#andy turner

[dogandcatcomics]

#repost @andyturnerart Andy Turner (Halesowen, United Kingdom). Lilly, acrylic on panel, 21 x 15 cm. I am a fan of the cat and dog representation in Turner's work.

[westeroswisdom]

When the Order of Maesters at The Citadel determines that winter has arrived, they alert the Seven Kingdoms by sending white ravens to various interests throughout Westeros.

The unusual white bird seen by Andy Turner's kitten Ozzy in Weymouth may not exactly be a raven, but it is an indirect reminder of changing seasons.

The December solstice, AKA: first day of astronomical winter (in the Northern Hemisphere), occurs on December 21st at 0920 GMT/UTC. In the US, the first day of meteorological winter was December 1st.

So winter is coming — if it isn't already here in some form.

@hoot-alex

[obscvra]

The Black Dog - I'm Poster Syndrome

[sinceileftyoublog]

Plaid Live Show Preview: 1/10, Sleeping Village, Chicago

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Tonight at Sleeping Village, electronic music legends Plaid will finally grace the stage after their show in August was postponed. The duo of Andy Turner and Ed Handley are a little over a year removed from Feorm Falorx (Warp), their 10th studio album, and they should play lots from it in addition to other records of theirs from the 2010s, including underrated and dramatic 2019 effort Polymer. Feorm Falorx is a concept record about a concert at the fictional Feorm Festival on the fictional planet Falorx, but you don't need to know that to appreciate its beguilingly anachronistic sounds or Plaid's generally otherworldly mixture of classic IDM/techno and ambient experimentalism.

Opening for Plaid is the trio of Whitney Johnson (Matchess), Macie Stewart (from Finom), and Lia Kohl. Abstract Science DJs spin before the show, between sets, and after the show. Tickets are currently sold out, but there may be a few available at the door, so don't give up yet! Doors at 8:00 P.M., show starts at 9.

[spilladabalia]

The Black Dog - Simperton

[twixnmix]

Tina Turner photographed by Andy Warhol, 1975.

[mistandshcdow]

behind the scenes of lord of the rings & the hobbit

[fayegonnaslay]

Warhol Portraits

Liza Minnelli, 1979.

Lana Turner, 1985.

Debbie Harry, 1980.

Jane Fonda, 1982.

Cornelia Guest, 1983.

Brigitte Bardot, 1974.

Red Jackie, 1964.

Lee Radziwill, 1972.

[indeediagree]

Hes so babygirl

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

The Backwoods AU

A Special Sort of Craving (Lloyd Hansen, The Gray Man)

The Detour (Thor, MCU)

The Stranger (Chris, Destroyer)

Forget-Me-Not (Loki, MCU)

The Farmer’s Daughter (Walter Marshall, Night Hunter)

The Rebound (Curtis Everett, Snowpiercer)

Second Best (Lee Bodecker, The Devil All the Time)

Crossed Wires (Andy Barber, Defending Jacob & Cole Turner, Ghosted)

Daddy Lesson (Rafe Cameron, OBX, Outer Banks)

All Things End (Arvin Russell, The Devil All the Time)

THTH (Ransom Drysdale, Knives Out)

Called To Duty (Captain Syverson, Sand Castle)

Unmanageable (Pete Brenner, Pain Hustlers)

A Place in the Sun (Nick Fowler, The 355)

[sophaeros]

arctic monkeys for hmv, jan-feb 2006 / issue 161

[cluedoenthusiast]

al and andy

[pic 2: Inrock april 2006, fake tales, canal +]

[musicmags]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Habits 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Andy Barber, Cole Turner (Professor AU)

Summary: your life is thrown into chaos after a night out goes awry.

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all.

The incessant beeping stabs at your brain. Goddamn. You must have left your alarm on!

Your head swims at the thought of moving but you can’t listen to that anymore. You flail your arm out, goosebumps rising in the cold air, as your hand catches on something. 

“Ermph,” you grumble at the bite on the back of your hand. 

You open your eyes bur just as quickly close them. No. You shudder and peek out through the slits of your eyelids. It’s bright. Too bright. Oh shit. 

You make yourself look completely. There’s an IV inserted in the back of your hand, the beeping from another machine at your bedside. Your throat is raw and your mouth tastes funky. Every inch of you hurts. 

No. It can’t be real. You’re in a hospital. You stare at the ceiling and try to remember last night. The lights, the music, the crush of bodies... 

Damn it, Mercedes, that pill definitely doesn’t mix with alcohol.  

You sit and wait, unsure of what else to do. The nurse comes to check on you. She asks you basic, rigid questions. There’s little empathy in her touch or ‘how are you feeling?’ She explains that you were brought in with alcohol poisoning. 

After checking your reflexes, your blood pressures, and heartbeat, she detaches you from the IV. She suggests you stay hydrates and not to kindly says to avoid alcohol. She tells you you’re cleared to go and leaves. 

You’re embarrassed. You can’t believe it got to this. You always said you would never get that bad. Worse, you’re all alone. Mercedes isn’t here. You wonder if she even knows what happened. What if you hadn’t been brought to the hospital? What then? 

You walk out in your mini skirt and the hospital gown. Your shirt is completely missing. You have only your purse and clunky heels, both of which stink. 

As you sit on the bus, you want to cry. Your loneliness sets in. And reality. You could’ve died and it would’ve been all alone in that hospital room. Aside from that, you wouldn’t have even known. It all just would’ve been gone. 

You get off at campus and keep your head down. You wind around Greek Row and enter the dorm building. You climb the stairs with an effort as your stomach lurches. There’s a hot pain inside of you that just won’t go away. 

By the time you get into your dorm, you’re nauseous. You’re too empty to vomit. You dump your things in your room and tie on your fluffy robe. You go to get a glass of water. You need coffee but not that instant acid you keep in your cupboard. 

It’s early. Too early for Mercedes. You don’t even know if you could face her. You’re angry and yet it isn’t your fault. You vaguely remember the bartender telling you to stop. Then it’s all muddy. 

You finish the water and get in the show. You can wash away the grime of sweat, alcohol, and other things you don’t want to name, but the same lingers. You can’t blame anyone but yourself. It’s not like you didn’t have a million warnings. 

As you get to your room, you hear your phone buzzing. You sit on the bed and pluck it out of your purse. Shit. It’s your mother. And, you remember, your emergency contact. 

You answer on speaker. 

“Mom--” 

“What the fuck is this!? I wake up to a goddamn voicemail from a hospital?! Are you insane?” She shrieks. “Coral. You are so fucking lucky I’m not driving down there right now. Is this what you’re doing with your fucking life? When I'm paying for you to get an education! When I have to work in two hours just to pay for your fucking party nights?!” 

You sit and shrink down as you take in her furor. You just stare at the phone. You deserve this but it’s also not unusual. Your mother only ever communicates in wails and roars. 

“I would say I can’t believe you but you’ve always been a fuck up,” she barks. “Get your shit together, girly, or it’s over. Got it?” You hear her huffing and puffing angrily. You cower instinctively, even though she can’t hit you through the phone. “Don’t fucking call me.” 

She hangs up before you can even try to apologise. The sorrys and tears only ever made her worse. You drop your phone and cradle your head. 

You have class. Not until noon. You planned it well. You could go out, get lit, and have enough steam to make it through the week one snooze fest. Nope. You’re not getting any sleep. 

You get dressed; a cropped sweatshirt and leggings, and pack up your knapsack. You’ll go get a coffee and something light. Crackers or whatever. Anything more and you might dissolve into the mess you are. 

As you walk across campus, you try to think. It’s so weird. You remember patches of last night but nothing connects. And there’s something that’s missing. You don’t know what but it tugs at your brain. There was something else... 

The cafeteria is closed but the cafe is open. You get your coffee and a plain bun. The cashier looked at you oddly as you asked for a breakfast sandwich with no fillings. You sit and nibble as you stare blindly across the empty tables. 

God, you feel hollow. Like you’ve been gutted.  

What do you do now? Where do you go? Is this the point when you change? When you hunker down and live a boring life? That sounds awful. Is that what it means to grow up? You have to live with your head in books and drag yourself through every dull day. 

You don’t want to be your mother. You don’t want to be angry and resentful because you ended up in a dead-end office with an asshole boss. Well, if you’re not going to that, maybe it is time you got your head on straight. If you’re going to be a PR lawyer, you can’t be waking up in a hospital bed with a pumped stomach. 

And you’re going to need to get some new friends. 

[punklemon]

X

"What do you miss most about the early days of the band?"

...

Alex to Andy in a softest voice possible:

"I miss your old haircut"

...

[twixnmix]

Tina Turner and Andy Warhol at Limelight nightclub in Atlanta, 1981.

Photos by Adam Scull