a “she” on new album closer “Thoughts and Prayers”), was it all part of Jack White’s plan to reveal himself as a feminist punk? I’m not sure; I do know that sociopolitical ideas aside, Help Us Stranger is a bit underwhelming as compared to the previous two Raconteurs releases, which were no White Stripes albums themselves. In any case, the band gave a very good set, because Jack White live is not to be reckoned with. The generic charge-up of album opener “Bored And Razed” was a buzzing jaunt on stage, and the blue-eyed soul of “Now That You’re Gone” was actually a nice change of pace from the blues-rock mashing of “Top Yourself”. On record, though it’s a welcome Ryan Adams diss track, “Don’t Bother Me” is straight up annoying, the repetition of the title after each line well-intentioned but flat--again, live, it somehow worked as a piece of absurdism. Thankfully, the band did play some of Stranger’s highlights, like the beautifully melancholy “Only Child” and power pop jam “Sunday Driver”. I wish they had replaced the comparatively generic “Somedays (I Don’t Feel Like Trying)” with catchy punk dirge “Live a Lie” or “Thoughts and Prayers”. The latter is the best song on Help Us Stranger. From the title, you think White might be trying to comment on gun control, but the song is at heart about life, a zooming folk odyssey rife with synths and fiddle and mandolin. “There’s got to be a better way / To talk to God and hear her say / ‘There are reasons why it is this way’,” White sings. It would have been an appropriate Riot Fest song: realistic, yet inspiring.

Album score: 6.3/10

But it was Bikini Kill’s triumphant reunion that was the perfect way to end the weekend, with dizzying instrumentation courtesy of Tobi Vail’s drums, Kathi Wilcox’s bass, and Kathleen Hanna’s guitar and siren of a howl. You knew they would sound great and play everything you wanted, from “Rebel Girl” to “Demi Rep”, the latter of which I hope will expose a new generation of fans to the band as the theme song to Hulu’s excellent PEN15. But the most fitting, even if not entirely poignant, was Hanna’s commentary, decrying “Let’s take this country back” white feminists and men who think they know everything, calling out rape culture more explicitly than anybody at the entire fest. “I’m sure Slayer talked about this a lot,” she quipped at one point. But it was a thought-provoking off-handed comment, one that makes me look forward to future lineups. Forget my forced symbolism of a $10 dollar beer. And I know the inherent problem of having a private, very white festival in a public park in a neighborhood made up of predominantly people of color, is not going to go away as long as the fest stays in said park. But Riot Fest can make a statement with the curation. Do they continue to market to nostalgia with minimal radical politics? Or will the festival live up to the name and, in their own words, stop sucking?

[fluffynexu]

Day 4 - Surprising/Hidden Talent

prompt list - finished prompts

so the two sections are... def not close to each other time wise and don’t really have anything to do with each other except in relation to the prompt lol. but the first part does happen before the second part.

Quinn sat in the galley with a cup of tea as he filed away another report on the datapad. It was relatively quiet with the rest of the crew on leave for the time being. With yet another report finished Quinn leaned back in his seat with a content sigh. He took a sip of tea as Akrona came into the galley.

“How’s work?” she asked, rummaging through the cabinets and retrieving a container of tea leaves.

“Everything has been finished ahead of schedule.”

Akrona smiled at him. “Naturally.” She began to hum a quiet tune, waiting for her tea to finish.

Just then a memory entered into Quinn’s mind. Though the moment had been some time ago and he never gave it any thought, hearing her now made him wonder. Looking at her from his seat he asked, “Do you… sing, love?”

“Hmm?” Akrona blinked curiously, pausing before she continued, “Oh-I, er… why do you ask?”

“It’s just that…” Quinn’s gaze went back to the datapad laying on the table. “Some time ago Darth Nox had asked if you still sang… But I told her, no. And that I’ve never even heard you sing.”

She nodded slowly, staring deep into her cup. “I see… Why bring it up now?”

“You were humming and I was merely curious.” He shrugged, but spoke quieter. “I meant no offense.”

Akrona’s lips curved into a small, sad smile. “Malavai… I’m not—it’s fine. And you’re right… I don’t sing… At least… not anymore.” Her head hung low and her eyes gazed off into the distance.

Quinn figured it was probably best to leave her be. But despite his better judgement, he wanted to know. “Why? I mean… if you don’t mind me asking that is.”

“Quinn,” Akrona chuckled, “I told you. You can always speak freely with me. And no, I don’t mind.”

“Still…” He rose from his seat, walking up and standing behind her. “It’s nice to hear your reassurance and approval.”

Akrona took a deep breath as he began to gently rub her arms. She leaned into his touch and sighed, “The thing is, I used to sing for my first love.”

Quinn’s hands and body froze for a split second. “Your first… A Lord… Praven. Correct?”

“Yes.” Akrona nodded and pushed a strand of hair back. “It was one of the things we did… you know, to show love and appreciation and just to have fun.” She shrugged and turned to face him. Her eyes sparkled while her voice became light and airy. “He’d write me poems, carve small trinkets out of precious stones and rare, fragrant woods. But since I was never good at any sort of crafting I would sing for him.”

“I… I see.” Quinn slowly backed away to retrieve the datapad from the table.

“Malavai…” Akrona called out. “You’re upset.”

“No. Not at all,” he replied, unsure of who he was trying to convince. “I understand that you still love hi—”

She huffed slightly with a roll of her eyes, “That’s not it… well yes, I did love him but—” She shook her head. “The point is that I love you. Now. I miss him. That’s all. And I admit, I thought my songs had died with him. However…”

Akrona smiled, slowly coming up to him and took both his hands into hers. She gave them a light squeeze before kissing them.

She began to sing. The words were in Sith, the lyrics poetically described of great desires and love. It was beautiful and soothing, but something about the way she sang made it hauntingly sad… Akrona nuzzled his neck and kissed him as the song became a soft whisper in his ear before fading away entirely.

Quinn swallowed a lump, exhaling a heavy sigh while Akrona’s looked at him with misty eyes that pierced at his heart.

“It seems that I simply needed to find another great source of inspiration.” She pulled his face down to hers, capturing his lips in a warm kiss. “My dearest beloved.”

~

This was miserable.

Akrona waddled around the entire apartment with a large, swollen belly sitting and lying on different surfaces in a futile attempt to get comfortable.

With a frustrated huff she pushed herself off of the large couch in the living room. A part of her couldn’t wait until the baby was finally born.

“Ugh!” Akrona grunted at no one.

She trekked back to the bedroom in hopes of finding some form of comfort. As she turned a corner with the room door in sight Quinn’s voice called out from his study.

Tired and a bit cranky, Akrona humphed as she decided to visit Quinn before the bed.

“Yes dear?” she asked, dragging her feet through the doorway.

He sat hunched over his desk and replied, “It’s done.”

A brow ridge perked up. “You mean your secret project?”

Quinn nodded, getting up with a small, thin parcel in his hands.

With her curiosity piqued, Akrona walked up and reached at the unassuming package. “May I?”

“Of course.”

She smiled and quickly tore the flimsy wrapping off to reveal and neatly folded cloth. “Oh?” Unraveling it Akrona gasped as her eyes went wide. “Oh!”

The cloth was black, and made from a soft, light fabric. But what truly caught her attention were the details upon it. The border was embroidered with intricate gold patterns while in the center of it all was an extravagantly ornate Imperial symbol in a deep red with a stylized mowhef upon it. From this centerpiece there were numerous Korribani flowers spread around it in a cyclical pattern.

“Quinn…” Akrona’s voice was barely a whisper as her fingers slowly traced the small, fine details. “It’s… it’s beautiful!”

“I’m glad you like it.” He placed a hand on her belly, gently rubbing it. “I’m usually better at planning these things but I’m glad I was able to finish our child’s blanket before the due date.”

“Where—how did you—?”

Quinn smiled. “Aside from going through various data sets, I’ve always found embroidery to be relaxing.”

Akrona looked up from the blanket and chuckled, “Relaxing? Really?”

“Well I’ve always enjoyed the process of planning, the forethought, organization of patterns and colors, hand-eye-coordination with—”

She replied with a smile, “Yes, yes. I think I get it,” and kissed him on the cheek.

“You like it then?”

“Quinn, of course I do!” Looking at the blanket again, Akrona ran her fingers on the patterns. “It’s a lovely gift for our child.”

quinn’s talent based on this old HC post.

[level3bird]

seven on sunday - 112

The Month of Sundays edition - 

1.  Long time coming - I haven’t written a SoS since February. That’s the longest stretch without writing since I began the much-ado-about-nothing enterprise. I already know this is going to be a long one, but, you know, that’s how it is. Read it or not. I’m cool with it. 

2.  Exit Houston - My plane took off from IAH at 10.15pm on Friday, the 25th of August. The rain of Harvey had just begun. I was in my own weird little space of wanting to get the hell out of Houston and back home to my husband and, simultaneously, feeling all the guilt of escaping last minute only to leave my daughters and grandchildren behind to face whatever Harvey was going to bring. Man, I had no idea. Fortunately, so very fortunately, my girls remained safe and largely dry, save Jordan’s bedroom ceiling sagging under the weight of the rain and rivulets of water cascading down her bedroom walls. (Hopefully they’ll get her back in her bedroom in the next couple of weeks. Until then her living room will serve as two rooms in one.) Both of my daughters and their partners and children were stuck in their homes due to all the water around them, but they emerged the lucky ones. They still have homes and belongings and their lives. Their partners still have jobs. Their children have not been traumatised. At the end of the day, I feel incredibly grateful and incredibly sad and every other emotion still. 

3.  The week before the rain - So, I’d gone to Houston in the first place to meet my new grandson Logan and to kiss Harper’s face off and to see my daughters and meet their partners. It was an ambitious undertaking spending only a week in the Bayou City, splitting my days between Baytown and League City, with the obligatory hour trip each way at least once a day, often twice. I was trying to be fair to both of the girls, spending time with new baby, spending time with the Goldfish, having time with Jordan and Whitster. I ran myself into the ground a bit and just as the jet lag was passing, it was time to get back here. I wouldn’t trade it though. Seeing them even for a week was worth the exhaustion. Hanging out with Harper and going with her to her first day of kindergarten, going with Whitney to her high risk OB and seeing my to be born grandson on high-def ultrasound, holding little Logan and singing all the songs to him that I sang to his mother. Priceless. 

4.  Emotional whiplash - Nevertheless, visits back to Texas are like navigating a minefield. There are too many memories and so much baggage on a personal level and then there is the guilt of being away from family and the weighty realisations that my grandchildren are going to grow up without me around. It is such a mix of giddy excitement in seeing them, a heart so full of love and a sadness that has no bottom. It is emotional whiplash and I’m not very good with it. That paradox of holding two opposing emotions at the same time. It wears me the fuck out.

One moment I am sat holding my precious new grandson and imagining such a wonderful life for him, the next I’m driving down the road where Quinn lived, the place where he visited unspeakable horrible things on me, then I’m passing by the apartment where Colin and I lived, the places where I bought my drugs of choice, then I’m passing my home group of CA and I’m having all the old craving feels at the same time. Before being able to get my head around them, I’m pulling into my eldest daughter’s driveway and am being greeted by the most beautiful granddaughter with the sweetest soul. Didn’t know whether I was coming or going. It is no wonder I tried to spend my way out of it or tried to eat enough tortilla chips and salsa, corn dogs, Blizzards, margaritas, fried shrimp and whatever else I could get my hands on to make it all go numb. 

5. Dead but not dead, maybe  - During the week, I also was able to spend about an hour and a half sat across a table in the food court of a near abandoned mall chatting with my youngest brother who hasn’t spoken to me in a decade. Talk about surreal. After a falling out where I didn’t even really know what I’d done wrong, he’d considered me basically dead to him.  And he’d been committed to it as anyone could be to anything. Regardless, every time I’ve been back since 2010, I’ve reached out to him. I love him and I miss him. I wish I could make things right. This is the first time he’s agreed to see me face to face. He’s still not interested in what he calls a ‘brother and sister friendship’, but he did take the time to tell me what his thinking was. I believe he’s still caught up in seeing me as I was ten years ago and that plugs him into how he was ten years ago as well. I think he still sees the worst of himself in me. Both of us addicts, both of us the product of a most fucked family. Before we parted ways though, he hugged me and gave me a kiss on my cheek and told me he loved me. He said he still doesn’t like me, but that he sees I am not the same person that I was in 2007. I’m still in the “don’t call me, I’ll call you” camp, but I think maybe there was a modicum of progress. I’ll take it. 

6. Stay here until I feel whole - Maybe it was the jet lag, maybe it was the leaving my kids again, maybe it was the exhaustion of going back to work the day after I got back, I don’t know what happened, but I’ve fallen in a bigly way. In that proverbial down on my knees kind of way. I’m at a loss to understand it myself. There have been tears, a flatlined emptiness, a sudden onset depression that has laid me low. I mean, I know it is bad when I’m attending AA meetings and listening to Ryan Adams’ Stop. My beloved husband, of course, has been my lifesaver. He’s still my lighthouse and my refuge and he still has the patience of a saint to tolerate me. He loves me in such a pure honest way that sometimes I can’t even deal with it. I know I don’t deserve it. As for my response to this bottomless funk, I’m going to rely on Saint Darnielle and “stay here until I feel whole again. I don’t know when.” I’m going to listen to The Mountain Goats and Ryan Adams and to Sarah McLaughlin singing The Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi, Robbie Williams’ She’s the One (for super special reasons) and maybe even Hillsong’s Broken Vessels. I’m going to keep hitting meetings and keep seeking equilibrium. I’m going to wait until I feel whole again. 

7. The things she carried - I took little to Houston, I came back with three checked bags filled chockers, Here is what I brought back from the US: Hostess Sno Balls (the blue ones), a box of Hostess Ding Dongs, six boxes of Lipton’s Extra Noodle Chicken Noodle Soup mix, Cheez-its, graham crackers, PayDay candy bars, two boxes of Tapioca, my favourite deodorant, a new purse, Excedrin, Melatonin, Ibuprofen, shampoo and conditioner, multiple cans of Static Guard, Rotel tomatoes and green chilis, vigil candles (Our Lady of Guadalupe x2, St Michael, and a Sacred Heart of Jesus. I’m neither Catholic or Christian, but they make me feel better.) I brought back a witch candle that smells of smoke and amber, a shit ton of chapstick in flavours not found in nature. I brought back several books, a few notebooks, a list of things I want to pick up next time. 

I brought back some guilt and some hope, a lot of love and memories and some regret and a heavy heart full of sadness and longing. I brought back an eagerness to be home with my husband, a wanting to be home where I belong. I carried home a much lighter bank account and a heavier debt load, but I was able to leave behind a little girl with a closet full of new school clothes and a daughter with things for her new baby that she’d never be able to afford herself. I left behind cash enough to see them through the storm that we didn’t realise would be as bad as it was. I left bits of myself, I brought bits home. 

I carried home the weight of the world and a collection of all my attendant shortcomings. 

Needless to say, my baggage was heavy. Is heavy. 

LQoT 

[swiftlyrics13-blog]

The Rolling Stone Interview: Taylor Swift

In her most in-depth and introspective interview in years, Swift tells all about the rocky road to 'Lover' and much, much more

By BRIAN HIATT

Taylor Swift bursts into her mom’s Nashville kitchen, smiling, looking remarkably like Taylor Swift. (That red-lip, classic thing? Check.) “I need someone to help dye my hair pink,” she says, and moments later, her ends match her sparkly nail polish, sneakers, and the stripes on her button-down. It’s all in keeping with the pastel aesthetic of her new album, Lover; black-leather combat-Taylor from her previous album cycle has handed back the phone. Around the black-granite kitchen island, all is calm and normal, as Swift’s mom, dad, and younger brother pass through. Her mom’s two dogs, one very small, one very large, pounce upon visitors with slurping glee. It could be any 29-year-old’s weekend visit with her parents, if not for the madness looming a few feet down the hall.

In an airy terrace, 113 giddy, weepy, shaky, still-in-disbelief fans are waiting for the start of one of Swift’s secret sessions, sacred rituals in Swift-dom. She’s about to play them her seventh album, as-yet unreleased on this Sunday afternoon in early August, and offer copious commentary. Also, she made cookies. Just before the session, Swift sits down in her mom’s study (where she “operates the Google,” per her daughter) to chat for a few minutes. The black-walled room is decorated with black-and-white classic-rock photos, including shots of Bruce Springsteen and, unsurprisingly, James Taylor; there are also more recent shots of Swift posing with Kris Kristofferson and playing with Def Leppard, her mom’s favorite band.

In a corner is an acoustic guitar Swift played as a teenager. She almost certainly wrote some well-known songs on it, but can’t recall which ones. “It would be kind of weird to finish a song and be like, ‘And this moment, I shall remember,’'” she says, laughing. “‘This guitar hath been anointed with my sacred tuneage!'”

The secret session itself is, as the name suggests, deeply off-the-record; it can be confirmed that she drank some white wine, since her glass pops up in some Instagram pictures. She stays until 5 a.m., chatting and taking photos with every one of the fans. Five hours later, we continue our talk at length in Swift’s Nashville condo, in almost exactly the same spot where we did one of our interviews for her 2012 Rolling Stone cover story. She’s hardly changed its whimsical decor in the past seven years (one of the few additions is a pool table replacing the couch where we sat last time), so it’s an old-Taylor time capsule. There’s still a huge bunny made of moss in one corner, and a human-size birdcage in the living room, though the view from the latter is now of generic new condo buildings instead of just distant green hills. Swift is barefoot now, in pale-blue jeans and a blue button-down tied at the waist; her hair is pulled back, her makeup minimal.

How to sum up the past three years of Taylor Swift? In July 2016, after Swift expressed discontent with Kanye West’s “Famous,” Kim Kardashian did her best to destroy her, unleashing clandestine recordings of a phone conversation between Swift and West. In the piecemeal audio, Swift can be heard agreeing to the line “…me and Taylor might still have sex.” We don’t hear her learning about the next lyric, the one she says bothered her — “I made that bitch famous” — and as she’ll explain, there’s more to her side of the story. The backlash was, well, swift, and overwhelming. It still hasn’t altogether subsided. Later that year, Swift chose not to make an endorsement in the 2016 election, which definitely didn’t help. In the face of it all, she made Reputation — fierce, witty, almost-industrial pop offset by love songs of crystalline beauty — and had a wildly successful stadium tour. Somewhere in there, she met her current boyfriend, Joe Alwyn, and judging by certain songs on Lover, the relationship is serious indeed.

Lover is Swift’s most adult album, a rebalancing of sound and persona that opens doors to the next decade of her career; it’s also a welcome return to the sonic diversity of 2012’s Red, with tracks ranging from the St. Vincent-assisted über-bop “Cruel Summer” to the unbearably poignant country-fied “Soon You’ll Get Better” (with the Dixie Chicks) and the “Shake It Off”-worthy pep of “Paper Rings.”

She wants to talk about the music, of course, but she is also ready to explain the past three years of her life, in depth, for the first time. The conversation is often not a light one. She’s built up more armor in the past few years, but still has the opposite of a poker face — you can see every micro-emotion wash over her as she ponders a question, her nose wrinkling in semi-ironic offense at the term “old-school pop stars,” her preposterously blue eyes glistening as she turns to darker subjects. In her worst moments, she says, “You feel like you’re being completely pulled into a riptide. So what are you going to do? Splash a lot? Or hold your breath and hope you somehow resurface? And that’s what I did. And it took three years. Sitting here doing an interview — the fact that we’ve done an interview before is the only reason I’m not in a full body sweat.”

When we talked seven years ago, everything was going so well for you, and you were very worried that something would go wrong.

Yeah, I kind of knew it would. I felt like I was walking along the sidewalk, knowing eventually the pavement was going to crumble and I was gonna fall through. You can’t keep winning and have people like it. People love “new” so much — they raise you up the flagpole, and you’re waving at the top of the flagpole for a while. And then they’re like, “Wait, this new flag is what we actually love.” They decide something you’re doing is incorrect, that you’re not standing for what you should stand for. You’re a bad example. Then if you keep making music and you survive, and you keep connecting with people, eventually they raise you a little bit up the flagpole again, and then they take you back down, and back up again. And it happens to women more than it happens to men in music.

It also happened to you a few times on a smaller scale, didn’t it?

I’ve had several upheavals in my career. When I was 18, they were like, “She doesn’t really write those songs.” So my third album I wrote by myself as a reaction to that. Then they decided I was a serial dater — a boy-crazy man-eater — when I was 22. And so I didn’t date anyone for, like, two years. And then they decided in 2016 that absolutely everything about me was wrong. If I did something good, it was for the wrong reasons. If I did something brave, I didn’t do it correctly. If I stood up for myself, I was throwing a tantrum. And so I found myself in this endless mockery echo chamber. It’s just like — I have a brother who’s two and a half years younger, and we spent the first half of our lives trying to kill each other and the second half as best friends. You know that game kids play? I’d be like, “Mom, can I have some water?” And Austin would be like, “Mom, can I have some water?” And I’m like, “He’s copying me.” And he’d be like, “He’s copying me.” Always in a really obnoxious voice that sounds all twisted. That’s what it felt like in 2016. So I decided to just say nothing. It wasn’t really a decision. It was completely involuntary.

But you also had good things happen in your life at the same time — that’s part of Reputation.

The moments of my true story on that album are songs like “Delicate,” “New Year’s Day,” “Call It What You Want,” “Dress.” The one-two punch, bait-and-switch of Reputation is that it was actually a love story. It was a love story in amongst chaos. All the weaponized sort of metallic battle anthems were what was going on outside. That was the battle raging on that I could see from the windows, and then there was what was happening inside my world — my newly quiet, cozy world that was happening on my own terms for the first time. . . . It’s weird, because in some of the worst times of my career, and reputation, dare I say, I had some of the most beautiful times — in my quiet life that I chose to have. And I had some of the most incredible memories with the friends I now knew cared about me, even if everyone hated me. The bad stuff was really significant and damaging. But the good stuff will endure. The good lessons — you realize that you can’t just show your life to people.

Meaning?

I used to be like a golden retriever, just walking up to everybody, like, wagging my tail. “Sure, yeah, of course! What do you want to know? What do you need?” Now, I guess, I have to be a little bit more like a fox.

Do your regrets on that extend to the way the “girl squad” thing was perceived?

Yeah, I never would have imagined that people would have thought, “This is a clique that wouldn’t have accepted me if I wanted to be in it.” Holy shit, that hit me like a ton of bricks. I was like, “Oh, this did not go the way that I thought it was going to go.” I thought it was going to be we can still stick together, just like men are allowed to do. The patriarchy allows men to have bro packs. If you’re a male artist, there’s an understanding that you have respect for your counterparts.

Whereas women are expected to be feuding with each other?

It’s assumed that we hate each other. Even if we’re smiling and photographed together with our arms around each other, it’s assumed there’s a knife in our pocket.

How much of a danger was there of falling into that thought pattern yourself?

The messaging is dangerous, yes. Nobody is immune, because we’re a product of what society and peer groups and now the internet tells us, unless we learn differently from experience.

You once sang about a star who “took the money and your dignity, and got the hell out.” In 2016, you wrote in your journal, “This summer is the apocalypse.” How close did you come to quitting altogether?

I definitely thought about that a lot. I thought about how words are my only way of making sense of the world and expressing myself — and now any words I say or write are being twisted against me. People love a hate frenzy. It’s like piranhas. People had so much fun hating me, and they didn’t really need very many reasons to do it. I felt like the situation was pretty hopeless. I wrote a lot of really aggressively bitter poems constantly. I wrote a lot of think pieces that I knew I’d never publish, about what it’s like to feel like you’re in a shame spiral. And I couldn’t figure out how to learn from it. Because I wasn’t sure exactly what I did that was so wrong. That was really hard for me, because I cannot stand it when people can’t take criticism. So I try to self-examine, and even though that’s really hard and hurts a lot sometimes, I really try to understand where people are coming from when they don’t like me. And I completely get why people wouldn’t like me. Because, you know, I’ve had my insecurities say those things — and things 1,000 times worse.

But some of your former critics have become your friends, right?

Some of my best friendships came from people publicly criticizing me and then it opening up a conversation. Haley Kiyoko was doing an interview and she made an example about how I get away with singing about straight relationships and people don’t give me shit the way they give her shit for singing about girls — and it’s totally valid. Like, Ella — Lorde — the first thing she ever said about me publicly was a criticism of my image or whatever. But I can’t really respond to someone saying, “You, as a human being, are fake.” And if they say you’re playing the victim, that completely undermines your ability to ever verbalize how you feel unless it’s positive. So, OK, should I just smile all the time and never say anything hurts me? Because that’s really fake. Or should I be real about how I’m feeling and have valid, legitimate responses to things that happened to me in my life? But wait, would that be playing the victim?

How do you escape that mental trap?

Since I was 15 years old, if people criticized me for something, I changed it. So you realize you might be this amalgamation of criticisms that were hurled at you, and not an actual person who’s made any of these choices themselves. And so I decided I needed to live a quiet life, because a quiet personal life invites no discussion, dissection, and debate. I didn’t realize I was inviting people to feel they had the right to sort of play my life like a video game.

“The old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Because she’s dead!” was funny — but how seriously should we take it?

There’s a part of me that definitely is always going to be different. I needed to grow up in many ways. I needed to make boundaries, to figure out what was mine and what was the public’s. That old version of me that shares unfailingly and unblinkingly with a world that is probably not fit to be shared with? I think that’s gone. But it was definitely just, like, a fun moment in the studio with me and Jack [Antonoff] where I wanted to play on the idea of a phone call — because that’s how all of this started, a stupid phone call I shouldn’t have picked up.

It would have been much easier if that’s what you’d just said.

It would have been so, so great if I would have just said that [laughs].

Some of the Lover iconography does suggest old Taylor’s return, though.

I don’t think I’ve ever leaned into the old version of myself more creatively than I have on this album, where it’s very, very autobiographical. But also moments of extreme catchiness and moments of extreme personal confession.

Did you do anything wrong from your perspective in dealing with that phone call? Is there anything you regret?

The world didn’t understand the context and the events that led up to it. Because nothing ever just happens like that without some lead-up. Some events took place to cause me to be pissed off when he called me a bitch. That was not just a singular event. Basically, I got really sick of the dynamic between he and I. And that wasn’t just based on what happened on that phone call and with that song — it was kind of a chain reaction of things.

I started to feel like we reconnected, which felt great for me — because all I ever wanted my whole career after that thing happened in 2009 was for him to respect me. When someone doesn’t respect you so loudly and says you literally don’t deserve to be here — I just so badly wanted that respect from him, and I hate that about myself, that I was like, “This guy who’s antagonizing me, I just want his approval.” But that’s where I was. And so we’d go to dinner and stuff. And I was so happy, because he would say really nice things about my music. It just felt like I was healing some childhood rejection or something from when I was 19. But the 2015 VMAs come around. He’s getting the Vanguard Award. He called me up beforehand — I didn’t illegally record it, so I can’t play it for you. But he called me up, maybe a week or so before the event, and we had maybe over an hourlong conversation, and he’s like, “I really, really would like for you to present this Vanguard Award to me, this would mean so much to me,” and went into all the reasons why it means so much, because he can be so sweet. He can be the sweetest. And I was so stoked that he asked me that. And so I wrote this speech up, and then we get to the VMAs and I make this speech and he screams, “MTV got Taylor Swift up here to present me this award for ratings!” [His exact words: “You know how many times they announced Taylor was going to give me the award ’cause it got them more ratings?”] And I’m standing in the audience with my arm around his wife, and this chill ran through my body. I realized he is so two-faced. That he wants to be nice to me behind the scenes, but then he wants to look cool, get up in front of everyone and talk shit. And I was so upset. He wanted me to come talk to him after the event in his dressing room. I wouldn’t go. So then he sent this big, big thing of flowers the next day to apologize. And I was like, “You know what? I really don’t want us to be on bad terms again. So whatever, I’m just going to move past this.” So when he gets on the phone with me, and I was so touched that he would be respectful and, like, tell me about this one line in the song.

The line being “. . . me and Taylor might still have sex”?

[Nods] And I was like, “OK, good. We’re back on good terms.” And then when I heard the song, I was like, “I’m done with this. If you want to be on bad terms, let’s be on bad terms, but just be real about it.” And then he literally did the same thing to Drake. He gravely affected the trajectory of Drake’s family and their lives. It’s the same thing. Getting close to you, earning your trust, detonating you. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore because I get worked up, and I don’t want to just talk about negative shit all day, but it’s the same thing. Go watch Drake talk about what happened. [West denied any involvement in Pusha-T’s revelation of Drake’s child and apologized for sending “negative energy” toward Drake.]

When did you get to the place that’s described on the opening track of Lover, “I Forgot That You Existed”?

It was sometime on the Reputation tour, which was the most transformative emotional experience of my career. That tour put me in the healthiest, most balanced place I’ve ever been. After that tour, bad stuff can happen to me, but it doesn’t level me anymore. The stuff that happened a couple of months ago with Scott [Borchetta] would have leveled me three years ago and silenced me. I would have been too afraid to speak up. Something about that tour made me disengage from some part of public perception I used to hang my entire identity on, which I now know is incredibly unhealthy.

What was the actual revelation?

It’s almost like I feel more clear about the fact that my job is to be an entertainer. It’s not like this massive thing that sometimes my brain makes it into, and sometimes the media makes it into, where we’re all on this battlefield and everyone’s gonna die except one person, who wins. It’s like, “No, do you know what? Katy is going to be legendary. Gaga is going to be legendary. Beyoncé is going to be legendary. Rihanna is going to be legendary. Because the work that they made completely overshadows the myopia of this 24-hour news cycle of clickbait.” And somehow I realized that on tour, as I was looking at people’s faces. We’re just entertaining people, and it’s supposed to be fun.

It’s interesting to look at these albums as a trilogy. 1989 was really a reset button.

Oh, in every way. I’ve been very vocal about the fact that that decision was mine and mine alone, and it was definitely met with a lot of resistance. Internally.

After realizing that things were not all smiles with your former label boss, Scott Borchetta, it’s hard not to wonder how much additional conflict there was over things like that.

A lot of the best things I ever did creatively were things that I had to really fight — and I mean aggressively fight — to have happen. But, you know, I’m not like him, making crazy, petty accusations about the past. . . . When you have a business relationship with someone for 15 years, there are going to be a lot of ups and a lot of downs. But I truly, legitimately thought he looked at me as the daughter he never had. And so even though we had a lot of really bad times and creative differences, I was going to hang my hat on the good stuff. I wanted to be friends with him. I thought I knew what betrayal felt like, but this stuff that happened with him was a redefinition of betrayal for me, just because it felt like it was family. To go from feeling like you’re being looked at as a daughter to this grotesque feeling of “Oh, I was actually his prized calf that he was fattening up to sell to the slaughterhouse that would pay the most.”

He accused you of declining the Parkland march and Manchester benefit show.

Unbelievable. Here’s the thing: Everyone in my team knew if Scooter Braun brings us something, do not bring it to me. The fact that those two are in business together after the things he said about Scooter Braun — it’s really hard to shock me. And this was utterly shocking. These are two very rich, very powerful men, using $300 million of other people’s money to purchase, like, the most feminine body of work. And then they’re standing in a wood-panel bar doing a tacky photo shoot, raising a glass of scotch to themselves. Because they pulled one over on me and got this done so sneakily that I didn’t even see it coming. And I couldn’t say anything about it.

In some ways, on a musical level, Lover feels like the most indie-ish of your albums.

That’s amazing, thank you. It’s definitely a quirky record. With this album, I felt like I sort of gave myself permission to revisit older themes that I used to write about, maybe look at them with fresh eyes. And to revisit older instruments — older in terms of when I used to use them. Because when I was making 1989, I was so obsessed with it being this concept of Eighties big pop, whether it was Eighties in its production or Eighties in its nature, just having these big choruses — being unapologetically big. And then Reputation, there was a reason why I had it all in lowercase. I felt like it wasn’t unapologetically commercial. It’s weird, because that is the album that took the most amount of explanation, and yet it’s the one I didn’t talk about. In the Reputation secret sessions I kind of had to explain to my fans, “I know we’re doing a new thing here that I’d never done before.” I’d never played with characters before. For a lot of pop stars, that’s a really fun trick, where they’re like, “This is my alter ego.” I had never played with that before. It’s really fun. And it was just so fun to play with on tour — the darkness and the bombast and the bitterness and the love and the ups and the downs of an emotional-turmoil record.

RS1332Taylor SwiftPhotograph by by Erik Madigan Heck for Rolling Stone

Photograph by by Erik Madigan Heck for Rolling Stone.

Dress by Louis Vuitton. Earrings by Jessica McCormack

“Daylight” is a beautiful song. It feels like it could have been the title track.

It almost was. I thought it might be a little bit too sentimental.

And I guess maybe too on-the-nose.

Right, yeah, way too on-the-nose. That’s what I thought, because I was kind of in my head referring to the album as Daylight for a while. But Lover, to me, was a more interesting title, more of an accurate theme in my head, and more elastic as a concept. That’s why “You Need to Calm Down” can make sense within the theme of the album — one of the things it addresses is how certain people are not allowed to live their lives without discrimination just based on who they love.

For the more organic songs on this album, like “Lover” and “Paper Rings,” you said you were imagining a wedding band playing them. How often does that kind of visualization shape a song’s production style?

Sometimes I’ll have a strange sort of fantasy of where the songs would be played. And so for songs like “Paper Rings” or “Lover” I was imagining a wedding-reception band, but in the Seventies, so they couldn’t play instruments that wouldn’t have been invented yet. I have all these visuals. For Reputation, it was nighttime cityscape. I didn’t really want any — or very minimal — traditional acoustic instruments. I imagined old warehouse buildings that had been deserted and factory spaces and all this industrial kind of imagery. So I wanted the production to have nothing wooden. There’s no wood floors on that album. Lover is, like, completely just a barn wood floor and some ripped curtains flowing in the breeze, and fields of flowers and, you know, velvet.

How did you come to use high school metaphors to touch on politics with “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince”?

There are so many influences that go into that particular song. I wrote it a couple of months after midterm elections, and I wanted to take the idea of politics and pick a metaphorical place for that to exist. And so I was thinking about a traditional American high school, where there’s all these kinds of social events that could make someone feel completely alienated. And I think a lot of people in our political landscape are just feeling like we need to huddle up under the bleachers and figure out a plan to make things better.

I feel like your Fall Out Boy fandom might’ve slipped out in that title.

I love Fall Out Boy so much. Their songwriting really influenced me, lyrically, maybe more than anyone else. They take a phrase and they twist it. “Loaded God complex/Cock it and pull it”? When I heard that, I was like, “I’m dreaming.”

You sing about “American stories burning before me.” Do you mean the illusions of what America is?

It’s about the illusions of what I thought America was before our political landscape took this turn, and that naivete that we used to have about it. And it’s also the idea of people who live in America, who just want to live their lives, make a living, have a family, love who they love, and watching those people lose their rights, or watching those people feel not at home in their home. I have that line “I see the high-fives between the bad guys” because not only are some really racist, horrific undertones now becoming overtones in our political climate, but the people who are representing those concepts and that way of looking at the world are celebrating loudly, and it’s horrific.

You’re in this weird place of being a blond, blue-eyed pop star in this era — to the point where until you endorsed some Democratic candidates, right-wingers, and worse, assumed you were on their side.

I don’t think they do anymore. Yeah, that was jarring, and I didn’t hear about that until after it had happened. Because at this point, I, for a very long time, I didn’t have the internet on my phone, and my team and my family were really worried about me because I was not in a good place. And there was a lot of stuff that they just dealt with without telling me about it. Which is the only time that’s ever happened in my career. I’m always in the pilot seat, trying to fly the plane that is my career in exactly the direction I want to take it. But there was a time when I just had to throw my hands up and say, “Guys, I can’t. I can’t do this. I need you to just take over for me and I’m just going to disappear.”

Are you referring to when a white-supremacist site suggested you were on their team?

I didn’t even see that, but, like, if that happened, that’s just disgusting. There’s literally nothing worse than white supremacy. It’s repulsive. There should be no place for it. Really, I keep trying to learn as much as I can about politics, and it’s become something I’m now obsessed with, whereas before, I was living in this sort of political ambivalence, because the person I voted for had always won. We were in such an amazing time when Obama was president because foreign nations respected us. We were so excited to have this dignified person in the White House. My first election was voting for him when he made it into office, and then voting to re-elect him. I think a lot of people are like me, where they just didn’t really know that this could happen. But I’m just focused on the 2020 election. I’m really focused on it. I’m really focused on how I can help and not hinder. Because I also don’t want it to backfire again, because I do feel that the celebrity involvement with Hillary’s campaign was used against her in a lot of ways.

You took a lot of heat for not getting involved. Does any part of you regret that you just didn’t say “fuck it” and gotten more specific when you said to vote that November?

Totally. Yeah, I regret a lot of things all the time. It’s like a daily ritual.

Were you just convinced that it would backfire?

That’s literally what it was. Yeah. It’s a very powerful thing when you legitimately feel like numbers have proven that pretty much everyone hates you. Like, quantifiably. That’s not me being dramatic. And you know that.

There were a lot of people in those stadiums.

It’s true. But that was two years later. . . . I do think, as a party, we need to be more of a team. With Republicans, if you’re wearing that red hat, you’re one of them. And if we’re going to do anything to change what’s happening, we need to stick together. We need to stop dissecting why someone’s on our side or if they’re on our side in the right way or if they phrased it correctly. We need to not have the right kind of Democrat and the wrong kind of Democrat. We need to just be like, “You’re a Democrat? Sick. Get in the car. We’re going to the mall.”

Here’s a hard question for you: As a superfan, what did you think of the Game of Thrones finale?

Oh, my God. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this. So, clinically our brain responds to our favorite show ending the same way we feel when a breakup occurs. I read that. There’s no good way for it to end. No matter what would have happened in that finale, people still would have been really upset because of the fact that it’s over.

I was glad to see you confirm that your line about a “list of names” was a reference to Arya.

I like to be influenced by movies and shows and books and stuff. I love to write about a character dynamic. And not all of my life is going to be as kind of complex as these intricate webs of characters on TV shows and movies.

There was a time when it was.

That’s amazing.

But is the idea that as your own life becomes less dramatic, you’ll need to pull ideas from other places?

I don’t feel like that yet. I think I might feel like that possibly when I have a family. If I have a family. [Pauses] I don’t know why I said that! But that’s what I’ve heard from other artists, that they were very protective of their personal life, so they had to draw inspiration from other things. But again, I don’t know why I said that. Because I don’t know how my life is going to go or what I’m going to do. But right now, I feel like it’s easier for me to write than it ever was.

You don’t talk about your relationship, but you’ll sing about it in wildly revealing detail. What’s the difference for you?

Singing about something helps you to express it in a way that feels more accurate. You cannot, no matter what, put words in a quote and have it move someone the same way as if you heard those words with the perfect sonic representation of that feeling. . . . There is that weird conflict in being a confessional songwriter and then also having my life, you know, 10 years ago, be catapulted into this strange pop-culture thing.

I’ve heard you say that people got too interested in which song was about who, which I can understand — at the same time, to be fair, it was a game you played into, wasn’t it?

I realized very early on that no matter what, that was going to happen to me regardless. So when you realize the rules of the game you’re playing and how it will affect you, you got to look at the board and make your strategy. But at the same time, writing songs has never been a strategic element of my career. But I’m not scared anymore to say that other things in my career, like how to market an album, are strictly strategic. And I’m sick of women not being able to say that they have strategic business minds — because male artists are allowed to. And so I’m sick and tired of having to pretend like I don’t mastermind my own business. But, it’s a different part of my brain than I use to write.

You’ve been masterminding your business since you were a teenager.

Yeah, but I’ve also tried very hard — and this is one thing I regret — to convince people that I wasn’t the one holding the puppet strings of my marketing existence, or the fact that I sit in a conference room several times a week and come up with these ideas. I felt for a very long time that people don’t want to think of a woman in music who isn’t just a happy, talented accident. We’re all forced to kind of be like, “Aw, shucks, this happened again! We’re still doing well! Aw, that’s so great.” Alex Morgan celebrating scoring a goal at the World Cup and getting shit for it is a perfect example of why we’re not allowed to flaunt or celebrate, or reveal that, like, “Oh, yeah, it was me. I came up with this stuff.” I think it’s really unfair. People love new female artists so much because they’re able to explain that woman’s success. There’s an easy trajectory. Look at the Game of Thrones finale. I specifically really related to Daenerys’ storyline because for me it portrayed that it is a lot easier for a woman to attain power than to maintain it.

I mean, she did murder . . .

It’s a total metaphor! Like, obviously I didn’t want Daenerys to become that kind of character, but in taking away what I chose to take away from it, I thought maybe they’re trying to portray her climbing the ladder to the top was a lot easier than maintaining it, because for me, the times when I felt like I was going insane was when I was trying to maintain my career in the same way that I ascended. It’s easier to get power than to keep it. It’s easier to get acclaim than to keep it. It’s easier to get attention than to keep it.

Well, I guess we should be glad you didn’t have a dragon in 2016. . . .

[Fiercely] I told you I don’t like that she did that! But, I mean, watching the show, though, maybe this is a reflection on how we treat women in power, how we are totally going to conspire against them and tear at them until they feel this — this insane shift, where you wonder, like, “What changed?” And I’ve had that happen, like, 60 times in my career where I’m like, “OK, you liked me last year, what changed? I guess I’ll change so I can keep entertaining you guys.”

You once said that your mom could never punish you when you were little because you’d punish yourself. This idea of changing in the face of criticism and needing approval — that’s all part of wanting to be good, right? Whatever that means. But that seems to be a real driving force in your life.

Yeah, that’s definitely very perceptive of you. And the question posed to me is, if you kept trying to do good things, but everyone saw those things in a cynical way and assumed them to be done with bad motivation and bad intent, would you still do good things, even though nothing that you did was looked at as good? And the answer is, yes. Criticism that’s constructive is helpful to my character growth. Baseless criticism is stuff I’ve got to toss out now.

That sounds healthy. Is this therapy talking or is this just experience?

No, I’ve never been to therapy. I talk to my mom a lot, because my mom is the one who’s seen everything. God, it takes so long to download somebody on the last 29 years of my life, and my mom has seen it all. She knows exactly where I’m coming from. And we talk endlessly. There were times when I used to have really, really, really bad days where we would just be on the phone for hours and hours and hours. I’d write something that I wanted to say, and instead of posting it, I’d just read it to her.

I somehow connect all this to the lyric in “Daylight,” the idea of “so many lines that I’ve crossed unforgiven” — it’s a different kind of confession.

I am really glad you liked that line, because that’s something that does bother me, looking back at life and realizing that no matter what, you screw things up. Sometimes there are people that were in your life and they’re not anymore — and there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t fix it, you can’t change it. I told the fans last night that sometimes on my bad days, I feel like my life is a pile of crap accumulated of only the bad headlines or the bad things that have happened, or the mistakes I’ve made or clichés or rumors or things that people think about me or have thought for the last 15 years. And that was part of the “Look What You Made Me Do” music video, where I had a pile of literal old selves fighting each other.

But, yeah, that line is indicative of my anxiety about how in life you can’t get everything right. A lot of times you make the wrong call, make the wrong decision. Say the wrong thing. Hurt people, even if you didn’t mean to. You don’t really know how to fix all of that. When it’s, like, 29 years’ worth.

To be Mr. “Rolling Stone” for a second, there’s a Springsteen lyric, “Ain’t no one leaving this world, buddy/Without their shirttail dirty or hands a little bloody.”

That’s really good! No one gets through it unscathed. No one gets through in one piece. I think that’s a hard thing for a lot of people to grasp. I know it was hard for me, because I kind of grew up thinking, “If I’m nice, and if I try to do the right thing, you know, maybe I can just, like, ace this whole thing.” And it turns out I can’t.

It’s interesting to look at “I Did Something Bad” in this context.

You pointing that out is really interesting because it’s something I’ve had to reconcile within myself in the last couple of years — that sort of “good” complex. Because from the time I was a kid I’d try to be kind, be a good person. Try really hard. But you get walked all over sometimes. And how do you respond to being walked all over? You can’t just sit there and eat your salad and let it happen. “I Did Something Bad” was about doing something that was so against what I would usually do. Katy [Perry] and I were talking about our signs. . . . [Laughs] Of course we were.

That’s the greatest sentence ever.

[Laughs] I hate you. We were talking about our signs because we had this really, really long talk when we were reconnecting and stuff. And I remember in the long talk, she was like, “If we had one glass of white wine right now, we’d both be crying.” Because we were drinking tea. We’ve had some really good conversations.

We were talking about how we’ve had miscommunications with people in the past, not even specifically with each other. She’s like, “I’m a Scorpio. Scorpios just strike when they feel threatened.” And I was like, “Well, I’m an archer. We literally stand back, assess the situation, process how we feel about it, raise a bow, pull it back, and fire.” So it’s completely different ways of processing pain, confusion, misconception. And oftentimes I’ve had this delay in feeling something that hurts me and then saying that it hurts me. Do you know what I mean? And so I can understand how people in my life would have been like, “Whoa, I didn’t know that was how you felt.” Because it takes me a second.

If you watch the video of the 2009 VMAs, I literally freeze. I literally stand there. And that is how I handle any discomfort, any pain. I stand there, I freeze. And then five minutes later, I know how I feel. But in the moment, I’m probably overreacting and I should be nice. Then I process it, and in five minutes, if it’s gone, it’s past, and I’m like, “I was overreacting, everything’s fine. I can get through this. I’m glad I didn’t say anything harsh in the moment.” But when it’s actually something bad that happened, and I feel really, really hurt or upset about it, I only know after the fact. Because I’ve tried so hard to squash it: “This probably isn’t what you think.” That’s something I had to work on

You could end up gaslighting yourself.

Yeah, for sure. ’Cause so many situations where if I would have said the first thing that came to my mind, people would have been like, “Whoa!” And maybe I would have been wrong or combative. So a couple of years ago I started working on actually just responding to my emotions in a quicker fashion. And it’s really helped with stuff. It’s helped so much because sometimes you get in arguments. But conflict in the moment is so much better than combat after the fact.

Well, thanks.

I do feel like I just did a therapy session. As someone who’s never been to therapy, I can safely say that was the best therapy session.

[foolishbelievers]

1/5/17 a roller coaster of a day, basically

so we left at about 12 even though the venue is like 2 - 2 ½ hours away bc we wanted to be early and the idea of driving through NY made me paranoid. um i complain a lot about CT highways but NY was horrid to drive through the highway was so rough and there were so many cracks and holes i couldn’t avoid without swerving all over and i was surprised my tires were fine by the end of the trip. also i paid like $18 to go to and from Long Island fuck NY lol. so once we were in LI i was getting off the “expressway” and ik it would be a bitch to get to where i needed bc it goes from like 2 lanes off the expressway into four lanes VERY QUICKLY and i went to turn into the lane next to me, which i needed, and thought it was clear bc the only other car coming was in the lane to the right of the one i needed, but we both turned into the lane at the same time and we collided. it was like some teenage boy driving and his mother was with him and she was actually v nice??????? i felt bad bc my car had minimal damage like the only noticeable thing was some paint but no dents or what i’d consider actual damage but their car needed a front light replaced and i think got a little dented. no one was hurt tho and again the other woman was v nice about all of it so we called 911 (and got hung up on once, then i was put on hold when i called) and it took maybe an hour and a half for two officers to show up and they got our info and were v nice and i got my case number and am gonna call tomorrow. honestly i feel like if this happened in CT it wouldn’t have been as smooth of a process. 

we managed to park for the show still pretty early and walked around in the freezing cold to find food and gave up lol. we waited an hour and a half in below freezing weather and i could not feel my feet by the time we got inside. i liked the setup of the venue honestly like the stage was as tall as me but it made it easier for everyone to see.

russell dickerson is so so so so so amazing live and i died when he sang blue tacoma. he also mixed “i wanna dance with somebody” into mgno and it was v fun. his hair is majestic. he’s a sweetheart. people near us were drunk and heckling him (i don’t think he could hear them but i could) and i was v annoyed. i’ve been to shows where i’m not a fan of one of the artists i have to sit through but i’m not rude af like that i’m sorry.

i spotted eric before lnt’s set and tried waving but he was v into tuning his guitar and staring at the ceiling lmao.

i wore a prisoner clothing co. shirt to the show and not surprisingly stephen wore one too and i briefly thought that if i got to talk to him after the set the first thing i’d say was “well ONE of us is gonna have to change” and made myself laugh bc i’m dumb. also dring candyland he walked around and gave people high fives and when he gave me one he went to give the dude behind me a high five and saw my shirt as he did that and literally like, froze for a second (mid-trying to high-five another person), and then laughed and smiled and kept on. like i broke him momentarily it was great lmfao. 

eric yawned multiple times during the show and it was v cute but i also feel v bad bc i’ve never actually seen him look so visibly tired and i hope he gets lots of sleep tonight.

also idk what was wrong with me tonight but when they played free fallin’ i kept catching myself legit /staring/ at him in utter awe like /mesmerized/ i just love his facial expressions and how emotional he is in his performances and it really got to me tonight

angel eyes wasn’t the last song played??? they played it and i was sad thinking their set was over but they played two more after that. (not in order, but set list as i can remember: free fallin’, dust on the bottle, runaway, runnin’ out of air, night that you’ll never forget, let's get drunk and make friends, candyland, you didn’t want me, whiskey on my breath)

again i was the only person to cheer for you didn’t want me but WHATEVER

i still keep singing the original bridge for candyland i can’t help it!!!!

stephen looked semi-bothered during multiple parts of their set like in-between songs he was straight up furrowing his brows (sometimes in the beginning of the songs as well) and at one point i saw him talking with eric about the amount of songs they’d do (he said something about only doing one instead of two, i think, like before the final song? at least from what i gathered) and idk… they sounded good but didn’t have their usual guys with them? and i think something was off and it was def affecting them. or at least stephen. eric just seemed his normal self, if not more tired and focused on his guitar-playing. idk.

they had no merch at all? apparently? according to the guy at the merch stand. russell and tyler had merch tho. 

we didn’t find out about a meet and greet so i don’t think one happened. which is fine, it was just a radio show, but i did make them something and was a little bummed not to get to give it to them tonight but there’ll be other chances. we did manage to sort of catch their car as they were leaving. we decided not to stay for tyler farr (we got home at 12:30am as it is, so it’d be crazy late if we stayed) and as we were walking around to the back parking lot there was a large black car attempting to pull out of the artist parking and turn around to leave and jen saw stephen sitting on his phone and almost went up to the car but i just waved and watched it drive by lmao.

it was… an interesting day for sure.

[schrodingerbaby]

A FEW years ago, Beyoncé made her declaration of independence: ''All the women who independent, throw your hands up at me.'' The song was called ''Independent Women Part I,'' and it was an anthem of self-reliance sung by Destiny's Child, a feisty pop republic made up of three women.

But they weren't equally independent: everyone knew that Beyoncé didn't need the others. That was the not-so-subtle message of ''Survivor,'' the title track from the third and most recent Destiny's Child album. Beyoncé taunted her former bandmates (two original members had left, and so had one of their replacements) while warning the current ones that they, too, were expendable: ''You thought I wouldn't sell without you, sold 9 million.'' That pronoun -- ''I'' -- is as specific as the sales figure.

If Beyoncé has a mirror-image rival, it's Ashanti. You might call her a dependent woman, though that's not an insult. She made her name by telling gruff rappers how much she loved them, singing stylized duets with Fat Joe and Ja Rule. She was, we were constantly reminded, the first lady (or, more often, ''princess'') of the Murder Inc. record label, and everywhere she went, some guy was shadowing her, shouting the label's catch phrase: ''It's murder!''

Ashanti's self-titled debut album, released last year, was a huge hit, thanks largely to a song called ''Foolish,'' on which she pledged loyalty to a man who didn't deserve it: ''I keep on running back to you.'' This was the antithesis of Destiny's Child's dogma: Ashanti sang like a woman who just couldn't help herself.

Both singers have new albums: Beyoncé, 21, just released her inevitable solo debut, ''Dangerously in Love'' (Columbia), and Ashanti, 22, just released her follow-up, ''Chapter II'' (Murder Inc./Island Def Jam). Each singer says her new album is a step forward, an evolution, a triumph -- that's what singers always say. But only one of them is right.

Even at its lewdest, Destiny's Child always had a knack for sanitizing the sleazy world of R & B. The group's 1997 debut single, ''No, No, No,'' had seductive lyrics, but the singers sang it like a nursery rhyme: ''You be saying no, no, no, no, no/ When it's really yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah yeah.''

Most of the time, though, it didn't really matter what the words were. By 1999, they had perfected a style -- close harmonies, quick delivery -- that made it difficult to pay attention to the words. ''Say My Name,'' which helped revolutionize R & B with tricky rhythms and nimble vocals, stands as one of the great pop songs of the last decade, but singing along is nearly impossible.

R & B singers are supposed to be warriors in the battle of the sexes, but Destiny's Child stayed above the fray, keeping suitors at arm's length with a series of mild rebuffs. Despite the title, ''Bootylicious'' was more of a go-away than a come-on: ''I don't think you're ready for this jelly/ My body's too bootylicious for you, babe,'' they sang, and the chorus left no room for argument.

Then, having worked so hard to make herself seem unattainable, Beyoncé changed course. Over the last year or so, she has often been spotted with Jay-Z, and while she's been careful to avoid confirming or denying rumors that the two are a couple, she hasn't exactly quieted speculation by recording a series of duets with him; one of them, ''Crazy in Love,'' is the lead single from her new album.

''Crazy in Love'' is the best song on ''Dangerously in Love'' (the album is, oddly enough, named after an old Destiny's Child song); it's a simple, irresistible combination of triumphant horns and a wicked hip-hop beat. But the song also hints at what's wrong with the album: its vision of romance is profoundly unconvincing.

If Jay-Z and Beyoncé really are a couple, that might explain why their collaborations sound so tepid. When he teamed up with Mya for ''Best of Me Pt. II,'' Jay-Z spat out one clever, rude pick-up line after another (''That's high-school, making me chase you 'round for months/ Have an affair, act like an adult for once''), and on Missy Elliott's ''One Minute Man (Remix),'' he quoted ''Independent Women Part I'' while explaining the rules of a one-night stand. When he records with Beyoncé, though, Jay-Z's mischievous wit disappears; on ''Crazy in Love,'' he barely even makes reference to her.

For her part, Beyoncé explains how ''Your love's got me looking so crazy right now,'' but her vocals -- as deft and accurate as ever -- convey none of the giddy rush that the lyrics describe. Near the end, when she trills, ''You're making a fool of me,'' she sounds decidedly unfoolish, as Ashanti once put it.

The first half of ''Dangerously in Love'' has some impressive moments -- Beyoncé arpeggiates her way up and down the scale whereas most of her contemporaries merely slide, and it's fun to hear her mimic the pizzicato line in ''Naughty Girl.'' But it's not much fun to hear her try to sing like a ''naughty girl,'' and by the time the album's ballad-heavy second half arrives, you may start hoping that the other two Destiny's Children will show up to set things right.

They don't, and it's not just their harmonies that are missed; it's the girl-group exuberance. Together, the three might have found an amusing way to flirt with Jay-Z, or Sean Paul, or Big Boi, from OutKast. Without them, Beyoncé hedges her bets, retreating to the safety of torch songs, like the creepy bonus track ''Daddy,'' where she croons, ''I want my unborn son to be like my daddy/ I want my husband to be like my daddy.''

Maybe this album is merely a misstep, and maybe Beyoncé has yet to record the brilliant solo album that people expected. Or maybe it's proof that she isn't quite as versatile as she seemed. She's a strong and independent singer, no doubt, but maybe she seems strongest and most independent when she's got a posse behind her.

By contrast, Ashanti's new album doesn't arrive bearing the burden of high expectations. Because of her gentle, breathy vocal style, she's been dismissed as a lightweight; when she was nominated for a Soul Train award last year, tens of thousands of people signed an online petition of protest.

This should be a terrible time for Ashanti. Her label, Murder Inc., is under investigation for alleged ties to drug dealers. And these days, her former duet partner Ja Rule is keeping a low profile -- still licking his wounds, perhaps, after losing a vicious war of words with 50 Cent. Barely a year removed from her successful debut, she is already an underdog.

But Ashanti's greatest asset has always been her blitheness. Groomed for stardom ever since she was a kid, she treated Murder Inc. as if it were her own personal Mickey Mouse Club; if she felt out of place, she never showed it. And so she floats through her new album as if nothing's amiss, never pausing to wonder whatever happened to Ja Rule, who's conspicuously absent.

The lead single is ''Rock Wit U (Awww Baby),'' and it shows off everything that's right about the album -- it's the kind of song that drifts into your head before you even realize you were listening to it. The lyric sheet reproduces every ''awww'' and every ''baby''; the words form a pattern on the page that mirrors the song's hypnotic appeal.

Nearly every song on ''Chapter II'' is this appealing, and although the beats are diverse -- ''I Found Lovin' '' resurrects the squiggly sound of 1980's pop, and ''The Story of 2'' is a swinging piano ballad -- Ashanti's approach never changes. The singing is restrained, the lyrics are simple (there are virtually no three-syllable words), and the attitude is breezy.

There are hardly any guests on this album, but Ashanti does fine without them -- in fact, her sweet nothings sound even better when they're not interrupted by the salty nothings of rappers. ''Chapter II'' isn't perfect, but once you edit out the skits (which are, without exception, excruciating), you're left with an album that's graceful, beguiling and above all, light, in the best sense of the word.

There's more than one way to declare independence, after all, and whereas Beyoncé announced hers with a brassy single, Ashanti tucks a similar spirit into every not-quite-heartbroken lyric. She's not trying to convince us she's crazy in love. On the contrary, she dismisses old boyfriends (and, perhaps, duet partners) with the same noncommittal sigh she uses to welcome new ones, and this unflappability suggests a kind of strength. In her own willowy way, she's a survivor, too.

JULY 6, 2003