#title is from a kacey musgraves lyric!!

[sqyyadina]

wrap me in your arms like i'm made of glass.

Pairing: Lorraine Warren X Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Tags: possessed!reader, exorcism, self flagellation / self harm, disordered eating, mommy issues, hurt/comfort!

Summary: You've been fighting an evil spirit on your own for months, until an angel falls on your doorstep, and you no longer have to fight alone.

Author’s Note: This one is sort of dark, ee!! Sometimes a girl just needs to write an exorcism, I guess!! This is my first go of anything horror/angsty, so uhm.. it might be kinda bad. This is also on my AO3!!

It hates the cold.

As do you.

Yet somehow, as you lay by the flung-open bay window, watching the tiny, crystalline flakes fall to cover your once-blossoming hydrangea bushes, you feel your head silence for the first time in weeks. The lightweight blanket draped over your knees isn’t much help to fight the tremble in your fingers, which are wrapped tightly around a mug of hot chocolate— you’ve been falling victim to your sweet-toothed cravings lately, considering this very well may be your last chance to do so.

The television across the room hums whatever country music variety show is on this early in the morning; a few cars pass by outside, splashing up muddy sludge into your front yard. You can’t help but wince at the action. You once dedicated so much time to perfecting your lawn, just for all of that hard work to become irrelevant in a few short hours. It’s probably been decades since this town last saw any snow. You’d never seen so much as a cold rain in your few decades of living. It seems that Hell’s finally frozen over. It’s a shame you never paid attention in church long enough to find out what to do in such an event.

You’re feeling weak. This isn’t a new sensation. Weeks’ worth of sleep interrupted by family photos flung off of walls in the middle of the night truly does begin to take a toll on a young woman’s body. Not that you ever had much energy to begin with, what with the early mornings spent tending to horses and late nights attending to sick barn cats.

It’s quite shocking just how much energy a demonic being inhabiting your body saps up.

It only takes a few minutes, lounged by the window and focus blurring out on the white mounds of snow, for you to loll off to sleep, cocoa spilling onto your favorite quilt, but you’re not lucid enough to notice.

It’s a very gentle knock at your door that rips you from your slumber. Your encounter with whatever beast has been haunting your every move has made you an incredibly light sleeper. At this point, you could be woken by a light breath against your face. You believe you already have, a few times now.

It’s incredibly difficult for you to stand from your position on your once pristine, now chocolate-stained sofa, but you make it upright eventually. The blood comes rushing to your head at the sudden swing upright, your feet heavy against the cold hardwood floor that you never bothered to buy a rug for. Your feet were calloused enough, there was no need for comfort for something already so broken.

You cling desperately to the heavy front door that, by some act of God, you manage to swing open.

The light you’re met with is blinding. You’re not sure if it’s the sun’s rays beating off of the snow and directly into your eyes, or if the woman at your doorstep just naturally emanates such a light.

“Hi there.” Her voice is so kind and warm that your entire body feels like you’ve been sat next to a fireplace. Once your eyes fully adjust to the light surrounding your savior, you notice that her face holds a slightly bewildered look, but like she’s trying to hide it. To remain professional, to not let you in on the fact that there’s quite literally a demon hanging over your shoulders.

You take her outstretched hand in your own, shaking it weakly, and as you do, her expression is replaced by a frown. “I’m Loraine Warren,” She hums, wrapping another hand around yours, seemingly trying to bring heat to the five icicles you call fingers. “and you’re freezing.” You muster up a lackluster smile, ruminating in the warmth from the hands wrapped around your own for as long as she’ll allow. Your visitor doesn’t pull back until you do, to let her into your home.

Mrs. Warren has clearly not come prepared for this entirely unforeseen snow, seeing as she’s dressed in a plaid, tea-length dress, with only a light cardigan hung from her shoulders. There wasn’t a single weatherman on any of your very limited channels that had predicted this sort of weather this far south of the Mason-Dixon.

“Thank you…” You begin, leading the taller woman to your living room, where you practically fall to your position on the sofa again. “For coming to meet with me, Mrs. Warren. I’m so very appreciative.” Your eyelids are heavy, and your cheeks hurt with the strain of a smile, but you still force yourself to engage as delicately as you can with this woman, both for the beauty that you find so enticing, and for the fact that she very well may save your life.

The affliction you’d been suffering for the past few weeks of your life… you weren’t entirely sure what it was. At first, waking up standing in the kitchen and holding a knife to your own throat was something you could pass off as a traumatizing night of sleepwalking. The sudden headaches and physical aversion to reading your leatherbound, heavily annotated bible made you think you had suffered a concussion from falling out of bed one too many times.

Seeing the Warrens on your favorite morning talk show was what led you to raise your own suspicions. The way they spoke of a young girl in Poughkeepsie who had begun levitating in the middle of the night, who began seizing when she was read the word of God… You couldn’t help but see the similarities.

You couldn’t have possibly called the demonologists sooner.

On the phone, you spoke to a man. He was much heftier with the way he spoke, clearly the extroverted salesman of the team. He seemed skeptical, and unwilling to leave his home in New England, as he had every right to be. You very well could just have the flu. But you knew, deep down, that you didn’t, and it had to be them. It had to be. You had no other hope of surviving against your oppressor if you had to fight it alone.

Your frantic begging must have been loud enough for the people close to Ed Warren to hear, because as soon as you finished your rambling about how miserable you were, a distant, soft voice came from the other side of the phone.

Ed, listen to her. She needs us.

The line then went muffled, he had placed his palm over the receiver in hopes to hide the fact that they had begun arguing about you. You couldn’t quite make out what was said, only that the woman, Lorraine, very much wanted to come to visit you, and Ed did not.

It was as if by miracle that Lorraine showed up at your door only a day after your phone call.

“Please, call me Lorraine.” The older woman returned, standing above you. “May I ask why you have the windows open? It’s just so nasty out there… it may affect your health, sweetheart.” There’s a little glimmer in her eyes when she presses the back of her hand against your forehead, which, much to her surprise, was just as cold as your hands.

A stubborn frown returned to her pink lips, and Lorraine quickly closed the two windows behind you.

“The cold helps.” You say plainly as Lorraine moves around your vintage furniture to close the windows on the opposite side of the room.

“What do you mean?” She returns to your side, placing your quilt atop your knees and finding another to cover your shoulders. She then sits on the sofa next to you, delicately maneuvering herself underneath your blanket as well.

You blush a little, hiding your face behind the large mug that you’d once discarded.

“This… thing. Whatever’s inside me… it hates the cold.” You reply, staring down at your feet, which wiggle to regain the feeling that the cold air had taken away.

“How do you know?” The clairvoyant muses, reaching up to pet the hair that’s turned into a mat behind your head. You’ve had a horrible go of taking care of yourself lately, with things as simple as brushing your hair disappearing from your mind for days at a time.

“It started snowing just last night… Since then, it’s been quieter. I’ve been able to take control of my life again, at least a little bit.” You hum, leaning into her touch, which has dropped to press comfortingly to your shoulder. “But as soon as I lit a fire, tried to get warm, it all came back. The chaos. The… evil.” You shudder to remember the noise that’s filled your head for the past few days. The screams, the whispered urges to harm yourself and others. It’s like you’ve been sent to your own personal Hell, like God finally punished you for the way that you look at women like Lorraine. 

“You’re a very perceptive girl.” Lorraine offers you a smile, and you find that it may not only be the cold that calms you. Her presence has offered you more solace than any pain killer or chamomile tea has offered you in your entire life.

You try to giggle, try to accept her praise, but her warm touch, paired with your general lack of sleep, has made it truly impossible for you to remain at all upright. You slump over, dropping your cocoa once again, head landing on Lorraine’s shoulder.

“I believe you.” She whispers quietly, maneuvering your shoulders so that your head lays on her lap. The words are all you’ve ever needed to hear. To be assured that you’re not going crazy is all you need in order to finally fall asleep, and the hands that press warmth into your neck and forehead are the best medicine you could take.

You fall asleep in less than a second, your ears muffling all the noise in the room, yet you can still hear your visitor humming along to the tv as your muscles relax into the sofa.

♱

A soft whine escapes your lips before your eyes open. It’s a combination of bright light and tugging at the back of your head that wakes you up, and as much as you detest being stripped from the best sleep you’ve had in at least month, you feel rested enough to accept it.

“I’m so sorry. Keep sleeping, little one.” Your brain fights to register who the voice belongs to, but judging by the fact that you’ve only received one visitor in the past weeks, and the fact that no visitor you’ve ever met has had such a honey-coated voice, you remember right away. It’s Lorraine.

It’s Lorraine, and the light tugging you feel is a comb being pulled through the hair that hasn’t met such a thing in far too long. You’re hit by a sudden wave of embarrassment, knowing that the state of your hair must make you look so pitiful, like a child that can barely take care of herself. You hide your face in your hands, whining once again, hiding from the yellow light of a lamp above you, and from the fact that you look such a mess in the presence of one of the most well-kempt women you’ve ever met.

“I’m all done.” She purrs softly, running her fingers through your now untangled hair, tucking it behind your ear. You sit up, face beet red as you do so. You’re sure you’ve never felt more embarrassed in your entire life.

“Thank you…” You stutter out, voice heavy with sleep. “I’m sorry for falling asleep. I just… haven’t in quite a while. I hope I’m not taking too much of your time.” You glance up at her, eyes squinting to view the porcelain skin adorned by a smile. Lorraine Warren must truly have the kindest heart in the entire world to spend time taking care of someone she’s only just met.

“Don’t you dare apologize.” She says quite firmly, pressing her hand against your cheek, and you can feel yourself becoming addicted to her touch. “I want to take care of you.”

You feel a warmth in your cheeks, and a certain tingling in the pit of your stomach. You’ve never heard these words before, and the last time anyone had earnestly taken care of you was… well, you don’t really remember. It was probably in your early childhood, but even then, you weren’t too sure.

The butterfly wings in your stomach are quickly replaced by a different sensation, a large growling that just about reverberates through the living room. You’re filled with another bout of humiliation, and grip your stomach tightly. You’re also not too sure when you last ate.

A ginger hand presses against your stomach as well, and it dawns on you just how close to the older woman you’ve become. She’s pressed against you so much that you’re nearly sitting in her lap, and her other arm is wrapped around so very tightly around the small of your back. Lorraine is quite the touchy woman, and you couldn’t be more appreciative of such a character trait. You lean into her hands greedily, head tilting over to rest on her shoulder once more.

“Can you stand?” She hums, pressing her cheek to rest on the top of your head.

You nod slowly, not quite too sure that you’re telling the truth, but if Lorraine wants you to stand, you’ll stand. And you do, pushing hard into the ground, thankful that before all of this mess you were at least regularly active, and your body was fairly well maintained from throwing bales of hay.

“Good girl.”

The words make your knees go weak, weaker than they already are, and you falter a little in your steps. You thank God that Lorraine has such a strong grip around your waist and is able to keep you upwards.

“Show me your kitchen?” The clairvoyant asks softly, and while you do just as you’re asked, her steady gaze washes over each little family portrait, each corn husk doll, even the sunhats you’ve worn so much that they’re full of holes. One may see her wandering eyes and find her to be a terrible snoop, but Lorraine is doing her job, gathering every piece of evidence she can to use against your demon. She wants to know everything about your past and present so that she may rid you of this retched thing.

She gets no clue as to what suffering has conflicted this household from the photos of a quite happy family hanging from your walls, but she can sense it in the way the house creaks with her every step. There’s an evil lingering in these walls, and Lorraine can feel it.

“I’m… I’m not sure there’s even any food that’s still edible.” You speak gruffly as you arrive in the kitchen that overlooks your barn that was once such a brilliant red, and now stands with peeling paint and water damage. It’s a proper metaphor for your own status. You haven’t been in this room in many days, and the sight of wilting flowers and rotting vegetables depresses you immediately.

“I’m sure I can make do.” Lorraine shoots you that oh-so very reassuring smile once again, and leads you to sit at the dining table that’s only ever been set for one. “When was the last time you ate?”

It’s a dreaded question. A question that, once again, you don’t have a clear answer to. You think the last thing you ate was a handful of boiled peanuts… or was it oatmeal? Lately you had only had incredibly unpleasant dreams about food, and your brain has been so occupied by so many voices, that sustenance was the last thing on your mind.

“I’m not sure.” You muster in response, and Lorraine’s frown returns once again. She’s not mad at you, only furious at the creature that’s taken hold of you, keeping you from living a healthy life.

“You need to keep yourself fed.” Lorraine speaks softly, peeking out from behind the cabinet she’d begun rummaging around in. “Communing with the being, and an eventual exorcism, will take a lot of energy.”

She speaks so calmly about something that is so terrifying to you. You weren’t raised Catholic, and didn’t know much about their traditions, but the interview that you had watched of the Warrens spelled an exorcism out to be one of the most dangerous, mortifying acts that one could participate in. You trust Lorraine entirely though, and are filled with the knowledge that if she has to do such a thing, she will treat you delicately, and cause as little harm to you as possible.

It's only a few groggy minutes before there’s a plate laid in front of you, and by some act of God Lorraine has found another chair to sit in. She’s pulled up right next to you, and while you’re a bit surprised she hasn’t chosen to sit across from you, her choice is very welcomed. The heat from your plate warms your face, and you press your hands against it in hopes that they’ll warm as well.

“It looks delicious.” You look up to the women through your heavy eyelids, weakly grabbing hold of your fork to start lifting potatoes to your mouth. “I can’t believe you were able to make this so quickly! Thank you so very much.” You smile to her, licking your lips, stomach so very grateful to the woman beside you.

“I’ve always been a good cook. My husband is never very appreciative of my skills.” She laughs softly, but you can tell it’s something that truly upsets her. If you were lucky enough to live in a home with Lorraine Warren and have her food for every meal, you consider yourself to be in Heaven. From your short conversation, Ed didn’t quite seem to be a wholly grateful man. “You’re not married.” She then says, taking a sip from the old whiskey glass that’s now filled with water.

Her words are more observational than questioning, and it causes a twinge of discomfort within you. You’d always been questioned for your spinster-like nature, women in your church always wanted to set you up with their sons or nephews. You’re such a pretty girl, they’d say, why on God’s green Earth aren’t you dating anyone?

It was impossible to tell them that you’d never want to marry a man, even if someone held a gun to your head.

“No…” You reply awkwardly, and the word turns into a yawn, leading you to cover your mouth with one hand. “I’ve just… never met the right person, I guess.” You huff, kicking your elbow up on the table and resting your chin on your fist to keep yourself propped up. Who knew something as simple as lifting a fork to your mouth would be so difficult. “Or… Well…” You start again, feeling almost too comfortable in Lorraine’s presence to share a little more. “I’ve just, never really been interested in anyone.”

When you drop your fork to your plate with quite the dramatic tink, that same loving hand returns to your lower back. Lorraine has taken your fork between her perfectly manicured fingers, and lifts another bite towards your lips, which you not-so-gracefully accept.

“Well, that is a shame.” The brunette responds, and though you can’t see it, there’s the tiniest hint of a smirk on her face. She seems to be a bit too pleased by your loneliness. “I do hope you’ll find someone soon. You are so deserving of love.”

You’re not sure if you’re deserving, but you’re damn well desperate for it.

Lorraine continues to feed you, lifting small bites of vegetable to your lips while whispering her gentle praises after each bite. Your face is now permanently pink, with each of her cooing words turning you into a little mess beneath her. You’re connected at her hip once again, legs tangled around each other under your gingham tablecloth. You’re so very lucky that you never receive any visitors, for you deign to think of anyone’s reaction to your little displays of minute affection.

“I was hoping I might stay with you here. I always find it more helpful to fully integrate myself into the lives of someone I’m helping.” She hums once you’ve finished all of your food, and she can move onto her own. You lean against her shoulder once more, eyes closed, yet you’re completely awake. Her sentence is entirely shocking, yet you’re completely excited by it, and couldn’t possibly accept her request quicker.

“Yes, of course!” You hear the over-enthusiasm in your voice, and hope you haven’t come off too strongly. You sit up to meet her gaze, blushing just from the way she looks at you so sweetly. “I only have the one bedroom, I’m afraid. It’s a bit of a mess at the moment, but I can wash the sheets, and you can sleep there! I spend most of my time on the sofa anyway, I’m happy to sleep there.” You nod cheerfully, hoping with all of your heart that she’ll not be too deterred by your excitement.

“Don’t be silly.” She smiles, lifting her hand to gently pet your hair, her fingernails grazing your scalp in a way that sends a tingle down your spine. “I’ll take your bed, but only if you’re in it as well. If that’s alright with you, of course. I just want to keep an eye on you.” She winks, and it’s that moment that you feel your soul leave your body. You choke on your own saliva, coughing a few times. You’ve been sitting so close to Lorraine today, that you shouldn’t feel so strange about sharing your bed with her, yet it brings a worried feeling to the pit of your stomach. When you explore that feeling more, you’ll find that it’s really excitement, and a desperation to sleep next to another body that you’d never knew you had.

“That’s fine by me…” You stutter, trying to hide the eager smile that’s threatening your lips. You chew on the insides of your cheeks, your hands finding their way to some fabric, not knowing if it’s the tablecloth or your shirt or maybe Lorraine’s skirt. Whatever it is, you grip it tightly, trying to force all of your delight on an object rather than voice it. “It’ll be good to share each other’s’ body heat… it gets so cold at night even without the snow…” Your voice is trembling a little, betraying how fast your heart is racing.

You’re ready for the sun to go down now.

But you still have a few hours of sunlight left, and Lorraine fills it with questions about your family history, about your experience with this malevolent being, and just about your daily life. She wonders what it is that you do for fun in such a small town, and you feel shy to admit that you rarely leave the house except to go to church. That leads her to talk about her own religion, and it’s so mystifying to hear her speak about her passion for Christ. She speaks in such a profound way, like she’s spent time as a pastor, though you’d never once met a female pastor. Lorraine is certainly a better speaker than all the old men that lead prayer at church and quote the same bible verses into monotony.

She proudly shows you the rosary around her neck, explaining the story behind it with the most adorable sparkle in her eyes. When you take the metal in your hands, wanting to share in her passion, it burns. Burns like you’ve just pressed your hand flat into the cooktop of an oven. You recoil in pain, but when Lorraine attends to your palm, there’s no sign of a burn.

“It… It stings.” You whine, looking down at your hand in disbelief. You’ve never felt such pain, and the fact that it’s not left a visible mark is messing with your head so much that your eyes begin to well with tears.

“I know it does, sweetheart. I know.” Lorraine hums, holding you tightly, lifting a thumb to wipe at your tears. “Ointment won’t help it, I’m afraid. It’s the spirit reacting through nerve induction. It will go away soon. I promise.” The demonologist quickly stuffs the rosary down the neck of her blouse, wanting to hide everything that causes you pain. Lorraine hates to see you in such a state, and though you don’t comprehend anything about this spirit, her brain is working overtime to plot a strategy to rid you of this beast.

You sit together for another half hour, Lorraine consoling the pain that has long since disappeared thanks to her sweet whispers and distracting stories. You nearly fall asleep on the sofa once again, and she can see it, so without having to ask, she takes you up the stairs and to your bedroom.

“I’ll just go down the hall to get myself ready for bed. I’ll be right back, I promise.” She hums, pressing an innocent kiss to your forehead before leaving the room. Watching her walk away from you shatters your heart into a million pieces, but you know she’ll come back through the doors quickly. You trust Lorraine’s promise.

I need to change before she gets back, you think, but your body simply won’t allow you to move.   You’re stuck to this bed, to this soft mattress that you once so adored, but now only fear for the horrible dreams it brings upon you.

You sit in this fear, for how long you’re not certain, before Lorraine returns. Her hair is combed through yet still has that lovely, silky wave to it, and she’s dressed in the prettiest white nightgown. She looks like an angel, in shiny white linen. She’s just missing the wings and halo. You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, seeing her in this state, a state which she’d probably only ever been seen in by her husband. You feel so scandalous, like you should avert your gaze, like God is going to find you sinful for looking at her like this, but your eyes are locked onto this heavenly body in front of you, and you can’t pull away.

“I’m sorry I���” You begin, hands gripping at your shirt, trying to indicate to her that you’re upset with yourself for not getting dressed in her absence.

Lorraine only tuts at you, placing down her bag before rounding to your side of the bed. She helps you stand, and begins through your closet, looking for a nightgown for you to wear. Much to her chagrin, however, all she can find is dirty jeans and some oversized t-shirts, which makes her feel pity towards you, but also causes a small giggle to escape her lips because she finds the clothing choices so adorably fitting for a young farm girl. She settles on the least stained of all of your shirts before returning to your side.

“May I?” Her voice is low, knowing that you’re the only person in the world that needs to hear her. When you nod, she pulls your blouse over your head, and she develops a blush of her own to find that you’re not wearing anything beneath it. You try to hide, snaking your hands around your chest, a new warmth between your legs as you realize that Lorraine’s hands are wandering over your body, the pads of her fingers lightly prodding your exposed skin.

“You sweet thing. You just need someone to love you.” Your savior hums, delicately examining all of the bruises that cover your skin. You’re not even sure where they all came from, just that they developed fast. A few concern you more than the others: the ones shaped like fingers and teeth marks. They never hurt at night, but the fear that strikes you every morning when you reveal a new marking in the mirror is something that you never want to feel again.

Lorraine presses another small kiss to a bruise on your shoulder before helping you pull the sleep shirt over your head. She reluctantly, yet with the complete confidence that she’s carried herself with all along, pulls down your pants in one swift motion. You’re back in bed before you know it, Lorraine tucking you in tightly and making sure you’re perfectly comfortable before taking her own place beside you.

Your brain is rushing, not with the demonic thoughts that you’ve had all this time, but with so many feelings that you never knew existed before meeting Lorraine. You feel horribly antsy, like you have enough energy to run laps around the house. You miss the tiredness that had been affecting you earlier this morning, it was going to be quite difficult to sleep tonight.

“I’m so very glad you came to help me.” You whisper, voice shaky with nerves as you turn on your side to face the woman who’s already turned towards you. You can feel how close your bodies are, yet they aren’t touching, and your brain is working overtime to decide if you should close that space between you.

Luckily, Lorraine is making all of your decisions for you.

You feel the soft skin of her legs first, when they wrap around yours, holding them still. Her right arm is next, draping over the curve in your waist so gently, yet she has the firmest grip on you, like she won’t let you leave even if you tried. You’d never try.

“I…” You start again, shifting even closer to Lorraine, placing your hand on her chest so you can feel her heartbeat. You pray she can’t feel yours, for its beating is so quick it’s probably quite dangerous, and you’ve already worried her enough. “Since you’ve been here, my brain has been so… still. So quiet.” That’s not entirely true, as the angelic woman in front of you has only replaced all of your thoughts, but it’s close enough. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She whispers back, voice so low and gravelly with her own sleep, so that you have to lean even further forward to hear her, and your noses nearly touch. “I haven’t done my job just yet.”

You tense, suddenly filled with worry about what will happen when Lorraine eventually does what she’s come here to do. If your still-burning pain from merely touching a symbol of the Lord is any indication, you’re in for a wellspring of hurt when you wake up in the morning.

As for now, though, you’re completely safe, protected by your guardian angel, and you can sleep soundly for the first time in far too long. You fall asleep under Lorraine’s grasp far quicker than you’d like, as you’d really prefer to stay awake and really cherish the soft circles she’s rubbing into your flesh, but your eyelids fall shut on their own accord.

Lorraine, however, stays up a bit later, watching your face for any sign of nightmares, wandering hands exploring your curves as if looking for clues, soothing you into the deepest sleep of your life.  

Lorriane wakes groggily, yawning while rubbing at her eyes with balled-up fists. She notices first that it’s still not light outside, that she still has time to sleep. Though she won’t, because a panic rips through the woman when she registers your absence. She shoots straight up out of bed, body moving to wrap herself in one of your mother’s old house coats faster than her brain can function. It’s on sheer instinct that Lorraine wraps the rosary around her hand and stuffs her small Bible into her pocket.

She races through the creaky old home, feet freezing against the hardwood floors that whine with each of her frantic steps. Lorraine shouts your name and is only met by her own voice echoing back at her. She searches each room of your house, her eyes still blurry from sleep. She whips open cupboards and is even sure to peek into your attic, which you haven’t so much as thought about since inheriting the home.

A worry is settled across Lorraine’s face when she makes it into your kitchen, but her expression turns to true fear when she sees that the lock on your back door has come undone, and the door isn’t settled into its place in its frame. She searches for any pair of shoes she can find and settles for a pair of boots that barely fit her feet, but their steel toes will at least protect her from the elements. She’s shivering, and her eyes are watering so much that the tears turn cold against her cheeks. The demonologist places a hand over her chest, gripping onto her rosary for a moment, bracing herself for the cold, before she slings the door open and steps out into the night.

The snowfall has picked up tenfold, and there’s now a little under a foot of snow packed onto the ground. Lorraine pulls the small cotton coat around herself tightly, her hair whipping wildly around her face as she blinks back tears, searching for any sign of life. When she looks down, there’s an obvious set of footprints: kicked-back snow heading in the direction of the old, forgotten barn.

Lorraine follows your shoeless prints, still screaming your name into the void of night, her voice strained and muffled in the silence that surrounds her. There isn’t even the typical wee-hour birdsong that too frequently keeps you awake. No cars on the road make their habitual noise, no cows bellowing from across the street. Only the exhausted screams of a woman so frightened for your survival.

When she arrives to the barn, finding safety from the wind in its high walls, feeling so close to dropping to her knees and praying that she had never fallen asleep in the first place, Lorraine spots you. A frail, half-naked body illuminated by one flickering, dangling light that allow the older woman’s eyes little vantage.

She’s filled with relief that she’s found you, but that relief only lasts less than a second before she’s filled with dread. Dread that something is horribly wrong. Dread because you’re dripping with a slick, dark, shimmering liquid.

Lorraine falls to her knees beside you, taking your near-lifeless face in her hands.

“What have you done to her?” She yells, voice harsh and gravelly. She’s speaking to your demon, to the thing that has taken control of your legs and marched you out to this barn, that has treated you like such an animal.

You’re barely conscious, losing the internal battle to keep control of your own mind. All you can do is lean your pained body into Lorraine, trying to give her some sort of message that you’re still there, that you’re still swimming in your own mind, trying to breach the surface.

The clairvoyant asses your injuries, wiping the tears at your eyes and her own. Thankfully, the only damage is done to your back, the lashes across your spine that fuel Lorraine with so much hatred. When your shaking hands lift the riding crop to lay even more agony against your tender flesh, Lorraine wrestles it out of your tight grip and throws it aside, far out of your reach.

“We have to do this now.” Lorraine’s voice is significantly kinder, her hands holding your head close to her chest. She sits in her own fear for a moment, building a strategy to get this thing out of you once and for all. She whispers a prayer, and the words hurt your head, fill your brain with a terrible, searing scream, but there’s simply nothing you can do to stop it. Your livelihood now rests at Lorraine Warren’s feet.

Lorraine stands, guides you upwards. She’s shellshocked by the fact that she’s about to take on a task that she had never solely performed before, and it’s caused her knees to walk unsteadily. She takes the housecoat off and guides it over your shoulders, face twinging as she lays it against the open wounds of your back, but she’d rather you feel pain for a small moment than have your delicate skin come into contact with the weather. The woman ties the coat tight before picking you up, carrying you back through the strong winds, shoes clumping down on the piling snow.

When she replaces the darkness of the sky with the darkness of your home, Lorraine places you down on the sofa where she had once sat with you. You sit in a crumpled state, arms limp, though they fight to wrap around your body, subconsciously seeking heat. You’re impossibly cold, and the longer your toes sit with minimal blood flow, the angrier your beast grows. Your shivering only grows worse when Lorraine throws open the French windows behind you, allowing the snow to come in through the screens and settle in your hair.

“I know it hurts.” She whispers, trying to find some sort of life behind your glassy eyes. Lorraine has forced herself into seriousness, closed her tear ducts and is carrying herself professionally. She knows that treating this with any level of emotional attachment could be suicide for the exorcism, and though the near love that she’s developed for you still lingers at the back of her brain, she has to silence it, she has to save your life before she can worry about you anymore.

Sniffing back the wetness that’s come from the cold air beating against her face, Lorraine finds the Bible still sitting in the pocket of the coat draped over your shoulders. She holds her left hand against your forehead, and the cross casts a warmth against your face that you lean back to fight against, though you’re not sure if it’s of your own action or that of something else.

Lorraine begins reciting a prayer in Latin, that you’d surely be swooning over had you been at all conscious. You’ve nearly lost your battle, your body completely limp against the pillows, as though you’ve lost all muscle mass in less than a minute. You’ve lost all awareness of the situation and now exist only in your own mind, trying your damnedest to regain control.

Each word Lorraine yells with a cracking voice causes a new pain to emerge somewhere within your body, and the pain consumes you so much that you fall over, landing in a fetal position against the cushions of the sofa. Lorraine’s hands want to reach out to soothe you, to press their warmth into your blue skin, to replace your pain with her loving touch, but she restrains herself. She knows that you must feel this pain, that it will drive the presence out of your body and back to the Hell that it emerged from.

“I need you to fight it.” Lorraine interrupts her own prayer to press her forehead against your own, fingers gripping your jaw like her life depends on it. “Don’t give in, don’t let it take you.” She calls, holding the weight of your head in her hands, feeling how much authority you’ve lost over your own body. “Please, fight. For me.”

You’ve already done your fighting. Though you’ve been so horribly affected by this presence in your home, disrupting your livelihood, your sleep, your will to live, there’s not really been anything impacting your will to live at all in years past. You’ve simply been existing in this plane, doing your chores and going to church, following your routines for no reason other than it’s what you’ve always done. Your routines that are so set in stone that it took a demonic presence to shake them up. But you’ve had no one to share your routine with, no one to cook for, no one to compliment how beautifully your flowers have grown. You’ve had no one to fight for.

Your life is not one worth fighting for.

Lorraine Warren, however, feels the opposite. The way she’s holding you so tightly, on her knees in front of you, begging you to stay alive… though you can’t see it, aren’t cognizant enough to hear her begging, you can feel it. There’s a warmth against your chest that’s keeping your heart beating, and a light behind your eyes that’s pushing you to keep going.

So you do. You do as Lorraine asks, and the last little bit of willpower you have musters up into your fingers, and you grab onto Lorraine’s shoulders with an anemic grasp, trying to pull her closer. You force your eyes open, though it’s so very painful due to the rosary still swinging in view, and look up at Lorraine’s worried features. More than anything, you’re filled with hatred that you’re the one to cause her this anguish, that she shouldn’t be so concerned over a life as meaningless as your own.

It's the most beautiful smile you’re met with that causes the final push, that forces your beast out of your mind and into the wind that’s still blowing melting snowflakes onto your already freezing body. A sudden relief fills your body, the power over your own actions that brings back the feeling in your muscles. You sit up, blinking slowly, reliving the past few minutes over and over as you regain a full level of awareness that you’d been left without for the past months.

Lorraine allows you your time to rejoin the living world, slamming shut the windows behind you and throwing several blankets over your freezing body. She drops back to her knees to assess you once more, seeing the color back in your eyes and the warmth rising back to your cheeks. She had seen you in such a terrifying, corpse-like state that she’d surely soon have nightmares about, so the fact that your eyes were finally locking onto her own was an answered prayer.

You eagerly wrapped both arms around the woman’s neck, holding her as close as you can, thanking her over and over again, until the stinging on your back takes the brunt of your attention.

“Don’t thank me. It was all your own work.” She hums, trying to find anywhere she can hold you without wrapping her arms around your back. Lorraine then stands, settling on petting your hair, looking around for any other sources of heat that she may impress upon you. “Do you have any fire woo—”

She’s cut off by the swift action of your standing up, an action that she would surely advise against had she had the option to. But her lips are unable to protest, because they’re met by your own. You’re shocked by your own straightforwardness, and though the fear that she’ll run away and call you a freak is very prominent in your mind, you feel so swept up in thankfulness to this woman, so swept up in love, that the only thing you feel like doing is kissing her.

You internally thank God that she’s not pushed you off, and instead, once the initial shock wears off, Lorraine’s hands are gripping your cheeks and are tugging you forward into her. Though you’re near hypothermic, the warmth that radiates through you when you wrap your arms around Lorraine Warren’s waist is something truly heavenly. You can feel the ice melting away from your fingers and toes, even though you still stand within a house that’s currently running below freezing.

You try to stay attached to Lorraine’s lips for as long as you can, as long as she’ll allow, and as desperately as you both are to stay in this state, Lorraine’s overall concern for your health reigns supreme, and she pulls away to once again ask her question. You giggle softly, hiding your face against her chest, hoping she hasn’t seen how overjoyed your smile is. Though if you were to pick up your head, you’d see that she dons a similar expression.

You direct Lorraine to a closet, and she returns to build a fire. She sits you down right in front of it, and for the first time in far too many days, you feel warmth against your face. You’re not too sure just which direction that warmth is coming from, whether it’s from the fire or the woman sitting next to you, carefully washing the horrible scratches along your spine, but you feel a warmth unlike anything you’ve ever felt in all of your years of living. A warmth you never want to go away.

[redlegumes]

Written for @eddiemunsonbingo

Square: C1 Slow Burn

Title: Slow Burn

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 329 (The art is the submission)

Ship(s): Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington, Steddie

Major Tags: Love Confession, Song Lyrics, Rockstar Eddie Munson

Summary: Art submission for Eddie Munson Bingo with a little ficlet for context. Eddie Munson performs a song for his secret love on Saturday Night Live wearing nothing but his guitar and combat boots.

Link: AO3

So instead of Kacey Musgraves, Eddie (with Corroded Coffin, new band, or solo - whichever) is the first person on Saturday Night Live to perform completely nude (apart from the boots).

~Ficlet below the cut~

No one is surprised that Eddie would pull something so risqué. After a few underwear trial runs, everyone concedes that the guitar covers more of his body than expected. More than at least one of the suggested alternative outfits for his SNL spot.

However people are surprised, that while Eddie's first performance in the show was of his latest single with his traditional electric guitar and blaring vocals, the nude performance isn't just physically 'stripped down.'

He's chosen to play an older single on his acoustic he's used since high school to write songs on. It's considered even odder that the song he's playing is one he did live three years ago, the last time he was on SNL.

All the 'creatives' agree that the number works. The shock of the tonal shift in Eddie's proposed pitch sells the executives as something marketable. Whispers of it definitely likely to 'go viral' get the whole thing approved.

'Slow Burn' did well on the charts, but this version... without the drums and the electric guitar the song sounds so much more personal, vulnerable. It's much clearer that it's a love song. Eddie even dropped the tempo down. The whole thing is downright romantic. There'd been a long rumored 'muse' for Eddie Munson, and all week the cast speculated who it could be; who made the famously wild, controversial, and tatted musician sing like that?

Saturday night finally comes, and Eddie plays the song with 'bisexual lighting' that eventually becomes redder and redder. At the same time, burning fire graphics grow visually stronger, displayed behind him.

When it ends he looks out into the audience and says, "Steve, you gotta know by now that I wrote this for you. I wanted the world to know I've loved every second of our slow burn."

The camera pans up to a handsome man in the gallery, light sparkling in teary eyes, his hand gripping the fabric of his shirt over his heart.

[lunapaper]

Album Review: 'Country Curious' EP - Lola Kirke

Pop has never been more country, and country has never been more pop.   

Names like Kacey Musgraves, Maren Morris, Kelsea Ballerini and Morgan Wallen (controversies aside) have well and truly embedded themselves in the mainstream. And, of course, there’s Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter, which, despite all the country imagery and distinct country twang, is not a country album, according to the singer.  

Country Curious, by singer/actress Lola Kirke, however, is a country album (or EP, to be specific). It’s right there in the title. Her cowgirl journey started long ago: Born in London, raised in New York and moving to Nashville in the middle of a pandemic, developing a love for Tanya Tucker, The Judds and Rosanne Cash's Seven Year Ache along the way. Her second album, Lady for Sale, was even released through Jack White's Third Man Records.  

She chronicles this full-on transformation on the EP's first single, 'He Says Y'all,' a feminist take on 'bro-country' delivered with tongue firmly in cheek. Like 2022's Lady for Sale, Kirke turns the campy goodness up to 11 with a rollicking honky tonk groove, ready to move down South and start teasing her hair for a dirty man with a cowboy drawl. I bet she thinks his tractor's sexy, too!  

The smoky slow burn of 'All My Exes Live in LA' (featuring Swedish sister duo and fellow lovers of Americana, First Aid Kit) is also fun, flirty and feminist, referencing George Strait as she leaves the freeway littered with broken hearts, heading 'For the mountains or the desert or my mama's or anywhere else.'  

‘My House,’ meanwhile, serves absolute cunt when it comes to the traditional country ballad. Instead of begging for her man to come back home, she’s kicking him out and reclaiming her space, singing ''Cause I never have to worry about if you'll come home/I'm not crying over you, now I'm better off alone' with a big damn smile on her faceas she dances around her house while chugging a beer at 10am.  

Ending the EP is the slow winding ‘Karma,’ featuring the aforementioned Rosanne Cash. Dedicated to a lying, cheating douche bro with the big important job, it's a perfect mix of contemporary country and rugged 70s nostalgia, featuring sublime harmonies that just beautifully melt into one another and lyrics that give Taylor's own 'Karma' a serious run for their money ('She never quits/Or forgets/I don't mess with karma/But I sure love that bitch').  

Lola Kirke is more than just a little curious about country music. Where Lady for Sale saw her give it a bright, kitschy 80s glow, this EP sees her lean all the way in, with a lot of its blues and roots influence able to be attributed to producer and lifelong friend, Elle King. 

It’s masterfully constructed and cleverly written, more so than Lady for Sale at times. It should earn Kirke some kind of acclaim as Musgraves or Ballerini or Morris, just like Lady for Sale should’ve had the singer/actress occupying the same space as Rina and Carly Rae: Cult pop girlies who deliver on the niche camp in spades. 

This imbalance hasn’t gone unnoticed by Kirke noting the ‘mediocre’ 6.4 review Lady for Sale received from Pitchfork (which, coming from those guys, is laughable) in a recent interview with the official Grammys website, along with her dissatisfaction with Hollywood and the lack of decent roles (While I’m at it, Mozart in the Jungle deserved so much better, fuck Amazon for cancelling it so they could fund their stupid Lord of the Rings spinoff series). 

Nonetheless, Country Curious proves that heartbreak can be rather empowering and even funny sometimes. Kirke manages to pull off the impossible, balancing humour and heart in a country song without sounding too cartoonish or cynical. She just sounds like she’s having a blast, at this point making way better country bops than the bros... 

[udo0stories]

Introduction Meet Kacey Musgraves, a country music sensation who has captivated audiences worldwide with her authentic lyrics and bold style. Her unique blend of country, folk, and pop has set her apart in the music industry, earning her a dedicated fan base and critical acclaim. A Historic Grammy Triumph Kacey’s journey to stardom reached a significant milestone with her historic Grammy win. This achievement wasn’t just a personal victory for Kacey; it was a testament to her musical prowess and innovative approach to country music. The Grammy win catapulted Kacey into the global spotlight, cementing her status as a force to be reckoned with in the music industry. The Birth of ‘Deeper Well’ ‘Deeper Well’ is Kacey’s sixth studio album, a project that reflects her personal growth and evolution as an artist. The album was born out of Kacey’s experiences and introspections, resulting in a collection of songs that resonate with listeners on a deep, emotional level. Each track on ‘Deeper Well’ is a testament to Kacey’s songwriting skills, showcasing her ability to craft lyrics that are both personal and universal. The Power of ‘Deeper Well’ ‘Deeper Well’ has made a significant impact on listeners worldwide, thanks to its relatable themes and powerful messages. The album explores a range of emotions and experiences, from love and loss to self-discovery and personal growth. Standout songs like the title track ‘Deeper Well’ and ‘Too Good to Be True’ have struck a chord with listeners, further solidifying Kacey’s status as a leading voice in country music. Kacey’s Evolution From her early days in Nashville to her current success as a Grammy-winning artist, Kacey’s career trajectory is a story of perseverance, creativity, and passion. Her evolution as an artist is as inspiring as it is impressive, marked by a constant drive to push boundaries and redefine the country music genre. The Deeper Well World Tour To bring ‘Deeper Well’ to fans worldwide, Kacey embarked on the Deeper Well World Tour. The tour was a celebration of music, connection, and storytelling, offering fans a chance to experience ‘Deeper Well’ live. From intimate venues to large arenas, the Deeper Well World Tour was a testament to Kacey’s ability to captivate audiences with her music and stage presence. Kacey Musgraves Top 10 Music Kacey Musgraves has released a number of popular songs throughout her career. Here are some of her most well-known tracks: “Follow Your Arrow”: An upbeat country song that encourages listeners to take risks and live life on their own terms. “Rainbow”: An uplifting ballad from her 2018 album, Golden Hour, that speaks to the power of hope and resilience. “Butterflies”: An upbeat, country-pop anthem that focuses on the idea of finding strength and resilience in the face of life’s challenges. “Merry Go ‘Round”: A mid-tempo country-folk ballad featuring acoustic guitar, piano, and a string section. “Good Ol’ Boys Club”: A song with a great deal of mystery in its implications. “Dandelion”: A traditionally-minded number that compared her crying reaction to the wildflower as the same emotion that happens when she thinks about her lost love. “Cup of Tea”: A song about how your life and your actions are not always going to be well-received by everybody. “Biscuits”: A song very similar to “Follow Your Arrow”, it’s about charting your own course in life. “This Town”: A song about the cyclical nature of life’s ups and downs. “High Horse”: A country meets disco song from her album, Golden Hour. Conclusion: The Future of Kacey Musgraves As Kacey Musgraves continues to make her mark on the music industry, fans eagerly anticipate what’s next for this talented artist. With her unique voice, authentic lyrics, and innovative approach to country music, the future looks bright for Kacey Musgraves. As we look forward to her next chapter, one thing is certain: Kacey Musgraves will continue to captivate audiences with her music for years to come.

LEARN MORE ABOUT IObit [web_stories_embed url="https://stories.udo0.com/web-stories/kacey-musgraves-deeper-well/" title="Kacey Musgraves: The Captivating Story Behind Her Historic Grammy Triumph and ‘Deeper Well’" poster="https://stories.udo0.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/cropped-cole-schafer-and-kacey-musgraves-attend-the-2022-met-gala-news-photo-1673207494.jpg" width="360" height="600" align="none"]

[waterlight]

2nd House signs as AOTY winners

Disclaimer:

Aquarius 2nd House isn't in this list because no band or artist with this placement has won it, at least for the people we know about the birth time.

Do you want to win an AOTY? Have a Scorpio 2nd House.

Some AOTY winners won't be present because we don't know their birth time

When you read 'ruled by', it means the 2nd House is ruled by that planet.

Aries 2nd House

The Beatles (ruled by Gemini Mars in the 4th House): they won it for Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (1968), it was associated with numerous touchstones of the era's youth culture, such as fashion, drugs, mysticism, and a sense of optimism and empowerment.

Michael Jackson (ruled by Taurus Mars in the 2nd House): he won it for Thriller (1984), itforeshadows the contradictory themes of Jackson's personal life, as he began using a motif of paranoia and darker themes. It is the best-selling album of all time, with sales of 70 million copies worldwide.

Whitney Houston (ruled by Libra Mars in the 7th House): she won it for The Bodyguard Soundtrack (1994), the album gave Houston the distinction of having the most weeks at number one by a female artist on Billboard 200, holding that record for 19 years until being surpassed by Adele's album 21 (2011).

Billie Eilish (ruled by Pisces Mars in the 12th House): she won it for When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? (2020), its songs explore themes such as modern youth, drug addiction, heartbreak, suicide, and mental health, with lyrical sensibilities of humor and horror. Eilish said the album was inspired in part by lucid dreaming and night terrors, which are reflected on the cover photo.

Others: Herbie Hancock (ruled by Gemini Mars in the 3rd House; with Jupiter, Sun, Saturn and Uranus): The Joni Letters (2008). Bruno Mars (ruled by Virgo Mars in the 7th House): 24k Magic (2018)

Taurus 2nd House

Barbra Streisand (ruled by Venus Pisces in the 12th House; with Saturn and Uranus): she won it for The Barbra Streisand Album (1964); Streisand said about the title, "'What is the truth of it? It's the Barbra Streisand album.' If you saw me on TV, you could just go [to the record shop] and ask for the Barbra Streisand album. It's common sense."

Beck (ruled by Leo Venus in the 6th House; with Saturn): he won it for Morning Phase (2015).

Others: John Lennon (ruled by Virgo Venus in the 6th House): Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (1968, with The Beatles), Double Fantasy (1982, with Yoko Ono).

Gemini 2nd House

Bonnie Raitt (ruled by Scorpio Mercury in the 7th House; with Moon): she won it for Nick of Time (1990), many of the songs deal with personal issues Raitt was struggling with at the time. For example, the album's title track is about coming to terms with middle age.

Kacey Musgraves (ruled by Virgo Mercury in the 5th House): she won it for Golden Hour (2019), it's a country pop record, it also contains elements of disco, electropop, electronica, and yacht rock.

Cancer 2nd House

Judy Garland (ruled by Sagittarius Moon in the 6th House; with Neptune): the first woman to win AOTY, she won it for Judy at Carnegie Hall (1962), a live recording of a concert of hers in New York.

Adele (ruled by Sagittarius Moon in the 6th House): she won it for 21 (2012), composed in the aftermath of the singer's separation from her then partner, the album explores themes of heartbreak, healing, introspection, and forgiveness; and 25 (2017), its lyrical content features themes of Adele "yearning for her old self, her nostalgia", and "melancholia about the passage of time" according to an interview with the singer by Rolling Stone, as well as themes of motherhood, new love, and regret.

Leo 2nd House

Henry Mancini (ruled by Aries Sun in the 10th house; with North Node and Neptune): the first AOTY winner, he won it for The Music from Peter Gunn (1959), a soundtrack album for the TV series Peter Gunn.

João Gilberto (ruled by Gemini Sun in the 12th house; with Mars and Neptune): he won it together with Stan Getz for the album 'Getz/Gilberto" (1965), it's considered the record that popularized bossa nova worldwide and is one of the best-selling jazz albums of all time, selling over one million copies.

George Michael (ruled by Cancer Sun in the 12th House; with Moon): he won it for Faith (1989), in addition to playing various instruments on the album, Michael wrote and produced every track on the recording except for one, "Look at Your Hands". Faith's songs include introspective lyrics, which generated controversies about Michael's personal relationships at that time.

Alanis Morissette (ruled by Gemini Sun in the 11th House): she won it for Jagged Little Pill (1996). The lyrics touch upon themes of aggression and unsuccessful relationships, while Ballard introduced a pop sensibility to Morissette's angst.

Others: Billy Joel (ruled by Taurus Sun in the 11th House; with Pluto): 52nd Street (1980). Celine Dion (ruled by Aries Sun in the 9th House; with Jupiter [R]): Falling into You (1997)

Virgo 2nd House

Natalie Cole (ruled by Capricorn Mercury in the 5th House; with Mars, Moon and Neptune [R]): she won it for Unforgettable... with Love (1992), the album includes covers of standards previously performed by her father, Nat King Cole. She became the first African-American woman to win the award.

Lauryn Hill (ruled by Gemini Mercury in the 10th House; with Pluto [R]): she won it for The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (1999), it is a neo-soul and R&B album with some songs based in hip hop soul and reggae. Its lyrics touch upon Hill's pregnancy and the turmoil within her former group the Fugees, along with themes of love and God. In 2000, the band Santana wins AOTY for Supernatural, Lauryn is credited as producer.

Other: Art Garfunkel (ruled by Libra Mercury in the 3rd House; with Neptune and North Node): Bridge Over Troubled Water (1971, with Paul Simon).

Libra 2nd House

Paul Simon (ruled by Sagittarius Venus in the 4th House; with Sun): he won it in 1971 for Bridge over Troubled Water together with Art Garfunkel; in 1976 with Still Crazy After All These Times; in 1987 for Graceland, it features an eclectic mixture of genres, including pop, rock, a cappella, zydeco, isicathamiya and mbaqanga. Simon wrote songs inspired by the recordings made in Johannesburg, collaborating with African and American artists. He received criticism for breaking the cultural boycott of South Africa because of its policy of apartheid.

Scorpio 2nd House

Frank Sinatra (ruled by Leo Mars in the 10th house; with Mercury and Sun): he won it for Come Dance With Me! (1959), September Of My Years (1966) whose theme is exlopiring the "who am I" questions that a man faces upon entering the middle age, A Man and His Music (1967) which provides a retrospective of his musical career.

Bob Newhart (ruled by Libra Mars in the 12th house; with Saturn): he won it for The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart (1961), the first comedy album to win AOTY.

Stevie Wonder (ruled by Virgo Mars in the 12th House): he won it for Innervisions (1974), the album has been regarded as his transition from the "Little Stevie Wonder" known for romantic ballads into a more musically mature, conscious, and grown-up artist; Fulfillingness' First Finale (1975); Songs in the Key of Life (1977), widely regarded as his magnum opus and one of the greatest albums in the history of recorded music, many musicians have remarked on the quality of the album and its influence on their own work.

Eric Clapton (ruled by Pisces Mars in the 4th House): in addiction to his award for the Concert for Bangladesh credited to George Harrison & Friends, he won it for Unplugged (1993).

Quincy Jones (ruled by Virgo Mars in the 11th House): in addiction for his AOTY for Thriller which he produced, he won it for Back on the Block which features legendary musicians and singers from across three generations.

Yoko Ono (ruled by Virgo Mars [R] in the 12th House): she won it together with John Lennon for the record 'Double Fantasy', upon its release, the album stalled on music charts and received largely negative reviews from music critics, with many focusing on the album's idealisation of Lennon and Ono's marriage. However, following Lennon's murder three weeks after its release, it became a worldwide commercial success.

Harry Styles (ruled by Aquarius Mars in the 3rd House; with Pluto and North Node): he won it for Harry's House (2023)

Others: Carole King (ruled by Taurus Mars in the 7th House; with Moon): Tapestry (1972). Phil Collins (ruled by Pisces Mars in the 4th House): No Jacket Required (1986).

Sagittarius 2nd House

George Harrison (ruled by Cancer Jupiter [R] in the 9th house): in addition to his award with the Beatles, he won an AOTY in 1973 with The Concert for Bangladesh credited to 'George Harrison & Friends'. The shows were a pioneering charity event, in aid of the homeless Bengali refugees of the Bangladesh Liberation War, and set the model for future multi-artist rock benefits such as Live Aid (1985) and the Concert for New York City (2001).

Other: Glen Campbell (ruled by Sagittarius Jupiter [R] in the 2nd House with North Node): By the Time I Get To Phoenix (1969).

Capricorn 2nd House

Bob Dylan (ruled by Taurus Saturn in the 5th House; with Mars): in addiction to his award for The Concert for Bangla Desh (1973) credited to George Harrison & Friends, he won AOTY for Time Out of Mind (1998). For many fans and critics, the album marked Dylan's artistic comeback after he appeared to struggle with his musical identity throughout the 1980s.

Other: Robert Plant (ruled by Leo Saturn in the 9th House): Raising Sand (2009, Alison Krauss)

Pisces 2nd House

Christopher Cross (ruled by Aries Jupiter in the 2nd House with North Node and Moon): he won it for his self-titled album Christopher Cross (1981).

Other: Alison Krauss (ruled by Scorpio Jupiter in the 10th House): Raising Sand (2009, Robert Plant).

[darknessontheedgeoftowndyke]

Thank u @stewyonmolly for the tag this was so fun (and tricky lol)

Interview music tag game

RULES: Put your playlist on shuffle. For each of the 10 interview questions, select a lyric from the random song that comes up. (Skip if there aren’t any lyrics and make sure to drop the name of the song in your interview answer!) xx

1. How would you describe your life in one sentence?

‘I know whatever happens to me, I know it’s for the better’ - phoebe bridgers, waiting room

2. what kind of (Pisces) are you?

‘Your face is all that I see, I’ll give you everything’ - beyoncé, XO

3. You’re visiting your favourite spot, what are you thinking about?

‘Don’t shut your eyes until we fade to black/cause maybe this time the good stuff could last’ - the wombats, cheetah tongue

4. If your life was a movie, what do you think the first review would say about it?

‘Sunsets fade, and love does too.’ - kacey musgraves, space cowboy

5. What would you title your memoir?

‘It hurts!’ - bad bad hats, it hurts

6. What would you say about your best friends?

‘Take my hand and let it go, you can call me up anytime’ - orville peck, c’mon baby, cry

7. What was your life motto as a teenager?

‘I can’t see much of a future, unless we find out what’s to blame, what a shame’ - the buzzcocks, ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn’t’ve fallen in love with’

8. Describe your aesthetic now

‘As I walk, aimless in the night, I will be washed away’ - emily jane white, washed away

9. What lyric will they quote in your eulogy?

I’m sorry I cheated and skipped for this one because it was fucking Eenie Meenie by Justin Bieber and I’m not having that quoted for my eulogy even hypothetically.

‘I know it’s over, Icarus says, to the sun/but didn’t we have fun?’ - coldplay, fun

10. Say you believe in soulmates, what do you think their first impression of you will be?

‘Since I met you I’ve been crazy, since I’ve been with you I’ve been lost’ - the pretty reckless, follow me down

tagging @hiriahb @alltimefade @imeminemp3 @teabookgremlin @yourtransexualheart @trans-simonandgarfunkel

No pressure to do this omg you guys were just the first I thought of xxx

[rebel-spacecadet]

fanmix yourself challenge >> by sarah & meghan

What I Want by Gregor McMurray a song you’d kick ass to during the apocalypse

Don't Forget Me by Maggie Roggers a song you heard live

Close to You by Gracie Abrams a song that reminds you of your favorite fictional character

Good Luck, Babe! by Chapell Roan a song that would have been your high school anthem

Sinner by The Last Dinner Party a song that reminds you of your best friend

End of Beginning by Djo a song that would play in the movie trailer of your life

Out of Oklahoma by Lainey Wilson a song that reminds you of somewhere

Taking Things for Granted by Joy Oladokun a favorite song from the last year

The Black Dog by Taylor Swift a song with a color in the title

I Know a Place by MUNA a song that would be your own country’s national anthem

Juno by Sabrina Carpenter a song by an artist you’re not-so-secretly crushing on

Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat by Del Water Gap a song that reminds you of your favorite season

I Hate it Here by Taylor Swift a song you play when you need to go on a crying jag

Guess by Charlie xcx ft. Billie Eilish a song you’d like to kiss to

The Architect by Kacey Musgraves a song with lyrics you’d like to tattoo on yourself

{playlist here}

[newmusicradionetwork]

Susannah B Brings Her Soulful Songs Alive With Longtime Members of Alanis Morisette’s Band

From gracing off-Broadway stages and captivating audiences at pop and jazz clubs in her native Manhattan and Los Angeles to releasing critically acclaimed independent jazz and pop albums, Susannah B has enjoyed an impactful, genre-defying career. On her latest album, the perfectly titled POV, the veteran singer/songwriter offers fresh perspectives on some of her favorite previously recorded original songs, including the recently released lead singles “Talkin’ to Myself,” “Be All Right,” “I Got Lucky” and “Secrets & Lies.” Susannah complements those stirring originals with a beautiful re-imagining of Billy Joel’s “Vienna” and a soulful, contemporary take on “It’s Alright to Cry” – a heartfelt song her mother, renowned Broadway composer/lyricist Carol Hall, wrote for Free to Be…You and Me, the 70’s  children’s album and Emmy-award winning TV special created by actress and author Marlo Thomas. Hall was best known for composing music and lyrics for the iconic Broadway musical The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.   “It’s Alright to Cry” is set for release July 31 –  before the highly anticipated drop of POV September 8. POV will also include a mystical pop version of the final single, “My Time Now,” whose lyrics freshly resonate from the perspective of a mother with grown children. “I called the album POV because I’m now openly celebrating my age, feeling blessed to stand in solidarity with other late bloomers and to have enjoyed such a diverse career, with time off in between phases to become a devoted mom,” says Susannah, who launched her recording career in the 2000s with Happy Today (2003) and Let’s Pretend (2008). “As we age, we have different ways of looking at things, and a song can mean something very different at various points in the journey. The concept of POV also refers to the way different people can experience the same thing, but their individual points of view cause them to have different reactions to the shared experience. That fascinates me, and I spend a lot of time thinking about how I consciously choose to see the world. I think many of humanity’s problems would improve if we simply considered other people’s POVs and didn’t expect everyone to see things the same way we do.” POV is produced by Susannah and keyboardist Michael Farrell, best known for his work with Alanis Morrisette, and Macy Gray. The other band members are also veteran touring musicians with Morissette, including drummer Victor Indrizzo (whose resume includes Avril Lavigne and Brandi Carlile), upright and electric bassist Sean Hurley, guitarist David Levita (Faith Hill & Tim McGraw) and saxophonist Sal Lozano. The bands’ other collective credits include Beck, Colbie Caillat, Kacey Musgraves, Sara Bareilles, Lana Del Ray, Shakira and Eminem. Read the full article

[pusha-t2024]

Songs About Cups

If you've never thought about cups as a source of musical inspiration, you're in for a delightful surprise. Cups have found their way into the lyrics and titles of numerous songs across various genres, each bringing a unique story and emotion. In this post, we're exploring the Best Rated Songs About Cups that have captured the hearts of music lovers around the world. From country anthems to pop hits, these tunes make you appreciate the humble cup in a whole new way.

1. “Red Solo Cup” by Toby Keith (2011)

About This Song:

Album: Clancy's Tavern

Released: 2011

Artist: Toby Keith

Genre: Country

Key Lyric: "Red Solo cup, I fill you up, let's have a party."

Toby Keith's "Red Solo Cup" became an instant party anthem upon its release in 2011.

The song celebrates the ubiquitous red plastic cup, a staple at American parties and tailgates.

Keith's lighthearted lyrics and catchy tune make it a fan-favorite, often played at social gatherings.

Interestingly, the song’s simplicity and relatable content contributed to its commercial success.

Keith himself has mentioned that the song was meant to be fun and not taken too seriously.

2. “Cup of Loneliness” by George Jones (1957)

About This Song:

Album: George Jones Singing 14 Top Country Song Favorites

Released: 1957

Artist: George Jones

Genre: Country

Key Lyric: "All my friends 'tis bitter sweet while here on earth we stopped."

George Jones' "Cup of Loneliness" is a heartfelt country ballad released in 1957.

The song reflects on themes of sorrow and redemption, resonating deeply with its listeners.

Jones' rich, emotive voice adds depth to the song’s poignant lyrics.

Written during a time of personal struggles, the song captures Jones' emotional state.

It remains a classic in the country music genre, celebrated for its raw honesty and soulful delivery.

3. “Sippy Cup” by Melanie Martinez (2015)

About This Song:

Album: Cry Baby

Released: 2015

Artist: Melanie Martinez

Genre: Alternative/Indie Pop

Key Lyric: "Syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup."

"Sippy Cup" by Melanie Martinez is a dark, alternative pop track from her debut album 'Cry Baby'.

The song deals with heavy themes like parental negligence and substance abuse.

Martinez's haunting vocals and eerie instrumentals create a chilling atmosphere.

Released in 2015, the song quickly gained attention for its bold storytelling.

Martinez has said the song is a commentary on masking deeper issues with superficial fixes.

4. “Cup of Coffee” by Johnny Cash (1966)

About This Song:

Album: Everybody Loves a Nut

Released: 1966

Artist: Johnny Cash

Genre: Country

Key Lyric: "Dropped in to have a cup of coffee friend."

Johnny Cash's "Cup of Coffee" features on his 1966 album 'Happiness Is You'.

This melancholic track talks about the end of a relationship, symbolized by a cup of coffee.

Cash's deep, resonant voice brings a somber tone to the song’s narrative.

Written during a turbulent time in Cash's personal life, the song is imbued with genuine emotion.

Its straightforward yet compelling lyrics make it a timeless piece in Cash's discography.

5. “One More Cup of Coffee” by Bob Dylan (1976)

About This Song:

Album: Desire

Released: 1976

Artist: Bob Dylan

Genre: Folk Rock

Key Lyric: "One more cup of coffee for the road."

Bob Dylan’s "One More Cup of Coffee" is a standout track from his 1976 album 'Desire'.

The song blends folk and rock elements to create a haunting melody.

Dylan's lyrics tell the story of a farewell, steeped in a sense of longing and finality.

The song was written during a trip to the French Quarter of New Orleans, adding a mystical vibe.

The evocative imagery and Gypsy-inspired sound make it a memorable piece in Dylan's catalog.

6. “Cup of Tea” by Kacey Musgraves (2015)

About This Song:

Album: Pageant Material

Released: 2015

Artist: Kacey Musgraves

Genre: Country

Key Lyric: "You can't be everybody's cup of tea."

Kacey Musgraves' "Cup of Tea" is a charming track from her 2015 album 'Pageant Material'.

The song promotes self-acceptance with its catchy refrain, “You can’t be everybody’s cup of tea”.

Musgraves' witty lyrics and soothing voice make the song both relatable and uplifting.

It was written as a reminder to stay true to oneself despite others' opinions.

The song's lighthearted approach to a universal message resonates with many listeners.

7. “A Cup of Coffee” by Katy Perry (2008)

About This Song:

Album: One of the Boys

Released: 2008

Artist: Katy Perry

Genre: Pop

Key Lyric: "Cup of coffee and an overdose."

"A Cup of Coffee" is an unreleased gem by pop sensation Katy Perry, recorded in 2008.

The song explores the simplicity of spending time with someone over a cup of coffee.

Perry's playful and flirty lyrics set a relaxed, intimate tone.

Although it didn’t make it to any of her albums, the song is cherished by her fans.

It showcases Perry’s knack for turning everyday moments into catchy pop melodies.

8. “Bring Me Your Cup” by UB40 (1993)

About This Song:

Album: Promises and Lies

Released: 1993

Artist: UB40

Genre: Reggae

Key Lyric: "I've got the bottle, bring me your cup."

UB40's "Bring Me Your Cup" is a reggae classic from their 1993 album 'Promises and Lies'.

The song is about seeking solace and comfort, metaphorically represented by a cup.

UB40's smooth rhythms and soulful vocals make it a relaxing listen.

The song was released at a peak period for the band, adding to its popularity.

Its easy-going vibe and relatable lyrics have made it a fan-favorite over the years.

9. “Cups” (“When I’m Gone”) by Anna Kendrick (2013)

About This Song:

Album (soundtrack): Pitch Perfect

Released: 2013

Artist: Anna Kendrick

Genre: Pop

Key Lyric: "You're gonna miss me when I'm gone."

"Cups (When I’m Gone)" by Anna Kendrick became a viral sensation after appearing in the movie 'Pitch Perfect' in 2013.

The song features Kendrick performing a rhythmic cup-tapping routine.

Its catchy melody and unique beat made it an instant hit on social media.

Originally a folk song, Kendrick's version brought it mainstream popularity.

The song’s success was unexpected but welcomed, cementing its place in pop culture.

10. “Cup of Coffee” by Garbage (2001)

About This Song:

Album: Beautiful Garbage

Released: 2001

Artist: Garbage

Genre: Alternative Rock

Key Lyric: "You tell me you don't love me over a cup of coffee"

Garbage's "Cup of Coffee" is a poignant track from their 2001 album 'Beautiful Garbage'.

The song deals with themes of heartbreak and closure, marked by a conversation over coffee.

Shirley Manson’s emotive vocals add depth to the song's somber lyrics.

Released during a time of musical experimentation for the band, it stood out for its emotional rawness.

The song’s haunting melody and relatable theme make it a standout track.

Conclusion

From reflective ballads to upbeat anthems, these songs about cups offer something for every music lover. Whether you’re in the mood for a heartfelt country tune or a pop sensation, there’s a song on this list that will resonate with you. Next time you pour yourself a cup of coffee or grab a Solo cup at a party, remember these tracks and the stories they tell. Enjoy exploring these musical gems and perhaps, you’ll find a new favorite to add to your playlist. Happy listening!

[hijinks-n-lowjinks]

Hi 6, 18, 34, and 39 for the writer ask! :)

Thanks for the ask!!! These are all great questions~

6. Vaguely spoil one of your fics without telling us which one it is

No kiss until the last chapter, but it's good.

18. What trope have you not written yet, but want to?

Friends with benefits. I'd love to write a fic like that but idk what ship I'd write for....

34. What title do you want to use, but can't figure out a story to fit?

Oooooooo this is such a cool question! I'd love to use lyrics from a Kacey Musgraves song for a post-canon itafushi fic... Probably from "Dinner With Friends" or "Nothing To Be Scared Of".

But I'm also really debating on what to title my vampire au itafushi fic!!!! I gained most of my inspiration from Halsey's Badlands album, specifically from "Gasoline", and I'm not sure if I should keep it simple and title it Gasoline or use the lyrics my heart is gold, but my hands are cold.... I'd love input lol.

39. Pick one of your fics and share an image to go with it. (Unsplash is a good source)

Idk the artist (if you know, please lmk so I can give them rpoper credit) but this pic IMMEDIATELY made me think of my vamp au. Technically not a published fic yet but I am currently planning and have written a little bit so I'm gonna say it counts.

[thisaintascenereviews]

Sam Barber - Million Eyes

The rise of Zach Bryan within the last few years, especially last year, means that we’re starting to see some clones pop up on other record labels. I’m sure every other label saw Warner making a lot of money with Bryan, namely “I Remember Everything” with Kacey Musgraves going to number one and staying in the top ten for a long time, and got money signs in their eyes. We’ve gotten a few artists in this vein that have kind of popped up, but they haven’t gotten the same level of success (at least not yet). The two artists that I’ve seen mainly are Dylan Gossett and Sam Barber.

I’ve been hesitant on listening to them, simply for the fact that they’re kind of just Zach Bryan clones. If you know me, you know I love Zach Bryan and his last album was one of my top favorites of last year. It’s inevitable that we’re going to get artists that sound like popular ones, essentially to capitalize on a certain trend or something that’s popular. Whether they’re good or not is the real question, and while I really like Dylan Gossett, I’m going to focus on Sam Barber here, because I don’t know how to feel about his stuff. I’ve enjoyed a few songs he’s put out, such as “Straight And Narrow,” but I wasn’t sure how an EP or album would fair.

As for right now, we do have an EP that he put out last year, entitled Million Eyes, and despite only listening to it now, I wanted to talk about it because I’ve been in the mood for some country and Americana. I just haven’t found a whole lot that’s new I’ve wanted to get into, minus the new Dustin Kensrue and Oliver Anthony albums, so I’ve spent some time looking for some country, folk, and Americana albums I missed last year. Barber’s an artist that’s been on the rise for the last couple years, so I thought now would be as good of a time as any to dive into Million Eyes.

It’s weird, because I don’t quite know how I feel about this album. Sam Barber is a good artist, all things considered, but I feel as though a few things hold him back from being truly great. I will say that he’s only 20, so I shouldn’t be too harsh, as he’s got time to grow, but there are some issues I have with not only this album, but his music at large. Nothing on here is outright bad, but the album works on a few songs, versus as a whole. “Straight And Narrow” is a good example of that, where the lyrics are quite compelling and the music is catchy and energetic, especially compared with his gravelly and weathered voice. It’s just that not much else even competes with that “lightning in a bottle” song.

Barber’s vocals are good, despite how he does remind me a lot of Zach Bryan throughout this album, and a few other songs are pretty solid, such as “Drowning,” and the title track, but other songs just feel bland, forgettable, or not that great. “Dancing In The Sky,” while being a cover, is really boring (musically and lyrically), and the song is a slog to get through. It’s a weirdly religious song, too, and not in a way that has anything to say other than “I hope you’re having a good time in Heaven.” I suppose that isn’t a bad message, but there are tons of country songs like that, despite this being a cover.

Where the album kind of loses me, at least in a lyrical way that shows Barber isn’t as lyrically adept as his peers is “Ghost Town.” I don’t like the lyrics of this song, because they sound like the musical version of “old man yelling at cloud.” The song is Barber’s way of saying “remember the good old days,” while using generic imagery of small town life, and saying that the world has lost its way. He never explains how, as most of these songs don’t, but this just feels so conservative coded, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The song could have been interesting, especially diving more into the titular ghost town, as I thought the town he’s referring to became that way from economic hardship, but he just talks about how beer and baseball games were “common ground” for people back in the day. Barber’s 20, so how does he remember the good old days? Does he mean like a decade ago?

I don’t know, that song in particular irritates me, but the rest of the record is kind of bland, uninspired, and not just that memorable. I’ve been going back to it a lot, hoping that the next listen will stick with me, but this record just fades into the background, especially compared to some of the other rising stars in this vein. He just sounds like the Zach Bryan we have at home, and that’s not necessarily a compliment, because I already love Zach Bryan, but at least stand out in some way. “Straight And Narrow” is a cool song, but that’s the only song on this record that I keep coming back to.

[goldenmusicmoments]

A Scenic Journey Through Deeper Well By Kacey Musgraves:

Kacey Musgraves had been hinting at an album release earlier on in the year and then during the Grammy Awards she aired a visual teaser. After that we got an official announcement and she also revealed that the title track would be released as the first taster for what was to come. She then performed on Saturday Night Live, after which she released the second song she performed on the show. Kacey is a great artist and she’s really made it known that she loves curating a body of work. Each of her records have stood out in their own ways and she’s switched things up from one to the next. Her passion has always been to make great music that takes you on a journey, paying no regard to appeasing mainstream music.

The album opens up with the folk inspired ‘Cardinal’ which is due to the instrumentation used here. She recently lost a dear friend, and she see’s the sighting of a cardinal as a sign from them. The bridge adds a bit of drama, changing up the dynamic of the song. The repetition of the lyrics in the bridge point to her eagerness to figure out what the message means. It’s a beautiful start to the journey Kacey is about to take you on. ‘Deeper Well’ the title track follows with the guitar pulling you into this rather light and dreamy moment. It feels very contemplative as she’s making changes in her life, by getting rid of the people and habits that she feels like are just wasting her time. She’s now looking for things that have more depth to them. The way her vocals have been produced really heightens the tracks dreamy nature. You get lost in the song as you find yourself closing your eyes and taking in the journey of growth she’s taking you on. 

On ‘Too Good To Be True’ the guitar sticks around and the vocals are placed right at the front, this one feels dreamy as well with a hint of sombreness. This is about the feelings that arise during the process of falling in love. Where you are excited by the premises of new love, however at the same time you fear something going wrong. She lets them know that if they are good to her, she’ll reciprocate that treatment. She hopes that he’s not too good to be true. The bridge features instrumentation and tender vocalisations. The song ends on a lyrical moment where she doesn’t want to wake up from a dream. A stunning moment that has an essence of vulnerability that you find yourself lost in. 

We move onto ‘Moving Out’ and this laid back reflective moment retains the previous tracks sombreness. The guitar driven production adds to its journey driven nature that is depicted through the lyrical content. The two are moving out of a place they called home, and she seems to be looking over the memories formed during the time they spent together there. She’s sad about the move, however she’s looking forward to what the future holds as well. It isn’t clear as to whether the two will be moving to a new place together or that they are going their separate ways. Kacey’s vocal delivery hosts a slight rasp to it and it really adds to the sadness put forth through the lyrics. The song closes out with dragged out instrumentation which makes you think of end credits rolling at the end of a movie or an episode of a TV show, which is fitting as here a chapter is closing to make way for a new one to begin. 

‘Giver/Taker’ dives deeper into the relationship as she makes it clear that things just aren’t working out for the two of them. She’s trying as she lets it be known that she’d give him everything he’d want, whilst expecting the same of him. In the bridge she wants reassurance that he will be fully devoted to her, as she wants him all to herself. The production paired with her vocals fills the space around you as you feel the track embrace you in its arms. Kacey isn’t allowing anything to get to her on ‘Sway’ where she stands firmly, letting it be known that she’ll bend, not break. As she’s willing to alter or compromise where necessary. She asks the person of interest to let her know what his secret is to not being fazed. The production sounds like the sound of horse hooves which play to the songs journey towards growth nature. The reflective track closes out on these cascading layered vocals that give it a grand and uplifting ending. 

Now on the guitar led track ‘Dinner With Friends’ it seems like she is yarning for someone. It is a cosy track that you find yourself immersed in. It is a beautiful moment that may make you miss those you haven’t seen in a moment or wished were nearby. The difference in melody of the verses and the chorus offers variation, altering the mood. Though she’s yarning in the verses, during the chorus she seems to be reminiscing about specific things relating to the person of interest. There is a hint of happiness in her remembering him, as it feels as though she’s smiling whilst singing the chorus. The structure of the song is interesting as we get two verses, then the chorus and another verse. The song ends with the chorus that closes out with her humming. 

‘Heart Of The Woods’ explores the connection between humans and nature, as she sings about the tendency of humans to lookout for each other in moments of need. Its a short and light moment that due to its duration may remind you of ‘Mother’ from her album Golden Hour. The production and vocal delivery give it a brighter edge enhancing the tracks hope driven lyrics.

‘Jade Green’ starts with production that makes you feel as though you are being carried by waves along a river. Here she feels a little vulnerable and anxious, thus she finds herself holding onto a bracelet given to her by someone who’s no longer a part of her life. The bracelet provides her with a sense of comfort. It also points to how even though we move on from someone, there is always some part of them we don’t want to let go off. The chorus hosts a similar feel to that of the opening track and the structure takes from that of ‘Dinner With Friends’. The guitar then takes centre stage at the end for a brief outro.

Now on ‘The Architect’ she has a few questions for the creator about life and all its occurrences. She’s unsure as to whether she’ll even get a response, however she really wants to know whether things could be done differently. By the end she questions whether the ‘architect’ even exists, due to the lack of answers to her questions. The production is tender and plays to the songs nature of being lost in your own thoughts. The chorus has someone lightly harmonising in the background. The bridge features instrumentation and airy vocalisation which makes you feel like you are floating. 

‘Lonely Millionaire’ provides for a slight shift in the production and styling of the album so far. She’s letting it be known that money doesn’t make it easier when it comes to the feeling of loneliness and that she’d trade it all for the person of topic. You might find yourself grooving to this rather chill moment. It in a way is this albums ‘Velvet Elvis’ where even that track felt a little out of place on Golden Hour. She’s gone from feeling lonely on the weekend to being a lonely millionaire. The bridge is dreamy with her ‘La la la’s’ and then we go into the final chorus. The track closes out with a mix of her humming and the ‘la la la’s’. The hook is an interpolation of JID’s song ‘Kody Blu 31’.

Kacey showcases her vocals on ‘Heaven Is’ as it is easily the most beautiful vocal performance from her on the album. You find yourself drawn into the track here and it has this feeling of warmth. It sounds like a lullaby and doesn’t feature a proper chorus. She sings about how just being with him is the equivalent of being in heaven. She wants nothing more than him. The production takes a backseat, as her vocals are the prominent feature here. ‘Anime Eyes’ is one of her most fascinating tracks musically, as she sings about love that elicits her eyes to light up. The production in the chorus in particular will make you feel this surge of joy. The track is magical and that bridge lifts the entire mood making it feel as though you are ascending a staircase, as all these emotions burst out of the seams. In a way mimicking fireworks going off. Everything then stops throwing you off for a moment and it gradually comes back shifting the entire dynamic of the track, ending it on a dreamy ethereal note. It definitely is one of the most surprising moments on the album. 

‘Nothing To Be Scared Of’ brings the album to an end on a hopeful note. The verses feature her singing about the precautions we often take in attempt to protect ourselves from getting hurt. She also in a beautiful way puts forward the message of, if it's meant to be it will be. The first chorus is her letting him know that in a moment of need he can find comfort in her, in the next one she flips it. It shares the sentiment put forth in ‘Heart Of The Woods’. There’s a feeling of warmth and comfort through her vocal delivery and tender production, as she reassures the person she’s speaking to that there is nothing to be scared of. It’s a stunning finish to the record and in tune with how Kacey perceives life to function.

Overall the album is a masterful body of work that is cohesive both sonically and thematically. She yet again switches things up and gives us something different to what she’s done before. This one does in a way draw from the songwriting style of Golden Hour, though it is a much more sombre record in comparison. People have been expecting a ‘Golden Hour 2.0’ from her and they should know that they’ll not be getting that. That in itself has resulted in them being disappointed or complaining about the record. They did that with Star-Crossed and now they are doing it with this record. Star-Crossed was a great record and one that deserved a lot more recognition. Deeper Well is even stronger and one that will definitely find high placement in this years year-end lists. It also seems to be an early favourite for an Album of the Year nomination at the next Grammy Awards. Which she and the record truly deserve. As she’s created something yet again that many aspire to, but can’t quite execute. With each listen this record grows and continues to feel fresh. The album is one that will sound perfect on a long drive through roads surrounded by greenery.

[bloodhoundluke]

and i love the way you decorate my heart ✧ luke hemmings

description: luke and his girlfriend are spending christmas together at the hemmings' household. y/n is not the biggest fan of christmas, but it turns out that it just takes the right people to make christmas enjoyable.

pairing: gf!reader x luke hemmings

warnings: mentions of nonfunctional family dynamics and (strong) alcohol usage, family trauma (?), cursing, angst, fluff. slight smut. please let me know if there's anything else.

word count: 2,3k-ish. (this wasn't supposed to be this long, oops).

a/:n: so, i wanted to write a christmas related piece. if you are struggling this christmas, i am sending you virtual hugs <3 you'll get through this, i promise. the title is lyrics from the song 'glittery' by kacey musgraves :) ps. i didn't want to wait any longer to publish this...i was supposed to do it tomorrow hehe!

You had always despised Christmas. When November turned to December, it was like you could almost feel the anxiety of having to spend another Christmas with your family already. Your friends always gushed about what presents they’d buy their parents and how they couldn’t wait to get home. You felt beaten. Broken. And bitter. Jealous. And oh, that made you feel so guilty. 

That was until before you had met the 23-year old Australian guy who stole your heart. Slowly, you started to even like Christmas. You had started dating him in August, and you spent the first Christmas separately. It was awful. You were with your family. The fights that had happened that night left you frustrated. Your mother had made comments of your ‘unpleasant appearance’ and how you had changed for the worse. Your father was drunk and out of his mind, talking how he could have never imagined his daughter would be like this. To him, seeing you around was a constant reminder of fucked up a child he had. Or that’s at least what he told you with a whiskey bottle in his hands. Why couldn’t you just have a functional family, you asked yourself. 

You had called Luke that night and he made sure he’d do anything in his power to lighten up your mood, even if he couldn’t have been there physically. He hated how he couldn’t be there to comfort you, you were more than a thousand miles away. He hated how your family treated you. He hated how small they made you feel. He hated how they didn’t appreciate you for the loving person you actually were. He made you promise that you’d spend the next Christmas with his family. And you did. 

Now, two years later you were spending the second Christmas at the Hemmings household. You had a guilty conscience of how his family felt like home rather than your own biological family. Your family didn’t make you laugh like they did. They never understood like you Luke’s family did. They didn’t accept you as you were, unlike the Hemmings household.

You arrived last night at the Hemmings’ house with Luke and Petunia. Since you and Luke were exhausted from the long flight you decided to just eat and go to sleep afterwards. Ben and Jack woke Luke up in the morning, and asked Luke to go for a hike together. Luke insisted on having more time as he wanted to cuddle you for a while. With half-shut eyes, he snuggled closer to you and planted kisses on your cheek. That little habit of his always made you smile. There was no better way to start your mornings than with Luke. The memories of the nights he was on tour while you were all alone made you melancholic. But luckily, Luke was there now. After ten or so minutes of his arms wrapped around your frame, he got up and went for the hike with his brothers. The morning continued by walking and feeding Petunia, eating breakfast, getting ready for the day and hanging out with Luke’s parents, Liz and Andy.

It was 11am. You were sitting on the couch in the living room and scratched Petunia behind her ears. That dog loved when people did that. Despite the fact that Petunia was Luke’s dog, you basically felt like you were her dog mother. And Luke felt like that too - he loved his little family. Your little family. Luke, Ben and Jack came back from the hike, all sweaty. Luke wanted to wrap his arms around you tightly, but you insisted. “There’s no way in hell I am hugging you when you smell like…how do I put this the nicest way possible? Death.” “That’s the nicest way possible? Damn. I must smell pretty bad then. I’ma grab a shower and come back for cuddles”.

You didn’t understand what made Luke so physically affectionate during this time of year. It was like something in the December air made him extra cuddly and sappy. You didn’t want to complain though. It was not like you hadn't craved his touch when he was away from you. 

Then, it was time to decorate the Christmas tree just a tiny bit more. Luke and you had gone ornament shopping a few weeks ago. You put some of the ornaments on your own Christmas tree at your house, but saved two of them to put in the Hemmings Christmas tree. You and Luke put up the golden reindeer and sparkly little Bulldog ornaments - of course Luke wanted to get that one - in the tree.

The holiday spirit definitely was in the air. Kacey Musgraves' and Troye Sivan's song Glittery was playing in the background and Luke, being the singer he is, sang along.

And every single kiss is like a Gift to me And I love the way you decorate my heart, oh

The whole Hemmings family was dressed in Christmas related outfits, as you were too. Luke was wearing a snowman themed sweater. You, on the other hand, had stolen a green 5SOS Christmas sweater from Luke’s closet. 

“Geez, I thought I had lost that one”, Luke’s comment made you feel a bit guilty.

“Are you mad that I took it?”.

“Nah. You look definitely better in that than me”, he just smiled. There was no way that he could be mad at you when you looked that adorable. 

The whole Hemmings family and you watched some Christmas movies and snacked on chocolate and other delicacies. You didn’t even know how to explain how homey felt at that moment. When none of you spoke, the silence was comfortable. It wasn’t awkward. You weren’t in flight or fight mode. It felt relieving. With your legs on Luke’s lap and his hands on your legs, you took a photo of Luke as he was concentrating on the film Home Alone. He giggled as soon as he realized you took a photo of him. You wanted to hear that giggle forever. 

You lounged on the sofa together, your head now in his lap. Petunia was on the other side of Luke, snuggling close to him. Luke bent down to kiss you. Snap. Liz took a photo of you, which made Luke frown “Mom”. Liz just explained that she couldn’t have not taken the photo - you looked so perfect in that moment. She knew how much you meant to Luke. She knew how much Luke loved you. And she also knew how you were the most important person in his life. Luke had told it all to his mother; how your love made him a better man. How you were his silver lining.

Luke wanted to post that photo to Instagram Stories and after a few minutes of convincing you looked absolutely adorable in that photo, you gave up. He posted the photo with the text ‘Christmas and my two favorite girls’. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but the text made you blush. You were so head over heels for him.

It was time for Christmas dinner. Liz and Andy had made most of it already but you were still helping around the kitchen. You loved cooking, so it felt natural. Luke, on the other hand, wasn’t that much of a cook, so he just stayed with his brothers in the living room. You were topping the trifles with raspberries and carried them to the dining room where all of the other servings were. You made your way to the kitchen to get a wine glass and realized Liz and Andy had disappeared somewhere from the kitchen. You took a deep breath and smiled to yourself. You hadn’t felt this kind of joy at Christmas ever before. Sure, last year was great, but this year was something else. It felt more meaningful.

Luke came to the kitchen and ‘helped’ you get the glass you wanted from the cabinet. 

“Gimme the glass, Luke! I mean it”, you frowned your eyebrows at him and giggled afterwards. The debatably 6’3 feet tall man in front of you was holding the glass you wanted to have above his head. Every day with him felt like an adventure. The small, ordinary, mundane things you did together were your favorite. How he’d make sure to poke fun of your height after dating for so long. How he’d make you feel so seen and appreciated. There was nothing not to love about Luke. At the end of the day, even his most irritating habits and traits seemed loveable to you. 

“Kiss me, then ya can have it”, he smirked. He was feisty, you liked that. Tip toeing to him, you placed your lips on his. “Mmmh, me likey”, he commented without even backing his lips away from yours. “Okay, you done now?”, your lips left his and you crossed your arms. He pouted his lips. “One more, please? For me?”.

You gave him yet another kiss, making it deeper than the previous one. You could taste the mint in your lips again. That was the thing about Luke: if his lips didn’t taste like coffee or almond, they tasted like mint.

“Since you’ve been such a good girl, I’ll give you this”, he smirked and gave you the glass he was holding. “Thanks a lot, really appreciate it”, you smirked back and as he turned away, you quickly hit his bum. 

“Hey!”, he gave you a look and you just showed your tongue to him, then turned to fill the glass with some red wine. You placed the glass on the kitchen counter and Luke wrapped his long arms around you. 

“You know how lucky I am that I can spend Christmas with you, baby?” his voice was hoarse. 

“Incredibly lucky. I am a national treasure, Lu”, you rolled your eyes and wrapped your arms around his waist. 

“But seriously…Y/N. Thanks for bein’ you. I love you and I hope there’s many more Christmases to spend together. Want to be the one you can share your Christmas kisses with”. You loved how cheesy Luke could get - it was no secret that he was a true romantic at heart. He was sappy, and you loved it. 

“There’s no one else I’d rather spend Christmas with, Lu. I love you. And I love being here. Thanks for always welcoming me here”.

“Of course, babe. My family practically fuckin’ worships you. It’s like I don’t even matter anymore. Everytime I come back, they just wanna talk about you. Can’t blame them though”.

You and Luke headed to the dining room and started to eat dinner with the entire family. When no one was looking, you gave Petunia a few snacks. What you didn’t know was that Luke saw it all, and he couldn’t help himself but smile gently at you two. He loved how you loved Petunia. Bella and Tilly, the Hemmings family dogs, were stealing some food from Andy and Liz too.

You had to go to the kitchen a few times, since you had to check on the turkey. It was cooked, but it had been on the fridge for a while, cooling off, since all of you didn’t want to eat hot turkey. Every time you went to the kitchen, Luke came with you and stole some extra kisses from you and vice versa. He loved to show affection towards you and he had to contain himself every time you were with other people. 

You ate together and then it was time to open up the presents. You were stirring things up this Christmas, since you were playing Secret Santa too. You were supposed to get Andy something and you got him a decorative photo album full of photos of the Hemmings family. Luke insisted on making the album too, so he was your little helper. The look on Andy’s face was pure - he was so happy. He really appreciated the gesture and took you in his arms, thanking you endlessly. You swapped up the rest of the presents and Luke had gotten you a beautiful golden bracelet from some European store, as he explained to you. You had gotten Luke an antique sweater he had been eyeing for such a long time. He admired it, but not nearly as much as he admired you. 

You were thankful that you and Luke promised each other not to get one another than just one present. After all, being with him was all you needed this Christmas. And this Christmas was even more than what you could have ever hoped for. The air was filled with laughter, the dogs were happily chewing their newly gotten toys and you had the man you loved by your side.

The night continued by playing board games and lastly, Charades. It was Luke’s turn to guess - the word ‘Jeggings’. You were giggling because Luke wasn’t that great at guessing the word.

“Stop laughing!” Luke commented. He tried so hard to keep his poker face but desperately failed, bursting out laughing.

“Luke, how could you be so clueless?”, you giggled.

“Am not clueless. I am just too smart for you guys”, Luke smiled.

“Sure”, Liz giggled along, making Andy, Jack and Ben laugh too.

Eventually, the game came to an end and you were sitting in the living room with Luke and his family. The TV was on and you were chatting about Christmas traditions, all of you slightly drunk from the red wine and beer you’ve been drinking. Luke and you were sitting on the separate sofa and you felt his hand on your thigh as you were chatting to Liz about something. Liz knew to turn away from the conversation and you saw Luke’s widened gaze and devilish smirk.

“Wanna show me how much of a good girl you’ve been this year when we get upstairs?”, he hummed quietly into your ear and slightly nibbed your earlobe.

You instantly smiled and prayed no one else saw that. You knew how this night was going to end and you couldn’t wait. “Wanna show you how much of a bad girl I’ve been, baby”, you whispered back. The look on his face was priceless, as if he hadn’t seen that comment coming. 

Luke took your hand on his, stood up and thanked for the night, saying that you two will head upstairs. You thanked Liz, Andy, Ben and Jack too smilingly. Luke led you upstairs and opened up the guest bedroom door. You closed the door and in no time, his arms were all over you. As were his needy, desperate lips.

All of a sudden, it felt like you had always loved Christmas.

© 12/2022 bloodhoundluke.

[lonelyreputation]

Arpeggio

A/N: Woooo a long one! The idea has been on a stick note for three months and it’s finally here 🤧 It was a very fun one to write! I hope you enjoy it & let me know your thoughts! Ahh! 💥🥰💗

Summary: You’re a ghostwriter for a famous singer and Shawn is head over heels in love with the singer who he thinks writes her own music…But little does he know it’s you.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: Few swear words

WC: 13.7K // Angst & Fluff

--

You sat on the edge of your seat, legs crossed, as you stared intently at the “famed” singer-songwriter who was reading over your lyrics.  She shuffled papers back and forth either humming in distaste when she didn’t like a particular lyric, or slamming a lyric sheet down on the table for a song she wanted to keep.

This was the third album cycle you had done this for her––writing songs and pitching them for her to sing.  All while you sat in the background and collected royalties off the copyright you owned.  

When you were sixteen, you wrote a song that circulated around a publishing company, and she––Zilla––did whatever she could to have the song be put on hold for her.  She was a newer artist, but you heard whispers that she bought out Kacey Musgraves in order to record your song.  

It started with one song as a work for hire, which grew to an EP where you had copyright ownership, and then to a full album…Which led you to sign a contract with her management team as her ghostwriter.

You remember it clear as day––you in their office, with your own entertainment lawyer, as Zilla and her manager slid an NDA across the table.  You remember the manager trying their best to not outright say that Zilla wasn’t talented in songwriting––She just spends so much time making sure her vocals are perfect that she doesn’t have time to write and everyone wants personal songs nowadays.

Zilla’s real name was Willow––but in order to keep the artist name the same as the songwriting credits––she picked a stage name.  So, her stage name was just Zilla, and your songwriting credit would be listed as Zilla Greene.  

While the public knew that Zilla was a stage name for Willow, they thought that she also wrote her own songs under the pseudonym Zilla Greene…But nobody knew how far from the truth that was.

The sound of papers slamming down on a wooden table snapped you out from your daydream, “None of these work,” Zilla leaned back on the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, “I want to change my sound.”

You had spent months crafting the songs in front of her.  Carefully crafted rhyme schemes, imagery that was similar to the second album you wrote for her that won her three Grammys, it had an even mix of upbeat songs and ballads…And she didn’t want any of them.

Your mouth dropped, “But what––You want––Why?”

Zilla shrugged her shoulders and picked at her nails, “The last album was so…Pop,” she cringed, “Too colorful. I need to change it up––Keep listeners on their toes––I’m seeing this album aesthetic as more black and white.”

You picked up your little notebook and scribbled down aesthetics and moods she wanted to match.  With each sentence she rattled off, you wrote down key words––songs that connect in a story, feeling lost, black and white, heartbreak––a bit of your soul crumbled as you saw the songs you worked so hard on lay abandoned on the table without a second thought.

“Give me an album that gives me a perfect score on Pitchfork.”

The pen you frivolously scribbled down ideas on dropped from your hand, “That’s––I can’t control Pitchfork!”

Zilla rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Then you better write a damn good album.”

“But you––Red!” You shouted out to grab her attention as you saw her packing up her bag, “That’s a nine.  Literally one point away from a perfect score.”

Hiking her back over her shoulder, Zilla flicked her perfect loose curls over her shoulder, “Red was a good debut album, 1989 was a good Grammy album, I need something great.”

And with that, the “famed” singer-songwriter walked out of the room.  The clacks of her heels were as loud as the sound of your heart shattering as you continued to stare at the songs on the table…That’ll never have the chance to see the daylight.  

---

It was a new day and the sun shining through your half-opened window as the thin white curtains softly blew with the breeze.  You were sat crossed legged on the floor in a little corner of your apartment that you claimed as your “writing room.”  It wasn’t much of a room––because you literally sat on the floor––but it was where you wrote the best.

You sat in the corner, right under the window, on a small pink and teal woven rug, with a few throw pillows, and lyric sheets scattered all over the floor.  

How were you supposed to create a whole new album when you had a perfect album already written?

With your head buried in your hands, you were at standstill, never having writer's block hit you this hard.  You had songs already written––An album that was hopefully a 7 on Pitchfork’s scale––but it wasn’t good enough for her.  

Nothing seemed to be good enough for her.

Your phone dinged with an email and you read the preview that it was just a Google Alert for Zilla.  You ignored the notification, not wanting to think about how angry you already were at her…even though you were currently writing for her.

A melody slowly came into your mind as you started humming into a voice note.  But it was quickly cut off short when you heard the stomps of Mia––your roommate––come running from the kitchen to where you were.

“Did you see this interview?”

You raised an eyebrow at her and directed your eyes to the strewn papers on the floor, “I’m a little busy?”

She waved you off and couldn’t stop smiling, “Shawn Mendes is like in love with you.”

The phone dropped from your hands, and you cringed because you knew that was going to sound horrendous when you played back the voice note. But that wasn’t what was on your mind.  

“What?!”

Mia nodded at your shocked reaction, but then backed up with her explanation, “Well, not you––Zilla,” she made a little throw up noise, “But he loves your songwriting.”

“How––”

Mia shoved her phone into your face and you saw a paused YouTube video.  In the video you saw Shawn Mendes sitting on a chair, holding a white poster board, as he was in the middle of ripping a paper off.  He was doing a Wired Autocomplete Interview.  You skeptically looked up at Mia, and she gestured with her hands for you to hit play.

So you hit play and immediately cringed at the sound of his nails coming in contact with the poster board as he ripped off the blocking.

“Did Shawn Mendes write a song on Zilla’s last album?”  Shawn let out a small laugh as he shook his head, “I wish she would write a song for me.”  His smile only seemed to grow as he continued talking about her, “She posted an acoustic clip of this new song she was working on––I’m hoping it’s on her new album.”

You felt a flutter of butterflies swarm your stomach because you knew exactly what song he was talking about.  It was the chorus to a song called Cardigan, the first song that Zilla hadn’t turned down for the new album. 

The video Zilla posted on her Instagram was dimly lit as she sat on the ground with her guitar.  And while she frustrated you to no end…You couldn’t deny that she had a beautiful voice.

And apparently Shawn Mendes thought so too.

“Ever since her self-titled EP, I’ve been obsessed with her,” at Shawn’s words you looked up at Mia who mirrored your smile, “There’s just something so personal about her songs and I…” he looked down at his shoes before looking back up at the camera, “I’m fangirling, but I really admire her songwriting.  I hope to write with her one day.”

He went to rip off the next question, but you paused the video, not wanting to hear the scraping sound again.

With the phone slightly shaking in your hands, you slowly picked your head up to look at Mia with a wide smile, “Oh my God.”

Mia nodded excitedly and jumped around in a circle, “Shawn Mendes likes––no loves––your songwriting!  He’s so in love with you––He wants to write songs with you––He––”

You started to feel an overwhelming sense of pride as a jolt of joy was sent from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.  Shawn Mendes––an artist that you admired for his work ethic––admitted to fangirling over your songwriting.  

You were about to get up and dance around with Mia because it felt like a celebration, but with one look at the lyric sheets scattered on the floor…Your excitement slowly diminished.  Because all of these songs––all of your feelings, your poetry, your deepest regrets and highest of loves––were going to her.

Zilla got the credit for your art.

People told Zilla that she inspired them to write songs.

And Shawn admired what he thought was Zilla’s songwriting.

You picked up the pen and twirled it around your fingers, clenching your jaw, as you casted a regretful look at the songs on the floor…They were your pride and joy, even the ones you didn’t like very much, because each song took a little bit of your soul and was then shared with the world.

“He’s in love with Zilla’s writing,” you sucked in a deep breath, “Not mine.”

----

Instead of your safe writing spot at your apartment, you were in the studio for a change.  Since the only people who knew about Zilla’s secret were you, Mia, your lawyer, her manager, and Zilla herself…The record label still booked sessions for Zilla to write.  So you found yourself in the studio a few times a month whenever it came time to write her a new album.

“How’s the album?”

You had been writing for hours and felt so exhausted that you should’ve been surprised when you didn’t hear a door open.  But you were absolutely dreading this album writing process, you were creating emotions––trying to draw from real experience––but nothing was working.

You stretched your arms over your head, squinting an eye when you heard your back crack, and looked up at Zilla with tired eyes, “I have a few songs.”

Her mouth dropped, not liking the progress you were making, “A few?”

“It’s been two and a half months since you said you wanted a whole genre switch,” You snapped at her, “You’re going from pop to some sort of folk alternative––”

Zilla scoffed, “You did this before.  Red was country and 1989 was pop.  This shouldn’t be a problem.”

The two of you were in a glaring match as you set your pen down, “You demanded a seventeen song album––Do you know how hard that is with the soft deadline Columbia gave you?”

“You had songs written before––”

“Then why didn’t you take those songs?” It was a genuine question, but also a question you knew the answer to.  And you were right when she spurted something off about wanting to change up her sound.

“People love me because I’m not predictable,” Zilla walked over to where you were sitting and picked up a lyric sheet, humming in approval before letting it slowly fall to the ground, “And the songs you wrote before weren’t good enough.”

“What do you mean––”

“It’s just writing a few songs,” Zilla huffed out, “I don’t see how you can’t do that between now and the soft release date.”

You closed your eyes and let your head fall on the back of the couch cushion.  You brought your hands up to rub the inside corners of your eyes, “You want a heartbreak album––I’m not in that headspace and you also need to record the songs.” 

You opened your eyes and immediately glared, “Do you remember how Rob Stringer nearly flipped because I still had to finish writing Clean but you lied and said it was just the backing vocals that needed to be done?”

As much as Zilla wanted to refute you, she knew she had no place, because what you said was absolutely true.  That was not a fun phone call to be a part of with the C.E.O. of Sony Music––even if you were on mute.

“It won him Album of the Year at the Grammys,” Zilla said in an unsympathetic voice, “And this album is going to be better than that.”

You let out a very loud and exasperated sigh, “That won’t cut it this time around!  At least I had some inspiration for that album, because I have none––”

“You’re crazy,” Zilla narrowed her eyes, “Just find a random person and have them break your heart.”  You had your mouth open for a rebuttal to tell her that that’s not how songwriting worked, but she picked a piece of lint off her sweater, “You’re pretty…enough.”

You squeezed your eyes tight as you felt yourself begin to seethe at her.  You started to feel a slight pain in your jaw with how hard your teeth were clenched together, but your eyes were still shut as you tried to simmer your anger, as your voice came out dangerously low, “Out.”

“You can’t kick me out!” Zilla laughed and you opened your eyes to look at the woman who had no respect for your artistry…Even though you were the one to give her a career in the first place, “I’m paying for your studio time.”

“No, technically,” you glared over her shoulder at the door, “Columbia is paying for the studio.”

Zilla huffed as she crossed her stiff arms over her chest, “No need to get so angry––”

You felt yourself becoming more angry at her presence.  Her presence was driving you insane and you knew that she was being a nuisance on purpose––poking you like a bear until she got her desired reaction out of you.

“Out!”

She looked at you with shock written all over her face.  You were never one to raise your voice at anyone, and you always bent over backwards to comply with whatever Zilla wanted.  But not now.  You only felt angry and crazy in her presence, and those feelings only intensified in you when she pointed out how crazy and angry you were acting.

Zilla left––you don’t know if it was after you screamed at her or if she stayed for a few moments longer––because for the first time in writing this album for her…You felt inspiration for a song hit.

You heard the light piano keys first, humming the pitch in your head, as the light sound of finger picking on a guitar creeped into the back of your mind.  Fresh off your argument with Zilla, the chorus of the song came first.  You channeled your anger into inspiration as your hand gripped the pen until your knuckles hurt.

You don’t know how long you were writing the song for, but it was almost finished––I’m taking my time––Oh, how you wished you could take your time with this album––Taking my time––Well, maybe you will take your time with this album and get her in trouble with all of her deadlines, even though it would technically be breaking your contract too––Because you took everything from me.

She took your songs away from you.

“Oh, Sorry I––I might be in the wrong room?”

You dropped your pen and slammed your writing journal closed because no one was supposed to be in this room.  With eyes wide, your heart stopped, because there were papers all around the room of potential songs for Zilla’s album.  

Lifting your wrist to look at your watch, you saw that you were eleven minutes past your allotted amount of time Columbia reserved.  Immediately, you scrambled to get off the couch as fast as possible, crunching your lyric sheets in the process.

You shook your head, still not looking up at the person because you wanted to make sure all of the songs were in your possession, “You’re probably in the right room.  I––I’ve stayed past my time just a little and I––This is most likely definitely your room––”

“Wasn’t Zilla in here before?”

You froze and gripped the song sheet that you were currently stuffing in your bag.

Shit.

Slowly, you took a deep breath, and looked up at the person who had the room reserved after you.  And your already wide eyes doubled in size when you saw that it was Shawn Mendes standing in front of you.  The guy you saw on Mia’s cracked iPhone screen a few months ago––fangirling over songs you wrote.

His knuckles were white as he gripped his guitar case––in what you assumed to be excited nerves––as his head darted around the small studio space, hoping to catch a glimpse of the singer-songwriter.

“Oh, yeah she––She was done like forty minutes ago,” you spewed out a lie, “And then she let me use her remaining time.”

Shawn’s shoulders sunk in disappointment, and his smile faltered just a tad, undoubtedly disappointed that he missed his chance to meet a songwriter he admired.  But little did he know that songwriter he actually admired was standing right in front of him.

You never wanted to be in the spotlight, never liked having attention on you, and it’s part of the reason why you agreed to work as Zilla’s ghostwriter.  But with how her career took off, her songs––your stories––were gaining much more recognition than you ever thought.  And it was times like these that you wished you could tell someone––other than your roommate––that they were your songs.

“So…” Shawn rocked on his feet a few times, quickly breaking eye contact with you to look at the remaining papers on the ground, “Are you friends with her?”

You nodded your head as you bent down to pick up the remaining songs, stuffing them deep in your bag, “We’re like––Uh––Yeah, pretty good friends.”  

How else were you supposed to describe your business relationship with her?  In the beginning, you hoped it would be more of a collaborative experience––Zilla telling you stories about her that you could write into songs––but that wasn’t the case.  

She didn’t want to do any work besides reap the benefits of traveling the world and having millions of people adore her.

He ran his free hand through his curls, following your every move of cleaning up your mess, “Do you sing?”

His question caught you off guard, “Pardon?”

Shawn let out a small laugh and gestured to the recording studio the two of you were in, “Are you a musician?”

You immediately shook your head, “Oh no, I’m––I write.”

“Ah, a songwriter,” Shawn softly smiled in appreciation as he went to set his guitar down by the other couch in the room, “Without people like you, us singers would be useless.”

“You write your own stuff.  Not many people do that anymore,” you rolled your eyes at his compliment, “That’s a redeeming quality.”

Shawn shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, I…I do write my own stuff.  With some help obviously, but it’s rare to find that nowadays.” You nodded in understanding as the two of you stood in silence.  He slipped his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans as a smile lit up his face, “Except for Zilla.  Now she…Wow,” he whistled low, “She’s a once in a lifetime artist.”

You felt your throat tighten up.

“Yeah, that’s…” You let out a fake laugh as you bit the inside of your cheek, “That’s one way to put it.”

Shawn eagerly nodded as he continued to talk about your least favorite topic, “Her words––Her experiences––It’s all so personal.  Sometimes I feel like I’m eavesdropping or reading her diary,” He plopped down on a black rolling chair and his smile grew wider, “Now she’s someone I respect.”

And while you knew he was complimenting your work, he didn’t know it.  The person who he thought he respected so much was in the music industry for all the wrong reasons.  The person he thought so highly sent you a text on the day she got her first Billboard number one––a song that you wrote––and demanded a new song in a few weeks time all while she popped open a bottle of champagne on her Instagram.

You nodded your head, knowing that if you said something, it wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear.

“I’ll let you get to work,” you picked up your journal from the couch cushion and slipped it in your bag, “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

You turned to walk out the door but Shawn’s voice called you back, “Hey––You, um…I think this is yours?”

Turning around, you saw Shawn looking down at a familiar white piece of paper with words scratched out and arrows changing up verses, “This is…This is really good…” he looked up at you, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Y/n,” you rushed out as you snatched the paper out of his hold.

Shawn nodded his head and stood up from the chair, leaning over your shoulder to continue reading the lyrics, “Centennial park…” he scratched his chin, “Nashville?”

You folded the paper in half, shielding your story from his eyes, as you lied, “Different park.”

Still stuck on the song, your mouth dropped as Shawn yanked the piece of paper out of your hands, opening it back up to skim over, “Maybe in the bridge––The last line…” you reached out to grab your paper from him, but he held it over his head, tilting his head back so he could still read the lyrics, “Change string to thread? Change up the lyrics like you did with the chords.”

Once he got his thought out, he lowered the piece of music and you grabbed it back, glaring at him as you stuffed it deep into your bag, “These aren’t mine,” you said bitterly, because while they were your words, they would eventually belong to Zilla, “They’re Zilla’s.  So I’ll let her know.”

Shawn’s eyes bugged out of his head, mouth wide open in shock, “You––You have her lyric sheets?!”  His eyes quickly darted down to your bag.  You pulled your bag closer to your side out of protection, “The things I would do to have whatever job you have.  I mean––To be able to read her songs before they’re out? That’s––I will literally trade places for a day with you.”

You let out a weak laugh, wishing that you got out of the studio on time, “I’m sure your job pays much better than being her…assistant.”

Shawn’s eyes glistened with excitement, “You’re her friend, assistant, and you get to read her songs?”  Shawn ducked his head as he let out a chuckle, “I’d do anything to be you for a day.”

You pulled your eyebrows together, but tried to keep your face neutral, “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” But his smile only widened as he daydreamed about being so close to someone you thought was cousins with the devil, “I should really get going.”

Shawn nodded in understanding but called your name out, “Y/n––I don’t know if this is too forward, but…I mean––You don’t have to do it––But could you give Zilla my number?”  He didn’t get a chance to look at how everything about your appearance dropped.

You were stunned as your mouth hung open, your eyes drooped in sadness, shoulders deflated…But he couldn’t visibly see the weight that you felt like was dropped in your stomach.  He picked up a pen you left on the table and scribbled his number on a sticky note and you couldn’t remember a time where you felt so defeated.

He tore the sticky note off the pad and handed it over to you as he blushed, “I’d really love to write with her.”

You’d love to write with me, your brain screamed at you.  But outing yourself as Zilla’s writer wasn’t worth all the lawsuits you would face.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and numbly nodded, “I’m sure she’d love to write with you too.”

----

Two and a half weeks later you found yourself writing in the same studio.  And while you normally felt cooped up when in the studio, it was better at being at your apartment.  Ever since you told Mia about your run in with Shawn it was the only thing she talked about.

She told you that it was the perfect time to tell the truth about your career––bring that witch down once and for all––were her exact words.  But you didn’t want to deal with the mess of breaking an NDA.  

So the next time you saw Zilla, you told her about your run in, and unenthusiastically handed her the sticky note with his number.  Her smile was as wide as his when you told him you worked with Zilla.  And while Zilla portrayed herself as a down-to-earth singer who transcended all genres of music…She was nothing but the opposite.  

And from your brief run in with Shawn, you knew he was completely opposite of Zilla in every way, shape, and form.

The sound of your phone ringing brought you out of your songwriting process, without looking at caller I.D., you answered, “Hi, this is––”

“Y/n.”

You sucked in a breath when you heard her voice, “I have half of the album written.  I’ll send you the songs and then you can record them,” You doodled in the margin of your journal, “So that way we don’t get in trouble again––”

“No, stop––Shawn is on his way to the studio.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your grip around the pen tightening as it scratched a hole in the paper, “I’m sure the fans will be happy to see pictures––

“No. Shut up for a minute,” at her strict tone you straightened your posture, not liking the way she was talking to you, “He’s coming to you. Where you are.”

You were about to make a quip about how she should talk to you with a little more respect, but when you heard the news of Shawn, your mind went from lyrical songwriting to ultimate panic.

“What?!”

“And I’m like an hour away from you,” you heard a car horn beep on the other end, “God, I hate L.A.––But he––He wants to write songs with me––”

“But you don’t write your own songs.”

“Don’t I fucking know,” she sneered through the phone.

A victorious small smile crept on your face, “Then why did you agree?”

“We had lunch and I told him I had a studio time slotted and he just texted me that he’s ten minutes away,” Zilla said all in one breath as she honked her horn twice, “because he wanted to surprise me.”

“Not much of a surprise if he’s texting you.”

She honked her horn again, “Y/n.”

“Sorry, sorry…I just,” you looked around at the mess you created in the studio.  There were your usual papers strewn around, empty coffee cups, some takeaway food containers on the table that you were too lazy to throw out, “I’ve been here for like seven hours and there’s no way it’ll be clean before he comes.”

“Well do something––”

“Y/n?”

At the sound of your name being said gently in the same room as you, instead of it being yelled at through a phone, you quickly hung up on Zilla and threw your phone to the other end of the couch.  You snapped your head up, and like the first time you saw him, he had his guitar case clutched in his hand, knuckles white.

“Shawn,” You said his name carefully as you looked wearily at him, “Hey.”

He slowly nodded his head, “Is…” and you cringed when you saw him looking around the mess you created in the studio, “…Is Zilla here?”

“Oh she––she just––” you had to think of something quick, “Had to pick something up at the pharmacy and it’s a bit out of the way––and she––so she called me and wanted me to uh––keep watch.”

Shawn looked at you, letting out a confused laugh, as he tilted his head, “Keep watch in a highly secure recording studio where the rooms lock?”

You nodded your head, keeping up with your lie, “She’s very very protective of her work space.”

Again, he nodded his head as he took another look around the messy studio, “I can…see that.”  He shrugged his shoulders at the mess and took a seat on the ground.

You gathered up some of the papers that were on the couch around you, and on the table, and on the floor, “She had to go across town so she’ll be some time,” you shuffled the papers together until they all lined up.  You set them aside and flipped to a clean page in your notebook, “So like––Make yourself at home.”

In the midst of gathering your stuff up to leave, he called you back in, “Y/n,” you lifted your head up to see an amused smirk on his face, “Leaving your watch position in her studio?”

Your eyes widened, “Well, uh––You’re here now so like––I think it’ll be fine if you’re here, and if you have stuff to work on, I don’t want to get in the way––”

Shawn shook his head, “Stay.”

As if you were trapped under a spell, you set your bag down on the couch and sat on the ground across from him.  You sat with your legs criss-crossed as he opened the lid to his guitar case, “So…” you started off slow as you watched him carefully pull out his guitar.

Once he got in a comfortable sitting position with his guitar, you saw him pluck some strings and adjust the tuning pegs.  There was one string that sounded off and you couldn’t hide your cringe.

“That B is flat.  It needs to be higher.”

Shawn moved on to tune the E string, “I think it sounds fine.”

Even though he was looking down at his guitar, you still shook your head, “Get your tuner. It’s flat.”

Shawn let out a playful sigh and picked his head up to look for his tuner.  Once he found it in the case, he clipped it on the head of the guitar, “If it’s not perfect, I buy you a coffee,” he smiled at you, “And if it is perfect, you buy me a coffee.”

You only offered him a smile as your response, already knowing that he would be the one buying you coffee.  And when he got everything set up, plucked the string again, he looked at the tuner and frowned.  He started twisting the peg as he continued to pick at the string until the B string sounded like music to your ears.

Shawn lifted his head up, a small smile toying at the edges of his mouth, as he looked at you through his eyelashes, “Do we have perfect pitch over here?”

You smiled and shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to brag because you did have perfect pitch, “I like a cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso.”  

Shawn laughed at your response and rested his arm along the body of the guitar, “Working on anything exciting?”

You saw him eye the small stack of papers to your left, “Um…” self-consciously, you moved the papers further behind you so they were out of eyesight for him, “No…Not really.” Shawn gave you a look saying that he didn’t believe you, but you flipped the question to him, “What about you?  Getting some inspiration for new songs?”

On the outside, you wiggled your eyebrows in a suggestive manner, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of joking.  But on the inside, you felt your heart squeeze and your lungs collapse.

And it crushed you even more when he ducked his head and blushed, “I’m sure she’s told you plenty.”  You laughed, pretending like you knew he was talking about, but Zilla hadn’t told you anything. 

“She’s just so…Not what I expected,” a part of your spirits lifted, hoping he had seen her for who she truly was, but that was diminished when you noticed the far off dreamlike look in his eyes, “I think it makes me like her even more.”

You breathed out a silent laugh, twisting your hands together, “She’s a tricky one.  Always…always surprising people.”

Shawn nodded his head and slowly strummed the guitar, “I think I like being surprised.”

This time, you threw your head back in genuine laughter, but when you saw his confused stare, you coughed in the crook of your elbow, “Stick with her if you like to be kept on your toes.”

Shawn tried to conceal his smile, but you knew he was already enamored with Zilla, too far gone to be swayed by anything you could say, “I’ll take that advice.”  The two of you sat in another silence, as he softly strummed some chords on his guitar.

“Enough about her,” Shawn offered you a friendly smile, “I’m having trouble with something––Partly why I wanted to see her in the studio––” he leaned over to his backpack to grab out his sheet music and handed it to you, “See, I wanna do this,” he tried playing a chord, “But it’s not––I want it to sound different.”

You snorted and laid the sheet of paper on your knee, “That’s a good way to describe something you want changed.”  Shawn glared at you, and you rolled your eyes, “How about…Have you tried an arpeggio?”

“You definitely went to music school.”

You waved off his comment, “I’m sure you know what it is––just maybe not it’s technical name,” you pushed yourself off from the ground and walked over to grab your guitar.  Having already tuned it when you got in the studio, you sat down and situated the guitar on your lap.

“It’s like; do, do, do, do, do…” You tried humming, but when his face was still confused you started to play one of the most recognizable guitar riffs, “House Of The Rising Sun, the opening is an arpeggio,” you continued to hum along with the notes as you saw everything click in understanding in Shawn’s head.

You continued to play the opening chords on loop, “It’s a broken chord.  So that way you can hear the individual notes,” you explained, “Say on piano, you would play an arpeggio by just playing each individual key, and it’s the same on a guitar.  So when you play it slower,” you slowed down your strumming, “You can hear them more individually.”

Shawn nodded his head in awe of his little music lesson.

“They’re usually played in either ascending or descending order,” you picked up the pace of your strumming, before placing your hand flat on the strings, over the sound hole, to stop playing completely, “They’re also pretty common if you play them in a triad.”

Again, Shawn only nodded, enchanted by the sound of guitar.

“How much do you charge for music lessons?”

You let out a loud laugh and set your guitar over to the side, “I think you’re probably good in that department, but just buy me coffee then we’ll call it even.”

Shawn eagerly nodded his head, “I’m holding you to that––So like, with an arpeggio, is it always obvious that it’s there? Or do you have to listen to it really really closely?”

“I mean…” you tilted your head to the side, trying to find wording for the answer, “I think they’re more common than people realize? It’s a bit technical, because you're consecutively picking notes on different strings, but if you listen really closely, you’ll pick up on the broken chords.”

Shawn nodded, eyes seeming to be unfocused on something behind you, “Broken chords…” he mumbled under his breath a few times.

Feeling a little unsettled with him staring off into space, you cleared your throat, and that did the trick to snap him back to reality.  

He smiled and then nodded his head toward the lyric sheet he handed you, “And these lyrics…I can’t––” He leaned over and slid the lyrics across the floor so that they were placed in between you two, “Something’s off.”

You nodded your head, biting your bottom lip in concentration, trying to figure out the root of the problem.  Because while the lyrics were good, and you were able to hear the melody he had written down in your head, there was something off about them.

“Your rhyme scheme,” you mumbled, eyes still concentrated on the lyric sheet, “It’s a bit all over the place.  So I would just narrow that down, figure out if you’re doing an arpeggio or not, and you should be golden.”

When you looked up, you saw Shawn look at you with the same admiration he had in his eyes during your first conversation when he said how much he respected Zilla’s songwriting.  

You broke eye contact with him and scratched the back of your ear, “But only if you want––I don’t––Zilla is probably the person you should ask about this––”

Shawn shook his head, “She keeps blowing me off whenever I ask for her opinion,” and when you brought your gaze back up to him, he looked unsure of himself, “I know I’m not up to her level, and she’s…nice, but she always seems too busy to write.”

The insecure downcast of his eyes, and shrunken up body language, was a look you knew all too well.  He didn’t think he was good enough to write songs with her.  And what killed you was that he thought that way because she kept giving out false hope to him.  It angered you because if only he knew that he was actually writing songs with the person he admired, he would have a different perspective on everything.

You let out a sigh, knowing exactly how rejected he must feel, and slid the song sheet back over to him, “For a cup of coffee I’ll give you music lessons.”

Everything about Shawn’s demeanor switched like a light.  His posture straightened out, eyes beamed with joy, and his smile looked to be a little too wide after just offering him music lessons, “Please.”

You shyly nodded your head, feeling heat raise up to your cheeks, as you pulled down your phone from the couch and handed it over to him, “You can put your number in and then we can find a time.”

“I really appreciate this,” Shawn said as he swiftly typed away on your phone, “I can’t even––”

“Shawn?”

The voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you, but you regained your neutral composure before Shawn had the chance to notice any change.  You looked up to see Zilla in the doorway, glaring down at the two of you––with your guitars out and a music sheet in between you.  Shawn quickly handed your phone back to you, his full attention captured by Zilla.

“Hey, Z,” Shawn waved at her, still sitting, “Y/n was just helping me write––”

“Was she?” She gave you a pointed look that was meant to be a silent yell at you to not help him whatsoever because it could blow both of your covers.

You nodded your head, standing up with your guitar, putting as much distance between you and Shawn, “I only helped a little.  I told him you were the one he should go to.”

And with that answer, you still received a glare from her because of course she was useless in helping him with anything music related.  You could never win with her.

He handed his lyric sheet out toward Zilla, “If you want, you can look at what I have––”

“Actually,” Zilla cut him off with a smile, “I thought we could get some lunch.”

Shawn looked down and tapped the screen on his phone, the light illuminating a small portion of his face, as he looked up with eyebrows scrunched together, “It’s five fifteen?”

Zilla clapped her hands together, “Early dinner then.”

When you looked over at Shawn, you could see that he was disappointed that Zilla––once again––brushed off his attempt to write.  With a slump of his shoulders, you heard a barely audible exhale of annoyance come from him, as he packed up his guitar with a nod.

Once his guitar was packed away, he stood up and offered you an apologetic smile.

“Come on,” Zilla reached out her hand for Shawn to take, “There’s this really good sushi restaurant we can go to before it gets too crowded.”

And even though you could tell that all he wanted to do was sit down and write songs, when he looked at her, his smile was genuine.  He melted right at her touch and his eyes softened.  

His eyes flooded with admiration for her because he thought she was the one who wrote the music she sang.  He looked at her like she was his inspiration to keep writing better music. He’s looking at her the way he should be looking at you, your mind screamed.  

His eyes only added insult to the injury that started the day you signed your contract agreeing to be her ghostwriter.

“I’ll see ya for a music lesson later, Y/n.” Shawn smiled over his shoulder as Zilla dragged him out of the door.

Before Shawn looked back at Zilla, she shot you a smirk, as if she was claiming Shawn in victory.  And in a sense, she had won whatever contest she made up in her head.

She won by becoming a household name, she won by not doing any of the grunt work of composing music, she won by having people do the work for her, and she won the heart of the second most famous pop singer-songwriter in the world because he thought she wrote all her own songs.

And just like that, with the slam of the door, you were left exactly in a position you found yourself in plenty of times before.  You were left alone in a studio, with all of your songs, while Zilla pranced around with the newest person who caught her attention.

But this time, instead of both of you not caring about what the other one did, you could feel yourself being exiled from any part of her life that revolved around Shawn.  And you knew she did it purposefully.  She was threatened that your songwriting could easily sway Shawn away from her.  She was threatened because she knew she couldn’t give Shawn exactly what he wanted; a partner to write songs with.

And just like every other time Zilla left you aggravated with too many feelings, you began to write a song.

----

You took your sunglasses off and squitend your eyes as you scanned the outside patio of the coffee shop.  You were about to take your phone out, but when you saw Shawn stand up from the table and excitedly wave his hands above his head, you smiled and weaved through tables.

When you approached the table, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and your smile widened as you brought your arms around his waist.

“My favorite music teacher,” Shawn hummed as he pulled away from the hug.

You were a little disappointed he cut the hug off short, but you had to keep in mind that he was somewhat kind of seeing Zilla.  You tried to get her to define her relationship with Shawn, but she would just wave you off and say it was nothing serious or kept asking if you were jealous.

While you might’ve been a little jealous whenever you saw a low quality paparazzi picture of them out in L.A, knowing that Zilla kept lying to Shawn about her songwriting “ability” always made you sleep with a smile on your face.

Just like the past month and a half when you met Shawn for coffee for one of your “music lessons,” he was always there first.  And like every other time before, he had your cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso––at the spot across from him.

Not wanting to waste any time, Shawn eagerly took out his songwriting journal and flipped open to a random page.  He slid the journal over to you and a laugh escaped your lips every time you saw how chaotic his journal looked.  

He had different color post-it notes sticking up from the top, corners of pages that were worn down because of how frequently he dog-eared them, and the occasional loose leaf paper that was folded up and stuck between two pages.

Taking a sip of your coffee, you leaned closer to his journal, trying to decipher the messy script that was his handwriting.

You leaned back in the chair, nodding as you took another sip of coffee, “I like it.”

“Just like?” Shawn wrinkled his nose.

Shrugging your shoulders you took another look at the lyrics, “I mean…It’s a compliment?”

Shawn let out a sigh and buried his head into his hands for a moment before looking up at you with a pout, “Something’s not right.”  He leaned over the table a bit and pointed at the second verse, “I don’t know what it is, but something isn’t right.”

“I like it.”

Shawn crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair, “No, there’s something you’re not telling me,” he glared at you, “You ripped apart my song last week and now you’re too quiet.”

You took another sip of your coffee to cover up the fact that you did think something was wrong with it.  But like he said before, with the way you tore his song up last week, you felt a little bad.  You didn’t want to make him feel like he wasn’t a good songwriter, because he had a way with words that you found yourself learning from.

He didn’t have quite as many songwriting awards as you, but you knew he wasn’t too far off.

With a sigh you offered him a weak smile, “You’re too vague.”  And with your first point of criticism, Shawn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he took out a smaller journal and began to write down what you said, “You’ve already had songs that have touched on feeling lonely, and you’re really specific in the first verse, but too general with the second verse…” you trailed off your sentence and pointed at some scribbles on the paper, looking up at him, “Why’d you cross this out?”

Shawn stopped his scribbling to see what you pointed at, and when he saw the lyric, his cheeks turned red and he let his curls shield his embarrassed face, “It’s nothing,” he grumbled, “What should I change it to?”

You shook your head, “Nuh-uh,” you gave him an encouraging smile, “What did you write?”

He shook his head and looked down at the table, “I don’t like it.”

Under the table, you lightly brought your foot up to tap his shin.  You didn’t stop nudging his leg with your foot until you saw a small smile grace his lips when he shyly looked up at you, “I’m wondering.”

Shawn rolled his eyes at your poor pun and retaliated by nudging his foot against yours in order for you to stop teasing him, “It’s…” he shook his head, “It’s too embarrassing.”

“I’m sure it’s really not as bad as you think,” you smiled at him again, “If you tell me what the lyric was, I’ll tell you what I think you should do music composition wise at the end.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and stepped on your foot, “You’re evil.”

You let out a small laugh as you rounded your hands around the hot coffee, “I see your three starts next to it, I know that’s your little ‘I need help’ symbol.”

Shawn flipped you off and it only caused the small amount of butterflies in your stomach to grow even more.

With a deep breath, he looked down at his hands and started picking at a loose piece of skin, “I wonder…” He peered up to see your anxious gaze, but then diverted his stare back down to his hands as he tore up the paper napkin in front of him, “When I cry into my hands, I’m conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man.”

You were in the middle of lifting your coffee mug up for another sip, but when you heard the rest of the lyric your hands froze mid-air.  You felt rooted to your seat as you stared at his face that still hadn’t looked up from tearing little pieces off the napkin.

How did he think that that lyric was not good enough?  That was something that you wished you wrote.

It was so vulnerable and honest and most of all, it was true to who he was.  In songwriting, no matter how personal a person thinks their experience is to them, there will always be hundreds upon thousands of people who will resonate with your story.

That was something you learned and used to your advantage.  

On Red, you fought hard for one particular breakup song to stay on the album that Zilla thought was too personal.  She kept saying––No one will care about leaving a scarf at his sister's house…No one will connect with dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light…And absolutely no one has had anyone ever call them up again just to “break them like a promise.”

But you fought hard and it was the song that solidified Zilla as this generation's greatest lyricist.  And it was also the song she performed on the Grammy’s when her debut album was nominated for Album of the Year.

Nervously, Shawn peaked up and saw the neutral expression on your face as you sat frozen.  He ran a hand through his hair and reached a hand across the table to pull his journal back, “See?  You think it’s stupid.  I––That’s why I crossed it off.  It’s too vulnerable and if people heard me say that?” He let out a somber chuckle, “They would think of me as less of a man.”

You pulled his journal back toward you and snatched the pen he had laying next to his other notebook, “That’s…Shawn that’s an incredible lyric.”  

You re-wrote the lyric on top of where it was originally scratched out, “There’s so much strength in vulnerability.  Not enough people––especially male artist’s––are comfortable with their vulnerability.  It’s refreshing and amazing and what you wrote––That lyric…”

When you looked up from re-writing the lyric down in his journal, you saw that he was trying to contain his growing smile by biting his bottom lip.  And this time under the table, when you brought your foot up to his, you gave it a single tap in reassurance, “It might be my favorite lyric ever.”

His voice cracked, “Really?”

You nodded your head, “It fits so well with the theme of self-discovery and being honest with yourself,” his smile widened with every compliment you offered him.  You leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over your chest with a proud smile on your face, “I think you knocked it out of the park with that one.”

Shawn ducked his head again and went back to ripping small pieces off the napkin, “That…That means a lot coming from you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt an electric current jolt through your veins, “If that lyric doesn’t make the song I won’t listen to the album.”

With a laugh so loud that it caused a few coffee shop patrons to look at your table, you let a smile overtake your face as you admired how the corners of Shawn’s eyes crinkled in joy.

“I’ll keep that promise,” Shawn scratched the bridge of his nose as he came down from his laughter, “So…” He briefly looked down at his songwriting journal with a smirk before looking back into your eyes, “What should I do with the end?”

You noticed a new flame of confidence in his eyes as he pushed his journal toward you more.  You let out a laugh as you looked at him with your eyebrows raised in excitement, “I’m thinking of a choir and horns…”

----

As your “music lessons” with Shawn continued for the next few months, so did your writing for Zilla’s next album.  And unfortunately, Zilla and Shawn also continued to see each other.  And while it was always a punch in the gut whenever Zilla brought it up, your conversations with Shawn were solely on writing and experimenting with different synthesizers for his new album.

With your contract that essentially hid you from the public, it was so refreshing to be able to collaborate with someone instead of writing by yourself.  Even though you mainly just helped Shawn with a bit of writing and composing some music, it was an experience that gave you new inspiration.  

You always thought you worked best alone, but collaborating with Shawn opened your eyes to everything you were missing out on.

It was all fun until Shawn approached you saying that he wanted to give you credit on his upcoming album.  That was when reality hit you because there was an exclusivity clause in your contract with Zilla stating that you could only write for her.  You tried to politely decline Shawn’s offer, but every time you saw him he brought it up.

It wasn’t until you told him you would stop your music lessons with him if he kept asking you.  

The times after that, you could tell he wanted to bring it up, he was fair in wanting to give credit where credit was due, but you told him not to worry about it.  Someone had been taking credit for your songs for years.

And soon enough the end of July came around and the album you wrote––Zilla’s album––folklore, was released to the world.

The public’s reaction to this album was more than you could’ve imagined.  It started off as an album with no inspiration, just meaningless stories, but it morphed into an album that you held close to your heart.  It had your true feelings, real experiences––that might’ve been exaggerated just a little––but it was still an album based on personal experiences.

And while it only got an eight on Pitchfork––two points off from a perfect album––Rolling Stones gave it a 4.5 out of 5 rating with possibly the most beautiful review Rob Sheffield ever wrote about your songwriting.  You made sure to hound Zilla to send him a thank you basket.

It might’ve been your favorite album you’ve ever written, and while you sipped on a glass of red wine at the album release party, all you had to do was look over to see Shawn’s laughing face to know why it was your favorite album.

He was still clueless that you wrote the album.

He still didn’t get any of the signs you gave about being the true songwriter.  It was always you writing with Shawn while Zilla pulled him away to go out to an expensive restaurant. And while he still looked at Zilla like she was the most inspiring songwriter of today’s generation…He was starting to look at you the same way.

The inspiration behind the album came from everywhere.  It was mostly centered around your frustrations with Zilla and how most of your regrets lied with signing that contract at sixteen.  No matter how hard you tried, it still felt like you wasted most of your potential writing for her instead of yourself.

But then Shawn came into the studio that one day.  He came in and your perspective changed.

You took another sip of red wine as the opening chords of the 1 started to play around the small venue ZIlla rented out to celebrate the release.  Bitterly, you took another sip of wine, as you looked at the boy who inspired the song and threw an arm around the person you despised most in the world.

If one thing had been different…If you were the person who rightfully got credit for your work…Maybe it would’ve been you he threw an arm around and pulled in close to his chest.

Your wine glass was still half full, but you tossed your head back to finish it off.  And when you brought the glass down, you saw Shawn turn his head toward you and offer you a wave.

You tightly smiled back at him and whirled around to the bar to get yourself another glass of wine.

You took full advantage of the open bar Zilla provided and another glass of red wine was placed in your hands.  And as you tasted the alcohol hit the back of your throat, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of them.

If only all of your wishes came true.

----

“And we’re back!” James Corden cheerily smiled at the camera before turning to face the three guests sitting on the couch.

You were backstage watching with Shawn as the crowd clapped at the “return” from the commercial break.  While you never went with Zilla to any of her interviews, you started tagging along to them to fit your “assistant for Zilla” cover story you told Shawn.

And with folklore released just a few weeks ago, you had accompanied Zilla on more than enough of the press tour.  You were back in L.A., which eased your spirits a little, but it didn’t ease the bubble of animosity that you felt toward Zilla every time she talked about her experience writing folklore.

“So, Zilla,” James started off, “Congrats on the new album––folklore.”  Everyone cheered and a smile lit up her face as James continued to praise her songwriting, “I’ve got to say, it’s probably my favorite album of yours.  It’s so different than anything you’ve ever written before.”

Zilla crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knees, “It was…It was a totally different experience writing this album, and when inspiration hits you just have to get it all out…”

As Zilla went on about her fake inspiration for the album, you tuned her out.  You could care less about what she thought the songs meant, but when you heard James bring up a little segment he wanted to do with Zilla, you felt your heart jump to your throat.

James deviously smiled, “As one of the greatest songwriters of our generation––Oh, stop blushing you know you are––I think we should play a little game.”

Zilla let out a small laugh, “Oh?”

Even though you couldn’t stand her, you knew when she was nervous.  Her foot started to bounce and she ran a hand through her hair as she quickly looked down at the ground.

And before James explained his little game, you felt someone rush past you with an acoustic guitar in their hands.  You felt your stomach churn with anxiety because Zilla had already performed on the show, and she was the only musical guest on the show.

The crew member rushed on stage to hand the guitar to James and then quickly ran off.  Your eyes widened and you felt your breath come out short.

“We here at the Late Late Show are obsessed with folklore––and even more obsessed with your songwriting.”

Oh no.

James handed the guitar to Zilla who took it with shaky hands, “And we challenge you to write a mini-song. Right here,” The crowd cheered, “Right now.”

Oh no.

Your jaw dropped the same time as Zilla’s and she whipped her head to look backstage at you with petrified eyes.  

“Oh, James…” Zilla nervously laughed as one of her hands gripped the neck of the guitar, “You can’t just write a song in that amount of time.”

One of the guests spoke up from the couch, “But earlier you said that it only took you seven minutes to write the chorus of hoax.”

But there was a small little detail that everyone was missing.  It didn’t take Zilla seven minutes to write the chorus to that song…It took you seven minutes to write it.

Zilla glared at the guest, “It needed some tweaking after––”

James let out a loud laugh and waved her off, “Oh stop being modest,” he then turned in his seat to face the audience and speak into the camera, “After the break we’ll have a brand new little song from singer-songwriter, Zilla!”

The crowd erupted in cheers while both you and Zilla stood frozen in place.  Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think Zilla would be in this position.  Before every single interview or T.V. appearance, Zilla had her manager carefully pre-screen all of the questions and segments she would be part of to make sure nothing like this happened.

“This is exciting,” Shawn bounced on his feet, and for a moment, you forgot that he was standing next to you, “She always changes topics whenever I try to talk songwriting with her.”

This was definitely not an ideal situation for either her or you.

“That’s…” you looked around to see the audience excitedly talking amongst each other.  You heard one girl in the front row say how she couldn’t believe she was going to witness the Zilla write something in front of her.  You were beginning to feel increasingly hot with ever second that passed, “That’s one way to put it.”

“And we’re back!”

Zilla’s head whirled around again to look at you, but you turned your head to the side to try and find the nearest trash can in case you threw up.

“Zilla…” James started off with a smirk, “You just sat here looking off to the side…I’m hoping you heard the music in your head.”

The audience laughed, Shawn laughed, and Zilla just sat there in silence.

“Well, go on then,” James gestured to the guitar, “Play us what you wrote.”

At least Zilla knew how to play the guitar, and she started off strumming a random chord as she let out a shaky breath before singing.

“Oh…You make me feel like the sky…So…Blue,” you visibly cringed at her lyrics and were reminded as to why you were hired.  But as she continued to sing, you started to feel more and more nauseous, “Oh…I wish you made me feel like…The sun, so bright and…Yellow.”

Everyone was silent.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off her as she still had her eyes shut tight.  You knew exactly how she was feeling; embarrassed, nauseous, and utterly humiliated.  You took a peak at Shawn and saw that his mouth tugged down in a frown, lips slightly parted, with his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

James’s stare was blank before he let out a forced chuckle, side-eyeing the audience, before he turned his attention back to Zilla, “Nice warm up, but now, let the magic flow and sing us the real song.”

Zilla opened her eyes and took in a deep breath, “That––I told you––You can’t push inspiration.”

James nodded his head, eyes wide in surprise at how Zilla snapped at him.  Zilla was always poised, always charming everyone in the room, and never had she ever snapped at anyone in public before.  Her jaw was clenched and you saw her shoulders tense up.  

“I––I get that,” James tried his best to de-escalate the situation, “But you––your songwriting––You’ve always been so vocal about how you can write so fast, even without inspiration––”

You were surprised Zilla hadn’t snapped the neck of the guitar in half with how strong her grip was on it.  She glared at James, “Well, I’m just not feeling it today––”

“I could’ve written something better,” the guest next to her laughed, which caused the audience to laugh along with them, as they continued their teasing, “Might need to take away your songwriting achievements––”

Zilla snapped her head to her right, turning her anger away from James, to the unknown actor who sat next to her, “I hired the best songwriter in in the business. She writes only the best for me––”

“––Because what you just sang was horrific.” They finished off their sentence.

For the third time tonight, you froze.  All of the second-hand embarrassment you felt when she sang disappeared and was replaced with absolutely nothing.  You had no thoughts––You just felt empty. You only had a feeling of absolute devastation, paired with a slight ringing in your ear, as your throat closed up.

You thought that her revelation couldn’t be heard by the actor talking over her.  You thought that no one caught her slip up.  But with the stunned look James had on his face, a few audible gasps of confusion from the audience, and Shawn stiffening up next to you…You knew that she blew her own cover because she didn’t know how to keep her cool.

James cleared his throat, “Your…Songwriter? You have someone else write songs for you?”

Zilla’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as she realized her mistake, and her face lost color, “Well, no––Of course not––It’s me––I’m my own songwriter––”

The other guest to Zilla’s left let out a snort, “There’s no way you wrote exile––”

“And we’ll be back after the break!” James interrupted the trio on the couch before Zilla completely lost her head.

Right as the studio lights lit up more of the room, Zilla tore off her mic and stormed off the stage.  Her hands were balled tight into fists as you could visibly see her face turn a darker shade of red with each stomp she took toward you.  You felt your heartbeat stop as you noticed her fiery glare was tunnel visioned toward you.

“She––You write her songs?”

Oh, shit.

For a moment, you forgot that Shawn was standing next to you because all you were focused on was the death glare Zilla continued to shoot your way as she walked toward you.  You had been at the end of many of her glares, but nothing compared to how she looked at you now.  Everything she had built her career on was crumbling and you knew she was going to blame you.

You rapidly shook your head, and when you looked up at Shawn, all you saw was betrayal and sadness, “No––Of course not––How’d you ever come to that conclusion––”

“You’re always in the studio when she’s supposed to be there,” Shawn cut you off, “She never wants to talk about songwriting while you––we’ve––been writing songs together,” his eyes widened as you saw something click in his mind, “Invisible String…” His voice tapered off as he mentioned the song, “You––You said you were just holding onto it for her.”

As you felt your heart plummet down your throat and into your stomach, you continued to shake your head, “I was just holding it on for her––It’s not––I––”

“I gave you a suggestion to change a lyric and it…You changed it,” his eyes that were full of despair suddenly narrowed at you.

Your voice cracked as he took a step away from you, “Shawn––”

He shook his head, “You lied––”

“This is all your fault,” Zilla shouted at you as she took hold of your elbow, spinning you away from Shawn to face her wrath, “If you could’ve––”

“How is this my fault?!”

Zilla shook with anger as you saw fire in her eyes, “It’s just––You,” she stomped her foot as she continued to throw her tantrum, “It’s all your fault!  If you hadn’t been so caught up in writing with Shawn you would’ve been more focused on me.  Because newsflash,” she took a step forward, “You still work for me.”

“You––Y/n?  So she is your ghostwriter?”

Zilla’s eyes widened because she forgot that Shawn was also backstage with you.  And she basically just confirmed everything she tried so hard to deny when she was on stage.  

You were long forgotten as Zilla turned to face Shawn.  She tried to take hold of his hands, but he shook her off and took a step back, “It’s––We have a partnership––We both write–––”

“You take credit for the songs that Y/n writes,” Shawn said it more as a statement than a question, but his voice was still one of disbelief.

Zilla’s face crumbled.  She knew the only hold she had on Shawn was that he thought she wrote all her own music, “Shawn––”

“Zilla,” her manager came rushing toward her with panic written all over their face, “This––This is bad.  We need to do some serious damage control––”

“The show––It’s pre-recorded,” Zilla hastily said, “Can’t we––Is there any way we can pay them to edit it out?”

Her manager grimaced as they shook their head, “Someone had their phone out, recorded the whole thing, and posted it to Twitter.”  Zilla let out a noise that was a mix between a cry and whine, “Billboard already has a whole article written.  TMZ is having a field day…” Her manager rubbed their temples, “It’s really not looking good.”

This time, Zilla did let out a soft cry as she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling.  Everything she built her career on––The authenticity of songwriting––It was over.

“And you,” her manager gave you a disinterested look, “You should probably leave.  If people saw you two together they might think––”

“Loud and clear,” you grumbled at them, not feeling the least bit sorry that Zilla had a meltdown on television and that it was all on video.  This was the Zilla you knew.  This was the “famed” singer-songwriter you had to deal with for years.  She was rude, nasty, and the most self-centered musician in the industry.

With a deep breath, you were about to turn around and leave, but if this was how they were treating you after everything you gave up for her, you wanted to make one thing clear, “Don’t ever come to me asking for another song again.” You angrily breathed out, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer as I expect that she,” you glared at Zilla, “Violated some term in the contract by admitting to having a ghostwriter.”

You whirled around, hoping that would be the last time you saw Zilla until you had to meet again to officially terminate your contract.  When your back was facing her––all you heard was her crying––but you couldn’t find the one person who deserved an apology.

Shawn was gone.

----

Two months after the public meltdown Zilla had on James Corden, people were still trying to figure out who the ghostwriter was.  But unlike the day you signed the contract at sixteen, there was an extra person who knew that you were Zilla’s ghostwriter.  Shawn was added to the list of you, your roommate, your entertainment lawyer, Zilla’s manager, and Zilla herself that knew your secret identity.

Zilla had come out with a tearful apology less than twenty-four hours after multiple music publications came out calling her a fraud.  And the next time that you saw her in person was with your entertainment lawyer to terminate the contract.  When the contract was labeled “null and void” it felt like the chains Zilla had around your wrist were broken.

And ever since Zilla confirmed she’d been working with a ghostwriter in her tearful YouTube apology video, the internet had not stopped searching.  In her video she said, “out of respect to the writer I worked so closely with over the years, I’m not revealing their identity.”

It was a low blow.  Because everything about that sentence was a lie.  The two of you never worked close together on any songs and you knew she had little to no respect for you.  She made that clear during the years you worked for her.  

Even after everything…You still liked the anonymity that came with the deal.  Especially now, if you were to come out as her ghostwriter, you would have the attention of the world.  And while you wanted credit for your work, you didn’t know if you were ready to be put on that stage yet.

But the thing that killed you the most was not being able to explain everything to Shawn.

He hadn’t responded to any of the messages you left him.  You felt a pang of pain in your chest whenever you pulled up your messages with him and read back through your texts.  You listened to the voice notes he sent you a three in the morning when he was struck with inspiration and you mourned the ridiculous selfies he sent you.

You had taken up a hobby of cooking complicated recipes, that needed your full attention, to keep yourself from hyperfocusing on the regret you felt by not explaining the situation to Shawn sooner.  As you put the beef wellington in the oven, coming to a painful understanding that you would probably never hear from Shawn again, your phone dinged on the counter.

Two months after not hearing from him…He sent you a text.  It was simple, and to a stranger looking in on your friendship, they wouldn’t know what it meant.  But you understood it loud and clear.

Music lesson in twenty?

You yelled out to Mia––telling her to keep an eye out on the oven––as you grabbed your keys and dashed out the door.  After you buckled up, you sent him a response––of course––and broke about every traffic law in the book as you raced to the coffee shop you always had your “music lessons” at.

Your park job was pitiful, but it didn’t matter, because you made it to the coffee shop in a record thirteen minutes with only one person on your mind.  Automatically, your feet carried you through the coffee shop and to the back patio.  You were about to sit at an empty table when you saw that your music partner was already sitting at one.

He was slumped down on the chair, arms tightly crossed over his chest, and even though he was wearing sunglasses you knew that he saw you enter.  But unlike all the other times you had your music lessons, he didn’t jump up and wave his hands above his head.

Like routine, you weaved through the tables until you got to him.

You stood in front of him for the first time since the James Corden incident, and even though you could feel the irritation he felt toward you…You noticed two cups of coffee on the table.  He had his usual black drip coffee and there was a cappuccino.

“Light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso,” Shawn mumbled.

You didn’t know what to say.  So you didn’t say anything.  You promptly sat down and circled your hands around the mug.  Because even though it was October, you still felt cold in California.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments longer; Shawn was still slumped in his chair while you sat with perfect posture, wanting to be ready for anything that came your way.

It was a silence that came when two people understand each other.

You let out a sigh as you looked at the latte art this particular coffee shop was known for, before you looked up at him with wide apologetic eyes, “I––I know saying sorry isn’t enough of an apology.”  Shawn stayed slumped as he nodded his head.  You saw your reflection in his sunglasses and gulped, “And not telling you because I was contractually obligated to keep quiet about being her ghostwriter…” you let out a pathetic laugh, “Just sounds shallow and shitty.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Why did you do it?  

Truthfully, you didn’t think you had it in you to captivate the attention of record labels and you didn’t think you were interesting enough for a fanbase.  Your plan was to hopefully get a publishing deal, write songs for that specific music publishing house, and have various artists cut your songs for their albums.  But then you caught Zilla’s attention.  And just like how she was with everything else in her life, she was selfish and wanted your talent all to herself.

Wanting to stall before you answered, you picked up the cappuccino and took a sip, but even beneath his sunglasses, you could feel his hard stare on you.

You sighed, “I––I didn’t like the idea of being in front of people.  I was sixteen, didn’t want to be pulled away from home, and I felt like I was better suited for writing and not performing.” 

You tapped your fingers on the side of the ceramic mug, “And before I knew it…Zilla heard one of my demos floating around a publishing company, liked it enough to cut it, and then it turned into signing a contract with her to be her ghostwriter.”

Shawn shook his head as he leaned forward, taking off his sunglasses, tired eyes staring straight into yours as he rested his elbows on the table, “Why’d you let her pretend that she wrote your songs?” 

Shawn briefly covered his face with his hands, before looking at you with a pained expression, “As a songwriter, I can’t…Just thinking about someone else claiming my feelings as their own?”  The look he gave you made you want to hide in a cave for the rest of your life, “Why did you do that?”

You sucked in a breath and shrugged your shoulders, “I––I’m not sure.”

He nodded his head, not because he understood your answer, but in understanding that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of you.

“How’d you do it?” He stared straight into your eyes, not backing down until he got this answer out of you, “I looked at the songwriting credits and they were all under her name.  I searched every performing rights organization database and saw that she––you––whoever––was with B.M.I. And I called the people I knew there and they said that they didn’t have anyone by your name.”  

He let out a defeated sigh, “The only person they had registered for her songs,” the fact that he couldn’t even say Zilla’s name had you smiling just a tad, “Was a Zilla Greene.”

You nodded with a sad smile, “That’s me.”

Shawn tilted his head and scrunched his eyebrows together, “No, that’s not––Zilla Greene––That’s Zilla, not you––”

You shook your head and held up a hand to him, he quickly stopped talking and let you explain, “When Zilla approached me to be her ghostwriter, it was her manager’s idea to have Zilla––whose real name is Willow––perform under a stage name that synced up with a pseudonym for me.”  Shawn slowly nodded his head, “So that way if anyone were to look at the songwriting credits and search her up on a database,” you gave him a pointed look, “It would just look like it was still her stage name. First name, last name, and all.”

Shawn let out a small laugh of disbelief, “I can’t believe you pulled it off for years.”

You shared his laugh and took a sip of your coffee, feeling a small sense of dread in your stomach, “And it would’ve kept going on if she didn’t practically admit it on James Corden.”

The atmosphere went back to feeling tense.

“So, are you…” Shawn lifted his head and looked at the people sitting around them, before he leaned into the middle of the table, whispering, “Still her ghostwriter?”

You let out a small laugh as you shook your head, “She technically broke our contract so, no,” you genuinely smiled for the first time when talking about Zilla, “I don’t write for her anymore.”

Shawn took a sip of his coffee before he mirrored your smile, “All this time…” He looked at you with a hint of remorse, “Whenever I told you how much I wanted to write with Zilla,” he smiled sadly, “I was actually writing with her.”

You nodded your head, “Don’t feel bad,” you waved him off, “I knew the whole time that it was me you wanted to write with.”

Shawn rolled his eyes and lightly nudged his foot against your leg under the table.  At the gesture, you didn’t try to hide the blinding smile that overtook your face.

“I was literally fangirling over you in front of you,” he briefly looked down at the table, letting out a chuckle, before looking back up at you with soft eyes, “And I didn’t even know it.”

You smirked, “Don’t worry, it still boosted my ego all the more.”

Shawn let out a loud laugh as he flipped you off just when you were about to take another sip of the drink he bought for you.  

“So…” Shawn started off slow, briefly breaking eye contact with you, “I’m not sure if you’re comfortable with it yet, but I…I’d be honored if I could credit you as a songwriter on my next album.”

After years of being brushed under the rug, years of someone taking advantage of your feelings for their own monetary benefit, having Shawn saying he would be honored to credit you––actually you––for your work…You felt yourself get choked up at the thought.

You sniffled, trying to hold back the small tears of joy you felt behind your eyes in, “I would really appreciate that.”

Shawn’s smile was wide as he nodded once at you, before he leaned over to reach for something under the table.

He pushed his songwriting journal over towards you and opened it up to a page with music notes.  You looked down and his messy note placement as you heard the composition in your head.

“So, I’ve been practicing arpeggios,” you looked up from the journal to see a sheepish smile on his face, “And while the sound of broken chords sound really cool,” and again, under the table, he brushed his foot on top of yours, “I’d like it better if the chords were together.”

You smiled as you felt a familiar warm feeling in the pit of your stomach cause a shiver to run through your whole body.

“Together,” you repeated his words that most definitely held a double meaning, “I think I’d like if the chords were together, too.”

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[hlupdate]

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

[hldailyupdate]

This Charming Man: Why We’re Wild About Harry Styles

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

Harry for Variety. (2 December 2020)