#Manchester Band On The Wall

[niallthebadboi]

Convinced this man was designed by women😭❤️

[senorboombastic]

‘Our Brand Could Be Yr Life ’ – Listen to the seventeenth episode of ’60 Minutes or less’, the new podcast from Birthday Cake For Breakfast – featuring Ben Hozie of BODEGA!

Words: Andy Hughes Another week, another new episode of ’60 Minutes or less’ – A podcast from Birthday Cake For Breakfast. For episode seventeen we’re joined by NYC royalty, Ben Hozie of New York art-punks BODEGA! An outfit we’ve been following since nearly day dot – or at least that’s what we thought. This year saw the release of their latest album ‘Our Brand Could Be Yr Life’, a reworking of…

[stillunusual]

Sambroso All Stars @ Band On The Wall, Manchester 6/10/2023

Music week - day 6….

[sports-on-sundays]

Okay so 🤭 what if Y/N use to be with ( whatever Barca player you choose ) and they broke it off because they supposedly wanted to focus on their career and the reader was really heartbroken and omg to make it more better y/n is Carlos sister and then she sees or hear how they moved on already! And little by little she starts to be with lando and they announce their relationship when he wins in Miami!! Like full on hard launch. 😭🙌🏽

Also this got me motivated to think of more ideas ima write them down for the future 🤭

papaya girl / LN4

Summary: ex!Ferran x Sainz!baker!reader x Lando - After a devastating breakup with your footballing boyfriend, you think you'll never be able to date someone again.

Warnings: there's a golf scene and I don't golf so-!🤞, mention of sickness, foul language, sorry if some things are not accurate, headache, partying/dancing/drunkenness/clubbing, mention of getting so drunk you had no memory of what happened, implied getting drunk to dampen emotions, getting injured, vomiting, slight soulmate feel, a bit of suggestive talk, use of babe/baby/bae/baby girl/etc., I feel like every kiss I describe is exactly the same sooo- sorry about that! ✌

Requested?: YES! 😘

Author's Note: Do you ever write something so good that you wish you could make it into a movie? That's how I feel about this. I can imagine the scenes. Didn't plan it but I guess 24 is the magic number for this one. I made the request more dramatic because... I like doing that... 👉 👈 🥺 ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST. PERFECT MIX OF ANGST AND FLUFF. I LITERALLY LOVE YOU! If you do have any more ideas and you're up for it, let me know!

When you met Ferran Torres, you were a Madridista with a passion for Ferrari. Being a Sainz, you've always been rooting for Real Madrid, but your favorite Formula 1 team isn't as consistent. Because before that, you were a McLaren fan. And before that, Red Bull. And everything else before that, too.

Wherever Carlos is, you're a fan of it.

You, quite literally, on the day you met Ferran, were wearing a Cristiano Ronaldo jersey and a backwards Ferrari cap.

And, well, he, a new arrival from Manchester City, liked that, apparently!

And it was beautiful. They way you slowly became closer and closer, growing to know each other more and more.

And then, maybe you just hit a point. Hit a point in your relationship where you wanted more, and Ferran realized that if any more was given by him, it would be too far for him.

And he cut it off. Said he was doing well in Barcelona. He had high hopes. You, a sold out Madrid fan, had been wearing his number on the back of a blaugrana jersey. And despite that blaugrana jersey, he ditched you.

He said his work, his career, his passions, his dreams, were more important than you.

But you can't complain, Y/n. That's fair. He was gentle in letting you know. He made it clear he didn't want any malice between you and him.

You roll over in bed, staring vacantly at your wall. There's a large Real Madrid flag hanging in the middle. A smaller Ferrari flag on one side. A few posters of bands and teams you like or events you've been to, signed by different celebrities. People who are more famous than 'Carlos Sainz Jr.'s sister' or 'Ferran Torres's ex-girlfriend.' On one side, it seems silly to have a poster signed by Max Verstappen, but you do. On the other side of the flag, you have a peeling old McLaren poster, showing the younger versions of Carlos and his former racing partner, Lando Norris, looking just seconds away from breaking into a loud, hysterical laughter.

And next to that, you have a Barcelona poster.

You smile sadly to yourself.

I must look like such a conflicted sports fan.

You stand up, walking over to the wall. After gently peeling the Barcelona poster off the wall, you slowly trace the badge with your fingers, any hint of a smile now gone as tears begin to fill your eyes, threatening to fall.

"This is stupid," you murmur scornfully, your voice cracking softly. "This isn't even my team! It's not my city...!" You toss the poster across the room, leaving it in a place where you don't intend to pick it up anytime soon.

Let it gather dust and crumple. That's what Ferran did. He threw away our relationship like it was nothing but a worthless piece of paper. And now I'm suffering the consequences.

You sigh. You're trying not to let yourself be bitter. You want to look back on everything you and Ferran had and be happy. Appreciate it. You still love Ferran. You don't want to be angry with him.

Someone said to you once, Hurt heals with time, as long as you let it.

You grab a bold, red Sharpie from your drawer and your notebook from a dresser. You scribble those words in all caps, rip out the page, grab some tape, and hang the piece of paper where the FC Barcelona poster used to be.

You sigh, but nod, before turning to get ready for your day.

You hate winter. You never hated winter before this winter, but now you hate it.

With the breakup, you've been avoiding anything La Liga like the plague, even if it doesn't involve Ferran Torres. It just reminds you too much.

And with Carlos on winter break, getting ready for the start of the season, he's not around much. Going on different trips, he's quite busy. Which you don't like. You and your brother have a strong bond.

It's not like you don't have anything to do. You just don't have anything interesting to do. You have a shop that you run, but you have enough staff hired to not have to be there all the time.

Yes, in a family of racing, you were never too into it. Your strong spot is in baking and business running, so that's why you opened up a bakery in Madrid.

And being a Sainz, of course it was a success.

Same type of thing as Charles Leclerc's 'LEC,' except you're not the racing driver Charles Leclerc, you're not doing ice cream, and you've always been doing this, for five years now.

You watch as a young, excited couple walks in, jabbering away in English. You can just tell they're tourists as they get in line to order. Once they get to the counter, the woman immediately leans over the counter in excitement, saying, "Is Carlos Sainz here?" in English.

You chuckle. Sounds American. "Which Carlos Sainz?" you tease.

They look blankly at you as if you're just about the dumbest individual to walk planet Earth. You chuckle and say, "Why don't you get to ordering? There's a line."

Towards the afternoon, as things begin to quiet down just a little bit, you look up at the doorbell jingles and freeze.

When he reaches the counter, you snap at Ferran, "Why are you in Madrid?"

"Am I not allowed to be? Either way, hello to you, too."

You sigh, licking your lips as you study the Valencian boy. "What can I get for you?"

He shrugs and orders, before seating himself down at one of the seats at the counter. "How have you been, Y/n?" he asks.

"Fine," you swallow, staring down. "And you?"

"I'm good." From there, he begins just talking, as if we're old friends or something, and not exes.

He seems so happy. So content.

To not be with you.

Suddenly, mid-way through one of his many sentences, you slip your hand over his, almost on impulse. He stops, staring to your hands, and then to you.

You breathe softly, "Why? Why did you come here to just talk to me? Aren't you moved on? Ferran, this is torture for me."

Lines crease into his face. You can see him swallow, looking at your smaller hand on his. "I'm... I'm sorry. I am moved on. I'm doing well. I just thought maybe we could be friends. I'd never want to date you again; I'm not in the place to date anyone. I'm happy single. But I just feel bad. I know you're hurt, and... I'd be happy to still be friends with you, is all?" He slips his hand out from underneath yours and takes his cup of coffee with it, taking a sip as he watches you intently.

You drag a hand over your face. Though you didn't want to admit it, seeing him come in to the bakery gave you hope. That maybe he wanted to try again. But those words that came out of his mouth? They cut deep.

"Listen, Ferran," you barely whisper. "I'm still trying to work through what happened. Everything. It's hard for me. But I appreciate it, and when I'm ready, if I'm ever ready, I'd love to be your friend. O- Okay?"

He nods slowly, staring down. "Alright... Fair enough."

"What's wrong?" your older brother, Carlos, asks. You watch outside the window as the world travels by.

You sigh. "Ferran."

"Him, again?"

"Carlos," you sigh. "Stop. It's nothing new. I'm just missing him. He wants to stay friends, but I said I needed time."

"Ah. Well, you know, I did tell you never to date-"

"-a Barcelona player. I know," you roll your eyes with a little smile.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Hurt heals with time, as-"

"-long as you let it. I know," you comment, smiling a bit wider.

"Exactly. It'll come."

You sigh. "I hope so."

As Carlos pulls into the parking lot, you say, "So. Is that why you decided to take me golfing with your friends? Just wanted to check up on me, but you never have the time to sit down over dinner these days?"

Carlos smiles as he shuts off the car. "No. I could have made time. But I wanted your company golfing."

"You know I'm not big on g-"

"Shut up," he grins. "Yes you are."

"I suck."

"Not as bad as some people I know. In fact, you're actually pretty okay."

Soon, you meet up with a bunch of Carlos's friends. They're all chatting, and you're just kind of zoning off, looking out over the grassy hills, when suddenly you look up when Carlos says, "Ay! Lando!"

You blink in complete and utter shock. "Why is Lando Norris here?"

As Lando approaches, he eyes you, saying teasingly, "Well, thank you for the warm welcome, Y/n Sainz."

"Lando was just around, so he made the drive to meet us here," Carlos quickly fills in.

Soon, you're all off. After a round, as you're walking back to the cart to go get lunch, Carlos says, nudging Lando, "I think my baby sister is better than you."

Lando laughs. "You fucking muppet; what are you talking about?"

You grin, falling in step with Lando and Carlos. "I'm a better golfer."

"That is just wrong," Lando says, glancing at you. "Downright wrong."

"It's a Sainz thing," Carlos puts in. "There's no way for you to beat us, Lando. You can't. Winning runs in the family."

Lando rolls his eyes, reiterating, "Your baby sister is not better than me."

"You have no right to call me a baby," you put in indignantly. "I'm probably older than you."

Lando looks at you, his nose all scrunched up. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"Hah! Same age."

"That still doesn't mean you get to call me a baby!"

"Her birthday is in January; different year than Lando's. Lando, you can call her a baby; you're older," Carlos says.

"Carlos!" you snap. "Don't give him permission!"

Carlos grins and shakes his head as he breaks off to chat with some of his other friends and get on the cart with them.

Lando grins, giving a discreet pat on your lower back as he murmurs, "Sorry, baby."

And for some reason, that makes you feel things. You decide to blame it on the fact that Lando's just good-looking.

Once you're all seated down with your lunch, you comment, "So what's with the whole..." your hand goes to your chin, referring to his facial hair, as you look at Lando expectantly.

Lando slams down his fork, saying lightheartedly, "Sick of people asking me that!"

You smirk. "Makes you look like you're forty."

"Whatever, baby."

"You know, I have a picture on my wall of you and Carlos when you were just babies, too."

As soon as Lando raises an eyebrow with a smirk, you know it was a mistake to word it that way. "You have a picture of me and Carlos on your wall?" he asks, mock condescendingly.

"No, no. I mean, I do, but- It's just an old McLaren poster." You immediately look down.

"What, are you a fan of mine?" Lando teases further.

"No! I'm a fan of Carlos, and you just so happened to be his teammate at that time. The point is that you two look like pipsqueaks in that photo! Lando, you looked so awkward, with all your acne-"

"What, Lando, you think she's a McLaren fan? She's sold out for Ferrari," Carlos interrupts.

"Literally! I deck myself out in red every Sunday!"

"Today's Sunday," Lando starts like the stupid idiot he is, "And I don't see you wearing red."

You groan, leaning back, covering your face in your hands. "Carlos, how are you this guy's friend? He's so annoying! Why'd you invite him for? How do you put up with him?"

Carlos just smirks, patting your shoulder, and says, "I'm used to having to put up with irritable people, after having to grow up with you."

You roll your eyes, fighting off a smile as all the guys around you at the table laugh out loud.

On the car ride back, you're mostly silent, your thoughts swimming with one thing and one thing only.

Lando Norris.

And there's a soft smile on your face as you think about your morning with him.

But Carlos can tell you're deep in thought. Usually, you'd be yapping away right now. "Anything on your mind?" he asks carefully.

You sigh. "Not much."

"You're bad at lying. You're staring out the window dreamily. What's on your mind?"

You sigh. "It's stupid. You'll make fun of me."

"I'm not stupid, though. I can already guess what it is."

You gulp. "How?"

"For the whole day, the only person you talked to was Lando."

You feel your stomach drop. "It's nothing serious, Carlos. He's just funny."

"You said something like that to me about Ferran Torres right before you officially started dating."

That makes you feel a bit sick. "Carlos, I won't let that happen again."

"Don't. And don't be getting interested in anyone until you're over your ex. And we both know you're not. And please don't be getting interested in someone like Lando."

"Why?" You eyebrows scrunch together. "I thought you two were buddies."

Carlos grins teasingly. "If you somehow got yourself with him, there would always be two annoying people in one place."

"You're intolerable!" you snap, laughing.

"You are too, hermana."

It strikes Carlos as strange when the first thing Lando says to him the weekend of Bahrain, before even a hello, is: "Is your sister here?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Lando shrugs. "She's nice."

"No... She'll be coming to Australia, though..." Carlos can't help but feel suspicion fill his chest. He's always been somewhat protective of you, being his little sister and all.

"Perfect," Lando grins, and he's off.

In Australia, like any other race, you're decked out in your red. Ferrari hat, Ferrari jacket, red jeans. Ferrari earrings. Even your black shoes have a stripe of red on the sides.

Carlos always tells you it's dumb. But it's become a part of your whole thing, since you spend a huge amount of your life following Carlos around and going to Grand Prixs.

It's fun sometimes, being Carlos Sainz Jr.'s sister!

But when you see a shock of papaya in your red world called Ferrari's hospitality, you squint, slipping your sunglasses up on your hat, and say, "Who said you could walk in like that uninvited?"

"No one," Lando grins, "but I'm only here to see you."

Your eyebrows raise as you stand up. "Wha-"

"Come with me. I'm going to barf if I have to breathe Ferrari air any longer. Just your terrible get-up is making me nauseous. I guess I'll be free from seeing that stupid outfit next year when Carlos isn't in Ferrari-"

"Oh, shut it, you!" you snap, but follow him with a grin on your face.

"So you broke up with your Barcelona man?" Lando start, cutting straight to the chase.

"Uh-" you swallow. "He broke up with me."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

You're not sure why Lando wants to know, and he certainly doesn't have any reason to know, but still you say, "We had been dating for a while, you know? I wanted something more. You know, to go deeper. Someday, I'd love to even maybe get married. But, Ferran... well, he didn't want to go the step deeper. Said he wanted to focus on his career. He broke it off. We're on fine terms, though."

"Ah..." he nods slowly. "That sounds like a tough breakup."

"Yeah... Yeah, it was."

He continues nodding, and catches your eye before saying, "So I'm assuming you want to... you know, you won't be up for any more relationships any time soon? Lot to work through?"

You suddenly feel your face begin to heat up. "Uh, well- depends on who it is, I suppose," you blurt without thinking.

"Hm?" He raises an eyebrow. A little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Well, considering the fact that your face is just about as red as that Ferrari hat on your head, I'm wondering what you think of me."

You swallow, feeling even more embarrassed. "Are you suggesting...?"

"If you're up for it, the night after the Grand Prix, you can meet me at my hotel room, and we'll go from there. Text me if you decide 'yes,' for the details."

"I don't have your numb-"

He gives a cute little smile and opens his hand to reveal a folded up piece of paper. "Now you do. See you later, Miss Sainz!"

You stand, dumbfounded, as he jogs off.

"Oh my God, Carlos! Well done! So well done! Oh my God!" you scream in the midst of your strings of excited swear words, in both Spanish and English. "Did you actually just win the Australian Grand Prix?!"

He grins as he kisses your cheek, patting your back and saying, "Yes, I actually just did."

You hug your older brother tight, resting your head on his shoulder. "Love you. You did amazing. After everything you've been through. You're going to be leaving Ferrari next season and with your surgery and everything and-"

He smiles a bit. "Want to let me go now? Can't squeeze me too tight, remember?"

"So you can drive a race car and win the race, but you're too fragile for me to hug you!" you laugh, but release him from the hug.

He laughs out loud. "Yes, pretty much."

Hours later, you stand in the lit, mostly empty hallway, knocking on the white-painted door. You've change out of your Ferrari red head-to-toe fit, and are now wearing a black t-shirt with the F1 logo in red on the left side, black sweatpants, and your hair held back by a headband.

Lando probably isn't here, you think as you wait. I look so stupid. He doesn't care as much as he acts like he does. He's probably out partying or something. He got a podium. Carlos won. There's no way he's just sitting around in his hotel room-

You look up in surprise as the door clicks and swings open to reveal Lando Norris standing before you.

You beam and say a bit too loud, "Lando!"

He laughs. "Hey..." He's dressed in a white button down, dark blue jeans, and his regular assortment of jewelry. "Want to come in for a bit?"

You nod. "Were you... just out?" you ask slowly.

He chuckles again, plopping down on the sofa. "If I were just out, I wouldn't be looking this neat."

"Oh... Oh?"

"Come on. Sit down next to me," he encourages with a wave of his hand. "Something funny- I've had my eyes on you for a while now."

You look up in somewhat shock. "That's why you're so confident about this?"

"That, and that I'm just the peak of all confidence," he jokes, clearly mocking cockiness.

You roll your eyes.

"But really. I've been flirting with you for a while."

This time your eyes widen. "No way."

"Just little. I knew you were dating that Torres-"

"How?"

He smiles. "Doesn't take much to find out. Anyway, I think you just blocked it out because you were dating someone else. Shows you're a loyal girl."

"Hm..." you nod slowly. "I... I suppose...?"

Suddenly, he takes your hand in his. "So, you like me?"

"I think I have for a while. Like you said- I blocked it out because I was dating someone else." You didn't even know that until now, hearing the words coming from your mouth.

He smirks. "Even better. So..."

"Yeah?" you ask, a little glimmer in your eyes.

"I'd like to know what the hell you're wearing."

Suddenly, your face falls. "Uh- I'm sorry- I- I thought we- Um-"

Lando laughs. "Y/n! I'm teasing!"

"O- Oh!" you laugh nervously.

"I was just thinking... Maybe you'd want to go out and celebrate with me?"

"Oh-" you nod. "Right."

"So, do you want to get changed? I'll text you where we'll meet in a half hour?"

You grin, standing up. "Sounds good."

"See you then."

"Holy fuck, man," are Lando's first words when he sees you. You're wearing sunglasses, a form-fitting sequin shirt, and flattering white jeans.

"What?" you ask anxiously. "Is it too much?"

"Too much? Y/n, you're gorgeous."

You sigh in relief. "Alright good... And- one thing."

"Hm?" Lando asks, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know if we... could we say we're... that you're my..."

"Partner? Boyfriend?"

You swallow. "Sure. I think... I think I'm good with that. At least for tonight."

He nods.

"But let's not make it clear here. I don't want the way for everyone to find out about this being, you know, by nightclub pictures on the internet."

He smirks a bit, nodding. "Fair enough, then. Let's go."

"Rise and shine! Let's hit the grind, Y/n!" an unfamiliar voice wakes you up.

You roll over to see Lando's handsome face looking down at you. You're in his hotel room, in the one bed. He's all dressed and ready to go, and towering over you, looking like a giddy dog.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. "I've got a killer headache. What happened last night." You feel disgusting, and wrinkle your nose as you get a whiff of the alcohol scent radiating off of you.

He grins. "I learned that you have no tolerance whatsoever."

You frown. "Unlike you, Norris, I'm not getting drunk all the time! Now, tell me what really happened!"

"Nothing much. Just a lot of fun," he sits down next to you, "and it's a shame that you can't remember any of it." He chuckles a bit, saying, "You got fucking wild. You were more fun though before you got absolutely drunk out of your wits."

"You didn't do anyth-"

"No, no!" he rolls his eyes. "Besides, Carlos was there. I wouldn't dare. You at least remember Carlos, right, being there?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes, of course I do."

"But you really did completely black out? You don't remember anything?"

You swallow nervously. "No... I don't really remember anything... I mean, I guess..." You close your eyes, thinking hard. "Just dancing... music was super loud, but... that's not anything specific. I don't feel well at all now, though..." You start to feel a bit dizzy at the energy you're putting into trying to remember.

You open your eyes and look at Lando.

He smiles. "Well, it was fun, nothing more. Want me to bring you back to your hotel now?"

"Yeah, I guess..." you nod, cradling your head in your hands. "That'd be great..." You see the wine stain on your jeans. You can feel an ache in your ankle. You just need to clean yourself up.

Lando helps you limp to the car, assuring you that you just tripped. Saying your ankle is fine; it'll feel better in a few days' time.

You're not so sure.

As Lando drives, he knows he should tell you the details, like Carlos said.

But it still feels like you'd be better off not knowing at all.

Nine hours before

Though every single one of Lando's molecules in his body told him not to, he had to keep pushing you off. He sat talking away with some other dudes, and you sat his side, drunkenly trying to wrap your arms around him.

You blubbered softly about all kinds of stuff, a strange mixture of being utterly devastated and overly romantic.

Lando knew. You didn't get drunk this often.

A part of him felt bad. A huge part of him. He didn't think he had pressured you into anything. Certainly not intentionally. And you were the one who kept drinking more. But maybe he did...

Maybe it was his fault you were the mess you were now.

"Lando..." you murmured, your hand gripping his bicep. You leaned closer. "You're so sexy in that shirt." You reached over to unbutton another button of his shirt.

He gently pushed you away for the millionth time. "Remember, Y/n? You don't want anyone to know you're into me this much," he whispered lowly to you, running a hand through his hair. "Remember that, baby."

You pouted. "Ferran broke up with me and made me sad. Can't you make me happy now."

"Not now. I won't be doing anything when you're this drunk."

"I'm not that drunk..."

Lando snorted. "Whatever you say, lovely."

All was going as fine as it could be going. But then Carlos showed up. "Hey, Y/n-" he had started.

But you had interrupted him by slapping your hand on Lando's shoulder, leaning into it, and giggling giddily, "Look at this pretty boy."

Immediately, Carlos's eyes flashed with shock. And then vague panic. And then anger.

"Lando, how drunk did you get her?!" he snapped, raising his voice even more than he already was. The flashing lights on the Spanish man's face helped Lando's anxiety no more.

"I didn't get her drunk at all! I tried to stop h-"

"Yeah, fucking right. Come with me Lando-"

"No!" you had snapped, standing up to grab Lando's sleeve before your older brother could drag him away.

You were clearly biting back tears. "Lan didn't do anything..." You stumbled drunkenly into the British man, who steadied you gently, before helping you sit down again.

Carlos's face remained hard and steadied on Lando, but he spoke no words, as if he was battling in his head what to do.

Lando sighed. "Listen, Carlos. She won't remember any of this tomorrow morning. Let's just not bring this up again, yeah? It was a mistake. Stuff happens. She got wild and had one too many. We've all had those nights."

But Lando genuinely didn't think Carlos had had one of those nights before.

Lando certainly had, though.

"She deserves to know."

"Maybe she shouldn't, though. She's gone through a lot with her ex breaking up with her and everything. And I'm sure your career up in the air isn't helping her cause much, either. She loves you more than the world. And think about how worrying it was for her to see you go into surgery like that, and race right afterwards? The good emotions just hit her, man. But it's probably a lot. She's just going through a lot. She doesn't need the guilt of getting too drunk and acting a little stupid, yeah?" Lando ranted, intently studying the older Spaniard's eyes.

Carlos's eyes slowly softened. "Alright... I won't tell her what's happening once she's sober. Only if I can make a deal with you."

Lando bit his lip, running a hand through his messed up hair. "What is it?"

"I won't say a word to her, as long as you promise to stay away from my sister. I know you're interested in her."

Lando's eyebrows creased together. "What does that men? Why?"

"Quit trying to get with my sister, and then it's a done deal."

Lando let out a shaky breath, slowly nodding. "Alright, then. Whatever. It's a done deal."

Of course Lando didn't intend on following through with his end of the deal.

But when Lando turned around to check on you on the couch, he froze when he saw you were gone. "Where'd Y/n go?" he immediately asked the other guys and girls sitting around.

"The hot Spanish girl?" one guy asked in a painfully slow Australian accent.

"Yes, her!" Lando demanded, his buzzed brain filling with irrational panic and overwhelming confusion.

He lazily gestured and responded, "Went to go dance, I reckon."

And before Carlos or anyone else could react any faster, Lando tore into the crowd, shoving people aside and squeezing through gaps that weren't there, in search of you.

She's drunk out of her mind! What the hell was she thinking!

That's right. She wasn't thinking.

And then, he spotted you, just for a moment. Moving your hips, stumbling about, thinking you were just about the sexiest thing in the room.

"Move out of my fucking way," was Lando's polite way of shoving two guys out of the way.

He could see the sweat glistening on your face. He could see the dumb smile on your face, your high giggles. He could see fresh wine spilled on your white jeans. He could see hands on you; he took no energy to see who they connected to as rage filled his entire being.

And he watched, almost in slow motion, as your ankle rolled on your black stiletto, and you stumbled to the floor with a brain rattling, painful cry.

Immediately, Lando shoved his way to your side, slipping his hands under your body. "My God, Y/n!" he nearly screamed over the music. "You idiot! You beautiful, fucking stupid, idiot! Tell me why I fell in love with you! You're going to be the death of me!"

"Hi Lando," you murmured through tears. "My ankle..."

"Yeah, yeah, I see. Let's get you out of here, yeah?"

You swallowed, nodding as Lando tucked your hair behind your ear. He lifted you to your feet and let you lean on him as he helped you limp out of the club.

"I'm sorry, Lando..." you had muttered hoarsely.

"Hey, don't worry," Lando had responded. "Never apologize for having nothing but a good time."

But he, Lando Norris, disagreed with the words coming out of his mouth. That was his motto, his excuse, all the time. But as soon as soon as he saw you, someone he genuinely really loved, really cared about, living like that?

It made him sick to his stomach.

Speaking of that, as soon as you were outside, you stumbled away from Lando. He steadied you with one hand and held your hair back with the other as you doubled over and vomited, your previously red face impossibly pale.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah..." you gasped after about a minute.

"Alright. Okay. Let's get to my hotel room now."

Lando could barely understand your slurred words as you responded, "As long as we're getting away from here."

Now

You were going to go to the Japanese Grand Prix. But you just wanted to stay home. With a sprained ankle that confines you to crutches and an illness you've picked up, there was no way you were going to fly across the world for a Grand Prix, especially with the potential jet lag.

You lay on your couch and text Lando. You've been thinking, and you let him know that though you really do want to go places with him, you want to go slower.

You still don't know what happened on that night in Melbourne. For some reason, you can't get anything of significance out of Carlos or Lando. But you know more than what they're saying must have happened that night.

You asked Charles, because he was there. He provided a bit more information, but not much. He said he wasn't really hanging around you that night, but that he did see you cuddling with Lando.

When you asked Lando about it, he said you were drunk, it was just you not thinking, and it only happened once. That you stopped after he pushed you off.

And social media shows no one caught it on camera, or anything that night, for that matter.

So at least there's no fans going crazy over anything.

Lando texts you back, saying that he thinks it's best to go slow. Just let yourselves ease into whatever your relationship is going to be.

It's a relief to see he agrees with you on that.

But then he sends another text, asking you to try to keep it a secret. Even from your family, including Carlos.

You ask why, and he responds saying he simply agrees it's good to be private, and he doesn't want Carlos judging.

Though you're not sure about it, since Carlos is not only your favorite (only) brother, but also your best friend, you still tentatively agree to it.

Lando probably has a good reason.

Right?

By the time the Chinese Grand Prix comes around, though your foot is still in a walking boot, you're over your illness, and decide you're going to go for it and make the trip halfway across the world. After all, you've never been to China!

It's true that your walking boot doesn't look the best with your shades, shining silver jewelry, and overalls, but oh well. The most annoying part is literally everyone who even half knows your name (the Sainz part) keeps asking you what the hell happened to your ankle.

And you have literally no response but, "I fell," because you have no more of an idea than them, and there's no way you're about to say, 'Hah I just got drunk with Lando and got so fucking crazy that I twisted my ankle and sprained it! Anyway!'

Yeah, no way.

So "I fell," is the best option you have.

But the most concerning thing to you is that you haven't even seen Lando yet, all weekend. Though you haven't seen each other in a while, you've been calling, texting, and face timing often, your relationship growing a lot.

You chew your lip as you limp towards the McLaren garage. You peek in, scanning for Lando, but only see Oscar.

You limp to him.

"Whoa- What happened to your-"

"I fell," you say, thoroughly exasperated with this. "Anyway, is Lando around?"

"Lando? Uhhh..." he looks around.

Dude, hurry up. I'm not supposed to be here, your thoughts practically scream.

But then he walks in himself, and you grin, waving, "Lando!" you call.

He walks over to you, smiling. "Aw. Look at my little injured girlfr- uh, uhm, mate. My injured mate." He glances nervously at Oscar.

But the Australian just smiles, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

Lando nods gratefully, before leading you to a more private place. "Hey," he says softly once you're alone, his hands resting on your waist. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright... Ankle's getting better, slowly but surely."

"Oh, good," he almost looks relieved. "That's so good to hear. I'm so glad you made the big trip to be here, Y/n."

You smile softly. "I was starting to miss you."

He grins. "I was missing you, too, baby... I think I could make some time for you this weekend, too. We could just get take out, hang out at my hotel room, you know. No more partying, even if I win, right?" he teases gently, gesturing to your foot.

You snort. "Yeah. Yeah, no more partying for now for me."

Later that night, you lay next to Lando in his hotel room. His arms are wrapped around you, his hand rubbing your back. "Look at me," he murmurs sleepily.

You look up to see his soft eyes looking at you, with so much, tenderness, so much...

love.

You feel a flutter in your stomach. "Lando, how did we get here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Two months ago, I would lie awake in bed, dreaming about and missing Ferran. I was so lonely. Now here I am. Two months, and I'm laying here, in your arms."

He grins a bit. "I bet it's because we're meant for each other."

"That's cliché."

"No, it's not. I really mean it. You know, I had a crush on you even back when Carlos was in McLaren, you were around a lot more, in papaya."

"No, you didn't-"

"Yes, I did!" he laughs softly. "I really did. The day I saw you in the paddock. The day Carlos pointed you out as his sister. The day you flipped your hair and looked at me with those warm brown eyes. And then looked away from me, because in my first season in McLaren, I was the farthest thing from attractive."

You giggle at this. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not! That was the day that I knew- I knew- that someday, I was going to make you mine," he murmurs, his eye half-lidded as his hand gently caresses your cheek.

"Lando!" you squeak, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. "Don't you dare make me cry for no reason!" You wait a minute, before saying softly, "Well, maybe, just maybe, back then, though you were a pipsqueak, you were kind of cute... And I've always gotten butterflies from your jokes and teasing, even all those years ago, before I was even dating Ferran."

He laughs. "Awww... So you've always had a little bit of a crush on me, too!" You can see by his blushing cheeks and beaming eyes that just this fact is making him feel warm inside.

You roll your eyes, giggling. "I guess, maybe...."

He flicks your nose gently, playfully, holding you even closer. You lay there in more silence, before Lando says softer, even more tenderly, "Hey, Y/n... can I talk to you about something...?"

"Of course, Lando..." Your eyebrows knit together.

You watch as he swallows. Nods. Sighs. "Okay... Something has been bugging me..." He pauses. "I... I feel like I never should have brought you out that night in Australia... you know? Like, beyond the sprained ankle."

Your eyes flash. "What do you mean?"

"Well... You just got so drunk, and... I feel so bad... Like, somehow, it's my fault... I didn't mean for you to get hurt, or to drink that much... I just thought we'd have fun. Like I always do with my friends. And you're my girlfriend; supposed to be my closest friend..."

"Lando," you murmur shakily. "Did you try to get me that drunk? You didn't encourage it, did you?"

He looks nervous. "I genuinely don't think so, but I'm nervous I did... I tried to tell you enough was enough, but maybe I should have looked out for you more... Maybe I should have worked better at keeping you from getting that drunk... But we were having so much fun and I figured you would know your limit... I shouldn't have assumed."

"Lando! Don't blame yourself! It was my fault. I got too drunk, I fell and sprained my ankle. The sentiment of you wanting to look out for me is nice, but when push comes to shove, I'm in charge of myself, just like you're in charge of yourself, and it was my fault. My mistake. M'kay, Lando...?"

He nods slowly, still looking a bit unsure. "Well, Carlos isn't mad at you about it. He's mad at me..."

"Carlos is what?!"

"Ah, fuck. Forget I ever-"

"Lando Norris, explain."

"Whoa, that's sexy," he laughs.

"What?!" you exclaim in exasperation, yet you're still unable to keep your stomach fluttering by Lando's sudden spoken intrusive thought.

He grins, his eyebrows raised. "I don't know. Full name, in such a firm voice? Like, yes, mommy, order me around. I'll do whatever you want me to," he says in a low, goofy, teasing voice.

You can't stop your face from heating up. "Oh, shut it, you!" you snap, your voice cracking awkwardly as you flick him in the nose this time. And you flick his stupid nose harder than he flicked yours earlier.

He giggles evilly, rolling over. "Look at yourself! You liked that! You're a blushing mess!"

"No, I didn't. What a stupid way to flirt."

"Oh, well, I can show you even more stupid ways to flirt. Because, apparently, it doesn't quicken your heart rate at all."

You groan. "You are so annoying."

He leans over, giving you a peck on your lips. "I know. And you know you love me for it."

You forget to ask him again about Carlos.

"Baby, c'mere," Lando says, nodding for you to join him in his driver's room.

"Dude, watch what you call me when there's listening ears around."

Lando shrugs. "It's only Oscar in the other room."

"So? What makes you trust Oscar so much, anyway?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. He's a good guy. And he's not gossipy, like me."

You laugh. "You are, are you?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm a fucking gossip girl."

You laugh out loud at this as Lando shuts the door of his driver's room behind you.

Lando grins. "Anyways, Oscar is trustworthy because he's not the type of guy to have any desire not to keep a secret."

You frown, crossing your arms. "Alright. Whatever. Anyways, why'd you bring me in here?"

Lando shrugs, sitting down on the one chair in the room. "Sit down, babe."

You blink. "Where? On the fricking floor?"

"Uh, no," Lando rolls his eyes jokingly, as if this is the most obvious thing. "On my fricking lap, Y/n. Come on now. Duh."

You can't help but find yourself blush at that as you slip onto his lap. He wraps his hands around your waist, giving you a kiss on the cheek. You smile, leaning into him as you ask softly, "So why'd you bring me in here? Just for kicks?"

He grins. "I need my Y/n fix before the race. You know, it'll make me drive better."

"Oh? Is that how it works?" Suddenly, though, before Lando can respond, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You slip it out and sigh. "It's Carlos, asking me where I am. I feel like I'm under surveillance."

Lando blows a raspberry before saying, "Just ignore it, bae. You're a twenty-four year old woman; Carlos needs to get over it."

"Get over what?" you ask, an eyebrow raised.

"You not being his baby sister anymore. You're my baby now," he murmurs into your shoulder, pulling you closer to himself.

You laugh. "I still can't decide whether you're the worst flirt I've ever met or the smoothest. But right now, I'm thinking the worst."

"Oh, well!" he says, looking up at you with innocent eyes, batting his lashes. "Doesn't matter to me, because either way, you like it! Anyway, back to before Carlitos had to interrupt-"

You giggle as he begins kissing your face and say, "Carlitos? I'm not even allowed to call him that without him going psycho man on me-"

"Mmm... Can you talk less? It's cuter when you do that giggle thing," Lando murmurs between kisses.

This causes you to laugh out loud. "Sometimes, Lando, I think you're so weird." You realize, in a strange way, though, Lando is right. Because of the giddy feeling of literally having your boyfriend shower you with kisses and love, you're just kind of trying to find anything to talk about.

But maybe you should just take one moment to shut up.

You lean into the kisses, exhaling slowly. Contently, despite your pounding heart and sweating neck.

Finally, you feel as though your face is absolutely, completely covered in Lando's kisses. You sigh, contented, as Lando kisses the tip of your nose, and then pecks your lips.

You giggle, opening your eyes to gaze into his.

But his eyes flutter shut as he leans in, his hand slipping to the nape of your neck. And his lips meet yours again, this time in a real kiss. You shut your eyes, enjoying those lips on your own, sending tingles throughout your whole body, causing your breath to grow heavier and heavier. Desire pulses in every beat of your heart, causing the passion in the kiss to build and build. Your right hand falls into his chest as the other knits itself in his curly locks. You feel Lando's hand on your hip as his fingers snake under to grip your ass gently. You can feel his hot breath on you, in you, apart of you, as his other hand gently stroking your neck, giving you little twitches of longing for more. Your tongues find an art of lingering exploration, Lando's hunger seeming to never be satisfied as his tongue and lips tease your nerves, the emotional and physical connections between you seeming stronger than ever. His hand slides down your neck to your back, pulling you closer to him, so your chests are pressed into one another.

Suddenly, though, there's a pounding on the door of Lando's driver's room. Your eye cracks open. Lando's squeeze tighter shut, his eyebrows creasing together, as if he wishes so much that this never has to end.

Lando grunts, finally pulling away. Oscar's voice on the other side of the door saying Lando's name seems to be in another, insignificant world. You're both gasping as you study each other's eyes in a certain awe.

A soft, mischievous smirk appears on Lando's lips. Those lips that now you can't stop staring at. "Was your first kiss with Torres that hot?"

You let out a breathy laugh. "Definitely not."

There's a pause, of just softly smiling, gazing into each other's eyes, before Lando breathes, his eyes half-lidded, "My fucking God," He gently, slowly strokes your warm, pink cheek. "Did I ever tell you how head over heels I am for you?"

Before you can respond, Oscar's voice says again from outside, "Lando, if you don't respond, soon, I'm coming in."

Lando groans again, leaning his head back, "You can't! The door's locked!" He then adds under his breath, "Fucking Osc, interrupting as soon as I was going to take it to the next step."

At this, you blush even deeper. "You were-"

Lando waves his hand dismissively. "I would have checked with you first."

You nod, breathing deeply.

"Alright, baby," he sighs, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it up a bit. "Let's go see what the hell Oscar wants."

When the door swings open, Oscar can't help but chuckle how how much, in that moment, you two look like some snarky super villian duo, about to give him some cheesy monologue. You both stand, arms crossed, practically back to back. Lando wears a scornful grin and you display a glare as hard as stone. Even your clothes- Lando's racing clothes and your head-to-toe Ferrari red, finish off the silly look.

"What's so funny?" you demand upon seeing the Australian's laughter.

"Nothing, nothing. But I hope you guys know: These walls are not soundproof."

"What are you suggesting?" Lando snaps. "You couldn't have possibly heard anything, you idiot!"

"Whoa, whoa! I didn't! I'm just saying!" Oscar says, going on the defensive, putting both hands up. "Me and my girlfriend don't lock ourselves in my driver's room before the race, losing track of time and forcing you to go get us!"

"You and your girlfriend are probably going to buy a house with a white picket fence and have 2.5 children and a golden lab! Oscar and Lily is bad enough, but I'm surprised it's not John and Emily!"

"Whoa," Lando says, laughing as you walk out of the driver's room together and he shuts the door. "Shots fired. Calm down, Y/n; jeez."

But Oscar's laughing, too, so you know there's no need to apologize.

"Lan... You know I wasn't kidding earlier when I said I won't go out, right?" you say nervously as you walk into his hotel room, rolling your suitcase from your own hotel room.

"Yeah, I know you weren't. I wasn't kidding, either."

"So... What?" you ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed, crossing your arms. "You're planning on going alone? Then why did you bring me to your hotel room-"

"Y/n," he suddenly says, leaning down to gently grab your chin and look you directly in your eyes. "I'm not going anywhere tonight. I'm staying right here."

Your jaw actually drops. "I'm sorry, but who are you and what have you done with Lando Norris? Because that man would never miss an opportunity to party."

This makes Lando let go of you and break into a fit of laughter. "Y/n!" he breathes. "What the hell are you talking about? Before that, I would never miss an opportunity to spend time with you."

You stare. "Okay, actually. I'm being serious now. What did you do with Lando?"

You watch as your boyfriend chuckles, sitting down next to you. "Baby. I'm not going to go out clubbing while you sit in a hotel room alone. And there's no way I'm taking you out again; my guilty conscience can't take that, and neither can your sprained ankle. So why not celebrate P2 here, just you and I, hm?" he says in a low tone.

Immediately, at this suggestion, you blush. "Oh, uh, Lando... I, uh... I don't know if I'm ready for something... you know... for that... right now... Not yet... You know, it's too early for me in our relationsh-"

Lando suddenly breaks into laughter again. Oh, that sweet, silly sound. "Y/n! My God, what a dirty mind you have! I wasn't thinking that at all-!"

"You, Lando Norris, are saying I have a dirty mind?! I bet you really are his doppelganger!"

He crosses his arms. "Only reason why I wouldn't suggest that is because I know you're not ready. Which is more than one hundred percent fine with me. I wasn't even thinking about that, anyway."

"What were you thinking, then?"

He smiles with his eyes. "Well, let's both get ready for bed," he begins pulling his shirt off over his head as you absolutely bear your eyes into him, "And once we're both ready, I'll meet you back... here...?" His confused face slowly turns to one of teasing nature when he sees your eyes trained intently on his bare chest. His perfectly toned abs. His perfectly shaped pecs. His strong, straight, tan back. The little brown beauty marks sprinkled all over his torso. You would love to kiss every single one of them. "Why don't you take a picture?" he smirks stupidly. "That way, it'll last longer."

"Oh, shut up," you murmur, licking your lips as you tear your eyes away from his bare middle. "You can shower first," you murmur.

Once you're both all clean and ready, you snuggle up under the blankets, only to find your arm brushing against Lando's bare skin.

You feel your heart flutter as you murmur, "Are you not wearing a shirt just to bother me?"

"What, no," Lando says, overly innocently. "I never wear a shirt to bed. Just like I'm sure you never wear a bra...?"

If you were embarrassed before, now it's ten times worse. You specifically decided to wear a bra, to avoid... that. And now here Lando is, bringing it up like it's the weather.

"Uh..." you begin.

"Anyway!" Lando says, apparently seeing the vaguely panicked look in your eyes. "Wanna just watch a show or something?"

"Yeah," you nod. "That sounds good."

Lando turns some stupid show on his laptop, and as you snuggle and it gets later, you become more relaxed. You lean your head on Lando's shoulder as he plays with strands of your smooth, wet, dark hair. Your hands begin softly feeling his chest, just drawing circles and feeling the shapes of his abs.

Everyday, you seem to get to know Lando more and more- inside and out.

He sighs, contented, and murmurs sleepily, "That feels nice."

You smile, nuzzling into him.

"I saw Barcelona and Madrid played today," he comments as your fingers continue stroking the abs under Lando's soft skin.

"Yeah... El Clásico..."

"You don't sound as excited as I thought you would. I thought you were big on Madrid."

"Yeah, I am... Just having been keeping up with La Liga lately, I guess."

"Hm... Well, would you like it if I could find some way to watch the game...?"

You smile softly. "Hm. Yeah, maybe that wouldn't be so bad..."

Lando nods, and soon, you're cuddled up with your boyfriend, watching your favorite team play against FC Barcelona/your ex's team.

It feels weird, but you like it.

You decide your bra isn't very comfy and slip it off under your shirt before tossing it across the room.

"You're finally over being embarrassed with me?" Lando teases.

You smile softly, shutting your eyes. "At least for now. Too sleepy to care."

He smiles back. "You're cute when you're sleepy. Cuter."

Soon, though, Lando is gently shaking you, murmuring, "Look. Your ex was subbed on."

"Hmmm? What about Fer?" you murmur with a yawn. You must have dozed off for a bit.

"Fer?" Lando asks, his nose scrunching up. "Yeah, Ferran Torres."

Your eyes flutter open to see your ex-boyfriend running onto the pitch. You feel a sudden, unexpected pang in your chest. When you and Ferran were still together, you watched him do that so many time, with a sense of pride and excitement.

But now, you don't feel much at all. It's no different from anyone else going out there to play.

But, like a train, memories of the past begin to hit you.

Going for walks with him. Cheering him on at finals. Hanging out with his teammates. Working out with him. Bringing him to the Barcelona Grand Prix. Exchanging gifts on birthdays and holidays.

Just all the little things you used to do.

Like snuggling with each other on late nights after Barcelona won.

Not unlike what you and Lando are doing right now.

Suddenly Lando's arm around you tightens, and he says, "You okay?"

"I- yeah..."

Lando leans forward to see you face. You try to turn it away. Lando doesn't let you.

You stare into each other's eyes.

"You're crying," he states softly.

"I guess..." you trail off, averting your eyes.

There's a few beats of silence before Lando states again, "You still miss him."

"I guess..." you repeat. "But... I'm happy to be with you... it just all happened so quick... It's a lot for me... I'm mostly over it- over him- by now, but sometimes things just... make me start to think. Reminsce of what's not anymore."

Lando slowly nods, and begins rubbing your shoulder. "I- Alright..."

"But don't worry. I'm way more happy to be with you right now than sad to not be with Ferran any longer."

"You're sure?" the Brit asks tentatively.

You nod, leaning into him once more. "I'm sure. One hundred and one percent."

"Hey, Lando," you grin giddily before the Miami Grand Prix. "Just drive your best out there, okay? Good luck, baby." You give him a high-five. You can sense he wants to give you a hug, but painfully knows he can't because of the ever-watching cameras and eyes all around you.

But he leans in close, until you can practically feel his breath on your face, and says softly, in just about the most heart-wrenching-in-a-good-way low voice, "Oh, baby... I'm going to go out there and win that race. For you."

"Oh, stop being such a romantic. You're going to make me cry."

He leans in, about to kiss your cheek, but you gently push him off, saying, "You better get going, Lan! Race is going to start soon!"

"Right! Bye bye, bab-"

"BYE!" you scream to overpower his stupid 'baby girl.'

And before you can even blink twice, it seems-

It's lights out....

And away we go!

"LANDO! FUCKIN'! NORRIS!" you scream as soon as you see him, running to him as fast as you can. Your eyes threaten to fill over their brims with tears as you leap into Lando's arms, immediately forgetting about hiding your relationship.

Right now, that just seems too silly to care about. It doesn't matter enough.

Your boyfriend is a race winner.

The racer winner!

He leans back with the most joyful, most romantic, most adrenaline filled, most glorious look in his eyes as they search yours. His hand slowly strokes your cheeks as he purrs, "I told you I would win it for you, didn't I?"

"Lando-" you begin in excitement, but are interrupted by Lando's lips on yours, aggressively, passionately leaning into yours, flooding all his emotions into you, sharing his dream coming true with you.

For some reason, you begin to cry. Flows of tears, flooding down your cheeks as you kiss each other, and your heart pounds at a million kilometres an hour. His hands grip your waist tight, and the moment-

It all seems so perfect.

Right now, you don't care about the fact it was supposed to be secret. You don't care about what Carlos will think or say or do, or what fans on social media will post. None of it matters.

In this moment, the only two people that matter are you and Lando, in a symphony of amorousness, standing on the top of the world.

In this moment, you and Lando, both in sync, know this is the right time. Though it's been merely three months of being in a real, serious relationship, it feels like several lifetimes.

You don't care about the shock of other people, or the cameras flashing and clicking and filming.

All the sudden, you're proud of it.

You want everyone to know, no matter how they'll react, that you're Lando's, and Lando is yours.

When you finally break away from each other, Lando's smile remains as he gazes into your eyes.

"Are you crying too?" you giggle softly as you spot a glint in his eyes.

"What? Me, crying? No, I'm not crying! Of course I'm not crying!" he says teasingly, hastily wiping at his eye with his thumb. "You're the one crying! But anyway-" He slips the papaya McLaren cap off his head and plops it on yours, saying, "Won't be needing this for the top step. Besides," he smirks, leaning in closer. "Enough with all this Ferrari stuff. I think it's finally time for you to admit: Papaya looks best on you. Papaya's your color."

As you watch him jog off after that, stunned, you feel pleased.

Finally, for once, content.

That's right. My color isn't white, or blaugrana. It's not Ferrari's red, either.

I'm a papaya girl.

His papaya girl.

[notorious-gay]

These kinda flopped on insta so I hope you enjoy - Laura Jane Grace @ Band On The Wall - Manchester - 26/11/24

[ghcstao3]

second time i'm putting ghost and tommy in a band just because

but them being pretty big in the underground punk scene but never straying from that local-band vibe even after they've attracted a decent following. their plan had never been to go big, just to make music, so that's what they do.

johnny's a frequenter of underground shows, and he just so happened to catch word of one when he's in manchester for whatever reason. so of course he goes, uncaring if he knows any names, because music is music, and he's just there for a good time.

when simon and tommy's band comes onto the stage, johnny is absolutely enamoured with the band. somehow it's just about everything he likes all meshed into one act, and while the frontman is energetic, and has seemingly perfected that line between professional and amateur in his sound, and the drummer and guitarist all the same—johnny's eyes are on the bassist the entire time.

his smeared eyeliner and half-obscured face, his messy hair and bloodied knuckles like he'd just come fresh from a fight before playing. his casual stance and dark eyes and—it's no wonder johnny subconsciously worms his way to the very front just to gaze up at the man from up close.

shame johnny hadn't caught the band's name when it had been announced. he feels a sudden need to follow them along all of their shows.

which, speaking of—once the set is over, johnny does the stupid thing of trying to find where the band heads off to. he'd done it once or twice before, and usually shows like this lend the acts to spend time with the crowd as a part of it at some point, so it's not... so difficult.

he doesn't end up finding the band—at least, not all of it.

because in the alley of the venue, johnny finds the bassist smoking, face now fully exposed as he brings a cigarette to his lips.

with nothing to lose but his dignity, johnny sidles up to the man as casually as he can manage, as if he hadn't just become a big fan.

"great gig," johnny says. "how long have you been playing?"

the bassist barely spares him a glance. "few years now. s'there somethin' i can help you with or what?"

his voice is a pleasant rumble in johnny's chest, as low and steady as the bass itself. his tone is indifferent, though, and johnny thinks to change that.

"only lookin' for a name." johnny shrugs, leaning perhaps a bit too close.

the bassist finally looks to him, a mild confusion written into his face. up close, his eyes are impossibly darker, voids johnny thinks he could gladly sink into.

"simon," he eventually supplies. "that it?"

johnny grins. "maybe. you have other shows coming up? haven't heard you guys before, and i have a bit of a thing for live music."

simon stares at him a moment. if johnny watched close enough—which he certainly does—he'd notice the subtle upwards quirk of simon's lips.

"we have gigs planned, yeah. you have a pen? i'll write the date for you."

johnny frowns, just a bit, before searching his person for something to write with.

the best he manages is an eyeliner pencil, but apparently it's good enough for simon to take johnny's arm to write on his skin. the drag of the pencil across his skin is harsh, though it's hardly simon's fault.

johnny watches simon's face the entire time, the lit cigarette dangling from his lips. he never once questions why he couldn't have just been told the date.

"try not to rub it," simon advises once he's finished, straightening his back and offering the pencil back to johnny. "see you around..."

"john," he says. he tucks the pencil away, never bothering to glance at his arm.

"johnny," simon decides instead, taking one last drag of his smoke before snubbing it out on the brick wall and flicking it to the ground. he brushes past johnny and disappears back inside through a door johnny hadn't previously noticed.

it isn't until much too late that johnny looks down and sees that a date had not, in fact, been written on his arm—but rather, a phone number.

cheeky bastard.

the worst part is that johnny still doesn't know the band's name.

[dailytomlinson]

Music stars honoured at first 'Brit Awards of the North'

Louis Tomlinson, The Courteeners and Aitch were among the winners at the inaugural Northern Music Awards, which organisers hope will become the "Brits of the North".

The event, held in Manchester on Tuesday, was set up to celebrate talent from across the north of England.

Former One Direction star Tomlinson, hailing from Doncaster, was named artist of the year - beating fellow South Yorkshire singer Self Esteem and Newcastle's Sam Fender.

The winners in full:

Artist of the year - Louis Tomlinson

Band of the year - The Courteeners

DJ of the year - DJ Paulette

Newcomer of the year - English Teacher

Breakthrough act of the year - The K’s

Music moment of the year - Aitch at Glastonbury

Special recognition award - Melanie C

Northern icon award - Lisa Stansfield

Northern music award 2024 - Tim Burgess

Disruptor award - The Reytons

Festival of the year - Beat-Herder, Lancashire

Inspirational venue of the year (under 500) - Brudenell Social Club, Leeds

Inspirational venue of the year (under 2,000) - Band on the Wall, Manchester

Industry icon - Michael Adex, NQ

Music and culture for wellbeing award - DanceSyndrome, Everybody Dance, Lancashire

[diejager]

wdyt of the idea of high society victorian cod characters cus i saw one glimpse of the idea and thought hmmm occult ghost and im praying we get it

I can’t believe I went google searching for this Drabble XD

PS. I wrote this before seeing @justadeadreaper ‘s AU!

The Past Cw: SLIGHT DARK, DUB-CON, spiritualism, occult, sex magic, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, oral sex, tell me if I missed any.

You’d heard from other women that the dark and mystery-shrouded man was one of the best spiritualists in England —if not the only man practicing the dark arts. You were warned through loose lips and gossiping whispered that he was a giant for your time, dressed in the finest silks a man could buy for himself and portrayed an aura of pride and excellence, holding an air of finesse and savagery in every words he spoke. You had your own expectations before you met him, fingers trembling as you wrote your letter, a grieving tear rolling down your powdered cheek.

You waited with bated breath and tense shoulders for his reply, and when a letter arrived, the little skull wax seal playing a part to your excitement, you ripped in open and settled in your desk in an unladylike manner. For a man you didn’t know, you couldn’t help but admire his calligraphy, the hand which he used to write was skilfully gentle, his words curled with a gracefulness you envied. In the black lettering, he gave you a date and location, touched by your plight, he invited you to his house in an unknown part of Manchester.

You rode out a few days early to meet him, being aware that he’d extended his invitation to a week long stay after your second exchange. He expressed his solemnity and sympathy towards you, promising that he’d be able to help you and you couldn’t be any happier to be able to let the past rest.

But your expectations of him fell the moment he greeted you at the wide mahogany doors of his house, he was broad and talks, a giant dressed in black. The cuffs and collar of his long coat were woven with silver roses and vines, gracing pant-clad thighs, thick and strong as a tree’s tough bark. He wore leather gloves - black as the rest of his attire - and a gem-clipped cravat stuffed under his black waist coat, buttons holding it to his sculpted chest and a flared end with silver intricacies, silver flowers and plants sown into the fabric. He was dressed beautifully, like a phantom of the opera, but when you gazed up, his dark eyes stared back, skin painted black and face hidden with a mask, a smooth skull stitched into the fabric of his cover.

He was a masterpiece in dark garments, handsome and mysterious when he ushered you in, the rumble of his voice making your body tingle, warmth filling your abdomen. He was a quiet man, eyes expressing more than words could, he had a gentle silence to him with tender and guiding hands, herding you to his seance room —or so you thought. There weren’t any tables, only plush cushions and soft-padded chairs in the dimly lit room, shadows dancing on the dark walls when he laid you down, coaxing you to relax under his care.

“I need you to relax,” he whispered, pressing his covered mouth you your forehead, brushing your locks off your sweaty skin, “do you trust me, love?”

You felt light-headed, mind dazed with the warmth and comfort he provided you, you choked down a sob, your voice dying in your throat. So you gave him a small nod, shuddering when his hands grazed up your hips to cradle your cheek, brushing away your stray tear.

“Good, close your eyes for me, yeah?”

Darkness embraced you with soothing calmness as he cradled you in his arms, feeling you up until his hands slipped under your petticoat, his calloused - when had he taken his gloves off? - fingers hooking the band of your lacy underwear. He spread your legs, hanging them over his wide shoulders, his hot breath hitting your sensitive mound. You flinched when he pressed his lips to your covered slit, burying his nose in your thick bush as he drew a calming pattern on your inner thighs.

The fire brewing in your core boiled, strong and coming forth in giant waves. It was unknown, a strange sensation that rocked you whole. He dragged his tongue up your wet hole, circling your blinking cunt and to your twitching clit, lifting the hood to have better access to your sensitive nerve. You shuddered and jerked with every touch, little mewls and whimpers slipping past your painted lips and graced his ears with your pretty sounds.

His tongue was skilled, nimble as he dove into you, pumping your tight cunt with his hot muscle, slurping up your slick and rolling your virgin clit with his thumb, rough and calloused, yet gentle with you. You squirmed and murmured incoherent words, something about it feeling weird, about your body burning and your mind lost to it, but he only coaxed you further, praising you for being so good and compliant for him.

“Good girl, telling me how good you feel,” he panted, diving back into your gummy walls, tongue brushing your softness before he replaced them with his strong and thick finger, plunging into you and hitting your sweet spot, “M name’s Ghost, love. Scream my name, yeah?”

His soft praises and talented fingers had you tipping over, the fire spilling over the edge with a blinding light. You cried out his name - is moniker - with mewls and gasps, arching beneath him and wrapped your legs tightly around his head as you came, gushing around his fingers. He slowly pumped his fingers, tongue lapping and drinking up your slick, gorging on your drooling cunt as if it were the sacred waters of the fountain of youth.

He left you limp and numb, lashes fluttering, peering at him with tired eyes, bathing in the adoring eyes of the spiritualist that made you come with his mouth and fingers alone —something new to you, a stranger in your heart and throbbing core. With his mask pulled over his tongue, mouth and chin still wet with your slick, he mumbled to you, tender words coaxing you to sit up for him.

“Reckon we get started, love?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx

[punkrockhistory]

47 years ago

Buzzcocks at Band On The Wall, Manchester May 1977.

Band members were bassist Garth Smith, drummer John Maher, singer and guitarist Pete Shelley and guitarist Steve Diggle.

Photo by Kevin Cummins

[lunarmothim]

gealladh - john mactavish x reader

part i: awkward first meetings gealladh- a promise, a pledge, a vow. one word to encompass all the various promises you made to johnny over the years, all the promises made to you. made, kept, broken. or, the life you could have had.

word count: 1.9k tags/warnings: canon typical violence, military inaccuracies, abduction/a bit of beating up, bad google translate russian probably, gaelic from learngaelic.net. established relationship, afab reader/female pronouns, no appearance descriptors given, reader of undeclared origin but implied scottish. if you see the little nod to makarov in the cover name yes you did lmao. additional tags tba!

@thatsamericasass24 here it is as promised lol. i'm starting to think my goal is to just shoot out a bunch of fics and see what sticks lmao. this one is 30+ planned chapters, the outline alone is 24k. it doesn't start the fluffiest but it will be i swear!! translations at the end but do yall want them in the actual text of the chapter?

Moscow goes smoothly.

Too smoothly, to the point it sets your teeth on edge. You'd never known a CIA op to go this well, especially not when Laswell's involved, but you tuck the flash drive into your pocket and move on with your day anyway, glancing both ways as you exit the alley and walk back onto the street. You don't drop your guard for a second- years of training have taught you better, keeping you on your toes.

It pays off when an arm drapes over your shoulders, something hard and metallic tucked against your ribs. You glance down instead of up at the person at your side- a man, hairy knuckles curled around the grip of a gun and wearing an old watch with a dirty olive green canvas band. Military, maybe, the watch picked for function over style.

"что ты делаешь? отпусти меня!" What are you doing? Let me go! With no idea who has you, you keep to your cover, spitting Russian as a bag is tugged over your head and you're unceremoniously shoved into the back of a vehicle. Cold metal beneath you- a van, perhaps.

"Shut the fuck up," a gruff voice barks back, decidedly British- Manchester, maybe, a boot digging into your ribs. You obey, running through a catalogue of possibilities in your mind. Mercs, maybe, though if they're British it could be SAS- but you're sure if that were the case, Laswell would have warned them to be careful where they were poking their noses. You're in deep for this one- dyed hair, CIA deep- so even if they are people you know, the chances of them recognizing you are slim.

You need to get out of this, find a way to reach out to Laswell before this goes any further south.

Rough hands haul you out of the vehicle when it comes to a sudden stop, dragging you up a short set of steps, across a threshold, up a longer set of stairs. Safehouse, two levels. You're forced into a chair, squeezing your eyes shut against the sudden influx of light when the bag is ripped off of your head.

"Elena Markova." A different British voice spits your cover's name, and you pair it to the older face of the man in front of you. A quick scan doesn't give you much- civvie clothes, close-set blue eyes shadowed under a boonie hat, a cigar in his mouth, a dirty wristwatch you recognize from when he'd grabbed you. He's the only one in the room currently, but you can see a hulking shadow leaning against the wall in the hallway behind him.

"What is this?" you demand, maintaining the accent, your cover. Stall. Figure out who they are, what they want. "Where am I?"

"Just had a few questions for you," he says, crouching down into your eyeline, holding up the flash drive he'd nicked from your pocket. "Wonderin' what a pretty girl like you is doin' with somethin' like this."

"School project." You lie as easily as you breathe, fixing him with a haughty stare.

"On nuclear warheads?" he asks, raising a brow, and that startles you- you hadn't known what was on the drive, what Laswell had sent you to retrieve, certainly hadn't expected him to verify the contents so quickly. Shit. "Gonna have to do better than that, Elena, while this is still a… friendly conversation." You still can't place his affiliation- if he's SAS you could out yourself and end this right now, deal with the consequences from Kate later. If he's a merc, though, or an expat working with a foreign entity… you can't risk it. You keep your mouth shut. He sighs, shoving up to his feet and tucking the drive back into his pocket. "Alright then, have it your way." He pulls his cigar from his mouth, turning to wave in the shadow in the hall.

You barely have time to catalogue his appearance- tall and broad, thick muscles, no identifiers and his face hidden behind a plain black balaclava- before your head snaps to the side and you taste blood in your mouth. You groan, spitting out a mouthful of blood and working your jaw. You're pretty sure a tooth goes, too, skittering across the floor. Fuck, he hits hard.

Still, you say nothing, even when he spends a solid twenty minutes working you over, demanding answers about the drive. By the time he steps out to report to his leader half of your face feels broken, blood in your eyes. It's hard to breathe through your crooked nose, your jaw feels loose. You've definitely lost at least two teeth, you can see them on the floor in a small puddle of blood. You force yourself to focus, to catalogue your injuries- he favors his right hand, your right side only barely throbs. That doesn't make it hurt less.

Through the ringing in your ears you can hear heavy footsteps coming back, multiple pairs. You try to steel yourself, raising your head from its position on your shoulder as the door creaks open.

Three figures walk in, and your hazy eyes zero in on the new one- taking in the bag in his hands, the confused furrow of his brow, blue eyes you know better than your own sweeping over you. You exhale slowly, letting yourself relax only marginally. You're not sure if you should be relieved or not, but you drop your accent and your facade anyway.

"Coulda told me your friends were in town, Suds," you mumble, and it's like the ringing silence after a bomb goes off, his eyes widening in recognition.

"Steamin' Jesus." He drops the bag, striding forward against his teammate's protests to drop to one knee in front of you, the knife he keeps strapped to the front of his vest cutting through your zipties in one fluid motion. You hiss when he cradles your face in his hands, pain lancing across your nerve endings. "The fuck are ye doin' here, lass?"

"Undercover job." Your gaze shifts past him to the men still standing in the doorway and you take a shallow breath, wincing. Your voice is thick, nasally- you need to set your nose. "Better introduce me to the lads 'fore they start interrogatin' you next."

"Dinnae dae tha', ya dafty," Johnny warns with a sharp slap to the back of your hand when you reach up toward your face, bracing a hand on your shoulder while the other grips your nose. He tells the others your name, interrupted by your sharp noise of pain when he sets the crooked cartilage. "Sergeant in the 22. Who's s'posed tae be in Glasgow at her mum's righ' now-"

"Fuck you, MacTavish," you grouse, smacking his hands away in turn. "Had to tell you somethin', didn't I? You know how it is, Laswell says 'jump' you ask 'how high'." You swipe your sleeve under your nose with a grimace, taking another shallow breath. "Got a med kit I could borrow? My gear's across town."

"Aye, c'mon." You groan when he pulls you up out of the chair, sagging against him. He's tense, every muscle drawn taut as he leads you past the other two. You don't miss the way he shoots a glare up at the taller one, arm curling protectively around you. The man you assume is Ghost based on everything Johnny's ever told you is also visibly tense, dark eyes raking over you, over the injuries he'd caused.

"Not mad about it," you tell him quietly, and Johnny pauses, glancing down at you before tracking your gaze up to his friend. Your good eye squints, one corner of your mouth tipping up in some semblance of a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. "Would've done the same thing in your shoes. It's fine."

"It's not," he rumbles, refusing to meet your eyes. "M'sorry-"

"Don't. I'm fine." You're lying and he knows it, but he doesn't argue it. His gaze meets yours finally, his eyes unreadable. "You didn't know. You did what you had to."

"Still-"

"What, you gonna ask everyone you meet if they know Johnny before you interrogate them now?" You grin at him, baring your bloody teeth. "I'm good. Johnny might take longer to forgive but I'm solid if you are."

"I'm solid." He gives you a small nod and you see his mouth twitch under his balaclava, the barest hint of a smile. It falls just as quick, and Johnny leads you out of the room.

The kitchen feels three sizes too small under the weight of Johnny's silence, the way he drops his med kit onto the counter and preps his supplies without looking at you.

"Mad at ye," he murmurs when he turns to you finally, perched on one of the rickety bar stools, stabilizing your jaw with one large hand and swiping saline-soaked gauze over the cut on your cheekbone. His frown when you wince at the sting turns down one corner of his mouth more than the other, brow furrowing. "Cannae believe ye did this without tellin' me."

"Did I need to?" you ask softly, reaching up to curl your hand around his wrist, stilling his hand. "You do stuff without tellin' me all the time-"

"Tha's different-"

"Is it?" Your hand shifts, grips his jaw and tilts his head back until he's forced to meet your eyes, your frown mirroring his. "You know I hate keeping things from you, but I couldn't have told you even I wanted to. Laswell barely told me anything, and I'm the one she asked to dye her hair and spend the better part of a week stalking a Russian arms dealer."

"Then jus' tell me wha' ye do know. Ye think I'm gonna run off an' blab about it to everyone who'll listen? C'mon, hen, ye know me better than that."

You stare up at him for a long minute, contemplating. Finally, you sigh, shaking your head. "Damn it, Johnny, fine. But if Laswell asks you didn't hear this from me. She intercepted Konni comms, heard they were making some kind of weapons deal here and sent me to stake out and intercept the sale. That's all I know, I swear."

"Bonnie." His fingers reflexively press into your cheeks, eyes darkening.

"Don't," you warn, squeezing his in return. Your fingers follow the track of your eyes up to the starburst scarring marring his temple, the curve of the craniotomy scar, the lasting reminder of how you'd nearly lost him. He closes his eyes at the brush of your fingers against his scalp. "I know what Konni's involvement means. Probably remember it better than you do. Just… let me do this. Let me help you this time."

"Fine," he relents, and there's a new chill in the air at the absence of his touch when he releases you, dropping the dirtied gauze on the counter and reaching for a tube of antibiotic ointment. "But ye do not take any unnecessary risks, ye hear me? I dinnae know what we'll be up to on our end but if somethin' happens I won't be able to get to ye. Bith sàbhailte."

"Gealladh, mo cridhe," you murmur, and he finally gives you that crooked smile you love, swiping the ointment across your cheek with one finger. "You better be safe, too. If Laswell comes to my door and tells me you've been shot again I'm gonna kill you myself."

"If my ma doesnae beat ye to it," Johnny chuckles, helping you down from the bar stool and tapping his knuckles gently against your chin. "C'mon, then. Should let Laswell know we met up with ye."

You don't miss the way he doesn't repeat the promise back to you, something heavy settling in your chest.

Bith sàbhailte - be safe (this one's mashed together from 2 different words in the dictionary on learngaelic so might not be 100% accurate) Gealladh - promise Mo cridhe - my heart

please like/reblog if you enjoyed! top divider by: @/saradika-graphics line divider by: @/gildui

[yourtouchismidas]

I always wondered about what Ross and Adams (or the rest of the bands) reactions were to finding out RG was pregnant. Could we get one about that?

so george obviously finds out in the alleyway outside the club in manchester and you can read a blurb about the moments after this happens here. but for adam and ross they find out later.

not too much later for ross, obviously. he's dancing in the club, pretty fucked now, with a cute girl with a nose piercing he met at the after party. they've made out a few times and he is slow dancing with her when he catches george behind her, standing still, eyes darting around, looking like he has seen a ghost.

"excuse me, love," he says to the girl, and slides out of her arms, "i'll be right back," and then he makes his way over to george. george barely notices him until he claps a hand on his shoulder.

"you okay mate?"

"we've lost RG," george says.

"oh shit," ross slurs, "she okay? where's matty? did he do something to upset her?"

"no," george says, then he turns to ross and looks him dead on. the eye contact almost sobers ross up. "she's pregnant," george tells him, "and she didnt tell matty. she's been pregnant for ages."

"holy fuck," ross says.

"i know," george says.

"like holy fuck," ross says.

george just nods at him.

"i mean, it's okay though right. matty loves that girl. he's obsessed with her. like. he'll be shocked. but he'll do the right thing."

"i know he's in love with her," george says, "but it's matty"

Adam had gone back to the hotel early, sneaking out of the party and leaving his friends to dance, in favour of watching telly in bed with his missus. they are in the hotel room a few doors down from matty's and rg's, not stirring for rg's quick entrance and hurried packing, but pausing the telly and looking at each other when they hear the thump a few doors down of matty hitting the wall. if they listened close enough, they could hear muffled voices, sounding like shouting.

"should we go and see what's wrong?" carly asks adam.

"probably not," adam says, "i dont wanna get in the way of anything."

he texts matty you okay man, i hear shouting, but he doesnt get a response. he shrugs.

"it's matty," he says, "usual shit."

then they hear rg, storming down the hallway, and by the time they get to the door she has already disappeared downstairs and onto the street. the hotel corridor is quiet. they go quietly across the soft hotel carpet to matty's room. adam knocks. no answer. he knocks again. then he pushes the door open, and there is matty, head in his hands on the side of the bed, an absolute wreck. he looks up at adam, and adam realises he is crying. they've broken up, he thinks, he's fucked this up with the one girl he actually wants. carly goes to the bed and puts her arms around him, rubbing his shoulder with her hand.

"i've messed it all up man," matty says, "i've messed it all up."

"what happened?" adam asks, but matty just shakes his head in his hands. about then, the door bursts open behind them and george and ross are there, stinking of alcohol and sweat, eyes squinting after the dark of the club.

"there you are," ross says.

"what happened?" adam asks george, "do you know? we heard yelling."

"don't know about the yelling but..."

"rg is pregnant!" ross cuts in, too loud. adam and carly look at each. other, wide eyed, george nods solemnly.

"with matty's baby," ross says.

"yeah we got that thanks ross," george says, slapping him on the back.

carly looks at adam and he says, "okay, not usual stuff then."

[thekingofgear]

Jonny Greenwood's Electric Cello Setup

Shots from the Smile's performance of You Know Me! at the BBC 6 Music Festival in Manchester on March 9, 2024.

During The Smile's tour rehearsals in March, we made a post detailing the band's setup. But at that point, Jonny still hadn't played an electric cello publicly, it was only seen resting on a stand. Since then, the band has played about a dozen shows, and for each one Jonny has brought out the cello to play You Know Me! and Instant Psalm.

The cello in question is a Yamaha SVC-110SK Silent Cello. With a recommended retail price of £3,630.00, it's certainly much more expensive than the regular, "acoustic" cello that Jonny played during the studio recording of Wall of Eyes (if memory serves, Jonny bought that instrument at a pawn shop for ~£200). However, the electric cello avoids the feedback problems that are common when mic'ing a regular cello on stage.

Polaroids of Jonny playing his acoustic cello during the recording of the album Wall of Eyes (The Smile).

Jonny bowing his SVC-110SK Silent Cello at the BBC 6 Music Festival. Note the Yamaha logo on the chest support. The cello-shaped frame differentiates it from Yamaha's other Silent celli that use lower bout leg supports instead, such as the SVC-210SK and SVC-50.

Jonny's Cello Pedalboard

For the March tour, Jonny connected his cello to a small pedalboard. The pedalboard's output is doubtless connected through a DI box to the FOH mixer and PA. The board features just three pedals:

Peterson StroboStomp HD tuner

Boss RE-20 delay

Electro-Harmonix 720 looper

At the start of You Know Me!, Jonny plays open harmonic glissandi in much the same way as on live performances of Pyramid Song since 2006 (originally, Colin played the harmonics on his double bass). Jonny uses the Electro-Harmonix 720 to loop these harmonics, allowing him to layer additional playing on top of them. The RE-20 is used how you'd expect: to enrich the sound.

Jonny's harmonic bowing and pedal stomping on that track can be seen very clearly in this video by Stanislav Rastvorov, from the band's performance in London on March 10.

On Instant Psalm, Jonny uses the Electro-Harmonix 720 to record a loop before the song begins, while Thom is still giving a spoken intro. He can be seen doing so in this video by noise_jam, from the band's performance in Amsterdam on March 16. After recording, he switches to bass guitar for the rest of the track. Jonny stops and reintroduces the loop a couple of times throughout the song.

Another shot from You Know Me! at the BBC 6 Music Festival. Note Jonny's right foot resting near the Electro-Harmonix 720 looper.

Note: when first posted, we accidentally listed the Boss RE-20 on the cello board as a Boss DD-200.

[stillunusual]

ESG @ Band On The Wall, Manchester 13/5/2023

[cloverdaisies]

SNAP OUT OF IT : ERIC SOHN

contains: slight mature themes e.g drug misuse, strong language, that’s about it

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆

Radio announcer: “Let’s talk about alternative rock band the boyz, their lead singer Juyeon Lee announced their world tour over instagram this morning! How exciting! Their drummer Sunwoo Kim, actually commented on the post the singer wrote saying he wasn’t meant to announce the tour yet.”

Radio announcer 2: “That’s class actually, they’ve taken the UK by storm in recent months I actually saw a girl at a recent fan event for them in Manchester with ‘Eric Sohn sign my tits’ written on her forehead. I was gobsmacked.”

Radio announcer 1: “Honestly the ladies and men out there can’t get enough of them, here’s their newest track ‘Snap out of it’ here on Radio Z”

ERIC POV:

Blacking out, my hands clumsily falling against the strings of the guitar in my hands. The stage was a sickly blur, as it always was. Spinning at a head thrashing speed, the only thing I could decipher was Juyeon slurring into the mic.

"This ones for all those angels up there.. " He giggled the last part with a smirk, hanging on to the mic and leaning into it lowly. Whilst I slammed down onto the strings of my guitar, the intro faded out as the song started.

Chaotic screams and a huge ruckus erupted from the crowd, the tranquil verses bursting into the manic chorus. If I wasn't so high, I probably could of remembered the set we played that night. The destructive sea of fans bashing their heads into the air and throwing up their arms in uncontrolled moshing.

"I want to grab both your shoulders and shake baby-.." Juyeon paused as the music halted momentarily.

"Snap out of it..."  I finished his sentence with my own mic. Swinging along to riff, the ascending chords fitting together perfectly to the pitch Juyeon sang over it in. I smirked as we got to the last chorus, my fingers bleeding as they were split open from grazing the strings at an insane pace for the entire concert.

"It's been a good night, the lovely city of Los Angels. We've been The Boyz. Goodnight!" Juyeon announced from the mic, completely faded but sober enough to be understood. The lights faded into complete darkness, slinging my guitar over my head and handing it to the staff on the sidelines.

"Well done." Hyunjae, our bass player, limped over planting a kiss on my head unknowingly. I shrugged the intoxicated elder off of me, downing the open neck of beer on the side drawers.

"I'm gonna fucking pass out." Sunwoo threw his drumsticks on to the coffee table and plummeted on to the leather couch behind him with a lazy slap.

Lighting one up between my lips, no matter how much I drank, my mouth was completely dry - my tongue feeling trapped between the two walls of a paper-like texture. Exhaling the smoke into the closed room and tipping the excess off my ring finger tiredly. I leant back into the couch, Sunwoo's legs kicked up over my lap.

"Eric, the manager wants you." Juyeon walked into the backstage area last, sweat leaking from the strands of his hair as he collapsed on the couch beside Sunwoo.

"What for?" I huffed, crushing the cigarette into the ash tray and getting up to my feet lazily.

"I'd tell you if I knew." He snapped, rolling my eyes I slapped him with the back of my hand as I walked by.

Grasping the coolness of the silver plated handle with my bleeding finger tips. I swung open the door to the staff's room in the venue, coughing as I entered and announcing my presence.

"What?" I asked bluntly, falling on to the couch opposite the manger - sitting with his arms folded arrogantly, cocking brow at my snappy attitude.

"I wanted to speak to you about your image." He began, causing me to roll my eyes with snicker and flash a glint of my sharp teeth that grazed the chapped skin on my lips.

"What about it?" I chuckled, waiting for an outrageous proposal from the middle aged and balding man tutting his head across from me.

"You're in a rock band, not a bubblegum pop group, you're too nice. You need a scandal, you need to be hated by the wrong people. Destroy that glint of hope in the mainstream media's eye. Show them you're like the rest of your group, heartless, conniving, toxic, but have the girls love you." He vented, his mouth bubbling in an excited hiss, closing his fist in exaggeration as his eyes drifted into that one thousand mile stare of his.

"That's not the real me though." I argued artistically, playing off the idea with a shrug.

"Nothing in Hollywood is real kid. Unless you want your career ending, I'd do what I say." He smirked evilly, my hands trembled on my knees as a chewed on the nail of my index finger - whether that was nerves or the drug rush I didn't know myself.

"Whatever." I spat in defeat, getting up from the couch in an aggressive strop.

"Good kid." He sneered, leaning back into the patent leather with an demonic stare glued into his blackened eyes.

Outside the door, Sunwoo seemed to of heard the entire ordeal as he stood against the wall with a lit cigarette between his lips.

"I hate our management, why do we even do this?" I slammed my fist into the wall beside me with a sharp bang. Sunwoo seemingly unfazed by it, walked up to me with a casual stroll and patted my shoulder sweetly.

"You're the only one that has complaints." He smirked as I brushed him off in annoyance.

"Yeah that's because I'm not like the rest of you, none of your care about anyone but yourselves." I spat nastily at this point, not caring too much about what I was saying to the wavy haired brunette next to me.

"We do care, but it's because we want the best for all of us. The best thing for you, is to listen to management. They'll ruin your life and all of ours if you don't." He replied with tolerance, stepping back to give me some space since I was clearly worked up about the situation.

"Sounds like you only care because it affects you." I chuckled bitterly, brushing past him and back down the hallway.

"Eric you're being-" He yelled after me, throwing his hands up in the air exaggeratedly.

"Fuck off." I cut him off before he could claim I was being 'childish' or 'immature' - in realty I knew I was the only one with any emotional intelligence, not that it would change.

The moonlight shone on to the rooftops in the city, walking out of the building with my hood over my head. We were playing in our hometown that night anyways, the others would only assume I went home early. The wind blew harshly, the bottom of my leather ankle boots hitting the pavements in loud echos.

"Do you think they'll leave through this exit?"

"I don't know I think Juyeon's more of a 'through the fire door' type of guy."

My ears perked up to the sound of a few girls whispering amongst each other beside me. They were clearly fans, their baggy fan merchandise tucked into their black skinny jeans.

"Excuse me, sir." One began to approach me, with that I sped up - almost picking up into a light jog down the street. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Sir?!" They didn't move but stayed in the same place as I ran away. I didn't intend to run as far as I did, wandering far into the high street where the store fronts lit up in glistening neons and fluorescent whites that flickered on and off in malfunctioning glitches.

Where even am I? I looked around as best as I could without spoiling my low profile. I continued to walk, to try and find some familiarity in the area. But it was filled with nameless bars, small pawn shops and taxi services. The nightlife was wild, however I couldn't risk asking someone for directions without the risk of them recognizing who I was. It was slightly quieter when I reached the end of the street, sighing to myself I took my hood down and proceeded.

"Come on just let me take you home princess."

"Fuck off, No."

"I'll take real good care of you."

"Leave me alon- GET OFF OF ME."

Overhearing a conversation to my left, I whipped my head around to see a girl in a short black ruffle dress being tugged by a larger male on the sidewalk. Crossing the street, I yelled over quickly.

"Oh there you are! I've been looking for you!" I shouted, approaching the unknown girl closeby. "Who's this?" I pointed to the man holding her arm, with a strange look.

"I don't k-" She replied with great alarm before being cut off by the large man next to her.

"We're old friends, she's letting me take her home." The man spoke for her, still trying to force her into his car.

"Well I'm her boyfriend, so I think I would know who you were. Now please get off of her." I brought her waist close, the man dropping her arm with a defeated huff and sliding back into his car. The car sped off down the street, the engine firing in a high pitched squeal.

"Thank you- thank you so much." She huffed out in relief, bracing her knees in a release of fear.

"No problem at all, are you okay?" I pulled her up from her trembling hunch and supported her upright.

"Yeah I'm fine, seriously thank you for doing that, god knows what could of happened." She replied brushing off the gesture in curtesy.

"Do you wanna grab a drink or something? Can you get home safely?" I asked, watching her eyes glint in the night light. She glanced over to a nearby convenience store, the ones with the small metal tables outside.

"Sure. I guess I wanna know more about you." She smiled, I returned the small curl on my lips and leisurely followed her across the street.

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆*:.｡.｡.:*☆☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆

hi clo here ! let me know if you want to see more snippets like this from possible plots of mine!

[notorious-gay]

Laura Jane Grace - Band On The Wall, Manchester - 26/11/24

[imightgetbetter]

secrets out

I'M BACK BABY! AND WELCOME TO WRITE ANYTHING THAT YOU WANT TO WEEK! DAY ONE, EARLY MATTY AND THE MISSUS. HOPE YOU ENJOY IT! AS ALWAYS, LIKE & REBLOG & GIVE FEEDBACK! DAY ONE: EARLY MATTY

City nights in London never felt so warm, especially not when you would sneak into the city for a night out in between semesters over the summer. City nights in London never felt so warm, especially not in January, especially not in jeans that feel way too tight and a shirt that shows more than it covers, an impulse purchase during a shopping trip with your friends out in Manchester before moving into the apartment in London, the apartment that is approximately six kilometers from where the boys have taken up residence while working on the second album. Matty is rarely there, more often than not taking any excuse to stay the night at your place and ditch the boys in the middle of the night, and it’s noticeable, to the point where now the guys are beginning to make sly comments and share glances when Matty takes the seat next to you or insists that you come along. It wasn’t something you wanted at first, to have everyone know, because there was an element of sneaking around that you found exciting, that you liked knowing that what you had was only yours, especially in the most rushed times of the band becoming something, something really big. Matty told you that you would never get in the way, but you never wanted the others to think so, especially not when you had just been a friend for so long. At least, that’s what you thought.

On nights like tonight, though, it’s like nothing’s ever changed between the five of you, that you’ve always been the friend, the confidant, the troublesome sister (to the three others, at least). Matty dragged everyone along to your apartment for a housewarming, a couple bottles of wine and your favorite cookies under his arm. George gave him a hard time for knowing which treats you like from the shops, and Matty’s excuse was that he’d been with you before, that you’d told him a million times, though everyone knew that you definitely hadn’t told him more than once. Matty is first at the door, wrapping you in his arms before he can even set the wine down and the treats nearly falling to the ground, a quick save from Adam and a knowing smirk from Ross as they pat Matty’s back and tell him to let you go.

“You act like you haven’t seen her in a year, mate,” Ross says, shaking his head and pulling you from Matty’s grasp, hugging you tightly and kissing your cheek. “I like the place. It’s great! Very you.”

“Yeah? You think so?” you smile, taking a moment to soak in the tiny apartment that you’ve finally started to feel at home in. All of your favorite paintings are on the walls and your picture frames are filled and the furniture lines the hallways and rooms in a cluttered mess but it’s yours and you’re in a city you love and for once, that’s all that matters. “I love it here. I never want to leave.”

“I don’t think Matty would like that very much either,” Adam says under his breath, earning a disgruntled shove from his friend and a laugh from the others as you hug him, George following in line quickly after. “Good to have you back around, love.”

“Oh, you’ll be sick of me soon enough,” you say, taking the wine bottles and nodding towards the kitchen, immediately reaching for the wine openers, and cracking them open to pour into glasses. Matty is watching you intently as you speak, and you can feel your cheeks heating under his gaze. In any other circumstance, you would’ve told him to take a picture, that it would last longer, and he likely would, following it up with a kiss and a promise to take a million. He’s always been a bit of a romantic, you’ve noticed. “I’ll be coming around too much, and you’ll say I get in the way of the creative process.”

“Get in the way? You are the creative process,” George laughs, taking his glass of wine and stealing a grape from the bowl in the center of the counter. He doesn’t let you finish, immediately cutting you off when you begin to stutter over your words, your cheeks flushing under the stares of their eyes and Matty’s eyes growing a bit wider, a bit cautionary. “Come off it, mate. How long are you two going to act like you’re not together? It’s obvious. It was obvious when Matty flew to New York to help you ‘move home’ a couple weeks ago. We knew what was happening!”

“Actually, I’m kind of insulted that you didn’t tell us earlier,” Ross says, grabbing his own glass and walking around the kitchen counter, slinging his arm around your shoulder, and leaning his cheek on your head. His height towers over yours, to the point where you think it might be uncomfortable for him to stand like this, but you revel in it anyways, your arm around his side and holding him close. “I had to find out through George.”

“Matty can’t keep a secret to save his life. That’s why,” George laughs, leaning over the counter and pointing towards Matty as he says this. “Matty texted me maybe ten minutes after you two kissed. Couldn’t even contain himself long enough to leave the store.”

“Suck a dick, George,” Matty scoffs, rolling his eyes and taking a sip of wine from the glass, ignoring the stifled laughs of Ross and Adam from around him. “I’m going to have a smoke. Do you want to come?” Matty is looking at you when he says this, and you nod excitedly, stealing your phone from the counter and popping a cigarette between your lips. George follows you outside, smirking at the two of you as you excitedly point towards the few plants you potted in the corner of the garden for the spring season.

“I’m glad you two finally did it.”

“Did what?”

“Got together, you idiot.”

Matty looks at you, smiling at you brightly. “Yeah, I am, too.”

“You two need to smile,” you say hurriedly, taking a step back and reaching for your phone in your pocket, and immediately opening up your camera. “This is a good picture. I want it framed.”

“You and your damn pictures, YN.”

“You’re going to thank me for these someday! I know it.”