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harryandmolly · 5 years

Text

Complicit // 12

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW (unprotected sex), the girl from Ipanema

WC: 8.2k

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Shawn bobs his head and chews at his lip. His smile is anxious, despite the elated, conspiratorial expressions on everyone else in the room. They know very well they have a hit on their hands. They’re too distracted by their own excitement to notice that the man who gave it to them isn’t all there.

Shawn finished Mia’s song when he got home from the premiere that night. The next day, without having slept a wink, he called the team to the studio. They didn’t change a single word or note before recording it. Teddy told him it’s the best song he’s ever written. Shawn thinks, for once, he didn’t need to hear it from someone else.

Shawn plows ahead, fixated on the idea of using the single as a surprise pre-album drop to boost even more interest. It has radio hit written all over it. He wants it out before the end of the summer. His label and Andrew came back to him with a new idea.

The song would make a gorgeous duet, they tell him. Bex is riding high on her album sales; featuring her on the single would be great for them both, the perfect crescendo. They could push back their breakup, originally planned for the end of August, to after Shawn’s album releases in September to capitalize on the public interest.

He readily agrees. Honestly, it’s a great idea. Bex’s vocals would be the perfect addition to the track. Releasing a single together now after going official for the first time on a red carpet at the premiere makes sense. It’s a solid strategy.

Shawn is vibrating in place as he listens to Bex’s isolated vocals that she recorded while rehearsing for her fall tour in London. They’re ready to be mixed with his. He knows he should be excited. This is going to work. It’s going to be the thing that pushes this summer over the top and makes every awkwardly photographed kiss, every instance of sneaking out of a hotel room in a cab so it looks like they stayed the night together, every night spent away from the woman he loves, all worth it.

But it doesn’t completely overshadow the fact that he’s releasing the song he wrote for said woman with his fake PR girlfriend.

Shawn drops his head into his hands and closes his eyes to focus. After a few minor tweaks, her vocals are perfect. To be fair, if he had to share this song with anyone, he would choose Bex. She’s an incredible artist and vocalist and he’s honored to share a track with her. But when he thinks about Mia turning on the radio in her Passat on the way to pilates with Silver, hearing it for the first time stuck in traffic on La Brea, he feels a little sick.

When the track ends, he sits up and pastes on a proud smile. Teddy glances at him. The rest of the eyes in the room follow. After a moment, he nods.

“It’s ready to cut. When can I hear a mix?”

Since the single would debut too close to the voting deadline for the MTV VMAs to qualify for awards, they decided to premiere the song live as the show opener instead. It’s a bold idea and probably would fall flat if not for all the “Shex” shippers that ravenously await any documentation of their relationship, but since they’re still the hottest couple of the summer, it’s just crazy enough to work.

At least, this is what Mia infers based on her knowledge of the situation and the fact that Shawn never mentioned he was working on something new. She figures compartmentalizing around her made sense.

Mia watches the VMAs with Peter on FaceTime. He took the night off from FaceTiming with Xander the TA and generously offered to bash the hell out of Bex’s red carpet and show looks if it would help, even though he knew it wouldn’t. Mia turned him down. He’s glad she did. Bex looks incredible and it would be hard to pretend she didn’t come to slay.

Shawn glows in a sharp white suit that Peter jokes must’ve been nicked from Silver’s closet. He looks tan and healthy and excited and he’s still doing his prayer hands and peace signs on the red carpet so for all that’s changed in the past few months, at least that hasn’t. Bex is in a gold minidress to complement him. They look like modern Greek deities. Peter mercifully decides not to comment.

She and Peter talk over the rest of the red carpet coverage with the exception of the stunned silence they fall into when Sophie Turner and Joe Jonas arrive.

“I still can’t believe you’ve had sex with her. She’s the one woman on the planet I’d bone,” Peter whispers reverently into the phone.

Mia relives the night in a welcome flash and hums through a smug grin. “I’m a lucky girl.”

She feels lucky right up until the spotlight falls on Shawn at the piano and he starts singing a song about a woman who makes him feel free, joined by the woman that represents everything that traps him.

The headlines haunt her. “So in love,” they extol, “You can see it in every moment of their performance.”

Song of the Summer! Shawn Mendes and Bex Debut New Duet Single at the VMAs

Bex and Shawn Mendes STUN With New Single in VMAs Show Opener

“Fuck off!” Mia shouts at her phone, not safe even from her Instagram explore page these days. She flings it on the bed and watches it bounce, hoping for a rash moment that it’ll take a dive off her mountain of pillows that still smell like him if she squints, and smash against the floor. It would save her from herself.

It’s not like she believes the headlines, obviously. It’s the mix of everything that’s come along with the song and her self-imposed exile from him that’s getting at her.

It’s been a few weeks since she ditched her secret identity and only hours later asked him to leave. She’s been feeling twitchy. She’d love to blame it on the lack of dates she’s had recently, contributing to the lack of sufficient orgasms, but even she can’t kid herself on that front.

But the quiet hasn’t helped. August is always slow. Clients go on family vacations, not the kind they invite their domme to. She usually spends August in Italy with Peter, but he’s taking classes over the summer semester and is cozied up to his TA, so she and Pammy stare at each other for most of the day and eat Rice Krispies.

Despite her twitchiness, the idea of reaching out to Shawn still feels too much, too soon. She doesn’t want to call him again until she’s decided definitively how to move forward. Or if there’s anywhere to go at all.

Thank god she has Julia.

While many of her clients get busier in the summer with families or trips, Julia’s hefty international travel slows down in the summer, allowing her to hole up like she likes in her $50 million Bel Air mansion.

Tonight, she’s coming out of her extremely luxurious cave and is inviting Mia with her for a rare outing. Despite the fact that Julia is openly gay, the media still doesn’t take an interest in any women she’s publicly photographed with, merely captioning them as Julia Granger and “female friend.”

The event in question is the LA Children Foundation’s annual silent auction. Julia knows Mia also appreciates the work LACF does and supports it financially, and so she invited her along. Mia, eager for company without a tail to wag, spends a full two hours thumbing through her outrageously large closet until she decides on a sky blue off-the-shoulder cocktail dress.

She forgoes the Frank and Ava necklace, just for now. She decides it’s too heavy for the occasion (in more than one way).

Strangers in the Night plays on vinyl. She swipes on Julia’s favorite deeply burgundy lipstick, knowing it’ll have her staring at her lips all night, which happens to be exactly what the doctor ordered on a night like this when Mia is so scattered she can barely pick out her shoes.

Gus stands in the doorway of the bathroom tonight, watching her with an odd sort of guarded affection, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t share his fatherly smile with her at all times, she’ll break down. She must look about as fragile as she feels. She resolves to buck up in the car so as not to let it affect her night with Julia. Gus plays a Dean Martin Spotify playlist and sings along to “That’s Amore.” She giggles and tries to harmonize.

Julia’s assistant Gracie is neat as a pin, waiting for her in the valet lane. Her legs are locked at the ankle and lengthened by a pair of Manolos Mia is sure Julia got her the last time they went to visit the flagship store in Chelsea. Her grin is wide and looks stuck on her face. Maybe her stranglingly tight ponytail is holding it in place. Mia dips her head and airkisses her cheek.

Gracie rattles on, prepping Mia for her boss’s mood. She had an irritating call from partners in Milan that had her on edge. Gracie’s been plying her with champagne for the last half hour since the start of cocktails. Mia nods patiently, wondering when and if Julia will realize how madly in love Gracie is with her. Maybe if Gracie ever decides to let the ponytail down and make Julia obey her for once, they can get somewhere.

Julia stands surrounded by a group of men in dark suits at the top of the stairs. Her hair is crimson and lying in soft waves down her back rather than up in the French twist she usually sports. It’s set off by her emerald cocktail dress and stunningly high black patent leather Brian Atwoods.

Mia squares her shoulders and waits patiently, with Gracie standing just behind, arms meekly crossed over her front. Julia seems to feel her presence. She turns her head, the chandelier of the hotel ballroom backlighting her aristocratic profile. Her voice trails off and her smile spreads slow and sweet.

“Gentlemen, that’s enough shop talk. My guest has arrived.”

They fall away. Their curious glances are quickly forgotten. Julia turns to face Mia as she strolls toward her, looking her up and down a little hungrily.

“You look lovely,” Julia breathes. They don’t touch, but the moment is charged and intimate even without a brush of fingers or lips.

“Thank you,” Mia replies, a little hollow in its smoothness. Behind her, Gracie falls away with a sad smile.

Julia guides Mia around the perimeter of the pre-auction cocktail hour. They drink champagne with strawberries and whisper-giggle gossip updates about the characters they see at these events. Julia tells her about the affairs, the divorces, the bankruptcies and scandals that get trampled beneath the expensive footwear of the well-to-do, never to make it to the gossip columns. Some secrets are worth the price it takes to bury them.

The ballroom is sumptuously decorated, hung with lavish velvet drapings and glittering with dozens of chandeliers. Under her breath, Julia quietly mutters her distaste for the opulence of it, the tired tradition of spending as much on a fundraiser as what ends up being made from it. She voices her pledge to donate at least half as much as was spent on the elegant trappings, but is interrupted by a sparkling, loud laugh from beside one of the auction tables. Julia’s and Mia’s heads lift at the same time.

Bex appears taller in person, like she’s all leg. She’s in a glamorous red halter dress with a high bejeweled neckline and an alluring but still somehow appropriate slit up her thigh. Her hair is pinned up to show off her smooth back and the swallow-emblazoned hand that rests at the base of it.

He’s grinning at Bex as genuinely as Mia’s ever seen him. He’s in a dark green suit that makes his eyes look lighter, chestnutty even from fifteen feet away. His hand rests against her skin, unmoving but comfortably low. Mia studies it, waiting to see if his thumb caresses her in a silent, private hello. It remains there until he can feel her gaze. He looks up. His smile drops. Mia turns away.

She can see Julia is speaking to her, watches her smooth, rosy lips as they move, but she can’t hear. She tries to tuck hair behind her ear and lean in, blindly searching for focus, but it doesn’t help. She’s gone fucking numb.

Julia smiles a little nervously and tucks a hand around the side of Mia’s neck in a rarely public tender gesture. Mia blinks quickly and steps closer, pressing her hand into Julia’s hip.

“I’m here, I’m sorry,” Mia murmurs, dropping her eyes guiltily.

Julia doesn’t speak, just thumbs at the Van Cleef sapphire drop earring hanging from Mia’s ear and guides them through the loop of auction tables.

Shawn feels dazed. He can’t imagine how he even walked into a room without feeling her there. He feels like a once carefully tuned sensor in him is broken. Maybe it’s because even as he watches her from afar, he can see she’s not fully there.

Bex subs in for the rest of their inane conversation after he checks out to stare at her. She’s with Julia Granger, undoubtedly the second-most powerful woman in the room. To Shawn, Mia still ranks above her.

She looks a little… lost. Shawn’s never seen her look so out of place. Physically, of course, she blends right in the way a good courtesan should -- not overdressed, not under, not too loud, not too quiet, the perfect date. There’s something radiating anxiety from inside her. He wants nothing more than to cup her pretty face in his hands and make it go away.

He holds on to Bex a little tighter and laughs politely when he’s supposed to. He tries not to look at the escort formerly known as Penny for the rest of the night.

The driver doesn’t open the door for Mia right away when they park under the entryway of Julia’s palatial home. Mia glances at Julia, who’s smiling back warmly. She takes Mia’s hand and holds it in her lap.

“Was bound to happen sometime, I think,” Julia muses in a voice that sounds so much like Silver’s, Mia almost shivers.

“Hmm?” she croaks.

“I imagine your job to be one of the most dangerous I can think of. The truth is, you’re always operating right on the edge of love with every client. I’ve been with you long enough to feel it. It’s what makes you so excellent at what you do.”

She doesn’t look or sound remotely upset or disappointed, just resigned and, somehow, hopeful. She traces the lines of Mia’s palm, watching her muscles flutter with a wistful smile.

Mia’s lips are parted. It’s not often she’s blindsided by a client, especially Julia. She can read Julia like a fucking book; it’s the reason Julia’s always valued her so highly.

“So it makes sense, I think, that you fell over the edge with someone. Honestly, it’s amazing it’s never happened before. But that’s what makes you so fucking good at this job. You were able to put in so much of yourself, but never too much. Not until you met him.”

Mia squirms uncomfortably. Julia looks up from her palm and closes her hands around it. She lifts it to her lips.

“You must be so scared,” Julia breathes, shaking her head, “This changes everything for you.”

Mia’s eyes prick with tears, seemingly out of nowhere. She balks. Flight instincts flare hard in her gut and pump through her weary veins.

“Julia, I--”

“I don’t demand an explanation. That’s never how this was going to work with us. You may be one of my closest friends, but I was never one of yours. That’s ok. That’s what this is supposed to be. You’ve given me everything I needed when I needed it, and I’ll always love you for that, Penny. You’re a marvel of a human being and I’m honored to have experienced you. I hope you know I’d do anything for you at any time. I also hope, maybe someday, that we can be friends.”

Mia breathes through a sob. She claps her free hand over her mouth and struggles to regain some kind of footing. It’s a free fall and Julia is watching and waving.

Julia releases her hand at the exact moment her driver opens her door. She pauses for a moment, watching Mia scramble in a way she’s never seen.

“Can I kiss you?” she murmurs. Mia hesitates, then nods.

The kiss is soft and lingering, one of a million, but one in a million. When they pull away, Mia can breathe again.

“Aleksandr will take you home, he just needs your address. I meant what I said, Penny. Anything you need, ever.”

With one last heartbreakingly beautiful smile, Julia lets Aleksandr help her out of the car. Mia watches her walk away. She cries all the way home.

It’s just past dawn. All of Los Angeles is a shade of blue. The Studio City hills are a deep, earthy teal against the powder sky. The simmering palms tickled by the morning breeze around Mia’s back patio are cobalt. Even the wind itself is blue. To complement it all, she’s in an ice blue satin slip, padding around barefoot, counting her steps while she waits for an appropriate time to call.

5:43 AM is hardly an appropriate time to be doing anything but sleeping, but she’s almost sick with anticipation, so she hits the call button and waits. She knows she won’t get his voicemail. She just knows.

“Hey,” he pants groggily.

“Are you alone?”

She hears herself ask and frowns, unsure where it came from. He makes an aggravated chuckling sound.

“Yes, yeah, I’m alone.”

“Ok,” she whispers, propping herself up against the pollen-coated patio table. The silty feeling of it beneath her fingers is somehow calming, or maybe it’s the sound of his breathing as it slows.

“Mia?” he murmurs after a few moments.

Her brow furrows. She’s not used to the name anymore, and definitely not from him. If she were a shred more desperate, she’d ask him to say it again and again until she could play it in her head the way she can play “It Was A Very Good Year.”

“I’m here.”

He goes quiet. She doesn’t mind. Knowing he’s there is enough.

“Did… you bid on anything at that auction?”

His question takes her by surprise. She snorts and shakes her head.

“No. Julia did, she won a week at a spa in the Berkshires. She’s giving it to her assistant Gracie as a perk.”

She can hear him smile gracefully when he says, “That’s nice.”

The silence is as dense as the blue at the bottom of the canyon below her. She’d gladly swim in it if it meant more time. She’s beginning to think this phone call was unfair. She still has nothing to say to him. She can barely form words.

He sighs. “I miss you so fucking much.”

Mia squeezes her eyes shut. He always gives her what she needs.

“We can fix that.”

His pause is charged and hopeful. His voice sounds a little brighter, more awake when he speaks again.

“I have… kind of a crazy idea if you’re up for it.”

“Those are usually my favorite kind.”

After all that blue, Mia embraces the color.

It seems all of Rio de Janeiro is color. It’s vibrant even from several thousand feet as she descends through the clouds in her first class cabin after a 16 hour journey from Los Angeles.

She got on the plane only a few hours after she accepted Shawn’s invitation to join him for his final festival of the summer. He’s set to headline the third night of Rock in Rio in front of some 80,000 people. It’s the biggest show of his career so far. And he wants her there for him. She didn’t even hesitate.

She speed-packed every sundress, bikini and pair of sandals she could find in fifteen minutes and frantically called Gus for a ride to the airport. Pammy came along in the car, destined for another visit with Gus and his family for a few days while Mia jetsets.

Shawn sends a car to pick her up. She cruises along the crystalline blue water, past craggy mountain peaks and through bright pastel favelas filled with life and food and music. The violent swing from her quiet Mia life to Penny’s vibrant one is more jarring than usual. She blames the long flight hangover for her unsettled state. But there’s no time to settle. She’s being whisked straight to the team’s rented villa in São Conrado to freshen up before heading to the venue.

It’s sunset as they wind up the mountains of Joatinga and Mia wonders how they’ll ever reach the top. They ascend through a sparsely populated neighborhood of chic, modern villas until they reach a cobblestone drive spiked with weeds that leads to the top of the hill. The villa at first glance is modest, flat-roofed and lined with lush tropical plants. The inside is sprawling, 8 bedrooms, eclectically furnished and decorated, with an infinity pool that seems to spill over the cliff and down onto Pepino Beach. She wants to wander, but the driver tells her they need to leave for the venue in 45 minutes.

Loud is the language of Brazilian nightlife, so she appears back in the foyer in a gauzy mustard yellow minidress and her clunky red platforms, shimmering as she walks with bangles up her arm and strings of beads around her neck.

Back down the mountain they go, descending from the balancing quiet to the screech of chaos that is Rock in Rio. Shawn has been at the Cidade do Rock since early afternoon. She can only imagine that he’s a spiky bundle of nerves sitting in the dressing room now. Her heart rate quickens as they draw closer through the maze of traffic to the artist and guest entrance. She recognizes all of a sudden that she might be as nervous as he is.

She’s escorted through security and the waves of people milling around deep in the bowels of the venue. She can feel the many, many thousands of people outside at the stage. The walls vibrate with their energy and their noise. The show is between acts -- another artist is next before Shawn’s headlining set. Mia doesn’t know who. She doesn’t even know if she’ll see him before he goes on.

Her escort pauses to take a phone call. She stands behind him, towering over him in her tall shoes, feeling more like a first time prostitute than when she was one. She tucks her arms behind her to hide her fiddling fingers. Her stomach swoops hard when the unthinkably large crowd cheers for something she can’t see. Mia swears her brain is about to short circuit when her guide leads her to a door, knocks, and positions her in front of it. He starts to walk away. She struggles with her Portuguese to protest, but the door swings open.

“Thank god,” Shawn breathes, yanking her inside by her awkwardly outstretched hand. When the door shuts behind them, the sound of festival chaos is mercifully muffled.

His eyes are darting, his hair is bouncy and free of paste, he’s sweating through a white t-shirt and wetting his lips. The piece of her she needs right now falls into place. She steps into him and tucks her warm hands around his clammy neck.

“There he is,” she whispers, resting her forehead against his. The breath he shakily releases against her lips smells like wintergreen. He drops his hands to her hips, his thumbs rubbing into the light floss of her dress’s material.

Mia’s eyes are closed. Her smile is perfectly tranquil as her heartbeat finally slows to normal. She plucks at some curls against his neck with her fingers.

“Are you bricking it?”

He chuckles and she likes the way his throat vibrates against her palms and through her whole body. His nose bumps hers.

“Completely.”

She nods, not enough to dislodge where they’re connected. She brushes the tip of her freckled nose against his until she can hear him smile. She pulls away to look at him.

He already looks slightly less manic than he did when she walked in. She’s helping. It’s as calming to her as it is to him. To Mia, there’s no drug like being able to relax someone.

“What are you doing in here all by yourself?” she murmurs, guiding him by the hand to the overstuffed couch. They sit together easily, like their last few encounters are a distant memory, like it’s late June again. Shawn curls an arm around her, she slips a leg over his and lets his hand wander up and down her slightly stubbly calf.

“I’m supposed to be meditating,” he grunts, “And… I wanted time with you when you got here. Alone. Not-- like, I mean, you know, just to see you, not-- I mean, not to just--”

“Hey, I know,” Mia soothes with a gentle smile. She read on him when she walked in that he doesn’t want to be fucked right now, he wants to be held. So that’s what she’ll do.

His shoulders relax a little when he sees the understanding on her face. She massages the guitar tattoo on his forearm and lets him press his nose into her hair.

“Also, I didn’t exactly tell anyone I invited you.”

Mia’s brows raise. Shawn slowly raises his head to look at her sheepishly.

“Interesting choice,” Mia hums, waiting for an explanation.

He wets his lips. “It happened really fast. I had the idea when we got out here but I didn’t know if you were going to call, but then you did and I just said it because I wanted you here, I need you here with me so badly, especially tonight. And I know all the stuff with Bex is still happening, with the single and everything it’s an even bigger deal than before and I knew Andrew wasn’t going to like it even if I just said you’re my friend, he’s really conscious of the image shit right now so I just decided to keep you… a surprise.”

Mia decides for now not to comment on the single and the “Bex stuff.” Instead she nods gamely and tucks her face into his neck for a kiss. The goosebumps she missed on him flare hot. He hums and cuddles her a little closer.

“Thank you so much, Mia,” he breathes, tangling his fingers in the ends of her salt-sprayed hair. She lifts her head to regard him. His sincerity makes her ache.

Mia sighs, like it’s all just inevitable, and she supposes it is, at least tonight. She pulls one hand up from the back of his neck into his silky hair and holds him fast for a kiss.

She starts slow, relearning the curve of his soft mouth and the way his pulse quickens under her fingers when she touches him like this. She listens for the little throaty noise of pleasure from his chest and continues a little deeper, massaging his scalp as she explores well-documented territory with her mouth and hands until they’re both gasping and grasping, high on it.

A knock at the door interrupts them. Mia sits back with her eyes wide and her lips swollen. Shawn wipes his mouth and clears his throat.

“Yeah?”

Andrew pops his head in. His expression changes from neutral to utter bafflement so fast Mia almost laughs.

“Wh--”

“Andrew, you remember Mia, right? You met at the 4th of July party.”

Shawn says it with such confidence that Mia and Andrew both stare at him in shock. Shawn doesn’t seem to care at all that Mia was introduced under a different name then, and left the party under disreputable circumstances after leaving him with a litter of hickeys up his neck, to Andrew’s horror.

Andrew blinks. “What’s… going on?”

Shawn stands and takes Mia’s hand. She gapes, but rises and follows as he heads for the door Andrew’s standing in.

“Don’t worry, we’ll stay out of sight. This doesn’t have to be a huge deal.”

Andrew’s face says otherwise. Mia schools her expression to what she hopes is a casual one and follows Shawn out the door.

The rest of the team is clearly confused by her appearance but no one bothers to question it, especially given how much calmer their leader seems in her presence. Zubin offers Mia a caipirinha while Tiff gets Shawn into his chelsea boots, black jeans and silky crimson sleeveless button-up.

Mia is energized by the big group send off to the stage. Shawn keeps her close as they make their way through the maze of doors and corridors to the side of the stage, past curious gazes and busy stagehands. It’s the first time Mia actually gets a look at it. She gapes at the size of the crowd.

It’s what can only be described as a sea of people. Hell, it’s a sea of people that probably extends right out to the sea. She presses a hand to her chest in astonishment. Shawn takes the other in his.

“Hey,” he nearly yells, “About the song. You… you know I wrote it for you, right?”

Mia hesitates, then nods.

“I know it’s probably weird that I had Bex sing on the track,” he calls back. Mia winces. This is such an odd time for this conversation. He seems to see the thought on her face.

“No, listen. I just need you to know just because I sang it with her doesn’t make it any less yours. It’s for you, Mia. Every time, it’s always just for you.”

A guitar tech hands off the Stratocaster. He strings it over his shoulder and scoops her in by the side of her neck for a bruising kiss, hidden from the world but blatant and obvious in front of his whole dumbstruck team.

He pulls away with a smirk like she’s never seen before. For a moment, she’s paralyzed with the certainty of the notion that she’s about to see something unlike anything she’s ever seen before.

He climbs up from the bottom of the stage. The sea of people releases a volcanic noise. Mia covers her nose and mouth, watching him stride up to the microphone and cry a greeting into it. Somehow, the crowd noise gets even fucking louder. She stares in awe as he reaches for a guitar pick off the mic stand and starts playing her song.

She thinks she knows why she’s felt so off her own feet and out of her own head now. It makes sense in that weird, nonsensical, cosmic vibrational way. The uncertainty and the dazedness of the last few days has been leading her to a truth she can’t avoid anymore, the ultimate imbalance.

Mia is so fucking in love with Shawn.

Maybe it was spending an evening watching him be the purest, most distilled version of himself in front of 80,000 ravenous fans that made her realize they could only hope to love him as much as she does. Because it feels so obvious now. Irreversible, even. This is it.

This is the end.

He comes off stage grinning wildly, all gleaming teeth and glistening sweat as he takes her willing body into his arms and swings her into another all-consuming kiss. She laughs into his mouth. He revels in it.

The reveling continues into the cars. There’s a whole line of SUVs queued up outside the venue, most of which are heading into the city in search of nightlife. One, however, per Shawn’s request, is taking them back up into the mountains to the villa. Andrew shades them with a wary look but otherwise drops it. Better that they tuck themselves away in their private nest than be seen “canoodling” in a Brazilian nightclub anyway.

The reveling ends in the car. Mia and Shawn are the only ones heading back early, even though it’s nearly 2am. It’s almost eerily quiet. They cling to each other like there’s some kind of invisible threat nearby looking to drag them apart. Shawn keeps a hand running through Mia’s sweaty hair while she sits practically in his lap, trailing single wet kisses along his cheek and jaw, tastes of what they can have more of when they’re finally really alone.

The driver stays in the driveway until Shawn locks the front door behind them. Mia stares out through the open floor plan to the infinity pool, lit from within. The city glows beneath them, far below until it meets the ocean. Mia thinks it’s appropriate that they’re on the edge of something.

Shawn wanders up behind her, the clack of his boots deafening against the hardwood in the silent villa. His hands are gentle on her hips. His nose skims her jugular. He holds his breath.

“What do you want, baby?” she murmurs, glancing around them, “The pool? Or maybe the window?”

This house is insane -- she has no shortage of ideas for locations.

Shawn releases the breath low and slow against her neck. Her entire body goes stiff and goosebumped. He plants a kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“Want you in the bed. Please.”

Mia mashes her lips together and sighs through her nose. She supposes if she’s going to let herself have this with him, it may as well be all the way. She lifts her hand to cradle his head as he nuzzles her.

“Ok. Take me.”

Shawn smiles into her neck. He turns her by the hips and slowly lowers to one knee. Mia is about to question him when she realizes he’s working the buckle on her left shoe and kissing the inside of her thigh. She smiles and combs through his sweet smelling post-show shower hair. He switches legs and muffles a little groan into her skin when she tugs at him impatiently. He leaves her shoes sitting by the sofa and stands, lifting her legs around his hips as he does. She goes easily, swinging her arms around him with a whimper as he leads her toward his bedroom.

It’s vast and mostly empty with one long floor to ceiling window against the far wall opening up over the cliff. The enormous bed sits in the center of the room. Shawn takes her there, bracing himself on a knee as he lowers her into its cushiony softness without letting up on her lips. Mia holds him down with her, but it doesn’t matter, he wasn’t going anywhere anyway.

There’s something in the way they move together tonight. It’s as hot and slow and lazy as the humidity in the tropical trees outside the window. Instead of tugging at the straps of her dress, Shawn plants kisses over them, teases the skin beneath before reaching back up for another taste of her mouth. Instead of pushing at his jeans, Mia slides her hands up the back of his shirt, enjoying the way he gasps into her mouth.

They’re taking what they’ve always wanted but been afraid to ask for. They’re reaching past comfortability and familiarity into true intimacy. It makes Mia’s arm hair stand on end like from a static charge. She dives deeper, deciding she may as well drown in it.

She slows the kiss he’s working on, pointing her toes and dragging them up the back of his leg. He whines sweetly into her mouth, making her smile.

“You taste good, Shawn,” she tells him, voice all warm gravel. He smiles into her lips and kisses the corner of her mouth.

“What do I taste like?”

Mia sucks him back in with a hum to decide. “Wintergreen.” She takes another taste. “Honey.” And another. “And a little bit of bourbon.” She nips at his lower lip. He laughs and lifts his hand to cradle her jaw, running his thumb against her lower lip.

He bites his lip, watching her press kisses to the bad of his finger when a few weeks ago she would’ve sucked on it until she demanded he drop his pants so she could suck on something else. But it’s different tonight. He molds his mouth back against hers so he doesn’t say something fucking stupid like you taste like forever.

Slowly, Shawn works Mia’s dress up her stubbly thighs, letting his fingers stretch and wander the patterns of freckles and stretchmarks in her skin. He admires the soft cushion around her hips and tummy and the swell of her ass. He gives it a teasing squeeze and she bites his lip.

“Take it off, Shawn.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He rolls her on top of him and shimmies her out of her pretty dress. He doesn’t have time to look her over before she descends on his neck, running her nose and mouth over all the places she likes to leave marks.

“Please, honey. Wanna see it. How much you want me,” he croaks.

Mia breathes him in slowly, savoring. She reaches for one of his hands off her hip and intertwines their fingers against the bed. Watching his fingers caress hers, she swipes her tongue just below his ear, where his skin is the very softest, like velvet. At his intake of breath, she nips and sucks, easing into a rhythm that she matches with the slow grinding of her hips.

“Jesus, Mia. Baby, you’re incredible.”

The name. She still can’t get used to him using her real name. She bites him a little too hard and winces when he stiffens. She apologizes with a hum and wet kiss until he tilts his head needily to find her lips again.

“Fucking love kissing you,” he breathes, snagging her lower lip between his teeth again with a little smile, groaning as her hips find his again.

Mia knows she has to get him naked soon or she’ll have them both coming in their damn underwear. She doesn’t want that rushed foolishness tonight. Not tonight, not like this. She wraps an arm around him, wriggling it between his broad back and the mattress, and pulls him over her. He hovers on a knee, still lost in kissing her. She slides a hand up his chest and pushes him up gently, sitting up with him as he straddles her thighs.

Mia lifts the hem of his shirt up until he takes over, stretching his enormous arms over his head as he sheds his shirt behind them. His arms drop and start to reach for her. She leans in with a soft moan, eyes fluttering shut as she buries her face in his chest. Shawn pauses, cupping the back of her head.

“Mi--”

He cuts himself off when she starts to plant kisses all over his chest, her hands wandering his sides and back as she pleases. He loves it when she takes what she wants, especially when it’s his to give. His big fingers massage her scalp softly, marveling at the way she mewls against his skin like she missed it. He tilts his cheek against the top of her head. He knows the feeling.

Mia doesn’t want to let go. He’s perched in her lap, holding her as she clings to him, patiently enjoying her tender exploration of his chest despite how hard she can feel he is in his jeans. With a shuddering breath, she pulls back to look at him. He smiles warmly and tucks some hair behind her ear.

“Wasn’t sure I’d get this with you again.”

Her eyes drift shut. She noses at his chin. He sighs happily, helping lower her beneath him again so she’s beautifully surrounded by him. He presses his lips to her cheek and breathes with her, watching her fingers trail up and down his arms.

“About tonight,” she rasps, clearing her throat and licking her lips, avoiding his big, pleading eyes, “You… I’ve never seen anything like that before. I’ve never experienced a performance like that. I don’t know if you know how good you are, but I need you to know that I think you’re fucking incredible.”

Her eyes are wide and earnest. Shawn wants to freeze this moment and bathe in its easy perfection.

She thinks he’s incredible.

“I think I was better for you,” he tells her honestly. Mia keens, pulling him down by his hips. He’s still wearing too many clothes.

With difficulty, they shuck him out of his jeans horizontally and with their lips mostly attached. He slips a hand behind her back to unclasp her strapless bra so it falls away with the rest. Her panties and his briefs follow.

Their nakedness is familiar but their closeness is new and sweet and scary. He lets himself kiss her until his head feels close to bursting from oxygen deprivation, she traces little patterns against the broadness of his back that make him smile against her mouth.

Mia thinks, maybe, they might be making love. She’s not sure, she’s never tried it. She hopes it’s this good.

His cock brushes her thigh and he huffs, squirming against her. She runs the hand down his back to his ass, giving it a squeeze.

“You’re still my good boy, right?” she pants, breathless. Shawn groans, nodding weakly.

“Always.”

He releases her swollen lips with a pop. His eyes are bright, free of the glaze she often sees in them when they’re fucking. They’re fixed on her like if he watches long enough maybe he’ll get to see inside. Mia resists the harsh tang of panic in the back of her throat and breathes through it, letting him look at her.

The mood shifts palpably. Where there was lightness and teasing there’s now this gaze between them that feels so charged and vital, it’s like they’ve never seen each other before. Shawn is the first to break it, looking down at her body worshipfully, eyes going heavy as he drops onto his elbows to pray.

The tip of his nose is warm against her collarbone. His lips follow, just a brush at first, followed by wet, almost pleading kisses. He sweeps out toward her shoulder, then back down. He leans on to one arm, not content to worship only with his mouth. His fingers skate down to the curve of her hip, dipping in around the cut of her hip bone to toy with the tender skin just above the soft patch of hair between her thighs.

Mia is awestruck. Her body has been many things -- whipping post, object of desire, receptacle, but never an altar. He’s careful with her now in a way that doesn’t express his fear or curiosity, but rather deep respect and admiration. He knows what her body can do, maybe better than anyone. And he knows exactly how to venerate it.

He lowers his head further, focusing on the velvety insides of her breasts. He mouths at them, tasting, not devouring. His fingers, still occupied exploring undervalued territory, fall a little further down and right into the juncture of her thigh and pelvis. The skin is thin and sensitive, making her gasp with each light brush of his thumb.

The next time he travels down it’s to the skin just below her navel and his fingers are brushing her swollen wet lips and she can’t fucking breathe and --

“Shawn,” she hears herself gasp. He looks up, startled.

“Please,” she pleads, “Please, I can’t-- I need you. I need to feel you, please, I need you inside me. I can’t wait anymore.”

Her voice is pitchy and strained, unfamiliar. Shawn leaves one final tender kiss on her abdomen and crawls back up her body. His hands are on either side of her head, her hair splayed out around them. She already has her hands all over him, occupying her nervous energy while he takes time watching her again.

“Ok,” he breathes, nodding slightly, “Yeah, honey. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

Without thinking, he drops his lips to her forehead. Her busy hands pause on his body. Her harried breathing softens. The desperation isn’t so desperate anymore. They both slow, becoming present.

When Shawn looks down at her again, she’s smiling warmly, spreading her thighs for him to settle between. He matches her expression, cupping the back of her head while his other hand wanders up and down her thigh.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks. It feels heavier than it shoulder.

Mia nods, draping her arms around his neck. She waits for him to come to her rather than pinning him down and taking. Shawn reaches down between them and lines up the head of his cock with her entrance. His forehead falls to hers. He presses in.

Mia squirms slightly with the comfortable stretch, getting used to the feel of him again, the fullness and total satisfaction of it. Shawn hums, gloved in her gorgeous wet warmth. Neither of them moves for a good full minute, instead breathing and kissing whatever they can reach. When Shawn shifts his hips, Mia’s responding mewl has his whole body on fire.

Her arms hang weak for once around him, letting him give and take. He starts deliciously slow, rolling his hips to grind into her, avoiding the angle that gets her mouthy and desperate, at least for now. Mia thinks in all the time they’ve been sleeping together this might actually be their first time in true missionary position. She thinks she really likes it.

His breath starts to come harder as his hips move faster. Mia’s syncs up with it, eyes snapping shut when she hears the slick squelch of her body’s reaction to his ministrations. She feels a brush of fingers against her cheek. When she opens her eyes, Shawn is there.

He’s fucking beautiful. His cheeks are ruddy with the effort, his curls drying soft and frizzy as they bounce. His lips are red and swollen from all her attention. She’s never seen him look quite as gorgeous as he does right now. A noise from her throat has him groaning and lifting her leg up to hitch over his hip, reaching deeper.

“Oh Jesus, Shawn,” Mia whines, her back arching slightly. He pants, nodding as he holds her even closer, enthralled by the way her arms tighten around his shoulders.

She trembles hard in his arms, clinging to this plane, the one that has her so deep in this with him she’ll never find her way out again. She scrabbles at his shoulders, nearly feral. Her toes curl, her body riots. She needs to come.

“I don’t… I’m not ready to let go,” she squeaks, all vulnerability. Shawn lifts his head from her neck. His jaw is set but his eyes are wide open and soft.

“Doesn’t have to be over yet. C’mon, sweetheart. Please come for me.”

Tangled in his sheets with the humid South American air coming in through the window, Mia lets go in spectacular fashion, thrashing beneath his able, willing body, nails digging into his back and neck, lips nipping and pressing all over his firm jaw as he groans through it.

When her body relaxes, Shawn inhales sharply and lifts her. Mia gasps, clinging to his shoulders as he settles on his knees, keeping her in his lap, still rocking his hips evenly. Slowly, she joins him, looping an arm around his neck and the other under his arm. She lays her cheek against his and lets his staggering heartbeat dictate the rhythm of their hips. From this angle, his pelvis bumps her clit with every precious rock of their hips.

“Yes, yes,” she chants wetly into his damp skin, eagerly pressing back into his hands on her ass as they keep her pace. They rock tighter, faster.

“Look at me,” he begs, nudging her with his cheek, pulling back slightly.

“I love watching you come,” he tells her, knowing from the cadence of her strokes and the pulsing of her pussy that she’s about to come again.

“Come with me,” she insists, fisting a hand in his hair. The tug is almost enough to make him lose it early.

Shawn grinds his hips harder, giving her everything he has left. With her eyes locked on his, she falls. He stumbles after with a shout, quickly muffled by her lips on his. Mouth to mouth, skin to skin, they rock in place until they can’t. Shawn tips them forward, still connected in every place they can be, cradling her between him and the bed. At her urging, he stays inside her until he’s hard again. Mia and Shawn make love until the birds get loud in the trees and the cool morning wind lulls them to sleep.

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Feel free to buy me a caipirinha or a Ko-fi through the link in my bio!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @mendesficsxbombay @tnhmblive @greedydevil @tamegray @meltingicequeen @havethetimeeofyourlifee @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @hannahlouiseee @sarahlauramendes @shawnsmoose @mendezlatte @1dbetch @graysonmendes @shawnsababe @ineffsi @ultradreamologistblog @bluerose711 @sauveteen @valedictorian65 @cleocc @ly--canthrope

#Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fiction #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes drabble #sub!shawn #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes angst

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arcticpuppeteer · 5 years

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National Album Day ‘White -Label' LP Auction - Arctic Monkeys & The Last Shadow Puppets vinyls

"With this year’s National Album Day set for 12th October – one of the events being staged as part of a week-long build up that will celebrate our nation’s love of the album will be a ‘White Label’ Auction of around 300 white-label LP test pressings.

The auction – the first of its kind to be held – will take place the weekend prior on Saturday, 5th October at 11.00am. It will be hosted live onsite/online for UK and international collectors by the music memorabilia and vinyl records specialists Omega Auctions from their Newton-Le-Willows (Merseyside) base.

The explosion in sales of vinyl in recent years has created a wealth of ‘white label’ test pressings – produced to ensure the sound quality is as the artist intended and so called because there is no sleeve/label artwork at this stage. With as few as 5 or 10 of each being produced, these first-off-the-press copies are typically checked by artists and their representatives and are much sought after by fans and collectors."

sources: pic1 / pic2 / txt

#Arctic Monkeys #The Last Shadow Puppets #TBHC #EYCTE #vinyls #AM auction #TLSP auction

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sweetnoisythings · 5 years

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The most expensive piece of album memorabilia is White not Wu.

An original pressing of The Beatles White Album, number 0000001 to be exact, has the distinction of being the most expensive album ever sold. In December of 2015, it was auctioned off for $790, 000. Now some will point out that The Wu Tang Clan’s Once Upon a Time in Shaolin did indeed sell for much more commanding $2 million. But it was never commercially released and it was bought by pharma…

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#Rock n roll #The Beatles #The White Album #WuTang Clan

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dippedanddripped · 4 years

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This past January, Buffalo native Alvin Worthy, known throughout the music world as Westside Gunn, expedited his passport in order to attend Paris Fashion Week. At 37 years old, it was his first time leaving the United States. His Griselda Records collective provided the soundtrack for Virgil Abloh’s Off-White™ Fall 2020 preview and Westside was as at home as ever sitting front-row for the festivities.

He was so inspired by the trip that he booked some extra time in the City of Lights to record a new project, motivated even more once Abloh confirmed that he’d like to create the cover art. What resulted was Pray for Paris, a project that manages to balance the boasts of aspirational opulence attained with some of the grimiest street rap in the industry today.

Westside Gunn has never pursued subtlety, which is more apparent than ever on his latest record. Pray for Paris opens up with a recording of the auction of Leonardo da Vinci’s “Salvator Mundi” painting at Christie’s New York, which sold for a record $450 million USD. As the gavel announces the final sale, it’s clear that Gunn is positioning his latest creation as a rap album of bespoke luxury.

Abloh’s cover art, a photoshopped reworking of Carvvaggio’s 1607 oil on wood painting, “David with the Head of Goliath,” adds the burden of Westside’s three chains around the conqueror’s neck. The aesthetic audacity aligns perfectly with Westside Gunn’s past hand-painted album covers, which alternate between vintage wrestling references, faceless FLYGOD fashion poses in Balenciagas and an unapologetic Hermès-rocking Hitler with his third eye stamped on his furrowed brow.

Jacopo Raule/Getty Images

There’s a moment on last year’s WWCD album where the vision Worthy has been plotting out over the past decade, even before he was Westside Gunn, comes to fruition. Rapping alongside brother Demond “Conway the Machine” Price and cousin Jeremie “Benny the Butcher” Pennick, his voice rings in the “Dr. Bird’s” chorus in an antagonizing echo. “Told Virgil write ‘BRICK’ on my brick,” he yells, essentially speaking their eventual collaboration into existence.

Even years before the “Dr. Bird’s” chorus, before the Shady Records and Roc Nation deals, and before his Griselda crew was captured at Kanye West’s Wyoming ranch, Westside was pulling inspiration from Abloh’s initial foray into fashion, PYREX VISION. “It’s not like I’m just supporting him now because of Off-White™ or Louis Vuitton, like all of a sudden I got a record deal and I can afford it. No, his first shirt was on my back,” he said.

Gunn fights against what he perceives as the limitations of being labeled a rapper. It’s a line straight out of Kanye’s big book of philosophy and even something Tyler, The Creator mirrored in his post-GRAMMYs speech. “I don’t even wanna be considered a rapper. I bring so much more to the game,” he told HYPEBEAST. “I love art, fashion, design, executive producing, putting songs together with the skits — all of that sh*t I love more than actually rapping.”

For someone who doesn’t consider himself a rapper, Westside Gunn managed to curate one of the year’s best rap albums, creating a world where he’s at its very center, surrounded by some of the most talented veterans in the hip-hop world today.

Westside revealed that he had been battling a coronavirus diagnosis shortly after the release of Pray for Paris. He joined HYPEBEAST to talk about his recent recovery following his first time out of the country, maintaining his FLYGOD status and the creativity that sparked his collaboration with Virgil Abloh.

HYPEBEAST: First off, how are you feeling? Where are you in the process of recovering from COVID-19?

Westside Gunn: I’m feeling good, man. There’s people dying from this sh*t and it did its little tornado tear-down but I’m building back up. I’m losing my mind because I ain’t smoke in weeks. But everything is just a process and I’m trying to get strong again.

We’ve been working and honestly I’m more motivated. I needed this project because this sh*t just got me more focused and looking forward. I’m not just sitting here on some pitiful sh*t.

What was the inspiration behind the title Pray for Paris?

Just the way I killed [Paris] Fashion Week. You had to pray for everybody in Paris the way I was doing it, man. People there, especially the paparazzi, they didn’t know who I was, but they knew who I was after Fashion Week. It was a dope experience. It was the first time I ever left the country.

I went out there with all my jewelry on with my big security guard from Buffalo. I had like four or five people out there with me. It was really last minute. Every show I went to I got dressed up in one-of-one pieces, so it was like FLYGOD on steroids. Just pray for that country man.

How do you feel about hip-hop’s cultural influence in the fashion world right now?

I think it’s beautiful. I was actually doing fashion first. Griselda Records came as a spinoff from my fashion line. To see hip-hop being accepted so much in fashion now is great, but I’ve been fly my whole life. I was designing jean suits and sh*t in high school. I always was ahead of the game when it came to fashion. Even when it comes to the Virgil connection.

I sent him pictures of me in 2013 when he did PYREX VISION — his first introduction to the fashion world and I was supporting him then. I always say, it don’t matter what you buy, it’s gotta be in you. I love looking on Instagram and seeing what everyone’s doing with their style because at a point in time, it felt like I was the only person doing that type of sh*t. So now that the hip-hop community is accepted by certain brands, it’s pushing the culture forward.

Virgil created the cover art for this project, too. How’d that collaboration happen?

When I was out in Paris, after all the fashion shows and all the partying was over, I still had three days left. I was so influenced by everything that took place that I went into the studio. I was with Virgil the night after I first recorded and I was like, “I already knocked out three, tomorrow I’m gonna finish the rest.” Virgil told me, “This sh*t is crazy. If you do that, I want to do the cover.” So of course, who would say no to that? It actually inspired me to record more because if he did the cover, it’s gonna be a different kind of crowd that actually listens to this.

This is gonna gain more fans for Westside Gunn on a fashion tip. It’s like I’m not even a rapper, I’m an artist. I don’t even wanna be considered a rapper. I bring so much more to the game. I have an ear for production. Some people are just rappers. That’s what they do: they’re good at rap. But I love art, fashion, design, executive producing, putting songs together with the skits — all of that sh*t I love more than actually rapping.

“I always been a supply and demand guy. I was in the streets, I lived by it.”

There’s no mysterious book of rhymes of Westside Gunn or a file of 10 unreleased Westside Gunn songs. Everything I’ve ever recorded is out. You can be like, “Yo, let me hear some new sh*t.” My new sh*t is Pray for Paris. There’s no song that’s just sitting in the computer, bro. Rapping is like the tenth thing on my list I do. But it’s important because everything else that I do before I rap inspires those raps.

You’ve always made sure that your Griselda merch and vinyl releases have incredibly limited runs. Have you looked to any brands for inspiration on keeping supply vastly lower than the current demand for what you create?

Even when I was doing clothing and I wasn’t rapping, I knew that I was doper than the majority of the game. There was a void and I wanted to fill it and bring a balance of the underground culture, the boom-bap culture, people say “backpack rap” or whatever you want to call it — I knew there was something missing.

Everyone wanted to be more from the south, or like Chicago drill music when that became big. People in my lane weren’t popular, they weren’t getting those looks. People always wanted to push forward the popular sound, what’s in the clubs and what’s on the radio. I always been a supply and demand guy. I was in the streets, I lived by it.

You gotta think like a street corner hustler back in the day. Like six, seven people be on one corner or in the projects and they gone fight for the same fiend. And I was like, “Why do that? I can go to a whole other city with no competition and make triple.” I applied my street methods to hip-hop and fashion. You give a crackhead free crack, that’s the best crack they ever had. They gone do anything to come back and get that again.

It was like, “Okay, everybody want to listen to this, but I’m about to make this popular.” It’s really like the dope game.

You linked with Tyler, The Creator on this record, both as a producer and as a featured artist. What was it about his energy that you gravitated towards?

Tyler is somebody who I respect because he’s himself. He don’t give a f*ck. A lot of people be scared to be themselves. In this game there’s a lot of make believe bullsh*t, man. A lot of these people that you see, well they not like that in real life.

With Tyler, he’s himself at all times. He don’t care who in the room. It could be the toughest dudes in the room and he might rap some off the wall sh*t and tell another dude that he’ll kiss him. If you know him, you respect it because that’s him. He’s a good dude with good energy.

As you can see, he killed the project on both levels, on rhyming and production. I’m thankful for that. I actually hit him to congratulate him on the GRAMMYs and that’s when he said he was making a beat for me. When he came to bring me the beat, he heard what I was already playing and he started rhyming.

You also connected with The Alchemist and featured veterans like Freddie Gibbs, Roc Marciano and Boldy James. How competitive were you when trading bars with those guys over The Alchemist’s productions?

Alchemist is Griselda, man. You know how Mobb Deep was always Havoc and Prodigy? The Alchemist was their third unofficial member. Basically what Alchemist was to Mobb Deep is what he is to Griselda right now. He was already a legend before he got with us and now he’s a part of the Griselda sound. Him working with Boldy, now that’s extended family. Because before I was on him, but I wasn’t on him. When I was listening to [The Price of Tea In China] I was like, “Dude is incredible. He remind me of like a Detroit Benny.” It was so vivid.

I always was a fan of Gibbs and I’ve been doing sh*t with Roc Marci for the last five years straight. Benny [The Butcher] went on tour with Gibbs so you build these relationships. Then when it comes time to start painting these pictures, you go to your family and you go to the best. The first time I heard The Alchemist beat [for “$500 Ounces”] the first person I thought of in the world was Gibbs.

“With Tyler, he’s himself at all times. It could be the toughest dudes in the room and he might rap some off the wall sh*t and tell another dude that he’ll kiss him.”

With me, it’s never competitive. I go on the beat and just do me, man. That’s never been my thing to compete. I was the guy who early on pushed Benny to be like, “Yo, I’m about to just sing a little hook that’s catchy that people gone remember from me, but I need you to spit 100 bars straight of the craziest sh*t you can think of.”

You have songs like “Shower Shoe Lords” and things Benny was performing for the first year and I wanted to see him kill it, not see who was better on the mic. I know what he can do and I want him to shine. Now look at Benny today.

There always seems to be a fork in the road when major labels and additional management step in and alter an artist’s course. Even after Shady Records and Roc Nation, that hasn’t happened with Griselda. How have you managed to maintain that vision?

One thing for sure, these guys been around me my whole life. And Daringer been in my life for too many years, man. This is family and family is first. Of course people have their misunderstandings and little arguments but when you a real family, that sh*t don’t mean nothing. Everybody’s grown. At the end of the day, we here for the culture. We know what we signed up for.

This sh*t was all written. We gotta remain strong because what we’re doing is legendary. We from somewhere where nobody ever came from. We also all slept in a cell. We lost key members of our crew. We almost lost Conway. We dealt with the shootings. So now it’s about giving the world some of the illest hip-hop of all time.

Is there any advice you would give to your younger self about maneuvering through the industry?

Don’t rush. Everything’s gonna happen organically. I’m very blessed. Even with a few bumps in the road, I learned from them so it could never happen again. I take the good with the bad. I’d tell myself to let everything happen organically and if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.

Four years ago, Griselda was still considered just underground boom-bap and nobody was really listening. Today we’re spoken of from every big name you could possibly think of. There were a few moves I made prematurely around three years ago. Those things can still come back to haunt you to this day but you live and you learn, man. You keep working.

You have your own day in your home city now, too. The Mayor of Buffalo declared August 28 as Alvin “Westside Gunn” Worthy Day. What are your plans for celebrating this year?

I’m trying to put a wrestling ring in the middle of the hood. I might have nWo [New World Order Wrestling] come out. My love for wrestling is next level. I’m not saying I’m the king of the city or any of that sh*t, but I have the most influence and me having my own day makes me want to give back.

Of course I want to do a concert but who knows with what’s going on in the world right now. This corona sh*t got everything backed up. We might still be in the house during my day. But God-willing if everything clears up and I can do something, I wanna do it for the streets because that’s where I’m from. They’ve backed me and showed me love.

How did your love of wrestling help inspire your career as a rapper?

It came natural. One thing about Westside Gunn, since my first project in 2012, Hitler Wears Hermès 1, you always gonna get art, you always gonna get wrestling. It’s the same thing you’re getting in 2020. My first album cover was an art piece, this cover’s an art piece.

“We all slept in a cell… we almost lost Conway. We dealt with the shootings. Now it’s about giving the world some of the illest hip-hop of all time.”

There’s wrestling on the first [album] and there’s wrestling in this one. I can only be me. I’m only giving the world pieces of who I am. I grew up watching wrestling and I just incorporate everything in my life into my music.

Outside of Pray for Paris, there’s been some rumors about you teaming up with Madlib for a collaboration. Any updates?

Only update I have is that it’s still happening. Everything’s just a chapter right now. After the Pray for Paris chapter I need to give the world part eight of the Hitler Wears Hermès series and then I’ll give you the project with ‘lib. That’s a lot for 2020, but you’ll definitely get all of them.

The Griselda Records lore of the past half-decade plays out like a movie. Let’s say a Griselda major motion picture comes out. Who’s directing?

Sh*t, me. (Laughs). I was there. Nobody knows the story more than Westside Gunn. Of course I could easily say Hype Williams because he hasn’t done one since Belly. We could do some sh*t like Belly in 2022 or 2023. I love how Hype did that one, I love how Dame Dash did Paid In Full — that’s one of my top five movies because that story was so incredibly shot.

Especially being from the streets and knowing the story. I’m not gonna say no Scorsese or some sh*t like that. The reason I say me is because I have the confidence. I feel like I’ll be able to capture Griselda like how Dame and Hype captured their’s.

#griselda records #westside gunn #fashion blog #music blog #pray for paris

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lamaisongaga · 7 years

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FASHION CREDITS: LADY GAGA & TONY BENNETT FOR H&M HOLIDAY SEASON CAMPAIGN

In December 2014 dynamic duo Lady Gaga and Tony Bennett partnered with Swedish high street fashion label H&M for their Magical Holidays campaign.

The campaign included photos of Gaga and Tony all over the world representing the holiday spirit, a grand TV ad, and even a fan contest to win a dress worn by Gaga.

Photography by Soraya Zaman and Devin Doyle. Styling by Brandon Maxwell. Hair by Frederic Apiras.

We’re starting our trip down memory lane with the look the singer chose for her cute announcement video.

She wears a white chiffon balloon sleeve dress with contrast black Peter Pan collar and buttoned cuffs, printed with the face of her pooch Asia all over. This piece was made by Perry Meek in collaboration with Gaga’s sister Natali Germanotta.

In the official campaign photos, Gaga wears a modified version of the H&M ecru knit hooded sweater dress shown in the holiday campaign. She had the hoodie removed and wore it off-the-shoulder.

The Italian-American beauty also rocks the black velvet No. 34 décolleté pumps with gold metal plate embellishment by Italian shoe designer Gianmarco Lorenzi.

When strutting down the hallway, Gaga rocks a custom H&M creamy champagne-colored silk satin plunging gown with floor-sweeping split cape and crystal brooch adorning the back of the neck.

Her Blue Fox fur helmet hat with neck strap is from Eric Javits’ 2014 collection.

Her black faux suede ankle strap open-toe sandals are signed by H&M as well!

Finally, Lady Gaga performed in a custom-made H&M Studio jewel-green deep-plunging satin kimono dress, which was later auctioned off to a lucky fan.

She completed the look with these Betsey Johnson SB-Gown satin d’Orsay pumps with crystal bow embellishment.

H&M also announced a fan contest where the lucky winner had the chance to win the aforementioned green dress!

For the announcement video, LG rocked her custom Dolce & Gabbana Spring/Summer 2012-inspired black lace long-length dress with strategically placed crystals, 3D lace appliqués and bejeweled vinyl flowers - the same one she wore three years prior!

#August 2014 #dresses #Perry Meek #Natali Germanotta #Dolce Gabbana #hats #Eric Javits #pumps #Gianmarco Lorenzi #Betsey Johnson #sandals #H&M

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lady-divine-writes · 7 years

Text

Klaine fic - “Need for Speed” (Rated NC17)

Kurt Hummel moves from California to Lima after his dad's heart attack causes them to lose their repair shop. Kurt leaves his prestigious performing arts school and any chance of moving to New York and getting into NYADA. His only other joy in life is custom tuning cars, but his father doesn't approve. Things seem to get back on track when he joins the Dalton Crew as their mechanic, behind his father's back. He'll make the money he needs as long as he can put up with the unwanted attention of Sebastian Smythe. But, how will his dreams change after he meets the head of the McKinley Crew, Blaine Anderson, who decides that winning Kurt Hummel will be his next big challenge?

For those of you who don’t know, this is one of my first and, in my opinion, flagship fics, so I’m doing a little touch-up job on it in preparation for the sequel. I’ll be posting the revised chapters here one at a time to give everyone who wants the chance to re-read it and get re-acquainted with it. It is posted in its entirety on AO3 and FF.net, with the majority of the chapters revised, if you want to go that route, but if you guys could also spread this around, I would really appreciate it <3 The cover for this story was done by the incredible @freakingpotter so you guys should all go and give her some love because she hella deserves it :)

Chapter 1 (2772 words)

Kurt sat cross-legged on his bed, elbows propped on his knees, head in his hands. He felt like crying, and not just a calm, rejuvenating sob, but an all-out, throw-yourself-on-the-floor-kicking-your-legs-and-flailing-your-arms-while-you-wail-like-a-skewered-seal tantrum. He looked around at the worn cardboard boxes piled high in his room, each labeled accordingly - clothes, books, music, Vogue magazines, misc. - all waiting patiently to be unpacked and put away, but Kurt wanted none of it. Unpacking his things and settling in felt so permanent. It felt like giving in. Once he put his clothes in his closet and his books in the bookcase, it would all be real.

Setting his room up would mean he was staying.

It had only been a week since they moved to Ohio from California, and he knew, with every fiber of his being, that he didn't want to live here.

"Give it a chance," his dad had pleaded. "I'm sure everything will work out."

Kurt highly doubted it, but he couldn't really blame his dad - not for his heart attack that caused the hospital bills, which in turn zapped all their savings, or for the recession that started to drag them under so far there was no way for them to recover. No, he couldn’t blame his dad for any of that, but in the end, because of his dad's unwillingness to franchise out, they had lost the shop and had to move to Lima, of all places. What kind of name was Lima for a city, anyway? Lima wasn’t the name of a city. It was a type of bean - a curled, sickly pale, ugly bean that most normal and rational people pushed to the side of their plate and forgot about long after their steak was gone.

That's what Kurt's life in California had been for him. Steak - rich and flavorful, and extremely fulfilling. Kurt sighed with longing when he thought about it. Even for a boy who didn't believe in a God, he had felt incredibly blessed. He had a good life in California. He had friends. He had a future. He was on his way.

Now, here he sat, aging Texas Instruments calculator in hand, trying to figure out how he was ever going to make it out to New York and his dream school NYADA when he was resigned to making ten dollars an hour at his dad's new shop. His dad had already dropped the bomb that with settling the hospital bills, the move, and all their other numerous expenses (which seemed to crop up out of nowhere on a daily basis) he would most likely not be able to help Kurt afford the college of his dreams.

Kurt's only dream.

With a frustrated groan, Kurt tossed the calculator violently to the floor, but the horrid 1960s green shag carpet mocked him by shielding the tiny machine from shattering into a thousand satisfying pieces.

Kurt felt trapped; trapped like some animal that's meant to be free, too big for its cage and dying inside because it will never be allowed to roam. Kurt hated feeling trapped. Trapped was not a life. It almost felt like not living at all.

Two weeks before the start of school, the start of his senior year, supposedly the best year of his young life, and Kurt sat on a metal stool in his dad's shop, begging silently for business to pick up. I'd better get used to it, Kurt thought. With his dad's poor health, Kurt would be spending most of his free time before and after school right here…on this stool…the minutes of his life slowly dripping away. At his last school, Kurt had taken mostly accelerated and AP classes, so he managed to swing getting first period off. Kurt and his dad, Burt, had only one other employee – Mark. To be honest, the man wasn’t really much help around the shop, but he was doing Burt a favor, and he came cheap.

Mark was a friend of Kurt's parents from back in the day, when Burt and Kurt's mother Elizabeth had lived in Lima. When everything had first started crashing down around them and his father was still trying frantically to keep their heads above water, Mark had been the one to suggest that they move back to Lima and start over. He volunteered to do all the grunt work. He found them the shop, acted as liaison to the leasing agent, found them a house they could afford, he even helped negotiate the move.

Yup, Mark was a stand-up guy.

Kurt hated Mark. He hated him with a burning passion. Mark seemed to know it, too, because he kept to the far corner of the shop and barely said anything other than ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ to the livid young man.

Kurt would never tell his father, but he resented wasting what remained of the summer rotating tires and doing oil changes; not that there seemed to be anything more interesting to do in that Podunk town. It's not that Kurt didn't like working in his dad's shop. He actually quite enjoyed it. He wasn't very fond of getting dirty, but he liked working on cars. If his dreams of New York and NYADA didn't pan out, being a custom tuner wouldn't be so bad. His dad disagreed. Burt Hummel definitely did not appreciate the street racing culture the way Kurt did. Far from it. It had been mortifying back home when his dad would turn away boy racers, especially in California where custom tuners made all the money and little shops like Hummel Tires and Lube were steadily going out of business.

Kurt had built his own car almost from scratch – a 1999 Mitsubishi Eclipse. A friend had helped him buy the body at auction. After that, he scoured junk yards for the parts he needed, putting the car together practically one piece at a time. Once it was completely constructed, he traded some transmission work with a local painter who taught him the fine art of detailing. It took an extreme amount of patience, but in the end it paid off in spades. Kurt loved his car, and with the exception of his voice, he had never been prouder of anything else in his life. As much as his father hated the thing, Kurt had spent his own money on it, and his dad couldn't really complain much. His son had done an excellent job putting it together. Besides, Kurt didn't race. He just liked cars...and the guys who drove the cars.

Ding, ding.

Kurt looked up, a little surprised by what was rolling into the shop. Four boys, about his age, in white tank tops and blue jeans, pushed a silver 300ZX through the bay doors. Kurt smiled. 'Now that's what I'm talking about,' he thought. Hot guys and a hot car. Maybe today wouldn't suck so hardcore after all.

Kurt quickly made his way over to the group before they could realize their mistake and split.

"Hello, and welcome to Hummel Tires and Lube," Kurt recited cheerfully.

Ugh. That sounded lame, even to his own ears.

His father demanded that he greet every customer the same way. Personally, Kurt didn't know what was wrong with just saying, 'Hello,' or maybe, 'How may I help you?'

"Hello," a tall, Asian-looking boy said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "I wonder if you could help us."

"Okay," Kurt said, eyeing each of the boys in turn. They all smiled warmly at him.

"We've been trying to get this guy up and running for the last month or so," a blond boy said, patting the hood of the silver car fondly with his hand. "I've got big plans for her."

"Yeah," a slightly shorter, dark haired boy, with light skin and bright eyes, agreed, "but the problem is it's making some strange noises, and it doesn't seem to have the pick-up it should."

Kurt nodded his head thoughtfully as he took in the information, trying his utmost to appear calm and professional while at the same time praying to anyone who might be listening, whether Kurt believed in them or not, that his dad didn't come back from his break before he had the chance to get this baby on the lift and put his hands on it.

"Just out of curiosity," Kurt said when the boys had finished, eying the car from top to bottom, "why did you stop in here? I mean, we're not really a custom car shop."

"Well," the last boy spoke up, "our regular mechanic sort of bugged out on us, and we saw the Eclipse out front..." The boy motioned over his shoulder to Kurt's car parked out front. Kurt had forgotten to bring the cover he normally kept on it, so it sat outside in the shade. Parked beside his dad's pick up, it kind of stood out with its crystal blue paint job and silver lightning vinyl graphics down the side. "We thought someone in here might be able to help us."

"Yup," Kurt said with a nod. "That's my baby. Took close to a year to get her up and running."

"That's hot," the Asian boy, evidently the leader of the group, commented. "Are you rolling NOS?"

Kurt smirked.

"Not if my dad's asking."

"Gotcha," the boy said with a wink.

"So, can you help us?" the blond boy said, eyes wide and hopeful.

"This is a '96, right?" Kurt asked, and the boys nodded. Kurt crossed his arms and tapped his chin with his right index finger, going over what he remembered of the schematics of the ZX engine in his head, scrolling through several possibilities, and troubleshooting the problem mentally. "Well, your variable cam timing's probably dropped, so that's most likely where you're losing horsepower. And the ZX always makes a lot of interesting noises. I'd have to take it around the block to see for myself..."

The sound of a door slamming shut and heavy shuffling footsteps caused Kurt's mouth to go dry, his heart to sinking into his stomach.

"Hey, dad," Kurt called, already feeling defeated.

"Hey, kiddo," Burt said, walking over slowly. "What's going on here?"

"I'm with some customers," Kurt said, turning his head and fixing his father with a tense smile, willing him with his eyes to turn around and walk back into the office so Kurt could fix this car. His dad didn't seem to understand facial cues. Burt circled the car and the group of kids slowly, examining them uncomfortably.

"300ZX?" his dad asked thoughtfully. "What's the problem?"

"Possible cam timing problem and a couple of odd noises," Kurt rushed out. "I was just about to take her around the block to make sure."

His dad nodded. Kurt had seen this dance before, and he didn’t hold out much hope that the outcome would be different this time. On the other hand, his dad didn't look overly concerned with the presence of four boys surrounding an obvious racer car in his shop. Kurt might just be in the clear.

Burt leaned in closer to the car’s roof and peered at the paint, green eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Is that an aftermarket silver flake?"

Oh crap...

Kurt sighed and dropped down onto his stool. He knew where this was headed...right out the door with the rest of his hopes, his dreams, any chance of making some decent money, and the possibility of a social life.

"So, you kids running NOS?" Burt asked, looking the car over. Three of the boys looked at each other, exchanging nervous looks, but the boy that Kurt made out to be the leader didn't seem at all intimidated by Kurt's dad.

"Yes, sir," he answered, smiling politely.

Burt maintained a roughly unreadable expression, but Kurt knew his dad, and he knew the grim look in his eyes. This whole deal was about to go sour.

"You guys street racing around here?"

"Yes, sir,” the boy admitted. “And may I say that your son here seems to really know his stuff. We were kind of hoping he could help us out. We have quite a few cars, and we're in the market for a new mechanic.”

Kurt perked up immediately. Did this guy just compliment him? And he was offering to bring them business? His dad couldn't say no to that, right? Kurt side-eyed his father shrewdly. He knew how his dad felt about street racing; that it was dangerous and illegal. He also knew that these kids could give them business, good steady business. Heck, the profit they could feasibly make on some of the import parts alone could pay for his first semester. Kurt sat straight as a rod, bouncing slightly, pleading with his father, but only in his head. Here it was, Kurt going to New York and living the dream, as long as his dad made the right decision.

"I'm sorry boys,” Burt said finally with a determined shake of his head, “but I don't think we can help you."

"Dad..." Kurt hissed.

"No, Kurt.” Burt turned to his son with a look on his face that emphasized that his decision was final. “Now you know how I feel about racing." Burt turned his attention back to the boys with the car. "It's dangerous, and I will not promote it here in my shop. Besides, I don't think we offer the kind of services you guys are going to be needing anyhow."

"But, dad!" Kurt argued, desperately trying to give it one last go, to make his dad see reason.

“No, Kurt. Now I've said my piece. Why don't you gentlemen take your car and run along?”

The blond boy deflated almost as much as Kurt. The Asian boy nodded to his crew, and they started to push the car back out of the garage. Kurt’s cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. He glared, shooting daggers at his dad as the man, without a single other acknowledgement to his son, turned and headed for his office. After he locked himself away, Kurt watched the four boys maneuver the 300ZX carefully out of the bay. There it went; another opportunity rolling its way right out the door. Another time his dad could have made things right for them, but instead he chose to let his stubbornness and inability to change get in the way. If his dad thought they were going to get anywhere doing tune-ups and oil changes at a paltry $30 a pop for the rest of their lives, he was sadly mistaken. Kurt couldn’t take it anymore. His dad had told him to give it a chance; that everything would work out, but from where Kurt sat everything looked exactly the same.

This couldn’t continue to be his life. It just couldn’t.

He decided then and there that he was sick of watching his future be decided without him even getting to have his say. Kurt watched as his dad rounded to the office, heading to the back of the shop, then sprinted out of the bay and ran after the boys.

"Hey!" Kurt called. “Wait up!”

The Asian boy turned around, a knowing smirk on his face.

"What's up?"

"I can do it." Kurt glanced over his shoulder to make sure his dad didn't notice his absence and come looking for him. "I can fix your car, and any other one you want to toss my way."

"Really?" The boy looked him up and down. "And what about pops?"

"Let me worry about him." The words came out before Kurt could stop them. He felt guilty about disrespecting his dad, but not enough to give up on his dream. "Can you come back later? Maybe after we close?"

The four boys looked at each other, the blond one’s face lighting up with unbridled joy. Then the three boys looked back at their leader. After a silent moment, he nodded.

“We can do that.”

Kurt exhaled with relief.

“Bring it by tonight. I can have it done for you in an hour. Two tops."

"We'll bring it by at around 7. The races start at 10. And if I like the job you do, you can come with me and my crew. You can be our mechanic."

"Great," Kurt said.

He watched the group limp their silver car away, and while he did he weighed his options - the chance of his ultimate success over his father’s inevitable disappointment.

He shoved aside the bitterness that came with considering his dad’s point of view and returned to the shop, trying not to look too overjoyed.

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine #frankie writes

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