#song: the moneymaker

[mayoiayasep]

so anw my bets on mizuki got outed by her classmates to ena and the card is ena telling mizuki she knows

[vimbry]

heardle being sold to spotify only for them to pick their exclusively US indie/pop top 40 streaming stuff from the past 4 years nobody knows and tank it less than a year on is a tragicomedy

[lostandbackagain]

the stage hand was setting up and everyone screamed when he brought up james' sax and I've never seen a more bewildered man in my life

[mukimunah]

Oho,What’s good Fam. In my neck of the woods,your credibility and your honor is worth more than Gold. #musicproducer #lovesongs #showbusiness #song #blogger #playlist #musicnews #networking #moneymaker #musicartist #musicdj #radiodj #clubdj https://www.instagram.com/p/Co1B3W0tjWM/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[monasterymonochrome]

You were stuck in the badlands acting like a bad, bad man. I been photographed and painted up, and I been in love only once, and I feared the best and loved the worst and insisted that I go first and wiped your eyes as they poured, and I never really loved you more.

[submariini]

When Finland’s Käärijä took the stage at this year’s Eurovision, a star was instantly, explosively born. With an outrageous energy, infectious presence and that oh-so-catchy hook, the Vantaa-based rapper may not have won the contest but he certainly snatched the hearts of those in his home country and beyond. We ask Käärijä the million dollar question: what next?

[full article under the cut]

Last May, a peculiar frenzy engulfed Finland. Virtually all green foods – cucumbers, especially – were sold out from stores. Buildings across the land were bathed in vivid green lights. Social media brimmed with green-themed parties, while data obtained by Swedish fintech company Klarna showed a 570 per cent increase in the online sales of neon green shirts.

This phenomenon was all thanks to Käärijä, the rapper who represented Finland in the 2023 Eurovision Song Contest. His now-infamous, blazing green puff sleeve bolero – dreamt up by Finnish broadcasting company Yle’s costume design team and which he dons when performing the smash hit track ‘Cha Cha Cha’ – had taken on a life of its own, the lush hue uniting the entire nation amid the competition. “It was incredible to see it happen and so cool being part of it,” Käärijä says. “It wasn’t planned at all – it was the people who created the commotion. I’ll definitely never forget it.”

When we speak over Zoom, Käärijä, whose real name is Jere Pöyhönen, is lounging in his minimal apartment in Vantaa, a city just outside Helsinki. He appears on my screen shirtless, a chunky gold chain dangling on his neck. On his head sits a pastel turquoise cap adorned with little cat ears. As he gestures with his hands, I spot flashes of poison green nail varnish. Pöyhönen’s chosen attire, or lack thereof, is extremely fitting – he typically performs bare-chested (“It gets so hot during my gigs”) and his Instagram handle is @paidatonriehuja, or ‘shirtless rascal’.

Hot off a performance in western Finland, the 29-year-old is enjoying his first days off in a while. It’s been a sweltering summer of non-stop touring, with fans flocking to festivals and concerts nationwide to see his explosive live show. Things are not winding down either, with Käärijä heading off on his first-ever European tour this month. Some of these shows sold out in mere minutes, an indication of his immense international following. “It’s so exciting; I’m definitely jumping into a new territory with that tour,” Pöyhönen says. “But I don’t have any expectations – I’m just going to let everything happen organically rather than stressing about it.”

Although he created one of this year’s buzziest songs, the guy on my screen is humble and, save for his look, almost un assuming. I remark on the stark contrast to his fiery and flamboyant stage presence. “Through Käärijä, I get to channel all the craziness, quirkiness and hyperactivity I’ve had since I was a child,” Pöyhönen says, describing himself offstage as “just this ordinary dude��. Without delving into further details, he tells me that the name Käärijä (translating roughly to moneymaker) stems from a history with gambling. Despite the darkness of its origin, he notes that the moniker is to be taken with a grain of salt.

While it might seem like Käärijä exploded into the public consciousness from obscurity, Pöyhönen has a long journey in music behind him. Born in Helsinki but having spent most of his youth in Vantaa, he started dabbling in the medium at just three years old. Coming from a musical family (“My dad and big brother both play the guitar”), jamming sessions were commonplace in the Pöyhönen household, his instrument of choice being the drums. “I was playing with pots and spoons before I got a set of those plastic kids’ drums,” he says. “When we moved to a bigger house, we built a band room downstairs where me and my brother spent a lot of time practising.”

At that time, rap music hadn’t yet entered Pöyhönen’s life; he was strictly a self-described “metal guy”. His older brother had instilled in him a love for the genre, particularly metal icons Rammstein. Upon starting high school, his musical taste broadened and he began listening to Eminem and popular Finnish rap groups Fintelligens and JVG. “Me and my friends were filming our own music videos to old rap songs, learning the words by heart,” Pöyhönen says. “It [making rap music] pretty much started as this humour thing I did with my mates.”

Encouraged by his loved ones, Pöyhönen began writing his own songs, still playing it for laughs. Turned out he had a knack for it. “Since I was little, I’ve been an avid storyteller – my imagination ran a little wilder than the rest of the kids’ at my school,” he says. “So when I started making music, I didn’t even need inspiration; I was able to whip up the lyrics from my head.”

But then, at 15, an unexpected turning point came by way of a severe sudden illness. Rushed to the hospital with ulcerative colitis, a chronic inflammatory bowel disease, Pöyhönen underwent emergency surgery to remove his colon. Had he not been treated immediately, the complications could have been fatal. “I was writing songs in the hospital – music became a source of strength for me,” he says. “I decided that if I make it through this, I’m going to give my all to music and be serious about it.”

After over a decade of hard work and countless hours in the studio, Käärijä released his first album, Fantastista (Fantastic), in 2020, but it would take three years for him to become a household name in Finland. After snapping up the top prize in Uuden Musiikin Kilpailu (the Finnish contest for new music) with his party anthem ‘Cha Cha Cha’, a song dedicated to a hedonistic night out fusing rap, electronic music and metal, he secured the coveted spot as his country’s entrant for the 2023 Eurovision, held in Liverpool. One of Pöyhönen’s craziest dreams had come true.

For Pöyhönen, Eurovision was “an amazing but immensely tough experience”. The event’s intense schedule and the little time carved out for practising surprised the artist. There was no room for errors or retakes once it was time for rehearsals. “They didn’t give much mercy,” he says. On the bright side, the long days filled with “lots of press conferences and waiting around” gave Pöyhönen a chance to get to know the other artists. “The group we had there was wonderful – there wasn’t a competitive atmosphere at all,” he says. One of the contestants he became especially close with was Sweden’s Loreen, with whom he exchanged numbers and promised to “meet up and talk about everything else but music”.

By the time the grand finale came, Käärijä’s explosive performance and infectious song had made him one of the favourites to win. Ultimately he came second, while Loreen nabbed first place. How did Pöyhönen handle the letdown? “It was a huge disappointment, but in the end, the feeling didn’t last long,” he says. “When I thought about how far I’d gotten, the incredible journey it was and all the new friends I made, I realised that these things are far more meaningful than winning.” Plus, he still achieved something major: ‘Cha Cha Cha’ made history as the first ever Finnish song to reach Spotify’s global most-listened charts. The track’s reach proved to Pöyhönen that language doesn’t matter; it’s all about creating a singular, infectious sound: “The mouth is just as much of an instrument as the piano or the guitar is,” he says.

Having made history, I ask Pöyhönen if he felt any pressure after the Eurovision bubble had burst. “Of course there are the thoughts of ‘what now?’ and ‘is this going to be it, will anyone be interested anymore next year?’ – I’m aware that the hype won’t last forever,” he says. “But I’m onto creating the next thing, trying not to feel any pressure for future releases. I haven’t done that before, so why would I do that now?”

Pöyhönen hints at a new album dropping sometime next year, but in the meantime, he’s enjoying the attention – including his Vogue Scandinavia debut. Shot at the extraordinary home of the late interior architect Antti Nurmesniemi and his wife, textile artist Vuokko Nurmesniemi, we find the space where Pöyhönen and Käärijä meet, the quiet confidence mingling with that more-is-more persona.

And while Käärijä might develop as a character (“I want to show that he’s more than just a bolero chap”), he’s adamant that he will stay true to his music and keep singing in Finnish, despite the sudden international attention. “In the end, I’m doing this for myself,” he says. “Also, why change something that works?”

Photographer: Karoliina Bärlund Stylist: Sanna Silander Talent: Käärijä Hair Stylist and Makeup Artist: Neea Kuurne Photographer Assistant: Milja Laakso Stylist Assistant: Nelli Korhonen

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xliii // the_attic_181120XX

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Knuckles connect right under his eye, nearing the slope from his cheek to the bridge of his nose, and while the force behind it isn’t particularly damaging, it’s still enough to make his face snap sideways. The gasp he lets out stems mostly from surprise. In the moment where he takes a step backwards, gloved hand reaching to touch the site of impact, another punch lands on the side of his head, clipping his ear. That stings.

Renee sees red.

He pushes forward through flailing arms, slamming into the guy hard enough to knock them both over. Conrad lands partially on the mattress of his bed, and Renee follows closely behind, barely bracing himself before he shouts and brings his fist down, twice. A glimpse of red flying from the third one, low squawks of distress, barely noticeable under the ringing in Renee’s ears. But somehow, through the blows, Conrad manages to curl one leg up and plant a foot in his abdomen. He doesn’t have enough room to kick the wind out of him, but he accomplishes a solid push instead, one that throws Renee’s weight off, and he topples onto the bed, clawing at the covers as Conrad slips away, clearly headed for the door.

He doesn’t make it far. As soon as Renee has righted himself, he lurches forward, manages a slim grasp in the fabric of Conrad’s shirt. A hoarse cry is choked back when the collar draws tight over his throat, as is the one he tries to let out when he accidentally supports his weight on the bad leg in an attempt to keep his balance; his knee buckles completely, like the whole leg just gives out. The shirt slips from Renee’s fingers as Conrad sinks to the floor with a cry.

It’s almost eerie, how quickly Renee’s rage slides from frantic into something different. The sight of downed prey flips another switch. Your core is still burning, but your eyes latch on to him, much, much colder.

You get to your feet, close in his sorry excuse for a slipstream, boots treading over the drops of blood he leaves behind. You plant a foot on his lower back, and he crumples beneath you. He lets out this pathetic groan which only solidifies your desire to smear his guts on the wall. It’s just you and him, and nothing else. Nothing around you. Nothing in between.

You straddle his back, one gloved hand pushing his head to the floor, just keeping it steady. He can’t turn far enough to look you in the eye, but you can look into his clearly enough. There’s panic there, fear, but beneath it – what else? – disgust. He tries to hit your leg, weakly pushes at your knee, neck straining to raise his head. Wriggling, like a miserable little worm.

You’re sort of hoping something in his face breaks on the first punch. That’s the brand of effort you put into it, anyway; you want something to cave in. But once your fist has landed, and you hear that hoarse grunt of pain, feel his body twitch underneath you, you can’t bring yourself to pause and check. You just hit him again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again, until you lose track of anything else. Fucking cursed rhythm. The pain in your elbow rears its head, the bone that never really got a chance to heal. You can’t hear him anymore. You can’t hear yourself. You only hear the impact, the bludgeoning, aimless. The yawn of a void that aches to be filled, and what a goddamn bore it is. You’re predictable. This song is getting old, it’s nauseating, but you can’t stop.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And—

Davin’s voice is nearly inaudible. Intonation is hard to distinguish, as is volume. “Renee,” he says.

Conrad gasps beneath him, head still pressed down. Blurry splatters of vermilion on the floor. Renee stops, somehow. His fist hovers beside his shoulder, shaking. Teeth locked, panting through his nose. His vision is so clouded, he can barely see.

“Save it,” Davin tells him.

One of Conrad’s hands pushes against the floorboards in another attempt to get up. Blood bubbles from his nose, gets caught in the creases of a wince. Voice rattling, but there’s a trace of bitter laughter in it, too. “He’s, he’s using you.”

Renee doesn’t move. Doesn’t punch, but doesn’t let up, either. His thumb digs into Conrad’s cheek. His own breathing rings hollow in his chest, makes his whole body vibrate. It feels good to grind someone’s face into the floor. It feels fucking good.

But he’s calming down. He’s in control.

“Renee,” Davin repeats. Sounds impatient.

Renee lets out a hiss through his teeth, sneering as he grabs Conrad arm and twists it onto his back. Grunts of effort rise from Conrad’s chest, straining to pry himself loose. Thin little noodle arms, what the fuck does he expect? It’s not even a contest. Dumb motherfucker. Dumb fuck. Dumb fuck. Renee pins both wrists with one hand. He avoids looking at the guy’s face directly, even when a gasp sends pink spittle flying. The red in his periphery is enough to grasp the idea.

As Renee is patting down his pockets for the handcuffs, still breathless, he hears the chain rattle from a few feet to his right. Shuts his eyes, baring his teeth. If he has to take another smug look from the mop, he’s pretty sure he will actually, physically explode. He just holds a hand out in Davin’s direction, and waits, until the nonchalant footsteps have drawn near, and something bumps the palm of his hand.

Once the cuffs are on, he lets Conrad go entirely. Pushes himself to his feet, turning his back on them both as he digs his fingers into the joint of his elbow, searching for reprise from the pulsing waves of pain. He clicks open the button on his wrist to pull one glove off. When he touches his upper lip, his fingers, still shaking, come away red. He thought he could taste it; he spits on the floor. Wipes the bottom half of his face in his shirt. What the fuck am I doing? But he’s in control. He’s in control.

After a deep breath, Renee finally turns to Davin. Blank expression. Psycho. All the man does is hold the eye contact for a bit, and then wordlessly shift to look at Conrad on the floor. Renee steels himself, follows his gaze.

Lying on his side, half curled around himself. There’s a gash running parallel through the one eyebrow, another splitting the skin of his cheekbone. Blood from the nose too, and the mouth. Red marks of rapidly forming bruises, scattered all over that one side of his face. It’s already starting to swell. He's staring dead-eyed at something the floor directly in front of his face.

A molar. Looks like two at first, but no. It’s just cracked in half.

Renee inhales deep. Sets his jaw as he walks back to Conrad’s side, not that he really stands a chance of playing it off like nothing happened. He coughs to mitigate the uneven feeling of his own voice. “Get up.”

Shaky breathing interrupted briefly when Conrad swallows with some effort. That rattling sound again, like there’s something in his throat. “You s-, see it, don’t you? He’s using you.”

“Get up, Conrad.”

A grimace. “Go to hell.”

Renee feels his body tense up again, comes within a hair’s breadth of unleashing that energy in a hard kick. Instead he bows down to grab an upper arm. Conrad draws in a sharp inhale as Renee pulls him up. Strongly favoring the good leg, he staggers to keep his balance as Renee maneuvers him out the door, with Davin following closely behind.

It takes Renee a few too many moments of frustrated hauling along to realize Conrad isn’t just being difficult for the sake of it. He does try to keep up, but even the limping is off kilter, visibly dizzy. They’re halfway down the hall when he lets out a whine and sinks again, and Renee finds himself catching Conrad’s whole weight by the arm before he can fall on his face.

So be it. Renee picks him up. Hears the muffled croak as Conrad’s diaphragm is poised on one shoulder, the noises of discomfort for each step Renee takes. He’s skinny, but a hundred-and-some pounds still isn’t a light task to carry up a winding flight of stairs – by the time they reach the platform, Renee is winded once again, feels the sweat building under his clothes.

He drops Conrad rather unceremoniously in the open space in the middle of the room, and steps out of the spotlights’ rays to gather his bearings. Wipes his nose again – still bleeding, but it’s subsiding – as Davin takes up his usual seat behind the monitor, shaking the mouse to stir it from slumber. Their eyes meet. Renee is ready to snap back at another mention of the time, but it doesn’t come. Davin just turns to the computer. Types out a short command, then poises one elbow on the table, a closed fist covering his mouth.

Another deep breath, and more than one silent refrain of, It’s just a job. Get it over with. Renee turns. In passing, he hears the near-silent whisper from the body hunched on the floor.

“Don’t make me stand up.”

Gritting his teeth, Renee fishes both ends of the chain from the hook in the wall. It clinks from the exposed rafters above, sways with his movements as Renee returns to Conrad. He secures one end to the handcuffs by the heavy carabiner, fumbling briefly with the locking mechanism, getting more and more frustrated with how much his hands are shaking. Once it’s fastened, he pulls Conrad up by the arm again, eliciting a groan, and only lets go when Conrad’s trembling uncertainty has dimmed enough that he can at least keep himself vertical. And then Renee steps back, pulling the other end of the chain with alternating hands, until it draws taught, lifting Conrad’s bound hands up toward his shoulder blades. The wince, the way his torso curls forward, and his shoulders hunch to accommodate. He’s staring at the floor, teeth bared in a grimace. The streaks of blood on his face are drying rapidly under the heat of the lights, even if the wounds are still bleeding.

Renee can be cruel if he wants to. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before. Really, what’s another stream on his conscience? He can slip into the role of that giddy, vindictive host, and put on a show for the depraved. He can earn his fucking money, whatever that takes, and then fuck off to Vegas to see how long it’ll last. He pulls the balaclava out of his pocket, drags it over his head. These things are always mildly itchy, for some reason, and his stubble gets caught in the fabric when he moves his head.

It’s a reluctantly shared glance that settles it. A simple nod, and the press of a button. They’re live.

It takes him an extraordinary amount of time to speak. For the first minute of the stream, he slowly walks across the room to pick up a folding chair leaned against the wall. Its legs drag loudly across the floor as he hauls it back towards what he knows is center frame. “Ladies,” he mutters, and he lets that linger for a while. Flips open the chair, placing it no more than a foot from Conrad’s side. As he sits down, crossing one ankle over his knee, he lets out a sigh that gets caught in the fabric over his face. Scratches at his chin through the balaclava. “Gentlemen... Attic... Welcome. So on and so forth.

“It’s been a week, hasn’t it? But he’s not dead, so you can stop speculating. He’s even relatively intact still.” Renee hesitates. Nods his head towards Conrad’s face, but doesn’t take his eyes off the camera. “Don’t mind all that, we had a mutual disagreement.” He chuckles dryly, but it fades into another sigh, gaze wandering to the side. “Sure has been seven days on the calendar,” he mutters, trailing off for a moment, before he catches the eye of the lens again. “I wish I could show you all a gimp – sorry, glimpse of what’s been going on behind the scenes, but honesty, it’s been pretty uneventful. Just your average administrative bullshit. Paperwork, filing cabinets, office meetings… Boring shit. Lame, some might call it. Eh?”

He elbows Conrad lightly in the thigh, and although it elicits a hiss, Conrad doesn’t turn his head. Just keeps it bowed facing the opposite direction, hands curled into fists behind him.

“He agrees,” Renee concludes. Laughs again, and while it’s a far cry from genuine, he thinks it might at least be fake in a way that he can stomach. He makes a big show of stretching his arms out, only to fold his hands on the back of his head, leaning backwards. “Yeah, so, with all the usual coworker drama, I’ve been racking this galaxy brain of mine for ways we could have some fun for a change. Loosen up a little bit, y’know? Forget the stressors of our nine-to-fives in exchange for… something more lively. And the best way to do that, as far as I’m concerned—”

“I love my dad.”

Renee pauses. “Huh?”

Shoulders tense, eyes still fixed to the wall, blood dripping from his chin. Conrad blinks rapidly for a few seconds, swallowing. “I love my dad,” he says again, louder this time. Deep breath. “I love Howard.”

Renee nods a little, brows raised. “Heartwarming, C-boy.”

Swaying ever so slightly where he stands, Conrad continues. “I love Paisley, and Jude, and the, and the twins. I love Ma and Bill.”

Renee coughs. “I kinda had this whole bit planned out, you know.”

“I love, I love everybody.”

Renee snorts. “What, are you fuckin’ Jesus now? You know I’m included in that last one, right?”

Conrad lets out a terse breath though his nose. Still doesn’t look at him.

Renee casts a few raised-brow glances between Conrad and the camera. “Anythin’ else you’d like to share with the class?”

A minute shake of his head.

It’s that look Conrad has afterwards, resigned, something almost content in his posture, that finally makes it click for Renee. He freezes, feeling his shoulders sink. Suddenly struggles to process the implications of what just happened.

Was that goodbye?

For a few seconds, he forgets they’re live. Just sits there, hands still locked at the back of his head, staring into nothing. It takes a while before he’s able to gradually pull himself out of it. He clears his throat and gets to his feet, moves the chair off to the side. Wants to say something, to keep the show going, but he doesn’t know how.

Why today? Why did these big shows of defiance, this fucking declaration of martyrdom, have to come today, of all days, when Renee’s nerves are already in tatters, when the whole thing is already making him sick to his stomach?

He ends up by the table in the back, running his gloved fingers past the various objects. Eyes latch on to the syringe, waiting. The liquid encased in glass, measured out beforehand, is a clear brownish yellow. The needle is so slim, it’s barely even visible against the grain of the tabletop.

His voice sounds distant. Casual, but distant. “Hallucinogens are kind of funny,” he says. “There’s a plant called datura – it’s everywhere, it’s a weed, really. You smoke the leaves. Sometimes, it makes you trip for a few days. Other times, it triggers lifelong schizophrenia. Other times still, it just straight up kills you. Wild shit.”

He picks up the syringe, holds it carefully between two fingers as he circles back to Conrad’s side. Posture rounded as the guy pulls for comfort along the chain’s reach. His eyes are still fixed to the floor, but the muscles of his jaw are taught.

“This isn’t datura,” Renee says. “It’s not gonna drive you crazy, at least not permanently. I think,” he adds, laughing uncertainly. He can brush it off as a play on ignorance about the drug’s potency, but it’s a bait and switch. In reality, DMT isn’t all that - Renee just doesn’t know what to do.

How long is he supposed to wait for that feeling to reappear? The focus is lost, and in its place is this razor sharp amalgamation of everything and nothing at all. He can’t think.

They’ve gotta see through the act, whoever’s watching. Isn’t it fucking obvious?

Back at the fixture in the wall, he briefly pockets the syringe to haul the chain down further. The unmistakable whine from Conrad as his hands are forced upwards, arms stretching out behind him. Gasps of pain, an effort to writhe free that dissipates as he curls further forward to ease the strain on his shoulders. Soon enough, he has to stand on his toes, arms raised to the extent it looks unnatural, and Renee knows that if he keeps going, Conrad’s shoulders will both dislocate. He secures the chain then, and spends a few moments just circling, watching. Pretending.

Conrad is shaking again. The occasional jerk doesn’t seem intentional, it’s always followed by a small groan. The swelling of his face is starting to creep towards one eye, threatening to force it shut. Dried flakes of blood crack at every grimace, and the parts of his skin that aren’t dark red instead have a sheen, as beads of sweat spring from his forehead, his upper lip.

“Already out of breath, huh…?”

With all his energy spent keeping his weight off aching shoulders, it seems none can be spared for a flinch when Renee digs the syringe into Conrad’s shoulder.

Renee pushes the plunger in, slowly.

Halfway down, he hesitates. Eyes flickering.

Fuck it.

He pulls the needle out, quickly. As he trails backwards toward the camera, hands obscured from view, he drives the needle through the palm of his leather glove and bottoms out the plunger. Doesn’t feel it pinch, but he’s not sure he even would, it’s all muddled. He spins around again, grinning, and makes a show of brandishing the empty syringe to the camera before he tosses it away.

It's not penance, it doesn’t right his wrongs, and he’s not trying to dilute that fact; but maybe half and half is only fair.

Fair. Even as he picks the bat up, drags it along the floor, sees the distressed glances from the victim he circles. Fucking fair. Even as he raises it, and places the end in the middle of Conrad’s back, and pushes down.

A hoarse cry, but it’s wordless, so Renee increases the pressure. It finally draws out a “Stop – don’t.”

Renee snorts. He stops, only to come around and, drawing the bat in a wide arch behind him, he swings. The dull thud as it contacts Conrad’s abdomen, driving the wind out of him, doesn’t seem to hurt as much as the resulting full-body jerk. He trips in place, hands behind him open claws, body seizing, before he finally manages to heave in a breath. One proper cough, and a series of others that are suppressed to keep as still as possible.

The onset following an intramuscular injection is two minutes. Renee spots it in Conrad before he feels it in himself. As he circles, Conrad finally forgets the stoic act and strains to look him in the eye. Something there is dawning. A fear that feels more raw than it usually does, less inhibited. Dilated pupils which keep drifting, from Renee’s face to the bat, and eventually – to the wall behind Renee. His breath hitches in his throat, and he blinks hard, struggling to keep his gaze levelled in the same spot.

Renee brings the bat down again, overhand hit. He aims for the lower spine this time, and he doesn’t pull his weight. Conrad lets out a cry, and evidently fights the urge to not right his posture too much, as if he’s split between the pain in his back and the one in his shoulders. His voice creaks. “Please s-stop, please stop, it hurts, okay, please—”

Renee watches Conrad’s wide eyes drift again, and it’s strange. The guy keeps mumbling in that fragile, pleading way, and while it’s still presumably directed at Renee, his focus seems to be on the wall entirely.

“It hurts, okay, it hurts, it hurts—I didn’t—don’t hit me, don’t—”

He would’ve laughed. Perhaps in a past life, perhaps if he hadn’t felt it. He feels drunk, but not drunk. It’s the same lack of orientation, but missing the vital buzz. He raises the bat. He brings it down. He hears the cry of pain, the begging. Nothing.

“Stop, just stop, oh my god, please just stop—”

Whenever Renee moves, or breathes, or blinks, it feels detached, like he’s standing on one end of a tunnel, viewing reality through the pinhole at the other end. He brings the bat down, it draws out a scream, and this sequence is repeated ad nauseum, but nothing happens.

He brings the bat down, it does nothing, nobody’s there, he’s not even doing anything, he’s been dead for a while, his corpse is baking in the sun, the light is blinding, he can’t see, he doesn’t feel it, he can’t feel a thing, the sun isn’t even there, there is no sun, there is no tunnel, there is no corpse, there is no bat, but he brings it down, he doesn’t pull his weight, it’s what they want, he can be cruel, he brings it down –

It’s not until he hears the scream that Renee realizes the hollow thud of the bat against flesh was accompanied by another sound just then – a low pop of sorts, but wet-sounding, almost soggy. Gritting his teeth, he stumbles a few steps backwards, but the noise follows him, and Conrad is writhing. Something about his arm, gleaned from cries that all mesh together, the inarticulateness of his agony. The sound loops around the room like a vortex, deafeningly loud, amplified by itself like an endless feedback loop. Something about his arm.

The room is so hot. Nagging, pulsing.

Renee isn’t seeing things, but it feels like he might as well be. Feels like he’s frantically scrambling to scoop up all the fragments of something that shattered. Disorienting, nonsensical, churning. The bat slides from his palm, hitting the floor with a thunk before it rolls off to the side. He locks his hands over the nape of his neck, pacing, struggling to not fold forward, stomach lurching. He shakes his head in the hopes it’ll dislodge whatever fucking clot is causing it. He feels like a lump of butter sliding around a frying pan, slowly melting – of all the images he could’ve come up with, that’s the one that pops into his head. The ground underneath him is slippery, and whatever part of him hasn’t dissolved yet, under this kind of heat, it will.

In his periphery, Conrad’s bare feet shift. His bad leg is only supported by the toes, while the knee of the good leg bearing the brunt of his weight is visibly shaking from exertion. The strain of his body, the sweat collecting on his shirt, the blood coagulating on the floor. One shoulder is dislocated. One has to assume, given the strange way it dips in at the edge of his collarbone. Grotesque, gross-looking.

Renee lets his arms drop to his sides, shuts his eyes. Stands there for a few moments, panting, head bowed, just treading water. The fan of the server whirs dispassionately.  The spotlights are hot on his back. A drop of sweat trickles down his right side, over the soft protrusion of the bottom of his ribcage. It feels like an ant snuck under all the black layers and is now crawling over his skin. Strange how the sensation stands out so much when others fight harder for dominance. The pain in his elbow, the nausea, the overwhelming bewildered sense of urgency. The ant, crawling.

Gasps for air, the creaking of exhausted pain, interspersed with the clicking of the chain at every attempt to reposition a trembling body in a way that might bring relief. Renee hears the pause, the effort to swallow, followed by a high groan, too drained to even sound afraid anymore. Groan after groan after groan.

Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck. Fuck.

Renee opens his eyes. He moves quickly; he has to.

His hands shake too badly to hit the camera’s button on the first go, so he sets his jaw and yanks out its power supply instead. He doesn’t spare a glance in Davin’s direction. Nor Conrad’s, as he resolutely crosses the floor. He has to pull the chain down a bit to free the link from the fixture in the wall, prompting a scream from Conrad, which turns into a yelp when the chain is freed, and Renee lets it go entirely. Conrad crumples to the floor like a ragdoll, with no chance of bracing himself for the landing. Doesn’t make a sound when he hits; maybe he blacked out.

Renee doesn’t stop to check the aftermath. He rips the balaclava off his head as he storms out of the room. Allows himself, finally, to heave for the air he’s been lacking. It’s all static in his head as he stumbles down the stairs, a tumultuous mess of half-finished thoughts, impulses, images flashing on repeat, blood and noise and flesh and screaming, hammering against the inside of his skull. His shoulder slams into the wall when the stairs pivot along their axis, and he staggers down the last flight, tripping at the bottom, landing on his hands and knees. Crawling forward, pausing when his lurching stomach finally wins, and he retches – dry. He lets out a grunt. Manages to push himself halfway to his feet again, but then he hits the wall, slides down, presses his back against the plaster, heaving. Stars dance across his vision, feels like a visualization of the pins and needles that wash through his whole body.

His hands shake so bad, it takes him five or six tries to finally get the button of the glove undone, and when he forcefully yanks the leather off, he hears a seam somewhere rip. Brownish liquid stains his hand, mixed with sweat, thick like honey, and just as sticky. His palm is otherwise spotless. No blood, no injection site.

The needle never breached his skin.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[merrysithmas]

i really like reading your thoughts on "girl"! i was just wondering what you think might happen after paul passes? do you think people will start to examine the relationship between them as something more than just songwriting partners? i mean nothing really changed when yoko said john was bisexual (and some fans still don't believe it!). in my wildest dreams, paul's estate will drop a posthumous tell all book and we'll be left with so many questions lol.    

John himself said he was queer several times - I remember watching an interview with him when he was saying being an artist in a capitalist world requires money and that if he wasn't famous he'd need to have married "a rich old lady or man" to be a songwriter.

He also said he hooked up with Brian in Spain (Yoko confirmed he told the press they did "do it" and she was seemingly applauding his bravery in saying so).

Lennon remarked that he was "afraid of the fag in him" which made him act on his anger and set off his worst most fearsome temper explosions.

Also I think there was a few "tell alls" where past friends reported that he was open about his queerness & confirmed hooking up with Brian in frustration.

May Pang wrote that he told her he considered (lol) an affair with Paul. He spent two years in gay clubs in LA.

Yoko also confirmed he was bi (as far she she knew, maybe later on had he not been murdered he'd have identified as gay or pan).

Elton John said he and Lennon did "naughty" things together and laughed about said things with Sean, his godson. Julian Lennon did an interview where he said he "agreed" that John and Paul were in love during the Get Back film period.

Lennon also contributed a first-person poem the First Gay Liberation book.

Those are just the examples I can think of off the top of my head. He also seems to have had a relationship of some kind with Stu (conjecture) and an obvious-departed-from-platonic dynamic with Paul which is easily, easily an emotionally romantic affair at least (which isn't the half of it).

Anyone who denies his queerness does a great disservice to his memory & the incredible poignancy of his songs in this context during his time period. Artists have been reworking the lyrics and wording of their queer songs to appeal to an unaccepting general audience for commerciality FOREVER and to assume this was not done by Lennon, who is "confirmed" queer (if you needed to hear it from Yoko for it to be true to you) is truly delusion.

I think after Paul has left us people will feel more comfortable analyzing their relationship in a queer sense and I do think at some point it has likely been engineered that something to that effect will be officially announced or endorsed in some regard by their Estates (to generate continued moneymaking lol and interest and enigma). I feel like that's something that could happen, reasonably, after Yoko is gone and her hold on the Lennon narrative is diluted into Sean's POV & the McCartney family has the freedom to speculate or give their personal feelings on the life of their beloved father in retrospect. There's also the chance Paul could say something or leave something to that effect before he leaves us.

I feel like Paul would never say anything otherwise because John never got to endorse any release of their personal history before his tragic and senseless murder in a time period where being gay was still treated with such bigotry and cruelty (the 80s). I feel like Paul's great respect for Jane Asher and their relationship is a testament to this because he has never spoken about their relationship out of respect for her - for the exact reason that she has never spoke publically about it herself.

Paul is a pragmatic and private person and I feel like he knows the majority of the ignorant world isn't ready to hear the biggest band in human history was founded on teenaged homoromantic affection/gay love. But maybe one day, it will be.

This is speculation on my part but Paul also probably doesn't want Yoko to know anything because either she is willfully ignorant or John truly wasn't honest with her and Paul feels it's something she doesn't deserve to know - especially if it's something John kept private & only between he and Paul. It's something he always has that's over and beyond what Yoko and John had & he seems to treasure those specific things no matter what they are. Obviously... Paul still doesn't care for Yoko and he is probably extremely fatigued of the fact that she has been the managing agent & author of John's estate for 40 years (when in the late 70s she and John seemed on unsteady terms as per other parties) and then treated Julian with such disregard. Sean on the other hand seems to have grown to love Paul, but we'll see lol.

I also feel like Paul probably has a few "surprises" for Beatles fans lined up for after he and Ringo are gone - he just seems like that kind of person and wants the Beatles to continue on in great esteem for many many years to come.

thank you for your ask!!

[disenchantingwrites]

If you'd be up for it, could you write a Ryan Ross x reader thats friend's to lovers?? Maybe something where reader is involved in the music business but not famous and they become introduced that way and quickly form a friendship? They/them or she/her if possible. It's rough being a Ryan Ross girlie in 2022 and I'm so excited that people still write for him 😭

Story for a Love Song • R.R

Being a small-time record producer, you're eager to accept any opportunities that present themselves. You just didn't expect that working with Ryan would lead to so many feelings.

Ryan Ross x Female Reader

A/N: okay first off, thank you for the request, i started writing as soon as i read it (also I'm not sure if you wanted the reader to be a singer, so i can do another one if you want). And the struggle is real for Ryan Ross fans in 2022, we're like a dying breed :(

---- ---- ---- ----

(1372 Words)

For years, producing had only been something on the side. You’d spend time with small bands and artists, even friends’ bands, and assemble their songs and albums for a few hours in the studio you’d book. Then the rest of your time was spent going to your primary job, the moneymaker for your borderline bankrupt lifestyle.

“You’re going to burn yourself out,” your parents would say each time you would call. “Maybe you should take a break and catch up on some sleep.”

But those sleepless nights eventually paid off. You’d made enough to focus solely on your producing career. And, although small within the industry, you loved every second you had doing your job. Any project you had, you poured your heart into any project you had, undoubtedly passionate about achieving the perfect sound.

Your passion was what drew Ryan to offer his work to you in the first place. He wanted a fresh sound for the new album he was working on, and hearing what you’d done for others had only solidified you as his top choice. And in sending off the simple email asking for your talents, he’d unknowingly changed your life.

For the days you spent working together, you and Ryan developed a close bond. He was different to the others you’d worked with, both as a person and musically. His lyrics were profound, and his music moved you, touching your heart, causing it to thump until you could hear it drumming in your ears. As your time together bled into months of collaboration, you realised it wasn’t just his music that made your stomach twist into knots.

“If you keep looking at me like that, it might inflate my ego too much,” Ryan joked when he’d caught your astonished stare for the dozenth time.

You’d tried desperately to keep your feelings for Ryan under control, but the closeness between the two of you made it hard. The constant proximity he had with you whenever you were together didn’t help. He was almost always touching you in some way, whether it was pressing his shoulder against yours or instigating a game of footsies while you listened to the songs. 

You had no idea how you’d be after the two of you were finished collaborating. You already knew the two of you would keep talking; the close bond between you had grown so tight in such a short period of time. Truthfully, your only worry was whether you would ever find the courage to admit your feelings to him.

“If you keep working like this, this album will be finished earlier than it needs to be.” Your head turned away from your station at his comment. It was one of the rare days you looked forward to when you and Ryan were both in the studio. He only further surprised you when you felt his hand settle on your shoulder as his body leaned over yours. “I can tell you’ve been working late on this ‘cause of those circles under your eyes.”

His free hand poked your cheek, and you managed to glance at his face to see him grinning humorously at you before he pulled away. Aware of the fact your heart was beating a million miles an hour just from his simple actions, you leaned back in your chair, head turned around.

“C’mon, there’s a little cafe not far from here I saw last time, and I want to try their raspberry muffin,” Ryan urged, and you could practically hear the eager smile in his words.

You sighed, somewhat dramatically, as you turned your chair to him. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

--- --- ---

You and Ryan sat opposite each other in the small cafe you wish you could say he dragged you to. True to his word, he’d bought the raspberry muffin and a hot chocolate, only a mild wonder to you. You thought it was cute, much to Ryan’s chagrin.

“They even gave you little marshmallows, look,” you grinned, pointing to the two sugary treats on the side of his plate.

You could see the slight colour that rose in his cheeks as he used his spoon to hide the marshmallows from your view. You could only laugh further at his contrite reaction, tipping your head back ever so slightly, your eyes scrunched.

Your laughter only stopped when you felt something hit your nose. Startled, you silenced and opened your eyes to see Ryan stifling his laughter as he watched you. You looked down, finding one of his marshmallows sitting on top of your food. Diverting your attention back to Ryan, you noticed he’d shifted so his head was resting in his palm, and there was a wide smile on his face as he watched you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You murmured, having to avert your gaze as the heat rose in your own cheeks.

“You’ve got marshmallow dust on your nose,” he replied simply. He picked up a napkin and, just as you were about to reach out and take it from him, leaned over and wiped the residue from your face. “There." His voice sounded far away, quieter, and he halted any further actions as he peered at your face.

“I think it’s my turn to ask why you’re looking at me like that.”

“What?” You managed to strangle out, surprised by Ryan’s inquiry.

The singer sat back in his chair, placing the napkin down, a cheeky smile on his lips. “Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

You almost choked on the sharp breath of air you took. Incoherent noises escaped your mouth as you struggled to think of something to say in response. “I—what?”

Ryan let out another short laugh. “I guess it’s lucky I think of you as more than a friend.”

You blinked, dazed by the seeming confession. “More? Are you…?”

“I thought the x’s I attached to my good night and good morning texts were enough of a giveaway,” Ryan seemed to be more bemused than anything by your confusion about his declaration. He picked up his phone, tapped away for several moments, and then showed the screen to you.

“What’s this?” You frowned, accepting the phone from him.

“I realised while we were working together that I liked you, but I,” he let out a soft sigh and ran a hand through his hair, “I didn't know how to tell you, so… I wrote it down.”

You glanced from Ryan to the phone in your grasp, only to realise the note he had pulled up for you contained several paragraphs beginning with, primarily, the same line.

I think I like her because of how she smiles.

I think I like her because of how my name sounds coming from her.

I think I like her because of how she looks at me.

Which slowly evolved into different phrases the more you read.

I think I love her and her laugh.

I think I love her because of how much her messages make me smile.

I think I love her.

You swallowed, pulling the phone back. But before you could focus back on Ryan, a text came through, one with your name followed by a heart, as the sender.

hi.

i love you. x

You managed to gather the courage to look up, finding Ryan with your phone in his grasp, a smile on his face.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Your mouth curled in a broad grin, and, had you not been seated in a cafe with barely touched, you would have launched across and kissed him then and there. Instead, you tapped on the message with your name and typed a text on Ryan’s phone to send to yours.

hi.

did you want to go out on a date with me?

Ryan read the message as soon as it pinged on your phone, then let out a pleased hum.

“Only if we do it tonight,” he replied. You nodded, finally setting the phone back over on Ryan’s side. “Then I’d love to.”

“Brilliant,” you sighed, feeling as though a weight had been relieved from your chest.

The two of you were about to, finally, begin eating again, but you paused.

“Ryan?”

“Hm? Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2024: #20

20. LUXEMBOURG Tali - "Fighter" 13th place

Decade Ranking: 73/153 [Above Electric Fields, below Emma Muscat]

For a grand, greatly anticipated return, "Fighter" has always been just there for me. It's summery, upbeat, lightweight and frivolous. Not a shabby, nor a moneymaker. This entry is an FFF (Fun Finale Filler) and it knows it.

How do I know that it knows itself? Well,

BADLY ANIMATED CGI LEOPARDS 😍 😍. You know how I feel about staging tricks like that. They're tacky and ugly and stupid and transparently try to cover up a middling composition.😍 idk, I love Leopards and I love the colour purple, so maybe it was just tacky ENOUGH to be funny, but I stan the decision-making because Tali > Ochman.

It was quite amusing 2 me that Luxembourg made their grand return after 31 years, only to try to throw vast swaths of cash at unnessecary embellishments because they KNEW it wasn't a high flier and needed to throw in SOMETHING, ANYTHING to make it work. Shirtless sexy dancers, badly animated VR, all the pyrotechnics in the world. It feels... very emblematic to them as a country even though this was their first ever modern era contest? "Money fixes everything", no wonder the EBU wanted their opulent arses back.

And it is funny they staged "Fighter" like that because "Fighter" always kind of worked, anyway? It was a plucky power-up song, and a clear qualifier in semi 1 no matter from which position it performed.

It didn't NEED the leopards

it didn't NEED the gratuituous sexual tension lmao

The way to go with a song such as "Fighter" is by finding a balance between tough and cute. The balance swung a bit too heavily in favour of "tough", because "Fighter" just isn't that kind of song, despite the reworks Lux tried to force. It's whimsically French foremost and while "France was historically a militaristic powerhouse,"toughness" suits France historically, nearly everyone associates it with cultural sophostication and romance. (hence why France is always culture focused in Civ, and never the feudal, chivalry-themed warmongering menace it actually was for most of its history ♥)

As ridiculous Fighter's staging got (and how lowkey BAD Tali'Golergant vas Eshkoli's styling was), it still vibed as a fun time. It might just be my latent alcoholic ass imprinting on the tequila sunrise colous scheme, but still. Tali took command of her dancers, showed her inner strength by fistpumping the air and thickened her braids so they no longer resembled antennae.

And she kinda ate those lives, yo.

In semi 1 Lux made for an excellent palate cleanser, a burst of energy after the period of inaneness Rim Tim Tagi Dim left in its wake. I love Raiven dearly and I really like Iolanda, but excitement was not their game. Tali came to the rescue when needed.

In the finale it was less necessary, though it did make Israel stand out as even more miserable to me, so there is that.

Sigh, I have to address the Israeli thing, don't I?

Look, I don't fucking CARE that Tali is proud of her Israeli-Jewish heritage. Nor that she visits the fake country twice a year. Nor that her song was produced by that other israeli Tali. I think her views on the matters are misguided and warped, but I get it. She's going to stick up for her OG country and her people, and we'd be foolish to expect her to do a 180° turn just because we believe she should. She has her stance, I disagree with it, but I can respect it. Civilians aren't responsible for whatever bloodthirsty maniac rules the roost or their actions, regardless of whether they elected them directly or not.

(though I will say that her transparent and overtly cheerful agreement with Joost's DQ all "YAY! HE BROKE THE RULES AFTER ALL ^_^ :claps:" made me ALOL. That DQ is still a grim affair, but lmfao what a scrump cheerleading bitch ♥).

But in a sense I wish Tali had been Israel's entrant himself. The only thing that erases Israel's controversy is their withdrawal, true, and Tali would have beenthe perfect horcrux, but if we WERE to have that country at Eurovision, I'd rather have them with Plucky Apolitical Filler (ft. Three Giant Leopards) rather than Teary Propaganda Ballad (Eurovision Reskin), y'know?

Also note, dear Israeli's, that -by my knowledge- Tali was NOT shunned by the other acts or the fan community, nor by the media and the professional juries, despite being half-Israeli and Jewish and zionistic. The few strays that she did end up catching were by the usual dumbfuck bigots on social media and amounted to nothing. So much for antisemitism, huh?

It's difficult to end the write-up after that rant that had little to do with the performance, so I will just say this: Tali's placement, while a tad high, proved that there's always a place for positivity and acceptance at Eurovision, no matter your background or your political colour.

With retrospection on our side, it makes sense juries would vote for "Fighter" as everyone agreed Nemo should win anyway, allowing them to siphon away twelves like a vacuum on amphetamine. With Croatia, Italy and France picking up the scraps, anyone with a modicum of inoffensiveness would be favoured to do well, (since this finale was HIGHLY jury unfriendly) which also favoured Lux because of the novelty coming with their return.

Ultimately it's our choices in life that define us, and Tali's were to give us a fun time unburdened by shackles of war, and that, in THIS FUCKING YEAR, was worth a lot to me.

THE RANKING:

[foxydivaxx]

Idol Sanji headcanons part 2

- He has multiple personas which you can see in his songs:

Mr Prince (yes that Mr Prince): His default persona. His pop star persona who is sweet but also dangerous and sexy in a cold calculated manner

King Nasty: his inner slut. This is the persona most people are familiar with

Brooklyn Rage: This is his inner gangster. Like if he is in this mode, bitch run

- He has the foulest mouth of the Strawhats. He is rapper no surprises

- He enjoys being a bratty sub which makes Zoro’s work even harder

- He has a lot of sex toys hidden in his room

- He has a lot of cars

- He shakes his ass a lot xD

- Zoro is more than his baby daddy and lover. He is his best friend

- He is worse than Nami in regards to the love of money. Yeah he loves the cash

- He was once a stripper during his younger years and did that to hustle for money

- He deep down does not value himself

- He often masturbates to videos and photos of Zoro

- He always does the more sluttier photoshoots

- He started smoking at the age 12 as a coping mechanism

- He loves clubbing

- According to Lelouch, Sanji had the highest grades of all the trainees under their label years ago and he was the most popular trainee at the time

- He is the member of Aogiri with the most collaborations for obvious reasons

- He suffered from an eating disorder that would later rebound during his idol years

- He used to hate his looks and body and wondered why anyone would want him. Still struggles with that today

- He and his dad both released albums on the same day. He ended up outselling the old man which greatly angered Judge

- He does not use the Vinsmoke name. Instead he uses his mother’s maiden name as his surname

-He sees Luffy and Chopper as his little brothers

-All those moans and orgasms he does in his songs? Those are not fake according to him. According to him, he masturbates in the studio to create those sounds

-He is an ATL dude due to spending most of his time growing up there even though he was born in New York but moved down to ATL with Zeff with his siblings

-His mother got shot by his dad when he was 3 years old. He rapped about this, literally destroying his dad and exposing the truth about the old man and destroying his reputation and ending Judge's career. A lot of people mock Judge, saying that his son is more gangster than he is. Judge has tried to hurt Sanji but his plans always backfire

- His mother was a pop star and was in a famous girl group before launching a successful musical career. So Sanji inherited all his talent from his parents but he got his mother’s looks, kindness and charisma

-He has been a victim of domestic and sexual abuse, first at the hands of his dad and later a lot of his exes

-Jojo's villain club are huge fans of his

-In fact every single villain you could think of love this guy to the point where many consider his songs "The Ultimate Villain Playbook." since he tends to play a villainous role in his songs since the character he seems to exude is a sexy evil Homme fatale

-As far as he is concerned, he is an all round entertainer. All that matters is that everyone has fun

-He was and still is the main moneymaker and breadwinner for the family for years because Ichiji unfortunately got shot but survived whilst selling newspapers on the streets

-The biggest scandal involving Sanji was an old sex tape of his from his stripper days resurfacing online. Pudding leaked it thanks to Judge but the plan backfired as that sextape made him even more popular than ever as it helped cement Sanji's sex symbol status

-He has the video with the highest amount of views on YouTube thanks to said sex tape scandal (Might as well add this to my fanfic)

- Don’t even dare try to sabotage him and his friends. He will destroy you

- There was one part in one of his songs that more or less defines him as a person:

Sticks and stones may break my bones,

But I am no lazybones,

Motherfucker left me for dead,

Yet I still stand,

You asked me why I do this shit?

This life goes way beyond making hits,

Started off as a poor weakling,

These days I answer to the name King

- He has a tattoo on his back close to his ass and has one on his ankle

- Sanji’s character’s stance towards women and feeding others is a reflection of real life Sanji’s past. The guy has been a victim of abuse for years and also his character’s interactions with women in the show is as a result of the things women like Pudding had done to him in the past

- He loves leather especially leather catsuits and wears those a lot

- During his Aogiri days, Sanji was not Sanji without his famous round shaped glasses. So many young idols would later emulate the style for years to come. Also his signature leather catsuits have made apperances in a variety of videos ever since

-He looks just like his mother

[yunwooz]

i’m still thinking about it but the reason it’s so frustrating and infuriating for so many fans is because so much of the effort put towards ateez’s growth comes directly from the fandom. it comes from the fandom reaching out to content creators and brands and hyping up opportunities meanwhile kq finds and picks very niche and small things like wonderwall or this new pott collab rather than taking advantage of the brands and people who express desire to work with them. they lose out on so many opportunities by constantly booking ateez completely full while also using them as a buffer to get hype and opportunities for their new group, and there wouldn’t be a problem with that if kq were putting in the same amount of time and effort into promoting ateez as well. they’re hurting both ateez and their juniors bc how can their juniors stand on their own and make their own name that isn’t attached to ateez if the company just pushes them as ‘ateez’s juniors’ and nothing else??

they don’t let ateez do tiktok challenges with other artists despite having three members (hongjoong, yunho, yeosang) all in prime opportunities to capitalize off there dj/mc positions to take part in challenges. bc they pack ateez’s schedule so full with things like kcon and tours that it limits the opportunities other members receive when you have members like yeosang, san, yunho all expressing how badly they want to release contents like covers. seonghwa has been begging to do mc work for well over a year. you literally have hongjoong and seonghwa telling fans on lives ‘hey these members don’t get to sing so they really want to do covers’ and your group is 5 years into existence?

you don’t promote the opportunities they have well beyond saying ‘hey x member will be here at this date and time’, you don’t market to your chinese fanbase at ALL despite starting to do so with your new group, you don’t promote your japanese comebacks anywhere except one platform which is your japanese twitter account, but then you release 45 pieces of merch to run your most popular group who pull your ass out of debt into the ground bc all you want to do is use them as a cash cow to fund your newer projects. it’s infuriating as a fan to watch and as someone who has been following ateez since predebut it’s so fucking frustrating to watch their company basically lose interest in promoting them and pushing them to greater heights. 

we get 1 comeback a year and 2 tours, and you haven’t given ateez a full length album since 2019? you gave them a full length album within a year of debut and haven’t given them another in the past almost 4 years that’s absurd. members constantly talk about having so many songs waiting to be released but on the single album released with halazia all we got were remixes and an outro??? and the line distributions are a shred better bc wow wooyoung and yeosang get four lines instead of one! after 5 years!

all that fucking money ateez are earning them off all those tours and festivals, kq can and should hire more staff and legit business professionals who can pick up every ounce of slack otherwise they’re gonna lose their precious moneymaker by either running them into the ground with burnout or by stagnating ateez’s growth to the point of no return.

[lostandbackagain]

genuinely fitz is a better man than me if noelle sang these songs while looking at me I'd be a goner no matter my prior commitments

[tangledinink]

your vampire rpg game looks SO COOL OMG!!!! would you mind if you told us a bit about it? also i love your art SO MUCH OH EM GEE!!!!! the lineart and the shading and the coloring!!!!! have a great day/night!! 🫶

GIGGLING WILDLY. omg i'd love to--

Our game takes place in current-day Blackwater Bay, a make-believe city in California under Anarch with hella crime, just to keep things fun and funky. Our original party make-up included Prescott, a young Nosferatu with a penchant for dirt-bike-racing, auto mechanics, and being clueless, Tomasso, a ghoul-turned-vampire Lasombra who worked with organized crime in the city, his hired muscle, Dimitri, a massive Russian Gangrel with 0 braincells and a badger for a ghoul, and Candle, a (secret) Ravnos who travels the country in his van with his pet rabbit Brooklyn and has recently found himself in Blackwater. Tomasso (Tommy) eventually got his shit wrecked (got blown up) and Candle basically ended up Taking Ownership of Dimitri. Tommy previously provided him with housing, salary, etc etc, so Candle took up this mantle in Tommy's absence, as how lucrative career as a stripper left him with more than enough pocket change to Sugar Daddy.

Candle and Dimitri were easily the most fun dynamic in the game because they'd just Do Whatever. They're constantly just fucking around and doing shit. There's half a braincell between them and they're constantly prepared to fuck around and find out. Candle just tells Dimitri to do stuff and they do it. Hey, Dimitri, wanna go clubbing? Hey, have you ever been on a ferris wheel before? Dimitri let me paint your nails. Let me braid your hair. Let's play truth or dare. I dare you to pick up that guy and throw him as hard as you can--

Candle has HELLA high charisma stats and can talk just about anyone into anything, and though he's not super well-suited for combat, Dimitri sure is, which made them an absolute delightful power couple. On the rare occasion Candle was unable to talk someone down, he could just sic his Gangrel on them. Candle is very sassy, outgoing, and talkative, but also has a bit of a temper and when he tells people to SHUT UP AND LET HIM TALK people LISTEN because he just has that level of authority. And also, he has Dimitri.

My other favorite thing about Candle is that he's a ridiculously effective hunter. Stripping is both how he makes his money and finds his food-- one song on stage and the entire club is pretty much invariably enraptured with him, and he basically has his pick of the herd. All he's gotta do is suggest they go to the bathroom, to the back, to the alley, etc. for some fun and then uhhhhhhhh bite the shit out of them and drink their blood <3 works like a charm every time. He is so good at this, in fact, that he 1) sugar daddies the entire party, as he's by far the most effective moneymaker 2) when we're in a rush or if people aren't up for a long hunt, he will literally HUNT FOR THE REST OF THE PARTY FOR THEM and just bring people back to their hiding places to feed, because he basically NEVER misses and it takes SO little effort for him to do this.

And the whole time he's running around being this cute lil strawberry blonde with a rabbit in his purse ;3c

[supercoolfelluh]

post-apocalypse headcanons!

cordelia goode

-cordy remembers parts of the timeline, usually the memories come back to her in her dreams

-being supreme, she has the biggest room in the entire house, and let the witches sleep with her for the first couple of weeks after the apocalypse

-one of the times that she comforted misty, they ended up confessing their love for each other shared a kiss (crying rn)

-after most of the coven had calmed and settled down, cordy started to invest in different forms of magic, such as learning voodoo skills from queenie, who cordy convinced to fully rejoin the coven (yayy!)

misty day

-misty had A LOT of nightmares from all the events of her life (burning at the stake, being forced to kill frogs in hell, the apocalypse, etc.), and cordy comforted her in all of them :)

-after the apocalypse, stevie came to cheer her up and they sang fleetwood mac songs together while transmutating around the academy (stevie used her super cool singing moneymaking and bought misty a whole bunch of vinyls and shawls)

-when misty needed something to lower her levels of stress, she ended up renovating her entire shack by hand (dw she saved her plants)

-makes her own bagels, which would be the most scrumptious thing on the planet, even madison said they were really good AND SHE SAID THIS IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. and then when everyone ate them all cordy said she wanted to taste it again she immediately started to make out with misty in front of everyone (they werent surprised)

zoe benson

-doesnt remember the alternate timeline very well but gets weird phantom headaches from time to time (oops.)

-got drunk at a bar trying to pretend like she has a normal life and ended up hooking up with a woman and when she woke up the next day somehow back at the academy she was confused abt why her fling didnt die and realized that her killer pussy only works on men and then MAGICALLY realized she was a lesbian

-one time when madison woke up from a nightmare, zoe let her sleep in her bed and they've been doing it ever since. at some point, madi's nightmare was so bad that she was just bawling while holding zoe close to her and when zoe was comforting her they made eye contact and they were like that for like three minutes until they finally kissed

-when zoe went to check up on misty, she found her at the shack while literally carrying huge ass planks of wood on her back and climbing on a huge pile of more wood to put those planks of wood to make a second floor of her wood shack (so much fucking wood) and zoe just stood there and it took an hour for her to snap out of it and for misty to notice her standing there

madison montgomery

-madi probably had the worst nightmares out of the entire coven, but it was actually more flashbacks of the frat party in coven than the actual apocalypse

-her love language is insults with most people, but with people she loves the most its physical touch, which she shows with zoe, cordy, and surprisingly she leans on mallory from time to time

-madi never really got therapy for any of the shit that she dealt with, and she started to burn herself with cigarette butts. when zoe found out, she convinced her to stop burning, stop smoking, AND go to therapy (best gf ever)

-she became way less bitchier after everything, and sometimes is the most vulnerable of the coven. she jumps and sometimes cries when a there's a loud sound, she helps zoe and queenie with their witch classes, and very rarely does favors for the coven such as getting groceries and helping cook dinner (she learned a few things from queenie)

will post a part 2 :)

[catgirlredux]

So here’s my thoughts on the new Linkin Park song and upcoming album:

First of all, at initial listen I’m not a fan of the choice of Emily Armstrong to replace Chester; however I’m totally aware that this could be nostalgia speaking for me so I’m gonna refrain from making any definite judgements until at least the new album drops.

But here’s the thing: there didn’t need to be a new Linkin Park album. In fact I might go as far as to say there *shouldn’t* be a new Linkin Park album. Thinking about their last one, One More Light, and listening to it especially in the context of Chester’s death, it’s pretty reasonable to guess that it was essentially designed as a farewell. Shit still fucks me up every time I listen to it, and I can’t help but wonder how tactful it is to make a whole nother album almost ten years after his death.

Maybe I’m wrong, and time will tell, but The Emptiness Machine (and in fact the whole prospect of a new album) feels like another Mike Shinoda moneymaking bit, like his NFTs (and IMO the Papercuts releases). It feels to me like Mike can’t *stand* to let Linkin Park rest in the recognition and respect it deserves; he needs to keep digging it up again and again and again for nostalgia bait.

Bringing me to sound. I don’t think Emily Armstrong is a bad vocalist, and honestly The Emptiness Machine isn’t even a bad track (it sounds distinctly like a Minutes to Midnight song). But the very fact that Chester isn’t there, and there’s someone else instead - especially thinking about how fucking passionate he was about this band - makes it very hard to avoid thinking about the whole situation. Around halfway through the single I (and I suspect many other listeners) just have to stop and think, “Hey. What the hell are we doing here?”

Idk, I mean time will tell, but I feel like this album is lowkey disrespectful and pretty cheap in a way I wouldn’t put past Mike Shinoda.