#Man Research (Clapper) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tragedy125 · 3 months ago

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“ Bring me Junkie in Love ”

| Dustin/Mantarie x fem! reader / wc. 4,231

synopsis: you have nothing better to do so you’re clubbing with dustin at the last drop!

warnings: 18+, smut ofc, drug use, suggestions of fingering

note: further down i do my best to describe a song that’s playing while y/n and dustin are dancing, that song is ‘man research (clapper)’ by gorillaz so if you wanna listen to it while reading you’re more than welcome to!! —maybe start out by listening to ‘lust for a vampyr’ by i monster bc that’s what was mainly playing when i started writing this:) ENJOY<3

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Loud music shakes you to the core and rumbles and thumps inside your ears—you feel it in your veins along with the inducing clouds of shimmer inhaled second hand. Yet the stillness of your body seems to be the only thing to completely consume you as you stare in no particular direction, but somehow your gaze is always drawn back to Dustin: jumping, flailing around like a fish on the stage just feet from where you sit and stare.

Despite the flashing lights and the overhanging red and green ones, you notice the purple hue about Dustin’s eyes. You begin to notice it burn in yours, especially in your eyelids like an overwhelming sense of tiredness. In the one blink you take to make it go away Dustin is there just after, inches from your face in order to get your attention.

You furrow your brows in confusion and slight fright, jolting away remembering that he knows little to nothing about personal boundaries. You try to shove him away, but he knows you're way too easy to give into temptation when the music’s loud and the drugs are running their course. And so… you give in and grab his hand, the two of you have nothing important to do. You throw your head back laughing hysterically when Dustin begins pulling you from side to side by the hands, tugging and haggling you about as if some plaything at his disposal (which is how you felt more often than not whenever you were mere feet from each other).

Your thoughts begin to roam… Dustin didn’t talk much and if he does it’s in tongues. Though it’s been decades of knowing him, you begin to fully realize this aspect. You think it might have to do with the amount of punches he’s taken over the years as a fellow lackey, and it’s really only you and one other group member who are able to understand him. His actions speak a lot louder than any sort of blabber he is able to emit from his diminishing vocal cord attempts, but the babbles help nonetheless especially if he is adamant about something in particular.

Your once stagnancy is bubbled over by a newfound rush that enthralls you—arms flying over and below you, even your head banging in tune sometimes more violently than you had intended. It feels good and the fact of your hands and Dustin’s roam about your figure, swaying and jumping along to the thundering strain, excites every sense that hasn’t been wholly dampened. You’re not able to correctly place the song that vibrates the entirety of the room including the platform beneath your feet, however you sing along to the multiple ‘yeah yeah yeahs’ anyhow.

Arms loosely snake around Dustin’s neck while his hands linger on and around your waist and hips, even toying with the hem of your top and brushing over the viciously warm skin beneath it. He pulls you closer with each passing second till bones fit perfectly together.

At one point and without a second thought, Dustin abruptly takes hold of your chin capturing you in a messy kiss; one where he takes advantage of getting to shove his tongue down your throat. In any other circumstance you wouldn’t mind, but in this instance you know it may be part of his tricks to drug you in some small way. For a moment you step back to collect your thoughts, partially staring at him while truly trying to figure out if he just did what you think he did. Dustin keeps a tight hold on you and watches with narrow eyes and a smirk thinking it hilarious.

‘For fucks sake-’ you think to yourself as you try your damnest to figure the guy out, you decide to return the favor despite his attempts to blind you with clouds of bright purple shimmer. It only makes you all the more persistent on your own form of payback. You lean in close,

“So, is this your attempt at date rape,” you ask. You feel Dustin’s hold on your hips tighten, fully aware of your warm breath near his ear as his against the crook of your neck. He doesn’t say much in reply. You chuckle, “Wanted to see how many more times you could shove your tongue down my throat before you actually get the balls to intoxicate me further? …Try being a little bit more honest and polite next time and I might just let you willingly fuck me, ‘kay.”

You pull away some in order to capture Dustin’s wide eyed expression, then he quickly shakes his head in disbelief recalculating your every word. You bite your lip finding it adorable watching the gears in his brain tick and creak. You throw your head back laughing once again before grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

“C’mon you putrid fuck, we don’t always need drugs to have fun…“ you tell him loudly over the music before returning to dance while hands meander slowly along him curiously, hungry for his sickly skin against yours in some microscopic way.

Dustin gives you a ‘that’s debatable’ type of look, getting you to recall past times of the two of you running around like maniacs throughout the Lanes completely wasted. You shake your head, humiliated due to that night's events. He saw a side of you not a lot of people have and somehow you knew he might use it for blackmail… You prefer to stay stoic and somewhat of a smartass when it is called for.

“I want a drink,” you tug on him, steadily leading him to the edge of the platform and toward its small set of steps, he retaliates momentarily before you yank on his clothes again, whining, “Please.”

Dustin rolls his eyes, releasing a buzzing groan against your shoulder while he clings to your backside on the walk to the bar. You keep him close and his hands secured to your hips happily, the tips of his fingers pricking the skin and bones beneath it greedily. You place your own hands against the cool table waving over the barkeep. Dustin wraps his arms around your waist completely and rests his chin on the top of your head.

The man wipes his hands off before asking what you want. You shield your eyes from surrounding flashing lights so you’re able to look at the guy straight on.

“Can I get two lemon drop’s aaandd…” you look back at Dustin. “You want anything?”

The lankey, sandy strawberry blond man nods and makes the gesture of swirling his finger in a half circle as if a billiard ball in pool is going down one of its four pockets—you call it ‘a gutter’ or ‘a gutterball’ which is much more fitting than the drinks original name. The drink consists of whiskey and pickle juice. You nod in confirmation and reciprocate the information to the bartender.

Trapped between Dustin and the counter, you turn to him finally. “You’re disgusting,” you shout with revulsion. “Making me kiss you with the taste of pickles on your tongue…”

He chuckles softly, expression sneered and heartwarming. His hands wander to your waist once more, pulling you ever closer and kissing you. It’s beyond your comprehension as to how you initially let his tongue rove the insides of your mouth; dancing with your own, sucking on teeth, and nibbling on your bottom lip to get a rise from you until making any sort of sound to fulfill him for a short while.

Captured in the moment, you conveniently bump into one of the few barstools. You sit up on it quickly, adjusting to the new height, but devouring the cheeky bastard of a man pressed to you between open legs still. Dustin’s hand hooks beneath the bend of your right knee yanking you toward him, keeping you secure against him while the other passes over a layer of purple ripped tights.

You squeeze him tightly between your legs and giggle into his touch. Fingers tiptoe covertly over your thigh and to the fastenings of your pants, the usual bells and whistles and Dustin knew them well. He’s quick to find the rest of the smooth skin covering your hip, once again poking and prodding them like he has been all fucking night. He dives further seeing just how far you’ll let him diverge tonight, to some avail you’re not wearing any—

You crane your head back, tilting it and giving him a crooked grin. “Are you surprised?” You ask with eyebrows slightly raised.

Dustin looks at you in utter disbelief, his once crinkled expression softens. The familiar look of appetency glitters in his eyes through its vibrant purple color. He’s eladed, also due to the fact he’ll have less work to riffle through. He smiles and shrugs before inching his way down even further. Usually you wouldn’t mind the setting you’re in, far worse has gone down, in the booths for example, but you have a sneaky suspicion this interaction in particular will escalate faster than you can think and you don’t want to share that with familiar faces.

You take hold of his wrist harshly as it’s the only way to truly get him to stop. He snaps his eyes at you in irritation. Dustin knows the rules and realizes they are now at play. He removes his hand from the front of your pants and grabs at your thigh again. You smile shortly and bat your eyes at him in thanks. You then nod your head in the direction of the other room. The sandy strawberry blond returns the favor in agreement. You toy with the front of his vest, loosening it, before a quick kiss on the cheek.

You each down a shot before you shove him out in front of you, both of your faces beat red and wasted. Dustin walks like something’s bothering him, you start giggling when you realize he has his hands covering his crotch to hide a hard on. You point and laugh loudly. He turns back and shoves you which causes you to double over in place. You wipe tears away and catch your breath. He walks on without hesitation.

In a matter of seconds you catch up and link arms. “I’m sorry, sweet boy…” you say, leading him to the basement. “You don’t have to be ashamed, I quite like the way your pants make you look when you’re like this: hot, bothered and cramped, begging for release.”

“Shut up…” he mumbles, one of the few things he is able to say.

I gasp aloud, “HE SPEAKS!!” you shout, shaking him in excitement. You cackle and drag him along behind you.

—

Rushing down the stairs like a pair of drunken fools, tripping on some and tripping on each other in anticipation. Greedy stares and promiscuous looks of affection; yanking, pulling and whining when forcibly stopped in the cramped hallway just before the door in a hot needy kiss of tongues and primal teeth wishing to devour the other whole or to sit inside their warm, beaded skin.

He leads the way, your back pushing open the swinging door and it soon turned from the room. His hands are screwed to your hips; one eventually releases you from the confines of your blouse, the other inching down the reminisce of your sagging shorts till both are cupping your ass, yet only one stays in place. In seconds you make a switch of positions causing Dustin to trip on the armrest of the couch, taking you down with him when he falls back. It efficiently lands you in his lap just like the two of you wanted.

Dustin’s savage and heedful palms nip and rake over your thighs, further extending the rips of your tights. However, your attention is purely focused on the intricate details regarding the backs of his hands and fingers: the shitty tattooed points and lines on three to four of his digits on each hand, chipped black nail polish, and the stitching scar at the base of his left pointer finger. …Daydreams about the removal and reattachment of the finger and his fingers in general come to a standstill. Your eyes cling to Dustin’s.

You sense his sudden halting hesitation on where to start. He hasn't had this problem in a while; he is the type of guy who would much rather get down to the nitty gritty bits of teasing and torturing. The type of stuff that requires a safeword. —You smile to yourself, placing your hands on his chest and leaning down to demolish his lips in a kiss. Dustin chuckles as his hands glide over your waist and to your ass.

‘Confident as ever,’ you think to yourself with a scoff. He’s so selfish for needing a push and some attention, but you gladly give it to him anyways.

He’s on the move again… shifting beneath you and purposely jutting against your most sensitive parts causing you to pull back and suppress a low groan. With furrowed brows, you intently watch as he slowly starts to unbutton his trousers, which you can tell are beginning to become a bit too tight for comfort. Excitement fills your chest and knots ruin your lower abdomen. As soon as he senses your excitement he deliberately slows, drawing out the moment in anticipation. ‘Bastard.’

The sandy strawberry blond flashes a yellow toothed grin, biting his lip as his eye crinkle. You feign disapproval before partially sitting up on your knees to leave room for his hands on his pants; in doing so you use your own and work the remaining restraints of his vest you had loosened earlier, along with his striped button up.

Sweaty, fumbling hands finally free buckles and buttons from their shackles… Dustin sits up graciously to let you slip the layers off of his shoulders, once done, he shimmys off his pants with you still happily preoccupied in his lap. For a moment, the two of you stare between each other's eyes and feeble, numbing lips while conflicting thoughts occur due to each of your vulnerable and intertwining positions.

A desperate and dark need shines in his eyes as sweat glistens on his brow. You fight to suppress your own desires, but subconsciously rock against his hardening length slowly.

“Stop… moving.” He breathes through gritted teeth and partially sealed lips.

You hum in reply, smiling, finding his pleads adorable. “Move more,” you question with an arched brow slowly continuing the previous motion, the fabric of his boxers crinkling faintly. He wants to retaliate, but his own movements are somewhat limited and will only make things worse if he does.

You drag a hand down his stomach, over his thigh, and just barely ghost the length of the smothered muscle with your fingers. Dustin’s expression is extorted, almost in pain. He no longer tries to keep quiet; it causes you to exhale in surprise—your face flushing a bright, beating red. Your core tightens at the picture. Your fingers brim the edges of his underwear hooking along the band as you pull them down bit by bit, but not yet disposing of them.

Dustin whimpers with eyes tightly screwed shut, covering his mouth with a shaking hand. The other insufferably tangles between his hair, intensely watching you through hooded eyes. The heated tingling sensation in your cheeks, like a sweet piece of candy hitting your tongue, causes you to bring your bottom lip between your teeth to get rid of the feverish excitement. You shake away your hesitation, but remove your hands from his drawls anyways and rove over his bare chest until you find his hands.

You take his hands in yours and match palms momentarily. You extract yourself from your current position pulling him along somewhat, now standing between his open legs, virtually bare. You lean down just slightly and plant kisses about his face, in doing so you blindly guide his rough hands to the brim of your tights. Dustin sighs into your mouth and continues the action on his own, stripping you of your last piece of clothing.

In turn, you pull off and dispose of his own final garment. The viewing of it is nearly unseen, but he confidently pops out from behind the fabric and elastic band, now splayed out against his pelvis. —Your pupils magnify in size, lechery consuming them in heated exhaustion.

You take him in your hand and stroke him softly, straightening him out before you use your thumb to smear the precum over his tip. As you moil, you drink up the faces and noises he makes which further your arousal. You take a deep breath and return to his lap, somewhat straddling his lap between your legs.

Dustin’s hands find your waist, tugging you closer. Your breasts press against his chest now as you lean in to leave sloppy, tender kisses on his lips. He can’t help but groan against your mouth as he feels your arms wrap themselves around his neck, your fingers threading through his sweat-coated hair. You moan when his tongue presses against yours, returning your heated kisses with just as much passion.

“I’m so sorry I torture you…” you lull, looking at him through hooded eyes, hot breath against his skin.

You're unable to finish your train of thought now that Dustin has wrapped his lips around your right breast, a hand massaging the other one. You furrow your eyebrows in dismay watching, though you throw your head back in ecstasy, biting down on your lip and raising a hand to hold him there for however much longer.

You obliviously begin to move your hips against his lower stomach again, legs halfway wound about him and inching him closer in your entanglement whilst his length threatens your entrance. You shudder in delight before releasing a soft, undoing moan.

He watches your sudden movements intensely, grey eyes flutter before looking back to yours as he suddenly comes to a slowing stop upon your flesh, unable to take it anymore. His grip on you is harsh and controlling for only a moment as he adjusts so his length is properly aligned with you.

In the passing moments, you play with Dustin’s hair, leaving kisses on his temples and forehead as he reassesses. He then looks you in the eyes, you nod shortly before kissing him on the side of the mouth. It’s all the confirmation he needs.

A dizzy and toothy grin tugs at Dustin’s sheen features. He takes a second to burn your most current position in his mind along with the last few of your expressions before gently swaying you atop of him and then himself in you. Your nails dig into the skin of Dustin’s shoulders, hot tears threatening the ducts of your eyes; he is so absolutely filling. …You sigh, foreheads resting against one another's while shaky and obscene noises fill the dusty room.

For a moment he lets the two of you sit there, inside of you now; as he wants to make sure you are used to any and all feelings before starting. You sigh, moving your hips against his momentarily when feeling your walls clench incessantly. You curse under your breath and stifle a moan.

“Just..start slow please.”

Dustin nods his head in understanding, whimpering over the feel of your hips lifting which causes him to move his own against yours. The high is almost too unbearable to chase and because of the excitement it’s even harder. He twitches harshly before releasing a puff of hot air. The sandy strawberry blond draws his hips back before pressing forward once more, burying himself in you completely.

A broken yelp leaves you, your body straightening and going completely lax and arching in the same second. You hold him closely as he moves in and out at a steady, merciful pace that causes you to almost drool. The motion repeats a number of times until your stomach is ruined by knots once again.

“Fuck…” The round orbs in your skull roll back as you mewl softly in his ear while your head rests against his shoulder.

His warm tongue swipes and drags across your sweat covered skin. Never can he leave his tongue in his mouth for too long, always needing a taste of you somehow—a guttural whine leaves you in doing so.

In the midst of the reactions that follow, he wipes his hair out of his face and takes a moment to watch you ride his dick like your life depends on it. He brings his left hand to the side of your face, brushing the pad of his thumb over your numbing lips. They part and he sinks the digit inside your mouth till it’s pressed against teeth: imprinting the shape of your back ones on it; your cheek: lightly stretching and pulling at the flesh; and tongue, where it remains the longest: fingernail gingerly piercing the muscle. Your mouth closes down around it in a moan.

He removes it, all neatly covered in your glistening saliva, still assessing your teeth behind pursed lips as you shoot him a red faced glare.

You bounce and jut delicately, suddenly feeling him in an untouched spot you didn’t know you needed him to be at before; you curl your toes till they’re on the brink of cramping as you pick up the pace of how much each of you utterly ruin the other with scent and sex. Dustin lays his head back almost exhausted by the tension, panting and groaning with distortion. ‘A fucking mess.’

“Heh- faster… in that same damned spot” You staggeredly say. Dustin does as you say, heavily lathering your insides in that single spot. Your eyes widen and you gasp loudly at the newfound angle; you can feel him inching closer to the bottom of your abdomen. You swallow him in a kiss since his lips are the closest thing in proximity.

Dustin is an absolute slut for praise… His pace quickens as you further encourage him with every noise and pricking hot touch; his stiff member deep within you, twitching uncontrollably every other beat. The nagging of your contractions around him drag him through a slurry of thoughts and feelings, dazed and disoriented; focused on one thing and one thing only: fucking your brains out till his own are on the brink of splurging and covering the walls in small, bloody chunks.

To a point he becomes sloppy once his outburst of emotions become louder with each time he completely buries himself in your squelching wet pussy, each soul sucking stroke and drawback sending waves of pleasure throughout his body. He needs to hold you, ravage you, taste you; he quickly removes himself from your lips and sucks on your collar bones and the hollow of your throat before returning to tug and suck your bottom lip till it’s plump and smeared with small amounts of blood.

You sense his undoing and you certainly feel yours approaching. Your core swallows and sucks him harshly, and with seconds turning to minutes each thrust becomes even more labored and sloppy, yet they remain fast paced as if somehow pulling him deeper. His tip just barely penetrates your cervix fully and you can feel him there every time you place a hand on your stomach. You become a wet, sultry mess due to the fact which exhibits your pleasure even more as your body swells and radiates heat and lust.

Dustin can read it in your eyes that you're dangerously close hence the way he curses incoherently beneath his breath. His palms return their assault on your thighs; squeezing and pinching the fiery and perspiring skin he tempts with rough palms and semi-sharp fingernails. He pushes your knees farther apart putting you in an uncomfortable position. He chuckles as your pussy is on full display just there in his lap, dick inside of you.

His gaze travels up and to your breasts, nipples harden under his touch as he swipes a thumb through his mouth, wetting it and smearing it over the soft flesh of each point. The pad then blindly travels down and spirals against your clit for a long moment; he then watches your face cripple in defeat.

With lasting thrusts, your core seems to open up to him completely. Your bare front arches against his own and your release swirls around him. A splintered scream leaves you. Dustin remains and pumps slowly until his own release mixes with your own. You shutter and chase the high as you hold him closely to you as he continues to move steadily. Your eyes roll into the back of your head when you feel him stop and softly collapse against the back of the couch. You let out a gagged and breathy moan, a few more follow, as you continue to clench around him tenderly.

You collapse beside him on the couch, grabbing one of the pillows and holding it against your chest as you regain yourself. You shut your eyes softly and take a deep, stuttering breath.

“Fuck you,” you say sweetly with a smile. Dustin chuckles deeply; you lift your head to see him shake his own.

In a raspy tone he replies, “I’m flattered you think of me so often…”

You hit him harshly with the pillow before laughing hysterically.

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final thoughts: i have no idea how to write or properly punctualize (??) so if this sucked ass and was hard to read i apologize🧍‍♀️ i sometimes have a really hard time reading in general so that’s why there is an excessive amount of detail with particular things because that is how my brain is able to physically see what is going on😃👍

#arcane #arcanefic #dustin arcane #dustin #mantarie arcane #dustin arcane fanfiction #mantarie arcane fanfiction #arcane league of legends #league of legends #fanfiction #the last drop tavern arcane

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blueiscoool · 2 years ago

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Over 2,000 Ram Skulls Discovered in Egypt's Temple of Ramses II

Cairo — Archaeologists have announced the discovery of more than 2,000 rams' heads at the temple of the ancient Egyptian pharaoh Ramses II — a find that the man in charge of the dig said surprised even veteran Egyptologists and showed the endurance of Ramses' impact, as the skulls were left there a millennium after the pharaoh's rule.

A team of archaeologists with New York University's Institute for the Study of the Ancient World (ISAW) made the discovery in the city of Abydos, one of the oldest cities and richest archaeological sites in Egypt. It's located about seven miles west of the Nile River in Upper Egypt, some 270 miles south of Cairo.

The ram skulls were found stacked in the northern precinct of the temple, said Egypt's Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities, which announced the discovery on Saturday.

"We came across some random pieces of skulls first," Dr. Sameh Iskander, head of the ISAW mission, told CBS News. "We didn't know what they were, but as we continued our excavation and exploration, all of sudden we found a whole area filled with ram skulls."

"These are obviously offerings that were made to the temple of Ramses during the Ptolomaic period, which shows even 1,000 years after Ramses II, that he was still revered." Ramses II ruled over ancient Egypt for about 60 years before his death in 1213 BC.

Iskander explained that some of the ram heads were still mummified, while "others could have been mummified but the wrappings or the covers of mummifications were not there anymore."

The skulls were found among other objects, from papyrus to leather artifacts and statues, about six feet under the contemporary surface of the desert in what had been a storeroom of the ancient temple.

The large number of skulls found in the same place was "surprising even for Egyptologists," Iskander said.

"We are sure they were all dumped at the same time, so this was not an accumulation of skulls that were brought in over the years, but they came from somewhere else and were dumped into this magazine at some point for some reason which we don't know yet," he told CBS News. "It is significant because this place where they ended up is not just any place in the temple, so they were brought there for a reason. They were not just dumped in the desert but were inside this revered domain of the temple."

The archeologists also unearthed a large structure made of mudbricks with walls about 16 feet thick dating back about 4,200 years, to ancient Egypt's Sixth Dynasty.

"It is a major structure that will change our concept of the landscape of Abydos. This wall was built for something, it was at least 30 feet high." Iskander said. "We don't know exactly what this wall is. It's possible that this was a wall of the antient Abydos, which was never found. Could it be something else? Maybe, that's what we are working on now."

The mission also found other mummified animal remains, including dogs, goats, cows and gazelles.

Beside the massive structure, one very small object also captured Iskandar's attention.

"We also found a small bronze bell in excellent condition with the clapper, so we can hear the same sound of the ancient time. I was very happy to find it," he said. "It was probably used to mark a herd."

The head of the American mission, whose team has worked at the Abydos site since 2008, spoke to CBS News after traveling back to New York. He said a lot of research was still needed to find explanations for the latest discoveries.

"I hate to keep saying 'we don't know,' but this is the nature of archaeology. We keep working on findings that might lead to something, or not," he said, adding that he and his team may even need to "leave it to the next generation — they may have a better idea or other discoveries."

"Every year we have lots of finds and we come back very happy with the new finds, but we also come back with a huge sack full of questions," he said.

By Ahmed Shawkat.

#Over 2000 Ram Skulls Discovered in Egypt's Temple of Ramses II #city of Abydos #Ptolomaic period #archeology #archeolgst #ancient artifacts #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #ancient egypt #egyptian history #long reads

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sgt-purp1e-the-donutjedin · 3 months ago

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Gorillaz - reject false icons. (2001)

Summary: a proper double lp length version of Gorillaz' 2001 self-titled album, made with the addition of tracks from the 2001/2002 b-sides compilation 'G-Sides'. as the album was made for CD first, it sits in an awkward halfway spot between a single album and a double album in length. on CD, this version of the album would still be able to fit on a single disc with a couple minutes to spare, this version simply makes the album more vinyl friendly, with tracklist re-ordering for a more streamlined flow with less tonal whiplash song to song. as to the lore of it, essentially, Damon decides the album needs to have more of a narrative tying together all it's themes and messages together, and instead of funneling it into the scrapped Celebrity Harvest movie or the scrapped original Phase 2 album, he simply arranges the album to highlight its anti-industry & anti-celebrity culture message.

Tracklist:

LP1

1. M1 A1 [4:01]

2. Tomorrow Comes Today [3:13]

3. Man Research (Clapper) [4:32]

4. The Sounder [4:29]

5. 5/4 [2:42]

Side 1 Length: 18:57

6. Double Bass [4:46]

7. Ghost Train [3:54]

8. New Genious (Brother) [3:59]

9. Latin Simoné [3:38]

10. Hip Albatross [2:42]

Side 2 Length: 18:59

Disc 1 Length: 37:56

LP2

1. Left Hand Suzuki Method [3:12]

2. Rock the House [4:09]

3. 19-2000 [3:30]

4. Dracula [4:41]

5. Sound Check (Gravity) [4:42]

Side 1 Length: 20:14

6. Starshine [3:33]

7. Slow Country [3:37]

8. Re-Hash [3:40]

9. 12D3 [3:24]

10. Clint Eastwood [5:40]

Side 2 Length: 19:54

Disc 2 Length: 40:08

Total Album Length: 1:18:04

The Spotify Playlist For Easy Listening:

#gorillaz #self titled gorillaz #gorillaz fandom #fan album #fake album art #fake album cover #damon albarn #jamie hewlett #Spotify

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haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll · 1 year ago

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Tracklist:

Re-Hash • 5/4 • Tomorrow Comes Today • New Genius (Brother) • Clint Eastwood • Man Research (Clapper) • Punk • Sound Check (Gravity) • Double Bass • Rock The House • 19-2000 • Latin Simone (Que Pasa Contigo) • Starshine • Slow Country • M1 A1 • Clint Eastwood (Ed Case/Sweetie Irie Refix) • 19-2000 (Soulchild Remix)

Spotify ♪ YouTube

#hyltta-polls #polls #artist: gorillaz #language: english #decade: 2000s #Trip Hop #Alternative Rock #Hip Hop #Dub

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dead-air-tracks · 1 year ago

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i got sunshine, i got you

#soundcloud #gorillaz

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plasticcharmbracelet · 1 year ago

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Crow

For @wriightworth for the 2023 AJ:AA Secret Santa!

I have no clue what this is. I hope you can derive some enjoyment from it anyhow?

The sky is the brownish grey of cheap paper, and the dry stalks inside the fence and the dry grasses outside it abrade one another quietly in the weak, warm, suspirant breeze that has breathed unceasingly on him for the long afternoon of three months.

Apollo doesn’t really care whether the birds are scared or not. It’s been one long day / a week / three withering summer months, and the sky hasn’t changed, and he can’t close his eyes.

He can’t move. He can’t make a sound. He has not always been a scarecrow, but he is. He is one now.

Apollo has almost never spoken about growing up in another country, wedged in the mountains east of Nepal and Bhutan, and he has spoken even less about growing up in two different countries, because his childish, snowblind memories of the faraway supported him during his foundling years in Los Angeles the way a bangle bracelet and a broken promise never did.

His foster father in the Himalayas had had little enough choice to bring Apollo and his own son along on those expeditions. Children were obviously at risk in the faraway, but at least at more easily disregarded risk than if left to themselves in a bungalow in the snow for an overnight hike that might take three years on the other end. But Apollo’s gratitude for the trips had extended beyond the simply practical, because -

Because a fugitive in the reported world could wield wonders away. A person could feed promises to the wind and to the steep planes of sunlight and have them kept, in words written on the clapper of a chime hung in the air or drawn in powdered pigment on the snow.

Because a runaway could have promises kept, and beauty with them. And when he was homesick, it was the faraway he was homesick for.

He had spent years scrabbling at the walls of the world. Very literally, as a child, and then via research and rumors in the internet’s dirty puddles as a teenager, in libraries as a student, and at last, as an adult, by reading between the lines of every job listing tangentially related to Law. His foster father had told him the truth about this, as much as he hated to admit it. Gates to the faraway have irregular locations and subtle locks, and lucky discoveries are children’s stories; everyone who has learned one has found someone to show it to them.

Two years and seven months out of law school, a job making transcripts overnight, before he had finally seen the advertisement whose in-between-the-lines he had read correctly and whose demands he had been able to meet. A little old-fashioned, the skills required, the wording.

Kristoph Gavin, Esq. A little old-fashioned, the man’s clothes. (Though handsome, striking even, the man who wore them.) A little strange, the quiet pools of tension in the conversation.

And at last, after a probation with the mail and the filing cabinets and the little tests in every detail, he had followed his new boss up a narrow flight of stairs in the strange office building - a fading blue piece of 1980s Los Angeles frivolity with circular windows and half-stories and a wraparound balcony - and into a parlor left over from an earlier time than that, one full of dark wooden furniture and glass-fronted cabinets and a grandfather clock whose silver pendulum only wriggled once in its case, and whose windows looked out not on a wide intersection full of Mercedes-Benzes and box trucks but on this Kansas that would never know Technicolor.

And his new boss had smiled at him across a desk and a cup of milk with barely a splash enough of coffee to deserve the name before taking his left arm in a blacksmith’s grip, pulling his bracelet off his wrist, and hauling him out of the room over his shoulder as if he were a sack of dry leaves. He was.

The breeze rattles the brown stems, the sun never moves, there’s a pole along his shoulders and one at his back, and he’s forgetting the lines of Auden’s Roman Wall Blues.

In the mountains north and east of Ojai, there is a tiny community started by long-ago immigrants from the same Himalayas, and their spot in the faraway had been a vague goal. Somewhere the rules might be similar enough to what he remembers, where he could conceivably reacclimate or acclimate at all. But he had anticipated something entirely else for faraway Los Angeles - tomols pulling up onto golden beaches, turquoise Hockney poolwater, willow/tule domes alongside silver screen diners where a girl could be discovered on that lucky afternoon. Colors that would suit Kristoph Gavin, blond and blue and white.

Here there are crows sometimes, circling and yelling above the prarie brown beyond the fence, but they don’t approach. Neither does the man who hired him, fooled him, brought him here, robbed him and planted him in this grim faraway grass.

Over the heather / I don’t know why / I shall do nothing but look at the sky.

A crow lands on him.

Perhaps the wind has become infinitesimally stronger or the haze infinitesimally darker, but it may just be that this crow LOOKS storm-tossed, tumbling out of the air exhausted with feathers in all directions. The oily sheen on it is purplish and its beak hangs open as it heaves to breathe.

Apollo can do nothing for it. Not a movement, not a sound - but his paralysis, in the smallest of comforts, prevents him from doing anything that will agitate it further. If Kristoph wants him to frighten birds, then his own small comfort will be in letting this one rest, if it decides to.

He waits. The crow moves up to his shoulder, under the brim of the stranger’s hat that Kristoph had dropped on top of his head, hunches itself into a ball, and sleeps.

Time brushes past, warm and weak and irregular as the breeze.

When the crow at last rouses itself, sorts its feathers halfway, and hops and glides down to the ground, Apollo realizes that he will miss it when it goes. But it doesn’t. It stalks and pecks in a circle around the base of the pole, finding a few bits of dry seed, and something like a worm - likelier a centipede, since his peripheral vision suggests that it has hair-fine legs along it. After it seems satisfied - though how can it be? - it smoothes its feathers a little more and flies back to his shoulder, to rest again.

The pattern repeats another three times. It provides a sense of a day and night cycle, however feeble.

It is his crow now.

Kristoph never makes an appearance from the still, sullen house behind him, or at least not one that he can perceive. There is never the sound of the door, or of footsteps, or clinking pans or anything of the kind. He worries for the bird even more than for himself, should Kristoph spot it, but it seems to understand circumspection and doesn’t fly closer to the structure than an acre-wide circle will bring it, both ends of which Apollo can see.

His crow has never cawed at him, either, or at anything else. It is a surprise when at last it says: “ba.” It’s not a crowy noise; it sounds more like a pet raven in a video clip, making something still a few lengths from music.

His crow bounces sideways down his arm and back. “Ba-ba ba-ba ba ba?” He wishes, partially, that he could respond, but is selfishly glad that it has stayed close and unafraid of him. “Ba ba ba-ba ba ba.” Something Annie Lennox about it.

Day/night/what passes for them.

The circles his crow flies become tighter, keeping it closer to him. When it comes back, it wedges itself between the hat and Apollo’s straw shoulder in the remnants of his own shirt. Its feathered-over heartbeat feels fast, but its heartbeat always does.

At the end of one particular circle, then, the bird skims past him and keeps going, in the direction of the blank, disapproving house. It can’t be more than a few minutes that he feels its absence, and minutes are a concept he has lost most of his use for, but he doesn’t like it. It makes him nervous.

His crow has lost its mind when it comes back. It doesn’t caw or scream or ba-ba, but it lands hard on the end of the shoulder pole, where his wrist might be, and flaps hard enough that the beats sound like flags in the wind or a person falling down a flight of stairs. It grips and rustles in its panic, then takes off and repeats its actions at the end of his other arm, hitting the pole and buffeting the air again.

What are you doing?, he thinks. The agitated bird stretches its wings up like blades and strains at the pole. Again. Stop. He worries how long it can continue before it -

His vision becomes a dizzy brown swoop as the pole that holds him upright spins at his crow’s last assault and tips sideways, leaving him at a thirty-degree angle and facing the house the other way. The bird is drinking air on his left wrist, shaking, gathering itself.

A small brass bell that he had not had time to notice hangs on a string by the door, straight toward the ground, entirely unmoved by the breeze. The rest of the yard fidgets in it, brown leaves insinuating against their neighbors, dry sticks dragging themselves an inch in the dust, cloth in bundles on the ground by the fences almost shrugging, then wrinkling down empty.

The nearest bundle has a pair of glasses. Another is topped by a hooded sweatshirt, bleached grey on top and its original grey showing when the wind lifts it.

As that understanding hits him, his crow caws for the first time and continues, loud, scraping the air and echoing off the dirty clouds. Other birds, the ones that have never dared to come close to the fenced plot of land, scream back and start to gather. One approaches him, lands nervously three feet away, then ignites its courage and joins his crow further along his arm. They all begin to gather along his arms, all facing the house, staring, yelling. Challenging.

The little brass bell on the porch starts to swing in the air, emits a sour little chime. Two more. Then louder.

Kristoph, taller than Apollo remembers him, opens the door, one hand raised.

The crows dive at him, surge at him, in a zigzagging clawed cacophony. One tangles itself in his hair, others snap and stab at his eyes, draw blood from his palms and the bony peaks of his knuckles, though a few of these he knocks out of the air with savage swipes of his arms. Apollo’s and some of the others evade him completely, though, and vanish into the shadows of the house. Kristoph shifts his attention from the birds attacking him and pelts after the interlopers. After Apollo’s crow.

The door hangs open and a few battered crows lie in the doorway or just inside it. Apollo can do nothing but stare and listen as the crashes diminish, the shouts and the wild calls diminish, until the scraping leaves are once again the only sounds half-submerged in the silence.

It could be an hour/a day/five skipped heartbeats before there is movement from the house. Two crows, each carrying something shining in its beak, hopping out into the brighter dimness and soaring away over the roof for the horizon. Neither has a purple sheen to its feathers. Nor do the next half a dozen that come.

Minutes and eras.

A scraping sound, not dead stalk on dead stem but something wooden and something that isn’t.

Apollo’s crow hobbles from the door, dragging a broken claw, a cluster of flight feathers, and Apollo’s bronze bracelet. Its scuffling steps are painful to watch, have to be so much more so to execute, but it hauls the bangle to the foot of the scarecrow pole and waits, chest fluttering. Then it catches its breath and hops flapping at him, falls back to the ground with a sound more like a shaken piece of paper than a caw.

It tries again, can’t lift the bracelet with one leg. Tries and fails with its beak. Puts its head through and manages a flailing glide to one ruined knee of Apollo’s suit trousers, claws its way up to his shoulder, sidesteps, so tired, along the length of his left arm, and deliberately maneuvers the bracelet onto the end of the beam.

Apollo collapses face-first into the dead leaves and comes up with dirt on his human face. His arms are shaking from their own weakness, not from the sickly breeze. He blinks for the first time in weeks, months, yellow crud in the corners of his eyes. When he sits up all the way, he sees his crow hunched in the plants, staring at him.

He picks it up and it lets him, and he carries it wobbling on weak legs into what may no longer be Kristoph’s house. He can come back for the wounded birds, but first -

At the foot of the stairs that lead back down to Los Angeles is a scarecrow in a blue suit, its head bent to one side and a tear in its fabric neck from which straw has started to slide to the floor. He steps back, carefully.

The room he had sat in is thrown apart, jewelry and pocketknives and keys and things spilling out of drawers angled downwards from their caves, across the desk, everywhere on the floor. Black feathers here and there.

“Is something yours?”

“Ba ba.” His crow nods its head several times, but shakes it again when he starts to paw through the shiny mess.

“No?”

The bird in the crook of his arm becomes agitated again when he moves for the doorway, unfolds out a wing to one side and then grumbles in pain.

Apollo turns to look and catches sight of his reflection in the case of the grandfather clock. The strange pendulum isn’t a solid rod, is it, but a chain with a jagged silver pendant as a bob. The case is locked when he tries it.

He places the bird as gently as he can on the cushion of a velveteen sofa in the corner of the parkor, despite its bas of concern, then all but charges down the stairs and wrenches the pale blue coat off of Kristoph’s scarecrow, leaves the thing limp against the baseboard and wraps the coat around his left hand and arm as he stomps back up on ever more steady legs.

He closes his eyes in front of the clock and swings his swaddled fist through the glass of the case. It is a satisfying thing to do.

He pulls the pendant and its chain carefully from the hook in the mechanism, and carries it back to his crow, which is watching him with an intensity that is certainly hope, but apprehension too.

“This?”

A long pause. “Ba.”

He sits on the floor and his crow edges forward and lands gracelessly on his knee.

“You’re on my lap.”

“Ba ba ba? ba -“

“Fine -“

His hands shake only a little as he holds up the chain and lets it settle around the sleek black neck.

An instant later he has another young man collapsing ragged against him, beautiful in black and purple with bruises purpling his fingers, a man who could be the mirror of Kristoph and who, beyond all clarity, is not in any way like him at all.

There are so many things they will need to do, soon. But for now, Apollo’s crow embraces him and buries his face against the crook of his neck, and Apollo tilts his head toward him, and holds him close, and loves him, loves him back.

#wriightworth #ajaa secret santa 2023 #klapollo

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pixel-bloom · 2 years ago

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Shuffle your ‘on repeat’ playlist and post the first ten tracks, then tag ten people.

I should be working on editing some photos, but I’ve been tagged by @payte to shuffle my music around. Thank you, I love a good music shuffle tag~

+ One Way Trigger // The Strokes

+ Swing Lynn // Harness (shameless IG/TikTok song, but it’s so good)

+ Kalopsia // Queens of the Stone Age

+ Man Research (Clapper) // Gorillaz

+ Washing Machine Heart // Mitski

+ Paper Planes // MIA (high school vibes, i’ll never take it off my playlist)

+ Untitled // Interpol

+ Baby Queen // Gorillaz

+ No Surprises // Radiohead

+ Kiss Off // Violent Femmes

I’ll tag @mosneakers, @ashubii, @natolesims, @sparkiekong! I saw other people do this already, so sorry if y’all did it already

#text #ask

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beeloovedd · 10 months ago

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Shout out to Gorillaz for reminding me to rewatch the breakfast club 🙏

#the “this is a breakfast club” at the start of the song is what im talking about btw #the breakfast club #gorillaz #80s movies #Gorillaz album #Spotify

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bestgorillazpoll · 2 years ago

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hello gorillaz nation!!

because i have far too much time on my hands, i thought it would be fun to make a poll for gorillaz songs, pitting them against each other in a fight to the death until the one true best gorillaz song emerges victorious.

this poll is made up of 150 songs total, comprised of every song from the main 7 albums, as well as the fall, d-sides, some songs from g-sides, and the various EPs and side songs that have been released throughout the years. it does not, however, include laika come home, or any live or remixed versions of songs already featured on the poll.

this poll will not include a bracket system, because i don't want to. after every round is completed, the remaining songs will be once again sorted into new randomised pairs, to try and make things as fair as possible.

round one will be released in several parts across multiple days, to make things less overwhelming for both myself and all of you. whenever possible, I will include a screenshot of lyrics from both songs on each poll, in case anyone is unfamiliar with the songs and/or their titles.

find the current song matchups below! i'll see you all at the beginning of round one.

5/4 vs. 911

Intro (Demon Days) vs. Hallelujah Money

The Swagga vs. Captain Chicken

Interlude: The Elephant vs. The Joplin Spider

White Light vs. Bill Murray

MLS vs. Out of Body

Spitting out the Demons vs. Simplicity

Pirate Jet vs. Andromeda

Sweepstakes vs. Rock the House

Tomorrow Comes Today vs. Punk

Welcome to the World of the Plastic Beach vs. Revolving Doors

Detroit vs. Humility

Momentary Bliss vs. Strobelite

The Lost Chord vs. Some Kind of Nature

Interlude: New World vs. Momentz

Tranz vs. Phoner to Arizona

Sex Muder Party vs. Last Living Souls

Chalk Tablet Towers vs. The Apprentice

Superfast Jellyfish vs. Fire Coming out of the Monkey's Head

We Got The Power vs. The Sounder

Charger vs. Dirty Harry

M1 A1 vs. Empire Ants

Plastic Beach vs. All Alone

Feel Good Inc vs. Idaho

O Green World vs. Halfway to the Halfway House

Ticker Tape vs. The Tired Influencer

Cracker Island vs. California and the Slipping of the Sun

Silent Running vs. How Far?

Déja Vu vs. Little Pink Plastic Bags

Stop the Dams vs. Let Me Out

Every Planet We Reach Is Dead vs. Controllah

Carnival vs. Possession Island

Ascension vs. Glitter Freeze

Rockit vs. Double Bass

12D3 vs. Désolé

Aries vs. Interlude: The Non-Conformist Oath

68 State vs. The Pink Phantom

The Parish of Space Dust vs. Baby Queen

Submission vs. Interlude: Elevator Going Up

Skinny Ape vs. Dracula

Meanwhile vs. Busted and Blue

Sleeping Powder vs. Kansas

Stylo vs. Magic City

Man Research (Clapper) vs. One Percent

Sorcererz vs. Hip Albatross

Amarillo vs. Kids with Guns

Doncamatic vs. DARE

Hong Kong vs. Highway (Under Construction)

Saturn Barz vs. The Valley of the Pagans

White Flag vs. Slow Country

El Mañana vs. Hollywood

To Binge vs. Interlude: Penthouse

Strange Timez vs. Oil

Jimmy Jimmy vs. Broken

Fire Flies vs. Aspen Forest

Orchestral Intro (Plastic Beach) vs. Tarantula

Friday 13th vs. Sound Check (Gravity)

New Gold vs. Opium

Circle of Friendz vs. We Are Happy Landfill

New Genius (Brother) vs. She's My Collar

Clint Eastwood vs. Re-Hash

The Snake in Dallas vs. Starshine

Murdoc Is God vs. Ghost Train

Demon Days vs. Lake Zurich

People vs. DoYaThing

Bobby in Phoenix vs. November Has Come

Tormenta vs. Garage Palace

Pac-Man vs. 19-2000

Hongkongaton vs. Left Hand Suzuki Method

Shy-Town vs. Cloud of Unknowing

Don't Get Lost in Heaven vs. Seattle Yodel

With Love To An Ex vs. Interlude: Talk Radio

Dead Butterflies vs. Severed Head

Souk Eye vs. Faust

Rhinestone Eyes vs. Crockadillaz

#gorillaz #gorillaz band #2d gorillaz #stuart pot #murdoc niccals #russel hobbs #noodle gorillaz #noodle guitarist from gorillaz #demon days #plastic beach #humanz #the now now #song machine #cracker island

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odyssey-xxartsy · 1 year ago

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"Man Research (Clapper)" 💊✨

"Bring me junkie in the love

He said nothing in the tongue

To kill the model from my door, oh yeah

To kill the model from my door"

#gorillaz #2d gorillaz #traditional art #fanart #pencil #penart #markers #edited

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mergingonthefreeway · 2 years ago

Video

vimeo

Greenpeace - Don't Stop from Samona Olanipekun on Vimeo.

This is no ordinary cover: Don’t Stop is a contemporary fable about being young in the world today. The song is a call to action for people worried about their future and the state of the planet, and a rallying cry for those who dream of a better tomorrow. Together we can stand up to the fossil fuel industry. Add your name now: act.gp/3qIN8o6

Production Company: Lammas Park @lammas_park_productions

Director - Samona Olanipekun @samona_o Exec Producers - Steve McQueen, Bona Orakwue @bonaclara7, Anna Smith Tenser @smithspanna Producer - George Telfer @gtelfs

Production Manager - Chanel Parkinson @chanellyonthetelly PA - Hannah Lockwood @hanlockwood Cast Coordinator - Beth Rubery @beth.rubery Production Runner - Tom Gimlette @tomgimlette

Researcher - Shireen Bahmanizad @shireen_bahmanizad Researcher - Conall O’Brien @conallobrien Bidding Producer - Nat Baring @natanatics Lammas Park Head of Operations - Nicholas Horne Lammas Park Production Assistant - Umashni Puvanendran

1st AD - Gabriel O’Donohue @_gabriel.odonohue_

Movement Director - Liara Barussi @liarabarussi Casting Director - Coralie Rose @coralie_blamo_rose

DOP - Annika Summerson @annisummerson Steadicam / Camera Op - Jonathan Tyler @jonotyler Focus Puller A Cam - Kate Mollins @kate__mo_ Focus Puller B Cam - Sam Ebrahim Riley @samrileyac Clapper / Loader - Sonia Rogriguez Camera Trainee - Lucas Murray Reynolds Grip - Warwick Drucker

Video Playback - Robbie Ross @rsvp.london DIT - Ben Grady @colour.grady Sound Recordist - Anthony Leung @anthonyleungsound

Gaffer - Salvador Lopez-Gomez @glofilmlighting Best Boy - Jamie Hitchens @jamiehitchens Desk Op - Noah Furrer Electricians - Charlie Lodge, Lee Madigan, Nathan Rubins Rigger - Steve Daly @steve_daly

Production Designer - Jade Adeyemi @adeyumyum Prop Buyer - Martha Howe @martha.howe, Matty Mancy @matty.mancey Led Art Assistant - Lea Otovic @leaotovic Art Dept Assistant - Isabelle Bryan, Nana-yaw Mensah @nyk_mensah, Lucia Barsegian @luciabarsegian, Daisy Alexander, Fenella Evans @fen.art_, Sofia Karavis @sofiakara

Construction by Cous De La @cousdela

SFX Supervisor - Neil Gawthrop SFX Technicians - Miguel Ferreira, Jonathan Long SFX by Machine Shop @machineshopsfx

Costume Designer - Verity May Lane @veritymaylane Costume Assistants - Amy Thompson @a_thompson, Johanna Yohannes, Ellie Rimmer @ellie_r1

Make Up Designer - Maya Man @mayamanartist Make Up Assistants - Chelsea Murphy @sculptedbychelsea, Nic Marilyn @nicmarilyn Hair Designer - Kreszend Sackey @kreszendsackey Hair Assistant - Viviane Melo @vivianemelomua

Medic - Verity Stacy

Editor - Jack Williams @__jackwilliams_ Edit House - The Assembly Rooms @the_assembly_rooms Edit Producer - Phoebe Armstrong-Beaver Sound Designer - Jack Sedgwick @snappajack Audio Post - King Lear @kinglearlondon Audio Producer - Suzy McGregor Colourist - George Kyriacou @georgekcolourist Post - Black Kite Studios @blackkitestudios VFX - Mark Stannard Colour Producer - Holly Tidwell @holly_tidwell, Jade Denne @jadedenne

Camera - Panavision @panavisionofficial Lighting - Panalux @panaluxworld Studio - Dukes Island Studios Insurance - Dan Woods at Media Insurance Brokers Accountancy - Robert Okonski & Emmanuel Lindsay at Clay GBP

Casting Assistants - Laura Meredith Additional Casting - Lauren Patterson @ Jukebox Collective Agency

CAST:

Speech Givers: Kyle Osbourne Lili Chin

Tomorrow’s Warriors: Kyle Osborne, Emily Tran, Cassius Cobbson, Shanise, David, Tami Lisa Smith

Waiters & Kitchen Staff Cameron Berryman, Izaebella Cresci, Christopher Mbaki, Jinessa Meggi, Ebony Aboagye, Oliver Manley, Kade Turner, Geddy Stringer

Party Guests: Graham Collier, Anja Kick, Philippa Casares, Noreen Goodwin, Benji Ming, Catherine Cornwall, Huma Mohyuddin, Ellie Madden, Albert Graver, Rainier Manzano, Ruby Gascoyne, Sharifa Butterfly, Haseeb ‘Chilly’ Hearn, Duran Abdullah, Mikael Rivieri, Patrick Gabco, Ellie Harlulow, Rogerio Ghesti, Katerina Bragin, Michael Ahfong, Kesiena Banye, Beverly Connel, Jeanette Maskell, Peter Wilkinson

and Featuring: Will Poulter, Fraser T Smith and Avelino

MUSIC

Written by: Christine McVie / Universal Music Publishing Group Produced by: Fraser T Smith / 70Hz Original Rap verses: Avelino Music Supervision and Consultancy: Ed Bailie and Seb Whyte / Leland Music Music Marketing: Olivia Hobbs and Clare Wright / Blackstar Agency Performed by: Future Utopia X Avelino X Tomorrow's Warriors With thanks to: House Gospel Choir, Benjamin Kwasi Burrell, Janine Irons, Fish Krish, Gabriel Starkey, Patricia Pascal

AGENCY

Creative Agency: Mother London Creative Director: James Sellick @jamessellickauthor Creative: Scott Anderson @scottanders44 Title Design: Ben McNaughton Head of Production: Anna Murray @annasedgwick Producers: Tommy Frankau @tommyfrankau, Nic Akinnibosun, Joseph Ogunmokun Epilogue: Written by Scroobius Pip in collaboration with Greenpeace, performed by Lilli Chin Special Featured Performance: Will Poulter

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