#that man is 24 and a millionaire...

[scuderlia]

every time lando is involved in a 'scandal' it's just the entire internet being shocked that he fucks

#that man is 24 and a millionaire... #and people still doubt he’s a sex-haver… #embarrassing for him honestly #lando #lia.txt

[sophaeros]

arctic monkeys for q magazine, june 2011 (x) (x)

ARCTIC MONKEYS: Inside Alex Turner's Head

Words Sylvia Patterson Portrait John Wright

The day Arctic Monkeys moved into their six bedroom, Spanish-style villa in the Hollywood Hills, where the first-floor balcony looked over the patio swimming pool, they knew exactly what to do.

"From the balcony, you could get on t'roof and jump in't pool," chirps the Monkeys' most gregarious member, drummer Matt Helders, in his homely Yorkshire way. "We looked at it and said, That's definitely gonna happen. So by the end, we did a couple of 'em. Somersaults in t'pool, from the roof. At night time."

In January 2011, as Sheffield and the rest of Britain endured its bitterest winter in a century, Arctic Monkeys capered among the palm trees, eschewing hotels for a millionaire's Hollywood homestead as they recorded and mixed their fourth studio album, Suck It and See.

The four Monkeys, alongside producer James Ford and engineer James Brown, lived what they called the "American man thing": watched Super Bowl on giant TVs, played ping-pong, hired two Mustangs, cooked cartoon Tom And Jerry-sized steaks on barbecues on Sundays, had girlfriends over to visit, all cooking and drinking around the colossal outdoor kitchen area featuring a fridge and two dishwashers. Living atop the Hills, they could see the Pacific Ocean beyond by day, the infinite glittering lights of downtown LA by night.

Every day, en route to Sound City Studios, they'd travel in a seven-seater four-by-four through the mountains, via bohemian 60s enclave Laurel Canyon, blaring out the tunes: The Stones Roses, The Cramps, the Misfits' Hollywood Babylon. For the sometime teenage art-punk renegades whose guitarist, Jamie Cook, was once ejected from London's Met Bar for refusing to pay €22 for two beers, the comedy rock'n'roll life still feels, however, absolutely nothing like reality.

NICK O'MALLEY: "It were really as if we were on holiday. When we came back it's the most post-holiday blues I've ever had!"

JAMIE COOK: "It's hard to comment on that. It were just really good fun."

MATT HELDERS: "We always said, As soon as things like that feel normal, we're in trouble. But it's just funny. You might think it would get more and more serious as you get older but it's getting funnier. We've done four albums now and I'm still only 24, I'm still immature to an extent. So who cares?"

Alex? Al? Are you there?

ALEX TURNER: "Yeah, it were good times. But we were in the studio most of the time. So there's no real wild Hollywood stories. Hmn. Yeah."

Wednesday, 16 March 2011, Strongroom Bar, Shoreditch, East London, 11am. Alex Turner, 25, slips entirely alone into an empty art-crowd brasserie looking like an indie girl's indie dream boy: mop-top bouffant hair which coils, in curlicues, directly into his cheekbones, army-green waist-length jacket, baggy-arsed skinny jeans, black cord zip-up cardigan, simple gold chain, supermoon sized chocolate-brown eyes.

Almost six years after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor became the indie-punk anthem of a generation (from the first of Arctic Monkeys' three Number 1 albums), and nothing prepares you for the curious phenomenon of Alex Turner "in conversation". Unlike so many of the Monkeys frenetic early songs, he operates in slow motion, seemingly underwater, carrying a protective shell on his back, perhaps indie rock's very own diamond-backed terrapin. The most celebrated young wordsmith in rock'n roll today talks fulsomely, in fact, only in shapeless, curling sentences punctuated with "maybe... hmn.. yeah", an anecdotal wilderness sketching pictures as vague as a cloud. He is, though, simultaneously adorable: amenable, gentle, graceful, and as Northern as a 70s grandpa who literally greets you with "ey oop?".

"People think I'm a miserable bastard," he notes, cheerfully, "but it's just the way me face falls." Still profoundly private, if not as hermetically sealed as a vacuum-packed length of Frankfurter, his fante-shy reticence extends not only to his personal life (his four-year relationship with It-girl/TV presenter Alexa Chung, whom he never mentions) but to insider details generally. Take the Monkeys’ Hollywood high jinks documented above: not one word of it was described by Turner. Before Q was informed by his other Monkey bandmates, Turner’s anecdotal aversion unfolded like this:

Describe the lovely villa you were in. AT: "Well... we certainly had a... good view."

Of what? AT: "Well, we were up quite high."

The downtown LA lights going on forever? AT: "I dunno. It was definitely that thing of getting a bit of sort of sunshine. Is it vitamin D? If you can get vitamin D on your record, you've got a bit of a head start. So we'd get up and drive to the studio."

What were you driving? AT: "Nothing... spectacular. But yeah, we'd drive up the studio, spend all day there and sort of, y know, get back. To be honest... we had limited time. So we spent as much time as possible kind of getting into it, like, in the studio.

So your favourite adventures were what? AT: "Well, they were really… minimal. We were working out there!"

Any nightclubs or anything, perhaps? AT: "You really want the goss 'ere, don't you?"

Yes, please. AT: "I could make some up. Nah!"

And this was on the second time of asking. It's perhaps obvious: Alex Turner, one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation (four Monkeys albums and two EPs in five years, The Last Shadow Puppets side-project, a bewitching acoustic soundtrack for his actor/video director friend Richard Ayoade's feature-length debut Submarine), is dedicated only to the cause – of being the best he can possibly be. He simply remembers the songs much more than the somersaults.

Throughout 2009, Arctic Monkeys toured third album Humbug – the record mostly made in the Californian desert with Queens Of The Stone Age man-monolith Josh Homme – across the planet. While hardly some cranium-blistering opus, its heavier sonic meanderings considerably slowed the Arctic Monkeys' live sets and on 23 August 2009, Q watched them headline the Lowlands Festival, Holland and witnessed a hitherto unthinkable sight – swathes of perplexed Monkeys fans trudging away from the stage. With the sludge rock mood matching their cascading dude-rock hair it seemed obvious: they'd smoked way too much outrageously strong weed in the desert.

"Heheheh, yeah," responds Turner, unperturbed. "That's your theory. You probably weren't alone."

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Turner's arm is now nonchalantly draped along the back of a beaten-up brown leather sofa. He ponders his band's somewhat contrary reputation…

"I think starting the headline set at Reading with a cover of a Nick Cave tune perhaps was a bit contrary. D'youknowhat Imean?! But to be honest, that summer, at those festivals, we had a great time. And I know some fans enjoyed those sets 10 times more. And you can't just do, y’know, another Mardy Bum or whatever. Because how could you, really?"

With Humbug, notes Turner, "I went into corners I hadn't before, because I needed to see what were there," but by spring 2010 he wanted their fourth album to be "more song-based" and less lyrically "removed". He was "organised this time", studied "the good songwriters" (from Nick Cave, The Byrds and Leonard Cohen to country colossi Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline), discovered "the other three strings" on his guitar, and wrote 12 songs through the spring and summer of 2010, mostly in the fourth-floor New York flat he shared with Chung before the couple moved back to London late last summer (the New York MTV show It's On With Alexa Chung was cancelled after two seasons). The result: major-key melodies, harmonised singing and classic song structures.

At the same time he revisited the opposite extreme: bands such as Black Sabbath and The Stooges ("we wanted a few wig-outs as well"); he was also still heavily influenced by the oil-thick grinder rock of Josh Homme, who is clearly now a permanent Monkeys hero. After four months' rehearsals in London, on 8 January the Monkeys relocated to LA for five swift weeks of production and Homme came to visit, singing backing vocals on All My Own Stunts. Tequila was involved.

"Tequila is probably me favourite," manages Turner, by way of an anecdote. "But it takes a certain climate... It's not the same... in the rain. Yeah. [Looks to be contemplating a lyric] Tequila in the rain."

Vocally, he developed the caramel richness first unveiled on The Last Shadow Puppets' Scott Walker-esque The Age Of The Understatement, finding a crooner's vibrato. "Everything before was so tight,” he notes, clutching his neck. "Probably just through nerves. That's just not there any more." Suck It and See contains at least four of the most glittering, sing-along, world-class pop songs (and obvious singles) of Arctic Monkeys' career: the towering, clanging She's Thunderstorms, the summertime stunner The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, the heavenly harmonised title track and the Echo & The Bunnymen-esque jangly pop of closer That's Where You're Wrong.

Elsewhere, in typically contrary "fashion", there's preposterous head-banger bedlam (Brick By Brick, the rollicking faux-heavy rock download they released in March "just for fun", featuring vocals by Helders; Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair, and Library Pictures). News arrives that the first single proper will be Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair. Q is perplexed. Brilliantly titled, certainly, but arriving after Brick By Brick, the new album will appear to the planet as some comedy pastiche metal album for 12-year-old boys.

You've got all these colossal, summery, indie-pop classics and you've gone for... The Chair? AT: [Laughing uproariously] "The Chair! I'm now calling it The Chair, that's cool. Well for once it weren't even our suggestion. It was Laurence's (Bell, Domino label boss). And I were, Fucking too right! He's awesome. It'd be good to get a bit of fucking rock'n'roll out there, won't it? It's riffs. It's loud. It's funny."

If you don't release The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala as a single I'm going round Domino to kick Laurence's "awesome" butt. AT: "I think it'll be the next one!"

The record's title, meanwhile, could've been more enigmatically original than the un-loved phrase Suck It and See. The band, struggling with ideas due to the opposing sonic moods, invented an inspiration-conjuring ruse: to think of new names for effects pedals in the style of Tom Wolfe, Turner being long enamoured with the American author's legendarily psychedelic books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, "cos that just sounds awesome".

"There's the Big Muff pedal," he elaborates, "That’s the classic. I've got the Valve Slapper. And there's the Tube Screamer. So we came up with the Thunder Suckle Fuzz Canyon. And… wait till I assemble it in me mind… em… it'll come to me… The Blonde-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. So we were going for summat like that."

A wasted opportunity?

"Nah. Because some of those things ended up in the lyrics anyway. Suck It and See was just easier."

Alex Turner, rock'n'roll's premier descriptive art-poet, still writes his lyrics long-hand in spiral-bound notebooks. "Writing lyrics is a craft that I've practised a bit now," he avers. "In me notebook it looks like sums. Theories. There's words and arrows going everywhere. There's always a few possibilities and I write the word 'OR' in a square."

For our most celebrated colloquial sketch-writer of the everyday observation (all betting pencils, boy slags and ice-cream van aggravations) the more successful he becomes, the less he orbits the ordinary. "I'm not struggling with that, to be honest," he decides. "In fact I'm enjoying writing lyrics much more than I did. Stories. Describing a picture. Um. There's quite a bit of weather and time in this one. Which is probably not reassuring. 'Oh God, he's writing about the weather.' Maybe leave that out!"

There are also some direct, funny, romantic observations: "That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun/And I only hope you've got it aimed at me..." (from the title track).

Some of your romantic quips, now, must be about Alexa. AT: "Right. Yeah. Definitely. Well... there's always been that side to our songs, when we weren't writing about... the fucking taxi rank. It's kind of inevitably... people you're with." [At the mention of Chung's name, Turner is visibly aggrieved, head sliding into his neck, terrapin-esque indeed.]

It must have been very grounding being in a proper relationship through all this madness. Because if you weren't, girls would be jumping all over your head. AT: "Em. Hmn. Well, of course that helps you to... I don't really know.. what the other way would be."

Does Alexa wonder if the lyrics are about her? AT: "Oh there's none of that. Yeah, no, there's no looking over the shoulder."

She must be curious, at least. "Maybe."

Did you ever watch Popworld? AT: [Nervous laughter] "Em! Now and again."

Did you ever see the episode where she helps Paul McCartney write a song about shoes? AT: "Ah, yeah I think so, maybe I did see that."

Well, if I was you, I'd have been thinking, "She's the one for me." AT: "Well. Yeah... maybe that would've... sealed the deal! Hmn. But maybe that wasn't when i got the ray of light. When was? Nah [buries head in hands]. I might have to go for a cigarette..."

Q can't torture him any more and joins him for a snout. Turner smokes Camels from a crumpled, sad, soft-pack and resembles a teenager again. As early song You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me says, "Never tenser/Could all go a bit Frank Spencer…”

In January 2006, when Arctic Monkeys' Number 1 album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not became the fastest-selling debut in UK history, inadvertently redefining the concept of autonomy and further imploding the decimated music industry (& wasn't their idea to be "the MySpace band", it was their fans': the Monkeys merely kick-started viral marketing by giving away demos at gigs), the 19- and 20-year-old Monkeys were terrible at fame. They weren't so much insurrectionary teenage upstarts as teenage innocents culturally traumatised by the peak-era fame democracy.

To their generation (born in the mid-'80s) fame was now synonymous with some-twat-off-the-telly a world of foaming tabloid hysteria where renown and celebrity meant, in fact, you were talentless. Hence their interview diffidence and receiving awards via videos dressed up as the Wizard OfOz and the Village People. Which only, ironically, made them even more celebrated and famous. (“That were a product of us just trying to hold onto the reins," thinks Turner today. "Being uncooperative.")

Q meets The Other Three one morning at 11am, in the well-appointed, empty bar of the Bethnal Green, Bast London hotel they're staying in (all three live in Sheffield, with their girlfriends, in their own homes). First to arrive is the industrious, sensible and cheerful Helders, crunching into a hangover-curing green apple. He has recovered from last year's boxing accident at the gym, which left his broken arm requiring a fitted plate. Now impressively purple-scarred, the break felt "interesting" and the doctor couldn't resist the one-armed drummer jest: "D'you like Def Leppard?"

Currently enjoying an enduring bromance with Diddy, he still doesn't feel famous, "it just doesn't feel that real, there's no paparazzi waiting for me to trip up." He and Turner, during the four-month rehearsals last year, became an accomplished roast dinner cooking duo for the band. "I reckon we could have us our own cookbook," he beams. "Pictures of us stirring, with a whisk."

O'Malley, an agreeable, twinkly-eyed 25-year-old with a strikingly deep voice and a winningly huge smile, is still coyly embarrassed by the interview process. A replacement for the departed original bass player Andy Nicholson in May 2006, he went from Asda shelf-filler to Glastonbury headliner in 13 months and still finds the Monkeys "a massive adventure". His life in Sheffield is profoundly normal – he's delighted that his new home since last October has an open-hearth fireplace: "Me parents had electric bars." He has also discovered cooking. “I’m just a pretty shit-hot housewife, most of the time," he smiles. "I cook stews, fish combinations, curries, chillies. I made a beef pho noodle soup the other day, Vietnamese, I surprised meself, had some mates round for that."

Recently, at his dad's 50th birthday bash, the party band, made up of family and friends, insisted he join them onstage "for ...The Dancefloor. So I were up there [mimes playing bass, all sheepish] and it were the wrong pitch, they didn't know the words or 'owt, going, Makin eyes... er..." He has no extra-curricular musical ambitions. "I'm happy just playing bass," he smiles. "I've never had the skill of doing songs meself. It'd be shit!"

Cook, 25, is still spectacularly embarrassed by the interview process. He perches upright, with a fixed nervous smile, newly shorn of the beard and ponytail he sported in LA: "Rockin' a pone, yeah, because I could get away with it." With his classic preppy haircut and dapper green military coat (from London's swish department store, Liberty), he looks like a handsome '40s film star. (Turner deems Cook "the band heartbreaker" and had a word with him post-LA: "I said to him, Come on, mate, you've got to get that beard shaved off. Get the girls back into us. Shift some posters.")

His life in Sheffield is also profoundly normal. He still plays Sunday League football with his local pub team, The Pack Horse FC (position, left back), remains in his long-term relationship with page-three-model-turned-make-up-artist Katie Downes and "potters about" at home, refusing to describe said home, "cos I'll get burgled".

A tiler by trade, he always vowed, should the Monkeys sign a deal, that he'd throw his trowel in a Sheffield river on his last day of work. "I never did fling me trowel," he confirms. "Probably still in me shed." He's never considered what his band represents to his generation. "I'd go insane thinking about it, I'm pretty good at not thinking about it… Oh God. I'm terrible at this!"

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Alex Turner is cloudily describing his everyday life. "I just keep meself to meself," he confounds. He mostly stays indoors and his perfect night in with Alexa is "watching loads of Sopranos. And doing roast dinners".

No longer spindle-limbed, he attends a gym and has handsomely well-defined arms – "You have to look after yourself."

Suddenly, Crying Lightning from Humbug rumbles over the bar stereo. "Wow. How about that? I was quite happy the other morning cos Brick By Brick were on the round-up goals on Soccer AM. It's still exciting when that happens. It was like Brick By Brick is real."

He spends his days writing music, "listening to records", and recommends Blues Run The Game by doomed '60s minstrel Jackson C Frank ("who's that lass?... Laura Marling, she did a cover recently), a simple, acoustic, deep and regretful stunner about missing someone on the road.

Lyrically, he cites as an example of greatness the Nick Cave B-side Little Empty Boat [from ‘97 single Into My Arms ], a comically sinister paean to a sexual power struggle: "Your knowledge is impressive and your argument is good/But I am the resurrection babe and you're standing on my foot."

"I need a hobby," he suddenly decides. "I'd like to learn another language." Since his mum is a German teacher (his dad teaches music), surely he can speak some German? "I know how to ask somebody if they've had fun at Christmas." Go on, then. "Nah!"

Where Turner's creative gifts stem from remains a contemporary rock'n'roll mystery; he became a fledgling songwriter at 16, after the gift of a guitar at Christmas from his parents. An only child, did his folks, perhaps, foresee artistic greatness? "I doubt it!" he balks. "Cos I didn't. I wasn't... a show kid." Like the others, he doesn't analyse the past, or the future.

"You can't constantly be thinking about what's happened," he reasons, "it's just about getting on with it." The elaborate pinky ring he now constantly wears, however, a silver, gold and ruby metal-goth corker featuring the words DEATH RAMPS is a permanent reminder of he and his best friends’ past. The Death Ramps is not only a Monkeys pseudonym and B-side to Teddy Picker, but a place they used to ride their bikes in Sheffield as kids.

"Up in the woods near where we lived," he nods. "Just little hills. But when you're eight years old they're death ramps." The ring was custom made by a friend of his, who runs top-end rock'n'roll jewellery emporium The Great Frog near London's Carnaby Street. Ask Turner why he thinks the chase between his writing and speaking eloquence is quite so mesmerisingly vast and he attempts a theory.

"Well, writing isn't the same as speaking," he muses. "Not for me. I seem to struggle more and more with... conversation. Talking onstage... I can't do it any more. Hmn. I'll have to work on that."

The ever-helpful Helders has a better theory.

"Since he's been writing songs," he ponders, “It seems like he’s always thinking about that. So even when he’s talking to you now, he’s thinking about the next thing that rhymes with a word. Even when he’s driving. We joke he’s a bad driver, his focus is never 100 per cent on what he’s doing. Which is good for us cos it means he’s got another 12 songs up his sleeve. I think music must be the easiest way for him to be concise and get everything out. Otherwise his head would explode.”

The Shoreditch.com photo studios, 18 March. Alex Turner, today, is more ethereally distracted than ever, transfixed by the studio iPod, playing Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, a version of I’d Rather Go Blind. Occasionally, he’ll completely lose his conversational thread, “Um. I’ve dropped a stitch.”

The first to arrive for Q’s photoshoot, he greets his incoming bandmates with enormous hugs (and also hugs them goodbye). Today, Q feels it’s pointless poking its pickaxe of serious enquiry further into Turner’s vacuum-packed soul and wonders if he’ll play, instead, a daft game. It’s called Popworld Questions, as first posed by someone he knows rather well.

“Oh, OK. Let’s do it,” he blinks, now perched in an empty dressing room. He then vigorously shakes his head, “Um…I’ve gotta snap back into it.”

Here, then, are some genuine “Alexa Chung on Popworld” questions (2006-2007), as originally posed to Matt Willis, Amy Winehouse, Robbie Williams, Pussycat Dolls, Kaiser Chiefs and Diddy.

Why do indie bands wear such tight jeans? AT: “Um. I supposed they do. They haven’t always. When we first were playing I was definitely in flares. You need to be quite tall to get the full effect, though. So, that's why this indie band wears such tight jeans, cos we've not got the legs for flares."

What makes you tick in the sexy department? AT: "Wow. Pass. What do I find most attractive in a woman? Something in the head? That's definitely a requirement. Well... Hmn. I'm struggling."

Tell us about all the lovely groupies. AT: "No!"

If dogs had human hands instead of paws, would you consider trying to teach them to play the piano? AT: "Absolutely. I'd teach Hey Jude."

How many plums d'you think you can comfortably fit in one hand? AT: "They're not very big. [Holds small, pale, girly hand up for inspection] It's a shame. Probably three. Diddy only managed two? Maybe not then. I can carry a lot of glasses at once, though. If they're small ones I can do four."

Are you cool? AT: "Not as much as I'd like to be. There's this clip where Clint Eastwood is on a talkshow and he gets asked, Everybody thinks of you as defining cool, what d'you think about that? And he gets his cigs out, takes one out, flicks it into his mouth, lights it and says, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Here, Turner locates his Camels soft-pack and attempts to do a Clint Eastwood. He flicks one upwards towards his mouth. And misses. Flicks another. And misses. "Third time lucky?" He misses. "I'll get it the next time." And succeeds. "Hey. Fourth time. Don't put that in! So there you go. I'm four steps away from where I wanna be."

Thank you very much for joining me here on Popworld, here's my clammy hand again. There it is, let it slip, hmmn. You can let go now. AT: "OK! Were you a Popworld fan, then? It was funny. Cool. What were we talking about, before?"

Blimey, Alex. What must you be like when you're completely stoned out of your head? AT: "Stoned? What d'you mean, cos I seem like that anyway? Yeah. A lot of people... tell me I'm a bit... dreamy. But I like the idea of that. Of being somewhere else."

Two days earlier, Turner had contemplated what he wanted from all this, in the end. Many seconds later he gave his deceptively ambitious answer.

"I just wanna write better songs," he decided. "And better lyrics. I just definitely wanna be good at it. Hmn. Yeah.”

—

RUFUS BLACK: AKA Matt Helders, on his ongoing bromance with Diddy

Matt Helders has known preposterous rap titan Diddy since they met in Miami in 2008. “He goes, Arctic Monkeys! Then he said summat about a B-side and I was like, He's not lying! I just thought, This is funny, I'm gonna go with this for a while." Last October Diddy texted Helders, suggesting he play drums with his Diddy Dirty Money band on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, to give his own drummer a day off. “I were bowling with me girifriend at the time. In Sheffield, on a Sunday." On the day of recording, says Helder, "We had a musical director. That were one of the maddest times of my life. Next day Diddy said, Why don't you just stay? Come along with me. So I went everywhere with him." Diddy had "a convoy of cars" and made sure Helders was always in his. "He'd stop his car and go, Where's Matt? You're coming with me! So I'd get in his car. Just me, him, his security, driver." Diddy, by now, had given him a pseudonym - Rufus Black. "He kept saying, I don't wanna fuck up your image. And I'm, I don't think it's gonna do me any harm!" He stayed in Diddy's spectacularly expensive hotel. Some weeks later, Helders almost returned to the Dirty Money drumstool for a gig in Glasgow. "But we were rehearsing in London. I were like, I might come, how are you getting there? And he were like, Jet. Jump on t’jet with me. But I had to stay in Bethnal Green instead.”

Love’s young dream: Diddy (left) with Helders

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #nick o'malley #jamie cook #sias era #interview #q magazine #my image id #bands #this is such a funny interview honestly shfjwjs #self proclaimed housewife nick my beloved...... #also why did the interviewer describe alex's hands as small pale and girly HELPME #btw im missing page 93 it's probabky just a photospread but yeah #i managed to find the dead links' images on vk #eye contact #not my scan

[defendingtswift]

A few misconceptions about Jack Sweeney, aka the guy tracking Taylor’s jet.

I don't think it's any surprise that a lot of antis/people who hate Taylor do not fact check and will basically believe any headline they see. So, I'm here to debunk some stuff a lot of haters/antis have been saying about this situation.

“Jack Sweeney is a helpless, broke college student.” Wrong. His net worth is between 700k and 800k. Making 800k a year is considered rich. Yes, he may not be as rich as Taylor Swift, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he becomes a millionaire in a couple years.

Let's break that down. Even though he's not necessarily making 800k a year, he's still pretty wealthy. If Taylor does sue, he’s not exactly going to go bankrupt.

For those that want proof, here's the link: https://biographygist.com/jack-sweeney/ I looked at multiple different sites. This was the most recent one when it comes to his net worth.

Another misconception. "He's just a teenage boy." Wrong again. Let's not infantilize a grown ass man. He is 22 years old.

"Taylor Swift is suing him." A cease and desist order or injunction has legal power. A cease and desist letter is not legally binding, although it is a formal step that may be followed by a lawsuit if the recipient ignores it.

"This isn't a security issue". When someone is tracking your whereabouts, that is stalking. His current twitter account has a 24 hour delay but I managed to find out, he has another instagram, @/celebrityjets where he tracks other celebs jets in real time. If any of these celebs have stalkers or overly obsessed fans, they know when and where to find them. And he supposedly had an Instagram just like this one where he was doing the same thing to Taylor before he deleted it.

Sorry but Jack Sweeney is not innocent nor is he defenseless in this situation.

#taylor swift #tswift #anti taylors

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

I think the funniest thing about the whole lando conversation happening right now is that it’s just typical british boy behaviour 😭

like do you know how many attractive boys I know that throw their morals out the window / don’t give a fuck what a girl does or has done because she’s gorgeous? so many. british boys get blinded by pretty faces so easily lol (I mean I get it but)

I do also think like… if I was a 24 year old millionaire, i’d be the worst fucking playboy lmao like the world is at his feet, literally

obviously there’s the whole discussion around her and her past actions (which are not to be excused), but we all know that’s not why she’s being attacked for the most part. teenage girls (i’m sorry but it is) don’t know how to handle the fact that their perfect angel boy they have created an image for in their heads is actually a real man who can date whoever he wants.

I understand the whole fan girl thing, trust me I do, but baby girls also trust me when I say that it gets easier seeing your celeb crush dating as you get older and you mature. they are real people who do not know you exist and are therefore free to do whatever they please. attacking a girl in her comments doesn’t make you cool, it makes you a bully. I mean damn look at the hate alex receives, and she’s one of the most private wags ever

I think these fan girls can’t see past this fictional version they have of him in their heads, which gets problematic very quickly

anyway there’s my two cents! take this with a pinch of salt obvs but it’s just interesting viewing this now i’m older and have a different view on celebrity etc

#murph talks f1 #lando norris #ln4 #f1 #formula one #formula 1

[ronearoundblindly]

The Root of All Ransom (5)

Last part UGH, second to last part (see previous or series). Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader WC 4k

Summary: A revelation at Harlan's 85th birthday threatens everything Ransom has.

Warnings: canon threats and arguments (altered for story obvi (credit to the original screenwriter for the dialogue I worked around!)), cursing (would you even consider it me or the same story if there wasn't?) oh, and canon Thrombey family racism/bigotry/douchebaggery--little fuckers. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. There is plenty else for you to read on my Light Masterlist.

The colors are stunning.

Violently splashed swaths of gold, orange, and chocolate laced with summer green coat the landscape. The trees blur past the windows, so the only other color Ransom can focus on is burgundy—your dress, the dress he rustled up after realizing you had nothing planned to wear.

Unacceptable. Ransom fixed that.

For Harlan Thrombey’s birthday it’s only right that you wear Harlan’s favorite color, hardly a revelation when the man’s company is named ‘Blood Like Wine.’ The fact that you look picture perfect decked out in designer, replete with your Birkin in hand (suck it, Linda) is a bonus. His family will shit themselves when they see he’s done it. Ransom Drysdale fucking nailed it.

He dates a millionaire, one that genuinely smiles at him, one that gives great head and fucks like a goddamn sin, one that actually likes him. Ran won the lottery, and he is overjoyed to be a complete dick about it to his family.

You sigh heavily, recovering from the long journey home, tired but seemingly less tired than an hour ago. You recharge next to him. He’s seen it before. You’re usually laying on his chest after he wrings the last of that stressed energy right out of your cunt, but there’s no time for that right now.

“I’ve been advised to sell the penthouse here,” you throw out absently in the silence. You two talk so frequently that there isn’t much to catch up on.

Ran snorts. “But who would buy your shitty furniture?”

You smack at his hand on the gear shift, but that won’t stop him.

“No, I’m serious. It’s fucking warehouse shit.”

That jab gets ignored, as he suspected it might. “At this rate, it’ll be cheaper to simply stay at a hotel downtown instead. I’m hardly here long enough to warrant a house out in the burbs and a penthouse.”

He simply hums in agreement and watches the road.

You could stay at his place, Ran thinks. That’s nonsense when you own a fucking mansion and have a car service on call 24/7, but you could. He’d even allow some of your furniture…and maybe some of your kitchen gadgets…maybe.

“Gosh, I haven’t even seen Harlan since your birthday—“ the swatting hand comes to rest over his again “—through the window, no less.”

“You’ll recognize him. He’s still old and still a shit.”

You giggle and squeeze. Ran flips his palm up to cup yours.

He’s in a mood to gloat. He’s ready to put on a bit of a show, prepared to use oversized PDA to stir the pot, and knows the whole thing will amuse you, too. Ran has readied himself to be more affectionate. He doesn’t normally touch you without reason or potential of escalation. He was even more hesitant to do so after your bitchy peers’ dinner where some asshat took it the wrong way.

His family won’t, however. They’ll take it just as hard as he hopes. Fuck those guys.

His relatives have scoured every article about you this whole time. Ran has been enthusiastically ignoring any and all questions with the sole purpose of twisting that knife deeper. His, not theirs. He’s casual in his dismissal of what it all means. He doesn’t have to think about that. No one believed this would still be a thing, not his family, not you, not him. The shock hasn’t worn off yet, but underneath that buzz is a soothing, peaceful feeling that makes Ransom fucking jumpy. He plays it off as he does any other nervous energy—annoyance.

“Right. How long we considering this a thing now anyway?” He doesn’t say the word relationship. He doesn’t call you his girlfriend. You have never mentioned one word about it either, but he’s curious why that is. Obviously, he won’t simply ask why.

You think for a few moments, propping your arm against the car door to look at him, arm stretching to stay connected to his, eyes sparkling. “Definitely start the clock after you stuck your dick in someone else.” After another split second, you clarify, “ass or vagina, thank you.”

It’s not a surprising answer, but Ran rolls his eyes anyway. Fair. He cannot argue with that. Still, this is the longest thing he’s been involved in.

“So that makes it…what? A month?” you joke.

He’s not sure if that’s a pure jab or if you fish for assurance that you two are…exclusive. Ran can use that word. That one is okay. That one qualifies stuff you own and use. It describes things, not people. This is a thing, an exclusive thing.

He shoots you a hard glare across the seats of the beamer.

“No,” he hits back. “Four and a half.”

From the cheeky wink he gets back, you know damn well how long it’s been. You wanted to hear him say it probably. He wiggles in the seat, further annoyed, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the road.

That color on you, though, is distracting.

He keeps his hand where it is, relaxed and in yours.

Ransom pulls out the chair beside his mother for you to sit in. He didn’t think about how you’d leave your bag by his coat in the foyer. You’re not like Linda in that way; she carried the Birkin at her side everywhere, even in the house. The least he can do is sit the beautiful young woman right next to the white-haired wench and preen at his exclusive upgrade.

You are one-of-a-kind, and you’re his. His gut flutters with that knowledge. He needs a drink.

You look so feminine and regal compared to his mother’s teal, power jumpsuit or whatever half-velvet, half-satin monstrosity she chose.

“Oh, hello, dear,” Linda chirps to you, watching Ransom sit on your other side, “don’t you look lovely.”

His mother twitches her fingers like she needs a cigarette, faking an adjustment of her thick spectacles to hide the tremor, and the whole night is already worth skipping hanky panky before arrival.

You do look lovely. It makes him look good. He’s winning. He needs a victory drink.

When food is set down in front of you all by a catering staff, you immediately offer appreciation and Ran parrots the ‘thank you.’ He doesn’t think much of it. He just takes your cue. Ransom has always known how to be decent; he chooses not to be out of spite…except near you. He likes looking good around you. It makes him feel like he could be good.

Meg, subtle as ever, word vomits “holy shit” in response to Hugh Ransom Drysdale thanking the fucking help. When Ran catches her eye, Meg raises her brows and snaps her wrist like she’s cracking a whip.

He scowls back, but his cousin is too far across the table to curse without upsetting you, so he just mouths ‘get fucked’ at her.

“Well, Dad,” Walt starts too loudly for the table, “in celebration of your big day, I hope you don’t mind me sharing some news about our amazing quarter at the publisher’s.”

Harlan cuts into his meal, wearing his signature, catch-all smirk.

“‘Our,’ my ass,” Linda whispers to you, wine glass raised to cover her lips.

You very, very quietly giggle, and Ran doesn’t fucking like that one bit. Fuck off, Linda. That’s his giggle.

“Hell of a year,” Walt continues, oblivious, “hell of a year, but particularly great because we hit just shy of one point eight million in the last few months.”

“Oh wow,” Joni moans, pressing a bony hand into the ruffles of her blouse, and it is good news. Her eyes may as well morph into dollar signs.

“‘Night of the Dead Phoneline’ was a fun one,” Harlan mutters before another bite.

It is a tidy sum, one that his family would absolutely drool over, one that has taken decades to build to, but also one that Ransom knows pales in comparison to what you handle on a daily basis. 

He knows not to speak of your money, however, not a single word.

Unsurprisingly, his mother hasn’t picked up on your modesty and exuberantly swats her little brother back into place.

“That is nice, Walt,” Linda barely tilts the glass in his direction before turning to you, resting her head on a bejeweled fist and clucking. “Tell me, dear, I read that your home offices are being fully renovated for the first time since you took over the building. Must be costing a pretty penny…”

Your fork and knife halt on the china.

“Uh huh,” you dodge while Ransom stares daggers over your shoulder.

Subtlety is not Linda Drysdale’s forté. “How much?”

You sigh again, resting your silverware to the side while studying the ornate, vaulted ceiling. “The last estimate I got was forty-three but was missing final approval from Tech so…I’m preparing for fifty.”

“Thousand?” Jacob, Walt's son, asks in the fleeting moment he’s not looking down at his phone. Idiot.

“No,” you sigh, “million.”

Linda relishes Walt’s shock while Meg’s eyes bug out. Jacob simply scoffs, back to staring at his screen instantly. Ran’s annoyed—furious actually—that Linda claims your success as her own. Gears turn to plot revenge in your honor.

“And that’s out of how many facilities worldwide now?” Linda hums. “Twenty-two?”

“Enough!” Harlan slaps his hand on the table. “This is my birthday, and I say we have none of this ham-fisted, money talk at the table.”

“So we can talk about it after dinner?” Joni suggests from down the line. She’s ignored save for a grumble of Walt’s beside her.

“Sorry, sir,” you apologize.

“You,” his grandfather coos, “are not the one who started it.”

Harlan’s smile is kind and amused. He knows there’s no real foul that’s been played, but Harlan is intuitive enough to sense what Ransom knows: lording money over others is your last fucking resort, and it is never in public or among a group. There is, however, a slight sadness beyond excusing his children’s behavior that wilts his grandfather’s expression. Ran assumes it’s simple embarrassment. He’s seen you deal with much worse though, so Harlan shouldn’t worry. Since he is most like Harlan himself, Ransom also assumes his grandfather will be over this tiff tartar by dessert.

“Either way, you should all be proud of that figure,” you add softly, aiming that genuine smile at Ran’s uncle. Fucking gross. “Really, Walt. And that’s without any merchandise, too? Very impressive.”

Walt snaps and points at you while jumping right back at Harlan, zero clue when to quit. “You know, Dad, we could be talking about profits more like hers if you’d let me—“

Linda takes the time to lean in and whisper. “I could help you sell the penthouse apartment, you know? Easily.”

And there it is, Linda’s endgame. How the fuck did she find out? She doesn’t even handle corporate real estate, but even a whiff of wanting to move a property of yours is enough to aim her nails directly at your clout.

You tiptoe around an actual answer and manage to shift Linda to talking about her own business. Ransom lays his hand over yours on the table at some point and pets his thumb across your knuckles.

He focuses on that for what feels like seconds but who knows how long it is when he misses the entire lead in to this fucking chestnut.

His Stepford Aunt Donna clears her birdlike throat and says, “you should start now so you can have at least two.”

Your hand jerks to grip his before dropping down to your lap.

What the fuck?

His father’s fork clatters onto the china. “Now hold up there, Donna. Let the kids just enjoy the honeymoon phase—“

Linda pipes in over Richard. “Every one of us had only one child including you.”

“I would have had more—” Joni flips a hand into the air before twirling one of her bohemian curls “—but my husband died.”

“Then it’s not about you, is it?” Walt booms.

Ransom watches you take a very large breath and lean into your chair. “I think I preferred the money talk.”

Donna waves her martini in the air, defensively. “She just seems so busy out in the middle of nowhere while her biological clock—“

“Shut up, bitch. We’re sitting right goddamn here,” Ran snaps.

Walt stands, scraping the chair backward. “That’s my wife you’re talking to!”

Ransom doesn’t give a shit who said it. No one disrespects you like that. “What fucking right does she—“

“Son, please, calm down.” Richard

“Thank god you guys didn’t make this family bigger,” Meg shout-mumbles, stealing her mom’s wine without Joni noticing. She’s too busy describing the ‘bad vibes’ coming from all the masculine energy in the room.

Jacob takes a video on his phone before Meg swats it right out of his hands and into his food. The boy panics.

Ran hears Harlan and you sigh simultaneously.

Then the coup-de-gras. God, it’s like you were made to fuck with his family, and Ran is pleased as fucking punch.

You stand casually, chair silent in its retreat, and hold up a hand. They quiet, mercifully, allowing you to stick one savage fucking knife through the whole lot of them.

“You’re all going to laugh at this quarrel in a year—“ you pass your almost full wine over to Meg conspicuously before both your hands smooth flat down your stomach “—or less.”

The table goes so deadly still Ran could hear a pin drop on the carpet upstairs, and it’s funny because Ransom knows you. He knows you well enough that he doesn’t have even the most fleeting thought that you could be pregnant. You would never, ever choose this way to hint at it. You would keep them far away from your business and your business, but it’s so goddamn genius that he grins like an idiot.

The whole room misinterprets his joy as confirmation.

Owl eyes blink over gaping mouths, but Ran notices Harlan’s knowing smirk. Grandpa is the only one who gets the joke. Perfect.

Harlan snorts from his own seat and winks at you again. That’s good. Harlan deeply approves of you. You’re something Ransom has done right—as well as six ways to Sunday, not including the implied knocking up—and he can use that. Continent hopping is getting costly; he’s going to need his grandfather to raise his allowance.

Ran leans back in his seat, cardigan spreading open as he stretches one arm over the back of your chair and softly drawls, “sweetheart.”

He could not have fucking timed it better.

Harlan’s cake arrives seconds later, topped with eighty-five sizzling sparklers that will probably call the fire department in a matter of minutes, and the rest of the adults at the table scurry to flank the birthday boy. They look like hyenas cornering prey.

Ransom doesn’t join. He stays right there, smiling up at you.

You flop into your seat, so close that soft burgundy fabric drapes over his thigh, and lean in to whisper, “give me your fucking wine.”

He slaps a quick kiss on your cheek before grabbing your prize from the other side of his plate. You two stay huddled, shielded from view by the smoke and greed clouding the head of the table.

Despite a resounding win at dinner, drinks in the sitting room afterward are torturous.

There is no way to get out of conversation with the Thrombeys except through conversation with the Thrombeys. Dinner was actual cake comparatively.

This is a slog. It’s been a slog Ransom’s whole life. Is it bad he derives pleasure sharing this pain with you? That’s bad, right? He shouldn’t enjoy this.

Jacob, a piece of shit, Alt-Right troll of a child who would drop dead if his socks didn’t match—piddly bitch—fucking sniffs you on his way to the settee behind his parents, musing how good it is that you don’t smell after so much time in China.

You know, from the food.

What a fucking shock that’s the little Nazi’s take away…

Joni laments the smog and pollution dulling your skin—which it fucking did not— but she has a mask for that. It’s even specific aligned to your chakra, whatever the fuck that means, and Ransom bites his tongue, watching your deep sigh fogging the inside of the glass you sink deep into instead of respond.

No one says shit concerning your one alcoholic beverage though because the hint of you (and by-proxy, Ransom) immediately dominating the whole clan has set the adults on edge.

Because you would. You already eclipse them in every capacity. The only trump card left to play is raising Ran to your level, which he is climbing to, slowly, at his own pace, by his own rules.

You hit the bottom of that glass—and all your limits, based on the exact level of strain between your lips—when his family debates Marta’s country of origin and the American Dream of legal fucking citizenship. All you say is “excuse me” and walk off.

He stands, too, and not to be a puppy dog following you around. He thinks the conversation is stupid. He wants to leave the room. His glass is empty, and he wants another piece of cake.

You gently take Marta’s arm and guide her with you until you’re tucked on the other side of the wall. Ransom tells Franny to get him cake.

“Is something wrong?” Marta seems alarmed and glances at your stomach. She’s a nurse and doesn’t get the joke.

“Oh, no, hun. I just wanted to save you from the vultures,” you say, smiling.

You like Marta but hell if Ran knows why. He thinks Harlan fakes how much his shoulder still bothers him because the old man’s range of motion isn’t stunted in any way. Though, Ran admits, he’d keep up an easy supply of morphine if he could, too.

Sour-faced Fran returns with a tiny plate and shoves it into Ransom’s hand.

“What? No fork?”

The housekeeper barely opens her mouth before Harlan interrupts with a deep and booming voice.

“A moment, Ran, my boy. I have something to discuss with you.”

On instinct, Ransom turns to meet your eye. You’re happily in conversation with the help but pet a gentle hand down the sleeve of his cardigan. It’s fine. It’s not as if you’re trapped in another money argument with his uncle—Ran would break Walt’s other foot if that fucker tried again anyway—so off to the study he goes.

“Shut the door,” Harlan insists, waiting while the last thing Ran sees is Great Nana staring off into space by the front door. “Have a seat.”

“I’m fine.”

Harlan takes a power pose at his enormous desk and tips white, bushy eyebrows in his grandson’s direction. “You seem happy.”

Ran props his hands on his hips. “Is that a question?”

“Merely an observation. It makes this easier to know you are in a…better situation than a year ago.”

Ransom prepares to explain how his expenses have skyrocketed in the wake of so much travel. He’s coordinated several design houses to work with you in Beijing to ensure you are properly dressed even when he’s not there. That shit ain’t cheap, but it’s worth it. God help him if your assistant tries to put you in another local potato sack.

Yes, Ran sets himself up to ask for more money until this.

“I have written you out of my will. The whole family.”

Ransom blinks. The fuck is the old man playing at?! “You can’t be serious.”

“Not a red dime or word of my work to a single one of them, you included.”

That’s not…

That’s not going to help. That’s not going to work for what Ransom needs. “We’re your family,” he starts, brain swimming in freezing depths yet running eighty miles an hour. His face heats like the surface of the sun, and his lungs are void of oxygen. All extremes exist simultaneously. “You are not this crazy. You would not just throw your fortune away.”

“No. I’m giving it to Marta. All of it.”

Panic creeps into the blurring edges of Ran’s vision, his voice boiling over. “To your Brazilian nurse? Are you goddamn insane.”

He is. He has to be, but the old man just digs farther in.

“I’m sane for the first time in my life,” the patriarch of the soon-to-be-penniless Thrombeys announces with vibrating gusto, “and I’ve done it.”

“I’m going to stop this, Harlan.” What the hell else is Ran supposed to say? He can’t just do this?

”I’ve made the change to my will. It’s done.”

“I’m warning you,” Ransom explodes, charging toward the weighty desk and tempted to chuck the nearest, sharpest nicknack right into the withering hand spread over his papers, determined. He knows that look; it’s the stubborn look Ran himself inherited. Apparently, it is the sum total of his Thrombey inheritance as of this very moment. That, and the urge to shaft his family.

His whole world is ablaze and it started in the tinderbox of a stack of cash. He is fucked. There’s nowhere for Ran to run but damned if he isn’t going to try.

The wail of the door latch as he swings it open echos in his skull, and there you are across the hall, deep in conversation with the little shit about climb over him in the pantheon of your prowess. Fucking Marta.

This cannot get any worse. This cannot happen.

But Ran doesn’t know what to do yet. He only knows he doesn’t want to be fucking here anymore. He can’t think here. He’s seeing red, and it’s not your dress. It’s not beautiful or something he’s proud of. He’s just pissed, and you know it. You see it easily.

Ransom grabs his overcoat and shoves the plate of birthday cake beside it into his Great Nana’s hand, slamming the door hard behind him.

You’re behind him yelling in a flash asking what’s happened but he can’t tell you or it will be real. He has to fix this. He has to do something. But what? What the fuck can he do?

He doesn’t answer until you touch his shoulder and he spins in the gravel, eyes rolling over your coatless form and empty hands.

“Where is your bag?”

“Stop focusing on the fucking bag, Ransom,” you snip back.

“Stop leaving your things behind.” Shit. Back to ‘Ransom.’ It’s already started. This is a nightmare inside a disaster. He will lose everything in a single day if he doesn’t think of something.

Your hand shoots up before snapping to your chest in a death grip.

You almost hit him. You almost slapped him because he scared you. He’s seen that look before, but he’s never caused it.

Instead of lashing out, you hiss, “stop leaving me behind.”

That cuts at him, making him feel weak. Ran hates weakness. He retaliates. The steel of his previous skin—the armor plating he wore proudly before you came along—creeps back over his tight chest.

“You’ll be fine.”

You step forward and reach for his cheek, softly. “Why did you walk out?”

He keeps huffing, floundering for a lie, smothering the truth. That’s just it: it hasn’t started. You don’t know yet. You have no idea that he has nothing and is no one. Maybe you never have to know. Maybe he can salvage this.

He pauses too long.

You yank his coat off of his arm and stomp back toward the house.

“What the fuck,” he calls.

“I’m getting the fucking bag—“ you shake his coat in the air “—but you aren’t fucking driving off without me.” When you hit the porch steps, you swing around to lay down a threat.

“If you leave now, no one will blame me for murdering you. I won’t even bother to make it look like an accident,” and you disappear into Thrombey Manor.

Something…occurs to Ransom at that moment, and wisps of a plan start to cloud his swirling mind.

a/n: I feel so bad that there is no smut in this chapter. I have failed you all. I must go flog myself in the basement as penance. 😭 I'm so nervous that everyone's fave reason isn't even in here, omg, please don't flame me!

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit

[Last Part]

[Main Masterlist]

#hugh ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #knives out fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x you #18+ #18+ fanfic

[jungleindierock]

Rebjukebox 2024 - No 1

Here's my first playlist for 2024, it's not gonna be a monthly thing, just once i have 40 tracks i like, then i will share it. So could be one or two or even three in one month and other months maybe none, this is why it's numbered. I am already close to No 2 being finished, cover done, just need to cut down to 40 tracks from the 80+ tracks in the provisional draft playlist. So could share this next week!! These playlists are great way to find new bands and artists and saves us having to post each on sepearatly.

I used to do these just through Soundcloud, but thought i might as well add it to my Spotify also. So i will add two links to the playlist and can use which ever one you prefer.

If your a solo singer or a member of a band, then follow me on my Soundcloud page here, if i like your stuff, i will follow you back, if i don't follow back then sorry but your not my thing. Whatever style of music is fine, i like many stlyes and will take a listen. You should always trust your own ears with music.

You can only follow 2,000 people on Soundcloud, so am limited. But if am following you there, i can see when you share new music, which means you could be added to one of these playlists or the main JIR playlist (one per month). What style of music is fine, i like many and will take a listen.

Enjoy and share, stay free, see you soon with No 2!!

Reb

Ok the links for the playlist:- Soundcloud I Spotify

Tracklist

1 - Paramore - Burning Down the House (Talking Heads Cover) 2 - The Delta Shake - I’ll Be Your Man (Alternative Version) 3 - Anja Huwe - Rabenschwarz 4 - Fat Dog - All The Same 5 - Loupe - Tested Waters 6 - Wynona - Feeling For Edges 7 - Nothing Rhymes With Orange - Friday Is Over 8 - Shannon and the Clams - The Moon Is In The Wrong Place 9 - KAWALA - American Adrenaline 10 - overpass - Stay Up 11 - Camens - Cynical 12 - Cinders - Going Nowhere 13 - Linn Koch-Emmery - Ebay Armour 14 - Grace Petrie - Start Again 15 - Neon Dreams (Ft. Matthew Mole) - The Art of Letting Go 16 - This Rebel - Same Every Time 17 - The Holy - Any Given Day 18 - Soundwire - Shake The Fever (Radio Edit) 19 - The Snuts - Millionaires 20 - Neck Deep - Moody Weirdo 21 - Softcult - Heaven 22 - Lurve - Pesnya O Lyubvi 23 - BARSTAFF - Tracy Island (Radio Edit) 24 - Sasha Assad - Bad Nature 25 - Red Rum Club - Hole In My Home 26 - No Windows - Song 01 27 - Mourn - Could Be Friends 28 - Sunglaciers - Cursed 29 - POND - Neon River 30 - Slow Time Mondays - Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time 31 - Jeen - So What 32 - stillcorners - The Dream 33 - The Marra - Masterpiece 34 - The Hubbards - Hiding & Reading 35 - The Cheap Thrills - Last Orders 36 - Aqualine - No Answer 37 - Torrey - Bounce 38 - Low Blows - Normal 39 - ParisBlue - Remedy 40 - Bombay Bicycle Club (ft. Lucy Rose) - Willow

#Rebjukebox 2024 - No 1 #new music #playlist #indie rock #indie music

[apocalypse-gang]

to be honest I don't understand why everyone feels so entitled or even assumes everyone needs to have the same sentiments. You have to deal with the fact not everyone wants to fights others' battles. There are people with their own problems and bigotry they're dealing with to care about a wizard's game.

It's not entitlement, it's an ask. It's begging. It's an ask to not financially support a multi-millionaire who uses her royalties to give money to organizations that are successfully trying to dehumanize and strip the rights of trans people. It is an ask not to support a game that entire premise depends dangerous and dehumanizing Jewish stereotyping, that was put into this fictional world by JKR herself.

My frustration is that people are actively claiming to be allies and even acting morally superior, for buying a game that trans and jewish communities have been begging people not to buy. You are not an ally if you buy this game. If you know what Joanne is doing is wrong, and you know how she uses her money, yet they are ignoring it for their own interests and nostalgia. You are not an ally. Allyship doesn't fluctuate when it's convenient for you, and you can't buy back your allyship or forgiveness if you donate to charities. It's selfish.

I constantly live with the fact that no one fights others' battles, and I'm still frustrated by it. We were put on this earth to protect our fellow man, and people just won't. I know we can't all constantly fight for ourselves and others' 24/7 while also living ori day to day life. Our world is too big for that. But this is not people choosing not the fight. It's people consciously choosing to give money to the ones harming people. I constantly live with the fact that people aren't fighting our battle for and with us because no one actually cares about trans people. Most of the world doesn't care about us, and people are trying to destroy us. And here we have "allies" who throw get frustrated they feel guilty and people dont like that they are knowingly put their money into a influential, multi-millionaire bigot's pockets. Those that are mad that people don't want them to play the Blood Libel slavery simulator game.

It's literally asking people to not buy a video game. That's all people are asking. It's an inaction. No one's asking people to vote, no one's asking people to wave flags or sign petition, people literally asking you not to spend money on a game. Its a gesture. The bare minimum. It was doing nothing and people couldn't do that. That was it. People couldn't do even do nothing for the Jewish and trans communities.

For the people with their own problems and bigotry they're dealing with, a video game isn't going to fix it. A video game isn't going to save them. And if they are someone who is maganalized, it is very, very likely JKR doesn't care about them either. Her work and her views are extremely racist, xenophobic, fatphobic, even things having misogyny and homophobia, and things she claims to dislike. Her and her posse are willing to align with whit supremacists in order to continue their cause. Her bigotry will only get worse with time. So why financially support someone who is only going to harm marganalized groups. You are knowingly putting your wants above real people who will be harmed. If you buy the game, you have to accept that fact. You can't work your away around it, or try to donate away your guilt.

No one needs a Harry Potter game. No one will die without getting the game. The game won't fix any of your problems.the game won't stop the bigotry you deal with personally.

All people asked for was literally nothing. Do nothing. It's not spending $70 dollar on a video game and not playing it. It's a symbol of support, showing you won't support someone so cruel. All people asked if people would do nothing when a game came out. Why is it so controversial to ask that of people? Why is it so controversial to be upset about when people don't do it?

Why should i not be frustrated with the injustices of the world? Why should I settle for apathy?

#hogwarts legacy #jk rowling #jkr #harry potter #hogwarts

[scuderia-hamilton]

So, you’re lying AND trying to cancel someone for not wrongly boycotting Starbucks?

So, since you’re obviously ignorant on this issue, Starbucks sued people for copyright infringement, that’s it, it has nothing to do what Palestine. They would’ve sued for any statement, because their logo was being used without permission.

i was expecting an ask like this, so here we go.

firstly, i genuinely have no idea why some of Lando’s fans have this incessant urge to defend everything he ever does. it’s getting weird at this point. you are not getting paid to defend this 24 years old grown ass white millionaire on the internet. his or your life won’t be better for it.

secondly, i am not trying to cancel him at all, just pointed out that what he did was ignorant. you can be a fan of someone and still criticize them or hold them accountable when they do something wrong. these two things can and should coexist. trying to make him see that what he did wasn’t right does not mean he’s being canceled. the same way people pointed out his questionable comments regarding the Horner situation, asking him to do better and he viewed that as him being canceled online. considering this i’m not surprised his fans think the same way.

thirdly, it has everything do with Palestine. you’re right that’s how the boycott against Starbucks started, but the company also made a statement condemning the union’s pro-palestinian post and the BDS movement backed the union. the company also said that they have no stance on the situation and being neutral is being complicit. it is not a primary company to boycott and there are more important ones, but it should be boycotted nonetheless. here are some links you should check out, although i doubt you will.

i also think that it’s super telling that people are more willing to abandon their morals and defend a man that doesn’t even know they exist, than condemn and boycott a company that may or may not support genocide. absolutely wild.

hope you’ll have the day you deserve. xx

#answered asks #anti lando norris #anyway i was expecting this but whatever #this won’t affect him at all so hold your horses

[lucifersimp333]

$$ THE BROTHERS WIN A SCRATCH OFF$$

PART 2: LeviXmc, SatanXmc, AsmoXmc, BelphieXmc

Scenario: You gift your favorite demon a scratch off ticket from a nearby Devildom gas station. Turns out it's a winner! 10 million grimm!

!!!!Not proof read!!!

@@@ slighly NSFW?? Suggestive but not smut@@@@

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Asmo

"Ooooooo, thank you MC! You are so sweet! You didn't have to gift me anything, I'm perfectly happy with your kisses!~"

Uses a coin to scratch it off because he wouldn't dare dirty is nails. He needs to look good for you 24/7.

" oh my, 10 million grimm!" He covers his mouth with his beautiful fingers in shock

" You must be my lucky charm! Come here I want to give you smooches!"

Attacking your face with kisses while hugging you. Most likely slid his hand down to give your butt a quick squeeze ( he's the avatar of lust, he can't help it.)

" Come on baby, we're going shoppiiing!~" He grabs your hand and he brings both of you to numerous high end beauty stores.

" Pick out whatever you like, love! I think you would look STUNNING in this purple lipstick!"

He's using this shopping spree to spoil you rotten. He has you try on a bunch of different makeup, clothes, and accessories. You look so adorable he wants to gobble you up.

When you head home he will absolutely make you put on a fashion show for him with all the clothing and makeup he bought you.

" You look so amazing my dear... now take it all off so you'll look ever better~"

Levi

Is absolutely screaming on the inside because you just gifted him something. Who would want to give a present to a worthless otaku? He's a blushing mess. " Th-thank you MC"

Uses a sword from one of his action figures to scratch the ticket.

"Ah!..... 10 million grimm?! MC I could buy the limited edition underwater octopus Ruri-Chan figurine with that! Thank you so much MC-chan!"

At your feet kissing them. I swear this demon is such a simp for you

You pull him up from the floor and give him a quick little peck on the lips. " you're so very welcome Levi" you say with a soft smile

Okay, you just broke this man. You swear you saw him glitch. Give him a minute to reboot.

After he rebooted, you both sit on the floor, and he starts ordering stuff off of Akuzon. He buys you your own own controller for his console. A controller only YOU can use. He also buys you your own beanbag chair and headset to keep in his room for your gaming sessions. His brothers are never allowed to touch it.

He secretly purchases some spicy cosplay outfits he wants you to try on for him. He's to nervous to tell you until you find them in his closet one day and decide to put on a show for him.

Satan

Slightly confused you handed him a scratch ticket, he thought it was a bookmark at first.

" Why thank you, MC. I think I've read something about these tickets. I heard they're very common in your world."

Leans on the book he is reading to scratch the ticket off.

Holds the ticket up closer to the lamp je was using to read to see it better. "Well, look at that. A winner." He turns to you and smiles. " Thank you, kitten. I truly appreciate you."

Plants a solid kiss on your forehead and wraps his arm around your shoulders and finishes up the chapter he was reading before bringing you to the bookstore.

Romantically kissed you in an aisle in the bookstore. This wrathy demon melts on you like butter. He is so happy.

Is more happy he has an excuse to hold your hand and shop with you at a bookstore than being a millionaire.

Will at some point in the day drag you to an animal shelter to adapt a few cats.

Will have you help him hide the cats in his room so Lucifer doesn't flip shit.

Ordered you a kitty lingerie outfit for you to try on later. He's gonna make you puurrrr~

Also ordered some rope to attempt to tie Lucifer up later.

Belphie

You didn't want to wake him up so you leave the ticket under his pillow like a little scratch off fairy.

You're chilling in your room when your door bursts open. "MC, let's go." Belphie has the scratched-off ticket in his hand. He takes your wrist and brings you to the nearest bedding store.

Asks your opinions on several plush pillows. He wants you to pick out pillows for both of you to sleep with, along with some soft blankets to snuggle with.

Glances over at you with loved filled sleepy eyes every once in a while. Finally your eyes lock with each other.

" I never got the chance to thank you, MC." He takes both of his hands and cups your cheeks, presses a sleepy kiss on yout lips.

You both go home and head to the attic

He sets up all his newly bought pillows and blankets, flops down on his back on the plush surface and holds his arms out to you.

You lay on his body and snuggle until you both fall asleep.

He may have just bought hundreds of pillows, but you will always be his favorite thing to snuggle.

He secretly can't wait to hear your moans muffled by the new pillows later

I'm so sorry if this is ass, but this was fun to make!!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me levi x mc #obey me belphegor

[duchessonfire]

My fic for the @silver-fox-steve-bang. A huge thanks to @christywantspizza for her amazing beta work and to @miratho for this collab!

Summary

Bucky is 24, adrift, his life as an MIT student derailed after losing his parents and his arm in a car accident five years ago.

During the day, he works for Hawkeye Construction & Renovation Company; at night, he burns through one-night stands and no-strings-attached relationships.

On a last-minute notice, Clint Barton’s crew is called to restore an old Victorian mansion for Steve Rogers, a wealthy architect building the dream house he’d promised his late wife before her death three years ago.

Featuring: millionaire silver fox Steve who just wants to dote on his sugar baby, jaded and sarcastic Bucky who falls in love with his sugar daddy against his better judgement, an amazing NSFW art by @miratho on chapter 3, plenty of smut. (Seriously, this is the smuttiest fic that I've ever written. There is smut in every chapter of this story. Kinky smut. Be warned).

Sneak peek and link to Chapter 1: You Got Condoms? below the cut:

The man’s got nice hands, Bucky thinks as Steve takes an expensive SI tablet – the latest model, the lucky bastard – and shows them sketches of each room, swiping from photos of how they are now, to drawings of how he envisions them. As he zooms in and out of the pictures, details appear, arrows pointing to original fixtures he wants to preserve, colored squares highlighting what he wants to do away with and, on the right side of the screen, there is a list of the materials he wants to use as replacement.

He’s got big hands, with nice long fingers, and perfectly clean and square nails. There’s a feathering of blond hairs on his knuckles, and his gold wedding band shines under the sunlight that’s peeking through the dirty window panes.

Rich, talented, and handsome, can he be any more annoying?

Turns out he can.

#silver fox steve bang #silver fox steve #sfs22 #stucky #stucky fic #modern au #modern stucky #sugar daddy steve rogers #sugar baby bucky barnes #rich steve rogers #bisexual steve rogers #gay bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes #duchess writes #age difference #stucky fic rec

[mrs-monaghan]

Hey, Shaz! Hope you're doing well. This is the first time I'm showing myself around here. Love your posts.

I was thinking. Not only is yelling "BH ARE FORCING THEM TO DO FAN SERVICE/PR!" dismissing KM's relationship and Tae's free will to choose his own girlfriend, but it's also so disrespectful towards BTS as a whole and the other members individually. It's perpetuating the idea that idols are nothing but their company's toys and they're forced to do things they don't want to do, something BTS have been trying since pre-debut to prove wrong in their case. It's something Namjoon struggled with a lot back in the day because people loved shitting on his work, dismissing his status as a rapper and calling him an industry puppet. It was and apparently still is a problem. Saying that KM and Tae are forced to do fan service/PR stuff these days is no different than calling them tools, pawns, toys, liars. According to this logic, the BTS members are pretty fake because BH can totally force them to do anything and they're quietly following orders. They have no will of their own, they're being handled, even though they're unfireable millionaires and literally the breadwinners. (Now imagine Yoongi forced to do something. That man would probably set the company's building on fire before he allowed others use him for their benefit. I'm joking. I'm joking. Or am I?)

When we got into this Bangtan stuff, most of us stayed because of how genuine these men were. They were keeping it real, they were relatable, they were "just like us". People always talk about this in the community like it's their life motto. "BTS are genuine" left and right. It's something ARMYs are very proud of. But when it comes to KM the genuineness goes out the window. JM and JK are not genuine. They're feeding us lies. They're this and that. People claim they love them (or at least one of them if they're a hardcore TKer, although a lot of these individuals hate JK as well and it shows), but they're so quick to doubt and portray both JM and JK as awful people. Because if TK is real (which is not), KM are terrible friends to Tae and if I were a TKer and I saw JK in JM's business 24/7 I'd wish TK broke up to be honest. If they have other secret relationships (which they don't), they're being horrible boyfriends to their partners when they suck and bite each other's ear and neck, flirt in broad daylight, hold hands, go out and have fun just the two of them all the time, talk until morning, come together, leave together, joined at the hip and are overall extremely Romantic Couple™.

KM apart, I'm writing this for very specific people, but y'all don't deserve any of these men. Clearly, you don't respect them or their decisions. You don't trust them and you don't believe in their autonomy. You think they're just BH's marionettes. At this point I really don't understand why some of you are stanning them. You obviously don't like BTS.

Idek what chapter 2 has become. People like me who became Armys last year it was literally such bad timing to join the fandom. I wouldn't be shocked if some people just turned around and left. Ever since solo projects were announced its been a fucking mess. And from what I gather while the vermin were many they never used to be as vile as they are now. Chapter 2 just seems to have made them worse.

When BTS were still doing ot7 stuff it was easy to think we were all ot7. (Well, apart from solos who make that pretty obvious) But these big, big accounts got away with pretending to be ot7 back then. But now with members doing shit one at a time people are showing their true colors and it has not been pretty.

I envy people who support BTS on the surface. People who are only subscribed to BTS official accounts and only listen to their music and watch their reality shows then go about their day. Those people know peace. 😂 Ignorance is bliss y'all.

Stay strong Jikookers. Stay strong. It's gonna be alright. I promise 😘

#ask shaz #bts ask #the vermin

[thecountvoncurdles]

Dead Space stream: 2/9/24

It is my objective to become a powerful, important man. A millionaire. An influencer. Failing that, I'd like to avoid the debtor's gaol.

Help me accomplish this by attending my inaugural stream, where I'll be playing DEAD SPACE for the very first time!

The stream: https://www.twitch.tv/thecountvoncurdles

Count von Curdles art by @videoviolence

#Dead Space #twitch #horror games #livestream #streaming

[lunarsun12]

NCT Dream Family Profile

NCT Family Profile

𝑴𝒂𝒎𝒂 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏 ✧

- Married to Jeno, who never pays attention to him (even though Jeno follows him around the house, all the time but is too focused sorting the kids out)

- Has a bad habit of kidnapping children to join his family (still trying to work on it)

- Very blind to his kids bad behaviour

- Is super protective of his children and can be scary but usually very sweet!

- He bestie with Doyoung and Ten, as he likes to listen to tea

- He claims he doesn’t have a favourite child but everyone knows it is Jisung

𝑷𝒂𝒑𝒂 𝑱𝒆𝒏𝒐 ✧

- Married to Jaemin, who always nag him and never pays attention to him

- Plays games most of time (due to fear of dealing with children, as one one of them locked him in the dog house before)

- Intentionally forget to leave the children anywhere, in hopes to get rid of them

- Loves to workout and always unintentionally got people flirting with him

- He has side job working as a delivery man, as someone blow up their bank accounts due to a shopping spree (coughs ten)

- Didn’t I tell you he regrets agreeing to adopt kids with Jaemin. As he thought Jaemin meant fur babies

𝑬𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅 - 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒌 ✧

- Dating Yuta

- Moved out a year ago, as he had some suspicions of Yuta cheating on him

- Always ready to help and however can be clueless sometimes

- Doesn’t really engage in his family business, it somehow stresses him out (he get stress of choosing which pair of socks to wear everyday)

- He is bestie with Yeonjun as they met in college. They sometimes grab for soju together, mainly to talk about their love life

- People call him cute and he strongly denies. He tries to act tough and always embarrass himself (once Yuta have to save mark from 5 year children as they were beating him up)

𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅 - 𝑹𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒖𝒏 ✧

- One of the helpful ones, unless you wake him up early will get grumpy

- Always on a lookout for Jisung, as he found out Chenle has some very sinister plans against him

- Somehow he always lands himself in drama but also you don’t want to mess with him. I heard he beat down Haechan one time as he touched his perfumes

- The only person which Haechan doesn’t dare annoy

- He extremely close to the WayV household (always come with the excuse to hang out but mainly to play with the cats and dog)

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅 - 𝑯𝒂𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏 ✧

- Former leader of the Honeybear Club

- One the chaotic child, will stir up drama for his own amusement and revenge

- One word of advice, don’t say no to him. No one says no to Haechan, or else hell break loose

- Has not so secret crush in winwin (he has to tone it down due to the police report)

- He sometimes go to the 127 family house, just chill in their mansion as well learning some moves from Johnny

- Bestie with everyone

𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅 - 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒏𝒍𝒆 ✧

- Secretly a millionaire, he managed to open up business at 5 years old and got rich fast

- Trying to find ways to make Jisung goes missing (I think he low-key loves him)

- As well dragging Jisung around to do stuff with him

- He also has pet dog called Daegal, which treasure Daegal with his life. If anyone touches Daegal then RIP

- One of the sassiest kid, which also Haechan doesn’t dare to mess around with. As one time Chenle hired hitmans and nearly got him killed

- There is a rumour he robbed a bank

- Always get forced to go to the wayv house with Renjun. As Jaemin thought it was good idea for Chenle to have friends

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚 - 𝑱𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒈 ✧

- The youngest of the kids

- Confused 24/7 and just follows Chenle anywhere

- Loved by all of the NCT Families (especially doyoung)

- He always has an accident or got lost as he kept on forgetting where to go (thankfully Jaemin has installed a tracker on him, due to an scare that he lost him for good)

- He looks up to his brother Mark

- Somehow he get calls from the police something about noise complaints (they must have mixed up with the other Jisung). Which always leaves him confuse as he always has headphones in

DISCLAIMER

This does not represent the idols real persona and is exaggerated for entertainment purpose. They are non idols in this storyline

#nct au #nct crack #nct 2023 #nct u #nct dream #nctzen #nct reactions #jaemin #lee jeno #chenle #park jisung #mark lee #haechan #mark nct #au #kpop #kpop au

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Some of his younger fanbase seem to struggle to grasp that people can change. Maybe at one point he didn’t care too much to drink, but also at one point he rarely used to leave the house. As he’s getting older he’s finding himself and seems he’s enjoying being more adventurous than he once was. He’s letting loose and expanding his social group and a lot of his pre-teen/teen fanbase are fearing they can’t relate or connect with him anymore ( not that they ever could, but in the beginning there was that illusion). Before he used to just sit at home, and just play video games/stream. Now he’s traveling for fun and just having a good time any chance he can get. It’s just them panicking bc they felt connected to that little gamer nerd and now Lando is starting to get comfortable with his lifestyle and freedoms he has with the life he has as a f1 driver. He wasn’t going to be that way forever especially as he gets older and more successful. They just need to grasp that.

agreed, 100%!!

I just don’t think that they can grasp that he’s a person, full stop. his younger fanbase treat him like he’s a fictional character.

I do fully agree with your points, but also think that a lot of these fans most likely weren’t even around for 19/20 year old lando who’s one true love was gaming (lmao). i’ve seen some of these girls on twitter and tiktok admit to being like 13/14, so back then they would have been what… 9 or 10?? something tells me they weren’t watching him on stream back then (but who knows what the children are doing these days)

maybe the issue is that they’ve simply never met a 24 year old man??

and add on top of that the fact that he’s a millionaire and has private jets at his disposal and friends all over the world… yeah i’d be living it the fuck up too. i’d be insufferable, actually

#murphanswers #murph talks f1 #lando norris #ln4

[scienceninjaturtle]

THE BAT-MAN: FIRST KNIGHT #3

Written by DAN JURGENS

Art and cover by MIKE PERKINS

Pulp novel variant cover by MARC ASPINALL

Variant cover by TYLER CROOK

$6.99 | 48 pages | 3 of 3 | Prestige Plus | 8 1/2″ x 10 7/8″

(all covers are card stock)

ON SALE 5/21/24

As the Voice’s grip on Gotham tightens, Jim Gordon doesn’t know whom he can trust. With monstrous beasts threatening the city, he turns to the Bat-Man for help, but to truly stop this reign of terror, playboy millionaire Bruce Wayne will step in to help guide the investigation. It all leads to a heart-pounding conclusion that will literally set Gotham ablaze!

#dc comics #batman

[borntogayz]

Warning: quite a bit of negativity, but I feel very upset by Trumps presence at the race.

Coming from a lando and McLaren fan who is very embarassed and conflicted: lando is not an idiot, he’s a 24 year old man who makes his own decisions. He’s a white, cis, incredibly privileged millionaire. It shouldn’t necessarily come as a surprise that he has sympathy and positivity towards donald trump, but he definitely should not have praised him publicly.

To say he’s unaware is stupid. American politics are well known globally and especially that of trump. This sport just keeps proving again and again that it’s efforts to be more inclusive are completely empty and they actually do not give a fuck.

I feel so disgusted by zak brown and lando, and McLaren in general. This proves how conservative this sport it, with how much support trump got in the paddock. They can preach being apolitical all they want but it’s a lie. Politics are embedded in capitalism, and f1 is a capitalistic nightmare.

#f1 #formula 1